The Second Time I Saw You: The Oxford Blue Series #2

by Pippa Croft

  ‘I’m not boring you, am I?’ I ask, suddenly conscious that I’ve been babbling for the past few hours.

  He laughs. ‘Lauren, the one thing you could never do is bore me. Though I can’t claim to have your knowledge and enthusiasm for art, I do appreciate beautiful things.’

  I glance at him. ‘But do you enjoy collecting them?’

  ‘If you mean do I see you as some kind of acquisition, then you couldn’t be further from the truth.’ He looks down at his watch. ‘I’m afraid we need to go if we’re to have dinner before we fly home. I booked a table at a trattoria in the Trastevere.’

  I shift my focus back to the magnificent ceiling. ‘Do we have to leave now?’

  ‘I’d love to stay another night, but I need to get back to Oxford. I’ve got to spend some time preparing for my next tutorial. The Real World awaits, unfortunately.’ A momentary trace of bitterness tinges his voice, but it’s soon gone and he kisses me, a deep, hot kiss that sucks away thoughts and words. It goes on and on and on and finally, when he breaks contact and leaves my mouth tingling with the aftershock, I realize that right now I could forgive him almost anything.

  Antonio is waiting at the edge of St Peter’s Square and drives us into the Trastevere district, where Alexander leads the way through the maze of cobbled streets lined by medieval houses. With the metal braziers burning on the covered terrace, it’s just warm enough to eat our pizza outside the little trattoria on the Piazza di San Callisto. The restaurant and the food are nothing fancy, but the aromas wafting from the doorway make my mouth water. Actually, I think I like it even more than the elegant restaurant we visited last night and after a day wandering the galleries, I could eat a horse.

  Alexander bites into his pizza slice with relish.

  ‘I didn’t have you down as a pizza kind of guy,’ I say with a smile.

  ‘You’re talking to a man who’s eaten live grubs and live ants. Pizza is one of my favourites,’ he quips.

  ‘You’re kidding me. People’ – I lower my voice – ‘like you, don’t really do that stuff, do they?’

  ‘If Bear Grylls does it, it must be true,’ he says before popping a shrimp from the pizza into his mouth.

  ‘The guy on the Discovery Channel? You’re putting me off my margherita.’

  When I shudder, he laughs and sips his wine. Lamps throw soft light and shade on the faded ochres, pinks and blues of the stucco fronts of the houses and shops. There’s a realism to the place, an earthy vibrancy, a determination to enjoy life that I adore. I can hardly believe Valentina shares the same heritage as the people we met and saw today.

  ‘You love Roma, then?’ he says when I tear my eyes from the architecture and back to him.

  ‘I do. I could spend a lifetime here, studying the artworks, maybe working in a gallery or curating a museum. You have no idea what you’ve started.’

  ‘Is that what you want … after your master’s?’ He sips his Chianti and watches me thoughtfully. ‘To stay in Europe, and not go back to the States?’ Is that hope I see in his eyes?

  ‘Maybe. Today has made me realize how much I need to see and do and experience. There are some wonderful galleries in the US, of course, but now I’m here, I want to explore Europe, Russia, the Middle East …’

  ‘That sounds like a plan.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say it’s a plan, yet. I need to finish my master’s first, and you know I’ve been somewhat distracted from that.’

  ‘I hope not all of the distractions have been so terrible.’ He strokes the back of my hand with his fingers, an innocent gesture that’s still intensely erotic.

  ‘Not all …’

  ‘Good. I wish I had any kind of plan for the future but I can’t see a solution that doesn’t involve me giving up the army. I certainly can’t run the estate and carry on with my military career. I knew that one day I’d have to leave and take over from my father, but I never dreamed it would be so soon.’

  ‘No, and I’m very sorry. It’s been a huge shock.’ It’s the first time we’ve really talked about this stuff for ages and I’m relieved that we can.

  ‘It isn’t just that I lost my father before we had any chance to resolve our differences. I deeply regret the rows we had and the animosity, but how could either of us ever have known what was around the corner?’

  ‘You couldn’t possibly …’

  He traces a circle on my hand. ‘Of course, it’s a huge responsibility running the estate … and anyone who decided to tie themselves to that life would have to know what they were getting into. The house, the people, the land, they aren’t something you can run away from once you decide to commit to them.’ He looks serious as he talks and I find myself already mourning our carefree time in Rome.

  ‘No, I can see that.’ I’m struggling here, wondering if what he’s not saying is far more important than what he actually is.

  He glances up at me. ‘And, of course, there’s Emma to consider too. Even when she turns eighteen and goes off to uni, she’s still going to need to know that the only person she has left isn’t going to go off and get themselves killed.’

  ‘I’m sure that won’t happen,’ I say, trying to soothe him. I don’t like the idea of him having to give up his military career, even though I clearly see his dilemma.

  ‘No, I’m pretty good at staying out of trouble. Usually.’ He grins.

  ‘Although, the first time I saw you in the pub, you got involved in a fight with two idiots. That’s not staying out of trouble.’

  ‘True, but by now I think you know that anything involving the Hunts isn’t going to be an easy ride, is it?’

  What is he trying to say here? Against my better judgement, I find myself hoping the ride is a long one, even if it will never be easy.

  ‘I never asked for an easy ride, Alexander,’ I say, voicing one small part of my thoughts.

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t realize what you were getting into?’

  ‘Perhaps I knew full well?’ I keep my tone light and teasing.

  ‘Then you won’t be surprised to know that it may not get any easier in the foreseeable future. I wish it weren’t that way,’ he says, seeming distracted again.

  ‘No one can foresee the future, can they?’ I dance around his words, parrying question with question, but all the while his eyes are intent on me, leaving me no hiding place. My stomach flutters, my appetite temporarily gone.

  ‘That’s true.’ Suddenly he smiles and lets both of us off the hook, whatever the hook was. ‘Shall we have dessert?’

  ‘I’m not sure I can manage one.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you can squeeze something else in. You always do.’

  While we wait for our orders, the conversation is Rome again, Alexander the guide this time, telling me a little of its political history. The waiter has just brought my tiramisu and Alexander’s affogato when his mobile rings. He pulls it from his jacket pocket and frowns at the screen.

  ‘Work?’ I ask.

  The line between his brows deepens. ‘No. It’s Emma’s school. I’m sorry but I have to answer this.’

  You know those moments when so many conflicting emotions hit you at once that you can’t process them? This is one of them. Emma’s school would not call this late on a Saturday evening unless something was seriously wrong.

  His affogato abandoned, Alexander is already striding back into the restaurant towards the restrooms, phone clamped to his ear. People around us glance at me as I sit, suddenly bereft, at the table. I push my own dessert away from me. I hope she’s OK. I hope there hasn’t been an accident, because Alexander could not survive another family tragedy.

  Even if she is OK – physically – what the hell can have happened?

  Is it selfish of me to hope that this is anything that doesn’t involve Henry Favell?

  The minutes pass until I half worry that Alexander won’t come back at all. I sip my iced water, now wishing we weren’t so far away from home.

  ‘Is everything all right? Can I get y
ou anything?’ the waiter asks me. ‘Did the signore not enjoy his affogato?’ He looks at the puddle of muddy cream in Alexander’s dessert dish.

  ‘No, grazie, but could we have the check?’

  ‘Of course, signorina.’

  A few minutes later, I see Alexander threading his way through the tables. By the set of his jaw, I know there’s something seriously wrong and the dessert I ate feels like it’s lead in my mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry but we need to leave now. I’ve called the driver, and he should be here in a few minutes. Can you wait here while I pay the bill?’

  ‘I already asked for the check.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Is Emma OK?’

  ‘She will be,’ he says grimly, ‘but only by a bloody miracle.’

  ‘Oh God, what’s happened?’

  ‘She’s in A&E. The paramedics found her passed out outside some nightclub, out of her skull on booze. That was her housemistress on the phone.’

  The conversation halts while the waiter arrives with the check and our coats and Alexander hands over a wad of euros.

  ‘Who was she with?’ I ask nervously as he opens the door for me to walk outside.

  ‘Not sure. It seems like she’d sneaked out with a couple of girls from her house; the police think they may have called an ambulance and then made their own way back to school once she’d been picked up. The nurses found her ID in her handbag and phoned the school.’

  ‘Will she be OK?’

  ‘They’ve got her on a drip now, which is standard procedure, and she’s unhurt. She’s been vomiting, of course, but there won’t be any lasting damage. Oh fuck, I hope she manages to finish school without dying of alcohol poisoning, being attacked or raped. Jesus!’ He paces the street. ‘Where is that fucking driver?’

  The fucking driver sweeps up a few minutes later, just as Alexander has his mobile out to read the guy the riot act. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so upset, and by that I mean not in control of his emotions. Normally, his anger takes the opposite form: he’s ultra in control; in fact, he’s so cold and collected that it scares me, like when he broke up a fight in a pub out of a (misguided) need to protect me. Like when he saw Scott and me kissing in the street.

  But this is different; it’s Emma in trouble and he has no clue how to deal with it. Neither do I, but I do know that shouting won’t help.

  With a growl at Antonio, he opens the door for me and climbs in after.

  ‘Do you want another tour of the sights, signore?’

  ‘No, I want to get to the bloody airfield as fast as possible.’

  ‘Si, signore …’ The driver’s face is impassive in the mirror. I guess he’s used to rude clients, then Alexander mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath and says, ‘I apologize for that, but we’re in a hurry so if you could get us to the airfield quickly, I’d appreciate it.’

  That’s pretty much the last I hear from him before we reach the airfield, where the limo takes us right up to the plane again. The immigration official is already waiting at the bottom of the steps and barely even glances at our passports before Alexander helps me up the steps with a gruff ‘be careful’ and the door is shut. There’s no champagne now, of course, and we buckle up in silence before we take off once more. It’s only when the pilot tells us we can unfasten our seat belts that he slips his hand over mine and squeezes it briefly.

  ‘I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but I’m sure she’ll be OK,’ I say, and he mutters, ‘I hope you’re right,’ before telling me he wants to make some more calls. Somehow, the twelve-seater cabin now seems faintly ridiculous, rather like the huge dining table at Falconbury when the four of us ate dinner before the ball. There’s no consolation outside the window, because all I can see is a few dark clouds against an even darker sky.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Lauren, we’re here.’

  I wake with a start to see Alexander’s face looming above my seat in the cabin. He touches my arm. ‘We’ve landed.’

  ‘Uh?’ I glance down to find I’m covered in a blanket.

  ‘I fastened your seat belt for landing. You were completely out of it.’

  ‘What time is it?’ I mumble.

  ‘One a.m. local time. Two in Rome.’

  ‘Oh God.’ I get up, a little shaky from sleep, while the engine dies. Alexander hands me his jacket.

  ‘You’ll need this. It’ll be freezing outside.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll manage, thanks.’

  Minutes later, the cabin door opens and he hands me down the steps. The frosty night air pinches at my face. Rome was hardly warm but it’s ten degrees colder in Oxford and, having just woken from sleep, I instantly start to shiver.

  ‘Let’s get you into the car.’ Alexander strides ahead and opens the door. He says something to the driver, then gets in the back, next to me.

  ‘Do you mind coming to the hospital? I don’t want to waste time going back to Oxford now. You can sleep in the car if you want to.’

  ‘It’s fine. I’m wide awake now.’

  ‘Thanks. I need to call Emma’s housemistress to see how she is and tell her we’re on our way.’

  What I’m not telling him is that I should be going to the showing of Il Conformista this morning. I’ll have to email Professor Rafe as soon as I can and tell him I’m sorry, and that it was a study trip. Right now, I don’t want to complicate things for Alexander, and I’m just as anxious as he is to see Emma.

  Half an hour later, we arrive at the hospital and Alexander opens the door almost before the car stops.

  ‘Brandon needs to move the car. Do you want to wait here?’ he asks as he gets out.

  ‘No, I’ll come in with you.’

  ‘I really don’t want you dragged into this bloody mess any more than you have been. I’m sorry I’ve ruined your evening.’

  ‘You haven’t. We’ve had an amazing time, and now Emma needs us,’ I say softly.

  He squeezes my hand but grimaces. ‘A&E isn’t a particularly pleasant place at this time of day.’

  ‘I’m not expecting it to be. I don’t need to be wrapped in cotton wool.’

  ‘Come on then,’ he says before speaking to Brandon through the window. ‘Can you wait for us, please.’

  Even though it’s the middle of the night, and the hospital cafe and shops are all shuttered up, there are still plenty of people slumped on chairs in the waiting room outside the ER, in various states of disrepair, inebriation and boredom. My heels click-clack on the tiles while I find a chair and he announces his arrival at the nurses’ station. A bald guy with no discernible neck and dried vomit down his shirt leers at me from the chair opposite.

  When I tear my eyes away from a skinny youth with a bloody nose, Alexander is just disappearing behind a curtain, which, I assume, conceals Emma.

  I pull the jacket tighter around me and disappear behind a tattered copy of UK Glamour magazine, which probably contains enough germs to infect the entire population of Oxfordshire. I don’t take in the words, however, because my mind is full of Emma. Two machine cups of tea later, my butt is almost numb and the clock above the nurses’ station shows it’s well past four.

  Alexander finally emerges, his face set in a mask of tension and restraint.

  I stand up and walk towards him. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Still on the IV but she’s stopped throwing up. They did some blood tests to check for any other substances, as they put it, but she’s clear, so I suppose I should be grateful for that. I’ve told Miss Fisher to go home.’

  A reed-thin woman with long red hair who looks not that much older than Alexander approaches. He takes her aside and says something about ‘not being able to thank her enough’ and ‘making sure it won’t happen again’. Miss Fisher nods and seems relieved to be off to her bed.

  ‘Can she go home yet?’ I ask after the teacher has left us.

  ‘Soon, I hope. The doctors just want to make sure she gets all the fluids into
her before she can leave. Why don’t I call you a cab to take you back to Oxford while Emma and I go home with Brandon?’

  ‘I don’t mind staying, but if you want some privacy … ?’

  ‘It’s not that … After your evening has been ruined, I can hardly ask you to get involved in our problems again. You ought to be in bed.’

  ‘We both ought to be in bed.’

  That comment raises a smile for about a nanosecond before he says, ‘I think Emma might like someone neutral in the car, and she does like you. What about work? Can you spare the time?’

  ‘Yes, I have work but nothing that won’t wait.’ I don’t tell him that I desperately need to stay as I’m so worried this episode with Emma has something to do with Henry.

  Alexander doesn’t bother to hide his relief that I’m staying, so I know he must be at the end of his tether.

  It’s still dark by the time we turn off the main road on to the lane that leads to Falconbury. I’m sitting in the front seat next to Brandon, while Emma dozes in the back seat, her head resting on Alexander’s shoulder. A glance in the vanity mirror shows Alexander staring into the darkness outside and Emma, pale but tranquil as a baby, covered in a tartan car rug. She was still groggy when we helped her into the car and didn’t have much to say for herself, partly, I think, from awe of Alexander. When we arrive at the house, Robert and Helen immediately hurry down the steps, their breath misting the air. Benny shoots out from behind them, barking joyously, and launches himself at me.

  ‘Down, boy!’ At Alexander’s command, Benny drops to his haunches. I feel sorry for the poor dog; he must be completely confused at finding his master home unexpectedly yet in no mood to play.

  Helen wraps the rug around Emma’s shoulders and puts her arm around her. ‘Lady Emma, let’s get you out of this cold and up to your room.’ Still out of it, Emma allows herself to be ushered up the steps and into the house.

  Robert approaches. ‘Lord Falconbury, Miss Cusack, I’ll have some refreshments brought to the library. I’ve already laid a fire.’

  ‘Thanks, Robert.’

  I ruffle Benny’s ears and Alexander turns to me. ‘Would you rather go to bed?’