Life was, if not ecstatic, at least bearable. The main problem I had was with Sofia Kinski. She seemed to have taken a definite dislike to me, which she disguised under a veneer of mocking amiability, often addressing me as “Ice Queen”, although no one else did.
“Why has she got it in for me?” I asked Jo one day as we walked back from lunch. Sofia had been more than usually teasing and provocative that day.
“I don’t think she likes any of us very much,” said Jo. “She reminds me of a child making a noise so they won’t be scared of the dark. Who knows what demons she has behind that brittle front she puts on?”
“I don’t want to know. I just want her to leave me alone. I don’t bother her, after all.”
Jo and I had our first University exams - Prelims - at the end of term. It was essential to pass these: failure meant you would either have to leave the university, or, if lucky, be given the chance to resit them in the summer. I didn’t fancy either of these options.
So we got our heads down to work. I made the greatest effort to attend lectures, and especially enjoyed those on my favourite part of the syllabus, the metaphysical poets of the seventeenth century. Our tutor told us that Samuel Johnson had criticised their work as being “unsuccessful in replicating or moving the affections”. I was in complete disagreement, and wrote a long essay disproving this statement. To me, much of the poetry was personal and emotionally valid, and I thought that I could relate to it so readily because of my own early experiences of love and heartbreak. I learned many of the poems by heart, and it was one exam which I was looking forward to.
I surfaced for the occasional party, but did not lead such an active social life as in the term before. This had the advantage that I was thus removed from Sofia’s radar, and the baiting eased off. I wasn’t used to being bad friends with anyone: it made me uneasy.
Shortly before the end of term, I met an American postgraduate student who had rooms on the same staircase as Jo’s William at Christchurch.
John was a charming Bostonian, extremely tall and fair, and with the very correct manners of the Eastern American patrician family to whom he belonged. He was certainly the most mature person I had yet encountered.
Culture was his passion, and he discovered to his horror that I was pretty much ignorant of anything outside the most obvious music or works of art. (So much for Beresford High.) He set about broadening my horizons. It was a whole new experience for me, and I enjoyed being with someone who recognised that life wasn’t just about university work and dating.
Before Easter, he took me to a couple of concerts, and we went to the Ashmolean museum, where he lectured me gently on his favourite paintings.
He liked to hold my hand, and for once, I was happy for him to do so. His presence in my life was calm and unthreatening, and he seemed to know instinctively that I shied away from too much physical closeness. We would exchange a few kisses at the end of our encounters, but he never pressed for anything further. He was an absolute delight.
And then, it was my first summer term.
Summer at Oxford is wonderful.
It is always a magical city, but at its best during May and June, when it bursts into flower and birdsong, and puts on its most colourful attire. Even the air smells sweet and clean, from the great swathes of blossoms in the parks and gardens.
I rekindled my relationship with John when we returned after the Easter vacation. He had been to Florence for a few weeks with American friends, and was full of the wonders of the Uffizi and the Duomo.
Now I had passed my Prelims, I would have no further public exams until my Finals at the end of year three, and the workload was light.
Many colleges held open air theatre productions during the summer term, when it was hoped the weather would be good. I auditioned for a play to be performed in the gardens of Worcester College, and landed a small part in a delightful tongue-in-cheek Victorian melodrama, written by one of the students. Rehearsals were fun, my costume promised to be very becoming, and I was meeting another new set of people. Providing Nick wasn’t going to be a drama critic - and I thought this was unlikely - I was happy with the way things were going.
A few weeks into the term, I did begin to wonder about my relationship with John. I felt for the first time in ages that I was with someone on more or less equal terms intellectually and emotionally, even if he was better educated than I was. However, after I had said good night to him one Saturday, I was struck by the realisation that he had affection for me, but absolutely no desire. It rocked me back a bit.
It was the complete antithesis of my relationship with Nick. That had been physical, above everything: this was cerebral and dispassionate. I knew that I was slowly emerging from my frozen state, to the extent that I could begin to contemplate a sexual relationship again, and I was puzzled.
Other girls would look at John with frank admiration when he came to collect me at St Hugh’s, and I knew that sliding eyes look well from my time with Nick. Apart from anything else, he was always beautifully dressed. Perhaps there was something wrong with me? I debated whether or not to ask him outright, but the whole thing seemed too embarrassing.
The only thing for which I will ever be grateful to Sofia Kinski is the fact that she stopped me from making a monumental blunder.
I had just finished having lunch with John one Saturday, and was saying goodbye to him outside the imposing pillared frontage of the Ashmolean museum, when Sofia happened to stroll past. She caught sight of me and her eyes widened.
“Eithne - the very person.”
She sashayed across to us, a beaming smile on very red lips.
Sofia had cut her hair shorter in the vacation, and now had a full fringe falling to her eyebrows. With her kohl rimmed eyes, she resembled a very wicked Cleopatra, and it did nothing to allay my distrust of her.
I introduced John to her, and she turned her sultry charm on him.
“John - of course - I know of you from ..........” she reeled off the names of some other men who roomed in his part of Christ Church. She would know everyone, she always did.
The she switched her wide eyed gaze back to me.
“Walk with me to Little Clarendon Street, Eithne? I have a favour to ask.”
“I was just going, anyhow,” said John. He kissed me on the cheek. “See you tomorrow, sweetie.”
Sofia and I watched him disappear into the throng of shoppers. She took my arm in a falsely chummy way.
“What a poppet. He seems so nice,” she enthused.
“Yes, he is.”
“And just right for you.”
I considered the underlying innuendo of these words, but didn’t get very far.
“I mean,” she continued, giving my arm a little squeeze as we strolled along, “I know you’re frigid, darling, but I didn’t know you were a fag hag.”
This term was incomprehensible to me.
“I don’t know what you mean, Sofia,” I said, puzzled.
She kept my arm in a painful grip.
“You always pretend to be such an innocent, Eithne, it doesn’t fool me, you know. Fag hags hang about with queers. You must be very relieved to know he’ll never want to get past first base.”
A number of things clicked into place in my head. I didn’t have to pretend to be an innocent, I really was one. For a moment, I felt annoyed and upset, but this was immediately superseded by a feeling of relief. There wasn’t anything wrong with me, John and I were just on different pathways.
However, I needed to deal with Sofia, and quickly too.
“Why do you always have to be so crude, Sofia?” I complained, shaking off her fingers. “John and I are just very good and very affectionate friends who like spending time together. Sex doesn’t come into it. What’s wrong with that?”
I tried to make my voice sound ordinary, despite the shock she had just given me. Sofia shot me a nasty look from under her Egyptian fringe.
“It’s not very normal is it? Don’t you worry what peo
ple will say?”
“Obviously not.”
I forced myself to smile at her. I sensed that she had hoped to upset me and was pleased I had thwarted her thus far.
“Perhaps you should be more broad minded yourself,” I suggested. That would show her.
She muttered something, and we walked in silence for a while. Luckily, Little Clarendon Street was not far away. When we got there, I said
“What was the favour, then?”
“What? Oh, that was just an excuse to talk to you about your ...... non relationship.”
Her eyes gleamed in the sunshine. I felt more than ever how malicious she was.
“Well then, lovely to see you Sofia. Thanks for all your concern,” I said in what I hoped was an irritating way. “I’m going back to St Hugh’s now.”
She stood there, considering me, and then another indecipherable look stole over her features.
“Goodbye then. By the way - Sam Simmons sends his regards.”
The name meant nothing to me, and I frowned.
“I don’t know who you mean,” I said.
She smiled, as though struck by a funny thought.
“Oh, don’t worry. You will.”
I walked slowly up the Woodstock Road. In some ways, I felt a fool. There were signs I should perhaps have picked up on, the odd puzzling remark he had made. But there again, I had not been aware of him paying any particular attention to other men.
I wondered what, if anything, I should say to him. There was an integrity in our dealings with one another which made me feel I would have to speak to him on the subject before long. How on earth would I begin?
When I got back to college, I knocked on Emily’s door. She was writing to Rupert, her long distance boyfriend, as usual.
“Honestly, I wish this antiquated place would install a few more phones,” she complained. “I promised to ring Rupert at midday and I couldn’t find a single free booth. It meant he was hanging around in a box in Edinburgh for ages.”
There were a small number of public phone booths dotted around the college buildings, but these were very popular during the cheap time periods of evenings and weekends, and there were frequent queues and arguments about their use amongst our fellow students.
“Yes, it’s rotten,” I agreed absently.
Emily looked up.
“Uh oh, I know that tone. What’s bothering you? Have you seen your Nick or something?”
“No - nothing like that.”
I sat down on the bed. “But I do feel a bit stupid.”
I told her about the scene with Sofia.
“Did you know John was queer?” I asked. “Have I been incredibly naive? I honestly never thought about it, I just enjoyed being with him.”
Emily frowned into the distance, and twiddled with her pen.
“Well - I did sometimes wonder why he was so willing not to get physical, from what you said. But you make such a striking couple. And Jo and I were pleased that you weren’t mooning around about Nick so much. What will you do? Are you at all in love with him?” she asked, in her direct way.
“No, I don’t think so, I’ve just enjoyed his company. But I feel I’ll have to say something now. Why is life so complicated?”
I was due to meet John again the next afternoon. He greeted me with his usual affectionate courtesy, and we strolled into the University Parks, enjoying the warm early summer sunshine.
Cricket balls thwacked on wood in the distance, and the river was merry with college punts, brightly dressed girls and dripping young men battling with punt poles.
“I love all this about England,” John said, as we paused on a bridge over the river. “I love this kind of pastoral idyll, I like the way it’s being going on for years, and will still be happening long after we’re not around. It’s not quite the same in America, somehow.”
“Mmmm.”
I must have sounded distracted. He swung round to gaze at me. Then he said,
“That’s a nasty little girl we met yesterday. I hope you’re not big buddies.”
“Far from it.”
I scuffed my feet, head down.
“Eithne?”
“Well - she told me she thought I was a - a fag hag.”
I thought suddenly it was best to spit it out. “I didn’t know what she meant - the term, I mean, she had to explain. I don’t like to think she’s going round saying that about us.”
I was conscious of a chiffchaff mocking us from a nearby tree. John looked along the path.
“There’s a bench there, let’s go sit down.”
We walked to the bench and sat; he took my hand in his. He looked sad and serious.
“Perhaps I haven’t been fair to you,” he said quietly. “It’s complicated, and I guess I hoped it might not arise - but -”
He told me that he had girlfriends as a teenager, but nothing felt quite right. How he had become aware that he had feelings for men, but was reluctant to accept this, knowing the shock it would cause his family.
“My Mom and Pop are the original strait-laced parents,” he said with a wry smile. “I sometimes think that they would deal better with my death than the fact that I’m one of those people who can only be mentioned under your breath.”
“Oh, John. That’s so sad.”
I felt really bad for him.
“I’m truly sorry if I’ve duped you into having stronger feelings for me than I thought you had. I’ve very much enjoyed your company, but I guess I’ve also felt you didn’t want to take things any further, so I thought we were safe.”
“We were - we are - you don’t have to worry about that.”
Now it was my turn for a little confession.
“Last year - last summer - I got dumped by a boy I was madly in love with. You don’t need to know the details, but it’s taking me a long time to get over it, even to feel anything physical for anyone else. Sofia says I’m frigid, and perhaps she’s right.”
John squeezed my hand.
“Oh, sweetie,” he murmured.
“I’ve enjoyed being with you, too. I hope we don’t have to stop seeing one another,” I said.
“Absolutely not. I think it’s great to have the sort of friendship we have.”
We sat in companiable silence. It was good to have things out in the open, but I was also a little regretful. John was so nice, so clever, mature and even tempered, so very handsome. I had been on the verge of letting my interest in him deepen, and now I would need to draw back.
Chapter 10
Term went on, and it was time for the performance of my play. We were very fortunate in the weather, and got good notices both from Cherwell and the local press. It was a lot of fun, and I looked forward to acting again after the summer vacation.
My parents travelled from Beresford to see a performance, and were delighted that their daughter was so happily integrated into university life. I think they had worried I might hide myself away, afraid of encountering Nick, and my new self-confidence made them very happy. It made me happy, too, although there were times when I realised that the past still had the power to make me uncomfortable and upset.
The weekend before the end of term, John and I were invited to a twenty-first lunch party in a private room in Christchurch. The other people there were mainly from the college - I suppose there were about sixteen of us sitting round a large circular table, everyone very smart in suits and posh frocks. I thought how much the Eithne of the summer before would have been surprised to see me holding my own in such company.
I sat between John and William, with Jo on William’s other side. Unfortunately, Sofia had also been invited, but I wasn’t afraid of her when my friends were there to protect me.
We started with champagne, and everyone got merry. Paul, whose party it was, made a very droll speech of welcome, and it promised to be a good “do”.
The first course was some sort of delicious summer soup, which I had never tasted before. We drank white wine, and then the main course of sal
mon arrived.
The room grew quieter as people tucked in to their salmon. Suddenly, Sofia addressed me loudly across the table.
“By the way, Eithne, I met a friend of yours recently.”
Her voice rose above the hum of casual conversation.
“Oh yes? Who was that?”
“Sam Simmons - you know, I mentioned him the other day.”
I still couldn’t place him.
“Sorry, Sofia, I don’t know who he is,” I said.
“Don’t you remember him? Prefect at St Peter’s in Beresford, he certainly knew all about you....”
A piece of salmon on my fork wavered on its way to my mouth. My heart beat faster, I knew what was coming.
“Just think” - Sofia‘s voice grew more insistent - “Who would have thought our dear little Eithne would turn out to have been a very naughty girl indeed at school.”
She leered over the table. “I hear your lover was the local Romeo, all the other girls and boys were very jealous.”
I felt John glance at my stricken face. The room had become very quiet.
“Shut up, Sofia,” he said quietly.
“Shame he dumped you, darling. Is that why you don’t like men - real men, that is?”
There was an awkward silence. My face felt hot, I was conscious of ripples of embarrassment round the room.
John rose from his seat. He walked round the table to where Sofia was sitting, took her by the elbow and walked her to the door. It shut heavily behind them.
I couldn’t say anything. The other guests picked up their cutlery, and started to eat again. Conversations resumed with an unnatural volume, as if to cover up something distasteful. I heard Jo say urgently to William, “Is she all right?”
I wasn’t all right. My appetite vanished, and after a moment or two, I got up and quietly left the room.
There was a window seat at the end of the corridor. I groped my way to it, and sat down; by now tears were rolling down my cheeks. I felt as if I’d been sullied by her insinuations, and I was embarrassed and uncomfortable.
From The Moment I Saw Him .... Page 7
