The Proposal (21 page)

‘I did have a plan B,’ she said, trying to muster some dignity. The last thing she wanted was to look desperate in front of Edward. ‘I quite liked the sound of Christ Church Meadow, so I thought I might just anaesthetise myself with beer and sleep under a tree. I have the contents of my suitcase, so I wouldn’t freeze.’

‘I think, under the circumstances, you might prefer the Randolph,’ he said with a note of amusement in his voice.

‘What’s that?’

‘A hotel, just by the Ashmolean. We can walk there now and sort it out. You can get the train back to London in the morning.’

‘You’d do that?’

He smiled slowly.

‘What are cousins for?’

He took hold of her case and started walking, snaking through the back streets, pointing out various places as they passed: New College, Brasenose, Queen’s. He told her about all the famous people who had studied here: J. R. R. Tolkien, who had first read
The Lord of the Rings
to a group of like-minded scholars, ‘the Inklings’, in the Eagle and Child pub; and Lewis Carroll, who’d based his character Alice on the Dean of Christ Church’s daughter.

‘It’s all so beautiful, so magical,’ she sighed, thinking that she could listen to him all night. ‘And it’s so lucky it wasn’t bombed.’

‘That’s because Hitler wanted to make Oxford the new capital city if he conquered England. So he gave orders not to bomb it. In fact, rumour has it he wanted to live in Blenheim Palace, down the road.’

‘You know a lot.’

‘I’ve read a lot. The advantage of four years’ university study. You get to read a lot, learn a lot and never feel guilty about it, because that’s what we’re here to do.’

‘It sounds wonderful.’

‘Didn’t you apply?’

‘To university? No,’ she said, shaking her head quickly. ‘We couldn’t really afford it.’

‘There’re grants available. From the board of education, from charities.’

‘I don’t want to be anyone’s charity case, thank you.’

‘Did you do A levels?’

She nodded.

‘Then you could try and get a last-minute place to start next term. Were your grades decent?’

‘Two As and a B,’ she replied, almost apologetically.

‘Georgia, you could, you
should
apply to Oxford.’ He said it mischievously. As if he was goading her. ‘There are women’s colleges – St Hilda’s, LMH, Somerville. Personally I think you’d be more suited to one of the more spirited ones, like St Anne’s. I can see you on your bicycle, pedalling down to the Eagle and Child, reviving the Inklings . . .’

For a moment he made it sound almost tempting. To live in this beautiful city that had spawned so many great people and moments in history. But then she reminded herself of her situation.

‘Edward, how on earth can I go to Oxford?’

‘There’s an exam in November.’

‘I’ve done enough exams. I’ve been to finishing school. I just don’t think university is on the cards for me.’

‘So what is?’

‘A good marriage,’ she said softly.

He looked at her with surprise.

‘You’ve changed your tune.’

‘Well, things are different now.’

He frowned, urging her to speak.

‘Our farm burnt down two weeks ago. No one was hurt, but it took everything we had with it, including most of my mum’s paintings. She’s an artist, so it was a bit of a blow. All she’s got left are a few canvases in a lock-up unit in Hammersmith. The only options open to us are the streets or a good marriage.’

‘Not the only two, surely?’ said Edward, frowning.

‘Marriage is just a contract,’ she said dismissively. ‘Look, the Randolph,’ she pointed out, wanting to change the subject. ‘Is this the hotel you were talking about? It looks expensive . . .’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said touching her on the shoulder and leading her inside. She stood back as he booked a room and a bellboy disappeared upstairs with her case.

‘Edward, this is so kind of you. I have a job now, like you suggested. I have savings. I can repay you as soon as I get back to London.’

‘Why don’t you just buy me a drink?’

‘I’ve only got a shilling.’

‘Then I’ll sub you the difference.’ He smiled. ‘Come on. We might just catch last orders.’

Usually he had quite a serious face, but when he smiled, the corners of his dark grey eyes creased and a small dimple appeared in his lower right cheek. She wanted to tell him that it suited him, but was disturbed by the concierge, who handed over two room keys.

‘Have a pleasant stay at the Randolph, Mr and Mrs Carlyle.’

Georgia stifled a laugh and they both rushed back outside.

‘I’m your wife now?’ she giggled. ‘That’s a promotion from cousin.’

‘It was easier than explaining why a single young woman was coming in off the streets,’ he smiled. ‘The Randolph is frightfully respectable. By the way, here’s some money for your train fare tomorrow.’

They started to walk, and passed three or four pubs without going inside. Georgia stopped seeing the beauty of Oxford and started to listen to Edward, whose own life seemed to contain as much magic and wonder as the buildings around her. She couldn’t believe that in the last year alone he had packed in as much as she had done in a lifetime. He was twenty-two and in the fourth year of a classics degree, which had meant lots of long holidays filled with adventures. He had skied in Switzerland, safaried in Kenya and spent the previous summer driving from London to Constantinople. In return she told him all about Paris – the secret little places that she loved: the beehives in the Jardin du Luxembourg, the canals that fed into the Seine, the Forney library with its Rapunzel turrets and La Pagode Japanese-style movie house. And as they walked and talked, laughing and listening to each other, she felt for once as if she had something interesting to say, although occasionally she did lose her train of thought. When he laughed and that dimple appeared in his cheek; when he looked at her directly with his dark grey eyes; when she noticed that he really was very good-looking indeed.

‘Well, I wasn’t expecting this,’ he said as they walked over a bridge and past a beautiful college called Magdalen.

‘Expecting what?’

‘A good night coming from nowhere. I only slipped out for a packet of cigarettes.’

‘And two hours ago I was trapped at some terrible party.’

Edward nodded.

‘That’s what’s so scary and exciting about life. It can turn on a coin toss.’

‘Or a drunken decision.’

‘Or a person you meet on the street.’

She felt his hand brush against hers and it almost made her jump out of her skin. She had no idea if it was deliberate or accidental, whether he had just bumped into her or whether he had wanted to take hold of her hand. Whatever it was, it had set her heart racing and the air between them had turned thick with an energy that she had only noticed a few minutes earlier.

A car horn beeped behind them and made her jump.

‘Carlyle! Is that you?’

A large convertible slowed down and stopped in front of them. It seemed to be full of people – six or seven at least, all dressed in black tie, with the exception of two girls wearing layers and layers of tulle.

‘All right, boys. Where are you off to?’ He seemed to know them well, although there was a hesitancy in his voice that suggested he wasn’t exactly overjoyed to see them.

‘Tried to gatecrash the Pembroke Ball. No bloody luck, though,’ said a floppy-haired blond boy almost hanging out of the back seat. ‘Security is tighter than a Scotsman’s wallet. We’re heading over to Mark Headingly’s party instead. Only on Circus Street. Do you fancy it?’

‘Not tonight, Bradders,’ replied Edward, as Georgia breathed a silent sigh of relief.

‘Come on. It’s Saturday night and it’s literally just there. You can almost see it. In fact, bugger it, I’ll walk with you. Darling Julia’s been sitting on my leg.’

‘Oh blast, is that what it was?’ said another voice, to a chorus of guffaws.

There was the creak of a car door and three boys tumbled on to the pavement, spilling a bottle of champagne one of them was holding.

‘Seriously, it’s fine,’ protested Edward. ‘I was just about to turn in.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Bradders, taking a drag of his cigarette. ‘The night is young and we have a bootful of champagne. Who needs Pembroke?’ he roared.

Two of the young men scooped Edward into a chair lift, and as they started running down the street with him, Georgia felt a wave of disappointment so strong it made her lose her breath.

‘Ride with us,’ shouted the girl called Julia, and Georgia felt she had no option but to hop in the car for the thirty-second journey to Circus Street. They beeped Edward and Bradders as they zoomed past them, Georgia giving them a half-hearted thumbs-up sign.

By the time they had parked the car, Edward had caught up with them.

‘Hijacked. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ she said, pasting on her widest smile.

‘We can stay for five minutes and then leave.’

‘We can stay as long as you like,’ she replied, not knowing if he was just being polite and really wanted to be with his friends.

They stepped inside the house, which was heaving with people, some wearing ball gowns and black tie, others in more casual attire. Loud jazz was playing in the background, smoke obscured couples kissing in dark corners.

‘Who are these people?’ whispered Georgia.

‘Boys I knew from school. They’re all right usually. I just think everyone is determined to go out with one last blast before we graduate and settle down to responsibility.’

‘I think I owe you a drink,’ said Georgia, feeling nervous.

‘I’m sure there’s a supply of something horrible and home-brewed in the kitchen. Let’s go and find it.’

And then he took her hand. This time she knew it was for real, as his fingers knitted between hers, and she felt a heady blend of nerves and excitement course around her.

There was indeed home brew in the kitchen, and it was not good. Edward wondered if it was potato liquor, and they both decided they were not going to risk drinking it. Edward went to ask Bradders about the stash of champagne in the car boot whilst Georgia nipped to the loo. She looked in the tiny mirror in the bathroom under the stairs and tried to rearrange her hair. Her rouge and lipstick were still in her handbag on the bus, so she pinched her cheeks to try and give them some colour.

When she emerged, it felt as if she was stepping out of the house on a date. Yes, she had preferred it when it was just the two of them. Walking around the streets of Oxford had been extraordinary and magical, and yet it had been warm and familiar, as if she were playing out her own version of Estella’s night-in-Paris story she had heard so many times before.

But the party fizzed with another, intimate sort of promise, and the thought of retreating to a dark corner with Edward was one that thrilled her.

‘How on earth did you get Edward out on a Saturday night two weeks before Finals?’

Georgia turned and saw Julia inches away from her holding a cigarette.

‘Why? Where should he be?’

‘He’s been locked away for the last month revising, although I’ve no idea why. He’s going to walk a first and it’s not as if it matters. They’re keeping the top seat at the family bank warm for him even if he gets a gentleman’s degree.’

She laughed, her lips, stained purple by red wine, making her teeth look bright white and slightly frightening in the dark.

‘I haven’t seen you before. Which college are you at?’

‘I’m not.’

‘The secretarial college?’ she asked with faint disapproval.

‘I live in London.’

‘So what are you doing in Oxford?’

‘A long story.’ Georgia grinned. ‘I’m en route somewhere and Edward’s helping me get there.’

‘He’s adorable, isn’t he?’ replied Julia, blowing a smoke ring. ‘Oxford’s top catch. We all think that Annabel is the luckiest girl in the world.’

‘Annabel?’

‘His girlfriend, of course. Every boy at Oxford is a little bit in love with her too, so I suppose you could call them Oxford’s beautiful couple. No one is going to want to be photographed next to them at the Magdalen Commem ball, that’s for certain. I’ve already seen the dress she’s picked out for it, and she’s going to look divine.’

Georgia felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. He was handsome and smart and rich – of course he had a girlfriend. It certainly explained why he hadn’t been seen at any more debutante parties – the catch of Oxford had been caught. As Julia made her excuses and left, Georgia could see Edward threading through the crowd towards her. His eyes locked with hers, and as he smiled, the disappointment almost crushed her.

‘Champagne,’ he said triumphantly, raising the bottle.

‘I should go,’ said Georgia quickly. ‘It’s late. I don’t want the hotel to lock its doors.’

‘Then we could stay up all night.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. I have to get an early train.’

‘How about breakfast?’

She shook her head, determined that her expression shouldn’t betray her emotions.

‘I think the first train is very early.’

‘But you don’t have to catch that one. There’ll be plenty of others.’

‘I need to get back.’

‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll walk you back to the hotel.’

‘Really, there’s no need.’

‘It’s time I went back too.’

They took the short route back. Down the High Street and right at Cornmarket Street. She babbled about the many debutante parties that were coming up, and even threw Jacques – by now almost a forgotten name – into the conversation for good measure.

‘Good night, Mrs Carlyle,’ said Edward as they stood on the steps of the hotel.

‘Thanks again, Edward. You’re a real pal.’

They stood in silence for a second. He stretched out and touched her fingers, but she flinched away.

‘Good night,’ she said quickly, and ran inside the hotel, and when she turned back to see where he was, he had gone.