Third Time Lucky (23 page)

‘Guess you haven’t.’ Together, we walk out of the house and down the street, Alexander holding on to me while I tease him about the ridiculously old-fashioned nature of it all. Because, if I don’t laugh at him – and myself – I have a horrible feeling I’m going to cry.

I’ve
been to some events in the past year: to a masked ball, a hunt ball – a
Hunt
hunt ball, no less – and even to the opera in Rome, but tonight threatens to knock them all out of the park. There’s something magical – even fairytale – about Wyckham tonight, and I don’t think it’s my wistful mood that’s casting the place in such a mellow light.

When we walk into the Front Quad after handing over our tickets and collecting our wristbands, the sun is still bright though the sky is turning a deeper, mellower blue. A string quartet has set up on the hallowed turf of the quad, playing classical themes, and from the Back Quad, I can already hear one of the bands playing.

Immy and Scott are waiting for us.

She is stunning in a shell-pink silk dress with a plunging neckline that makes the most of her curves, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look better. The fact that she’s on Scott’s arm might have something to do with her glow. He looks as if he was born to wear a tux and the perfect cut of it shows off his broad shoulders to perfection.

Immy and Scott both kiss me when we arrive, and
after a kiss for Immy, Alexander even manages a perfectly civil greeting to Scott.

Immy bobs about excitedly. ‘So, shall we collect our champagne? I don’t know about you, but I am soooo ready to party!’

Yes, I’m ready to party too, and we dive into the crowds of students, admiring dresses, drinking champagne, marvelling at the Ferris wheel that’s somehow been fitted into the Warden’s Garden. Every corner of Wyckham has been turned over to hedonistic pleasure, with bands playing in a marquee, Pimm’s bars in the gardens, a comedy club in the Buttery and a cabaret in the JCR. The sight of fire-eaters and jugglers strolling around the quads is surreal … and I can’t quite shake off the feeling of disorientation, as if I have stepped into a parallel world that’s almost Wyckham, yet slightly offset from the real one.

After dinner, we listen to one of the bands and then head for the mini fairground in the Warden’s Garden. We ride the Ferris wheel, then climb into bumper cars. It turns into a full-scale battle, of course, with Alexander and Scott fighting it out with Oscar and a couple of the rowers before Immy and I take our turn at the wheel.

Alexander swears under his breath as we smack into Immy’s car. ‘Lauren, I am so glad I have never let you behind the wheel of the Range Rover.’

‘You should see her in the Cayenne … Didn’t you get a ticket for speeding last year, Lauren?’ Scott shouts.

Alexander
raises his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t know you were a speed merchant.’

I call back, ‘I’m not and I was barely over the limit when I got that ticket.’

We drag the guys off the bumper cars and weave our way through the fairground. Immy lets out a squeal of delight.

‘Oh, that looks fun!’

We all watch as students – it’s exclusively male students – take it in turns to ride a bucking bronco that’s set up on the Warden’s lawn. The attendant stands by, looking bored while black-tied students swagger up. Most of them last about five seconds before they’re dumped on to the foam matting.

‘I’d love a go,’ says Immy longingly.

‘Why don’t you?’ I urge.

‘In this dress? You have to be kidding … But you could,’ she says to Scott. ‘You’re American.’

Scott laughs. ‘And that means I can ride a bronco?’

‘I’m sure you could manage that particular mount,’ Immy says, walking her fingers up his tux sleeve.

‘Go on, Scott,’ I say.

He winces as another guest bites the dust.

‘OK, but don’t expect much. I’ve never done this before.’

Immy holds his jacket while he climbs on to the bronco’s back and holds on to the rope.

‘Don’t cheat! One hand only!’ Immy shouts.

Alexander drinks champagne from the bottle and
tightens his arm around my back. I have to admit that just watching the ‘bull’ bucking up and down and round and round makes me feel faintly dizzy, especially on top of the dinner and champagne, but Scott is clinging on manfully. The digital display next to the bronco ticks past twenty seconds, and then thirty, as the bull’s speed increases and the angle of its neck grows steeper.

‘Ride ’em, cowboy!’ Immy whoops and people stand by, watching with admiring glances.

‘Jeez!’ Scott almost slides off the bull but recovers and stays on as the clock ticks over a minute.

The bull’s rotations grow even wilder and Scott’s bucking up and down like he’s on a stormy sea, then in a flash he’s on the crash mat, cursing cheerfully.

‘Not bad,’ says the bronco attendant, even sounding faintly impressed. ‘Best so far tonight.’

Immy grabs his arm as he climbs off the crash mat. ‘Well done, Scott You must have thighs of steel …’

He laughs. ‘They feel more like silly putty after that. You fancy a turn, Alex? Lauren tells me you’re a great horseman.’

Alexander smiles. ‘She’s exaggerated, I’m sure, and this isn’t quite the sort of mount I’m used to, but why not?’

Immy exchanges glances with me and I brace myself for another battle, this time between Scott and Alexander.

‘Do you mind?’ he says, handing me his mess jacket.

He climbs on to the bronco and holds the reins, his
thighs gripping the sides of the bull, and he’s off. One arm back in the air, rodeo style, the other gripping the rope as the bull starts its crazy, mesmerizing, dance. Twenty seconds pass and Alexander looks as born to the bronco as he is to his own hunter. Thirty … forty …

Scott gives a low whistle. ‘Lookin’ good … very good.’

The bull dips deeper and the rotations speed up. The muscles in Alexander’s thighs tauten and he starts to use his free arm to balance. Fifty seconds, a minute … a few more seconds and he’ll pass Scott’s total.

‘Way to go!’ I shout.

Alexander glances over at me – and the next moment hits the mats with a thump.

The attendant clicks his tongue loudly and shakes his head. ‘Shame. One second short of your mate’s time.’

Alexander is still lying on the mat; at first I think he’s just taking a moment to catch his breath but then I see him struggle to get up. I hurry over, followed by Scott.

‘Hey, are you OK?’ Scott asks as Alexander turns over and grimaces.

‘Fine.’

Scott stands by. He doesn’t offer to help but there’s concern in his eyes.

‘Is it your arm?’ I ask.

Alexander gets to his feet and manages to clamber off the mat on to the lawn ‘Don’t fuss,’ he snaps.

‘I’m not fussing. I only asked what’s wrong!’

Ignoring
me, he offers his injured arm and hand to Scott. ‘Congratulations. You won.’

I see Scott hesitate for a second before grasping his hand. ‘Thanks.’

Alexander breaks into a grin. ‘Champagne’s on me.’

While we walk to the champagne bar, Alexander talks to Scott, and I follow with Immy.

‘Is Alexander OK?’ she asks. ‘I think he landed on his bad arm.’

I’m still pissed at Alexander’s curt response so I shrug. ‘Who knows? Who cares?’

‘
You
do.’

We reach the bar. ‘Yes, I do, I guess, but Alexander won’t thank me for it. He’d rather die than let Scott see that he’s hurt himself.’

‘They’re hopeless, men, sometimes,’ she says.

‘Tell me about it.’

We find a table and shortly afterwords Alexander returns from the bar with a bottle of Krug, while Scott carries the glasses. All trace of the pain he felt has been erased, yet I know he was hurt.

The chapel clock chimes midnight and we drift around the ball, checking in on the headline act, attempting a waltz to a dance band in the Great Hall. Alexander and Scott go off to try their hand on the roulette table in the ‘casino’ set up in the seminar room, while Immy and I spend an ill-advised few minutes on a bouncy castle until another girl tears her ballgown. We cool down with a mojito-flavoured Popsicle on the
‘beach’ area, and it tastes pretty good, considering it’s well past one a.m. Wanting to avoid the crowds in the Main Quad, I visit the bathrooms underneath the chaplain’s staircase.

I walk outside and take a few breaths, trying to forget that the night will soon be over. And that I can’t put off my conversation with Alexander for ever. It’s quiet here in the far corner of the gardens; the jazz group that was here earlier in the evening has packed up and gone, although the temporary stage is still in place, and there are plastic bags of trash tied up and waiting to be collected in the morning. I think I’m the only one here.

The scent of honeysuckle fills my nostrils. Wyckham is just perfect.

I turn to leave, but then I hear a rustling sound from the far side of the Chapel Garden. A leg appears, and the dark tails of a coat. The hedge is in shadow but there’s enough light to see the gatecrasher as he struggles to balance on the narrow boughs of a creeper, huffing and cursing.
Hey, he should have paid
, I think, but the ball’s almost over anyway and I’m not going to turn him in, and besides, he’s lucky he hasn’t broken his neck. That wall is eight feet high and if he slips – ouch – I don’t want to be the one to pick up the pieces. I think I’ll tiptoe quietly away …

He glances around, checking there’s no one watching, and I revise my opinion about him falling.

‘Good morning, Rupert!’

‘What the … Jesus! Arggh!’

I
don’t know what actually happened, if my shout caused him to fall, but there’s a ripping sound as the creeper parts company with the wall and then he’s falling backwards and thumping on to the shrubbery below.

‘Owww! My shitting ankle!’

I stroll over to where he’s sprawled in the soil between a lilac bush and a tea rose. His tail coat is covered in dirt, he has a twig in his hair and there’s a scratch down one side of his face that’s oozing blood.

‘Wouldn’t it have been easier to buy a ticket?’

‘I did have a fucking ticket. That tosser the Dean banned me!’

I already know this but I act innocent. ‘Oh dear.’

He tries to push himself out of the border and grimaces in pain. ‘I think you’ve broken my ankle.’

‘Me? I was nowhere near you.’

‘You shouted and that made me lose my balance. You did it on purpose!’ He crawls out of the bushes, groaning.

I stand a few yards away. ‘You once said you’d like to be on your knees in front me, Rupes. Now you are, I actually rather like it.’

He glares up at me, his face screwed up in pain and fury. ‘I suppose you’re going to run straight to security and have me thrown out?’

‘You know what? I really can’t be bothered. Besides, I’ve got to get back to my friends. They’ll be wondering where I am. Have fun trying to climb out of here again.’

He
tries to stand and collapses with a curse. ‘I really do think I’ve broken something. Lauren, please, I might need an ambulance.’

‘You don’t say? How dreadful.’ I turn to walk away.

‘Can you at least fetch Oscar or Immy for me? I’m going to need help getting out of here.’

‘Sorry, you’re on your own.’ Yes, I know I’m being a grade-A bitch but he deserves it after the misery he’s put me and Alexander – not to mention a whole load of other people – through over the past year. ‘You’ll live.’

He stares at me, his grimace of pain suddenly replaced by a new expression. ‘That’s a very nice necklace you’re wearing tonight.’

I touch the choker without even meaning to.

‘Alexander gave it to you, didn’t he?’

He says this line with heavy irony, and I know he’s going to use the gift to score points off me. ‘It hardly takes a rocket scientist to work that out, but yes, as a matter of fact, he did. So what?’ I say.

‘It’s very beautiful. Tiffany, isn’t it?’

I’m momentarily puzzled by Rupert’s knowledge of jewellery but I shrug. ‘I don’t know; he just gave it to me.’

His piggy little eyes hold mine. ‘Then Alexander really must think a lot of you. An awful lot.’

‘It’s the thought that counts. I know it must have cost a lot of money but that’s not why I like it, or why
he gave it to me. You really have no idea what makes me tick, or Alexander. I’m going.’

‘You do know it was his mother’s?’

My stomach flutters and I know I’m not quick enough with my response to fool him. ‘So?’

‘He didn’t tell you that, did he?’

‘Of course he did.’

He sneers. ‘Liar.’

‘So what if it was Lady Hunt’s?’

‘So you only have it on loan, just like you only have Alexander on loan. That necklace is a family heirloom. I can remember my Aunt Grace wearing it to parties; in fact, she lent it to my mother once for some do at the Palace. Alexander must have been truly taken in by you if he’s given it to you, but I’m surprised he hasn’t saved it for Emma. I thought I heard my father say all the jewellery is held in trust for her.’

The choker suddenly feels tighter around my neck, though I know that’s purely psychological.

‘That’s rubbish. Alexander would never have given it to me if his mother had wanted to Emma to have it.’

He whistles. ‘Then congratulations on finally getting your man. Even Valentina never got so much as a look at it, and I know how much she wanted to.’

‘Alexander is not “my man”, I’m not his woman and you are being an idiot – as usual. I’m not listening to another word.’

Even though I’ve turned my back on him, I can
picture his triumphant, mocking face and no matter how much I pretend not to care, my heart pounds at his revelation about the necklace. Instinctively, I know that what Rupert says about the necklace being Lady Hunt’s is true though I’m not sure what bothers me more, the fact that the choker
was
intended for Emma, or the possible meaning of such a ‘significant’ gift from Alexander. I still haven’t even told him I’ve got a job interview in the States.

‘I’ll look forward to the wedding invitation!’ Rupert calls after me. ‘Will the ceremony be a marquee at your folks’ or will you just mosey on off to Vegas?’

I raise my middle finger behind my back and hurry across the lawn, only to be intercepted by Professor Rafe, the Dean and a couple of uniformed security guys hurrying towards me.

‘Is that Mr de Courcey I can see, making the flower beds look untidy?’