Scandalous. Tilly Bagshawe
to drop off. ’
For the first time all day, Will noticed that Sasha was upset. She’d pulled away and started walking faster up ahead of him.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘It’s you. You’re the matter.’ She turned around. Snowflakes began to settle on her shoulders. ‘You were really rude to my friends back there.’
‘Oh, come on, Sash. They weren’t exactly the most exciting bunch. Apart from the blonde.’ He smiled knowingly.
‘They’re my friends, Will. Do you know how bored I am with your friends? But at least I make an effort.’
Now it was Will’s turn to get angry. ‘An effort? Don’t talk to me about making an effort. At least I came up here to see you, which is more than you’ve been bothered to do all autumn.’
‘Well, why did you come? You don’t want to see me. All you want to do is have sex!’
‘So? What’s wrong with sex? Jesus, Sasha. If you want to go out with a fucking intellectual why don’t you go and marry Stephen bloody Hawking? It’s not me that’s changed. It’s you.’
That night they lay together in stony silence. Will fell asleep after about an hour, but Sasha lay awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort through her conflicting feelings. Is he right? Have I changed? She couldn’t bear the thought that she’d abandoned him. They’d been so happy last summer, in the woods at Tidebrook. Was this how Professor Dexter felt, lying in bed next to his mean, bipolar wife? A stranger in his own life?
The next morning they patched things up, on the surface anyway. Will’s train was at two, so they spent the morning walking along the snowy Backs and had a goodbye lunch at Wagamama.
‘How are your noodles?’
‘Fine, thanks. Would you like another Coke?’
‘Oh, I’m OK. Thanks.’
The politeness was awful.
By three o’clock, Sasha was back at St Michael’s. It was properly winter now, and the sky was already beginning to fade to a bluish twilight that made the snow-covered college look like a Christmas card. But Sasha couldn’t enjoy it. She’d blown things with Will. It was over. In a few weeks she’d be home in Sussex for the holidays, and he’d be out with some other girl. Carolina Fuller probably. She’d been after him for months. Slut. Would Sasha regret it once she got home? Here, at Cambridge, her life in Sussex felt like a dream. But what if it was the other way around? What if home and Will were her reality, and her undergraduate life was just a passing phase? What if she never found love again?
‘Penny for your thoughts?’
Theo, looking ruggedly gorgeous in a blue cable-knit sweater and jeans, emerged from his rooms on First Court.
‘It can’t be that bad, surely?’
Sasha shrugged. ‘I don’t know if it’s bad or not. I think I just broke up with my boyfriend.’
With immense difficulty, Theo suppressed a grin.
‘Poor Sasha. That’s hard. Break-ups are always hard.’
Sasha smiled. He’s so nice. Maybe it’s because he’s younger than other professors? Re can still remember what it’s like to be our age. ‘How come you’re in college on a Sunday, Professor Dexter? Isn’t it your day off?’
‘Sasha, if I have to tell you again I’m going to throttle you. It’s Theo, OK? You’re not in sixth form now.’
‘OK,’ Sasha giggled. ‘Sorry’
‘And yes, it is my day off, but to be perfectly honest with you I couldn’t face the silence at home.’ His handsome brow furrowed. T don’t really want to talk about it,’ he said stoically. ‘What about you? Where are you off to?’
‘The library,’ said Sasha. ‘Thank God for research, eh? You can really lose yourself. There’s nothing like astrophysical plasmas to take one’s mind off things, don’t you find?’
Theo laughed aloud. She was so earnest.
‘I tell you what. I’ve got a better idea. How about we cheer each other up? Have you ever seen the St Michael’s wine cellars?’
‘Of course not.’ St Michael’s College was renowned for having one of the best-stocked, most valuable wine cellars not just in Cambridge but in all of Europe. For obvious reasons, undergraduates were not allowed access to them. Only a very small number of fellows had keys, and even they had to sign in to a log book and follow certain, time-honoured security procedures.
‘Would you like to?’
Sasha nodded eagerly. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but her dad was a keen amateur wine buff. If she passed up this chance he’d never forgive her.
‘Good. Follow me.’
Theo led her over the bridge into Second Court. Pulling out a cluster of keys, he unlocked the heavy oak door to St Michael’s Formal Hall and pushed it open. Sasha had eaten in Hall a few times. Like Theo she loved the formality and tradition of it, getting dressed up in her gown and all that. But she’d never seen the place empty. Being here now, alone, she felt like Beauty exploring the Beast’s enchanted castle. It was illicit and exciting.
‘This way’
She followed Theo up the steps to the high table, where the Master and all the senior fellows sat. Sasha couldn’t resist running her fingers along the polished mahogany table as they walked its length, eventually coming to some steps that led down to a red velvet curtain. Behind the curtain was another door.
‘It’s like Oz!’ Sasha laughed.
‘Isn’t it?’ Theo unlocked the second door. A smell of damp stone, musty and ancient, hit Sasha in the face like a punch. Behind the door everything was dark. Theo fumbled for the light switch and a dim, thirty-watt bulb flickered to life, revealing a winding stone staircase. ‘Either that or Scooby Doo. When I first came down here I confidently expected a mummy to leap out of one of the alcoves and start chasing me.’
Sasha thought, He’s so much fun. Guiltily she realized that she’d forgotten about Will already. His train wouldn’t even have reached London yet.
Edging their way down the staircase, leaning on the stone wall for support, they finally emerged into a vaulted, redbrick crypt. Fumbling in his pocket for a lighter, Theo pulled it out and to Sasha’s delight reached up and lit an old-fashioned oil lamp bracketed to the wall. The effect was marvellously Dickensian. Hundreds, no, thousands of dusty bottles danced in the light of the flickering flame. Theo lit another lamp, then a third. In the middle of the room was a simple refectory table with two benches and a single, high-backed chair with a cushion at the head. It was laid with about twenty wine glasses, long stemmed and each topped with bowls almost as big as Sasha’s head, and an exquisite ivory corkscrew. At the back of the room was a rather tatty sofa and a rattan ottoman with a lid. Idly, Sasha wandered over and opened it. Inside were piles of neatly stacked blankets.
‘It can get pretty cold down here,’ Theo explained. ‘You should put one on. And get one out for me.’
He was writing something in a thick, leather-bound log book by the door. Signing his name with a flourish, he smiled and turned to Sasha.
‘Can I offer you a drink, Miss Miller?’
‘Oh, no, we can’t.’ She handed him his blanket. ‘Won’t you get in trouble?’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Theo. ‘The Master’s an old friend. Red or white?’
Sasha hesitated. This felt like the sort of thing you could get sent down for. On the other hand, if Professor Dexter said it was all right…what the hell. After the weekend she’d had she deserved a drink.
‘Red.’ Georgia’s