get some new clothes, but her grant never went far enough.
She tried on a belt, then took it off because it emphasized her spare tyre. She really shouldn’t have eaten all those baked beans; perhaps it was being on the pill for a week that made her feel so fat. The red tights had a ladder, but her black boots covered that. Her duffle coat had two buttons missing. The snow, like life, had caught her on the hop.
Aware that she might want to brood over Geoffrey’s letter later, she put it with her essay in a blue folder. Outside the house, she caught her breath as the frozen wind cut through her like a knife. Her bicycle, its red paint peeling, lay against the ivied wall. The snow, now four inches deep, turned yellow where a dog had lifted its leg on her front wheel.
As she pedalled past the park snow was settling in the dead leaves and hollows of the chestnut trees. In the churchyard the stone angels had white mobcaps on their heads. The frozen puddles didn’t crack beneath her bicycle wheels. As she headed towards the Banbury Road, the snow stepped up the pace, exploding over her in rockets, filling up her spectacles, blinding her.
Grimly battling on, she thought about Geoffrey’s letter. So pleased you’re finally on the pill. Oh dear, but that was next week. Who knew but the world might end tonight? She turned a corner. Suddenly a dark blue car came out of a side road, swerved frantically, made a dizzy glide across the road, caught the wheel of her bicycle, and the next moment she was flying through the air on to the grass verge, her glasses knocked off, her possessions flying. The car skidded to a halt. The driver jumped out. He had dark gold hair, and his face was as white as the snow.
‘Christ I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have looked. Are you OK?’
Harriet sat on the verge, trembling and wondering if she was. The base of her spine felt agonizingly jolted. Her skirt was rucked up; her long red-stockinged legs in their black boots sprawled out like a colt; dark hair tumbled over her face.
‘I’m all right,’ she gasped. ‘It was my fault. I should have rubbed the snow off my glasses. I couldn’t see where I was going. I’m most terribly sorry.’
The words came out in a rush. Often, when she spoke, she had to hang on to a word to steady herself.
‘No-one usually comes down this road,’ he said.
‘It’s a short cut. I was going to a tutorial. Oh God, where are my glasses?’
‘Here they are.’ He picked them up and polished them for her. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You’ve gone awfully white. Can you walk?’
He took her hands and pulled her gently to her feet, and, when she swayed slightly, put his arm round her. Harriet put on her spectacles and, looking at him, suddenly realized it was Simon Villiers and blushed scarlet.
‘Where’s my essay?’ she muttered.
He retrieved it from a hollow in the verge.
‘Pity you had it in a folder! The ink would have run in the snow. Been a marvellous excuse not to hand it in. Look, I really think I’d better take you to hospital.’
‘I’m all right. I must go to my tutorial.’
Simon looked at her buckled bicycle. ‘Well you won’t get there on that,’ he said ruefully. ‘I’ll get the garage to come and pick it up.’
There were flakes of snow gathering in his blond hair.
‘What you need is a slug of brandy. I’ve got some in my digs. Come back, and I’ll ring up and say you’re ill.’
He helped her into his car.
‘You don’t have to bother, really you don’t.’
‘Shut up,’ he said gently. ‘Women are always being silly about inessentials.’
Inside the car he lit a cigarette and gave it to her. Harriet thought this was such a smooth gesture, she hadn’t the heart to tell him she hardly smoked. The cigarette was very strong and made her cough. The heat was turned up overpoweringly, so was the wireless.
‘Do you really have to go to this tutorial?’ he asked, when he’d finally got the car out of the snow.
She nodded.
‘Where is it?’
‘Hallerton Street, № 44.’
‘Theo Dutton?’
‘You know him?’
‘He tutored me my first year, until he realized I was past redemption. Not surprised he snapped you up; he always corners the pretty ones.’
He sat lazily beside her, driving with one hand. He was wearing dark grey trousers, a black shirt, and a pale blue velvet coat like Peter Rabbit. His eyes ran over her in an amused, speculative, slightly condescending way.
‘I wish you’d take your glasses off again,’ he said. ‘Your eyes are far too sexy to be hidden. I must say it’s a most unorthodox way to meet, but I’m very glad we have. What college are you at?’
‘St Hilda’s.’
She noticed he didn’t introduce himself. He assumed rightly that everyone knew who he was.
‘Why haven’t we met before?’
‘I’ve been working.’
‘Theo keeping you to the grindstone?’
The car skidded slightly. Harriet jumped out of her skin. Simon laughed.
‘Better keep my eyes on the road. Mind if I stop for petrol?’
As he got out to speak to the petrol pump attendant, Harriet surreptitiously turned the driving mirror and had a look at herself. Not too bad; thank God she’d washed her hair.
She couldn’t believe it. Simon Villiers picking her up. She stole a quick glance at him, marvelling at the blond hair falling on the collar, the delicate aquiline features, the slightly cruel, beautifully shaped mouth, and tawny complexion without any trace of pink in it. Most amazing of all were his eyes, sleepy, and bluey-green with the dark lashes so thick and close together that they gave the illusion he was wearing eye-liner.
She was so dazed she forgot to put the mirror back and Simon nearly backed into a passing car.
‘This journey’s becoming pure Marx Brothers,’ he said, replacing the mirror.
She didn’t look at him, feeling that beastly blush staining her cheeks again.
‘Come and have a drink after your tutorial.’
‘Oh I don’t. . I mean you don’t have. .’
‘There’ll be other people there,’ he said.
Oh God, she knew what they’d be like, models and actresses down from London. He read her thoughts.
‘No-one very alarming. I’ll look after you. Please,’ his voice dropped, caressing and husky, ‘let me make some reparation for nearly killing you.’
They drew up outside Theo’s house.
‘You’ll come.’
‘Yes, I’d like to.’
‘Don’t mention me to Theo. He’ll give me a lousy press.’
As he drove off in a flurry of snow, she realized once again that he’d automatically assumed she knew where he lived.
Chapter Two
As she walked up the snowy path, her feet made no sound. The wonderful softening of the snow gave her a feeling of great irresponsibility, as though her reactions were blurred by alcohol. Hoods of white lay over the yew trees and turned the lavender bushes into white hedgehogs. Snakes of snow lay on the branches of the monkey puzzle.
