“Come along, H. We’ve got a roast dinner with our names on it.”
“I hope tha old bag’s got Yorkshire puddins and gravy. And a cheese board.” H spins in mid-air, chasing a spot of ice cream on his tail I failed to catch at the shop.
Giggling, I reassure him, “Knowing Harry, I doubt you’ll starve.”
After knocking on my door, Harry leads us out to her car, chatting away on the drive as she tells me about her day. She’s still steaming over Professor Green who failed to submit his paperwork on time.
“I wish you had been there to see his face, Nat. The bloke was a week late on submitting his student interview notes despite me chasing him multiple times. He seemed unfazed that he was holding up the entire recruitment process for his department.”
“There’s always one person who believes that deadlines are mere suggestions and don’t apply to them. Always one. But what you can do about it?” I ask. I don’t really expect an answer, but Harry is ready with a reply.
“I know exactly what I’ll do about him. Those high table seating arrangements don’t happen by accident. He’ll find himself next to Baron Wadsworth for the next few dinners.”
“Who’s Baron Wadsworth?”
“He’s a local celebrity. His wife attended St Margaret, so he took a shine to it. She passed away ten years ago, but he still asks to come to high table dinners. I guess he does it to avoid another dinner at home alone.”
Aww, bless him. “That doesn’t sound too bad. Poor man, I’m sure he wants some company.”
I’m caught by surprise when both Harry and H snicker.
“He definitely wants company. But he’s half-deaf and nearly a century old. As penance for holding up the department, Professor Green will spend the whole night shouting across the table while trying to keep the Baron from pinching the serving staff’s behinds.”
I can picture the scene in my head. A stodgy middle-aged professor seated by a white-haired elderly man. The dining hall is anything but quiet once it’s filled up with students. Between loudly repeating himself and running interference with the serving women, Professor Green will have a night to remember. Or should I say nightmare to remember? I’d feel bad for him, but it seems like just desserts after leaving prospective students waiting an extra week for word on their applications.
“I always get my revenge, Nat. Professor Green was well over the line; this lesson will be one he remembers.”
Harry’s home ends up being a cottage in a nearby village. Her husband is waiting out front when we pull into the drive. With bristle-brush grey hair, a checked shirt, rugged brown trousers, and leathery sun-kissed skin, he is the very picture of a typical Cotswold farmer.
He meets me halfway down the pathway, bright smile matching his twinkling green eyes. “Welcome, Nat. Pleased to get a chance to meet you. I’m Rob, Harry’s other half.”
“My worser half,” pipes up Harry from behind me.
He leads me into a cosy front room, a bright rug and glowing fireplace bringing warmth into the space. H makes himself at home on the sofa, while I wave away offers of seating. The walls are lined with portraits and paintings, hardly a clear space left.
“We travelled a lot when we were younger and I could get around more easily,” explains Rob, his weight held up by a beautifully carved wooden cane. “Harry fell in love with that seaside picture on our first trip. It became a bit of a hobby to collect some kind of art from every place we went.”
“You must have travelled loads to have collected these. I love how they’re all so different and yet work together.”
“Sheer luck, that is. Now if you want to see something that’s taken hours of work, come on through to the back.”
Rob leads me down a hallway and past the kitchen where Harry is already hard at work prepping potatoes for the oven. He pulls open a sliding glass door that leads into a small conservatory.
I gasp, “This is amazing! I didn’t think it was possible to get so much land here in Oxford!” Beyond the glass walls lies a perfectly sculpted garden fading into pastureland as far as my eye can see. The back patio is lined with raised flowerbeds run riot with bright colours. Pear and apple trees dot the lawn, their branches heavy with fruit.
Rob points out a small fence further back, barely visible from our position in the conservatory. “We only own to the edge of the garden there, but all the land beyond is protected for farming and river overrun. That’s why we chose this place. We knew we didn’t have to worry about losing our view to a new high-rise or housing development.”
Sighing with house envy, I realise I’ve seen some of these flowers before. “Your garden is gorgeous. Reminds me a bit of the college, if I’m honest.”
Rob preens, pleased with my comment. “It should, I was the master gardener there for years until I had to retire early. My knee got too bad to stand it, too many hours kneeling down weeding when I was young.”
Harry’s voice rings out before I can ask any further questions. “Come back into the kitchen, you two. I need someone to open the wine and pour us a glass while I finish up the cooking.”
We tuck into dinner, all four of us seated around the table. Even H has been offered a seat, complete with a Yorkshire pudding swimming in brown gravy. He and Lillian must have spent many evenings here.
In between bites, I pause long enough to thank my host. “This tastes delicious, Harry. I feel terrible, I hope I didn’t put you to too much trouble.”
“Don’t you worry a thing about it, Nat. I love having people over,” Harry reassures
