A Quiver Full of Arrows
Page 14
The first bus arrived at five past seven that Saturday morning and took Philippa and William back to Oxford. Philippa went to her rooms for a long hot bath while William filled a petrol can and returned to his deserted MG. Having completed the task, he drove straight to Somerville and once again asked if he could see Miss Jameson. She came down a few minutes later.
“What, you again?” she said. “Am I not in enough trouble already?”
“Why so?”
“Because I was out after midnight, unaccompanied.”
“You were accompanied.”
“Yes, and that’s what’s worrying them.”
“Did you tell them we spent the night together?”
“No, I did not. I don’t mind our contemporaries thinking I’m promiscuous, but I have strong objections to their believing that I have no taste. Now kindly go away, as I am contemplating the horror of your winning the Charles Oldham and my having to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“You know I’m bound to win, so why don’t you come live with me now?”
“I realize that it has become fashionable to sleep with just anyone nowadays, William, but if this is to be my last weekend of freedom I intend to savor it, especially as I may have to consider committing suicide.”
“I love you.”
“For the last time, William, go away. And if you haven’t won the Charles Oldham don’t ever show your face in Somerville again.”
William left, desperate to know the result of the prize essay competition. Had he realized how much Philippa wanted him to win, he might have slept that night.
On Monday morning they both arrived early in the Examination Schools and stood waiting impatiently without speaking to each other, jostled by the other undergraduates of their year who had also been entered for the prize. On the stroke of ten the chairman of the examiners, in full academic dress, walking at tortoise-like pace, arrived in the great hall and with a considerable pretense at indifference pinned a notice to the board. All the undergraduates who had entered for the prize rushed forward except for William and Philippa who stood alone, aware that it was now too late to influence a result they were both dreading.
A girl shot out from the melee around the notice board and ran over to Philippa.
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“Well done, Phil. You’ve won.”
Tears came to Philippa’s eyes as she turned toward William.
“May I add my congratulations,” he said quickly. “You obviously deserved the prize.”
“I wanted to say something to you on Saturday.”
“You did, you said if I lost I must never show my face in Somerville again.”
“No, I wanted to say: I do love nothing in the world so well as you; is not that strange?”
He looked at her silently for a long moment. It was impossible to improve upon Beatrice’s reply.
“As strange as the thing I know not,” he said softly.
A college friend slapped him on the shoulder, took his hand and shook it vigorously. Proxime accessit was obviously impressive in some people’s eyes, if not in William’s.
“Well done, William.”
“Second place is not worthy of praise,” said William disdainfully.
“But you won, Billy boy.”
Philippa and William stared at each other.
“What do you mean?” said William.