‘Marriage is just a contract,’ she said dismissively. ‘Look, the Randolph,’ she pointed out, wanting to change the subject. ‘Is this the hotel you were talking about? It looks expensive . . .’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said touching her on the shoulder and leading her inside. She stood back as he booked a room and a bellboy disappeared upstairs with her case.
‘Edward, this is so kind of you. I have a job now, like you suggested. I have savings. I can repay you as soon as I get back to London.’
‘Why don’t you just buy me a drink?’
‘I’ve only got a shilling.’
‘Then I’ll sub you the difference.’ He smiled. ‘Come on. We might just catch last orders.’
Usually he had quite a serious face, but when he smiled, the corners of his dark grey eyes creased and a small dimple appeared in his lower right cheek. She wanted to tell him that it suited him, but was disturbed by the concierge, who handed over two room keys.
‘Have a pleasant stay at the Randolph, Mr and Mrs Carlyle.’
Georgia stifled a laugh and they both rushed back outside.
‘I’m your wife now?’ she giggled. ‘That’s a promotion from cousin.’
‘It was easier than explaining why a single young woman was coming in off the streets,’ he smiled. ‘The Randolph is frightfully respectable. By the way, here’s some money for your train fare tomorrow.’
They started to walk, and passed three or four pubs without going inside. Georgia stopped seeing the beauty of Oxford and started to listen to Edward, whose own life seemed to contain as much magic and wonder as the buildings around her. She couldn’t believe that in the last year alone he had packed in as much as she had done in a lifetime. He was twenty-two and in the fourth year of a classics degree, which had meant lots of long holidays filled with adventures. He had skied in Switzerland, safaried in Kenya and spent the previous summer driving from London to Constantinople. In return she told him all about Paris – the secret little places that she loved: the beehives in the Jardin du Luxembourg, the canals that fed into the Seine, the Forney library with its Rapunzel turrets and La Pagode Japanese-style movie house. And as they walked and talked, laughing and listening to each other, she felt for once as if she had something interesting to say, although occasionally she did lose her train of thought. When he laughed and that dimple appeared in his cheek; when he looked at her directly with his dark grey eyes; when she noticed that he really was very good-looking indeed.
‘Well, I wasn’t expecting this,’ he said as they walked over a bridge and past a beautiful college called Magdalen.
‘Expecting what?’
‘A good night coming from nowhere. I only slipped out for a packet of cigarettes.’
‘And two hours ago I was trapped at some terrible party.’
Edward nodded.
‘That’s what’s so scary and exciting about life. It can turn on a coin toss.’
‘Or a drunken decision.’
‘Or a person you meet on the street.’
She felt his hand brush against hers and it almost made her jump out of her skin. She had no idea if it was deliberate or accidental, whether he had just bumped into her or whether he had wanted to take hold of her hand. Whatever it was, it had set her heart racing and the air between them had turned thick with an energy that she had only noticed a few minutes earlier.
A car horn beeped behind them and made her jump.
‘Carlyle! Is that you?’
A large convertible slowed down and stopped in front of them. It seemed to be full of people – six or seven at least, all dressed in black tie, with the exception of two girls wearing layers and layers of tulle.
‘All right, boys. Where are you off to?’ He seemed to know them well, although there was a hesitancy in his voice that suggested he wasn’t exactly overjoyed to see them.
‘Tried to gatecrash the Pembroke Ball. No bloody luck, though,’ said a floppy-haired blond boy almost hanging out of the back seat. ‘Security is tighter than a Scotsman’s wallet. We’re heading over to Mark Headingly’s party instead. Only on Circus Street. Do you fancy it?’
‘Not tonight, Bradders,’ replied Edward, as Georgia breathed a silent sigh of relief.
‘Come on. It’s Saturday night and it’s literally just there. You can almost see it. In fact, bugger it, I’ll walk with you. Darling Julia’s been sitting on my leg.’
‘Oh blast, is that what it was?’ said another voice, to a chorus of guffaws.
There was the creak of a car door and three boys tumbled on to the pavement, spilling a bottle of champagne one of them was holding.