The Second Time I Saw You: The Oxford Blue Series #2 (17 page)

‘I don’t think Lauren was expecting you,’ says Scott mischievously.

‘I know, but she did invite me and I decided I needed a break from my work.’

‘She told me about your father. I’m sorry for your loss.’

‘Thank you.’ Alexander’s facade is in place, ultra polite, but he swiftly moves on. ‘So, when do you hear if you’ve made the final cut?’

Maisey’s laser guidance system has kicked in and she rustles up while Scott is explaining the selection process, her headdress fluttering madly. ‘Oh my God, you must be Lord Falconbury?’ She pronounces the name as ‘Falcon-berry’, like it’s an exotic variety of soft fruit.

‘Alexander will be perfectly acceptable.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

Oh, I so love watching Alexander pretend to be delighted to meet someone.

Maisey simpers. ‘I
told
Lauren to invite you but
she
said you were way too busy with your work. I was so sorry to hear about your father’s passing, by the way. I read his obituary in
The Times
. It’s always so tragic when a war hero is taken before his time.’

Ouch.

‘Was he a war hero?’ I ask, without thinking.

‘He was awarded the DSO but he’d have despised anyone who called him a hero.’

‘What’s the DSO?’ Maisey asks, fan fluttering, working the blushing señorita for all it’s worth.

‘Distinguished Service Order,’ says Scott unexpectedly. ‘The brother of one of the guys in the squad has one.’

‘Really? Who is he?’ Alexander’s interest is piqued and he’s clearly keen to move the focus to someone else.

Scott names a guy and a regiment and Alexander nods. ‘I think I know his cousin; we were at Sandhurst together.’

‘You guys are unbelievable,’ Maisey purrs, wide-eyed.

I smile. ‘They sure are.’

One of the waiters brings a tray and Maisey pipes up, ‘Lord Falconbury, can I offer you an hors d’oeuvre? A pulled-pork slider, perhaps?’

‘Or a stuffed jalapeño?’ Scott swipes one from the tray, and pops it whole into his mouth, with a look aimed squarely at me.

‘I’ve eaten, actually, but thanks for the offer,’ says Alexander.

A guy dressed in chaps and a Stetson hurries up to us. ‘Maisey, can you come to the bathrooms? Some guy smashed a glass and there’s blood all over the tiles. It looks like
Saw
in there.’

‘So? Can’t you deal with it? I’m
busy
.’

‘I would, but the Dean just phoned. He wants to
speak to the organizer about the noise levels. People are complaining and you know what he’s like.’

‘Oh, screw the Dean, he’s an asshole …’ She clamps her hand over her mouth and glances at Alexander in horror. ‘I am so sorry for the language, Lord Falconbury.’

‘Hadn’t you better go?’ I butt in. ‘It sounds serious.’

‘I guess so, but I’ll be back. Don’t you dare go anywhere.’ She bats Alexander on the arm with her fan just as Immy reappears.

‘Hello, boys.’

Alexander’s lips twist in amusement. He likes her, despite the fact I know he suspects she gossips about him behind his back, with me.

‘You look very well, Immy,’ says Scott.

Immy pulls a face. ‘I hope that doesn’t mean I look fat.’

He gives her a look up and down. ‘It means you look great. I’m American, I don’t do sarcasm.’

‘Oh, I think you could do everything, Scott. But your glass is empty – can I get you another Sundowner? Or maybe a Margarita?’

He pulls a face. ‘Unfortunately, I’m on the Virgin stuff for the time being.’

‘Never mind, I can be a Virgin too, if required.’

‘I had no idea about your father’s war record,’ I say when I’m alone with Alexander.

‘Why would you?’

‘I suppose it should have been obvious, yet he didn’t approve of you doing the same?’

‘Clearly not.’

I’m more convinced than ever now that General Hunt didn’t want to lose his son as well as his wife, but had no means of expressing that beyond demanding he run the estate. Then again, he could have been punishing Alexander for what happened to Lady Hunt. Oh, screw it, I really have no idea; I’m no psychiatrist.

‘I still can’t believe you came along tonight,’ I say.

‘I decided that keeping an eye on you was more important than work.’

‘You know what? I don’t think it’s me who needs watching.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I think we both may.’ We hear a giggle and spot Immy and Scott laughing over at the cocktail bar.

‘Is Immy still seeing Skandar?’ asks Alexander with a frown.

‘When has being in a relationship stopped anyone from flirting with someone else they fancy?’

His eyes darken but I couldn’t resist it, even though I know I’m stepping into dangerous territory.

‘I hope that’s not a hint. I’ve said that video was filmed before I’d even met you. How am I ever going to convince you of that?’

‘I don’t know but you’ll have to try very hard and very often, and even then, I may never believe you. Is that why you turned up here after all? Out of guilt? To make it up to me?’

He meets the challenge of my gaze without a flicker
of emotion. ‘A, I have absolutely nothing to be guilty about and B, I don’t need to make anything up to you. The person who sent the film should be the one apologizing and we don’t know who that is.’

‘No, we don’t, and maybe we never will, but I’ve got a little list and it starts with “V”.’

‘The reason I decided to come along,’ he says, ignoring my unsubtle hint, ‘is that I thought it might amuse you if I showed my face.’

‘Oh, it has.’

‘And now I’ve done my duty, I’d better take you home.’

‘What makes you think you’ve done your duty, Captain Hunt? I think you still have some considerable time to serve here. I know Maisey would just love it if you asked to be introduced to the rest of the USSoc committee.’

He grimaces. ‘Fuck. Do I absolutely have to?’

I smile sweetly. ‘Yes, you absolutely do.’

Whether Alexander’s motives for attending the party were for my sake or his, I’m glad he did turn up. Immy stayed on until Scott left to get an early night because of his training and we all walked home together.

After we’d made love on Saturday morning, Alexander had a call from Falconbury and had to go back for a few days. Whenever he leaves, I have mixed feelings, because I obviously love the sex and I love being with him, but I also know I should use the time and space for my studies and to have a good time. It’s now the following Friday and he’s still at Falconbury. Technically, he could be sent down for spending so much time away from Oxford but I don’t think any of the college authorities would dare do that in view of what’s happened to him. Even if he hadn’t lost his father, I still don’t think they’d dare, just because he’s Alexander.

I have to say that by this stage of the week, I’m itching to be back in his bed again and looking forward to seeing him tonight, as he’s promised he’ll be back.

I’ve just got back to my room after having lunch with some of my coursemates at the wholefoods cafe near the faculty and decide to Skype my mother, whose first reaction is to tell me it isn’t her birthday again. I’m not sure if
she’s being ironic but I make a mental note to keep in touch more often from now on. My parents still don’t know I’m seeing anyone, although I think they have their suspicions, and my lack of calls will only reinforce that impression. My moodiness over the Christmas vacation must have put them on their guard and my mother asked me more than once if I needed to ‘talk’.

By now, having attended Alexander’s father’s funeral, you would think I might have mentioned him to them, but I’m still wary. Things are so up and down between us, and my parents will consider things ‘significant’ if I confess I’m dating him and then I’ll
never
hear the last of it.

My mother’s parting comment to me was a hint to check my mail so I skip down to the Lodge, where my favourite young porter is on duty.

‘Any packages arrived for me?’ I ask.

‘As a matter of fact, I was going to call your room.’ He pulls a white cardboard box from behind a chair and lays it on top of the counter.

‘Thanks. I’m expecting something from home.’

‘It’s not from America. It was delivered by a courier while you were out.’

‘Oh, OK, thanks.’

The moment I shut the door of my room, I open the box and tear open the tissue paper inside.

Wow
!

It’s a dress and heels, and not just any dress or any heels but a full-length Alexander McQueen bustier
gown in a blue so pale and translucent it’s like the ice of a glacier. The silk chiffon material falls from the strapless bodice like a waterfall. It has to be from Alexander but … wow. Where on earth can he be taking me in a gown like this?

I lay it reverently on the bed while I hold up the shoes. Oh, the
shoes
.

They’re Manolo Blahniks, six-inch silver stiletto-heeled pumps. I think they may be the ones I saw in
Vogue
over the holidays. Whatever, they are more a work of art than footwear and it feels almost wrong to slip my feet into them, but of course I do. And of course they fit perfectly.

At the bottom of the box, I find a note that simply reads:

Wear this tonight. Be ready and waiting in the Lodge by 5 p.m. Alexander x

This ‘stealth date’ is typical Alexander, and the extravagant gifts, like the Cartier necklace he sent after we’d almost had sex for the first time. I returned it, of course, because I’d thought he was trying to buy me. It took a lot of persuading on his part to convince me otherwise and it was the convincing rather than the necklace that finally got me into his bed.

Now I know Alexander better, I believe these grand gestures aren’t about trying to buy me, they are how he shows his emotions, or rather how he avoids showing
them. It’s not a good thing, but I’m only human and the cryptic note has me intrigued. This may also be his way of making up for not seeing me as much as he’d like.

I slip out of my jeans and top and step into the dress. It’s not only the perfect fit for my frame, it’s also exactly the right length. So now I’m standing in my room, in full evening dress, with no idea where we’re going to.

It kills me to take off the outfit and try to settle down to some work, but I have to. Finally, at four, I give in and grab a lightning-fast shower and start to do my hair and make-up. I go for the simple low ponytail that’s worked for me before because there’s no time to get my hair done professionally. Luckily, Immy and I got French manis a couple of days ago at a spa in the centre of town. At the top of my closet, I find a Kate Spade silver clutch and a cashmere pashmina that my mother gave me for Christmas. If we’re going to the ballet at Covent Garden again, it’s going to be freezing, even stepping from the Bentley into the opera house.

I just make it into the Lodge at one minute past five but there’s no sign of Alexander. In most places, I’d attract attention dressed in evening wear at five in the afternoon, but this is Oxford and spotting people in tuxes and ballgowns is de rigueur. I am shivering, however, and the Hunts’ chauffeur, Brandon, standing outside by the Bentley is a welcome sight.

‘Good evening, Miss Cusack,’ he says, going ahead of me to open the door as I walk towards the car.

‘Hello, Brandon. Where are we going?’

‘Lord Falconbury said to tell you it’s a surprise.’

‘Can’t you even hint?’

‘Lord Falconbury said you’d ask me that.’

‘Oh, really, and what else did Lord Falconbury say?’

‘That I’d be fired if I told you anything.’

‘Really? He must have been joking.’

‘His lordship rarely jokes about things like this.’ Brandon looks genuinely astonished.

It’s all I can do to stop myself from laughing. ‘That figures. OK, I guess I’ll have to be patient. I wouldn’t want you to lose your job.’

He allows a smile to touch his lips. ‘Oh, there’s no danger of that, Miss Cusack. Would you care to get into the car? We’re on a tight schedule.’

‘Is that a hint as to where we’re going?’

He looks pissed now, and waves his hand in the direction of the door. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, please?’

Though I’m half tempted to tell him I’ve left something I need in my room just to see his face, I really shouldn’t tease him, especially when Alexander has obviously read him the riot act. I decide to obey and manage to get inside without putting my heel through the skirt. The Bentley purrs away from the kerb and twenty minutes later we’re in the middle of nowhere. I don’t recognize any of the place names in the twilight; they all have Middle Earth-type names like Piddlehinton-by-Tew and Footminster-on-Stour. The sun is just disappearing below the horizon as the car turns off the
main road and along a drive to a checkpoint in a wire fence.

Then I see the sign by the gate.

‘This is an airfield, Brandon.’

He glances in his mirror. ‘It looks that way, miss.’

‘Are we going to Scotland or some offshore island?’

‘I really couldn’t say, miss.’

My mind works overtime but whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t
this
. After a brief word with the security guy on the gate, Brandon drives on to the tarmac and stops the car beside a private Gulfstream jet. I know it’s a Gulfstream because I’ve waved my father off in one, but I’ve never been in one. Alexander emerges on to the steps as Brandon opens the door for me. The wind knifes through my silk dress as I climb out of the car and my wrap threatens to fly away, not to mention my gown, which pastes itself to my bare legs.

‘Here, let me help.’

Dashing forward, Alexander rescues my wrap before it sails off to wherever we’re headed.

‘You look out of this world,’ he murmurs, before shouting thanks to Brandon and taking my hand.

‘And you’re driving me crazy.’

‘In a good way?’

He looks so hot in his beautifully tailored tux he could scorch the tarmac all on his own, but I think he knows that so I’m not telling him.

‘I’ll let you know.’

Before the wind steals my wrap, Alexander helps me
up the steps. I’m intrigued – I love the mystery – but I’m also wary. There’s still a part of me I’ve held back since the sex tape. I may pretend that nothing has changed between us yet something
has
. No private jet or designer gown is going to alter that,
but
…

The howl and slice of the wind dies away instantly the moment I step inside the totally clichéd and totally wonderful haven of luxury that is the Gulfstream. It’s a big jet for a private charter, with enough headroom for even Alexander to stand up in. It has a dozen seats, all clad in hand-stitched creamy leather, including a triple sofa-style bank, which I suspect may be about to see some action.

‘Wow. James Bond meets Rihanna.’

‘So you approve?’

‘Who wouldn’t? Are you going to tell me where we’re going?’

‘Can you be patient a moment longer? I’m waiting for someone.’

‘Not really.’

A man appears at the cabin door and Alexander smiles. ‘Ah, that must be Passport Control.’

The guy steps inside, smiling. ‘Miss Cusack, Lord Falconbury, good evening.’

I’m about to protest that I don’t have my passport when Alexander pulls his and mine from a drawer. The guy glances at them, smiles again and says, ‘That’s fine. Have a good trip.’

As soon as he’s gone, and the cabin steps are secure, the wind noise is replaced by the heightened note of the engines. Slightly poleaxed – make that totally poleaxed – I’m grateful to sit down on the leather sofa. ‘Wow. I think I’m being kidnapped.’

Alexander sits next to me. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘That’ll be a first.’

‘You …’ The engine note rises and the pilot’s voice comes over the intercom. ‘Miss Cusack, Lord Falconbury, do you mind fastening your seat belts for takeoff? Once we get airborne and over this storm, you can relax because the weather looks fine all the way to Rome.’

My mouth opens in shock. ‘Did he just say what I
thought
he said?’

Alexander’s face is the picture of innocence. ‘What did you think he said?’

‘That we’re going to Rome?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘Rome as in Rome, Italy? How can I? I don’t have any luggage – or have you thought of that too?’

‘I packed a bag from the clothes you keep at my house, of course.’

‘Oh, of
course
.’

‘We’ll be back tomorrow, Saturday evening. I’ve booked a hotel and I have a few surprises in store for you. But first, this evening, we’re going to the Teatro
dell’Opera to see a ballet. Have you been to Italy before?’

‘My father took us to Milan for a few days, as part of one of his trade visits to Europe, but that was when I was very young. Actually, he did once plan a trip to Rome, when I was little, but we never made it.’ I’m still too shell-shocked to answer properly.

‘Why not?’

‘It was just before my father was attacked.’

My whole body tenses at the memory of that horrible time. My father had driven to the drugstore to get some medication for my mother, but he never even made it inside. Some maniac in the parking lot decided it would be fun to beat him over the head with a baseball bat. For a while, we thought Daddy might not make it, but he recovered, although the brain injury destroyed part of his sight. It didn’t stop him getting re-elected to the Senate.

‘Then I’m even happier that I can finally take you to Italy. I’d assumed you’d already been, so the fact you’re a virgin to the city is a bonus.’

‘How did you get my passport?’

He taps the side of his nose. ‘You really ought to be more careful, you know. The desk drawer isn’t the safest place to keep it. There are some bad people about.’

‘I agree. Some very bad people. Wicked, in fact.’

His eyes gleam. ‘I do hope so. Now buckle up so we can get on our way.’

He clips my belt in place, then his own, and kisses
me while we start to taxi to the runway. The plane accelerates and is up like a rocket, while I’m still processing the fact that I am going to Rome for the evening and that Alexander has gone to all this trouble to arrange it. He knows I adore ballet, and although he’s wealthy enough to have ‘people’ to organize a trip such as this, I’m genuinely touched at the attention to detail, even at a time when he’s weighed down with work and worries about the estate and his family. He must still be grieving the loss of his father, too. The thought of Emma creeps into the corner of my mind but I dismiss it. Alexander hasn’t mentioned her so I’ll run with the idea that ‘no news is good news’.

As the plane climbs steeply, the lights of the airfield are quickly obscured by clouds and the sky is a sharp indigo blue. Over to the west, the horizon is tinged with pink, which disappears very fast as we bank towards the south and east.

My ears pop and Alexander squeezes my hand. ‘OK?’

‘I still can’t believe you did this,’ I say, slowly coming to terms with the fact that I’m dressed for the red carpet and on my way to Italy.