Allegra of T rinity, I don't know anyone at Balliol yet unfortunately.' He turned to Serena of Christ Church.
'Do you know anyone at Balliol, my dear? Blonde of course. About your height and weight.'
'I don't want to distract you but I was wondering about Jones, Eugenia's husband. Tiggie's father,' broke in Jemima before Serena of Christ Church could answer.
'Ah, that Jones. The ideal husband. In the sense that he was never there when she was wanted. Or so Eugenia once told me, in not quite so many witty words. He vanished before my day. No, I can't tell you anything about Jones. I've sometimes suspected Eugenia of inventing him. She's certainly been totally happy ever since in a so-called unhappy personal situation, as you are doubtless aware. Eugenia is one of those women who thrives on personal unhappiness. It leaves her plenty of time for work -after all, think how successful she is. And then Eleanor has all the domestic responsibilities. Which are considerable where Proffy is concerned, to say nothing of the butter mountain of children.'
So, when Jemima was swept away from the heat of The Punting Heaven to the moonlight of the river bank, she was for the first time aware that she was on the arm of the lover - the long-term lover according to Jamie - of Professor Eugenia Jones; as well as the abstracted husband of Eleanor, and still more abstracted father of innumerable Mossbanker children. By now she was curious enough about Eugenia Jones to make a mental resolve to interview her for the programme -difficult to see how she could be fitted into Golden Kids, other than as the mother of Tiggie Jones, which might not be the most tactful approach, but Jemima would think of something. Eugenia Jones herself had vanished discreetly after dinner before Jemima could have more than the briefest exchange with her. Nevertheless, her impression of a strong personality had been confirmed. Although their conversation in recollection was not particularly scintillating, at the time Eugenia Jones managed to invest slightly commonplace remarks with something of her own dignity.
One of Jemima's personal preoccupations, based on her own past, was with long-term extra-marital relationships, particularly from the woman's point of view - the other woman's point of view, that is, when the man was married and she was not. A serious programme on the subject would have been impossible so long as her painful long-drawn-out relationship with Tom Amyas MP prospered - if that was the right word, which on the whole it was not. And now? She still did not imagine that Professor Eugenia Jones would welcome an overture based on such a premise. All the same, the connection between her own success and that time early in her career at Megalith, when she fought down jealous thoughts of Tom's domestic routine with hard work, was not to be denied. Had she ever quite forgotten the pain of the moment when Tom was obliged to break it to her that Carrie, his wife, was pregnant? And yet Professor Jones had presumably had to endure that kind of scene with extraordinarily regularity in view of the amazing fertility of Mrs Mossbanker. Maybe Jamie was right, and it had allowed Eugenia Jones to get on with her own work uncluttered with domesticity.
Compared to Professor Eugenia Jones, Fanny Iverstone was not such a surprising guest. (And maybe Eugenia Jones was only here to have a glimpse of Proffy? However improbable the thought, Jemima knew from personal experience that nothing of that nature was ever totally improbable where the so-called 'other woman' was concerned.) Fanny was after all a young girl living in Oxford, and a not unattractive one, even if she was not quite in the same dazzling class as two ravishing girls introduced to Jemima merely as Tessa and Nessa. In the old days such girls would have been marked down as arriving from London; nowadays all the prettiest were probably at the University.
Saffron was rather uncharacteristically vague about who had
'Do you know anyone at Balliol, my dear? Blonde of course. About your height and weight.'
'I don't want to distract you but I was wondering about Jones, Eugenia's husband. Tiggie's father,' broke in Jemima before Serena of Christ Church could answer.
'Ah, that Jones. The ideal husband. In the sense that he was never there when she was wanted. Or so Eugenia once told me, in not quite so many witty words. He vanished before my day. No, I can't tell you anything about Jones. I've sometimes suspected Eugenia of inventing him. She's certainly been totally happy ever since in a so-called unhappy personal situation, as you are doubtless aware. Eugenia is one of those women who thrives on personal unhappiness. It leaves her plenty of time for work -after all, think how successful she is. And then Eleanor has all the domestic responsibilities. Which are considerable where Proffy is concerned, to say nothing of the butter mountain of children.'
So, when Jemima was swept away from the heat of The Punting Heaven to the moonlight of the river bank, she was for the first time aware that she was on the arm of the lover - the long-term lover according to Jamie - of Professor Eugenia Jones; as well as the abstracted husband of Eleanor, and still more abstracted father of innumerable Mossbanker children. By now she was curious enough about Eugenia Jones to make a mental resolve to interview her for the programme -difficult to see how she could be fitted into Golden Kids, other than as the mother of Tiggie Jones, which might not be the most tactful approach, but Jemima would think of something. Eugenia Jones herself had vanished discreetly after dinner before Jemima could have more than the briefest exchange with her. Nevertheless, her impression of a strong personality had been confirmed. Although their conversation in recollection was not particularly scintillating, at the time Eugenia Jones managed to invest slightly commonplace remarks with something of her own dignity.
One of Jemima's personal preoccupations, based on her own past, was with long-term extra-marital relationships, particularly from the woman's point of view - the other woman's point of view, that is, when the man was married and she was not. A serious programme on the subject would have been impossible so long as her painful long-drawn-out relationship with Tom Amyas MP prospered - if that was the right word, which on the whole it was not. And now? She still did not imagine that Professor Eugenia Jones would welcome an overture based on such a premise. All the same, the connection between her own success and that time early in her career at Megalith, when she fought down jealous thoughts of Tom's domestic routine with hard work, was not to be denied. Had she ever quite forgotten the pain of the moment when Tom was obliged to break it to her that Carrie, his wife, was pregnant? And yet Professor Jones had presumably had to endure that kind of scene with extraordinarily regularity in view of the amazing fertility of Mrs Mossbanker. Maybe Jamie was right, and it had allowed Eugenia Jones to get on with her own work uncluttered with domesticity.
Compared to Professor Eugenia Jones, Fanny Iverstone was not such a surprising guest. (And maybe Eugenia Jones was only here to have a glimpse of Proffy? However improbable the thought, Jemima knew from personal experience that nothing of that nature was ever totally improbable where the so-called 'other woman' was concerned.) Fanny was after all a young girl living in Oxford, and a not unattractive one, even if she was not quite in the same dazzling class as two ravishing girls introduced to Jemima merely as Tessa and Nessa. In the old days such girls would have been marked down as arriving from London; nowadays all the prettiest were probably at the University.
Saffron was rather uncharacteristically vague about who had
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