team the next time he spoke at a debate, so I wasn’t at all surprised to get a note in my pigeonhole inviting me to lunch at a restaurant called The Perch on the Saturday of my fourth week. I’d bought a bike by then, and cycled out, mildly intrigued by his request but no more. Even when I discovered that he was alone I thought nothing of it, and accepted his invitation to join him at a table in the bay of a window overlooking the river. He had ordered a bottle of white wine, and gave an airy flourish of his fingers towards the ice bucket as he sat down.
‘I do adore Oxford, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I suppose I do. I’m beginning to anyway.’
‘That is good, because so many of the students view being here, rather than at some ghastly redbrick, as no more than a stepping stone in their careers, while it should be so much more.’
I poured myself a drink. ‘How do you mean?’
‘To a man like me Oxford is an essential part of life, as it was to my father, and his father before him – my great-grandfather went to some obscure institute in the Fenlands for some unaccountable reason – but with each succeeding generation it has become harder to get in, to the point at which I fear my own children will not only have to be brilliant, which I expect of them, but also impossible little swots, which I’d rather they weren’t. It’s very sad.’
‘But surely merit is the only fair criteria for admission?’
‘Certainly, but what is merit? If it is merely the ability to regurgitate what has been drummed into our heads at school, then I want none of it. Memory, my dear, is not to be confused with intelligence. No, it would be better by far if the swots contented themselves with Bristol, Durham and suchlike places, and left Oxford to dream. For you I shall make an exception. One must have beauty. Besides, I believe that Mitchell told me your father was at Boniface?’
‘And Grandpa, and his father.’
‘A West Country college for a West Country family. I approve.’
It was unlike him to compliment me on anything except my looks and I began to wonder where he was leading me. More likely than not he wanted something, perhaps for me to exert my influence on one of the women’s groups. I decided to tease him a little. ‘Do you know who you remind me of, Giles? Anthony Blanche from
Brideshead Revisited
.’
To my surprise he smiled. ‘Ah, to be compared to one of the aesthetes of the 1920s, even a fictitious one! Thank you, Violet, and yes, I suppose I am rather like him. I even took you to Thame, didn’t I? But don’t worry, I have no intention of warning you off Stephen, who is essentially sound, despite being a bit of a rugger bugger. But then, you like it rough, don’t you?’
He gave me a conspiratorial wink. I found myself blushing and wondering what Stephen had told him.
He smiled and reached out to pat my hand. ‘You mustn’t be embarrassed, Poppaea. It’s not as if you’ve been up to naughties with Dr James McLean.’
The heat in my cheeks flared higher still, but he carried on blithely.
‘No, there’s no cause at all for embarrassment, just the opposite. A fine young girl like yourself should be proud to enjoy a spot of hearty sex, don’t you agree?’
‘I suppose so. I’m certainly not ashamed of myself.’
‘That’s the spirit! Now, shall we order? The pheasant suggests itself. It would be my first of the season.’
I was glad to change the subject, and he didn’t return to it, speaking of game and wine, then drawing me out about sailing on the Exe Estuary, so easy and polite that I’d soon begun to let my defences down. We had a bottle of red with the pheasant, and glasses of something sweet and heavy with slices of treacle pudding, leaving me feeling full and more than a little tipsy as he settled the bill and guided me outside.
‘Walk by the river with me.’
‘I’m rowing at three o’clock.’
‘I’ll drive you over.’
‘I’m not sure you should
‘I do adore Oxford, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I suppose I do. I’m beginning to anyway.’
‘That is good, because so many of the students view being here, rather than at some ghastly redbrick, as no more than a stepping stone in their careers, while it should be so much more.’
I poured myself a drink. ‘How do you mean?’
‘To a man like me Oxford is an essential part of life, as it was to my father, and his father before him – my great-grandfather went to some obscure institute in the Fenlands for some unaccountable reason – but with each succeeding generation it has become harder to get in, to the point at which I fear my own children will not only have to be brilliant, which I expect of them, but also impossible little swots, which I’d rather they weren’t. It’s very sad.’
‘But surely merit is the only fair criteria for admission?’
‘Certainly, but what is merit? If it is merely the ability to regurgitate what has been drummed into our heads at school, then I want none of it. Memory, my dear, is not to be confused with intelligence. No, it would be better by far if the swots contented themselves with Bristol, Durham and suchlike places, and left Oxford to dream. For you I shall make an exception. One must have beauty. Besides, I believe that Mitchell told me your father was at Boniface?’
‘And Grandpa, and his father.’
‘A West Country college for a West Country family. I approve.’
It was unlike him to compliment me on anything except my looks and I began to wonder where he was leading me. More likely than not he wanted something, perhaps for me to exert my influence on one of the women’s groups. I decided to tease him a little. ‘Do you know who you remind me of, Giles? Anthony Blanche from
Brideshead Revisited
.’
To my surprise he smiled. ‘Ah, to be compared to one of the aesthetes of the 1920s, even a fictitious one! Thank you, Violet, and yes, I suppose I am rather like him. I even took you to Thame, didn’t I? But don’t worry, I have no intention of warning you off Stephen, who is essentially sound, despite being a bit of a rugger bugger. But then, you like it rough, don’t you?’
He gave me a conspiratorial wink. I found myself blushing and wondering what Stephen had told him.
He smiled and reached out to pat my hand. ‘You mustn’t be embarrassed, Poppaea. It’s not as if you’ve been up to naughties with Dr James McLean.’
The heat in my cheeks flared higher still, but he carried on blithely.
‘No, there’s no cause at all for embarrassment, just the opposite. A fine young girl like yourself should be proud to enjoy a spot of hearty sex, don’t you agree?’
‘I suppose so. I’m certainly not ashamed of myself.’
‘That’s the spirit! Now, shall we order? The pheasant suggests itself. It would be my first of the season.’
I was glad to change the subject, and he didn’t return to it, speaking of game and wine, then drawing me out about sailing on the Exe Estuary, so easy and polite that I’d soon begun to let my defences down. We had a bottle of red with the pheasant, and glasses of something sweet and heavy with slices of treacle pudding, leaving me feeling full and more than a little tipsy as he settled the bill and guided me outside.
‘Walk by the river with me.’
‘I’m rowing at three o’clock.’
‘I’ll drive you over.’
‘I’m not sure you should
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