cold, everything white and silver, mist caught in the hollows and coming from their mouths. There was a swollen white moon. ‘It looks too heavy,’ she said. ‘As if it should crash to earth.’
She expected then a brief sermon on gravity and the planets, but he stopped and turned towards her, taking her face in his gloved hands. ‘You are delightful,’ he said. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you.’
Later she realized that was probably true. He had been to a boys’ school, then straight to university and all his energies had been taken up with his academic work. Perhaps he had dreamed of women, perhaps they had haunted him, diving into his consciousness once every six minutes. Certainly he must have had sexual encounters. But he hadn’t allowed himself to be distracted. Until now. When they walked on he put his arm around her shoulders.
Outside her hall he pulled her to him and kissed her, and he stroked her hair, not gently this time, but with a violent, rubbing motion which made her feel how frustrated he must be. This pressure on her hair and scalp was the only expression of desire he allowed himself. She felt the contained passion stinging and fizzing inside him like electricity.
‘Can we meet for lunch?’ he asked. ‘Tomorrow?’
When she agreed she felt as if she was in control. She was the one with the power.
As he walked off, a friend wandered up. ‘Who was that?’
‘Peter Calvert.’
The friend was impressed. ‘I’ve heard of him. Isn’t he supposed to be brilliant? Almost a genius?’
He took her to Tynemouth for lunch, driving her there in his car. She had expected they’d go somewhere in town, somewhere close to the university. The car and the hotel restaurant full of businessmen again set him apart from her student friends. It took very little to impress her. Afterwards they climbed the bank to the priory and looked down over the river to South Shields. They walked along the bank of the Tyne and he pointed out a Mediterranean gull. He’d been wearing binoculars. She had thought that was odd because his subject was botany. She hadn’t understood then the nature of his ruling passion.
‘Do you have to be back?’ he asked. ‘A lecture?’ He took her hand in his, drew on her palm with his finger. The sun was shining and today he had no need of gloves. ‘I don’t want to lead you astray.’
‘Don’t you?’
He smiled at her. ‘Well, perhaps. Come and have tea with me.’
His flat wasn’t far away, in North Shields, an attic overlooking Northumberland Park. Two elderly sisters lived in the rest of the house. One of them was in the small garden when they arrived, raking up leaves from the lawn. She waved in a friendly way, then went back to her work without taking undue interest in Felicity. The flat was very tidy and Felicity imagined that Peter had cleaned it specially. It was full of books. A large-scale Ordnance Survey map showing the area of his field study had been pinned to the wall and the way in was blocked by a telescope on a tripod. There was a living room with a cramped kitchen and a bathroom off and a door which she presumed must lead to the bedroom. The door into the bedroom seemed to hold a fascination for her and while Peter was making tea she found her eyes drawn to it. It was panelled and the grain of the wood showed through the white gloss paint. It had a round brass knob. She wondered if the bedroom was also tidy, if he had changed the sheets in expectation. She would have sneaked a look but he came in, carrying a tea tray. There were cups and saucers which didn’t match and slices of fruit loaf, buttered.
Later that afternoon they went into the bedroom and made love. Her first time and nothing to write home about, of course. There was a lot of fumbling with a Durex, which he seemed as uncertain about how to use as she was, and they must have got the whole thing seriously wrong, or there had been an accident, because she found out soon after that she was
She expected then a brief sermon on gravity and the planets, but he stopped and turned towards her, taking her face in his gloved hands. ‘You are delightful,’ he said. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you.’
Later she realized that was probably true. He had been to a boys’ school, then straight to university and all his energies had been taken up with his academic work. Perhaps he had dreamed of women, perhaps they had haunted him, diving into his consciousness once every six minutes. Certainly he must have had sexual encounters. But he hadn’t allowed himself to be distracted. Until now. When they walked on he put his arm around her shoulders.
Outside her hall he pulled her to him and kissed her, and he stroked her hair, not gently this time, but with a violent, rubbing motion which made her feel how frustrated he must be. This pressure on her hair and scalp was the only expression of desire he allowed himself. She felt the contained passion stinging and fizzing inside him like electricity.
‘Can we meet for lunch?’ he asked. ‘Tomorrow?’
When she agreed she felt as if she was in control. She was the one with the power.
As he walked off, a friend wandered up. ‘Who was that?’
‘Peter Calvert.’
The friend was impressed. ‘I’ve heard of him. Isn’t he supposed to be brilliant? Almost a genius?’
He took her to Tynemouth for lunch, driving her there in his car. She had expected they’d go somewhere in town, somewhere close to the university. The car and the hotel restaurant full of businessmen again set him apart from her student friends. It took very little to impress her. Afterwards they climbed the bank to the priory and looked down over the river to South Shields. They walked along the bank of the Tyne and he pointed out a Mediterranean gull. He’d been wearing binoculars. She had thought that was odd because his subject was botany. She hadn’t understood then the nature of his ruling passion.
‘Do you have to be back?’ he asked. ‘A lecture?’ He took her hand in his, drew on her palm with his finger. The sun was shining and today he had no need of gloves. ‘I don’t want to lead you astray.’
‘Don’t you?’
He smiled at her. ‘Well, perhaps. Come and have tea with me.’
His flat wasn’t far away, in North Shields, an attic overlooking Northumberland Park. Two elderly sisters lived in the rest of the house. One of them was in the small garden when they arrived, raking up leaves from the lawn. She waved in a friendly way, then went back to her work without taking undue interest in Felicity. The flat was very tidy and Felicity imagined that Peter had cleaned it specially. It was full of books. A large-scale Ordnance Survey map showing the area of his field study had been pinned to the wall and the way in was blocked by a telescope on a tripod. There was a living room with a cramped kitchen and a bathroom off and a door which she presumed must lead to the bedroom. The door into the bedroom seemed to hold a fascination for her and while Peter was making tea she found her eyes drawn to it. It was panelled and the grain of the wood showed through the white gloss paint. It had a round brass knob. She wondered if the bedroom was also tidy, if he had changed the sheets in expectation. She would have sneaked a look but he came in, carrying a tea tray. There were cups and saucers which didn’t match and slices of fruit loaf, buttered.
Later that afternoon they went into the bedroom and made love. Her first time and nothing to write home about, of course. There was a lot of fumbling with a Durex, which he seemed as uncertain about how to use as she was, and they must have got the whole thing seriously wrong, or there had been an accident, because she found out soon after that she was
Similar Books
