He smiled slowly.
‘What are cousins for?’
He took hold of her case and started walking, snaking through the back streets, pointing out various places as they passed: New College, Brasenose, Queen’s. He told her about all the famous people who had studied here: J. R. R. Tolki
en, who had first read The Lord of the Rings to a group of like-minded scholars, ‘the Inklings’, in the Eagle and Child pub; and Lewis Carroll, who’d based his character Alice on the Dean of Christ Church’s daughter.
‘It’s all so beautiful, so magical,’ she sighed, thinking that she could listen to him all night. ‘And it’s so lucky it wasn’t bombed.’
‘That’s because Hitler wanted to make Oxford the new capital city if he conquered England. So he gave orders not to bomb it. In fact, rumour has it he wanted to live in Blenheim Palace, down the road.’
‘You know a lot.’
‘I’ve read a lot. The advantage of four years’ university study. You get to read a lot, learn a lot and never feel guilty about it, because that’s what we’re here to do.’
‘It sounds wonderful.’
‘Didn’t you apply?’
‘To university? No,’ she said, shaking her head quickly. ‘We couldn’t really afford it.’
‘There’re grants available. From the board of education, from charities.’
‘I don’t want to be anyone’s charity case, thank you.’
‘Did you do A levels?’
She nodded.
‘Then you could try and get a last-minute place to start next term. Were your grades decent?’
‘Two As and a B,’ she replied, almost apologetically.
‘Georgia, you could, you should apply to Oxford.’ He said it mischievously. As if he was goading her. ‘There are women’s colleges – St Hilda’s, LMH, Somerville. Personally I think you’d be more suited to one of the more spirited ones, like St Anne’s. I can see you on your bicycle, pedalling down to the Eagle and Child, reviving the Inklings . . .’
For a moment he made it sound almost tempting. To live in this beautiful city that had spawned so many great people and moments in history. But then she reminded herself of her situation.
‘Edward, how on earth can I go to Oxford?’
‘There’s an exam in November.’
‘I’ve done enough exams. I’ve been to finishing school. I just don’t think university is on the cards for me.’
‘So what is?’
‘A good marriage,’ she said softly.
He looked at her with surprise.
‘You’ve changed your tune.’
‘Well, things are different now.’
He frowned, urging her to speak.
‘Our farm burnt down two weeks ago. No one was hurt, but it took everything we had with it, including most of my mum’s paintings. She’s an artist, so it was a bit of a blow. All she’s got left are a few canvases in a lock-up unit in Hammersmith. The only options open to us are the streets or a good marriage.’
‘Not the only two, surely?’ said Edward, frowning.