Chapter 20
Ruby
For the first half hour, I have no idea where we’re going. But after a while, we pass a sign with the distances to various big towns, and something clicks.
“No!” I exclaim.
“No, what?” James replies.
“Are we…are we going to Oxford?”
The question is superfluous, really—his smile is answer enough.
I don’t quite know what to do with myself, but I’m so thrilled that I thump him hard on the shoulder.
“Oh wow, that’s amazing! So, where exactly are we headed?
” I ask. “Are we visiting the college? St. Hilda’s?
There’s no upcoming event, because I’d have seen it on their newsletter or their Insta.
Unless I missed something. Is there an open day or something? ”
James grins. “You’ll have to wait a bit before you can see the schedule.” Then he rubs his shoulder. “And that hurt.”
“I couldn’t help it. That was my excitement making itself felt.”
He smiles and shakes his head.
After another hour’s drive, I realize that we’re no longer heading directly to Oxford, but James only shrugs when I make an inquiring sound.
We drive around a roundabout, and then two more, and after a while, he turns off somewhere I don’t recognize.
As we head down the country lanes, I give up trying to guess where he’s taking me.
Not any of the colleges, that much is certain.
We stay on the B-road for another half hour, then James turns right into a smaller one, and then an even narrower lane. If a car comes toward us now, we’ll have to back up or climb the bank into the field of rapeseed to our left. I glance sidelong at him, but he seems totally chill.
And he’s smiling happily too, I notice.
“You love tormenting me like this,” I say.
“Maybe a bit,” he admits, that slight smile still on his lips. “But if it makes you feel any better, we should be there in about ten minutes.”
The lane leads us to Brightwell-cum-Sotwell, a picturesque Oxfordshire village.
We pass postcard-worthy thatched cottages and farms with sheep and donkeys in the fields.
Then James turns onto a dirt road, and a few minutes later, a tiny cottage appears in the distance.
There’s a conservatory with mint-green window frames, and the driveway is lined with small trees and shrubs, all in full blossom, making the place appear as much like something out of a fairy tale as the rest of the village.
“Are we staying in the cottage?” I ask, my eyes fixed on the lovely view.
“Not quite,” James answers, parking the car to the left of the long drive. He undoes his seat belt and gets out. I follow, and the two of us walk toward the house, just as a blond, middle-aged woman comes out of the door, smiling politely at us.
“Hello to you both. You must be James. I’m Martha,” she says.
“Yes, that’s right. We’ve emailed,” he replies. “This is my girlfriend, Ruby.”
“I’m so pleased it worked out.” She holds up a bunch of keys with a homemade, plaited strap and a carved wooden leaf as fobs on the ring. “The hut is in the back garden. I can show you the way, if you like,” she says, pointing toward a little path that leads around the cottage.
James nods. We follow her through the garden, which is a jumble of wildflowers and bushes, and about fifty yards away, we see what she was talking about.
The shepherd’s hut looks almost like a fancy caravan, but it’s all in wood, with a dark roof and a sliding door that’s currently standing open.
There’s a small window to one side with a white, lacy curtain over it.
Steps lead up to the door, and growing all around it are more flowers, filling the air with their scent.
“Here we are,” says Martha. “You’ve seen the photos, so you know about the double bed and the view over the fields to the west. You’ll find toiletries in the bathroom, and anything else you need should be there too.”
Beside me, James nods, but I can’t take my eyes off where we’ll be staying. Excitement floods through me, from my belly to my fingertips.
“Breakfast is served up at the cottage, in the conservatory,” Martha continues. “There’s coffee and a range of teas, fresh milk from the farm next door, homemade jam, and eggs from our hens. And I bake bread fresh every morning. If you’re early enough, you can have it warm from the oven.”
“That sounds lovely,” I say.
She hands James the key. “If you need anything, I’m at home this afternoon. I have to go out to work after that, but you can call my mobile if it’s urgent. You have my number, don’t you?”
James nods. “Yes, I do, thank you.”
“Then I’ll see you later, perhaps.” She waves and heads back the way we came. Immediately, I grab James’s hand and pull him over to the little ladder up to the door. It’s too narrow for us to go up side by side, so I go first, my heart pounding as I pop my head inside and look around.
The first thing I see is a bed—the hut is so small that it stretches from one wall to the other.
At the opposite end of the room, there’s a black wood-burning stove and a pile of logs.
There’s a little cabinet by the wall, with a kettle and a box overflowing with all kinds of tea bags.
Hanging above it on a row of little hooks are mugs and teacups, and next to it is a wooden door that presumably leads to the bathroom.
James strokes his thumb over the back of my hand, and I turn to face him. His gaze goes right through me. It’s loving and warm, but there’s a hint of nerves and excitement in there too. Like he isn’t quite sure how I’m going to react.
“After everything you’ve been through in recent weeks, I thought you could do with a little time away from it all,” he says quietly. “I…”
Before he can get any further, I fling my arms around his neck, and the rest of his words are muffled in my impulsive embrace. I shut my eyes and hold James tight, trying to imprint this moment inside me forever so that I can call it up and cling to it anytime I’m feeling bad.
“Best surprise of all time,” I say into James’s neck. Then I lean back a little and look him in the eye. “Thank you.”
He smiles and strokes a strand of hair out of my face. I put a hand on the nape of his neck, pull him toward me, and kiss him.
James makes a muffled sound and immediately puts his arms around me.
He pulls me close and deepens the kiss. I groan as our tongues touch and I feel his hands stroking restlessly over my spine.
I run my fingers through his soft hair, and I’m about to bite into his bottom lip when he abruptly pushes himself away.
“We can’t do this,” he says breathlessly.
“We can’t?” I ask in a daze.
He shakes his head. “We have something else planned, Ruby.”
I desperately want to stay here. Let myself sink into this bed with James, enjoy finally being alone together, just forget about time. But I also want to know why we’re here and what else he’s got lined up for today.
“If you like, we can bring our bags in and then head straight back out,” says James.
I don’t take long to think. “OK.”
Because no matter where he wants to take me, I’m looking forward to it.
Brightwell-cum-Sotwell is only about thirteen miles from Oxford, but we get caught up in traffic on the way and end up listening to some stupid but amusing radio program as we crawl along for longer than expected.
It’s so warm out that I open the window and stretch out my hand.
I cut the air with my fingers and take in the houses and fields as we pass by.
We park at the side of Leckford Road in north Oxford.
James walks around the car to open the door for me.
Once I’ve got out, I look around curiously.
We’re in a residential area with tall houses, split into flats, which all have pointed roofs and bay windows, walls in weather-beaten, grayish stone, and fronts that have seen better days.
James leads me up to a front door, where a young man is waiting. They shake hands.
“Mr. Beaufort, hi, nice to meet you,” he says politely before shaking my hand in turn. “I’m Shaun Cornell—we spoke on the phone.” He addresses the first part of this sentence to me, and the second to James. “Shall we?”
I look from one of them to the other in confusion, about to ask James what we’re doing here, when I catch sight of the folder that Shaun Cornell has jammed under his arm. There’s a logo on it. In fact, it’s the logo of the estate agency whose sign I saw outside the house.
“James,” I whisper as we follow the estate agent into the place, “what’s going on?”
James strokes his thumb over the back of my hand. “We’re looking at a flat.”
I stop dead. He sees my startled expression and rapidly shakes his head.
“For me,” he adds hastily. “I can’t live with your parents forever, and I need somewhere to go once I’ve finished school.”
“I thought you didn’t want to come to Oxford,” I say quietly.
“You’ll ruin my plan if you keep asking questions now. Let’s just go up and see what the flat’s like, OK? I’ll explain everything the moment we get a minute’s peace.”
I hesitate. The questions are piling up in my head, and I’m burning to ask them all. But then I catch sight of the man walking up the stairs ahead of us and force myself to be patient. James clearly has an idea, and I don’t want to mess things up for him.
“OK,” I say in the end.
James squeezes my hand.
Up at the top, Mr. Cornell unlocks the door and holds it open for us.
“The property is a two-bedroom flat in a charming older house,” he begins.
“It’s well laid out and boasts a large shared garden and parking for one car.
Feel free to have a look around.” He gestures, taking in the hallway and the rest of the flat.
“I’ll wait outside and pop back in once you’re done, if you have any further questions. ”
James nods. “Thanks, Shaun.”
The estate agent nods politely and leaves the flat. I hear his feet on the stairs, and then it goes quiet.
Slowly, I look around. The flat is in good condition, even if the floorboards creak the moment you move an inch.