Chapter 1 #3
The more distance I put between myself and the strange party, the more my pulse began to quieten, and after a couple of minutes I was calm enough to examine my surroundings.
If I ignored the reason I was here, maybe I could get something positive out of the whole fiasco after all.
It wasn’t every day I got to spend time alone in a building like this.
There was a loftiness to the halls of Cambridge even during the day, and by night they were more enchanting still.
I went up a spiral staircase and began to wander down the corridors, past dark walls and copper-coloured light fittings.
There were doors left and right, all of them unlocked, opening onto studies and empty teaching rooms furnished with nothing but chairs.
When I reached the end of the corridor, I paused.
The last door was the only one that was locked.
Gingerly I turned the handle, but nothing happened.
Biting my lip, I glanced back over my shoulder.
Apart from the distant music, all seemed quiet.
Vacant. I should have gone back to find Zoe, but something stopped me.
It wasn’t just the prospect of another pointless conversation – I was itching to know what was behind that door.
Curiosity had always been my fatal flaw.
Muffling a sigh, I gave in and removed the hairpin that held my overlong fringe in place. I was breaking the rules just by being here, so I thought I might as well go all in. And anyway, there are certain skills that benefit from practice.
After my mum died, I moved in with my aunt and her son.
They lived in a small town not far from Brighton, where there wasn’t a whole lot for teenagers to do.
Which is probably why, before he’d even left school, my cousin had amassed a substantial criminal record.
I was fifteen when he taught me how to open a lock with a piece of wire. Or a hairpin.
It took me thirty seconds to pick the lock, which opened with a click. Smiling triumphantly, I slipped inside. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the dim light from the corridor.
It wasn’t a large room. The only items of furniture were a heavy oak desk and matching chair, placed in the middle of the room, and a velvet wingback with a side table by the window. The night outside was barely visible through the ivy growing over the pane.
The room was full of books, the air thick with the scent of old paper and printing ink.
My pulse slowed and my shoulders dropped as I took a few deep breaths.
The bindings were muted, mostly grey or black.
A few had gold numbers on the spine, elaborate initials or words in Latin or Ancient Greek.
This was no ordinary college library. The books exuded a certain nobility: each one seemed exquisite and important. Even this pocket library was elite.
I set the pin down on the desk before wandering closer to the floor-to-ceiling shelves.
I ran the tips of my fingers cautiously over the spines, hesitating for a long time before I ventured to pull out a book.
It felt like removing an organ from a body.
These volumes formed a work of art; one I desperately wanted to understand.
Carefully, I stroked the anthracite-grey binding.
The gold lettering embossed on the cover gave shape to words my schoolgirl Latin wasn’t good enough to read.
I smoothed one damaged corner consolingly.
Before I could open the book, I heard a cough behind me. I whipped around, startled, the book clamped protectively against my chest.
He was standing in the open doorway, his face in shadow.
I looked him hastily up and down, taking in his build, his tall, lean body, his crossed arms, his faintly tousled hair.
When he took a step towards me, I saw his face.
A decidedly attractive face, with a defined jaw and a pair of expressive dark eyes.
They narrowed slightly as they surveyed me.
His voice, however, was calm. ‘Strictly speaking, this area is off-limits to guests.’ He stepped unhurriedly into the room, the door falling shut behind him with a creak.
‘And you’re not a guest?’ I replied with equal composure, although my heart was pounding. Whoever he was, he didn’t seem overly intent on chucking me out. Which could be either good or bad. Good, if he simply wasn’t interested in me. Bad, if he had something else in mind.
‘Not as much as you are.’ I felt his eyes on me, although his features had sunk back into darkness. By now he was almost at the window, leaving my escape route well and truly clear.
My muscles relaxed. ‘I didn’t mean any harm. I just got lost,’ I said, giving what I hoped was an embarrassed smile.
‘Lost?’ He sat down in the reading chair. The green velvet matched the olive shade of his pullover. ‘Usually that door’s kept locked.’
‘Then I guess someone must have forgotten.’ I was slowly stroking the tattered corner of the book, trying to avoid his searching gaze.
‘You’re not a very good liar.’
I thought perhaps I heard the trace of a smile in his voice. Annoyingly, I knew he was right. I’d never had an issue telling the truth. The opposite, actually, although it would have done wonders for my social life if lying came more naturally. ‘I don’t get much practice, I suppose.’
He leant forward, resting his forearms on his knees. ‘I see. An honest burglar. Were you planning to steal anything?’
I shook my head. ‘I was just curious.’
He frowned, a deep crease appearing between his brows. They were dark, like his hair and eyes, which were framed with thick lashes. There was a quiet, classical quality to his face. It reminded me of the silhouettes illustrated in old novels. ‘Curious about what?’
‘About what someone who has everything is most eager to protect.’ I nodded towards the bookshelves. Their energy was pressing up against my spine, pushing me to stand taller, and my eyes wandered over them with unaccountable pride. ‘I’m pleasantly surprised. Protecting books, that’s … sweet.’
He laughed – a harsh, throaty sound. ‘I don’t want to disappoint you, but I don’t think it’s to do with their intangible value. These are all first editions. The one you’re currently holding is on its own worth more than any painting in the front hall.’
I jumped, staring at the book I’d been fidgeting with for the last five minutes.
Hurriedly I turned and slid it back into place before it could crumble to dust in my hands.
‘Dammit.’ I wiped my fingers on my jumper, as if to remove any lingering evidence of my potential guilt. ‘They should put up a warning.’
‘I think the locked door is supposed to clue you in,’ he answered sardonically.
I sighed and pulled out the desk chair to sit down. Perhaps it would have been wiser to go back, but for some strange reason I enjoyed his company more than the others’.
‘So,’ I began, after I’d got comfortable. ‘What brings you up here?’
‘Peace and quiet. And whisky.’ He reached over to the side table and picked up the half-full crystal decanter, raising it enquiringly in my direction.
I shook my head and watched as he poured two fingers of the golden fluid into a bulbous glass.
‘Which college are you at?’ he asked, settling back into the chair.
‘Trinity Hall. And you?’
He gestured at the room. ‘Trinity College. Which makes us neighbours. Although, I don’t think I’ve seen you around.’
I laughed. There were nearly 25,000 students at the university.
I spent most of my time outside of classes studying, so except for the people on my staircase, the only students I really knew were the ones I kept bumping into at the library.
‘Probably best to forget you did. I’m pretty much just a parasite at a fancy party like this, anyway. ’
‘I’m sure my friends would be impressed by your choice of words.’
The corners of my mouth drooped. Friends.
Of course. Not sure what I’d secretly been hoping.
That he was a cleaner’s son who’d snuck in unnoticed?
I should have known; he wasn’t the odd one out here, he fit in perfectly.
His presence here meant he belonged. Another explanation for why we’d never met.
Even if I got out more, I’d never have crossed paths with someone like him.
Some things just aren’t meant to go together.
‘Got it. You’re one of them.’
He raised his eyebrows, leaning towards me so that the light fell across his face. There was a faint scar across his right temple. A silvery thread on his otherwise perfect skin. ‘When you say it like that it sounds like a crime.’
‘No.’ I gave a half-hearted smile. ‘At least, not one I can blame you for. We don’t choose the world we’re born into.’
‘And what world were you born into?’
‘Not one you’d like to get better acquainted with.
’ My fingertips were groping along the run in my tights, which ended in a blob of nail polish above my knee.
Seeing the quizzical look in his eyes, I sighed.
‘Fine. Just look at me.’ I stood up and moved past the desk, stopping a few steps away from him.
‘Look at my clothes. Worn tread on my shoes, dull patent leather. A hole in my tights, and I’ll still be wearing them until the day they fall apart.
Vintage skirt – not because I shop at hip second-hand shops, but because it belonged to my nan.
’ I lifted the black fabric, which I’d hemmed myself.
Then I gestured to my tattered fringe. ‘See how uneven that is? Looks suspiciously like kitchen scissors, doesn’t it?
Dark circles under my eyes, ink stains on my fingers.
’ I gave him a nod that was both invitation and challenge. ‘What does all that tell you, then?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘That you got here on some sort of scholarship?’
I bowed with a smile and leant back against the desk. ‘Total cliché, isn’t it?’