Page 48 of The Christmas Invitation
‘No, I remembered you telling me that, though it was definitely the impression he was trying to give me. His name was Rollo something.’
‘Rollo Purvis,’ I said resignedly. ‘He’s an extremely ex-boyfriend.’
I looked up and found Lex staring at me with his straight brows knitted in that strangely attractive, slightly hawkish way he had. ‘Weren’t you already going out with him years ago, when you were at college? He’s that poet bloke who always turned up at student parties.’
‘I was. Then we broke it off … and got together again later. But I finally finished with him over six years ago.’
‘It doesn’t sound like it,’ he said.
‘He’s become a bit of a nuisance and likes to ring and unload his existential angst on me from time to time. Lots of people seem to like doing that,’ I added pointedly and he gave me a black look.
‘A poet? I thought the name sounded vaguely familiar,’ said Henry.
‘He is, and also runs a quarterly poetry magazine calledStrimp!’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said, not with any great enthusiasm. ‘I’ve placed him now.’
‘Isn’t he very good?’ asked Tottie.
‘Not if the examples of his work I saw in a copy ofStrimp!someone sent me once are anything to go by, no.’
‘That’s what I thought, too,’ I said, pleased to have my judgement confirmed. ‘Some of it’s quite clever, but somehow cold.’ I turned to Clara to apologize. ‘I’m sorry he disturbed you. I didn’t give him your phone number and have no idea how he got it. I hope he didn’t try to wangle an invite to visit?’
‘I quickly gathered that that was the real purpose of the call when he started saying how much he’d love to pop in and see you soon, when he’d be in the area, and how wonderful itwould be if Henry could spare him a few moments of his time and give him an interview for his magazine.’
‘What cheek!’ I exclaimed. ‘I hope you told him to take a running jump.’
‘I was fairly polite, considering he’d interrupted me while I was working, and also I wasn’t sure if he might be a friend of yours, even if not your boyfriend. But of course, I told him there was no possibility of an interview with Henry.’
‘He’s quite likely to turn up anyway and try to charm his way in,’ I warned her. ‘Because he’s not only pushy and thick-skinned, he has an over-inflated sense of his own importance.’
‘I’m only surprised your relationship lasted so long, then,’ said Lex, drily.
‘He’s changed a lot over the years – people do,’ I said, meeting his eyes directly.
Lex gave me another of his knitted frowns: this one was so complex it was practically Fair Isle. ‘Why didn’t you just make a clean break, then?’
‘I tried to, but he’s so persistent, it was easier said than done.’
‘Never mind, dear, you can retire to your little tower above your bedroom and unloose the slings and arrows of outrageous prose at him from there, if you want to,’ suggested Clara. ‘But if you ever decide you want to marry a poet, I’d hold out for a good one.’
‘I think you’re both as mad as each other,’ Lex said, but an unwilling smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Clara
I went off to Oxford, where both my parents had studied, though my poor mother had been considerably hampered by the restrictions that were then imposed on every aspect of a female student’s life.
Even by the time of my arrival in 1959, there were still many rules and regulations we were supposed to obey, but largely ignored, or found ways around.
I settled gratefully into the studious atmosphere of Lady Margaret Hall, for many of my fellow-students were working towards an eventual career, often in teaching of some kind. My interests, however, lay in epigraphy, archaeology and ancient languages, and I had no desire to teach anyone anything.
Instead I intended to seize every opportunity that came my way to increase my knowledge, further my interests and gain experience in my chosen field.
No lingering elements of misogyny were going to deflect me: I set my course and any minor idiocies of that kind scattered before me like the lesser vessels they were.
Of course, it was fun to explore my new surroundings and meet the other students at Lady Margaret Hall, though one of them, ahalf-American girl called Nessa Cassidy, was to my dismay inclined to have what we used to term at school a ‘pash’ on me. Although she was by no means stupid – English literature being her forte, especially the Romantic Poets – she was also giggly, girly and with a head full of silly ideas about romantic love.
I firmly discouraged her and to my relief she quickly gathered a small circle of like-minded friends around her, though there was no shaking her off entirely …
