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?’
‘We’re all clichés in one way or another. Everything about us is inherently repetitive, no matter how special and unique we’d like to be. We’re only ever a copy of someone else.’ For a moment the expression on his face was so forlorn that it disconcerted me. I swallowed, hard. Before I could answer, he shook his head gently. ‘But at least you’re a cliché to be proud of.’ And that was all. No jeering, no arrogance, no mock-approval. His reaction astonished me. And I liked it. More than I wanted to let on.
I tilted my head, contemplating him again. Everything about him was clean and neat. His clothes weren’t flashy, but although I could see no obvious branding, they were clearly expensive. His skin looked healthy, flawless, even–except for the delicate scar. His hair was glossy, and I knew that if I lookedat his hands, they’d be soft and well-manicured. Every aspect of him was somehow like a painting. A perfect snapshot of a human being. Yet I couldn’t help thinking that the most perfect-seeming images were usually the ones with the most chaos underneath the surface. And I’d have bet money there was chaos under his. I could see it in his eyes, in the subtle, pensive air he’d emanated ever since he set foot in the room. Everything about him saddened and fascinated me all at once. I’d never met anyone like him before. Someone who felt so present, even as a part of him was clearly elsewhere.
‘Mind if I take a stab at your cliché?’ I didn’t know why I was asking. I only knew that I wanted urgently to find out if what I saw in him was the truth.
He sipped his drink, caught a little off-guard. ‘You’re welcome to try.’
I twisted a lock of hair, grasping for the right words. ‘You’re the son of wealthy parents. The kind who had your whole life planned out before you were even born. You’ve always done your best to live up to their expectations, but you’ve never had the chance to figure out what you really want. You don’t know who you want to be, and it’s eating you up inside. You’re studying…’ I paused, examining him closely: the impassive face, the slightly tense shoulders, the glass gripped tightly, the melancholy cast to his features. ‘Philosophy. You’re hoping it will guide you to the right questions, but the more you learn, the fewer answers you find. You’re afraid of wasting your life, but it’s even more difficult to admit that you don’t actually know what you want to use it for.’ I stopped and gave him a quizzical look. ‘Am I on the right track?’
He said nothing, but gradually his shoulders relaxed as he held my gaze. I even thought perhaps I saw the trace of an appreciative smile at the corners of his mouth.
‘So, what brought you here, then, if you think so little of our world?’ he asked at last, dodging the question. Maybe I should take it as a sign of how close I’d got–very.
‘The same thing that always makes people put someone else’s needs first.’ I lowered my voice to the dramatic tenor of a horror movie. ‘Love.’
‘Your boyfriend?’
‘Oh no, I’m talking about a much deeper connection than that.’ My smile felt more genuine when I thought of Zoe. Hotheaded, impulsive, heart-on-her-sleeve Zoe–although we often disagreed, she was the closest confidante I’d ever had. ‘My best friend asked me to come.’
