‘Not at all, dear. But when you get to our age, you realise that you never want to miss an opportunity that comes your way. You have to live your life and grasp everything that comes.’
If only Margaret knew, thought Clara. The universe had never presented her with so many opportunities but whether she would grasp them all was another matter. Eleanora didn’t call her Cautious Clara for nothing.
Despite always erring on the side of caution, when she got ready for her date at the theatre, she decided that tonight she would be more reckless and open her heart to Tom a little more. Maybe it was Margaret’s pep talk, she concluded, or perhaps it was those true feelings that she refused to admit to herself. Whatever the case, she sprayed a little more perfume on than normal and shaved her legs. It had been years since she had given herself so much self-care. She had never used so many of the smellies that people insisted on buying her each Christmas. Finally, they had come to good use and were no longer rotting away on her bathroom windowsill. Clara had even begun to realise how nice it was to have some me-time and she was beginning to feel like a new woman. If this continued, she might have to pop along with Eleanora to the Oxford Belfry Hotel & Spa for some serious pampering. Spas had always been something of a mystery to Clara and she had always wondered how people could lie around and relax when they had so many jobs to get done. Now she was starting to learn how nice it was to look after oneself as well as everyone else.
Clara swung her arms along happily as she walked under the Hertford Bridge, or Bridge of Sighs as everyone lovingly knew it, and the glorious Sheldonian Theatre building came into sight in the distance. She loved the building for many reasons, not least because it had an open scripture from the Greek New Testament above the door at the nearby Divinity School. As she searched for Tom, Clara carried on walking past the herms at the back of the building, around to the crest of Sir Gilbert Sheldon, whom she knew as the Archbishop of Canterbury in the sixteenth century and the generous benefactor of the building. She was beginning to regret not having arranged which side they should meet. But, when she eventually found Tom, it was worth the wait.
She could see that he had clearly made an effort with his smart grey suit and freshly shaven face.
The impression was reciprocated. Tonight, Tom thought Clara looked even more attractive than ever. The way she had tied her hair up in that chignon, made him want to reach out and touch the nape of her neck. In fact, he was going to struggle to concentrate on the concert at this rate as she took his breath away with her innocent beauty.
‘You smell divine,’ Tom said as he kissed Clara.
‘Thank you. It’s just a perfume someone bought me one Christmas, yonks ago.’
‘It suits you. So does your hair, the dress... You look... and smell... absolutely ravishing.’
Clara looked down at her pastel blue dress.
‘Thank you, Tom. I’ve not been called that before.’
‘It’s the only way I can describe you, Clara. Absolutely ravishing, sublime even.’
Their playful eyes gave away the chemistry between them. Clara stroked his arm flirtatiously. Tom had no idea that she was going to have as much trouble concentrating on the violinist as he would, but first Tom planned a walk up the 114 steps to the theatre’s cupola to admire the romantic view of the city of dreaming spires.
‘Are you sure you’re fit enough?’ teased Clara as they took on the first couple of steps.
‘Shall I prove it? Race to the top?’
‘No, let’s not have a race. I’d hate to have to call Air Ambulance.’
‘Cheeky,’ said Tom, playfully touching Clara’s waist.
By the time they reached the top of the cupola, both refused to admit that they were out of puff, although Tom had to bend down to get his breath. He would never disclose to Clara that he felt as though he’d run a marathon. It was a reminder that he wasn’t so young anymore and he must make the most of his life.
When breathing was finally restored to normality, Tom placed his arm around Clara and they looked out at the magnificent vista.
‘It was definitely worth the climb,’ said Tom, as he admired the views.
‘It was. Look, you can see the Bridge of Sighs and Bodleian Library,’ said Clara excitedly.
‘How lovely. Isn’t this city beautiful?’
‘It is. Maybe that’s why I’ve never been inclined to leave it.’
‘Indeed. Why would you want to leave?’
Clara thought of the potential job in Cambridge and what an upheaval it would be. She shrugged her shoulders, aware that Tom had no idea about the position she’d been contacted about. There was no need for him to know about something that she might not even apply for.
‘I could stay here admiring the view all night but we’d better make a move, or we’ll miss the concert,’ said Tom, noticing the time. ‘At least it’s easier on the way down.’
In fact, getting downstairs to the auditorium didn’t seem to take half as long. And, as they took their seats on a wooden bench in the upper gallery of the auditorium together, Clara looked up at the ornate painted ceiling by the English landscape artist, Robert Streater. The painting had always fascinated her since she had learned in school that the panels had been transported by barge to Oxford from London. She had always felt as though it was like looking up to an open sky, right through the cupola that they’d just visited.
The lights then went down and the violinist started his repertoire, and Tom placed his hand on Clara’s leg. The power of the music, coupled with Tom’s touch, sent shivers down her spine.
‘Wonderful, isn’t it?’ whispered Tom in her ear.
‘Absolutely,’ she said with a big grin.
