From London With Love

06 | vanity affair

Andrew sighed, checking his new watch.

His jaw tightened. For god's sake; when he instructed Ophelia to flirt with Tristan, he had imagined that the whole ordeal would take ten minutes. A quarter of an hour, tops. But they were going on forty minutes now.

What the bloody hell was taking so long?

He glanced over at where Ophelia was chatting happily with Tristan. Her red hair fell in waves down her back, the same colour as November poppies. Whatever Ophelia was saying, she must have been doing a bang-up job, because Tristan kept staring at her mouth like a lion looking at a juicy piece of bacon.

And he wasn't alone.

Several other men had joined their table, studying Ophelia with abject fascination. It was enough to make Andrew's skin crawl.

Christ. Did they all have to be so obvious about it?

Someone whistled.

"Who's that?"

Andrew turned. Next to him, Henry Westford was staring unabashedly at Ophelia, a strawberry raised halfway to his mouth. Red juice dripped on to his suit, spattering the obnoxious black-and-yellow print.

He looked like a bumblebee, Andrew thought uncharitably. A bumblebee that had been shot several times in the chest.

"Ophelia," he grunted.

"Fucking hell, mate. She's gorgeous."

"She's alright."

Henry stared as if Andrew had just suggested that swans were just as manky as pigeons, once you looked at them properly.

"I don't suppose you'd introduce me?" he asked hopefully.

"No."

"No bother." Henry popped the strawberry into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "She's in Astor College, right?"

Andrew turned to look at him suspiciously. He and Digby had both moved out after their first year in halls, but Henry had remained at Astor for the last two years, claiming that the convenience of being a five-minute walk from tutorials was too good to give up.

Still.

He hadn't mentioned meeting Ophelia.

"How did you know that?"

"I've seen her around." Henry winked. "I never forget a pretty face."

Andrew ground his teeth. Christ. What was with these men fawning all over her? At this rate, he wouldn't have anything left to teach Ophelia. And that couldn't happen. Not if he wanted to win over Eleanora again.

He glanced at the girl in question.

She was leaning against one of the wooden fence posts, studiously ignoring him as she chatted with a friend. The afternoon light struck her hair just right, making it glow golden. But maybe she had planned it that way. Eleanora knew just how to stand, always.

He sighed, his eyes wandering to the playing field behind her.

He missed that, too. The rush of flying across the field, the sound of hoof-beats, the satisfying thunk of the wooden mallet. Andrew hadn't been on a horse since July, when his father's condition worsened. His mother already wasn't sleeping these days — if Andrew got into an accident, it would shatter her.

The irony of the situation didn't escape Andrew; the two things he desperately wanted were just meters away from him, and yet so far out of reach.

Henry cleared his throat. "They asked you to play today, yeah?"