As I muscled into the scrum, making it to the bar reasonably quickly, a girl beside me placing her order looked familiar. She likewise glanced at me in recognition and I realized where I'd seen her.

I smiled. "I think I saw you on the beach, at the party."

"Yeah, you did. How is Professor Fleming?"

Her formality threw me a bit. “Ted?"

"Yeah, well. I did call him Ted. Did call him a lot of things. But I guess I'm a student again now." She flashed me a deliberately ironic smile. Then she paid the barman, collected her drinks and moved away from the bar, turning her back on me.

I gazed after her for a moment. I'd like to say I was confused, but there was no confusion, actually. No disguising what she'd meant. I remembered her leaping up with a friend to dash across and drag him to sit with her group by the fire when we'd arrived: remembered her coming up after we'd kissed by the rocks, when the boys were complaining we'd drunk their wine. She'd said something cutting to him, which I'd missed, but could tell by her tone she was not amused. One of the boys had calmed her down. She'd been more than a student. Clearly.

Heart pounding, I paid for my drink. As I went out I saw her again with some friends in a group by the window, her profile to me now I wondered if she was aware I was watching her. Certainly her gestures were self-conscious as she threw back her head and laughed, then ran a tanned hand through a mane of silky blonde hair. She was very beautiful, with fine features and almond-shaped eyes. And very young. Swallowing hard, I quickly walked away. I went, not towards Celia and Edward, but right to the very end of the wall, at the fringe of the crowd. I could pretend I was waiting for someone. Take a moment. Compose myself.

I sipped my drink. Perhaps she was postgrad, I reasoned. Twenty-three or four. But she didn't look it. It was so hard to tell these days. And obviously, whatever had happened, had happened before I met him, I reminded myself. So what business was it of mine anyway? And actually, it might just have been a flirtation on her part, a crush. But somehow I knew that wasn't true. My glass of white wine tasted sour, unpleasant almost, in my mouth. I abandoned it on the wall, my mood plummeting.