‘Post,’ she said, and Tom corrected her cheerfully. ‘Mail.’ He went out for it, and came back leafing desultorily through the envelopes. He stopped at a square white one and held it out to her.

‘One for you. Forwarded from Oxford.’

Helen sat down very quickly.

‘It’s the exam result.’

The words brought it all back. The black and white week, and the endless leaves of paper under her hands. She had walked out at the end of it into Tom’s arms. He knelt down beside her now and held out the letter.

‘Open it.’

Stiff-fingered and clumsy, she ripped the envelope and took out the white card with the University crest. A clerk had written on it, in loopy, unformed handwriting, two words.

Class One.

Helen dropped the card and her head flopped forward against Tom’s shoulder. She felt how tensely he was waiting and bubbles of delighted laughter erupted inside her.

‘I did it. It’s a First.’

‘Zowie.’ She had never seen Tom so delighted. His pleasure in the news eclipsed her own, and anything she had ever seen him show for his own successes. He took her hands and waltzed her in and out of the pillars until she gasped for breath.

‘My clever darling. My beautiful, totally un-bluestocking, brilliant first-class girl. This calls for the biggest celebration ever. Hell, where can we go at nine a.m.? Champagne. Let me get at the fridge …’

‘Wait,’ she begged him.

‘Wait? What for?’ He snatched up the telephone. ‘Call Greg. He’ll fall in love with you all over again. Or no, your mother first. Ruth’ll want to give you a party. “My son’s fiancée, the college professor.” Imagine.’

They laughed at the thought, as pleased as children at an unexpected treat.

‘Wait.’ She rubbed her face against his. ‘I don’t want to share it with anyone else yet. Only you. Celebrate by having breakfast with me here in the sun.’

She set the little table up in front of the window and Tom pulled across the low chairs. He poured her coffee for her, and put the cup into her hands. They acknowledged the touch of their fingers with a glance, then moved back with the luxury of having all the time together that they needed.

Helen looked away at the panorama outside. A long white yacht was making its way slowly up the Hudson.

‘There is someone else to share it with,’ she said softly. ‘Oliver made it possible for me to go on and finish it.’

Tom watched her profile against the light, and waited. He felt a tiny beat of jealousy, and leapt within himself to suppress it.