‘God knows. Nothing to do with the University. He’s got an assistant directorship at the Playhouse, so I suppose he’s dabbling in front of the scenery instead of behind it. He seems to have a dramatically clear idea of who he wants to know over here, anyway. He attached himself to young Mortimore within days of arriving in Oxford, and now he’s cast him as Orlando. Not that they make a bad pair – they’re both as self-satisfied as each other. I’m responsible for seeing that they don’t make a travesty of the production …’ Stephen made a quick, boyish face, ‘… and so I try to sit in on things from time to time.

‘Look, why don’t you come along too, if you’re not doing anything else? It might interest you; they’re looking for Hart’s idea of the perfect Rosalind.’

‘Yes, why not?’ Chloe wanted to see if her first impression of Oliver had been the right one, and she was more than happy to spend another hour in Stephen’s company.

Once more she felt the light touch of Stephen’s guiding hand at her elbow, and they walked down the steps together and out into the wintry sunshine. As they turned in the direction of the theatre, Stephen peeled off his gown and bundled it under his arm. Chloe tucked her hands deep into her pockets and let herself enjoy the cold air in her face and the play of the light on the stonework around them. They were crossing the inner quadrangle of the great library, the Bodleian, and unconsciously Chloe’s step slowed as she looked up at the ancient façades.

‘Mmm, yes,’ Stephen said beside her. ‘I must have walked through here a million times, and it can still stop me dead in my tracks. On the right day, and in the right company, of course.’

They paused for an instant in silence, and as Chloe’s gaze travelled downwards she caught sight of a familiar, slight figure. Helen was standing under the great arch that led through into Broad Street, silhouetted against the intricate tracery of the wrought-iron gates. She was carrying a stack of books that looked too heavy for her thin arms, and was struggling to hoist a heavy bag over her shoulder.

Chloe waved at once, and called out, ‘Helen! Over here!’

Helen stopped at once and they caught up with her a moment later. It was Chloe, she saw, with Stephen Spurring. She couldn’t prevent a smile from escaping. It was so perfectly in character that Chloe should already have secured for herself a tête-à-tête with the heart-throb of the faculty. Helen herself suspected that Stephen was more two-dimensional than the image he projected, but she was well aware that he cut a wide and successful swathe through the hordes of women surrounding him.