When they had said their goodbyes, Helen slowly replaced the receiver and leaned back exhaustedly against the wall.

Fate, she thought bitterly, had made a near intervention. There was no need to worry about Oliver any more. She would be removed from Oxford altogether. In her mind’s eye she saw a picture of the city and what it meant to her. There were the towers and meadows ringed by rivers, the long, sepia shelves of books in libraries and her own handwriting covering pages of blank paper. That was all over.

There would be no more Oxford. It was a pity that last night had to be the last one here, the one she would remember.

Sadly, Helen pulled her robe tightly round her and set out to face the day. First she went to see her tutor. Helen found her, as usual, in her College rooms. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with books, and French doors looked out over the water meadows. Miss Graham’s hair was knotted in a neat bun, and her face was smooth and unworried after a secluded lifetime of academic life.

Helen explained awkwardly that she would have to resign her place and her scholarship. Her mother and brother needed her financial support, and she must go home.

Miss Graham folded her hands and sighed.

‘This is a great pity. You know we regard you as a strong candidate for a First. Is there no other way? I wish the College could help. There are funds for students in difficulty, but a whole family …’

‘Thank you, but I don’t think there is anything anyone can do.’

‘Well. We’ll keep your place open, of course. Next year, perhaps, your position will be happier.’

Helen remembered how she had sat in this room as a wide-eyed schoolgirl on her first day, full of excitement and awe at the great institution she was part of, and had to blink back the tears that started into her eyes.

She had reached the door before her tutor asked, almost as an afterthought, ‘What do you really want to do with your life, Helen?’

From nowhere, unconsidered and unexpected, the answer came out at once. ‘I’d like to marry, and have children.’

Miss Graham smiled. ‘You don’t need a First for that.’

‘No. Goodbye, Miss Graham. I’m sorry about the First.’

A moment later Helen was walking back over Magdalen Bridge towards the High. Why, she asked herself, did I say that? Had she been cherishing some half-baked notion of herself and Oliver, married, filling the back of the rakish Jaguar with blonde babies?