Tom shrugged impatiently. ‘Of course. It’s nothing. They’re made for each other, after all.’ His sardonic smile failed to conceal from Helen that he had wanted Pansy very badly.

He feels as bad as I do, she thought. Worse – he’s probably almost as used to getting what he wants as Oliver and Pansy themselves.

‘May I walk round with you?’ he asked, formally.

Helen nodded, a little unwillingly, and they began to pace slowly under the arch of trees.

‘This is my way of saying goodbye to Oxford. I have to leave at once,’ she told him at last.

‘For Christ’s sake,’ Tom stared at her incredulously, ‘not because of Oliver?’

She laughed. ‘No. He means … meant a lot to me, more than I realised until yesterday, but I wouldn’t run away for that reason.’ She took a deep breath, and glanced sideways at Tom. He was looking away from her, into the slow drift of the river. ‘My father died in the summer. We aren’t very well off now, and I heard from my mother this morning that she has lost her job. She needs me to go home and help her. Neither of us is qualified to earn very much, you see, and there aren’t many jobs for anyone in the Midlands right now. But between us, we can probably manage to keep going.’

Tom had stopped, and now he looked down at her with his dark eyebrows pulled close together.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply. ‘Can no-one help?’

They were standing in such a way that his shoulders sheltered her from the wind. He was wearing a coat of some soft, thick tweedy material with the collar turned up against his cheeks. It was very warm, standing so close to him. For a stupid moment Helen longed to press her face against his shoulder and murmur yes, please help me.

Instead she swung away from him and started to walk again, more briskly now. ‘No. No-one can help. I’ve just told my tutor the same thing.’

They hardly spoke again until they were standing under the arched gateway once more.

‘I’m going that way,’ Helen said dismissively. ‘I’d better say goodbye.’

Tom’s hand rested on her shoulder for a second.

‘Goodbye,’ he said, his penetrating dark eyes on her face. ‘I’m sorry you’re leaving. We might have been friends. We’ve got at least one thing in common, after all.’

They both laughed, without much humour. Then Helen lifted her hand in a brief wave and walked away.

Back in the bustle of the High she began to count off the things that must be done before she could go home. She would have to pack, give notice to Rose, take books back to the library, say too many goodbyes.