‘Enjoying the summer, I hope? Up on a visit, then? Or gainfully employed maybe? How can I help? You have the reading list for next term, don’t you?’ Lucas gestured at the sofa during the course of this welcome, experiencing a small stab of pity at the way she darted past at last, head ducked as if running the gauntlet. It made him think how right Heidi had been in one of her recent beefs about female students still – for all the strides made and the naturals like Lily – being more prone to reticence and self-doubt. Boys, generally, were still so much better at bravado, he had agreed, prepared to fling out half-baked ideas, to blag if necessary – anything for the fun of hogging the debate and the limelight. It might be a matter worth raising with the Master, Lucas reflected now, resolving to keep a special eye on Moira during the next term when his courses took centre-stage. There were several glib and cocky members of her year group, and she would need encouragement if they weren’t to overwhelm her.

Yet, as the girl perched on the lip of his small sofa, hugging her canvas bag as if it were the only thing keeping her afloat, Lucas also found himself seeing – and half admiring – the fierce solitariness in her, the refusal to relax. He could recall, just, that push-pull feeling from his own early student days in Manchester: the fight to keep this new, intimidating world at bay versus a deep gnawing hunger to find a place in it. Moira Giddings was from a North London secondary school without any established pattern of Oxbridge entrance, he reminded himself, going over her credentials in his head, with passion and abilities that had made her selection a no-brainer. The mother and father swam into focus too, larger-than-life sorts, beaming and proud at the termly parent dinners.

‘Sorry, Professor Shaw…’

‘Just Lucas is fine, remember?’ he interjected cheerily, aware that Dr Reece, the Shakespeare fellow who had been in charge of the bulk of the year’s supervisions, would almost certainly have instructed otherwise. ‘So, what can I help with, Moira? I know the list looks daunting, but it’s for dipping into. This is supposed to be a holiday too, don’t forget.’

She tugged at the shorts, which appeared to be cutting uncomfortably into her thighs now that she was seated. ‘Oh, no. I mean, thank you, I was worried about that.’

‘No need to be worried.’ Lucas smiled, hoping suddenly that the visit was not going to end up dragging on. He remained on his feet, leaning against the side of his desk, arms crossed. Five minutes, he decided, and then he would fire a pointed look at his wall clock.

‘Sorry.’ She coughed into her hand, displaying what had to be false long fingernails, intricately patterned and studded with glitter. ‘I know you must be busy.’