Through her infatuated daze, even Lindsay could detect the acrimony behind the self-mocking humour in Cordelia’s voice. ‘Luckily not,’ Paddy replied quickly, ‘she’s in Pamela Overton’s flat.’ She went on to explain that Cordelia was to occupy the guest room in Longnor, while Lindsay was to have the room next door, its occupant having volunteered to give up her room to the visitor in return for the privilege of sharing her best friend’s room for the two nights.
‘Fine by me,’ yawned Cordelia. ‘Oh God, I must have a shower. I feel so grubby after that drive, and I need something to wake me up. Okay if I use yours, Paddy?’ Paddy nodded. Cordelia opened her holdall and raked around till she found her sponge-bag, then headed for the bathroom, promising to be as quick as possible.
‘Another drink?’ Paddy demanded. ‘You look as if you could use it. Quite a character, isn’t she?’
‘Wow,’ said Lindsay. ‘Just, wow. How do you expect me to sleep knowing she’s only the thickness of a wall away?’
‘You’ll sleep all right, especially after another Brandy Alexander. And if you’re really lucky, maybe you’ll dream about her. Don’t fret, Lindsay. You’ve got all weekend to make an impression! Now, just relax, listen to the music and don’t try too hard.’
With those words of wisdom, Lindsay had to be content until Cordelia returned, pink and glowing from her shower. She apologised for her lack of manners in dashing off. ‘If I hadn’t taken drastic action, I’d have been sound asleep inside five minutes. Which would have been remarkably rude. Besides, I did want to talk,’ she added with a disarming grin, as Paddy announced that, since it was ten o’clock, she was going on her evening rounds of the House to check that all was well and everyone was where they should be. Left alone with Cordelia, Lindsay found herself at a complete loss. But Cordelia was too generous and perceptive to let the younger woman flounder, and before long they were talking avidly about the theatre, a shared passion. By the time Paddy returned half an hour later, Lindsay’s nervousness had been subdued and the two were arguing with all the affectionate combativeness of old friends. Paddy was quickly absorbed into the conversation.
In the small hours of the morning, she eventually saw her two friends to their respective rooms and made a last circuit of the house before she headed back to bed. Cocktails and conversation had driven away her earlier fears about Lorna. But as she prowled the dark corridors on her own, her thoughts returned to the cellist. Somehow Paddy would have to make sure that Lorna’s presence could not leave a trail of wreckage in its wake.
Lindsay was drifting in that pleasant limbo between sleep and wakefulness. A distant bell had aroused her from deep and dreamless slumber, but she was luxuriating in her dozy state and reluctant to let the dimly heard noises around her bring her up to full consciousness. Her drifting was abruptly brought to an end by a sharp knock on the door. Her nerves twitched with the hope that it might be Cordelia and she called softly, ‘Come in.’
But the door opened to reveal a tall young woman carrying a tea-tray. She was wearing a well-cut tweed skirt and a fisherman’s sweater which engulfed the top half of her body. ‘Good morning Miss Gordon,’ she said brightly. ‘Miss Callaghan asked me to bring your tea up. I’m Caroline Barrington, by the way, second-year sixth. This is my room. I hope you’ve been comfortable in it. It’s not bad really, except that the window rattles when the wind’s in the east.’ She dumped the tray on the bedside table and Lindsay struggled into a sitting position. Caroline poured out a cup of tea. ‘Milk? Sugar?’ Lindsay shook her head as vigorously as an evening of Paddy’s cocktails would permit.
Caroline walked towards the door, but before she reached it, she hesitated, turned, and spoke in a rush. ‘I read an article in the New Left last month about women in politics - that was by you, wasn’t it?’ Lindsay nodded. ‘I didn’t think there could be two of you with the same name. I enjoyed it very much. I was especially interested, you see, because I might go into politics myself after university. It’s rather given me a boost to realise that there are other women out there with the same sort of worries.’
Lindsay finally managed to get her brain into gear. ‘Thanks. Which party do you favour, by the way?’
Caroline looked extremely embarrassed, shifting from one foot to the other. ‘Actually, I’m a socialist,’ she said. ‘It’s something of a dirty word round here. I just think that things ought to be changed - to be fairer. You know?’
Half an hour later, Lindsay felt she had been put through an intellectual mangle. Never at her best in the morning, she had had to struggle to keep one step ahead of Caroline’s endless stream of questions and dogmatic statements about everything from student politics to the position of women in Nicaragua. Trying to explain that things were never as simple as they seemed without bruising the girls idealism or patronising her had not been easy, and Lindsay wished they’d been having the conversation over a cup of coffee after dinner, the time of day when she felt at her most alert. Finally, the buzz of a bell made Caroline start as she realised that this was neither the time nor place for such a discussion.
‘Oh help,’ she exclaimed, leaping off the end of the bed where she had settled herself, ‘that’s the breakfast bell. I must run. You don’t have to worry - staff breakfast is pretty flexible, and Miss Callaghan’s waiting to take you across. Blame me if she moans on at you about being late - I’m always in trouble for talking too much. See you later.’
‘Thanks for the tea, and the chat. Oh, and the use of your room. Maybe we’ll have the chance to talk again. And if we don’t, enjoy the weekend anyway,’ said Lindsay, wondering to herself how quickly she could manage to wash and dress. She almost missed Caroline’s words as she dashed through the door.
‘Sure. But don’t ask me to join the fan club for our concert star.’ And she was gone, her footsteps joining the general background clamour that the bell had released.
Over a breakfast of scrambled eggs and mushrooms, Lindsay told Paddy about her early morning visitor. Paddy laughed and said, ‘She’s full of adolescent fervour about the joys of socialism at the moment. She was always an idealistic child, but now she’s found a focus, she’s unstoppable. Her parents’ marriage broke up last year, and I think we’re getting a bit of referred emotion in the politics.’
Lindsay sighed. ‘But she’s not a child, Paddy, and her views are perfectly sound. Don’t be so patronising.’
‘I’m not being patronising. But in a closed world like ours, I don’t believe the opinions of one individual make a blind bit of difference.’
Lindsay, who should have known better after six years’ friendship with Paddy, allowed this red herring to set her off into a familiar fight about politics. It was an argument neither would ever win, but it still had the power to absorb. In spite of that, Lindsay found herself continually glancing towards the door. Paddy finally caught her in the act, grinned broadly and relented.
‘She’s not coming in for breakfast. She always does an hour’s work first thing in the morning, then goes for a run. She even did it when we went on holiday to Italy four years ago. You won’t see her much before ten-thirty, I’m afraid,’ said Paddy.
‘What