Читать книгу Black Diamond - Havana Adams - Страница 17

CHAPTER 7

“His name is Nico.”

Grace looked up at Vicky’s words as they strolled through the University Parks on another sunny day. Across the field, a rowdy group of cricketers were engaged in a nets session, whooping loudly as one of their number was caught out. Several joggers had lapped them several times making Grace feel exhausted. Even as she relished the feeling of the warm sunshine on her skin, with the thought of the impending summer also came other fears, not least that she would have to abandon her thick sweats and hoodies for clothes that might reveal more of her far too ample body. Once again her healthy eating regime had failed to take, just last night as she waded through the Law of Property Statutes, she’d chomped down on an 18-inch pizza all by herself.

“His name is Nico,” Vicky repeated.

“Whose name is Nico?” Grace asked though she knew she wasn’t fooling her friend. Vicky gave a low laugh and Grace felt her face warm.

“Old Steamy eyes,” Vicky replied punctuating her words with a long smooching sound.

“Stop it,” Grace hissed, her eyes darting quickly around. Grace allowed herself to think about the boy whose blue-grey eyes had stopped her in her tracks at Newman. She had seen him several times during her shifts and every time he’d been in the company of the same group of beautiful people. Grace’s eyes darted around to make sure no one had heard Vicky’s comment. Not that it was likely that Nico or indeed any of The Gatsbies would ever make it this far out of town.

The Gatsbies, that is what they were called, Grace had learned. And she understood the nickname absolutely, evoking as it did the decadence and wealth and glamorous luxury of the book The Great Gatsby. Nico and his friends were modern-day Gatsbys with their reputed millions and their country homes and yachts and glamorous star-studded parties. Since that day when she had met eyes with Nico Andreou, her serving stints at Newman had been tinged with a charged frisson of something. What that thing was, Grace had avoided putting a name to. By design she’d always ended up serving on the other side of Hall from where The Gatsbies always sat and so there had been no chance for any more eye contact. Not that it was likely to happen again, Grace told herself sternly, for Nico Andreou was not merely out of her league, he was utterly out of her stratosphere; in another universe altogether. Once, when she’d been flicking through the magazines at a local bookstore, she had stopped shocked as she’d caught sight of Nico within the pages of a glossy celebrity magazine. On his arm had been a famous European pop star and next to him a dashing older couple that could only be his parents. Grace had devoured the article. Nico’s mother was a former Brazilian swimwear model and his father a billionaire Greek industrialist whose business influence reached all over the world. Grace had set the magazine back down on the shelf and walked quietly home, more aware than ever that she’d stepped into a world where she didn’t belong.

By now, she and Vicky had emerged from the Parks and they snaked their way past the Museums and the Science Buildings towards Cornmarket, where they parted company.

“Have fun at home,” Grace called and was rewarded with a wave from her friend. For a moment, Grace watched as her friend disappeared down the road towards the train station. Vicky was going home to Birmingham and Grace felt a pang of guilt. All term she had avoided going home. Her last visit had been fraught and she’d sworn to avoid The Pastor for as long as she could. But now she thought about her mother, who’d seemed even more frail and tired when she’d last seen her. Grace thought about her mother’s voice on the phone, when they’d spoken the week before. Her mother, always quiet, had seemed even more withdrawn, lifeless almost. And yet, Grace could not bring herself to go home, not till term was over. For as long as possible she wanted to keep The Pastor at bay.

Grace walked into Newman, glancing at the ornate clock-tower at the far end of the quad. She smiled; for once she was early. As she entered the kitchens, Grace gave Nessa a winning smile. Her essay for the week was done and with her tutorial the next day re-scheduled, Grace would have time to do her favourite things – mooch around Oxford, catch a film, borrow fiction books; not even Nessa would dampen her spirits today.

“Grace, did you hear me?” Grace was thrown from her sunny imaginings by Nessa’s harsh voice. “You take High Table and the right corner today.” Grace felt her stomach sink. Today, like it or not, she would be serving The Gatsbies.

The lights in Hall were their usual dim orange and yet Grace felt as though a heavy spotlight was blinding her. Totally belying her name, she had never been graceful, anything but, and tonight her feet felt comically heavy. With every step into Hall, Grace felt nerves unsettle her. Perhaps they wouldn’t be here tonight. Grace gave a fervent prayer to whoever was up there but as her eyes darted to the far right corner of Hall, she saw her prayers would not be answered. They were there. All of them.

The Gatsbies always commanded attention. Even in a University the size of Oxford, with the disparate colleges, somehow their moniker preceded them. Once, while sitting at lunch in her College, Grace had listened intently as another Fresher had breathlessly recounted every detail of her encounter with The Gatsbies at a ball.

“There was Nico. Greek, billionaire dad, hot as fuck, mainly shags Poppy when he’s between pop stars and supermodels. Then The Right Honourable Poppy Hewson-Chambers, total aristocrat, everyone calls her The Right Hon – blonde, goddess, number one on Tatler’s most eligible list. JoJo De Vere, South African, diamond heiress, knows the royals, lots of skulduggery and white mischief shenanigans. Then there’s Matt Downing, wealthy London parents in hotels or something and his girlfriend Laura Sugar-Naylor, old money, sugar plantations, very yah!”

Long after she’d finished her sandwich, Grace had continued to sit, eavesdropping shamelessly on the tales about The Gatsbies and their exploits, the balls they went to, the suites they hired at The Randolph for weekend drinking parties, the holidays at a moment’s notice to their private islands, the hampers from Fortnum & Mason…

As she sidled over towards their table, Grace felt like a stone was weighted in her stomach.

“Potatoes?” she asked and blushed, realising that her word had emerged croaky and probably incomprehensible. “Potatoes,” she tried again and winced. This time her voice had come out sharply, far too loud. Conversation stopped and The Gatsbies turned as one to face her. Could one be blinded by beauty? Wasn’t there a Greek myth about that, Grace wondered as she stared at the most beautiful group of people she had ever seen. Up close, they looked like a pre-posed spread straight out of Vanity Fair. Grace swallowed and tried to focus on the task at hand. She focused on the girl closest to her, Poppy, who looked every inch “The Right Hon” that the boys called her. Her regal blonde head angled towards Grace, Poppy nodded as Grace carefully scooped the potato onto her plate. Perhaps it was her nerves but Grace gasped in horror as somehow the potato slipped from within the spoon and bounced across the table to land in Poppy’s lap. There was a scandalised gasp.

“You clumsy oaf,” Poppy squealed. Grace stood frozen as her worst nightmare was made manifest; everybody was staring at her.

“Don’t they train you people?” Laura gasped, shaking a napkin open and passing it to Poppy. By now Nico, who’d been in conversation with JoJo, had turned to stare at her too.

“I’m so sorry,” Grace stuttered and blanched as she met Poppy’s hard stare.

“You should be,” the girl slammed back at her.

“Oh bloody hell, it’s a potato not a grenade.” Grace turned and sought out the face of her defender. She found herself staring at the other boy, the one who was always cracking jokes, the one who must be Matt. He gave her a small smile. “We’ll be fine.”

Grace watched as Matt reached for the renegade potato and put it into his mouth whole.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” Matt mimed and within moments Poppy and the other girls were laughing. Grace turned and fled, uncaring of what an ungainly sight she must make, her heavy feet thudding on the wooden floors of the great hall.

Grace shook off the groggy feeling that had dogged her all morning, she had only one lecture that day, after which she planned to take the afternoon off to enjoy the warm weather. As the students spilled out of the lecture theatres, Grace moved to the side of the stairs to tuck her folder into her rucksack. As she zipped up the bag, she felt a shadow fall across her. Grace looked up and her stomach plummeted. Poppy, Laura and JoJo stared at her with a look of surprise.

“What are you doing here?” Poppy didn’t hide the incredulity in her voice and Grace felt a wave of mortification.

“I’m a student here. I’m studying...”

Before Grace could finish her sentence, a peal of laughter rang out from Laura.

“Seriously?” Laura asked, a look of astonishment on her face and Grace felt another warm wash of embarrassment.

“Laura...” JoJo spoke up, a warning in her voice.

“Look…” Grace said, weighing her options when she felt a presence behind her. She turned, surprised to see that it was the same boy from the night before. Matt, her defender.

“You can be a real bitch, you know that,” Matt said, his cold gaze directed at Poppy and Laura.

“What?” Laura cried. Poppy shook her head with a smirk.

“Let’s leave Matt and his new friend alone.”

Grace watched as they spun around, descending the stairs like women who knew that the world was their catwalk. She turned back to her rucksack and wrestled it onto her back. Grace began to walk, her head firmly down, staring at her worn, faded trainers. She felt Matt fall into step beside her.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said.

“You didn’t do anything,” Grace snapped and winced inwardly; she sounded like a sulky child.

“I know that, but they can be shits,” Matt said and Grace felt a wave of gratitude that one of these beautiful people was actually seeing things from her perspective. “You’re a student here?” Matt asked. Grace nodded wondering why he was still speaking to her. “Law?”

“Yes,” she replied quietly. They had reached the edge of the road; turning left would take her out towards Hennies and right was the path back towards Newman. Grace looked up at him and was struck by his handsome, open face. She watched as he pushed his overlong blond hair away from his face and a well of gratitude rose up in her. In those brief moments as the three girls had stared at her, she’d felt like an insect. “Thank you,” she said quietly. Matt waved her thanks away and instead he raised his hand towards her.

“Matt.” Grace stared at the long fingers of his hand and his golden, tanned skin. She raised her own small hand and shook it. For a moment, she was thrown by the rough sensation of calluses on his palm and then she smiled at him.

“Grace.”

Matt nodded.

“See you around, Grace,” he said and then he turned and walked towards a bike stand. Grace watched him unlock his bike and mount it. She watched until he’d disappeared around the bend in the road. And then finally, she began the walk towards Hennies. All the way home, she thought not of the fallen potato humiliation nor of the scathing looks from The Gatsbies, instead she was filled with an unexpected lightness.