The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [10]
They started their journey home just after eleven, and Philippa fell into a half sleep since they could hardly hear each other above the noise of the car engine. It must have been about twenty-five miles outside Oxford that the MG came to a halt.
“I thought,” said William, “that when the gas gauge showed empty there was at least another gallon left in the tank.”
“You’re obviously wrong, and not for the first time, and because of such foresight you’ll have to walk to the nearest garage all by yourself—you needn’t imagine that I’m going to keep you company. I intend to stay put, right here in the warmth.”
“But there isn’t a garage between here and Oxford,” protested William.
“Then you’ll have to carry me. I am far too fragile to walk.”
“I wouldn’t be able to manage fifty yards after that sumptuous dinner and all that wine.”
“It is no small mystery to me, William, how you could have managed a first-class honors degree in English when you can’t even read a gas gauge.”
“There’s only one thing to do,” said William. “We’ll have to wait for the first bus in the morning.”
Philippa clambered into the back seat and did not speak to him again before falling asleep. William donned his hat, scarf, and gloves, crossed his arms for warmth, and touched the tangled red mane of Philippa’s hair as she slept. He then took off his coat and placed it so that it covered her.
Philippa woke first, a little after six, and groaned as she tried to stretch her aching limbs. She then shook William awake to ask him why his father hadn’t been considerate enough to buy him a car with a comfortable back seat.
“But this is the niftiest thing going,” said William, gingerly kneading his neck muscles before putting his coat back on.
“But it isn’t going, and won’t without gas,” she replied, getting out of the car to stretch her legs.
“But I only let it run out for one reason,” said William following her to the front of the car.
Philippa waited for a feeble punch line and was not disappointed.
“My father told me if I spent the night with a barmaid then I should simply order an extra pint of beer, but if I spent the night with the vicar’s daughter, I would have to. marry her.”
Philippa laughed. William, tired, unshaven, and encumbered by his heavy coat, struggled to get down on one knee.
“What are you doing, William?”
“What do you think I’m doing, you silly woman? I am going to ask you to marry me.”
“An invitation I am happy to decline, William. If I accepted such a proposal I might end up spending the rest of my life stranded on the road between Oxford and Stratford.”
“Will you marry me if I win the Charles Oldham?”
“As there is absolutely no fear of that happening I can safely say yes. Now do get off your knee, William, before someone mistakes you for a straying stork.”
The first bus arrived at 7:05 that Saturday morning and took Philippa and William back to Oxford. Philippa went to her rooms for a long hot bath while William filled a gas can and returned to his deserted MG. Having completed the task, he drove straight to Somerville and once again asked if he could see Miss Jameson. She came down a few minutes later.
“What! You again?” she said. “Am I not in enough trouble already?”
“Why so?”
“Because I was out after midnight, unaccompanied.”
“You were accompanied.”
“Yes, and that’s what’s worrying them.”
“Did you tell them we spent the night together?”
“No, I did not. I don’t mind our contemporaries thinking I’m promiscuous, but I have strong objections to their believing that I have no taste. Now kindly go away, as I am contemplating the horror of your winning the Charles