Page 136 - What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours

“Here, to this university.”

She thought of Professor Chaudhry, one of the professors who’d interviewed
her, and how he’d said he liked the connections he could see her making in her
mind, and the way that she tried to tend them so that they thrived. Nobody had
ever said anything like that to her before. Usually it was “Aren’t you
overthinking things, Day?” But a gardener growing thoughts—she liked that.
Hercules tired of waiting for Day to answer him: “Didn’t you want to see who
else was here?” he asked. “I know that’s part of the reason why I came. It’s the

reason why I go to most parties.”
Parties? She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “OK . . . same.”
“So,” he said. “I’m here. You’re here. You find me off-putting at the moment,
but why don’t you try treating me like a person? You might like me.”
“Bettencourter,” she said.

His eyebrows shot up and he said: “Ah.” Not an enlightened “ah.” If anything
he was more puzzled.
“It’s Lent term. Aren’t you supposed to be looking for someone to bring to
that dinner of yours?”
The penny dropped. “You’re a Homely Wench, aren’t you?”
“And proud.”
He gathered up his things and left the library, shaking his head and muttering

something she didn’t catch. Day took the cinema tickets out of the envelope and
texted the date on them to Pepper:

Female Trouble in London yes or yes??

YESSSSSS

—

THE BETTENCOURTERS were well-read in various directions; that’s what their
bookshelves said about them, anyway. Plenty of stimulating-looking books, less
than 10 percent of which were authored by women. The substitutions were made
by torchlight, as nobody thought it was a good idea to switch on the house lights

at four a.m. and risk some passing Bettencourter coming round to see if any of
his brethren was up for another drink. (The keys to the rooms of the house were
on a hook beside the light switch in the entrance hall, so the girls peeped into the
Bettencourt Society drinks cabinet too. It was more of a walk-in closet than a
drinks cabinet, a closet vertically stocked with hard liquor from floor to ceiling.