When Nights Were Cold by Susanna Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

holidays.
    â€˜Very confident young ladies. They have plenty to say for themselves.’
    Each student had a bedroom and a sitting room. My sitting room overlooked the north quadrangle and my bedroom, on the other side of the corridor, looked out over hockey fields and tennis courts. There was a bed, a wardrobe, chairs and a gigantic mirror. The founder of the college, a wealthy industrialist who had made his money from sewing machines, believed in educating women but insisted that every room had a large, oval mirror. Next to the fire was a small kettle. I could not wait to use it.
    As we stood in the doorway of my sitting room, I heard my name. We turned to see another version of ourselves, mother and daughter, coming along the passage.
    â€˜Grace Farringdon? How do you do? I’m Leonora Locke. I’m two doors away from you. I’m a fresher too. Biology.’
    Miss Locke’s mother smiled from under a swooping, elegant hat. She had a kind, expressive face which was familiar to me.
    â€˜Hetty Locke. Delighted to meet you.’
    Mother let out an oh before she could stop herself. She lifted her mouth into a smile but I saw the confusion behind it. Mrs Hetty Locke was a West End actress who played in popular farces. She was often in the newspapers, part of a theatrical set considered, by people like my mother, quite scandalous for their affairs and divorces. She was striking: tall and long-limbed with black hair and a smile that dipped into a deep V. Her daughter had the same dark hair and green eyes, but was small, springy on her feet, and pretty rather than beautiful.
    â€˜You do look quite tired, my dears,’ said Mrs Locke.
    My mother managed a weak nod.
    â€˜There’s so much to take in,’ I said, and my mother hasn’t been here before.’
    â€˜It’s such a very strange place,’ said Mother. ‘Isn’t it? Is it a boarding school or a university? I can’t make any sense of it.’ She grimaced. ‘Perhaps it will just take time.’
    â€˜But I’d have loved to study somewhere like this. I envy our daughters. I can’t wait to read Leonora’s letters and find out what adventures you’ve all been up to.’
    â€˜Yes, indeed,’ said Mother. ‘But I understand that the girls are closely chaperoned and there is a very clear schedule of study, with chapel every morning.’
    Mrs Locke swallowed her smile and gave a serious, emphatic nod.
    Her daughter looked at me with interest. Her eyes were sharp but friendly. She exuded warmth and colour, made me think of fireflies.
    â€˜We’ll enjoy ourselves though, won’t we, Miss Farringdon?’
    â€˜Certainly,’ I said, brightly, to annoy Mother.
    I wanted to ask my new friend what it was like to have an actress for a mother, a mother who didn’t care what the neighbours thought and who yearned to be in her daughter’s place at university. I must have stared at her quite hard but she smiled back, with no trace of shyness or nerves.
    â€˜Come, Leonora,’ said Mrs Locke. ‘Let’s see if we can find some flowers for your vases.’
    Leonora Locke hurtled down the corridor and her mother followed, upright and graceful.
    I shut my sitting-room door and Mother began to cry, not her usual silent weeping into a handkerchief but a series of sharp hiccoughs which grew faster and louder until she collapsed to her knees and sobbed. I had never seen her so wretched.
    â€˜And these are the sort of people you’re going to live with. They’re not like us. I tried to warn you and now you see for yourself.’ Her sobs intensified until she seemed to be choking. I went to her but she pushed me away. ‘What a supercilious woman. And as for the facilities – laboratories and classrooms, for goodness’ sake. It’s like a boys’boarding school. Did you notice that the students in the corridors called one another by their surnames? They