I hadn't seen Vivien in forever; he was busy with university and both of us were still worried about Malcolm. So today I took the train to Oxford to find him. I couldn't very well not see him today, of all days.
He wasn't in his rooms; his scout thought he'd gone to the Bodelian, so I went to search for him there. Which, of course, is ridiculous - finding someone in the Bodelian could take you all day.
Luckily I found him right off, as he was leaving just as I started up the steps. "Jonathan," he said, flushing slightly. I love it when he flushes like that.
"Thought we'd have a bit of dinner," I said. He wouldn't look at me.
"I can't, Jonathan, I have things to do."
What could I say to him? I couldn't very well ask him if he didn't love me anymore. Besides, it was a stupid thing to ask...or perhaps not. He seemed so different from the way I've always seen him.
"I'll telephone later," he said.
So now I sit here, solitary, in my nearly empty flat, hoping for the telephone to ring. Outside on the street there are assorted men with their ladies going off to dinner or the theatre. I can't begin to think of what might be wrong with Vivien.