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rugby-obsessed, public school boy when they first met him.

      Which only went to show how wrong first impressions could be.

      Professor Theo Dexter sat in his rooms at St Michael’s hunched over his computer in a foul mood. Last week’s optimism about the new term already felt like a distant memory. So far, this year’s intake of undergraduates had been dismal. Barely a single good-looking girl amongst them. As for the physicists, it made you wonder what the hell the government’s two hundred million pounds of extra education spending was being spent on. Certainly not hiring decent science teachers. To think that these kids were the best that the English school system had to offer. Morons the lot of them. God, it was depressing.

      He turned back to his book. Cursed bloody thing. As an academic, you were expected to publish your own work at least every few years. Most scholars, including Theresa, considered this ‘the fun part’ and saw teaching as a distraction to their studies. For Theo it was the other way around. He found the obligation to continually reinvent the wheel and come up with new theories an immense drain on his time and energy. The truth was, he wasn’t much of an original thinker. He was bright, naturally. Unlike most of his colleagues he was also a good communicator, with a gift for expressing the most complex ideas in theoretical physics in simple, human terms. But Theo Dexter had yet to stumble across that one, seminal thought that would forever be identified with his name. Deep down he was wildly envious of his wife’s ability to come up with new angles on Shakespearean criticism over her Special K every morning. Not that he’d ever have told her that. Inspiration seemed to explode out of Theresa involuntarily, like a sneeze. Theo Dexter knew that his fellow physicists considered him a ‘plodder’. If only he had half his wife’s instinctive, unstructured brilliance, they might start taking him seriously. As it was…

      A knock on the door disturbed him. Who the hell could that be? I don’t have any supervisions this morning.

      ‘Yes?’ He sounded less than welcoming. Tentatively the door creaked open.

      ‘Professor Dexter?’

      ‘Yes? For God’s sake, come in whoever you are. Don’t skulk in the corridor like a thief.’

      A young girl shuffled nervously into the room. Theo’s first thought was, She’s escaped from the circus. Dressed in baggy, striped trousers teamed with a multi-coloured, polka-dotted shirt, dark hair flying all over the place, mascara smudged, she looked like a lunatic. His second thought was, She’s pretty. It was hard to make out much of her figure beneath the billowing clothes, but the face was angelic. Porcelain-white skin, wide-set green eyes, hair as black and gleaming as liquid tar.

      ‘Can I help you?’

      ‘I’m Sasha Miller. I’ve got a supervision with you this morning. Eleven o’clock?’

       So she’s a physicist! One of mine. Thank you, God. At last.

      ‘Ah. Miss Miller. Well, your supervision was actually scheduled for yesterday morning. But do come in.’

      ‘Oh God. Was it?’ Sasha blushed scarlet. ‘I’m terribly sorry. I’m afraid I can be a bit disorganized sometimes. I’m working on it.’

      Theo offered her a chair. In a fluster, Sasha somehow managed to miss the seat, lowering her bottom into mid air and only just righting herself before she hit the floor.

      ‘Sorry.’ She clung to the chair’s arms like life rafts.

      Theo smiled. She’s adorable. So gauche. I wonder if she’s even eighteen yet?

      ‘Don’t worry,’ he said kindly. ‘A lot of people get muddled in their first week. How are you finding Cambridge?’

      ‘Oh my goodness, it’s perfect,’ Sasha gushed. ‘Just magical, thank you. St Michael’s is like a dream come true.’ She thought, He seems very kind. I shouldn’t have judged him so harshly the other day.

      ‘It’s certainly a very special place,’ said Theo. I wonder if her nipples go darker when she blushes? ‘Especially for we physicists. These are exciting times, Sasha. World-changing times. And Cambridge is right at the heart of it.’

      Sasha felt a rush of excitement and pride so strong she had to grip the chair even tighter. She loved the way he said ‘we’. Professor Theodore Dexter, a Cambridge physics professor, her tutor, was addressing her, Sasha Miller from Frant, as an equal. She felt like a co-conspirator in some wonderful, top-secret plot. Looking at him close up for the first time, she had to admit that Professor Dexter really was terribly good looking. Better looking than he’d seemed across the car park at the Cavendish labs. He reminded her of an American actor…she was so bad with names, she’d never remember which one…one of the doctors from ER perhaps? He was certainly very young. She’d been right about that the other day. But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Isaac Newton discovered the generalized binomial theorem at twenty-two. Mozart wrote his first concerto at six. You can’t put an age limit on genius.

      ‘Listen, Sasha, I’m afraid I’m a bit busy just at the moment. I wasn’t expecting you, you see.’

      ‘Oh. Of course.’ Embarrassed, Sasha got up to go. ‘I’ll get the notes from one of the others and I’ll, er…I’ll come back next week. Sorry.’

      ‘Please, stop apologizing,’ said Theo smoothly. ‘If you like I could meet you somewhere for a drink this evening? We can talk through the course, what’s expected of you, the lecture schedules…that sort of thing.’

      It was such an unexpected suggestion that for a moment Sasha didn’t say anything. She was supposed to be calling Will this evening for a proper chat. She’d even blown off Georgia, who’d been on at her to come to some quiz night at Caius, because she wanted to focus on Will. It had only been a week, but already Sasha felt as if the distance between them was growing. All the magazines said that long-distance relationships took work.

      But she couldn’t exactly turn down her professor. Not after he’d been so understanding about her coming at the wrong time and all that.

      ‘All right. Thanks. Where should I…?’

      ‘I’ll leave a note in your pigeonhole.’

      Sasha left and Theo turned back to his book. All of a sudden his spirits had lifted exponentially.

      Perhaps inspiration was about to strike after all?

       CHAPTER FOUR

      Michaelmas term seemed to race by. Sasha hadn’t ever known time to pass so quickly. Once the excitement of freshers week was over, St Michael’s got back to work. The bar was still packed every night, but by eight thirty in the morning a steady stream of green-faced undergraduates could be seen on their bicycles heading for labs or libraries. Even Georgia, whose dedication to partying was the stuff of legend, dutifully trekked off to the architecture faculty building every morning with a back-breaking stack of files under her arm.

      When she didn’t have a supervision – one-on-one teaching with Professor Dexter – Sasha spent her days shuttling between the Cavendish lab and the university library. After a brief panic in the first two weeks, when she’d worried she might be out of her depth intellectually (Professor Clancy’s ‘introductory’ lecture on nanophotonics was so impenetrable, he might as well have been speaking Urdu), she soon relaxed and began to delight in her studies. Not only was the teaching phenomenal – physics lessons at St Agnes’s felt like another lifetime already – but the facilities and technology at her disposal were the stuff of Sasha’s dreams. Of course, it was the Astrophysics course that really excited her: the formation of stars and planets, observational cosmology, evolution of galaxies, active galactic nuclei. Sasha had been obsessed with space before she knew how to say the word. She felt incredibly lucky that her own Director of Studies at St Michael’s, Professor Dexter, was an astrophysicist himself. Not to mention a wonderful

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