Meeting Millie (Oxford Romance Book 1)

OceanofPDF.com Meeting Millie by Clare Ashton OceanofPDF.com Meeting Millie by Clare Ashton Copyright © 2023 Clare Ashton. All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Cover art: Leni Kauffman, copyright © 2023 Published by: OceanofPDF.com Table of Contents Acknowledgements Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 OceanofPDF.com Acknowledgements I lived in Oxford for over a decade and still miss the place. It’s been wonderful to stay there again in my imagination and I have two more books in mind for the Oxford Romance series. There’s lots in the future for these characters. For this novel, I need to thank Diana again. I really wouldn’t want to do a book without you. You invariably appreciate what I’m trying to achieve and have perfected the art of telling me I haven’t achieved it in a way that makes me knuckle down instead of giving up writing. It’s a fine balance. Gabby is another hugely treasured reader who gets sent the raw first draft and still sees through the mess to what I’m trying to do. The cheerleading, encouragement, spot-on observations and entertaining chat are so much appreciated. Thanks to Cindy for always bringing another perspective and, in this book particularly, your feedback has improved it crucially, I think. So many thanks! This book took longer to write than expected, and I’m very grateful to later readers for extra pairs of eyes. Thank you to Sue for entertaining comments and reassurance. And Lucy for encouragement and Britishism spotting. I count myself extremely lucky to have all your input. The usual disclaimer applies though – these may be skilled practitioners, but there’s still a stubborn author at the receiving end who might not take their advice. All remaining issues are my own. OceanofPDF.com To Jayney OceanofPDF.com Chapter 1 Thirteen years ago “Hello,” said the woman with bouncing curls and the biggest grin. “I’m next door to you.” Sun beamed through the dormer window of the small kitchenette at the end of the corridor and set the woman and her hair blazing with golden light. Charlotte recognised her, the arm at least. Pink nail varnish, cotton-weave friendship bracelet and a tan from the long summer. Charlotte had seen it reach out from the neighbouring room in the halls of St Hilda’s, Oxford, grab the rugby shirt of an eager freshman and tug him inside. An indulgent giggle had spiced the air and the door slammed. That laugh. Charlotte had stepped inside her own room, closed the door and put on headphones to be discreet. But it was impossible not to smile at that laugh. “Hello. I’m Charlotte Albright.” She put out a hand to introduce herself in an awkward approximation of how her mother did. The woman stared at it, blue eyes sparkling and the corner of her mouth twitching at Charlotte’s formality. “Well, Ms Charlotte Albright.” The woman shifted her accent from relaxed London to an absurd, posh British that belonged in the 1950s. She raised her eyebrows. “Are you called Lottie for short?” A laugh glittered the edges of every word. Charlotte stared bemused before she realised the woman was playing with her, because Charlotte had been more appropriate for meeting a tutor than another student. Her cheeks roasted and she mentally rolled her eyes at herself. She was not the most worldly. But she was amiable and also charmed by bright eyes. The woman really was pretty. “People don’t call me Lottie,” Charlotte said. “Lotte?” “No?” “Char?” The woman was almost laughing. Charlotte giggled, then tried to pretend to be affronted. “Never.” “So, Ms Charlotte Albright,” the woman relished the enunciation of the full name, then dropped into her usual accent, "fancy a cheese toastie? I’ve got two on the go.” She pointed a thumb to the sandwich maker that fizzed with leaking cheese. Without waiting for an answer, she spun away and cleared food into the fridge, which was too small for the ten students along the corridor and crammed with pints of milk. The woman was shorter than Charlotte and curvy. As she leant down, her bum, accentuated in a pair of tight jeans, made a voluptuous heart shape in the fridge doorway. Charlotte stooped, guilty at staring at the curvy bum and always conscious of her height, a gawky five-foot ten. It was as though she was half-finished compared with her older sister and mother, and the comparison was made often. The two of them were as tall, mother taller, but completed with curves and the confidence to throw back their broad shoulders. They had lush, straight, mahogany hair, whereas Charlotte’s tumbled in waves, as if someone had lost interest and forgotten to brush. Again, the comparison was made often. As was the observation she hadn’t matriculated at prestigious Magdalen College, Oxford, like her sister and mother. “Well, neighbour,” the woman said. “Wanna join me for a toastie?” “Love to,” Charlotte said. She wiped her mouth, fearing she dribbled. The cheese that leaked from the edges of the toaster had crisped to golden and the imagined saltiness teased her tongue. She was incapable of hiding anything, including her enthusiasm. “Hope you’re all right with Value Cheddar,” the woman said, slipping one toastie onto a plate. “Some bugger’s got Waitrose in there.” “That’s mine!” Charlotte