I lived out of Oxford during the following year, working extremely hard to prove, primarily to myself, that I was fit to do postgraduate work. Jeremy lived even further out, on the other side of Oxford, but of course he had a car; Jane came up quite often during that first term, and we had several evenings together reminiscing about the holiday and much else. The problem that had arisen, except for one or two brief discussions about it with Jeremy, was fortunately not brought up at all.
Towards the end of the term they had a superb dinner party in honour of Charles, who was finally leaving. He was fulfilling a life long ambition of travelling by sea, and two days later it was of course Jeremy who drove him down to Southampton. As we sped down the motorway on that cold November evening, I thought back to the time, eighteen months ago, when we had wandered, just the three of us then too, over the peaceful Oxfordshire lanes in pursuit of an eternal summer. Charles was going away without taking a degree, having grown tired of Oxford after his term as President of the Union: now in my fifth year I could see what he meant, but as we said goodbye to him I felt that some things remained fresh if one wanted them to.