Epilogue
About the Publisher
My thanks to Tony Stevenson and David Bricknell for their classical and legal expertise
And thanks, as ever, to my editor, Clio Cornish, whose input is always so valuable.
With thanks to Mariangela and Christina for their support
With love
HENRICUS dei gratia rex Angliae dux Normannorum praemio pro hospitio abundanti sibi praebito ab Arturo Toplinghamensi necessario DECERNIT ut manerium Toplingham in Devoniae comitatu in perpetuum ad praeclarum quaestum meretricium faciendum iure ac merito nemine obstante neque impediente permaneat et hic subscribit die xiii julii anno regni nostri xxxi.
The campus clock struck four. She went over to the post tray and started collecting the day’s letters. As she bent forward, she sensed eyes on her. Turning round, her heart sank. She saw it was Edgar Lean, lurking at the open door of her office. She wasn’t the sort of girl who would ever want to be rude to anybody, but his habit of sneaking up on her had started to give her the creeps. Nevertheless, she managed to summon up a weak smile. Confrontation wasn’t her way.
‘Afternoon, Linda.’
‘Good afternoon, Edgar.’
‘Anything I can help you with?’ He was staring at her fixedly. His eyes were wide open, unblinking.
‘No, I’m fine thanks.’ As always, she felt uncomfortable in his presence. She nodded towards the pile of letters. ‘Sorry I can’t stop and talk. I’m afraid I’m busy.’ She turned her back on him, hoping he would take the hint.
All was quiet for a minute or two. Then, behind her, she heard steps. There was a movement and, to her horror, she felt a touch on her bottom. She squeaked with indignation and spun round.
But Edgar Lean had left. In his place, she was confronted with the tall figure of Roger Dalby, an expression of embarrassment on his face. Now, he was a very different kettle of fish. Her indignation left her and she gave him a warm smile.
‘Hi, Linda, sorry if I startled you.’ He was carrying a large cardboard box. The dog-eared label read, 12th-century records. The dust-covered box looked little younger than the contents. The corner that had bumped into her gaped open. Ancient sticky tape looked to be the only thing holding it together.
‘Sorry about that. I wasn’t really paying attention.’
Nothing new there. He rarely left the twelfth century. She leant forward to give him a hand. Just at that very moment, the box finally gave way.
‘Oh, blast.’
Papers cascaded onto the floor. He dropped to his knees and started collecting them up again.
‘Here, let me help you.’
She knelt down beside him and started picking up grubby old files, marked variously Knights Templar, Bernard of Clairvaux and Cistercians. He raised his eyes towards her. Her face was little more than a foot from his. So close, he could smell her perfume. For one crazy moment he wondered what would happen if he were to throw his arms around her and kiss her.
But that was not his way, either.
The papers all collected, she stood up again.
‘Roger.’
He looked up sheepishly from the floor.
‘This letter has just come in. It looks important. Maybe you should open it straightaway.’ She held it out to him as he pulled himself to his feet. He carefully placed his papers on the table before taking the letter from her, relishing the slight physical contact as their fingers touched.
The long, stiff envelope was marked Private and Confidential. To be opened by the recipient in person.
‘Very formal. Who on earth can that be from?’ He was puzzled.
‘It seems to be a firm of solicitors, if you look on the back of the envelope.’ She suddenly blushed. ‘Not that I’ve been…I mean I wouldn’t…’ Her voice tailed off, but he was quick to reassure her.
‘Of course not, Linda. Now let’s see…um… Henderson Brothers and Healy. A local firm. Definitely legal by the looks of it. Here’s hoping it’s not a summons.’
He took the proffered paper knife and carefully made an incision. Inside were a number of folded sheets. He opened the covering letter and read it. As he did so, his eyes widened. He broke into reading out loud.
‘Acting in accordance with the wishes of Mr Eustace McKinnon (deceased), as expressed in his last will and testament… My word, I don’t believe it…Toplingham Manor…all the land and appurtenances… Good lord, Linda, Uncle Eustace has died and he’s…he’s…’ His voice faltered. She leapt towards him protectively.
He slumped into his chair and took a big gulp of air before continuing in shocked tones, ‘I do believe Uncle Eustace has left me a fortune.’
Linda stood beside the chair and debated whether a peck on the cheek would be appropriate, given the circumstances. All her instincts were crying out to throw her arms around his neck and smother him in kisses, but, as ever, she controlled herself. In the end, she contented herself with a few words of encouragement.
The news went round the university like wildfire. Within a very few days, everybody had heard of Roger’s good fortune and the way this would affect his plans for the future. And theirs. Not everybody was pleased.
‘You’ve heard the news?’ Amanda could see she had.
‘Mmh.’ Rosie was staring miserably into the remains of her cappuccino. Term had officially finished and the all the undergraduates had fled. Along with a few other postgrads, the two girls were just about the only people in the coffee bar. ‘I heard yesterday. Linda told me. It won’t be the same place without him.’
‘Yes, and she’s going too.’
‘Linda? Leaving the uni?’ This was news to Rosie. ‘What’s she going to do?’
‘What do you think? She’s going with the prof. He needs somebody to look after him. He’d probably starve to death if she wasn’t there to remind him to eat. We all know that.’ Roger Dalby’s all-consuming obsession with his medieval saint was common knowledge around the campus. People still recounted the story of him walking into the fountain while trying to decipher a medieval parchment. He splashed straight across and out the other side, but he managed it without getting the parchment wet.
‘You make him sound like an old codger. He’s only thirty-eight.’
