nodded, unrepentant. ‘University records are open to the public, you know. Anyway, I’d take that job any day.’ Her face assumed a dreamy expression. ‘I’d like to look after all his needs.’ She sighed. ‘And a few of my own.’
‘Well, it looks like Linda’s beaten you to it. Well, maybe not all his needs, mind you. I still don’t think there’s anything going on between those two. But you’ve only got a few weeks left to make your move, and then he’s off.’
‘Doesn’t give me a lot of time. There must be some way to attract his attention.’
‘You could strip naked and sprawl across his desk with a copy of Vitae Sancti Bernardi Abbatis covering your modesty.’
‘Two problems there, Mandy. First, his desk is so covered with piles of paper, he wouldn’t see me. Second, there’s only one copy in the university and Ed’s had it for months.’
‘I’m not so sure I would want any book Edgar’s touched lying on my naked body.’ Amanda shuddered at the thought.
‘Oh, he’s not so bad, really. Underneath that geeky exterior, there lurks a geeky interior.’ Both girls laughed.
‘Talk of the devil.’ Amanda saw him first. Edgar Lean was shambling towards them, dead to the world. His headphones blotted out the noise of the coffee bar and his eyes, as usual, rarely lifted from his toes. ‘Why don’t you ask him for the book back? If you like, I’ll tell him what you want it for.’
‘Don’t you dare… Hi, Ed, how’s it going?’
‘Er, yes, hi, Rosie, Amanda. Um, I’m fine, thanks.’ He shrugged the heavy bag off his shoulder and stood it on the floor at his feet. Reaching up, he pulled out his earphones. He was looking even more lugubrious than normal. ‘To be honest, I’m not really fine. I’ve just heard that Roger Dalby is leaving.’ He ran the back of his hand across his nose and wiped it absently against his jeans.
Amanda made a mental note to avoid shaking his hand. ‘They’ll find you another supervisor, Ed. Don’t you worry.’
‘Yes, but there’s nobody who knows the twelfth century like him. I’ll be lost without him.’
‘So will I.’ Rosie’s voice was little more than a murmur. She rallied. ‘But it’s all change in the School of Medieval Studies. Did you know Linda’s going too?’
This was news to Edgar Lean ‘She’s what?’
Amanda watched an expression of horror flood across his face as she explained. ‘She told me herself. She’s been offered a job by the gorgeous Roger as his personal assistant. She leaves with him next month.’
Edgar looked so downhearted, Amanda felt she had to try to cheer him up.
‘Come on, Ed. It’s not that bad. These things happen. Even if Linda’s not going to be around, there are plenty more fish in the sea. You’ll find a nice girl.’ She did her best to sound encouraging. Rosie leapt in to help.
‘Yes, and by this time next year you’ll have got your doctorate. Just think, you can tell the girls, “Trust me, I’m a doctor.” You’ll be fighting them off.’
‘It is quite amazing to think that Bernard of Clairvaux was already an abbot at just twenty-five.’
Linda sighed inwardly. Goodbye, twenty-first century, hello, twelfth. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a couple of inquisitive heads peering at them out of the ballroom door. No doubt they were wondering where the guest of honour had got to. The band had stopped playing. It was quite clear that he was expected on the stage.
‘Roger… Please…’ She tried to drag him away again, but without success.
At that moment, they were joined by the immaculately groomed form of his friend, Douglas Scott. She gave him a look of supplication. For once she was delighted, and relieved, that he was there with them. The fact that, as recently as the previous day, she had described Duggie to her mother as being a bad influence, was something she now conveniently overlooked. He took the hint and moved in to do his bit. She gave him a broad smile of encouragement and gratitude. If anybody could snap Roger out of it, it was Duggie.
‘Wojtiva was still cutting his teeth in the monastery at Plovdiv at that age. Bernard was…’
‘For God’s sake, Rog, give it a break. Your public awaits you.’ Duggie materialised by his side and reinforced the message by removing Roger’s wine glass from his unresisting hand. He took him firmly by the elbow. ‘They are all here for you. For Christ’s sake, do them the courtesy of dragging yourself into the present-day at least for a few minutes.’
Linda nodded approvingly. She moved aside to let Duggie guide him out into the main body of the room. Both of them looked very smart. She particularly liked Roger’s new dark-blue suit. Mind you, the choice of colour had been her suggestion. As he passed her, Duggie accorded her an approving glance. Not for the first time, he reflected that with a change of wardrobe, a visit to a decent hairdresser, and a bit more self-confidence, Linda could so easily be a real stunner. For her part, she remained as unaware of her erotic potential as Roger Dalby appeared to be of the twenty-first century.
She followed them, as they passed through the ornate oak doors, into the formal ballroom. She looked around in awe. A sea of faces had turned towards them. She dropped her eyes and took a deep breath. A great many guests had been invited to wish Professor Roger Dalby well in his premature and unexpected retirement at the age of only thirty-eight. Duggie steered him through the crowd towards the far end of the room.
‘Smile, Rog. For God’s sake, smile.’
They reached the stage and Duggie led him up the flight of low steps. Together, they crossed to the centre, where the microphone had been placed. A gradual reduction in the volume of the chatter dropped to almost complete silence. He gave the mike a few sharp taps. The guests turned expectantly towards them.
‘It’s show time, Rog.’ Duggie dragged him to the microphone. ‘And for crying out loud, try to keep it in the twenty-first century. Just for once? OK?’
Roger pulled himself up straight and looked around the grand old ballroom, blinking as he took in the scene before him. The sea of faces shone back at him in the surprisingly bright light cast by the chandeliers. He searched desperately for something to say. His carefully rehearsed speech momentarily eluded his normally phenomenal memory. The inspiring words of Pope Innocent III, as he preached the First Crusade before an adoring crowd at Clermont in 1095, would almost certainly have leapt to his lips. But he managed to remember Duggie’s admonition.
He dug deep.
‘My friends, relatives, colleagues, students…’ He suddenly spotted the bishop and hastily threw in, ‘… my lords. It gives me great pleasure to see you all here tonight.’
Pausing for breath, he looked down to see Duggie nodding encouragingly. Alongside him stood Linda, looking quite wonderful in a light-blue dress that matched the colour of her eyes. She beamed back up at him. He managed a hint of a smile as he ploughed on.
‘It is going to feel strange when I wake up on Monday. After fifteen years at the university, my life will have totally
