Secrets at Toplingham Manor. T A Williams

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.’

       Chapter 2

      ‘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 changed. Instead of driving through the rush-hour traffic, I will just have to walk a few steps from my bedroom to my study. Of course, I will miss seeing you all.’

      His eyes alighted on the scowling face of Edgar Lean, squeezed in alongside the other postgrads. He really had taken the news badly. Oh, dear. He soldiered on with his speech.

      ‘Of course, I won’t be completely alone. As many of you will already know, I will still have Linda to look after me.’ He caught sight of her face, now blushing red. He pressed on. ‘Because Linda has agreed to come to work with me. After so many years of having my life arranged by her at the university, I would have felt totally lost without her.’ A ripple of applause ran through the audience. Linda herself looked as though she wanted the boards to part beneath her feet and swallow her up.

      When the applause died down, he continued with his speech. Beside Edgar Lean in the front row were the familiar faces of his other postgrads, Amanda and Rosie. He noticed that Rosie was in a dress that displayed a startling amount of bare skin. Somebody should speak to her, before some boy gets the wrong impression, he found himself thinking. He would never understand the caprices of female fashion. Of course, in St Bernard’s time, women would have been covered from head to toe, their hair concealed beneath a wimple. A glance around the ballroom revealed no wimples. With an effort, he returned his attention to his speech.

      Linda looked across, disapprovingly, at the redhead. The dress the girl was wearing was so low-cut as to be positively indecent. Rosie was staring in rapt adoration at Roger. For his part, he appeared blissfully unaware of her designs upon him. Linda snorted to herself. There was only one person in this room with any right to have designs on Professor Roger Dalby. And it certainly wasn’t Rosie Barnes.

      She returned her attention to Roger. By now, she knew every last freckle, line and dimple on his face. Over the years she had known him, she had dreamt of him in many different costumes, including his present, formal one. Some of her other dreams, she thought with a guilty flush, saw him much less formally clad. Indeed, much less clad altogether. She rubbed her palms surreptitiously down the sides of her dress.

      The speech continued, interrupted occasionally by a little polite applause. Duggie slowly retreated into the warmth of the crowd. As he stood and listened, the warmth of the crowd behind him crystallised into the unmistakable contours of the feminine form. This was a subject to which he had devoted almost as many hours of dedicated study as Professor Dalby to his doctoral thesis. Careful not to disturb the other guests, or the flow of the rhetoric from his old friend, Duggie slowly turned. He cast an admiring eye across the source of the warmth, reluctantly raising his gaze to the face above. To his exquisite delight, it did not disappoint.

      ‘Enchanting, quite enchanting. Douglas Scott. And you are…?’ He smiled warmly as his eyes instinctively flicked back down to that magnificent body, clad only in sheer black silk.

      ‘Tina. Tina Pound from the Geography Department.’ She gave a mock curtsy. She scrutinised him for a moment. ‘Where are you from? I haven’t seen you on campus.’

      ‘Not