A visit to the historic site was definitely in order. He verified the opening times on Cressing’s website, where he also discovered they were holding a Family Medieval Weekend starting the day after tomorrow. He deserved a bit of fun after living like a hermit for months while putting the final touches on his dissertation. The Templar costume didn’t have to be returned for another week.
The odd notion flitted into his brain that Susie would enjoy attending the event, though she was probably working on the weekend. Or perhaps she’d already been there, researching de Norrels. Just as well he didn’t have any means of contacting her. She wasn’t his type anyway.
Playing Dress-Up
Susie went through the motions of her Friday shift at the supermarket, but something about Peter Bateson’s presentation kept bothering her. Around mid-morning she recalled that her outburst had rattled him for a minute—no surprise, it had shocked her too—but he’d recovered quickly and carried on with confidence. However, he’d hesitated and looked for her reaction at one point. Something to do with one of the Templar sites in England, but which?
Last night, in her dreams, she asked the knight for more information, but he just stared back, arms folded across his chest, and said nothing. Infuriating man!
In the break room, she borrowed Sammy’s mobile and googled Templar sites. One name rang a bell. Cressing. That was it. “Do you know where Cressing is?” she asked her friend.
Sammy shrugged and held out her hand for the mobile. “Somewhere in Essex, I think.”
“Do you mind if I click on the link?” Susie said, though she’d already done so.
Sammy pouted. “Data ain’t free, you know.”
Susie only half listened, her interest spiked by the information on the web. Cressing Temple was indeed in Essex. Not that far away. And they were holding a Medieval Day this coming weekend. She didn’t look up. “Would you like my Saturday shift?”
As usual, she’d rushed into something without thinking and almost hoped her friend would decline, though that was unlikely. Sammy needed money as much as she did, which was why giving up her shift was a silly idea.
“Sure,” Sammy replied, tucking the mobile into her pocket then rinsing her cup in the sink before returning to her till.
Too late to renege now. Dressing up in medieval costume and spending a day trying out ancient crafts would be fun. She hadn’t done anything fun in a very long time.
Her mind raced through her meagre wardrobe, trying to think what she could use to fashion a costume. It might be worth stopping by the Oxfam second hand clothing store on her way to the pub.
It was around one-thirty in the afternoon when Peter’s mobile rang.
“Blast,” he said, wishing he hadn’t when his voice echoed inside the templar’s helm on his head—the reason he hadn’t worn it during his presentation.
He eased the replica off carefully and answered. “Hello, Bateson here.”
“Peter,” Hugh replied. “I’m going on holidays tomorrow. Two frightful weeks with Mummy and Daddy. Thought we might have a farewell meal at the Cheese tonight and you can commiserate with me.”
Peter caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bedroom mirror and straightened his shoulders. The tunic looked great with the leather belt and was long enough to hide the upper part of his motorcycle boots—not exactly period. With the helm tucked under his arm he looked very medieval. But a trip into the city was out of the question. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve planned an outing to the wilds of Essex tomorrow.”
“Essex? Never mind that. Goodness knows when we’ll have a chance to get together again,” Hugh wheedled. “You’ll be off to some fancy university, and Edgar will be swotting for his finals.”
Peter blew out a long breath. They’d been friends for years, before university. Three musketeers with parents who didn’t give a damn. He should make the effort. “What time?” he asked.
“Around seven.”
“How about six-thirty?”
“Excellent, old chap. I’ll make the reservation. Edgar’s coming too.”
Peter hung up and studied his reflection again. Too bad he hadn’t been able to borrow a sword. He sat on the bed and took off his boots.
Susie would probably laugh her socks off if she saw him dressed up like this. The studious nerd turned Knight Templar.
“You look down in the mouth,” John Studler remarked when Susie reported for her shift at the Cheese.
She liked John. He was easy to work for. “I’ve just spent a frustrating hour trying to find a costume at the Oxfam store.”
He carried on wiping down the bar in the Chop Room. “Nothing suitable?”
“No, and everything has a peculiar odor to it. I’ll just have to go without a costume.”
“It’s for a party?”
She hesitated. He probably thought she was going to some goth orgy. “No, I’m planning to take part in the Medieval Days at a place in Essex.”
He paused. “Medieval? Why didn’t you say so, darlin’? We’ve got tons of costumes in storage for our annual Samuel Johnson days and other special events. We’ll find one that can pass for medieval.”
“But I’d need it for the weekend.”
“Tell you what. You wear it tonight to wait tables in here and you can keep the outfit for the weekend. My treat. Sound all right?”
Serving food wasn’t her favorite thing, but the offer was too tempting. “You’re very generous, John.”
He shrugged and threw the dishrag into the sink. “Come on, then. Let’s see what there is.”
She followed him down the precarious stone steps that led to the underground vault bars and storage rooms.
“How are you getting to this shindig?” he asked, turning the key in an ancient lock.
“Good question. I picked up a London Transport schedule. It’s near Braintree. A place called Cressing. Looks like about three tube connections, a train, then a bit of a walk. I’ll have to change into my costume there. If we find one.”
He shoved open the heavy wooden door and pulled a cord dangling from the ceiling to turn on the light. “Don’t worry. There’ll be something suitable.”
Susie had never been in this particular storeroom before. She gaped at rack after rack of quality garment bags. “These are all costumes?”
“We’ve a big staff here,” he replied with a wink. “Every shape and size. We don’t use them enough.”
Raging Hormones
“They’re running behind,” Hugh explained over the noisy chatter in the Cheese. “The maitre d’ suggested we grab a drink at the bar while we wait.”
“Fair enough,” Edgar replied. “I’m parched.”
Peter followed, though he didn’t want to start consuming alcohol before he ate, and had hoped to be home in time to get a good night’s sleep. Riding a motorcycle through London traffic took concentration and he intended to set off early in the morning.
“I’ll get the first round,” Hugh offered, disappearing into the crowd clustered at the bar.
The tables were still all taken when Hugh returned, hands splayed around three glasses. It was impossible to carry on a conversation in the crowded bar. Peter wished he hadn’t agreed to come.
“Farnham, party of three,” a voice declared after what seemed an eternity.
They downed the last of their drinks as they shouldered their way to the Chop Room. A waitress took their glasses. The maitre d’ led them to a table and handed out menus. The dining room was quieter, but the low beams tended to magnify the sound. Their host told them the name of their server, but just then Edgar said something Hugh found hilarious and Peter didn’t catch it.
The first thing he noticed about the waitress when she arrived were her eyes. They were wide and blue like Susie’s. But the spiky hair was hidden by a coif, part of a serving wench’s costume. He paid scant attention to the ankle length skirt as his gaze travelled to the black corset affair laced tightly around her ribcage. It seemed to have been designed for one pu
rpose—to push a pair of very tempting breasts up as far as they would go without pouring over the top of the low-cut shift beneath it.
Lust fueled an erection the like of which he hadn’t felt in a long time—if ever.
Was it the fire in his face that caused her to blush? For all his confusion at his cock’s reaction, he got the feeling she wasn’t comfortable in the outfit.
“Susie?” he asked.
She forced the briefest smile of acknowledgement. “Can I get you gentlemen anything from the bar?” she replied in her lilting Welsh accent.
Silence.
He glanced at his friends. Both were salivating over Susie’s breasts. He clenched his jaw, feeling very possessive of lovely globes that he was sure would more than fill his hands. “Er—I’ll have a pint of the bitter, please,” he managed to stammer.
“Same here,” his chums chimed in together.
She was gone before Peter could get his thoughts organized.
“Holy cow,” Hugh exclaimed. “Can you believe that’s the same weirdo who served us before?”
“And rudely interrupted Peter’s dissertation,” Edgar added.
“She’s not a weirdo,” Peter retorted, “and she was just enthusiastic, not rude. At least she was paying attention.”
Hugh elbowed him. “I think our friend here is cunt struck.”
Peter brooded. His pal’s remark was too close to the truth, and he was mortified he’d allowed his emotions to show.
He contemplated denying the jibe. Knowing he was lying would lead them to make a bigger deal of his reaction than it merited, though her get-up had knocked him for six, so to speak. He concentrated on calming his raging hormones, trying to recall how to do abdominal breathing while pretending to be amused by the suggestive comments wielded by his friends.
His body scorned his efforts when Susie returned with their beers.
“Dressed up in medieval finery tonight, I see,” Edgar teased as she put the glasses down.
The blush spread to her breasts. “Yes. Have you decided what you’d like?”
“I’m wondering why you’re the only waitress in costume,” Hugh asked suavely, apparently intent on playing the gigolo.
The lecherous gleam in his friend’s eyes annoyed Peter; however, Hugh had raised a good point. “You look fantastic,” he told her, “but why are you the only one?”
He lost his train of thought when she looked into his eyes and said, “Look, I apologise for my outburst at your panel. Can we just forget it?”
She thought he was angry. “No need to apologise. It’s not often a doctoral thesis gets someone so enthused.”
She continued to stare into his eyes, weighing him up, testing his sincerity.
Hugh coughed. “When you lovebirds are done,” he interjected, “I’ll have the steak and kidney pie. With chips.”
She turned her attention to her order pad and blushed again. “Steak and kidney. Any appetizer?”
Predictably, Edgar had what Hugh was having. Peter ordered something, but his attention was more on devising a way to coax Susie’s nipples into putting in an appearance.
“You embarrassed her,” Hugh scolded as she stalked off to the computer to punch in their order.
“Me?” Peter snarled. “You might want to wipe the drool off your chin. And she and I are not lovebirds.”
Edgar laughed. “Come on, chaps. No arguing on our last night. Nice tits though, I must admit.”
Susie clenched her fists and took a deep breath when she realized she’d made an error entering the order in the computer. She pressed Cancel and started over.
Having worn only oversized T-shirts for years, she wasn’t used to displaying so much cleavage, but John had insisted the outfit was perfect for her. Peter and his cronies weren’t the only men salivating over her boobies. For some reason, she’d expected him to be different. She might have known the males of the species were only interested in one thing. Maybe her mother had been right for once after all.
Peter hadn’t even asked her to explain what she knew of de Norrels. Perhaps just as well. She’d bumped up against studious types like him in her anthropology classes. The arrogant trio would fall off the bench laughing if she told them about the knight.
The next ten minutes passed in a blur of activity until she received the signal the three musketeers’ order was up. She stared at the plate of liver and onions, hoping that’s what Peter had actually ordered.
He frowned when she set the tray down and passed the first steak and kidney to his friend.
“Liver and onions for you. Right?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I suppose so.”
Some of the tension eased from her spine. If she’d got the order wrong he was being nice enough not to point it out. She decided to take a chance. “In answer to your question, my boss lent me one of the pub’s costumes so I can go to a medieval fair tomorrow. On condition I wear it tonight.”
Peter’s reaction wasn’t what she expected. He frowned and looked angry.
“She’s a medievalist like you, Peter,” his friend quipped, spreading HP Sauce over his pie.
Peter clenched his jaw. “I’m not a medievalist. I’m an expert on the Templars.”
An urge to tell him about her dream bubbled in her throat, but this didn’t seem like the right moment. Something she’d said had angered him, and a patron at another table was calling for her attention.
“Bon appétit,” she murmured and fled.
Peter sliced into the meat, summoning a defence against the questions his friends were bound to ask. He hadn’t eaten liver and onions since he was a kid. His mother had cooked it often, and he hated it almost as much as he resented her for abandoning her family.
“You don’t suppose Susie’s going to the same medieval thing as you?” Edgar asked, jolting him out of his memories.
“Doubtful,” he replied as nonchalantly as he could, though he was quite certain she intended to go to Cressing.
“You could give her a lift,” Hugh suggested, brandishing a ketchup-laden chip on the end of his fork.
“Imagine riding a motorbike in that outfit,” he retorted, then wished he hadn’t conjured an image of swelling breasts pressed against his back.
“You might at least ask her,” Hugh insisted. “Cressing’s a long way by bus. In fact, she’ll probably have to take several buses, or maybe the train. How far is it?”
He swallowed the lump of liver stuck in his throat. “I’m sure she isn’t going to Cressing.”
They ate the rest of their meals in uncharacteristic silence. Peter began to get the unwelcome feeling they’d outgrown their boyhood camaraderie.
His thoughts drifted back to Susie. If she was going to Cressing, it might be better to keep an eye on her. Besides, it was much too far to go by public transport. She’d no sooner get there than have to start back. He doubted she owned a car. Few people who lived in London wanted the hassle when you could get around easily without one.
The deciding factor was his annoyance at the harassment she’d have to put up with if she rode the bus in the saucy get-up. That and the nod of encouragement from Dr. Johnson’s portrait hanging over the bar.
“I’m off to the Gents,” he lied, sliding out of the bench.
Spark
Susie stared at the screen but her attention was on the man who’d come up behind her. She recognised Peter’s aftershave—something woodsy and natural smelling, not like the cloying stuff popular with a lot of the regulars.
She glanced down to make sure her tingling nipples hadn’t peeked over the top of the blouse. They were still covered—just—but two round pebbles poked at the tight fabric. Her body had never reacted this way with anyone before. Perhaps it was just his resemblance to her knight that had her on edge.
He probably wanted to complain about the liver.
“Sorry to bother you,” he began.
She turned her head. “Was the food not to your liking, sir?”
He frowned, evide
ntly puzzled by her question. “No. I mean yes, it was fine. Well, actually I’m not fond of liver and…” He raked a hand through his hair and handed her a credit card. “I’ll get this if you can do up the bill.”
“No sweet?” she asked, hoping her nervousness wasn’t obvious.
“No, not tonight,” he replied.
She printed the bill and put the transaction through, a little surprised when it wasn’t declined. Few students qualified for credit cards.
He hesitated when she held out the receipt with his card. “Look, I was wondering. If it’s the Medieval Weekend at Cressing you’re planning to attend, I could give you a lift. On my motorbike.”
Forgetting her resolve not to turn around, she swiveled to face him. “You’re going there as well?”
“Er, yes,” he replied, taking the card and receipt. He glanced up, evidently as startled as she by the spark of static electricity that passed between them when their fingers touched. “I have the Templar costume for a few more days and I thought…” He rambled on about needing some relaxation and fun, all the while doing his best not to look at her cleavage. But his eyes kept wandering back. Though her face was on fire, she resisted the temptation to look down, quite sure the embarrassing nipples were now more than obvious.
She should be cautious. He was a relative stranger, someone she hardly knew. But perhaps this was part of the knight’s plan. The choice was simple; a two and a half hour journey on public transport, or riding pillion behind an attractive man. “That’s generous of you. I live in Tooting Bec. Where do you want to meet?”
“Is it a date?” Hugh asked when Peter returned to the table.
“No. I just offered a lift if she was going to Cressing, which she is, so I’m picking her up at Moorgate Station.”
“Aha,” Edgar exclaimed. “The knight and his fair maiden will traverse the kingdom of Essex on his trusty steed.”
Knightly Dreams Page 3