‘I wanted to know how it ends,’ he said, defensively.
‘Andrew, my dear friend, we’re historians. No one knows how it ends better than us.’
‘Actually, Edward, no. Part I ends with the execution at Fotheringay.’
‘Yes, we know.’
‘No, no. You don’t understand. They killed the wrong queen. It was Elizabeth. They executed the Queen of England. Mary Stuart survived and went on to unite the two kingdoms.’
‘Impossible! I stood over him while he wrote every word. I had to. If I took my eye off the bugger even for a second, he was off to the nearest alehouse. You know what writers are like.’
‘Did you actually read it?’
‘There was no time. I alternately threatened and bribed until it was completed. I grabbed everything, jumped to St Mary’s, buried it all under the fourth step, and then got the hell out of there. I certainly didn’t proof read the thing.’
‘Do you think he did it as a joke?’
‘The man had no discernible sense of humour. Have you never read his comic dialogues? We need to get that manuscript back before anyone sees it. We can’t afford even the slightest hint of impropriety.’
‘Oh,’ said the Professor. ‘That’s not a problem. ‘It’s here,’ and he pulled the priceless document from under his jacket, wrapped in a Tesco carrier bag. The Boss closed his eyes briefly.
‘Well done, Andrew. Where are the sonnets?’
‘Occy has them in his safe.’
‘Well, for God’s sake, hang on to them; they clearly reveal the identity of his Dark Lady. And where is the gentleman from SPOHB?’
‘Lying down.’
The Boss frowned. ‘I gave explicit instructions – there was to be no violence.’
‘No, no, he was overcome.’
‘With emotion?’
‘Nearly right.’
Wisely, he let it go. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing we can do about it at the moment. We’ll just have to add it to our list of things to think about when we get back to work on Monday.’
Around me, St Mary’s glowed gently in the late afternoon sunshine. Mellow and golden. The gold was picked up and repeated with variations in the autumn foliage. Apart from us, everything seemed serene and quiet. Peaceful, even. But for how long?
A cool wind stirred the leaves. The sun dropped down behind the hills and long, purple shadows reached out towards us.
I sipped a little more champagne but the bubbles had gone. It was going flat. I looked up to see the Boss watching me, closely. I leaned nearer and said softly, ‘It’s not over, sir, is it?’
‘For the time being, Miss Maxwell, yes. But no, I’m sorry, it’s not over.