Romancing Robin Hood (7 page)

‘Sorry?'

‘Forget it, I was being silly.' He extended a perfectly clean and pleasantly warm hand, the remnants of a tan faintly discernible, ‘I'm Robert Franks. Everyone calls me Rob.' ‘Grace.'

‘Good journey?' Dr Franks went into the usual routine of small talk as he led Grace towards the staff common room, and the chance of lunch and a more serious conversation about the forthcoming viva interview.

After ordering a baked potato and cup of coffee apiece, they settled themselves by a window overlooking the expanse of parkland beyond the university. Grace stared out across the green landscape, her eyes mentally removing the lampposts, litterbins, and students, to see it with medieval eyes.

‘It's a nice view, isn't it? Dr Franks was watching Grace intently, ‘They tell me the grounds run to about 330 acres.'

Grace found herself blushing under the intensity of his stare, and was furious with herself for letting his piercing blue gaze affect her.

‘That's a lot of walking.' Her voice sounded rather brusque as she attempted to regain her composure, wishing that Dr Franks wasn't quite so attractive, and then tacitly rebuked herself for being so superficial.

Mellowing her tone, Grace added, ‘I've never been up here for food before.'

‘I'm surprised; I assumed you'd have been an examiner here before.'

‘Not here, no. I had your department head come to Leicester last year though.'

‘So, this is the return match?'

She smiled; her preconception that Dr Franks was going to be stuffy and without a proper dry British sense of humour already dissolving, ‘Indeed.'

‘I should apologise,' Rob said as he picked up a thin paper serviette and flapped it carefully over his lap, ‘I wanted to ask you to be the external examiner in the first place, but some politics became involved.' ‘As usual,' Grace chipped in.

‘As usual! And I had to ask a bod up in Durham first.

‘David? He's a nice chap. Damn clever.'

‘I've not met him. Excellent reputation of course, but not exactly right for the subject in this case, although I'm sure he'd have coped brilliantly.'

‘He would have. No question.'

‘You sound very sure. You know him well?'

‘He was the external at my own viva.'

‘No way! How did you get on?'

‘Well, I failed, obviously!'

‘Oh, ha ha!'

Grace's memory filled with the full horror of the occasion. She'd never been so nervous before or since. As she'd sat before her examiners, knowing that the next few hours would determine the course of her career, she'd been almost paralyzed with fear until her examiner, who she now knew on first name terms, had smiled at her and asked her a question about how the stories of Robin Hood had influenced criminal activity in the later middle ages. From that moment it had been a breeze – well, it had been as good as a nightmare can get.

‘So,' Grace asked, ‘what happened to stop David facing the train trip south?'

‘He got a better offer.'

‘Makes sense,' Grace chewed thoughtfully, ‘and so, here I am, saving you at the last minute.'

‘Like Robin Hood himself.'

Grace tried to ignore the effect the mischievous twinkle that had appeared at the corner of her companions eyes was having on her. ‘Tell me about the student, what was it, Christopher something?'

‘Christopher Ledger; he came over from Houston with me.'

‘Really?' ‘It's not as dodgy as it sounds. His Dad works in the oil industry. For Texaco or BP – I never was sure which. He was over there for four years before coming back to live in Aberdeen. The contract in Houston was almost up, so as I was coming home, Chris got a room in halls here for six months and came too. His family are back in Scotland now.'

‘So he'll head back up there once we're done here today?'

‘He will, although I can't imagine it'll be long before he gets an academic post in a university somewhere. Chris really knows his subject.'

Grace smiled, ‘Let's go and put that claim to the test, shall we, Dr Franks?'

The PhD exam was flawless. Grace had never been to one that ran so smoothly. The candidate was confident without arrogance, and the strategy of questions she and Rob had agreed upon beforehand had worked well.

Sitting back in a padded armchair in Dr Franks' office, Grace waited for him to return from privately congratulating his student in the main reception. Looking around her, Grace saw a smaller book-lined study than her own, but very similar, albeit without the added Robin Hood paraphernalia. While surveying the space, her eyes caught a glimpse of her skirt, and Grace started in surprise at not seeing her jeans covering her legs, and privately pleased that she'd performed so well without wearing trousers, and therefore operating outside of her comfort zone. Then she told herself off for thinking such idiotic psycho-babble.

The door opened, ‘Well, that was fantastic,' Rob crashed into his chair, his face glowing with pleasure and pride, ‘I've never had a viva go so well. Chris is over the moon.'

‘So he deserves to be.' They'd had no need to confer. This unique student had so obviously deserved his PhD, and the distinction that went with it, that further discussion hadn't been necessary.

‘Now,' Rob sat back up, ‘this leaves us with a dilemma.'

‘It does?'

‘Yes. We were supposed to have an hour of heavy debate as to whether he'd pass and what rewrites were required. Naturally this is not needed, so, shall I take you for a coffee, or shall we go for a walk in the park? Wollaton Hall and its grounds are within walkable distance if you fancy it.'

Grace had made noises about leaving to catch an earlier train than planned, but Dr Franks had managed to persuade her against it, and in the end Grace had agreed on a short walk; after all, the grounds were beautiful and the sun was shining.

‘I have an ulterior motive for holding on to you a bit longer. I wanted to ask you something.' Rob looked at Grace with a quizzical expression as they strolled away from Lenton Grove, ‘If that's OK?'

‘Depends what it is,' Grace was amazed at how at ease she felt in this man's company. This wasn't like her at all.

‘Tell me about Robin Hood. Tell me why him, and how your book is progressing. Professor Davis obviously has high hopes of you. I've also heard you're something of an obsessive when it comes to outlaws.'

Abruptly, the feeling of being comfortable disintegrated, and Grace blushed at hearing herself described in such a way. She knew she was an obsessive, Daisy had told her often enough. But Daisy was a friend. This man was a relative stranger, and had no right to tease her.

Grace could feel herself becoming defensive and prickly, ‘I've always been interested in the legend. Since I was a kid; and the book is fine, thank you.'

Aware that Rob was privately laughing at her, Grace looked away quickly. It was like being a teenager again, the subject of bemusement and private jokes. It had hurt then and it hurt now – some feelings never disappear. Grace snapped, ‘No need to be so damn superior. You are obviously as obsessed with your work as I am, or you wouldn't be here.'

‘OK, OK.' He put up his hands in a placating gesture, ‘I was only teasing.'

‘Well, don't'

‘Right. Sorry.'

They walked on through the park, the lack of conversation less companionable than it had been only a short while ago, until they reached the lake. Standing, staring into its depths, the two medievalists saw how the last few days' rain had swelled its volume so it lapped at its banks. The gentle sun made the surface water sparkle, highlighting the orange flash of the goldfish which darted to and fro, before they became abruptly motionless for a few seconds, and then flitted off again.

Never one for an uneasy silence, Grace sighed and launched into her well-rehearsed and often repeated justification of her Robin Hood fascination.

‘The Robin Hood legend is so resilient, so utterly lasting. We all know the stories from childhood, whether we enjoy them or not. They have engendered countless films and television shows, and taught generations of people how brutal the consequences of our less-advised actions can be. The story is more widely known than Shakespeare, for its language has adapted with us over the centuries. I believe, or at least, I'm working on the hypothesis, that the tales themselves held a strong influence over the genuine outlaw bands or lawless groups of the fourteenth century and beyond. So much so, that some families used the Robin Hood ballads and accompanying stories and songs of the day as examples of the justice they aspired to and hoped for. Maybe they even used them as justification for their criminal activities.'

Dr Franks continued to peer into the lake water as he listened to Grace's passionate declaration. ‘You may well be right about using the ballads as tales to live by. Damn tricky theory to prove though.'

Grace smiled wanly. ‘Completely impossible.'

Rob tilted his head towards Grace, but refrained from looking at her as he replied, ‘Not completely, surely, what about Folville's law?'

Grace's head snapped up so quickly that she almost lost her footing in her unaccustomed footwear, and had to catch hold of Dr Frank's linen-clad arm for a split second to steady herself so she didn't examine the lake at soggily close quarters, ‘You know about Folville's law?!'

‘Of course. I am, as you have pointed out, an obsessed medievalist.'

‘But you've been in America.'

‘Incredible as it is to believe, they do have books in America.'

Grace scuffed her shoes against the banks, embarrassed at being teased again, but knowing that this time she deserved it, ‘Sorry, it's just I've not met many people who've heard of Folville's Law.'

Rob stared at Grace levelly and quoted directly from William Langland's medieval epic
Piers the Plowman,

‘“And some ryde and to recovere that unrightfully was wonne:

He wised hem wynne it ayein wightnesses of handes,

And fecchen it from false men with Folvyles lawes.”‘
⁴

In other words, Folville's Law said it was OK to redress a wrong with violence.'

Grace stood open-mouthed, staring at her companion, disbelief etched on her face as Rob continued, ‘I think you may be on to something. How are you going to write it up though? Will you truly be able to get the idea across, and can you quantify it?'

She had an uncharacteristic urge to tell him about the novel, but just as Grace was about to, the usual unease she experienced about sharing the idea in academic circles claimed her. She really didn't want to be teased on a professional level as well as for fun, so she simply said, ‘It's proving a challenge, and taking far longer than I had planned.' Which was the truth – almost.

‘It always does.' Rob started to walk them back towards the less attractive square buildings that formed most of the Nottingham campus. After a few steps he added, ‘You haven't told me about why you like him personally, or your views on Robin Hood as a figurehead for justice, though.'

‘I know,' Grace spoke bluntly, keeping her gaze firmly on the path before her, ‘but I have to get going. I have to endure the horror that is dress shopping in Sheffield tomorrow.'

‘A horror? Surely not? You wear your clothes so well.'

Grace's cheeks reddened at the unaccustomed compliment, while wishing Agatha hadn't made her wear such a low-cut top, and mentally admonished herself for allowing him to turn her face to crimson twice in one afternoon. ‘Thank you,' she squeaked, ‘but I confess, this is not my usual attire.'

He tilted his head to one side, ‘Jeans and T-shirts?'

‘Yup,' Grace laughed despite herself, letting some of the tension that had built up between them slip away.

‘Me too.' He looked down at his crumpled suit with an unsavoury grimace.

‘Really?'

‘Yes, but there's been this stupid three-line whip about what clothes we can wear during interviews. They actually sent me home to change into a suit this morning! Can you believe that?'

Grace's mouth dropped open in surprise for the second time in ten minutes, and burst out laughing, before telling him about her own similar start to the day.

Chapter Nine

A strong black coffee in a double layer of cardboard cups to protect her from the heat of its contents sat on the lap table fastened to the back of the train seat before Grace.

The journey to Sheffield wouldn't take long, but Grace decided to do some writing before Daisy picked her up from the station. It would prevent her mind from replaying the viva she'd just experienced (or more accurately, the walk with Dr Franks she'd had afterwards), and keep the prospect of dress shopping tomorrow at bay.

Flicking her way to the correct place in her notebook before fishing out a red pen from her ancient Tom Baker
Doctor Who
pencil case, Grace found herself wondering what Rob Franks would make of her ownership of that. He'd probably wonder why, if she must own a child's pencil case rather than a sensible boring adult one, why she didn't have a Robin Hood one.

The lecturer been a lot nicer than she'd expected really. OK, he had teased her a bit, but she'd probably asked for it. She knew she got a bit touchy about her work sometimes. Despite her determination for it not to, Grace's mind drifted to when they'd stood by the lake together and she'd had to steady herself against him, albeit briefly. His crumpled linen jacket had been rough beneath her touch, and yet warm from the sunshine. The slim muscular arm beneath had suggested that maybe he worked out …

The conductor came into the carriage and broke Grace's unsolicited daydream by asking for her ticket. She admonished herself firmly; she'd just wasted a good ten minutes writing time with pointless reminiscences and fruitless wishful thinking.