Author'sNote: Yes, I know it's been awhile, but the dreaded Real Life happened, Christmas is coming and I was hospitalised back in November, that sort of thing tends to stop you writing
Still, here we are, a new chapter for all those who've been waiting, so, enjoy!
"You look nervous"
"How can you tell?"
"Body language, you look like Banksy waiting to bite the postman"
"Banksy's never bitten the postman…has he?"
"He wants to. It's a dog thing"
"Do I look OK?"
"You look fine. And you're stalling."
"Can you blame me?"
"Not really but it's really bad manners to be late"
"Must we do this?"
"Yes, we must, now ring the doorbell, Mask"
"Bossy"
"I love you?" Theresa leaned up and kissed his cheek (or roughly where it would be without his mask) and gave him a coy look. They were stood on the steps outside the Mask Estates; it was a lot grander than anything Theresa was used to, looking like one of the houses from a BBC Period Drama, though she wondered if you could call a large town house an 'estate' but then again the word used was 'estates', plural, so perhaps there were more.
She knew one or two people at college whose family had a time-share summer homes in Spain but this seemed to be something different all together.
Kevin hmphed but rang the bell anyway; there was the sound of three bells ringing in succession, it was meant to be intimidating…it worked, he saw Theresa swallow nervously and he knew that the only thing keeping her from wiping her hands on the front of her dress was the large Tupperware box she was holding.
"Are you nervous?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leaning down slightly to speak straight into her ear.
"Like you wouldn't believe," she gave a small chuckle, "I'm terrified there's dirt on my shoes or lip-gloss on my teeth. Mostly, I'm afraid that the neighbours will see me through a window and see some sort of invisible 'working class' tattoo on my forehead and call the police thinking I'm a chav who broke in. Does that tell you how nervous I am?"
"There is no tattoo on your forehead, no dirt on your shoes or lip-gloss on your teeth, and working class is completely different to being a chav"
"I know that…"
"And, dressed as you are now, you look much too refined to be a chav," and he liked the pink tinge that coloured her cheeks when he told her that.
He was about to suggest they turn around and go home but that was when the door opened.
Robin was only slightly surprised when the doorbell rang on the dot of four 'o'clock.
Today had not been a particularly good day thus far. What with his back acting up cruelly from the moment he'd woken up, leaving him in barely tolerable pain for most of the morning, his 'guaranteed next day delivery' of tea not turning up until about 15 minutes ago and news report of Warsman that had him angry at both the media for not leaving his friend and…companion (he still wasn't sure about that 'droid of Warsman's) be and at Warsman for not showing more decorum.
The news people had apparently caught up to the robotic Chojin while at the beach, despite the freezing temperatures, and tried to shove a camera in the face of the female-shaped 'droid, who'd been crouching on the sand in bare feet, letting the particles of ground up stone shift through its fingers with a look of rapt fascination, and tried to ask her…it…probing questions, which Warsman had apparently taken affront to and punched out the camera man and broken the camera lens.
So, all in all, this was the least unpleasant thing so far.
When he opened the door, it was a good thing to see that Kevin had dressed appropriately, in that he was wearing a button-up shirt and tidy trousers and leather shoes (a change from the training gear he usually wore) though the most surprising thing was that the girl was wearing something tasteful, something he wasn't expecting since too many young women these days seemed to follow the 'less is more' school of fashion, as in less clothing, more skin on display.
"Good afternoon," he greeted them both, "It's good to see you both, come in"
"Thank you, Father" Kevin nodded, allowing Theresa to go in ahead of him.
"Thank you for inviting us," the girl, Theresa, said softly and made a move to follow Kevin but stopped just inside the hall, "Um, here," she carefully passed the large Tupperware box she was holding to Robin, "I brought you a Tart aux Fruits"
"Thank you," he responded, slightly surprised but he opened the lid slightly to look, the scent of fruit and custard hit him, the scent was familiar, "From the Maison Blanc Boulangerie Patisserie?"
"No…" Theresa blinked at him, looking slightly perplexed, not recognising the name, "from my kitchen"
Robin looked to his son, who nodded in affirmation.
Kevin knew it was hand-made because he'd spent a very interesting Saturday going around a produce market with Theresa while she very carefully chose the ingredients from various stall holders, who'd cheerfully bantered with her as they'd bagged up the items, then spent the afternoon in the kitchen watching her fastidiously follow a recipe from one of her grandmother's cookbooks.
It had been a very interesting afternoon.
"Oh…" Robin wasn't sure how to answer that, but rallied quite well with: "Please, go through to the sitting room. I trust you still remember the way, Kevin? I will go and get someone to put this on a plate. I will be with you momentarily."
Kevin showed Theresa into the large, ornate sitting room with its ornate bookshelves and leather seating around the aged oak table, even pulling her chair out for her first.
Manners were useful, it seemed, because she gave him a grateful look, sat up straight…then flopped slightly and fanned herself dramatically with a hand.
"Well…he hasn't eaten me. That's something"
"He's too polite to do that without condiments" he sat down in the chair next to her and took her hand, entwining their fingers, as much for his own comfort as hers.
"This is it, is it?" she asked, leaning towards him slightly, speaking in a low voice, "your childhood home, the place it all happened"
"The ancestral home of my ancestors, setting of many a recurring nightmare"
"Fantastic" she said without much to indicate she thought it actually was, "will you give me the grand tour later?"
"If you really want me to"
"I could sell the imagery to Tim Burton afterwards"
Under his mask, Kevin smiled and kissed her forehead, or gently put the lower part of his mask there, which, as ever, amounted to the same thing in their relationship.
"Am I interrupting?"
The young couple sprang apart as if electrocuted when Robin came back, more in shock than guilt, it seemed, though remained holding hands
It was strange, to witness your son apparently in love, wrapped up in a world that consisted of only two people, still he didn't question and he found the afternoon was pleasant enough.
The girl said 'please' and 'thank you' at the appropriate times, accepted a cup of Lady Grey without asking for milk or sugar and Robin even found himself enjoying the Tart aux Fruits she'd brought with her. (True it wasn't exactly up to the standards of the Maison Blanc Boulangerie Patisserie, but it was still enjoyable)
It was, he decided, privately, mildly annoying to find that he couldn't find fault with her and that she never once mentioned the subject of money or clothing or designer names, instead she talked at length about the current state of the music industry how there didn't seem to be room for any of the current bands to expand their creativity due to the CEO's constantly looking for The Next Big Thing rather than focusing on the groups they already had, which was why she didn't like programmes like 'The X-Factor',
(and, surprisingly, she had a fairly good idea of the current political climate, though only stayed on the topic long enough to say that, if she had to vote for anyone, it would probably be the Liberal Democrats)
"So, Theresa," he asked finally, deciding it was time to make an attempt at finding out if the girl had any ulterior motives, "what is it that you do?"
"I'm a student," she replied easily enough, "I'm studying to be a teacher"
"Oh? In what field, may I ask?"
"Special needs"
Ah ha…
"There isn't much money in that field," he ventured,
"This is true," she said slowly, giving him an odd look, "but I don't want to go into teaching for the money. I want to make a difference in some people's lives"
"Admirable, but even so, without a stable financial…"
"Father," Kevin interrupted, "I think perhaps Theresa might enjoy a short tour of the house?" his son looked down at his girlfriend who nodded, almost gratefully and said:
"Yes, I'd like that very much"
"Excellent," Kevin offered her his hand and all but pulled her up to her feet, "do excuse us, we shan't be a moment"
"And this is my grandfather, Robin Knight," Kevin gestured to a large portrait hung on the wall upstairs.
"I can see the resemblance," Theresa remarked dryly, because of course, the portrait was also, like Kevin and Robin, wearing an iron mask, despite the rather fancy suit, "I feel like I'm in a museum," she gestured to the portraits and obvious antiques throughout the upstairs corridor, "I'm afraid I'll break something expensive"
"Welcome, my dear, to my childhood" he bowed theatrically
"OK, now THAT was creepy"
"No, I shall show you creepy"
"Oh?"
"My old bedroom is up here"
Said bedroom, once they'd located it, was Spartan, painted cream and carpeted with something that looked expensive in the same colour. There were lots of books, but they mostly had titles like 'Wrestling Legends' and 'Wrestling Techniques – step by step'.
It hadn't changed at all, except the linens on the bed were obviously freshly laundered and the place dusted regularly.
"It's…clean" Theresa said after a few minutes
"Try oppressive," Kevin closed the door, "and boring"
"So," Theresa sat down on the crisply made bed, "your dad is trying, in an obvious but roundabout way, to find out if I'm only with you for your money"
Kevin removed his mask just because he felt like it and sat down beside her
"Does it bother you?" he asked
"Not at all," she told him, straight-faced, "I AM only with you for your money, you know."
"Oh really?" he raised an eyebrow at her
"Oh yes, I mean, that was my plan right from the moment we met. Randomly. In the park on a rapidly darkening autumn afternoon. When I thought you were just a penniless Dumas fan I'd never see ever again once we parted ways" she finished this with a raised eyebrow back at him.
"You have a strange sense of humour at times, my dear" Kevin pulled her up against his side
"I know," she told him with a small laugh, "but I thought that was something you loved about me"
"No, actually, I'm only with you for your money"
"Cheeky!" she hit him with a pillow.
TBC
Author's Note: I did intend for this to be longer, but Real Life is still trying to chomp on me
Frankie: Besides, Christmas is coming! Who has time to write?
Author: Forgot about that, I still have a load of gifts to wrap!