By tea time the Wild Flower usually was filled well, chattering groups of people relaxing after a day's work, enjoying some hot or cold beverages, filled the large dining area and sometimes even ventured so far as to sit on the small terrace. On such an extraordinary pre-summer day as this, the terrace met most people's preference and at a quarter to five in the afternoon there was scarcely any room left on it. Luckily, Aoife did not have to worry about finding a seat; their coming on a Thursday afternoon was so well known to the staff that a formal reservation was considered unnecessary and their usual table prepared since half past four. They used to sit at a corner table inside, framed by two small windows offering a charming view onto the river bank, but today Richie had gathered the girls would rather enjoy the mild weather and reserved one of the best outdoor tables for them.

The Wild Flower was one of the spots to visit if one came to Bridgeborough for the first time. Being both traditional, as the building itself dated back to the seventeenth century, and almost brand-new - the establishment currently inhabiting it had been only opened three years ago - it represented history, present, and a possible future of itself and Bridgeborough as well. It was a small, compact building with only one storey and an attic that appeared even more stout because of its overhanging roof. Windows were scarce and rather small, intersected with iron bars, letting hardly a sufficient amount of light in. As far as monumental protection had allowed, it had been restored and renovated, Inside a wide, low-ceilinged dining room could accomodate about forty people comfortably, and probably eighty if they were willing to cram like sardines. The walls were panelled with dark wood and the wooden floor creaked theatrically when moved on. To counteract this rather historical and dark atmosphere, bright lights had been installed and furniture in lighter wood tones chosen, the eponymous flowers set on the tables. The terrace to the west overlooking the banks of the river had been added rather recently, replacing a wilderness that probably once had been a garden. It now offered space enough for another thirty guests. In contrast to the old house, that would have been expected to be encircled by a low wall of fieldstone, the terrace was surrounded by an iron fence, similar to the outdoor furniture, small round tables with iron legs and fitting chairs. Braziers of metal could be placed between the tables in the colder season but had been already removed by now.

As they reached the pub – officially called a pub but especially during summer the Wild Flower rather resembled a café or bistro – she stopped, a little surprised by the crowds of people. Considering the weather her surprise rather was surprising, but since she disliked large gatherings of people and tried to avoid them usually, she simply had not considered this. Her quick eyes swept over the masses of heads partly concealed by large parasols searching for an empty spot. There it was. Quite at the far end a medium sized table was almost empty, only one person sat there with her head bowed, apparently deep in concentration. She recognized her at once. Pan did so, too. As long as they were overwhelmed by the crowd of strangers he had been standing by Aoife's side, but as soon as he had found their destination he started like a hound having sensed its prey. The small black creature scurried across the terrace leaving many a startled gaze behind, while Aoife had some difficulty passing through the crowded area. Eventually they reached the mostly unoccupied table causing Maura to look up.

'Have you been waiting long?', Aoife greeted her picking up Pan and settling into the chair to Maura's right.

'Twenty minutes perhaps', she answered and seemed oddly off. Aoife noticed a glass filled with some amber liquid standing in front of her, apparently untouched. Pan tried to free himself and jump into Maura's lap. She caught him just in time. Maura laughed and reached for his black head to pet him, which he exceedingly liked.

'Why didn't you call? I could certainly have made it a bit earlier.'

'I didn't mind. Had to think and brought my own employment', Maura gestured to her lap where a chaotic clutter of yarn and neddles formed a curious picture.

'What's it gonna be?'

'I don't know yet. Could grow into a scarf', she held it up for Aoife to inspect. About ten inches of chunky yarn in changing colour variations from moss green over lemony yellow to turquoise fell down a monstrous knitting needle.

'Ready for summer.'

Both laughed. Attracted by this familiar sound, Richie came over. Wearing his usual dark shirt and trousers he must be uncomfortably hot.

'Quite a day, isn't it?', he greeted his most loyal customers smiling brightly and giving a quick but particular glance at Maura who didn't notice, 'what can I serve you?'

'Actually I would like some tea', Aoife replied looking enquiringly at her friend, 'fresh green with some lemon, what do you think?'

'Sounds great', she smiled at Richie and her emerald eyes sparkled like true gems in the sunlight.

'And some fresh water in a bowl, please.' Aoife nodded towards Pan who had made himself comfortable on a fluffy cushion that had been placed on a chair particularly for him. He also was a regular customer and well known amongst the staff and some other regulars. Richie blinked and withdrew since they apparently had to discuss important issues not meant for his ears.

'And?', Aoife stretched in her chair blinking in the sun, 'had a good lecture?' It was hard suppressing a smile. Having been friends since seventh grade, there were practically no secrets between them and Aoife - as well as the still absent Jeanne - naturally knew of Maura's crush on Dr Austen. His lectures being scheduled for Thursday was a very lucky incident since it supplied them with the freshest news in that quarter right after they had happened. Maura's preferring some time alone to think made an interesting development quite probable.

At this question Maura's cheeks quite Hollywood-style gained colour. Before this subject could be pursued further, however, Jeanne's enthusiastic voice was heard and they soon perceived her approaching their table. She looked fabulous. While Maura simply wore what she liked and Aoife's main consideration concerning clothes was comfort and practicability, Jeanne often looked as if she were ready for a catwalk. Today she embodied pure summer. Her light white dress danced around her slim body as she maneuvered through the other tables. Reaching theirs, she almost crashed into Richie and only just caught her balance.

'Oh, I'm so sorry', she exclaimed letting him pass and in the same instance ordered white wine. Aoife raised her brows while Richie was busy arranging tea pot and cups, and delivering instructions on how to best enjoy the fragrant infusion.

'Something to celebrate?'

'It's a wonderful day', she sounded almost as if singing.

'You had your picnic', Maura stated.

'Yes', Jeanne replied glowing with delight, 'and it was fabulous' She began relating every small detail of their fabulous picnic, from the romantic moment they had met each other's gaze, the placing of the blanket, the many kisses, to the extended farewell ceremony. Aoife actually had trouble not to roll her eyes and therefore most intently filled her cup. Jeanne's romantic narratives always seemed to have come from some stereotypical novel or other, and it was hard to believe they were real life. She had been glad to have met Jeremy thus enabling her to live out her wildest romantic fantasies. On such occasions she could talk without pause, and even accepting her glass of wine – which she did very gracefully – did not stop her. Much touched by her excessive effusions Maura asked why she wasn't with Jeremy now.

'Because she knows her priorities', Aoife drily remarked and took a sip.

'Absolutely', agreed Jeanne tasting her wine and licking her red lips, 'and also Jeremy had to go for an evening seminar.'

'So you're seeing him later tonight?'

'No – he has tennis lessons and an early lecture tomorrow.'

'When is he to be done?' Aoife opened the menu. She had had lunch at twelve and slowly got hungry.

'In two years' time.'

The subject of Jeremy and their annoying incompatibility of schedules occupied them for some length. Aoife would have been able to recite the entire menu by the time their subject changed. Jeanne now was very interested in the theatre's repertoire for this year's summer season and on Maura's enumerating the possible plays, which by no means were set yet, meditated aloud which she had best watch with Jeremy. Aoife by now was quite sick of Jeremy and wished for anything unrelated to this man and be it the weather in Australia, but found unexpected relief by Maura's unconsciously sighing which caught Jeanne's attention and induced her to enquire as to its meaning.

'I've never been to the theatre with a man', she said.

'Neither have I', replied Aoife.

'But you hardly care for it', Maura answered, 'and I don't mind the theatre so much either. It is the man I mind,'

'What man?'

'Any man.' At their puzzled expressions she laughed in an odd mixture of jest and despair. 'Don't take me too serious. I would just like to share the pleasure it gives me with someone -'

'Who gives you pleasure also', Aoife continued, 'and there we are with Dr Austen again.'

'Oh yes, I quite forgot!', Jeanne straightened in her chair, all excitement now, 'tell me - how was the lecture?'

'It was instructive', she managed to say but regretted her choice of words immediately. It took unbelievable two seconds before both burst out in rapturous laughter.

'What exactly did he instruct you about?', Jeanne asked as soon as she was able to speak again.

Maura tried to keep the colour off her cheeks by sheer force of will but did not believe to succeed. Which she didn't. Therefore she decided to meet the entire situation with as much dignity as possible, ignoring their childish behaviour, and sticking to the mere facts. As she concluded a short summary of the lecture's main topic she suddenly fell silent. She remembered what had happened afterwards and the recollection struck her with such force that she instantly could feel a tingling sensation ascending her back and stopping in her neck where it chose to settle. Jeanne was busy making fun of her, but Aoife noticed that.

'What's the matter?'

'Something odd happened today', Maura almost whispered.

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'So I had gathered.'

Maura had sought refuge in knitting and meditating alone after the perturbation of the afternoon's events, which surprisingly had been successful in emptying her mind, and now was astonished that she had been able to - however temporarily - forget this peculiar incident. Confused she made a pause trying to order her thoughts and spoke with an expression of concentration and deliberation.

'As I was leaving he addressed me personally', she said slowly, awaiting their reactions with apprehension.

'By your name?'

'Yes.'

'He called you Maura?'

'No, of course not, he called me Miss Lancaster.' She took a mouthful of tea. Aoife made a surprised noise.

'What is so extraordinary about that?', Jeanne wanted to know, 'my tutors always called me by name.'

'You weren't exactly in a hall with two hundred other students', Aoife reminded her, then turned to Maura again, 'have you made yourself especially memorable? - An uncommonly brilliant paper, some unbelievably stupid question...?' She shook her head.

'Well', interrupted Jeanne these contemplations, 'never mind that. The point is what did he want?'

'He merely asked me if I liked his sermon', Maura recollected, still puzzled at his words, 'nothing in particular, actually, but he apparently had observed me and realized I had been not following him. I thought that quite strange.'

'It is. Didn't you notice his eyes on you?'

'I hardly ever look up.'

Aoife was absently stroking Pan's black fur while meditating if this meant anything in particular, while Jeanne enjoyed her wine and imagined what neither of the others dared to think. Having a knack for being overly correct sometimes, it did not even enter Aoife's otherwise insightful mind that an actual romance could start between a student and her professor, especially if the student was Maura. And Maura herself was so inexperienced with men that such thoughts might be lurking somewhere in the backmost corners of her conscience, but never even came close to its surface.

'I am among the best of my class', Maura said thoughtfully, 'he might know all our names. The top five or so, you see.'

'And you are in his seminar, aren't you? The one with the medieval focus?', Aoife reminded her.

'That's right. It's starting next week', she answered, kind of relieved.

'Are you sure it is a good idea to attend a seminar given by him?', Aoife threw in, 'I mean, lectures are one thing, there you are one amongst many, but a seminar is much more private; you are how many students? Twenty, twenty-five?'

'Fifteen more likely.'

Into this considerations Richie intruded to ask whether they wished for the usual. Aoife consented and he left them to themselves again.

'I don't know', Maura had to admit, 'I had decided to act as if there was nothing. And, to be honest, there actually is nothing. I won't let so stupid a thing as a childish crush influence my professional decisions. It could block important pathways if I tried to keep as far away from Dr Austen as possible. I will not give him that much power over me.' Here she stopped as a detail from amidst her memory hit her with full force. He had ended with 'see you tomorrow'. But there were no lectures on Friday and their seminar would only start the coming week. The clockwork in her head rattled and she hastily produced her mobile phone, tipped in her pin, and opened her e-mail account. Her fingers trembled so that it was hard to navigate on the small screen. Eventually she reached her mailbox. Three new messages. She scanned the list. Something about an expected delivery, next week's schedule for the theatre rehearsals, and -

She opened it, paying no attention to her friends' questions and stares.

From: jasper.austen@lit_sub.uk

Subject: Consultation

Good morning Miss Lancaster,

I have been informed that Dr Gray, who is supervising your dissertation in progress, has unexpectedly taken leave of absence for a yet undetermined time. As she wishes your work to be taken care of during her absence, she has requested to consign the supervising responsibilities to me. I have accepted and already had a conference with her to determine the most important particulars. I have also made myself acquainted with your work so far, but would like to have a personal meeting. I do not wish to interfere with your ways and therefore need to discuss our future cooperation. I propose a meeting for Friday, 8th of June at two o'clock in my office (room 142). Please let me know if you can't manage the appointment.

Sincere regards,

J. Austen

She had to read it twice to comprehend it. Maura stared at the text for a moment, then slowly raised her head and for the first time today looked rather pale.

'What has happened?'

Aoife's voice sounded as if coming from far away.

'I have a meeting with Dr Austen tomorrow afternoon', she said. Because of her being incapable of relating the necessary information in an intelligible way herself, she simply gave her phone to Aoife. She and Jeanne read the short text and exchanged glances.

'Well, that would explain it', said Aoife.

'So his name's Jasper', Jeanne remarked in a tone suggesting that this meant something. Maura did not answer, she was entirely taken by surprise and momentarily unable to speak while processing this. Aoife was earnestly concerned about Maura's composure and wondering whether she felt equal to the situation, trying to comfort her and give helpful advice on how to calm herself, but Jeanne thought more practical.

'What are you going to wear?'

This question was to be discussed about dinner. Richie re-appeared skilfully balancing three dishes and a small plate. Their usual consisted in a colourful caesar salad for Aoife, with dressing aside, highly unhealthy fish and chips for Jeanne, and a warm salmon and cucumber sandwich for Maura. Richie placed them all in front of them and served Pan, who was demanding his dinner with vigorous meowing, some cooked chicken. Aoife immediately took to dressing her salad, having arranged its components to her taste, and Pan started devouring his chicken. Jeanne grabbed a chip, merely out of habit, as she was still kind of full from her picnic, but Maura simply was too nervous and excited to eat. Jeanne started a profound discussion of fashion and the importance of wearing exactly the right outfit on every occasion, to which Aoife occasionally replied with mumbled expressions of disagreement and Maura seemed not even to hear. As she spoke, the chip in her hand underlined her words with theatrical gestures. Jeanne obviously considered this meeting as an important milestone in her friend's future relationship with Dr Austen and therefore was eager to ensure its going well, though not entirely sure in which direction she wanted it to go. Aoife advocated the opinion that all this was toomuch worrying since Maura was not about to attend a ball. When the subject of this dispute eventually regained power of speech she coould not suppress a nervous laugh at how serious they took it all.

'I doubt that he will spend half as much time on deciding what to wear', she said, which was meant as a joke but implanted another thought in Jeanne's mind.

'What does he look like anyway?', she demanded, 'we've been talking about him for ages, and you haven't even told us a syllable about his appearance. Is he handsome? - Well, of course he must be, but tell us more particulars.' The chip pointed at Maura in an interrogative way which was absolutely ridiculous.

'He is tall', Maura began biting her lip, trying to come up with as objective a description as possible, unbiased by her own sentiments, 'with black hair -'

'Oh!', Jeanne interrupted her excited, 'I have an idea.' She put the chip down at last to reach for her handbag and rummage around to find her mobile. Once she'd got hold of it, she photogenically stroked a streak of hair out of her face, and - appearing very important - tipped something into it. After a few moments the other two spent exchanging glances she had sound what she was looking for.

'There it is!'

'You're not googling him, aren't you?', Aoife asked reproachfully.

'Of course', Jeanne replied, 'I don't know why we haven't done that before.'

'Because we aren't intrusive stalkers.'

Aoife's salad had been reduced by half while the other two dishes remained untouched. Pan had already finished and now curiously peeked over the table surface. Maura felt her face getting hot again, not sure what she could expect from her friends actually looking at a picture of Dr Austen, it was a step closer to knowing him. Though she was aware that it would hardly excite what she regularly felt on beholding him in person, this was certainly removing a bit of her secret, making the whole affair less private.

Apprehensively Maura watched her friend navigating through the website of Southerton University, finding the section about literature and scanning the staff list. It did not take her long to discover Jasper Austen, PhD in English Literature and Medieval Studies. Jeanne took a moment to examine the picture carefully before handing the phone over to Aoife who received it with some reluctance. Such violation of privacy stood against her principles.

'He looks so young!', she nevertheless exclaimed on beholding him.

Maura laughed.

'Did you expect an old man? Or middle-aged, probably?'

'No', she answered glancing at the photograph, 'but I hadn't thought him that young.'

'Perhaps it's an older picture', Maura pondered, 'he's been at the university for a few years. I don't suppose they update the pictures regularly.'

'But how old is he?'

Maura shrugged.

'I would gather in his early thirties.'

Jeanne grabbed her phone and instantly started another search.

'He didn't look much older than us.'

Jeanne could settle that point. A short research revealed him to be thirty-five. They all agreed that he looked younger than that, and despite her dislike of intrusive stalking, Aoife discovered an interest in the matter. He certainly was handsome, very attractive even. He had full black hair, quite short in the picture but Maura could inform them that he now wore it a bit longer, a slender face with marked angular features and high cheekbones, and large, deep eyes of indigo blue, framed by thick dark eyelashes. On the picture he wore a simple white shirt and dark jacket. His face showed a faint smile which made it even more appealing.

'I can see why you feel attracted to him', Aoife admitted, 'none of my professors looked that good.'

Maura flushed. She bowed her head reading the e-mail once more. She had not checked her mailbox since Tuesday and therefore she had missed it which meant there was not much time left to prepare for the meeting, both professionally and emotionally. When she got home tonight she would collect all her notes, evaluate her working schedule, and be very well prepared for tomorrow. She would not allow her emotions to appear unprofesional and mess up what was so important to her. While determining on all the necessary preparations she also was struck with the notion that her friends apparently considered her feelings for Dr Austen a mere crush - which she had told them it was when it first started - and not anything more serious, which it had certainly become. Aoife might suspect something but she would hardly confront her directly, relying on Maura's confiding in them when she was ready. Therefore they enjoyed themselves by teasing her a little more before giving affectionate advice on how to best prepare, telling her not to overthink and just be herself. The question of clothing remained unsettled.

The evening altogether passed very pleasantly. After Dr Austen's dominating their conversation, they switched over too more profane subjects. Jeanne ordered another wine, was pressed to eat something before the alcohol overwhelmed her, declined, and in the end was slightly drunk. Her enthusiastic nature thus enhanced, she showed remarkable interest in the dullest topic and participated with unknown skill in their favourite game - observing the people around them and guessing their relationships. Usually Aoife, being highly perceptive and insightful, had the most to say, but Jeanne's alcohol-induced talkativeness hardly left her time to speak. What she said, however, was hilarious. She suspected everybody, absolutely everybody, to be in a romantic relationship, from the obvious first date couple shyly making smalltalk, over the middle-aged man and woman who appeared to might be married but having left romance behind long ago, to a couple of old ladies chatting over liqueur. Aoife declared her to be drunk, and Maura tried to shove some chips into her mouth when she was most diverted. At some point Aoife produced the odd letter she had received and it was her turn now to be teased. Their laughter caught some glances from the surrounding tables but they demonstrately didn't notice.

They sat there nearly till midnight. After his shift ended at ten, Richie joined them. A few drinks were ordered and slowly night fell over Bridgeborough. Looking to the west, they were in for a marvellous sunset. Following her instincts, Aoife grabbed her camera to capture the moment when the setting sun kissed the horizon, throwing the last rays of light over the land which sparkled red and golden on the river surface. By then Pan had curled up on the cushion, quietly snoring in his sleep. A warm summer night began and accompanied them home.