The Prophecy and the Templar Scroll

Chapter 2 - 2013

Chapter 2 - 2013

The early morning sunlight peeped through the drawn blackout curtains on a March Friday, waking Michael Costa up. A lazy smile flickered across his face. He was in the best of moods. He caressed the smooth skin of the ravishing model lying by his side, his fiancée. She swayed her hips invitingly, and he indulged willingly.

“Promise you’ll wake me up like this every morning for the rest of our lives,” she said in a pussycat voice.

“If you’re a good girl.” He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and swung his feet out of bed.

Michael shaved and put on a navy blue suit. He struggled between a light blue and a yellow tie but decided he did not need one. He glanced at his thickset figure in the mirror, arranging his collar and went down the stairs sprightly where Lola, a stray brown and white beagle that followed him home one day, was waiting for him to show her affection.

Michael had only coffee for breakfast that morning. He checked on his grandfather in the small house adjacent to the back garden, got into his brand new silver convertible, and drove off, a smug smile on his lips.

Half an hour later, he was entering the main branch of the Cyprus Popular Bank on the commercially busy Archbishop Makarios Avenue in Limassol. An hour later, the sale of his gourmet restaurant chain, Chez Michel, was sealed and two million euros were transferred into his savings account. He had already made plans to start a gourmet catering business. Though he would worry about that after his honeymoon, he took out a loan of half a million euros to set up the new business, using part of the two million as collateral.

He was getting married next Saturday and he no longer wanted to work nights. Night life had a way of burning one out, and he had had enough of that. Instead, he meant to become a family man, have two children, preferably a boy and a girl, ideally in that order. At the moment, he was looking forward to surprising Adriana with a romantic fortnight away in Bora Bora.

Michael bounced out of the bank, sliding his dark shades on. He got into his convertible, lowered the roof, and turned the music on. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm, cruising down the avenue toward the beach and the Four Seasons Hotel to discuss the last details for the wedding reception with the food and beverage manager.

Michael was pleased with himself, thinking he had all the answers. Little did he know that come midnight, through no fault of his own, he would have nothing left in his bank account, and he would still need to repay the loan of half a million, even though he would never touch the money.

*

In her Kensington apartment, Lucy Hernandez tucked a lock of her honey blonde hair behind one ear and emptied her coffee mug. Her brain cells still craving caffeine, she poured herself a second mug, turned on the TV, and put on her make-up. The news was on the bail-out in Cyprus which turned out to be a bail-in.

Only the previous evening she had heard how Troika was threatening to cut off the emergency liquidity assistance to the country unless their parliament voted for a levy on all bank deposits, including those of up to one hundred thousand euros. It was a package measure unheard of, its legality questionable, and the way it came into being rather unorthodox. Lucy had no idea if Cypriots had brought this misery upon themselves, though she suspected politics had something to do with it. The impossible ultimatum this small country had been presented with, she thought, was immoral. She pursed her lips. During shootings of the last episode of ‘Med Cuisine’, she had taken a liking to that sun-drenched place and its hospitable people.

The moment she turned off the TV, the problems of an island thousands of miles away were forgotten. Lucy slipped into a white silk blouse and peach pencil skirt that accentuated her petite figure, checked herself in the mirror, and smiled with satisfaction. The bright colors she had chosen lit up her face and made her look younger. It was William’s birthday, and she had taken the day off to find him a present and meet him for lunch before his evening class.

William Sinclair was in his mid-forties, a dashing professor at UCL, teaching Medieval History. His academic résumé attested his numerous publications on the Order of the Knights of the Temple. Born to wealth and position, he exuded confidence and authority. Sinclair was also a man of sophisticated taste, and Lucy had dwelled for days on what to get him for his birthday. This would be the first birthday present she would be giving him, and she wanted it to be special. The mere thought was daunting, as if she was taking an exam, but she was determined to find a gift that would stand out.

In search of inspiration, she set off for Covent Garden’s Jubilee Hall Market. Lucy always enjoyed a stroll there, a quaint place full of history, where she could find anything from antiques to food. After two hours of searching fruitlessly, she began to feel a twinge of disappointment. All she had come across were souvenirs, and she could only imagine William’s distaste at them. About to switch to plan B, a bottle of Château Margaux, a medieval map caught her eye. She stepped closer and studied it carefully.

It was a map of the wider Grand Commandery feudal estate in Western Limassol, home to the oldest named wine in the world, commandaria. She only recognized it because of the ‘Med Cuisine’ shoot. Whenever she had visited a place for a film shoot, she had made sure to carry out thorough research and to use little bits and pieces of interesting information when demonstrating local products and recipes.

She turned the map around in her hands. It was a parchment with a broken wax seal that depicted two knights on a horse. The Templar seal; if she recalled William’s description correctly. Like many historians, William was often caught in the manic grip of enlightening the laymen around him about all sorts of details that had no place in today’s world, and Lucy sometimes had to make an effort to show excitement. It had been easy at first; everything was new to her. But then she sensed rather than saw his disenchantment when she could not retain all the knowledge he impressed upon her. In fairness, she probably got equally carried away when she talked about flavors and recipes, she thought.

What mattered was that the map would be the ideal present for him. Filled with a surge of exhilaration, she walked to the checkout counter and waited patiently in line, looking dreamily around and imagining his expression when he saw the seal.

With her valuable possession secured in a fine scarlet leather cylinder, she glanced at her Frédérique Constant wristwatch, his birthday gift to her last month. It was almost lunch time. She leisurely strolled to the Floral by Lima Restaurant where she was to meet him, unable to wipe the grin off her face. She had found the perfect gift for him!