His American Fling (13 page)

On the other hand, he might have been so burned by his relationship with Gemma that he couldn’t bring himself to make any commitments; no matter how small they were, until he was sure. If that were the case, then I just needed to be patient.

It was the Thursday and I was
supposed to start school the following Monday. At the beginning of the week, Campbell had invited me for a weekend in Hay on Wye, the little hamlet known for having dozens of used and new book stores. I had said something about wanting to go when we first met and he had remembered.

“I wasn’t sure you were telling the truth.  Not many Americans come over and dream of going to a town full of book stores. But it is one of my favorite places so I thought I could take Friday off and we go for a weekend to Hay on Wye.”

I squealed, “Oh wow, that would be great! I’m so excited!”  I hesitated, “Damn, I have to ask for the day off.”

I managed to get Friday off. We were going to leave early Friday morning so that we could get to Hay on Wye, shop a little and then have lunch.

Thursday night, on my way back to Campbell’s, I decided to stop and get some champagne. I brought a cold bottle home and walked in just as Campbell was getting home too. We started kissing on the door step and after getting his medical bag, jacket and bike through the door, we went upstairs. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this weekend all day.”
He said as he undid his tie and untied his shoes.  “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten away.”

I was taking my skirt off, smiling like a four year old going to Disneyland. “Me too.  I’m
so excited. Books, books and more books!’

“I thought we’d stop off at Stratford-Upon-Avon on the way home.”

I clapped with delight and he laughed at me. We fell on the bed naked and began to fondle each other, both of us familiar with what turned the other on. After we were both huffing and puffing, he stood up, pulled my legs to the edge of the bed, and entered me standing up.  It was so erotic, looking up at him with his beautiful face and nicely defined arms. I stared at the trail of hair leading from his belly button down to where we were joined. He was holding my hips up and I had my legs wrapped around his waist.  When he came his face screwed up as if he was in pain. 

“Ahh, ahhhh, ahhhh.  God, oh, oh. Yes, yes.”  He let out his breath when it was over and fell, sweaty and hot over to my side. Without hesitation, Campbell’s fingers began to pleasure me, bringing me to climax quickly. We crashed back onto the fluffy
pillows, exhausted.

After dinner we were in the parlor watching an old episode of
Dr. Who
on television when I felt his hand going up my thigh. “Dr. Adair, are you back in the saddle?”

He grinned.

“That was a quick recovery.” I tilted my head and gave him my best little girl look, “But we’ve already christened this couch.” I thought for a second. “I know, I’ll be the doctor and you can be my patient.  I’ll examine you...”

“Well doctor, should I get undressed?” He asked playfully.

“Yes, Professor, you should strip down to your boxers.”

He took off his sweat pants and t-shirt.  I jumped up and ran out to the hall. “Just a minute, I’m going to need a stethoscope.”

I heard panic in his voice, “
Maggie, no, not my bag!”

But it was too late. I had opened his bag and was digging for the stethoscope when I saw them. They were beautiful. I turned them over in my fingers. The gorgeous long strand of pearls, a ruby pendant dangling from them, with a security clasp on the end were so lustrous they reflected the light from the hall up into my eyes. My world felt like it was crashing in on me.  I walked back into the living room holding the pearls in my hand, the shock clearly written on my pale face. My voice was hoarse, my throat constricted with emotion, “She was right.  As long as you had these, you
were connected. You knew she’d keep coming back.”

He wasn’t even looking at me; he couldn’t. Leaning forward he rested his arms on his legs and dropped his head into his hands.  He finally gazed up and with resignation said, “Right, yes, yes. I knew that as long as I had the pearls she would come back to look for them. I am sorry Mags. I’ve tried. I wish I could say I’ve gotten her out of my head and my heart. I really do.”

I smiled weakly at him. “I understand.”  I walked over and put the pearls on the table in front of him. I’m not sure how I managed to stay on my legs they felt so wobbly. I walked up the stairs and into the bedroom. About ten minutes later he came up and found me packing.

He winced, a look of pain so deep I almost felt sorry for him. Shaking his head he pleaded, “Maggie, don’t go. Go with me to Hay on Wye.”

“Why? So you have someone to fuck?”  I almost started to cry, but vowed I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he had hurt me.

“Jesus Christ. Look we have one
weekend left together...”  He said it and then realized how it sounded. “I mean, we have one weekend before you go back to school. Let’s not fight.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “No, you were right the first time. As far as you were concerned, we had one weekend left together.  I was just the summer entertainment. Come Monday you could get your life back to normal.” I realized I had raised my voice so I took a deep breath and composed myself as I continued to pack.

“Maggie, please let’s not part like this.  We’ve had such a good summer, let’s go have a good time in Hay on Wye. We can talk about all of this as we drive.”

I was calm; I was cool, “There is no ‘this.’  There never was.  I was fooling myself when I thought we might actually have a relationship.”  Scanning the room for stragglers, I put the last of my clothes in the bag and then went to collect my toiletries. Looking into the bathroom mirror at my trembling lower lip, I was so close to breaking down that I physically pinched myself until I was black and blue. Stealing my nerves, I walked past him, went down to the laundry
room and grabbed my dirty clothes. On the way up I went through the house to gather the remainder of my things. I wasn’t sure I had retrieved everything, but I figured I had what was important.  I took my things up to his room.

He was still sitting on the edge of the bed where I had left him.  I threw the stuff in the bag and zipped it with a force of finality. Hoisting my overstuffed backpack on my back, I picked stood my suitcase up, ready to go downstairs. I sat it down so that I could face him.

“Campbell.”

He looked over into my eyes.

“It was a nice summer. Thanks for taking me in. Do yourself a favor, give her back her pearls. If she’s going to come back to you, she won’t need pearls to bring her back.  If not, then at least you’ve cut yourself free and can try to move on.”

He said nothing and I expected nothing.  I grabbed my suitcase and started for the stairs. I had a hard time getting the bag down the stairs. Over the weeks, I kept picking up things I needed from the dorm and bringing them back with me to the house.  Now I had too much to really carry in one trip and it was
certainly putting a damper on my dramatic exit.  But I was damned if I was going to let him know that. I got outside and started to roll it across the street to Parker’s Piece. He came running out after me.

“At least let me help you carry your things back to the dorm.”

It was cool out, but I was sweating from trying to get the luggage across the park.  Rather than be a child, I accepted his offer, “Thank you.”

We made it to the dorm and he put the bag down in my room. Campbell looked around and then down at me. “I know you’re angry at me. But if you need anything, please let me know. I really do want to remain friends.”

I wanted to scream at him,
Friends?  Friends don’t give each other orgasms and clean each other’s dirty underwear.
  “Thank you.  I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I can. I wish I had thicker skin, but I don’t.”

He turned to leave, so I walked him over to the door. He looked deep into my eyes, his mouth turned down at the corners, eyelids heavy. He quickly bent down and gave me a peck on the cheek and then slipped quietly through the door.

I collapsed and let the tears come.  Feeling empty and foolish, angry and sad, I hated myself for thinking that he cared about me.  I don’t think of myself as a fool, but I had been foolish in the relationship department.  I decided that I needed to concentrate on law school and forget about men.

*********************

On Monday I had just returned from my first session of International Law when I saw a message taped to my door. Dean Hopkins wanted to see me.  I put my books in my room and took off across the lawn.  When I entered the offices it dawned on me that the ceilings were maybe seven, possibly eight feet tall at most, compared to the dorm rooms which were fourteen feet or more.  When you walked into the Dons’ offices to meet with them, it felt strange, like you were walking into someone’s cozy living room.

Dean Hopkins was sitting behind his desk, dressed in his Don’s gown with a burgundy striped shirt underneath and a bowtie. When he looked up he actually smiled at me, making me feel off centered. “Miss McGee, we just had news from Professor Adair.  He informs me that the tests for the
dorm came back negative. He cannot explain the reason behind the outbreak other than it must have been viral pneumonia. I thought you would like to know.”

I was pleased that he thought to tell me, “I do appreciate it sir. I was worried. It’s good to know that we’re okay.”

“Dr. Adair said he was going to take the file to the Paris Infectious Disease Symposium the first week of October. Maybe he can clear up the problem at the symposium. Well, how do you like your new classes?”

“I like them very much. I’ve only had three of my four courses, but so far, they have been extremely interesting.’

“Good. I hope they continue to hold your interest.  Unfortunately, I have another student waiting for me. I wish you well with your studies.  Goodbye, Ms. McGee.”

“Goodbye Sir.”

I left and went back to my dorm and started studying.  The freshmen were celebrating the first day of school outside on the lawn, so at 7:00 that evening I grabbed my books and went to the library. The Downing College library took up two floors of one of the west buildings.  There were several oak tables for students to sit and study. The college library was miniscule compared to the Cambridge University library on the east side of the Cam River.  The University library was modern with all the conveniences of an American library.  Despite its’ conveniences, I preferred the Downing library because it was so intimate. It felt comforting being in the library surrounded by low ceilings and hundreds of volumes of old and new law books. Except for one lone computer when you entered, there were no cubicles filled with computers, just long tables with several old wooden chairs, probably older than the civil war, for students to sit. You were expected to own your own computer or go to the university library if you needed to use one.

It was Freshie’s week and there had just been a formal dinner in the dining lodge attended by most of the students and faculty.  The Freshies, those students just entering University for the first time, were easy to spot as they were all dressed in the Downing Gown. It is the basic Cambridge University gown modified by having the sleeves gathered into six pleats secured by three cords and buttons. It also has the purple and white
Griffin, the mascot of Downing. 

I hadn’t attended the dinner because of my need to study and my overwhelming depression. I was considered a graduate student since I had a bachelor of science in Civil Engineering. 

A shadow passed over the table causing me to look up from my books. The man standing in front of me was dressed in a Fellow’s gown and was a slightly more masculine version of the lean and tall Alexander Skarsgard with darker blond hair. “Are you an American?”

“Yes.”

“You’re in Gerald Harcourt’s English Jurisprudence class.  My name is Nigel Raleigh.” He held out his hand to shake. His grasp was firm and his fingers long and downright beautiful.

“As in Walter?”  I asked.

“Great, great, great...something.”

“I’m Maggie McGee.”

“Maggie.” He shook my hand firmly, but without jerking it up and down,” Well Maggie, are you a Freshie?”

“No, I’m a graduate student. I have one year left on my law degree. You?”

“I’m one of the Dons, I teach economics.  I doubt you’ll be in any of my classes unless you suddenly feel the need to understand the statistical analysis of the stock market.  So what are you doing in the library at 8:00 p.m.?”

“Escaping from the celebration.”

“Ah!” he nodded appreciatively.

“And you?” I asked.

“We hid a Don’s syllabus in one of the dictionaries up here and I’m here to retrieve it.  We’ve received the ransom for the syllabus, six Cuban cigars, and now it’s time to do the right thing and give him back his paper.”

I laughed out loud.  It sounded so English to hold a paper ransom for Cuban cigars.

“I hope I don’t find my papers held hostage.”

He laughed, “Well, Maggie, that depends. What do you have for ransom?”

I held up my empty hand. “Nothing!  Absolutely nothing!” 

“Come on
Mags; let’s get a drink at Butterfields.”

“Am I allowed to drink with faculty?”

“As long as I’m not grading one of your papers.  However, as soon as you start talking about supply-side economics I’ll have to rip the glass from your lips, understood?”

I held up a hand to swear. “Understood.  No economics while I’m drinking with the Don.”

“Bril.”

Butterfield was the on-campus café/bar for the students and faculty. Most of the campuses had one. I picked up my books and papers, excited that I might make a new friend, something I hadn’t really done since I had arrived in England.  We walked across campus, feeling very conscious of how Nigel towered over me. I had tilt my head back
and look up to talk to him. He was actually taller than Campbell.

“So, I didn’t see you around last week, did you just arrive?” Nigel asked as I tried to keep up with his long legs and long strides across the Fellow’s lawn. People nodded at him in greetings and he occasionally yelled out something to someone as we made our way to Butterfields.

“I arrived at the beginning of June, but I was staying with a friend for a few weeks.”  I walked through the bar’s door as Nigel held it open for me. There were several greetings from the people in the bar and an offer to Nigel to go out Friday.

The bar was very small, accommodating maybe two dozen people at most. It had three small wooden tables with chairs and several stools at the bar.  Most people simply stood in groups around the pub talking and drinking.  It smelled like beer, wood and a slightly old musty smell that seemed to permeate everything in Cambridge.

“What would you like?”