His American Fling (6 page)

He shook his head violently. “No, I quite like the view from down here, thank you.”

I blushed bright red and ran.

I heard him laughing.

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

Waking up Sunday morning, I dressed and went down to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. The summer garden was so inviting, that I stepped out to enjoy it. There was a light dew and haze hanging over the garden. I sat down in the wooden chair and looked around, enjoying the cornucopia of flowers and small patch of lawn. The cotton lavender, with its cream flowers was sweetly fragrant. My favorite though was the English Cornflower and its lovely blue flower, growing abundantly in Campbell’s garden. I wondered if Gemma had planted the flowers. 

My mind wandered as I sat, enjoying it all.  The French doors to the parlor opened. Campbell walked out in a bathrobe, opened in Tony Soprano style, with boxers and t-shirt underneath. His hair was sticking out in places, the
Independent
under his arm and he was yawning.

He looked at me, “Good morning, Ms. McGee. Is there a reason you’re outside?  Are you taking a smoke?”

“Oh no. I hate smoking with a passion.  I’m from California.”

He took a deep breath, looked at me, and, without any expression said, “Well come in and make yourself useful. I’ll have breakfast.  It’s the least you can do to pay me back.”

I pulled my head back a little and froze, not expecting a demand from him. Of course I quickly realized that I did owe him so I jumped up and joined him as he walked down the steps from the garden into the kitchen below.  As he walked through the door, I realized that he was much taller than me, even though I had my sneakers on.

“What would you like?” I asked, poised and ready to do his bidding.

“Coddled egg, bacon and toast.” He sat down at the table with the paper and proceeded to ignore me.

Slightly embarrassed by my ignorance, I admitted, “I can do the bacon and toast, but I have no clue how to coddle an egg.”

He looked up at me and narrowed his forehead and wrinkled his nose.  “You’ve never coddled an egg?”  He said it as if I had just admitted that I had never learned to tie my shoes.

“Sorry.”

There was a look in his eyes—amusement. He stood up and went to the cabinet, pulled down a ceramic jar decorated with a blue schooner and a silver lid. Pulling open the refrigerator door, I was handed the butter. “Butter the inside of the coddler.”  He pulled out a small pan and filled it with water, put it over the fire and then turned back to me. The guy with the bedhead handed me an egg, “Crack it and let the egg slip into the coddler.”

The egg slid unceremoniously into the coddler. He was very serious, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set. Gesturing at the coddler, he said, “Add some pepper and garlic salt,” as if he were guiding me through a complicated surgery.

While I shook the pepper, I watched him until he gave a short nod to let me know it was enough. I did the same with the garlic salt and received the same nod. I wondered if I should have scrubbed my hands longer before starting.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Now you screw.”

I quickly looked up to see if I had actually heard him. The look on his face was confused. Why wasn’t I doing what he said? 

“Uh, excuse me?”

“Are you daft or just deaf? Screw the lid on...but not too tight.”

I relaxed, “Oh, I see. I thought you wanted to screw.” He was mortified, turning a glowing pink. “It’s okay; I knew you didn’t actually mean it. Alright, I’ve screwed, now what?”

He stepped away from me as if I was radioactive. “Sit the coddler in the pan of water, making sure the water comes up just below the lid. The water around the coddler shouldn’t
boil; it should just simmer for seven to eight minutes.”

“Okie dokie. I better start the bacon.”  I quickly pulled out a skillet and started the rest of the meal. After I pulled the coddler out, it had to sit while the bacon finished. Opening the lid, I wasn’t sure exactly what was different about it, but slipped the egg onto his plate along with the bacon and toast. Walking quickly to the table, I placed the plate before him.

Eating without comment, when he was done he folded the newspaper, knocked back the rest of the orange juice and stood up. “Ta,” he said before bounding up the stairs. I heard the pipes running, indicating he was taking a shower.

I cleaned up and loaded the dishes, then went upstairs to brush my teeth. He was coming out of the bedroom just as I was coming out of the bathroom.  Looking very handsome, he was well groomed and apparently ready to go somewhere important.

“Are you going to church?” I asked.

He chuckled, “Almost. I’m going to go see my parents in Saffron Walden.”

I gave him a polite smile, “How nice.  Have a good time.”

He nodded back. “You too.”

I went out for the day, walking up and down the Cam, watching the punters on their flat boats, pushing their way along the shallow river. Eating a light dinner of fish and chips—without the skin—I drank a dry sherry and watched the students laugh and play along the shore. I eventually made my way back late in the afternoon, finding that the front door was unlocked.  Creeping in, I didn’t see anyone. I snuck upstairs to my room and could hear voices outside in the garden. I looked out and could see Henry, Professor Adair, and Fiona.

“Well what do you expect?”  Fiona said.

Professor Adair adopted a faux American accent, “Golly shucks, maybe if I flaunt my little pink knickers...no wait...
panties
in your face, you’ll like me,
really
like me. Golly shucks, I don’t know nothin’ about coddlin’ eggs, Miss Scarlet.  I’m just a helpless American who expects everyone else to take care of me.” His hand went limp as if he was imitating a rather pathetic female. 

My heart fell and my throat closed up as my eyes began to water. In my mind I thought we were getting along well and he had forgiven me for me being American. Running away seemed the best response. As I backed away from the window, I knocked over a vase and it came crashing down, breaking into a thousand pieces. I knew that they had to have heard it. On my knees, picking up the pieces wasn’t easy with the tears balancing on the edge of my lid
s. The vase was a complete loss--there was no putting it back together.             

Chapter 3

Humpty Dumpty

They all looked up towards the bedroom as soon as they heard the splintering of glass.   Campbell’s head snapped back, a flash of embarrassment crossed his face, “Oh bollocks.  Do you think she heard me?”

They both gave him big nods.

He looked up at the bedroom window, “I guess I owe her an apology.”

They both gave him big nods again.

He swallowed hard and was going to walk into the parlor, but heard a noise from down in the kitchen. Stealing himself, he walked down the steps, opened the back door, and saw Maggie in the pantry getting a broom and dustpan. She backed out of the pantry and started forward towards the staircase without turning around. Her moves were obviously orchestrated to keep from looking at him.

Campbell’s voice was soft and apologetic, “Do you need any help?” 

She shook her head emphatically.

“Maggie, I’m sorry. I’m such a wanker.  Please come out and join us. Let me make it
up to you by making fun of Henry.”

She didn’t turn around, but cleared her throat, “What are you talking about? I don’t understand. What do you need to make up?”  She had to clear her throat again before speaking, “I just knocked over a vase. I need to sweep it up. But don’t
worry; I’ll buy you another one.”

He reached out and pulled on her arm, turning her around to face him. The gray eyes set above the freckled nose were glassy and red. Looking away, he was unable to face the pain and disappointment in her eyes. She gently pulled her arm out of his grasp.

“I need to go sweep it up. Excuse me.”

She scurried up the stairs with the broom and dust pan as fast as she could.  He turned and went back out to the garden, his tail between his legs.

“Well?”  Fiona asked.

Campbell put his finger up to his mouth and nodded towards the open upstairs window.  He motioned for them to follow him inside the parlor. Sitting down on the sofa, Fiona sat closest to him, anxious to hear what he had to say.

“Well?” she asked.

“She pretended that she hadn’t heard anything, but her eyes were red and watery.”

“Oh, you’re in trouble.” Fiona said. Then she thought about it and shrugged her shoulders. “Well, what does it matter?  She’ll be gone soon, and you’ll never see her again.  She’s just another American, come to soak up some real culture.” Fiona sat back and raised her glass to her lips before talking into her glass, “Too bad though, I liked her.”  Finishing her Pimms, she rattled the lonely ice cube in her glass. “I need another drink.”  Handing her empty glass to Campbell, he got up and poured Fiona a drink.

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

Campbell listened for her all night, hoping she would come downstairs, but she didn’t.  He was angry at himself and since he didn’t like feeling that way, he thought about what Fiona had said. She was right. Why did he even care? This woman was staying here
free
, she made him wreck his bike and she just broke a £125 vase that Gemma had bought for the room.  Maggie was a walking disaster and once she left in a few days his life could return to normal.

Normal.  I’ll walk around in my
underpants, scratch my genitals and belch when I want. I won’t have to tiptoe or worry about what I say. My life will be mine again.  Hmm, maybe if I gave her a few quid she could get a room tomorrow and I won’t have to deal with this awkwardness.  I wonder if she’d take the money.

Campbell went upstairs, passing her closed door as he made his way to his bedroom. Hearing nothing as he undressed, he got into bed with his medical journal. Within a
few minutes his eyes were heavy, and soon he fell fast asleep. His alarm went off at 6:00 am and, after a few false starts, he got up, went into the bathroom and took his shower.  He made his way downstairs to the kitchen and saw her sitting at the breakfast bar, dressed and drinking tea.

“Good morning.”  He offered.

“Good morning.” She was looking at the Cambridge News want ads.

“Trying to find a job?” he sounded a little surprised.

She turned and looked at him with distaste. “You have a problem with that?”

He became defensive. “No, but what can you do with a cast on?”

“Contrary to what you think, I have a brain. It even works sometimes.”

He smirked, “I deserved that.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and reset the timer on the coffee pot to start at 5:30 a.m., the next day. He had to be in London by 8:30 a.m. and so he would have to get up earlier. He turned around and stared at her. “Look, I’m sorry, but this isn’t working. I’m going to loan you £100. Use it to pay for a hotel room or B&B. You can pay me back before you go home to the States.

Maggie quietly stood and stared at the money he had in his hand. She smiled to herself and shook her head, walking away from him and over to the sink.  Rinsing her cup, she put it in the dishwasher and then started up the stairs.

He yelled up the staircase, “
Oh don’t be so bloody stubborn. Take the damn money!
”

Saying nothing, Maggie kept walking.  Campbell went back into the kitchen to find something to eat but resigned himself to just drinking his coffee in peace. He heard the front door close so he climbed the stairs and peeked inside the guest room. The bed was made and her things were gone. 

He shook his head and sighed.
At least she is no longer my problem.  Good riddance.
Campbell cursed the day he ran into her.

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

Campbell bicycled the three miles to work at Addenbrookes trying to concentrate on the new figures out from WHO on HIV and Hepatitis C, but all he could think of was the look on her face when he grabbed her arm in the kitchen. After sitting down with another cup of coffee, Henry showed up looking cheerful and well turned out.

“Up for a little grub?” Henry asked.

Campbell didn’t
answer; he simply put down his journals and jumped up, ready to follow Henry down to the cafeteria where they stood in line behind a group of sisters and x-ray technicians. 

“Alright, I give up. You look done in,” Henry said.

He shrugged. “I’m just tired, bored.”

“I thought your Yank would keep you amused.”

“She left this morning.”

Henry winced, “Oh blimey, she did have her knickers in a bind, didn’t she? Where did she go?”

“She wasn’t exactly exchanging pleasantries or addresses with me this morning.”

“No bother, with her being gone you can get back to wanking off in the shower.”

Campbell rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can once again fart in my own home.”

Henry laughed, grabbed his cheese buttie and an apple.

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

Maggie soon discovered that the worst part about leaving the cozy guest room was trying to travel on foot with all her luggage. The plaster cast only allowed her to support her backpack. She had to wheel the suitcase and pile the rest of the baggage on it.  Crossing Parker’s Piece at an excruciatingly slow pace
, she stopped at the crosswalk leading from the Pizza Hut to Downing College. Hitting the pedestrian button to make the light change, she crossed and walked into the Porter’s building just inside the Downing College gate. She stopped at the counter and waited. One of the two porters, the shorter dark haired guy with a crooked smile, stood up and came over to her.

“Yes miss?”  His smile firmly attached, it
was clear to Maggie that he was curious as to why she was rolling a large suitcase piled with other pieces of luggage with a cast.

"My name is Maggie
McGee; I’m starting school here in August under the UCLA Exchange Program. I was supposed to be working, but as you can see I broke my arm and they let me go from my waitress job at the
Cambridge Arms
. I have no money and no place to live until school starts. Can you watch my luggage while I go into town and search for a job?”

The porter chuckled. “You’re in a bit of a spot, aren’t you?”

“I sure am.”  She said with a sigh.

“Let me ring Dean Hopkins. He might have a solution. Why don’t you have a seat
, and I’ll get back to you in a bit.”

Maggie waited while short porter relayed her story to the tall porter with a slight resemblance to Alfred Hitchcock. He made some telephone calls. It took twenty minutes, but the short porter finally came back to the counter. “Miss McGee, Dean Hopkins has instructed me to send you to his office over in building D. You may leave your things here.”

She was given a map of the campus but didn’t really need it. Building D was a straight shot across the campus from the Porter’s cottage. Strolling through the grounds, she loved the beautiful sandstone buildings and lush, green lawns with signs that read, “No Walking on the Grass, Fellows Only.” Knocking on the office door, she waited.

A very Oxbridge voice responded, “Come in.”

Stepping inside, she asked politely, “Dean Hopkins?”

“I believe that’s what it says on the door.”

 
The older man with tiny veins splintering across his cheeks looked over his wire-rimmed spectacles as if he was inspecting a horse for purchase. Sitting in a burgundy leather chair with upholstery nails, he was wearing brown pants and a wheat-colored tweed jacket with suede patches on the elbows. She almost laughed; he was the epitome, almost a caricature, of an English professor.

 
"I’m Maggie McGee.” 

“I suspected since the porters warned me you were a Yank. Come in Miss McGee.  I believe we may have a splendid solution to your dilemma.” Once Maggie was settled in the
chair he began, “You see, for some strange reason you Yanks like to come to Downing, attend a three or six week course in a subject, usually law, and then go home. It allows you to put down on your curriculum vitae that you went to Cambridge and it allows us to pick your pockets for some much needed coin. These hallowed halls are not cheap to maintain. Well, we need someone to act as a resident assistant in the dormitories for the summer invasion of Americans. You’ll work Monday through Friday, 8:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. handling any of the questions, concerns and complaints of your fellow Americans. You’ll receive free room and board. That should keep you out of trouble until the start of the fall term. Unfortunately, there is no additional money compensation. You’ll have to figure that out on your own. I’m going to send you to my assistant, Mrs. Thompson and she’ll get you settled in.”

Maggie had to resist the urge to rush around the desk to kiss and hug him. Judging from his straight posture, wire-framed glasses and stern demeanor, she doubted he would appreciate it. “Thank you, sir. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

“Well young lady, we’ve sorted out your food and lodging, but you’ll have no stipend for other things,” he warned.

Maggie smiled broadly, “I’ll figure that out. This is a huge weight off my shoulders.”

 Hopkins’s assistant, Mrs. Thompson, was a sturdy woman with salt and pepper hair, glasses that balanced at the end of her nose and a demeanor that seemed both motherly and contemptuous all rolled into one. After filling out paperwork and meeting one of the other resident assistants, Mrs. Thompson handed her a package of materials that outlined her duties. They walked around the campus (careful to avoid the lawns which only the Fellows and Faculty could walk on) and gave her a quick history of the college, “Downing is considered a modern college, compared to the rest of the University.  The first building was completed in 1807. Most of the buildings have been built out of Kenton stone. I think that the yellow and pink tints of the stone add greatly to the beauty of the college even in dull weather, but especially in sunshine.”

“It is a beautiful campus.” Maggie rushed to keep up with Mrs.
Thompson, who must have been at least 5'11" but with the stride of a taller man. Maggie admired the stone buildings with their huge windows. As they walked through the large courtyard, she saw that off to her left three men were playing croquet on one of the side lawns.

Mrs. Thompson noticed her interest in the croquet game. “That is the faculty lawn and those are three of the dons here at the college.”

“It’s idyllic. So beautiful.”

Mrs.Thompson chuckled, “You Yanks are somewhat bedazzled by all the greenery and antiquities, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I guess we are, especially from southern California where most of the old buildings are of Spanish architecture.  Downing College, is it the same Downing that No.10 Downing is on?”

“Yes, the Downing family built both. In fact one of the doors from 10 Downing hangs in that building there.”

 
Maggie was curious. “Has anyone famous ever graduated from here?” She knew as soon as she asked that it was a pathetic question to ask, it was so pedestrian and American.

“
Most Americans seemed to be gobsmacked by the fact that John Cleese graduated from here.”

Maggie loved John Cleese, but knew better than to show any excitement. “That’s interesting.”

Mrs. Thompson showed Maggie to a dorm room located next to the bathroom, one of the least desirable locations in the dorm.  However, Maggie was still impressed. Her lodgings consisted of two separated rooms.  One was the bedroom, a rectangular room with a closet at the far end. Three large windows stretched up the twelve foot ceilings and took up the entire south side of the wall. There was a small sink on the west wall with a chest of drawers next to it. The twin bed was pushed up next to the north wall which also contained the door to the hall. Directly across the main hallway for the ground floor was another door. Inside was a sitting room complete with a stone fireplace, adjacent bookshelves, another bank of three large windows, a well-worn rug over the wood floor, an old overused sofa, overstuffed chair, a wood table and two wood chairs presumable for studying.  On the side, near the door, was a tea set and electric kettle along with a small, dorm-sized refrigerator.

“These are your lodgings. It’s not ideal—being so close to the bathroom and the front door, but the Yanks will be able to find you easily. We’ll leave you and let you settle in.”

Maggie fell back on the overstuffed chair, smiled, and relaxed for the first time in weeks.  Looking around, she found her surroundings to be so much like a scene out of
Downton Abbey—
beamed ceilings, tall windows with no insect screens, the sight of expansive lawns and stone buildings, and the sound of bells chiming the hour. It was like a dream. This moment was what she had been waiting for; time to appreciate that she was sitting in a room that was built sometime around the Battle of New Orleans. It was mind boggling.              

Maggie unpacked a
nd settled down to read her job description. By late afternoon, as she was leaving the dorm to go get some food, she noticed that a little plaque had been attached to her door. It simply said, “Resident Assistant. Hours - 8 am to 2 pm.” 

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

For the next four days, Maggie handled a sundry of problems during the day ranging from obtaining a bicycle for the Wiltons from Michigan to arranging to replace a lost passport for Shirley Bodie from Texas. It was a very interesting job, and although her hours were 8 a.m. to 2 p.m., her job frequently spilled over into the evening hours.