Her Foreign Affair

by Shea Mcmaster

  “I heard my mother’s side. Now I want to hear yours,” Birdie demanded.

  “All right, but I get to do this my way, so there will be a bit of repeat, just from a different angle. Allow me a small indulgence, if you would.”

  Birdie nodded and settled back in her chair, tea cup and saucer in hand. Court rolled his head and cleared his throat, then stood and assumed his speaking position.

  “Once upon a time, there was a boy, who—due to the neighboring estate and the daughter of said estate—was raised knowing he didn’t ever have to play the dating game. While in many ways he considered this something of a relief, he also found it a bit of a disappointment. Took some of the sport out of life, but that’s neither here nor there at the moment.”

  Birdie sat still and appeared to listen closely.

  “Well, the boy and the girl grew up, went off to separate colleges, but kept in touch by way of regular family gatherings for holidays, weekend events, etc.” Court waved a hand. “One Valentine’s, they met up for a rare date and drank a little too much ale, an early celebration of the end of the boy’s degree program. They’d sort of broken up over the previous break, but meant this date as a means to get things back on track. See, the parents had never accepted the break-up as real, so the wedding plans were still underway.”

  Court peeked at his daughter to see if she was still awake—she was—and he continued plowing on with the tale.

  “Well, the date didn’t go so well. In fact, it went so bloody awfully wrong, the girl kicked the boy out of her room and told him to never come back.”

  Birdie’s eyes widened a little, and he gave her a sheepish smile before letting a grimace take over.

  “Let me tell you, the considerable damage done to the male’s ego, well, such damage can be quite traumatic. After all, he’d had some, er, practice and had been complimented most highly on his, ahem, style.”

  An unusual flush of heat crept up his neck. Perhaps this was a little too personal, but oh so key to the actions that followed. He began to slowly pace before the fire.

  “Anyhow, the boy slunk back off to university, determined to get through his thesis and exams and never touch another woman again. The risk of additional humiliation was just too great. Once he completed his business degree, he was determined to convert to Catholicism and enter a monastic priesthood.”

  That earned him a tiny smile, and Birdie seemed to ease a bit.

  “So, with this goal in mind, the campus library became the boy’s new home. Night and day, he camped out at one certain table in the deepest, darkest uninhabited corner of the library. The history section was so dull, even the librarians avoided it to the fullest extent they could. One day, as usual, the boy headed for his table, carrying a stack of books right up to his chin, so he couldn’t see the floor. He’d trod this path countless times before and knew each step of the way so well he could navigate it blind. No one ever visited his corner of the library.”

  Certainly, he was overdoing the drama, but she’d asked for his side of the story, and he’d do it his way.

  “Well, foolish boy that he was, his arrogance was his downfall. Literally. One moment he strode along between the shelves, traversing a particularly boring section, somewhere about the Dark Ages, the next he was sprawled on his face with books and papers scattered everywhere. Before he could say Christopher Robin, a sweet, feminine voice with an adorable accent began chirping at him.” Court paused his pacing to smile as he slipped into a falsetto voice. “‘Ohmigod, Ohmigod,’ she exclaimed. ‘Are you all right? Are you okay? Do I need to get the paramedics? Did you break anything? Should I call for help?’” Dropping the poor imitation, he continued, “The cheeky little darling crawled right up on him, took his face in her hands, and he swore he’d gone to heaven, because he’d never seen such beauty in a mere mortal.”

  Caught up in the past, Court stared at the library shelves and dropped deeper into the memory, wondering if Randi remembered as well as he did. The musty smell of old books, the sweet sexy scent of charming young woman, and those eyes. They hadn’t seemed real to him, so deep and clear a green it seemed as if dappled sunlight had lit her eyes from within.

  “Green, green eyes, soft ivory skin dusted with freckles, hair shining like spun gold tinged with red…”

  Birdie cleared her throat, breaking the moment, and Court looked away. Restless, he rolled his head a few times, then resumed his slow pacing, hands clasped behind his back. “She helped me pick up the papers and the books and carry them to my corner. She absolutely captivated me, but of course, I had sworn off females, so I tried to be distant. The cool, aloof, remote Brit to her California sunshine and American brazenness.”

  He peeked at Birdie’s face and found she still appeared captivated.

  “We stopped at the pub after studying that evening. Studying.” He snorted. “I’d spent the session studying the way her eyes twinkled and trying to figure out just what she smelled like. Roses, but not just any roses. There was something more at odds with the puffed up hair, the heavy makeup, and the pile of clanking bracelets on her wrists. Remember, this was the era of punk, new age, new wave, big hair bands, and Madonna was teaching the world to wear lingerie on the outside. But I have to tell you, Madonna never looked as good as”—Court glanced at Birdie—“your mum did—does.”

  Birdie rolled her eyes and made a sound of disgust.

  Court stopped pacing to shake a finger at her. “Don’t discount the fashion. Guys loved it. Anyway, I ended up half carrying her home to my flat. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give me clear enough directions to find hers.”

  With a wave of a hand, he resumed pacing. “The point being, in a very short while, the boy and girl fell madly in love. So much so, that before he knew it, the boy had thrown away his vows of celibacy. The girl made him whole and, well, there’s never been a more beautiful moment since the beginning of time. Chorus upon chorus of angels sang, the earth moved, stars fell to Earth, and every firework in China filled the sky.”

  A quick glance at Birdie showed her looking somewhat spellbound. Or were her eyes glazed with jetlag?

  “Anyhow, they didn’t have much time together. She had a ticket to return home in late May. In fact, her flight departed at the very hour the boy had to be at a very important reception. Their last week together marred only by a small case of the flu on the part of the girl. There weren’t enough crumpets or pots of Earl Grey to ease her tummy, but they spent as much time together as possible.”

  Together. There was a word. Yes, they’d been together, as in joined, almost as many hours as they’d spent sleeping off their exertions. Oh yeah, he’d happily relive that week. Had tried to in New York…with rather mixed results. He shook off the thought and continued with his story.

  “Their last day, the boy kissed her goodbye, and slipped from her flat just as the sun was rising on a glorious morning in May. There’d never been a more perfect day. The sky was a cloudless blue, still cool and fresh with all the promise of spring—which in itself is very unlike London—the trees bursting out in flower, the birds sang their little hearts out, colorful posies lined every scrubbed and gleaming walkway. The only blight was the heavy heart he carried away with him. He was walking away from the one girl he knew he’d love forever. The woman who had given him back his dignity, rescued his abused manhood and made him strong.”

  “You really loved her back then?” Birdie asked quietly.

  “I really did. Still do. So…” Court continued as if she hadn’t interrupted, sparing only a wink. “The boy made a stop by a travel agency on the way back to his flat and bought a ticket for America, one for first thing the next morning. He’d only be twelve hours behind instead of the year they’d discussed. Wouldn’t she be surprised? With great anticipation he headed back to his flat, thinking to pack up before dressing for the important reception. Big deal, couldn’t be skipped, otherwise he’d have bought a ticket on her flight.”

  Court
stopped pacing and stared at the floor for a moment. “The thing is… He got a surprise—or three—that day.”

  He looked at his daughter, knowing the story already dragged on, trying to sort out the necessary information. He drew in a deep breath, rubbed his face with both hands, released his breath on a gusty exhale, and started moving again. “When I returned to my room, Beatrice, my ex-fiancé, was waiting for me.

  “I’d forgotten to get my flat key back from her, so she’d used it to let herself in. That is to say she let in herself, her parents, and my parents. Before I could say one word, she flat out announced she was pregnant. Therefore, the wedding plans were on again, only on a smaller scale. The church and minister were set aside for the following week, and we’d just make do the best we could. By the way, our parents were pleased to hear about the plans being on again. A fact I couldn’t dispute as they were sitting there, all of them nodding like those bobble head things.”

  Court stopped pacing at the frost covered window and looked out at only his memories.

  “Of course, I didn’t agree right off,” he continued. “After all, a child out of wedlock wasn’t the travesty of a hundred years earlier.”

  Grimacing at the painful memory, Court turned again, avoiding Birdie’s eyes. “I told them of Randi, and my plans to go and get her back. Even if it meant staying in California for a year while she finished her degree, I’d chosen in favor of true love. Well, we both know how that fight ended.” He resumed his pacing. “Both families presented logical arguments, and I was reminded of my obligation, not only to Beatrice, but to the business merger already taking place.

  “So, we dressed for the reception, and with a fuming Beatrice on my arm, we arrived in style. I had a goal in mind to get royally plastered, blind, stinking drunk so I wouldn’t watch the clock and imagine each step of Jean’s journey away from London. At four thirty, she’d load her luggage into a cab. By five thirty, she’d have been at Heathrow and checking in. See, we’d planned her exit journey so I’d know where she was at each painful moment. I was determined to torture myself to the fullest extent possible. And it was torture. At seven, when her plane would have been pulling away from the concourse, I stood before Danielle Richards from personnel, telling her of my new future, hoping she wouldn’t ask about your mother. I’d been recently informed her name would never be uttered again, and to have Danielle ask about her would have been a horror beyond imagining.”

  He turned at a gasp from Birdie. “Yes, damn bloody over-dramatized, Victorian novel material,” Court snarled. “I was caught up, and every time I tried to escape, my path was blocked either by Beatrice and her father, or my father. It was almost a bloody shotgun wedding. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’d just issued an informal invitation to Danielle for Saturday next when her eyes shifted to a spot over my shoulder and her face went still, frozen in a look of horror so unlike her I had to turn to see what caused it.”

  Stopping by her chair, Court touched Birdie’s cheek with two fingers, and she had no choice but to look him in the eye.

  “I turned, and I saw…the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen until the day you took us home. Jean, my little ray of sunshine, dressed in a sparkling black cocktail gown that paled against the glow of her skin. Skin that turned a shade of ash as we gaped at each other. What I remember most were those green, green eyes, wide and watery. And one more thing that makes sense now. One trembling hand over her abdomen. At the time, I thought it was the return of the stomach ailment she’d been fighting all week. But now, I realize, she’d come to tell me she carried a precious gift.”

  As he stared down at his daughter, he saw her swallow deeply, as caught up in the story as he, anguish in her eyes mirroring the ache in his heart. “I swear, had she told me about you then, I would have grabbed her hand and run us both to the airport for the next flight anywhere.”

  “What about…Drew?”

  “I would have come back for him later, but at the time, I couldn’t think that rationally. I tried to go after her, but both my father and Bea’s grabbed me and hustled me out the other door. I was packed and driven to the country where they kept me occupied, pounding my duty into my head right up until the wedding. By then I’d tried calling your mum and had my calls rejected. A month or so later I was able to get a letter or two posted, and believe me, Bea made quite sure I knew the letters were returned unopened.” He let his hand drop and stepped back from the girl. “I only had so much control, and faced with rejection, well…” He spread his hands in a gesture of futility. “I made the best of my life as the Fates had decreed it would be.”

  Too weary to carry on at the moment, he lowered himself into the other wing chair and picked up his now cold tea. “I got Drew away from his mother as much as I could and let him be a real kid, instead of the miniature lord she wanted. I tolerated marriage to Bea for the sake of both families until I couldn’t stand it anymore. And when she died, Drew was in his version of the difficult teen years and took as much attention as the business. I had neither the time nor the courage to go searching for my lost love until this year. The rest…well, you know. Except the reason why your mother won’t talk to me now? Did she tell you?”

  “No, she didn’t. I’m sorry I don’t know. She won’t say anything about New York other than she had a great time but got tired of shopping and decided to come home early.”

  “Not that she bought much,” Court muttered to himself. Nothing at all on the credit cards tucked away in his wallet. “Anyhow, now you’re here and the two of us can get to know each other. You’ll see how Drew grew up and gain a little understanding how life is around here. I don’t expect you to be a go-between for the issue between your mother and me. We’ll work it out ourselves. Somehow.”

  For a moment, Birdie smiled softly at him, looking more like her mother than he’d ever seen. “So that brings us to your side of the family and how they’ll react to me showing up. After your story, I can imagine how unthrilled your mother might be.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You can stay out of her way as much or as little as you like. Your grandmother is staying in the parlor we’ve converted to a convalescent room for her. I imagine she’ll hold court from there until she’s ready to go home. She has her own busy life in London. Even though we live only a few miles from each other in town, we only see each other out here for holidays. Christmas, Easter, and the like.”

  “We see my grandfather at least once a month, sometimes more if he’s feeling lonely.”

  Court gulped down the tea in his cup and leaned toward the trolley to refill it. “I don’t remember your mother being close to him.”

  “Mmm.” Birdie gazed into the fire almost as if the dancing flames hypnotized her, cup and saucer held in her hand forgotten. “When Grandma got sick, it changed things. Dad spent more time running the business while Mom and Grandpa took turns taking care of Grandma. I was pretty young, so I wasn’t part of those conversations, but they worked out a few things between them.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  They sat in silence for long minutes, simply being and enjoying the crackle of the flames consuming the wood. A sigh softly broke the silence, and Court glanced over to see Birdie’s eyes drooping. He reached over and took the cup and saucer from her hands. Birdie’s eyes blinked open owlishly.

  Just like Drew’s used to do.

  Instinct kicked in, and Court almost didn’t stop before bending to pick her up to carry her to bed. “Come on, puddin’, I’ll show you to your room.”

  Court stood by her chair and offered her a hand up. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she stood and moved into his arms for another hug, this one freely given. In that moment, his heart was irrevocably captured by his little girl. This was his daughter, by God, and nothing or no one would stand in the way of them getting to know each other. He belonged to her, and whether or not she ever called him Father or Daddy, she had a firm hold on a corner of his heart reserved
just for her.

  The simple affirmation brushed away the cloud of gloom that had been hanging over his head while managing his mother’s crisis. This Christmas would be absolutely perfect. For once his family would be whole. As whole as it could be without Randi there to share it. But Randi or not, Birdie was his, a part of him, and she was there to stay.

  Chapter 23

  “Randi, please, you must come for Christmas. If nothing else, you’ve got to come and get Birdie.” Court clutched the cordless phone to his ear when he really wanted to bang his head against the mantel in his library. Someone needed to referee. His mother, the old bat, and Birdie, the young hellion, had instantly taken to each other like Death to his scythe.

  They had a love-hate relationship born in hell as far as he could ascertain. Helen sniped at Birdie, correcting her speech, her manners, posture, and anything else she could find wrong. Birdie sniped back, defying every instruction to the older woman’s face all while playing nurse without a heart. Even the peacemakers, Liza and Drew, had given up after less than twenty four hours and retreated to their corners. After only one day home, Drew had fled to spend time with friends in the village, and Liza took her children on errands to buy last minute gifts. Albert hid out in the library with Court while his mother and daughter sparred in the parlor, seemingly adoring every minute of the last three days of their icily conducted war and physical therapy.

  Before decamping, Drew had taken a moment to pass on Randi’s reaction to Birdie’s escape. While the call upon her arrival had relieved Randi’s worries, it had also seemingly sent her into a deep blue funk. RJ hadn’t said anything to Drew specifically, but he’d shown a deep level of concern, and, before leaving for the airport, Drew had overheard a conversation regarding depression and an inquiry about medications. He seemed to think at some point Randi might have suffered a debilitating round of the condition and wondered if it’d returned.