by Brogan, Kim
“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 fo
r 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?”
“I’ll take a Pimms.” I said.
“Pint of Guinness and a Pimms with ice.” He threw some money on the bar as the landlord prepared the drinks.
“Where do your friends live?” he asked as he took the Guinness the landlord handed him.
“Here, in Cambridge.”
He perked up. “Oh, really? I probably know them. Who?”
I felt uncomfortable telling him since Campbell and I were no longer friends. I shook my head and waved the thought away. “Oh, no one you’d know. How about you? Are you from Cambridge?”
“Yes and no, my father has a town home in London and my mother has a house in Girton, just outside of town.”
I knew Girton was a snobby suburb of Cambridge.
He smiled and narrowed his eyes. “You really think I can be so distracted? Alright, you must tell me all or I’ll have to think of some appropriate punishment. Now, one more time, who were you staying with this summer?”
“Professor Campbell Adair.”
His jaw dropped and he jerked back, staring at me in shock. Obviously, he either knew Campbell or knew of Campbell.
“You stayed the summer with the Honorable Campbell Adair?” He looked out into space and asked rhetorically, “Why didn’t I know about this?”
“Excuse me?”
“Fiona Raleigh is my sister, God forbid. We practically grew up at Robscott Manor.” He stopped abruptly and stared at me—studying me in wonder.
I was supposed to understand what he was saying, but the only thing that made sense was that he was Fiona’s brother. “Robscott Manor?”
He laughed at me. “You’re friends with Campbell and you don’t know Robscott Manor?”
I was becoming annoyed. I shook my head and hid my frustration by taking a drink of my Pimms.
“Campbell is Campbell Andrew Adair IV of Portree, Scotland. His family owns Dunskey Castle in Galloway, Scotland and Robscott Manor and estates in Cambridgeshire, near Saffron Walden. His father is the Earl of Falkirk. Campbell is the eldest; he’ll inherit the estates and the title.”
I had to hold onto the bar or I think I would have fallen off the stool. “He’ll be the Earl of Falkirk?”
“Yes, but you, a lowly peon and American to boot, would refer to him as Lord Adair, Earl of Falkirk when his father dies.”
I was stunned and then I thought about his relationship with Fiona and Henry, how they all went to the same schools. “What about Henry?” I asked.
“You mean Lord Henry Pendleton, the Earl of Guilford?”
“What?” I was overwhelmed. I paused for a moment. “Fiona? You?”
He laughed again at me. “Our father is William Raleigh, Lord Stratford also known as Viscount Stratford.”
“Do all you aristocrats hang around in gangs?”
He laughed heartily. “Yes, we wear voluminous pants, comb our hair back and listen to rap music too.” He cocked his head at me. “You aren’t really that naive are you?”
“I guess I am.”
“We go to the same schools, same social events, same political events...it’s only natural that we would all be friends and travel in the same circles. For God’s sakes Maggie, Fiona, Henry and Campbell shared baths together when they were toddlers. Fiona lost her virginity to a very drunk Campbell. From what I heard her tell a friend, she practically had to force him to do it. But then, Fiona has always known her own mind. She wanted her first time to be with someone she trusted.”
I held up my hand to stop him, “Whoa...this is way too much information. I thought he was in love with Gemma?”
“Oh the Barracuda! He may have deflowered Fiona, but it was simply a duty well done, no desire on either side to go further. Now the Barracuda is different...” Nigel paused and smiled. “We could all tell Gemma wanted desperately to be Countess Falkirk, but despite her attempts, Campbell was slow to ask her to marry him. She started sleeping around on him. We dropped hints, but Campbell isn’t the most astute man when it comes to relationships. He was working so hard at being a world famous infectious disease physician, he didn’t register what was going on until the Barracuda finally got bored and left him.”
“For the stock boy?”
Nigel almost fell off his stool laughing, “Stock boy?” He tried to catch his breath. “Oh that is priceless! The stock boy is the major stockholder in one of the largest grocery and distribution chains in Great Britain. He doesn’t have a title, but he certainly has more money than Campbell. He can buy Gemma a lot of tissues to cry over her lost opportunity to be a Countess. Nonetheless, I still think Gemma would come back in a heartbeat if Campbell agreed to marry her.”
I didn’t want to appear to be too curious, but I really did want to know. I had been asking myself why I wasn’t good enough. “Why wouldn’t he marry her?”
Nigel shrugged his shoulders. “He thinks he loves her, but we all know that he would have married her years ago if he really did love her. If you think Campbell is a sullen sod, you should have met him when he was living with Gemma. They fought all the time and he never smiled. Perhaps that is what love does to one’s soul—makes you miserable.”
“Then why stay with her?”
“Campbell is loathed to make changes. He’s been that way since he was a child. He’d rather stay in a horrible relationship than have to change his routine or find someone new.” He narrowed his eyes at me, “Did you really stay with Campbell? You seem rather ignorant about him.”
“He’s hard to get to know.”
Nigel sighed, staring out into the crowd, “I guess you’re right. He does keep things close to the vest.”
We turned our conversation to Downing and Nigel educated me on some of the characters that were residing in my building. I had already met a couple of them, but they had barely said two words to me.
“Oh, that will change now that you know me.”
Chapter 7
Educating Maggie
“That wanker! He kept her hidden the whole time!” Fiona leaned forward in her chair and slapped the table with her hand.”
“Now we know why he was suddenly absent from the summer events. He was too ashamed of shagging an American to show up with her.”
Henry smirked at the thought as he tucked into his lunch. He wasn’t fond of the corner tea shop, but it was convenient. The place felt claustrophobic to him with all the Saturday shoppers and their prams filled with babies and toddlers.
Nigel, who had been talking non-stop of his new friend, “The American,” looked at both of them. “She’s a rather smashing girl, despite her nationality. If I was him, I’d be shagging her and keep her all to myself too.”
Henry laughed, “Then why aren’t you?”
Nigel lifted an eyebrow. “Well, for one thing, she hasn’t shown any interest in me in the Biblical sense. But, maybe I can convince her to change her mind.”
Henry perked up. “I like Americans. I like Maggie. I think I might stop and see how she is.” He leaned back, “Campbell is daft when it comes to women.”
Fiona picked up the teapot of Ceylon tea and poured them each a cup. “Maybe you should get the nod from Campbell before you ask Maggie out.” She looked at the figure coming through the door weaving himself through the prams. “Ah, and here comes your chance.” Fiona waved the rain-soaked Campbell over to the table.
Campbell took off his cap and coat, hanging them up by on the wooden hooks sticking out from the wall. He motioned to the waitress and she took his order. Sitting down, he shook his wet hair. “Bloody hell, it’s pissing buckets down out there.” Loo
king around the table, blank faces stared back. “What’s going on here?”
Henry took a sip of tea for courage. “Were you shagging Maggie this summer?”
There were gasps from Fiona and Nigel who stared in shock at the smiling Henry.
Campbell jerked back, his eyes wide, “I...I ...I...” He cleared his throat. “I told you, I let Maggie stay at my house until the semester started.” He looked around the table at the eager faces. “The dorm was experiencing a viral infection and we were trying to find out where it was coming from.”
“Oh, so you weren’t shagging her?” Henry said mischievously, knowing full well from Campbell’s face and bright red shade that he had, indeed, been shagging the delicious Maggie.
Fiona laughed. “Oh for God’s sake Campbell, you always were a horrid liar. You were shagging her and too embarrassed to take her out among the hoard. You didn’t want us to find out that your very British wick was being dipped in apple pie.”
Campbell rolled his eyes. “Yes, I was shagging her...as much as possible. All right? Are you happy?”
There was laughter from the table.
Nigel looked at Campbell with his eyes narrowed, one eyebrow raised, “So, are you still shagging Maggie and, if not, why?”
Campbell looked defensively. “That is none of your business.”
Fiona looked at Nigel and Henry, then frowned, “You stupid sod. You made a balls-up of it didn’t you?”
Campbell appeared as if he had been struck in the heart. “I did not! It simply ran its course.”
Nigel, Henry, and Fiona each nodded and said in unison, “He made a balls-up.”
“It was Gemma, wasn’t it?” Henry asserted.
Campbell said nothing and refused to look at any of them in the eye.
Henry threw his hands up. “Fine, if it really has run its course, then you won’t mind if I give it a go and ask her out?”