His American Fling

by Brogan, Kim

  I cracked up. “If you’d like to come in for a shag, I could, uh, spare you a few minutes.”

  “Bril!”

  On the way to my room, Henry took my bag and put his arm around me, kissing the side of my head as we walked into the building. Inside, he put my bag down and I took off my jacket while Henry did the same. He was checking out the room, taking it all in as I turned up the radiator.

  “Did you shag Campbell in this room?” he asked casually.

  I was floored, what was I supposed to say? He saw the look on my face.

  “Oh Mags, was I insensitive? I’m sorry.” He sat down on the bed as he took his shoes off. “Truth is, in my circle most of us have dated the same people. Just after my divorce I dated Gemma. That was before she got her claws into Campbell. I found her to be too conniving. But Campbell seemed to have blinders on when it came to her. I knew she was his type right from the beginning. He likes that, snooty, ‘English Rose’ look-- the tall, dark hair, huge eyes, sturdy, upright body. She’s quite elegant. When he started dating Gemma, I was dating Anne Porter, the girl Campbell dated at Eaton. She had just divorced Charles.”

  I think my mouth must have been wide open. “Fiona, what about Fiona? Did you two…”

  Henry threw his head back and laughed, “Fiona? Oh God, after she tricked Campbell into taking her maidenhood, she didn’t look back. As much as I always wanted to be next in line, she skipped me.”

  “You’re telling me that it’s natural for all of you to jump into each other’s beds?”

  “No, it’s just that we don’t find it unnerving to date one of our friend’s former lovers. We’re a tight group.”

  “Obviously.” I sighed. “I have to admit, I feel as if I’ve been passed around like a hand-me down.”

  “Come here and let me assure you that you’re not a hand-me down.” He patted the bed and held out his hand. Henry had the most inviting smile of any man I had met. It was genuine and bright, with just enough teeth to make him seem vulnerable.

  I immediately did his bidding and scooted over next to him. He grabbed me around my arms and pulled me back down to the bed in a playful gesture. I shrieked and started laughing. Pulling my top up to expose my belly, Henry reached down and blew a raspberry on it.

  He rubbed my abdomen. “You are absolutely delicious.”

  I stared down at him, giggling. He was resting his head on my stomach, looking up at me with those mischievous eyes. “How can you say that? I made a fool of myself this weekend. Your friends are probably questioning your intelligence at this very moment.”

  He kissed my tummy and then looked back up at me. “Mags, you were splendid and fresh. No one thought ill of you. Well, maybe Gemma after that comment, but I thought you were fantastic.” He kissed my stomach again, “Beautiful.” He kissed just above my stomach. “Funny.” He raised my top further up, exposing my bra. “Interesting.” He kissed the tops of my breasts.

  Making love to Henry was fun and I looked forward to it. He was exceptionally good and very generous in bed. But, there was something that kept me from fully enjoying the lovemaking and I wasn’t sure what it was. Did I feel inadequate or inferior? After all, I was a middle class American who combed the newspapers for coupons when I went shopping. Henry and his friends never looked at the end of a sleeve for a price tag.

  But that wasn’t it. Despite my uneasiness around the rich aristocracy, I knew and was comfortable with who I am—smart, industrious, witty, and optimistic. I also knew that I’m not ugly. I wasn’t exactly sure where I fit on the good looks scale, but I knew I was more than a five on a ten point scale. Yet, here I was, asking myself why sex with Henry was quite different than sex with Campbell? Why did I find Campbell so exciting? Perhaps it was because, with Campbell, sex was the one thing that made him human. He laughed, smiled, and became playful. It was like a huge bonus to the physical pleasures of the act itself.

  Henry left an hour later after some rather exhausting pleasure. I pulled out my books and began to read the next chapter for my International Law class. When I prepared for bed, I looked in the mirror and noticed that my nose was no longer red and itchy. My cough was also gone and I was feeling well for the first time in weeks.

  *********************

  Several days later I found Nigel standing outside the dining hall talking to another Fellow. I nodded and smiled at him as I passed on my way to breakfast. He abruptly ended his conversation and jogged to catch up to me.

  “Maggie, wait for me.”

  I stopped, turned around and grinned, “What’s up?”

  He sighed, “According to my sister, you put Gemma in her place this weekend.”

  I shook my head. “I made a rude comment and I’m sorry that I did. It was uncalled for.”

  We continued into the hall and stood in line with our trays. The food in the mornings and at lunch was served cafeteria style. Once you had a tray of food, you took it to one of the long dark oak tables with benches. The head table sat perpendicular to the long student tables. The Dons and Fellows sat at the head table when dining.

  “Oh, pshaw! According to Fiona, it was Gemma who drew first blood. You just got in the best jab. Bully for you. Fiona and I are not keen on Gemma, we find her a bit too transparent, not our cup of tea at all. We just wish Campbell would grow some bollocks and chuck her out.”

  “I think he’s in love with her.”

  “Campbell is a prisoner to his own ego. He just hates being on the wrong end of the breakup. He wasn’t in love with Gemma; he just couldn’t imagine anyone leaving him, especially for someone else.”

  I shook my head decisively. “I think you’re underestimating him. He has real feelings for Gemma or at least they’re real to him. I think she has deep feelings for him too.”

  “The only thing deep about Gemma is her cleavage.”

  A huge laugh escaped from my lips, startling most of the half-asleep students waiting in line. After some disapproving looks, I shut up and began to fill my plate with the typical fare, sausages, baked beans, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms and fried bread. I picked up a glass of orange juice and then found a vacant area on one of the benches beneath the high windows. Nigel nodded a crisp goodbye as he took his tray up to the head table.

  I was thinking about Campbell and Gemma when Francis sat down across from me. Francis was a senior who was also reading (majoring in) law. We occasionally shared notes and studied together. He was about the same height as Henry, with light brown curly hair. His eyes were brown and always looked as if he was worried about something. This morning he was disheveled and tired looking. His eyes were sunken and his nose a bright red. He coughed and then looked at me. “Maggie, can you take notes for me? I’m knackered. This cold seems to be hanging on forever.”

  “You should go up to Addenbrookes and get a checkup.”

  He was coughing and nodding at the same time. He took a deep breath, “If it doesn’t clear up soon, I will.”

  I went to class and was pleased that I had done the recommended reading. The lecture on feudal real property rights would never have made sense if I hadn’t read about it the night before. I could see that half the class was following while the other half was worriedly taking notes and looking around to see if anyone else was getting it. I thought to myself that it was an important topic and a horrible lecture to miss. I worried about Francis catching up.

  The British do not teach law the same way we do in the United States. In the USA, law schools are traditionally taught using the Socratic Method. It means that the teacher may lecture a little, but then he’ll call randomly on students to stand up and be grilled on the reading, usually they are asked to brief a case from their texts. It makes you have to think on your feet, something most attorneys are required to do in trial. Very few students who become lawyers in England are going to be Barristers in a courtroom; hence British students aren’t put through their paces in the classroom. They usually become solicitors and, if their client requires a trial lawyer, the s
olicitor will engage a barrister.

  Trial attorneys in England are barristers, the ones who wear the wigs. After law school, if the student decides to become a barrister, they must apply to one of the four Inns of Court for acceptance. The Inns each have supervisory and disciplinary functions over their members. They also provide libraries, a chapel, dining facilities and professional accommodations. Each Inn of Court is a self-contained precinct within London, where barristers traditionally train and practice, although growth in the profession caused many barristers' chambers to move outside the precincts of the Inns of Court in the late 20th century. It used to be that the student who wanted to be a barrister received all their training from a barrister. The student would often have a desk in the same room with the barrister for several years before being “called to the bar.”

  However, at the turn of the century, Britain adopted a similar method to the United States and requires that the prospective barrister go through a “Bar Vocational Course.” Afterwards, the student then spends a year of pupilage under a barrister before being granted the right to take on cases. In the United States, any attorney who passes their state bar can practice in the courtroom. In those cases, many attorneys learn by doing and by making mistakes.

  After classes were over and I had my lunch, I went to see Francis who had the room on the other side of the bathroom on my floor. I knocked on the door and heard someone mumble. I assumed I had been given permission to enter, but I didn’t take any chances. I opened the door slightly and asked, “Francis, may I come in?”

  “Yes, come in, please.”

  “I’ve come to see how you…oh my God, Francis!” I went inside and found him wrapped up in a blanket lying down on his bed. He looked horrible. His eyes had purple circles, the whites were red and I could actually hear rales as he struggled to breath. “You’ve got to get to the hospital. Let me go get Marcus and ask him to take you.”

  His eyebrows went up and his eyes widened, “I can’t go Maggie. I have too much work to do. I’ll get too far behind and end up having to repeat.”

  “Francis, you’re much worse than you were this morning. You need medical help. I insist.”

  He had a spasm of coughing which was followed by a furtive nod. I ran to find Marcus and within half an hour we were loading Francis in his car for the seven minute ride to Addenbrookes. I closed the door on the passenger side and stepped back.

  Marcus looked at me. “Mags, aren’t you coming?”

  I shook my head. “No, but—” I walked around to the driver’s side, “Uh…there’s a doctor at the hospital. He’s brilliant and really knows his stuff. His name is Campbell Adair. If he’s in, you might want to get him to take a look at Francis. Tell him that you go to Downing.”

  Marcus drove off and I went back into the dorm. I was tired. The last few days since I had been back from London had been rough. I had been studying and writing the papers that were due in two weeks. I felt like I was getting run down again. My chest was congested, my head ached and my muscles felt achy. The curriculum was challenging, but not difficult, at least, not yet. Still, I was starting to feel as if I needed to sleep constantly. My mind would easily overload and get fuzzy and then I’d take a nap and was good to go again.

  I was asleep when Marcus knocked on my door. I looked at the clock and was shocked to see it was only 8:30 p.m. I rubbed my face and opened the door. “Marcus? Come on in, tell me about Francis. Where is he?”

  “Still in Addenbrookes. Professor Adair was bril. We were waiting for an hour in emergency so I asked one of the sisters if there was a doctor Adair available. She told me that he had probably gone home for the evening. I went down to get a sweet from the vending machine and he was standing there, his name embroidered on his lab coat, getting some coffee. I told him that I had a friend who was sick with a respiratory disease. He told me that emergency would handle him that he had been working since 6:00 a.m. and was knackered. I mentioned that he had been recommended to me by you. He stopped and looked me in the eye and asked, “Maggie sent you to find me?” I said yes. He told me to bring Francis up to the fourth floor. I did, and an hour later Francis was tucked safely in a room on a ventilator with various drugs being pumped into his body. Who is this Professor Adair? He kept asking me questions about you and wasn’t very pleased when I couldn’t answer them. Still, he showed a keen interested in Francis.”

  “Really? Well that’s good for Francis.”

  “He asked about your health.”

  My heart skipped, “Really? What did he ask?”

  “He wanted to know how you were doing, if you were well. I told him that you seemed fine.”

  “Oh. Did he say anything?”

  “Just to send you his best regards.”

  I nodded. “What’s wrong with Francis?”

  “They were still running tests, but he told me that he needed medication and would be kept overnight for observation. I’ve got some class work to do, but I thought you’d like to know what was said.”

  “Yes, thank you Marcus, I appreciate it.”

  He left and I turned my light out, climbed back in bed and wondered. What went through Campbell’s head when he heard my name? Just a few months ago, this poor man hadn’t even heard of me. Now he can’t go anywhere without me showing up in one form or another.

  I fell asleep and when I woke up, I didn’t feel like I had slept at all. I went to my classes and was happy to find that Francis had returned back to the dorm. He looked a little better, but was still coughing.

  “Hey dude, how are you doing? What did they say was wrong?” I asked.

  “They said it was an allergic reaction to something. Professor Adair asked me to find out if anyone else in the dorm is sick. I don’t exactly feel like doing a survey, could you ask around?”

  I was worried; Campbell was obviously concerned that whatever had made the Americans sick was back. I looked at Francis and reluctantly nodded. I was pretty sure that Campbell had a reason for giving the assignment to Francis rather than call me. But, Francis was in no condition to conduct a survey. I spent a few minutes with Francis and then went back to my room. I worked on my papers and when it was time to eat dinner I made my way over to the dining hall. Unlike breakfast or lunch, at dinner we took our seats and were served by waiters rather than go through a cafeteria line. I looked around and chose a seat near some of the students in my dorm. After getting comfortable, I began to make inquiries.

  “Daniel, you know Francis has been sick, right?”

  The twentyish brunette nodded, “I had heard something about that this morning.”

  “I need to know if you’ve been feeling okay. The doctors want to know if anyone else in the dorm is ill. That goes for you too John, Abigail.”

  John, a bespectacled young man with curly dark blonde hair, pushed his glasses up, “I’ve had to use my inhaler lately and normally by this time of year my allergies are over.”

  “Okay, Abigail?”

  “No, no problems.”

  “Fine.” I turned back to John, “Your room is on the second floor, two doors down from the bathroom, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anyone else you know sick up there? Having headaches, breathing problems?”

  John looked at Abigail, “I’ve heard some coughing in the bathroom, but I don’t know who it was.”

  “Okay, well let me know when you hear it next time and keep your eyes open.”

  *********************

  Before he went to London for his course, Henry invited me out for a quick meal. He looked so sweet in his cable knit sweater, wool trousers and Trinity scarf. He gave me a peck on the cheek as I walked through the restaurant door.

  “Mags, you look knackered. You don’t look like you don’t feel the full shilling.”

  “I’m just tired and have a headache. But it’s nice to see you. It makes the trip so worth it.” I sat down and pulled out an envelope. “I have this for Campbell. It’s the information about the people in the d
orm.”

  Henry knitted his brow and asked, “People in the dorm?”

  “Who’s sick and who’s not.”

  “Oh, should I get this to him tonight?”

  “No, if he needed it tonight, I would have walked across Parker’s Piece myself.”

  “I’ll put it on his desk in the morning.”

  We ate and talked for another hour before he escorted me back to Downing. It had only been an hour, but I had really enjoyed seeing Henry. He regaled me with hilarious stories about his youthful tormenting of Campbell and Fiona.

  When we got to my room, he turned and kissed my cheek, hugging me. “I’d shag you, but you really look like you need a good night’s sleep more than a snog. So, I’m off to London for that conference tomorrow afternoon. I’ll ring you when I get back.”

  “Thanks. Take care.”

  “Ta.” We kissed and then he left.

  I was exhausted. Grabbing my International Law text, I lay down on my twin bed to read it. I was out within five minutes, waking up too late to eat breakfast in the dining hall. I had to find my inhaler, the one Campbell had prescribed during the summer. My chest was so congested I could hardly breathe. It felt as if I had walking pneumonia, which I’ve had more often than I can count. So I dragged my butt to class and sat through an hour lecture on the Hague Convention. I went to my class on English Jurisprudence and then back to my room, falling asleep within minutes. I didn’t make it to class the next day. I got up, went to the bathroom and took a shower in the hopes it would make me feel better – it didn’t.

  I was hungry, so I raided my store of snacks, pulling out some shrimp crisps (potato chips) from Marks & Sparks. Back to bed I went, munching until the little crisp packet was empty. I fell back asleep and slept. My head ached, my lungs continued to fill up and I couldn’t get myself to wake up. Someone knocked on my door sometime during the week, but I was too weak to answer the door or yell to the visitor. I ‘m not sure when it happened, but I do remember the door opening and several voices sounding rather urgent, swirling around me as someone took me into their arms.