His American Fling (28 page)

She motioned towards Maggie as if she didn’t want to talk to him in from of her. Campbell nodded. 

“Maggie, is it almost done? Gemma and I need to have a chat.”

Maggie grabbed a plate, pulled the toast out, buttered it and put the eggs and bangers on it. “Here Campbell. Gemma, can I make you a plate?”

“No thank you, Maggie.” She said softly.

Maggie recognized a change in Gemma, a certain air of defeat. Campbell ate his food at the breakfast bar while Gemma
stood staring at the door to the garden and drinking her tea, stone faced and silent.

Maggie made some toast for herself and when Campbell was done, she washed up the kitchen as Gemma and Campbell retired to the parlor to discuss things.

Campbell sat on the couch and leaned forward, holding Gemma’s hands in his. He patted her hands, “What’s going on? You’ve been absolutely atrocious to both Fiona and Maggie. Why?”

Gemma pulled her hands out of his and sighed, falling back against the sofa. She met his eyes and quietly explained, “When we broke up, I met Fiona by accident in London and she was vicious, claiming I was only after your title and that if I ever tried to return to you, she’d do everything in her power to destroy me.  I come back and find a Yank literally under you. It made me realize that I was going to lose you forever and I felt like shite. When I went back home to Gordon, I was horrid to him, just horrid, because I was miserable thinking I had lost you. Then we get together again and the Yank keeps showing up, Fiona keeps throwing her at you, and you keep rescuing her. I feel like I’m drowning.”

“Gemma, I am truly sorry if I am the cause of your distress. Unfortunately, today is not the day that I can address this. We’ll talk later, eh? Right now, I need to concentrate on my father’s funeral and the estates.”

“Yes, of course.” She nodded and leaned forward. “Let’s get down to Robscott Manor. You can ring your mother along the way.”

Within minutes, Campbell had packed some clothes and they were on their way to Saffron Walden after saying goodbye to Maggie. Closing the door, Maggie went upstairs, climbing back in bed so that she could smell the linens and be close to Campbell.

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

Maggie purchased a black dress earlier in the week as soon as she realized she was going to have to attend a funeral. It had cost her most of her spending money, but at least it was black and it was basic enough that it wouldn’t stand out. It was a boat-cut sheath with a short jacket that fit without binding anywhere on her body.  After pulling the sheath on, Maggie put on her opal earrings, black nylons and pumps. She grabbed a small duffle case from Campbell’s closet and packed a few days change of clothes. Just as she was closing the lid, she received a call.

“Hello?”

“Hello Mags, it’s Henry.”

“Of course.”
              “Are you coming to the funeral?”

“Yes, Fiona’s picking me up. We should be down there by one.”

“Great. I thought I better tell you that you’ll be expected to dress for dinner. Not too fancy, just a frock.”

“You’re joking!”

He chuckled. “Sorry Mags, but after my cock up before, I thought I’d ring you and let you know.”

“Thank you Henry, I really appreciate it. I’ll pack a few more things.”

“Then we’ll see you soon, ta!”

“Ta.”

Maggie sat down on the bed and sighed. She went to the closet and pulled out the dresses and skirts that had just been returned from the cleaners. She packed a few more things and then waited for Fiona to pick her up.

Fiona arrived looking like she had just stepped out of British Vogue in her Versace long sleeved black dress that tied on the side of her waist and dipped down just enough in the front to give her a hint of cleavage. Maggie locked up and they made their way to the car. As soon as they were settled in the car she turned and looked at Maggie. They both busted
out laughing.

“Sorry Mags, I just didn’t know how else to get Gemma out of the room. If she saw me in there in any other capacity, she would have snooped around and found your rather ardent lover. By the way, I haven’t seen Campbell in the buff since we all went skinny dipping five years ago; he still looks great in the nude. He must be working out. I was quite touch by his show of affection towards you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so potty over someone.”

“Really?  I can’t believe that.  Surely, when he first started dating Gemma he was more affectionate.”

She giggled, “Campbell? You must be joking. Public display of affection is frowned upon in his family—deeply frowned upon.”

“Oh, thanks for the warning. But, now everyone’s going to think you swing both ways Fiona.”

“These days that’s rather
passé. No one is really going to believe it darling. Not with my scorecard.”

Maggie smiled and leaned back on the headrest.

“I do have to say that I was quite impressed that Campbell actually took a chance at getting caught and ran back to Cambridge to shag you.” She raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Maggie.

“He didn’t come back to shag me.  He was emotionally depleted and just wanted to relax.”
              “And what better way than to get in a good shag?”

“Fiona, he could have shagged Gemma, he came back to me for support.”

Fiona stuck out her bottom lip in thought. “Fair enough, I think you’re right.  Goes to show you that he might just be in love with you!”

“He said he was last night.”

Her mouth dropped open as she snapped her neck around to look at Maggie, “Campbell said, “I love you” last night?”

“Yes.”

“And he wasn’t in the middle of an orgasm?”

Maggie’s face dropped.

Fiona snickered and shook her head. “Oh Mags, men say the strangest things when they’re about to come.”

“But he meant it.” Maggie glared over at her and nodded vehemently.

“I don’t doubt he meant he was fond of you.  But, you need to hear those three words when his little head is dormant.”

Maggie clenched her jaw and pouted.
“He meant it. I know he did.” 

Fiona gave her a look of reluctant agreement, but said nothing. As they drove along, Fiona asked Maggie about her life in California and her reasons for going to law school.

After listening to Maggie’s tale of woes, Fiona turned serious, “Maggie, I really admire Americans, they truly believe that they can do anything, no matter what their station in life. I don’t know if faced with what you went through that I could give it another go, dig myself out of the hole.”

Maggie chuckled, “Oh, Fiona, I have absolutely no doubt that you would do fine. You’re a hardy breed. I’m quite amazed at how thick skinned you aristocrats are. You’re taught quite young how to take a punch with dignity and I’m afraid I wasn’t. I find it much harder to be cruel or to accept criticism.”

Fiona grinned, “Touché! That, Maggie, was a backhanded compliment. It seems you are learning quickly!”

Maggie grinned too. “Speaking of
aristocracy, is there something I should know before I get to the funeral?”

“Yes, something very important. Turn around and look on the back seat, behind you.  I brought that for you.”

On the back seat of the Jaguar were two fashionable hats, one black with some white decoration on it.  The other, directly in back of Maggie was black too with purple and blue plumage. These were the type of hats that were sold before Ascot and the Kew Garden Party in the finer shops, usually ranging from £100 to £500 and up. Having shopped in some of the smart Cambridge boutiques, Maggie had seen and admired hats like these.  They were beautiful and exquisitely made, but way out of her price range.  Of course Maggie had tried on several of the hats despite the beady eyes of the sales staff who didn’t hold back their looks of distaste when the American tourists playfully tried on the hats and took pictures of each other. 

“Why?” Maggie turned back around in her seat.

“At a funeral for an Earl you’ll be expected to wear a hat.”

“Oh?”

“I didn’t think you had one with you, so I brought you one.”

“I have nothing like that.” Maggie stared back at the hat again, having never worn anything of its grandeur.

“You’ll look good in it.”

“You think?”

“Trust me.  I’ve got your back, as they say in the States.”

Maggie gazed out through the windshield at the church they were approaching, amazed to see the number of cars parked or being parked. The sign for the parish church read that it was
St. Mary the Virgin
, the largest Church of England in Essex.  It was an old stone church with a tall spire that could be seen throughout the countryside for miles.  The clock on the side of the church indicated that they had twenty minutes before the ceremony to get settled. There were valets in smart uniforms and gloves to park the cars of the more important people. Fiona drove up to the valets, not questioning if she was important enough. The valets took her keys as the two women retrieved the hats from the back seat. People were walking towards the church, the gravel crunching under their feet while voices spoke in hushed tones. Maggie saw the media taking photos and shooting footage of everyone who was going into the church. Fiona grabbed Maggie’s arm and walked her over to the side yard where she took the hat from Maggie’s hands and placed it on her head at a slight angle, anchoring it with combs. Maggie felt like a schoolgirl being dressed for her first day at Kindergarten.

Chapter 17

A Cup of Kindness

After retrieving our hats and coats from the back seat of the car, I walked next to Fiona as she fixed her own hat and made her way inside, stopping to air kiss every other person and to occasionally shake a hand or two. I was introduced to four of the air kissers; people Fiona said later were the ones I really needed to meet. I looked around at the scores of well-dressed, nose-in-air gentry, and have to admit my heart was beating like a snare drum. Organ music by Mendelssohn, then Bach, followed by Vaughan Williams played as people filled in the pews. 

I thought we might sit about half way up, but Fiona charged the full length of the aisle to the second pew back and stood waiting for the people already occupying the pew to move down to accommodate us. They did without question as soon as they saw that it was her. 

Turning to me as we entered the pew she said, “Leave a spot for Henry.” The pew in front of us was occupied at the far end by Penelope, her husband and their children.  Next to her were a man I didn’t know and then Lady Falkirk. I looked around and didn’t see either Henry or Campbell. Waiting patiently without saying a word, I kept silent as Fiona turned to the couple sitting next to her and began a hushed conversation with them.  I watched Penelope lean back and talk to her mother behind the unknown man’s back and then I watched as Gemma walked up to the front pew, received a hand from Lady Falkirk, squeezed it and then sat next to her, leaving the seat on the other side of her open for Campbell on the end. I cringed when it became apparent that Gemma would be sitting directly in front of me. She saw me, but completely ignored me. I have to admit, she also ignored Fiona.

The bells rang at two pm, but the service did not start right away. People were still filing in and as I looked around, the pews were spilling over into the aisles.  The crowd quieted down as an altar boy came out and lit some of the candles. The music began again, playing
Jerusalem
as a choir sang the hymn. I turned and watched as Campbell, Henry and four other males carried the coffin up to the pall. The casket was placed gingerly onto the pall and then Henry and Campbell came over to take their seats. I scooted over towards Fiona as Henry slipped next to me, putting his arm behind me on the pew. Campbell, sober and calm, went to take his seat next to Gemma, but looked back at me. I’m not sure anyone else saw it, but his face softened slightly as we exchanged glances.

The Bishop of Colchester took the pulpit which towered over the congregation like a skyscraper over a village.  There were several readings, including one by Lady Penelope.  The Earl’s grandsons both went up and read a poem by Lord Byron. The choir sang again and then the gentleman next to Lady Falkirk, who I discovered was Viscount Adair, Campbell’s uncle, made his way to the pulpit and gave a very moving eulogy about duty, honor, England and how this all fashioned to make the Earl who he was. There were tears, but not from the Earl’s immediate family. They were very stoic, but I wasn’t. I started to cry as the eulogist listed the Earl of Falkirk’s good works and told a story of how he took Campbell to India, encouraging him go to the hospitals with him.  It was in India that Campbell decided to dedicate his life to medicine. By the time he was done, I loved the Earl, and yet, I had never met him.

I started sniffling which caused Henry to pull out a clean, freshly pressed handkerchief with his initials and coat of arms embroidered on it. He handed it to me with the sweetest smile and a pat on my shoulder. Finally, Campbell got up to say a few words about his father. I was awed by his presence. His back and shoulders were straight, his hair perfectly combed, his blue eyes clear and piercing. He spoke with that Oxbridge accent that made you think you were in the house of Parliament. The words were simple and heartfelt. He didn’t drag it on, but it was long enough to be respectful and honorable. I was very proud of him. He took his place in the pew as the Bishop continued the church ceremony.

The program indicated that there would be music next, that someone would sing Auld Lang Syne. Gemma leaned in to Campbell, “Darling, we weren’t able to get your father’s favorite singer. There was silence as the Bishop took his seat.

Campbell narrowed his eyes and knitted her brow. “You mean, we don’t have a singer to sing Auld Lang Syne for a Scottish Earl? I could tell from his voice that he was angry, nervous and stressed over this. I didn’t understand the big deal, but just from his voice, I knew it was.  Campbell’s mother leaned in and there was a strained conversation, somewhat tense, about the fact that there was no one to sing Auld Lang Syne.

I made money as an undergraduate
student renting my voice out on New Year’s Eve and for Burns’ suppers in January singing Auld Lang Syne. I not only learned Auld Lang Syne a cappella, but I learned it in Scottish Gaelic, taught to me by several Scottish men who heard me sing it the first time and almost cried at my poor pronunciation. By the time they were done with me, I sounded more Scottish than Billy Connelly.

I don’t know where I got the courage or what bright idea even made me think I could pull it off, but I stood up, looked at Henry, excused myself and slid past his knees.  Walking up to the area where the musicians had played, I cleared my voice and looked out over the crowd of black ties and gorgeous hats.  I saw Campbell turned in his seat and having a somewhat animated but hushed conversation with Fiona.  I closed my eyes and began.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

My voice cracked.  I looked around and saw several people grimacing, and Campbell staring down at his legs, unable to look at me.  The Bishop handed me a glass of water and I took a drink, cleared my throat and started again.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

  
I made it through eight stanzas, the entire song and I knew that I had nailed it.  Despite the false start, I looked out and was amazed to see handkerchiefs dabbing eyes and people nodding approval. I quietly went back to my seat. As I passed by, Campbell grabbed my hand and squeezed. I looked down into his eyes and my heart clenched; his eyes were misty.  He nodded and smiled, then let my hand go.  Henry scooted over to let me have the aisle seat.  As I sat down, Henry put his arm around my shoulder and whispered, “Well done, Mags, well done.”

The ceremony ended and the pall bearers carried the coffin out the doors to a refrigerated truck. I turned to Fiona, “What’s going on?”

“He’ll be buried up in the family vault in Dunskey Castle.”

“Where is it located?”

She put on her sunglasses. “Scotland, in Galloway.”

“I see. So Robscott is just their home down here?”

Fiona looked over her sunglasses and grinned, “Yes, Robscott Manor is just a little vacation home. The Falkirk realm is in Scotland.”

“I see.”

We climbed into the car and waited as the mourners piled into their cars. Fiona and I watched Gemma and Campbell’s mother hold each other’s arms as they climbed into the Rolls Royce. Campbell, his sunglasses now covering his gorgeous eyes, climbed in with them. His sister and her family were in the town car behind them.  After a few minutes, the cars started out of the drive and towards the main road. 

“So do they live in Scotland or down here?” I asked.

“They live mostly down here, closer to London and the House of Lords. But, during the summer months and sometimes at Christmas, they’ll go home.”

I sat back and watched as the British countryside floated by outside.  It was winter so the landscape was void of the beautiful yellow bloom of rape that covered the hills in spring and summer.  As we drove to Robscott Manor, my blood pressure was rising. I’d soon see where Campbell grew up.  Not sure what to expect, I tried to imagine a large room with little boy furnishings and toys all over it.  In my
mind, the manor would be big, maybe five bedrooms and have a well groomed gravel drive, a nice reception room, maybe a library, a dining room, and large kitchen with a beautiful English garden in the back. I then imagined Dunskey Castle to be much larger, more imposing.

“Maggie, what made you get up and sing?  That was rather ballsy of you!” Henry asked.

“Campbell seemed very distressed that his father wouldn’t have Auld Lang Syne sung at his funeral. I know the song and, even though I don’t have a great voice, it’s better than nothing, so I did it for him.”

“You’re voice was perfect for the song.  It was strong, but very haunting. You did well. I know that Campbell’s family probably appreciated it, I did,” he said with a smile.

“I hope so. I really hope so.”

We turned into a side road then passed a quarter mile of stone wall on the left, with open fields to my right.  I watched as the cars started to turn between a break in the wall where two large iron gates stood wide open.  Attached to the gate was a large majestic bronze plaque with
Robscott Manor
inscribed on it. The gates stood guarding the gravel road that lay beyond it.  I craned my neck as we drove through leafless woods of the late autumn. The road then took a gentle curve that led to large open fields. On both sides of the road were herds of sheep grazing along with the occasional cow and geese. I finally looked straight ahead and gasped. A small lake and a gazebo on a pedestrian bridge lay to the west.   Directly in front of the car stood a large Jacobean home with a façade from the late eighteenth century.  The building itself sprawled over several acres. It was massive, it was opulent and it was gorgeous. But the scope and grandeur of it was very daunting and for a middle-classed Californian, very overwhelming. I could feel my head go fuzzy. 

“Welcome to Robscott.” Fiona said casually.

My eyes were saucers. I tried to comprehend what I was seeing. “Fiona, surely this doesn’t all belong to Campbell’s family?”

“No dear, it all belongs to
Campbell, The eleventh Earl of Falkirk.”
  Fiona looked over at me. “Mags, you’re white. I don’t think you have a drop of blood in your face. What is it dear?”

My voice wavered and cracked, “I was expecting big, but not monstrosity. What is the castle like?”

“Actually, the Falkirk estates themselves are larger, but the actual castle is half the size of Robscott.”

“Oh, God. What have I gotten into?”

We pulled up and several servants rushed to our car doors, opening them and then standing at attention. Fiona grabbed her hat again and so did I. A young teenage male stood at attention dressed in a black and white suit.

“The bags are in the boot. Please find out where our rooms are.” It was said more as an order than as a request.

“Yes, ma'am. May I ask the name of our other guest?” The young man was referring to me, but continued to address Fiona.

“She’ll be your Lady one day if the Earl has any sense. This is Miss McGee.”

“Thank you.” He gave a slight bow.

“Has Lord and Lady Stratford arrived?” Fiona asked.

“I will check for you, Lady Raleigh.” The young man was faced in Fiona’s direction, but didn’t look directly at her.

“Oh, don’t bother, I shall find them.” Fiona began to take off her gloves, “Oh, there Maggie, there’s Nigel and my parents. Come, I want you to meet them.”

I followed in her wake over to Nigel and an older couple who were standing talking to another, younger couple, who walked off just before we arrived. I had to go past Campbell and Gemma who were engaged in deep conversation with the Bishop.

Fiona put a hand on my back and extended her other hand towards her parents, “Mother, Father, this is Maggie McGee.  Maggie, Lord and Lady Stratford and you already know my horrid brother.”

Lord Stratford was very tall, like Nigel.  In fact, I could see that Nigel shared his father’s very good looks and kind countenance.  He smiled at me. “Miss McGee, I am very pleased to meet you. Your rendition of Auld Lang Syne was well done. I was quite impressed.  And you did it a cappella, very brave of you.”

Fiona’s mother, who didn’t remind me of either Fiona or
Nigel, also smiled. “Yes, how do you know our Fiona?” 

Nigel cleared his throat, “Actually, Maggie is my friend as well.  She attends law school at Downing.”

“Law school?” Lord Stratford asked.

“Yes, I am finishing my law degree here before returning to California to practice.”

Fiona chortled. “Pshaw! Father, don’t listen to her. Maggie’s a contender for Lady Falkirk and frankly, she has my bet.”

They looked stunned. “What about
Gemma dear? Imogene told me that Gemma was a shoe-in.” Lady Stratford, who looked quite dowdy in her plain but expensive black frock, said.

I turned to Fiona. “Imogene?”

“The Dowager Lady Falkirk.”

I nodded.

“In fact, I hear that Campbell and Gemma are going to Paris soon.” Lady Stratford said. “Come along, Campbell has moved inside. I do hope the food has been laid out. I’m up for a spot of tea.”

I looked at Fiona who waved the back of her hand as if her mother was crazy. We started towards the front doors and as we started up the stairs, Nigel took my arm and led me inside. “You were wonderful Mags, so brave and daring as you marched up there and sang your heart out. You gave us a start when you began, but then you really did make us proud.”