His American Fling (38 page)

“No, after the pain we both caused you, I’ll pay for it.”

“Well, Mags,
” he said softly, his voice full of regret, “if you had known all this, would you still have gotten engaged?”

The lie, the fucking lie.
  “
Oh, dear, this is worse than a Shakespearian Comedy. Campbell I so wish I could go back in time.”

“Tel
l me about it. I wasn’t going to say anything, but now that you know I’m not married, would you mind if I stopped by next month to see you? I have to go to the States, actually California, to take care of some business. It seems that I managed to get things calmed down in Europe, but now we have some contractual problems in the States. I’d like to meet your fiancé and make sure you’re okay.”

I felt like crying, “That would be great
if there was a fiancé.”

He smiled and squeezed my hand. “I understand.”
And then he did a double take, “Wait…what did you say?”

I turned a bright red and tried to talk.

“Damn it, Mags, what the hell do you mean—“if there was a fiancé?””

“I thought you were married. I didn’t want you to think I was a loser, that no one loved me.”

His mouth was wide open and the look was somewhere between surprise and fury. Preparing for his wrath, I closed my eyes.

“You don’t have a fiancé? You lied to me?”

I nodded.

His hands formed fists and he shook his head at me. I thought he was going to implode so I reached out to touch him, but he pulled back.

“Maggie, don’t. Just don’t. I’m quite crossed with you.” He turned and went into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

I had really fucked up.
I didn’t understand why a fake boyfriend had made him so angry when just a few seconds before that he was begging to come to California to make sure I was going to be alright.

The embarrassment was too much, he could see me now for the pathetic loser
I am. It was clear that I had just destroyed his image of me, and from the look on his face, it was the final nail in the coffin.

I couldn’t face anyone now that the cat
was out of the bag. Everyone would soon know that I had no fiancé, it was a lie, and that I had attacked Gemma when it was me who had slept with her boyfriend behind her back.

Time to cut bait and get the hell out of Dodge. I undressed, leaving my beautiful bridesmaid dress on the hanger in the bedroom. After slipping my jeans and T-shirt on, I packed the rest of m
y things and rang for a servant, sobbing the entire time.

Walker, himself, appeared.
“Ma’am?”

“Walker, can you arrange for a car to take me to Heathrow?”

“Heathrow, Ma’am?”

“Yes, uh, I just received a phone call and there’s an emergency at home. I’d prefer not to bother the Earl or the wedding party. I’ll leave a note.”

“Certainly. I will arrange for the car. May I say that I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been called back home.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll send someone up for your luggage when the car is pulled around.”

“Thank you, Walker. And,
because this is probably the last time we’ll see each other, I just want you to know that I think you do a phenomenal job.”

He didn’t bat and eye, but stood in his
butler tails, his arms behind his back. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

I received a call ten minutes later letting me know
that there would be a delay as the Earl was short on cars. Most of his cars were in used, taking several of the older guests home who did not want to stay into the wee hours to dance. “I’ll ring when the car is at the side entrance.”

It was a good hour later when the phone finally rang and Walker informed me my car was available.
I grabbed my bags, but there was a knock at the door and a young, male servant took them out of my hands. We went downstairs and I was surprised to see a Bentley waiting for me. The young driver put the bags in the trunk and I crawled in the back. There was a dark window between the front and back seat that separated me from my driver. I think Walker knew I was upset and had arranged for the car that could give me the most privacy.

There must have been an intercom because I heard a voice. “Ma’am, I’m sorry that we have to stop to get gas. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Uh, it’s fine. Would you mind if when we stop I could buy a bottle of water?”

There was no response. I knocked on
the window and the driver rolled it down. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“I’d like to buy a bottle of water when we stop, okay?”

“Of course. And, Ma’am, if you need to talk to me, there’s a button on the arm rest next to the window toggle.”

“Yes, I see it.”

“Press it down once to speak, press it again to end your conversation.”

“Thank you.”

I didn’t press it down, the window helped preserve what little dignity I had left. There was a lot of sobbing coming from the back seat as we drove comfortably down the motorway. The driver did not seem to be in any hurry. I could only imagine that he drove the speed limit to insure that we were not stopped. We pulled into a station and I bought my water while the driver pumped the gas. Back on the road, we leisurely made our way down the road.

As if to make my world bleaker, the skies opened up
just as we arrived at Heathrow. A porter ran forward, pulled the cases from the trunk, closed it and then the driver assisted me with an umbrella. I offered the driver some money, but he waved me off. “No Ma’am, there’s no need. Have a safe trip.”

“Thank you.”

At the
Delta
ticket counter, I asked if I could exchange my tickets for the next flight. Although the attendant made an effort to find me a seat, he shook his head.

“I’m sorry, but the flight is completely booked and, in fact, we’re going to be asking a few of the customers to take the next flight which is tomorrow morning at 4:19 a.m.”

I looked at the clock. We were only looking at another five hours in the airport. “Do you have room on that flight for me?”

He spent at least a minute and sighed. “The problem is your ticket—it’s a discounted, non-refundable
economy ticket.”

The only ticket I could afford.
“Is there anything you can do? I just want to go home.”

“I can get you on the flight tomorrow morning, but I have to charge you the fees to change the ticket.”

I gulped. “How much?”

“$250.”

“Oh…” It was a lot of money to me and I debated whether to find a hostel for the next two nights, and wait for my scheduled flight. But, even a hostel in London for two nights would cost a fortune and I might as well go home. “Fine. Here’s my credit card.”

I cringed as she ran it through, hoping it wouldn’t be rejected. When the machine began
to spit out tickets, I smiled and felt the weight leave my shoulders.

Airports after midnight have a strange, ethereal feeling. The stores are closed. Many of the restaurants are closed. Only the Starbucks was open and I didn’t want coffee, I wanted to sleep. Unfortunately, sleep wasn’t to come, the damn bucket chairs didn’t lend well to sleep.

I pulled out my e-reader and began a novel, hoping it would be entertaining enough to get me through the rest of the night. At 3:50 a.m. we boarded the plane and took off on time. There was a two hour layover in Atlanta and then I was off to Los Angeles.

             
I know I looked a fright, my hair was disheveled from sleeping on the plane, and my top had a stain on it from my crappy airplane meatloaf. Still, I was home, and so wiped out from all the emotional turmoil that I just wanted to crawl into my bed and sleep.

My cell phone rang as I stood by the luggage carousel. “Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“Holly?”

“Yes, where are you? I’m here to pick you up.”

“How did you know I was coming home?”

“Fiona called looking for you. When I told her I was the house-sitter and friend, she told me what had happened. Honey, I’m so sorry. Since you left me your itinerary, I called Delta and they told me when the next two flights from England were arriving. Since you didn’t call me to pick you up last night, I thought you’d probably catch the next flight home. I wanted to be here so you wouldn’t have to wait. I suspect you’re heartbroken.”

My chin started to wobble as I gathered my luggage around me. “I am. I blew it…I had a chance to win him back and I screwed it up with lies.”

“Ah, honey…” There was a silent paused, “Oh, I see you.” She hung up and rushed to Maggie.

Maggie watched Holly make her way through the crowd.
Holly had a few too many pounds around her middle and was only slightly taller than Maggie. She was very buxom—all the females in her family had large bosoms. It was these bosoms that Maggie found herself scrunched up against.

“Are you okay, sweetie?”

I nodded as I attempted to pull away. Her arm was firmly gripping my shoulders making it impossible for me to slip her coils.

“Holly, I’m fine, just tired. Can we go? I’d
love to get home and get some sleep—like forever.” The smile she gave me was odd. It wasn’t a smile of pity or comfort, but one of mirth, as if I had said something funny. “I’m not joking, I really just want to get in my pajamas and hibernate for a few days.”

“Okay, okay. Let me take the big bag.”

Within minutes we were through the warm, cloudless city of Los Angeles on our way to Buena Vista, where I lived. I put my head back on the headrest and closed my eyes.

“How was the wedding?” Holly asked.

“Beautiful. It was held on Campbell’s estates. Oh, Holly, it was more glamorous than a fairytale. Robscott Manor is humongous and stunning. But I can’t imagine growing up there. I mean, on one hand, Campbell would have had acres and acres of land to roam, but the house itself can be cold and overwhelming. Every plate, vase, chair, bed, table, is older than the Declaration of Independence…literally. Can you imagine breaking something older than your country?”

“Wow. I’d love to see it.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. I doubt I’ll ever see it again. But at least I can say I slept with an Earl and stayed on his estates. Hot stuff, huh?”

Holly laughed and patted my arm. “It will all be better soon.”

I must have fallen asleep because when I looked up, we were only a few streets away from my townhouse. Holly pulled up to the curb outside my one bedroom, one bath stucco townhouse built sometime in the seventies. I rented it from a landlord I had never met. All conversations went through a rather pissy little property manager who seemed to think I was the enemy instead of the person who indirectly paid her salary.

Holly rolled my luggage up to the stoop and then bent over to hug me. “Sweetie, I have to go, I’ve got a massage appointment. You okay from here?”

“Yeah, I can get them inside. Any problems while I was gone?”

She shook her
bleach-blonde head. “Your mail is on the counter and here’s your key. I’ll call tonight to make sure you can get out of bed.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later. Thanks, Holly, you’re a real pal.”

I watched as she almost pranced down the sidewalk giving me an eerily evil grin over her shoulder. Maybe I should have called her back, asked her what the hell was going on with her, but I was too depressed to care.

Inside, I walked through my small living room to my even smaller kitchen with a breakfast bar. On top of the bar was a stack of mostly advertisements and requests from charities for money.
Kicking my shoes off, I grabbed my toiletries out of the suitcase and climbed the stairs to my bedroom.

The bathroom was just outside the bedroom so that guests could use it too. I put the bag down on the counter, brushed my teeth and then made my way into the bedroom. Walking on autopilot, I started taking my top off, stopping with my arms caught mid-
air; I caught a glimpse of something in my bed.

Once my bloodcurdling scream ended, I found that I had jumped five feet back.

“Shite! I wanted to surprise you, not give you a bloody heart attack.”

My head was pounding and my heart was having an out-of-body experience. “Oh, God! Damn it, Campbell…shit!” I was holding my chest trying to catch my breath. “What are you doing here?”

He was lying on his side in bed, raised up on his elbow. Judging from the position of the sheet, he was naked. “Why don’t you come here and let me hold you. You look like you need it.”

“No! First you tell me how you got in my
house!”

“When I left you I drove down to Cambridge to get something from my safe. When I was there, Walker called and informed me that one of my guests was leaving. I told him to stall as long as he could and then I packed a bag and took a cab to Heathrow.”

“A cab? That must have cost a for—” And then it hit me, the guy was rich, a cab ride was nothing.

“I booked a seat on the first non-stop flight leaving Heathrow on British Air. I’ve been here five hours.”