His American Fling Read online

  His American Fling

  Chapter 1

  Yanks

  She saw him at the very last second, his dark brown hair flying back, his face screwed up in anticipation. There was nothing he or she could do; he was too close and too fast to avoid it. A botched scream left her lips, metal scraped the pavement, and bodies went flying. The tourists, enjoying a beautiful cloudless day on King Street, turned around to see a long-legged man sprawled in the road. A few feet away was a petite blonde woman lying in the pavement, trying to pick herself up.

  The tall cyclist with cold, clear blue eyes looked at the bicycle, now pulled over to the side thanks to one of the Japanese tourists who graciously moved it out of the street. The frame of the wheel was bent almost at a 45 degree angle.

  "Bloody hell! You damn Yanks." Walking over to the gutter two feet away from his bike, he pointed angrily down at the pavement and yelled at the blonde, now sitting up, her legs in front of her, "We even write, “Look this Way,” on the asphalt for you damn Yanks, and yet, probably due to a crisis in your educational system that prevents you from learning proper English, you still look the wrong way when crossing the street. For God’s sake, learn to read!" He bent over to inspect his bicycle, "Oh, bloody hell, my bike’s in tatters."

  The woman tried to stand, but she couldn’t push herself up with her left arm. Noticing she was having trouble, the bicyclist, dressed in a tailored black suit with florescent bicycle clips around his pant legs, walked over and extended his long, thin fingers down to her.

  She looked up contritely, grabbed his hand and let him pull her up. He noticed she was very light and her hand seemed as small as a child’s. The look she gave him made him feel sheepish for yelling at her. Forehead knitted, lips pursed tightly together, her mouth turned slightly down at the corners making her look both sad and worried. Giving her the once over, he decided she wasn’t strikingly beautiful, but she was quite pretty, probably in her late twenties. Nonetheless, he could tell, not just from her stupidity for having looked the wrong way, but also by the trendy, but worn, Nikes on her feet and the large black “UCLA” across the front of her maroon hoodie, that she was American.

  "You’re favoring your right arm. Let me take a look at it." He pulled her over towards the curb as the crowd that had gathered started to disperse.

  A policeman strolled up to them, "What do we have here?" He took out a notebook and pencil, staring down into the woman’s eyes. Without any inflection the policeman sighed and asked, "Did you look the wrong way?"

  The American didn’t bother with a verbal response; she just nodded, looking rather glum and nervous. She slowly picked off a few pieces of gravel from her hoodie, t-shirt and blue jeans.

  The bicyclist rotated her left shoulder, "Ow! Ow!" She yelped.

  He gave her a look of exasperation, "For God’s sake stop whinging."

  "Whinging?" she asked.

  "Moaning, crying out in pain." he translated.

  Her expression changed from one of contrition to one of defiance, "It hurts! I’m not whinging. There’s something wrong with it. I think I need to see a doctor." She pulled the arm out of his hands.

  "Don’t be daft, I am a doctor."

  The policeman cleared his throat to get their attention. "Miss, I need your name."

  "Maggie McGee."

  "Address?" The policeman stood nonplused, waiting for her to respond.

  "Here or in California?"

  "Here."

  "I’m at the Cambridge Kings Bed & Breakfast for now, but I’m checking out tomorrow."

  The policeman turned to the doctor, "Name?"

  "Professor Campbell Adair, 149 Park Terrace, Cambridge."

  The policeman shifted his weight, looked around, obviously bored, "Professor, do you wish for me to write her a ticket?"

  Maggie let out a startled breath, but didn’t say anything, realizing that it had been her fault for looking the wrong way and stepping off the curb into his path. But she hadn’t realized she might be facing a possible fine or criminal charges. Nervous, she watched as Campbell looked at his bike and thought about it. Starting to get angry, she growled, "Dude, come on, it’s not like I intentionally set out this morning to ruin your day!” When he made no comment, Maggie offered, “I promise to pay for your bike. I’m really sorry."

  Campbell turned to her, seeing how worried she was, he tried to control his anger and frustration. "I should bloody well make you pay for your stupidity, but I don’t have time to go to court." He turned back to the policeman, "No, it’s fine officer." He dismissed the policeman and glared at Maggie. "But you’re coming with me to pay for the damage to my bike."

  She swallowed hard. "Yes, of course."

  The policeman closed his book and tipped his hat. "Well, I’ll be off then. Ta."

  Maggie turned back to Campbell. "I thought you said you were a doctor?"

  He nodded. "I am."

  "Then why aren’t you Dr. Adair?"

  He rolled his eyes at her and sniped, "Americans. Are you always this stupid or are you making a special effort today? In Britain, we have a hierarchy in medicine. A General Practitioner is ‘Dr. X,’ a surgeon, is ‘Mr. X,’ and when someone has reached the pinnacle of his specialty and is asked to teach, he is a ‘Professor.’ Hence, Professor Adair."

  "Oh. Well, doctor..."

  "Professor."

  "I’m sorry—Professor. I would love to accompany you to the bike shop, but I’m going to be late for a job interview. I was headed back to the hotel to change when this happened." The backpack she grabbed and started rummaging through was old and dirty as was the wallet she pulled out. Looking through it, she sighed at how little money she had left. "How much do you think it’s going to cost?"

  "Bugger all.” He clenched his teeth in frustration, his blue eyes blazing. “I take it that you’re looking for a job because that’s all you have, right?"

  Maggie nodded and looked up into Campbell’s eyes. She realized they were even more beautiful and blue because of the incredibly long brown eyelashes that ringed them. He was very handsome, but she had a feeling he knew that. Everything about him told her he had an ego the size of Texas.

  "Here, take my card. I’ll get it repaired and give you the bill later. You can ring for me at Addenbrookes, in the Infectious Disease Department."

  Maggie took the card, looked at it, "Professor C.J. Adair, Infectious Diseases, Addenbrookes Hospital, Cambs 0123-394-44."

  "You trust me?"

  Campbell sighed and nodded at the same time, "I do. It seems Americans tend to have this thing about money. Most of them would never think of dodging out on a debt they owed in a foreign country."

  "I promise I’ll pay you back. I need to run; but, thank you for not throwing me in jail." She smiled sweetly and took off holding her left elbow with her right hand.

  Campbell watched her jog off at a quick pace down the path towards the market. He shook his head and smirked as she disappeared. The one thing he hated about Cambridge was the damn holidaymakers in the summer. The streets were full of either tourists or so-called, "language students," from Europe. The rich European parents of bored teens seemed to think Cambridge was the perfect place to park their children for the summer under the guise of learning English. There were days Campbell would walk down King’s Parade and not hear a single word of English, among the German, Italian and French teenagers.

  He picked up his bike and examined the damage. There were some scrapes and a bent rim, but all-in-all he didn’t think it was too bad. Campbell had intended to buy a new bike anyway. The only efficient way to get around the center of Cambridge was by bike. Cambridge had become so clogged with traffic that parts of the city center had been cordoned off to vehicles, but not bikes. He walked his
broken cycle down to the bicycle shop.

  The clerk took a look at the frame and shook his head in mock despair while secretly grateful for the business. "Tsk, tsk. Your bike sure took a wallop. Did you hit a wall?"

  "Almost as hard—an American," Campbell replied.

  "They’re all gits, aren’t they?"

  "Most of them. How much to repair it?"

  "I’d say forty quid."

  "Bloody hell! I guess I’ll have a look at new bikes."

  Campbell settled on a new bike with a discount for trading in the old one. The Americans were always looking for used bikes during the summer and the bike shop could easily make money off his old one, even after the cost of fixing it. As Campbell rode off on the new bike, he thought about the afternoon’s events and had to shake his head, it hadn’t been boring.

  *********************

  Campbell rode his bike to Addenbrookes Hospital the next day and was locking it up in the bike rack when Henry Pendleton came jogging up to him.

  Henry took a good look at the bike. "Hello Campbell, new bike?"

  "Yes, my last one had a disastrous affair with an American who didn’t look both ways before crossing Kings Parade."

  "Ouch!" He chuckled. They turned to walk inside the hospital. "We’re going out Friday. The Baron of Beef." Henry looked up at his friend for a response.

  "Nine-ish?" Campbell asked.

  "Yes."

  "Bril, I may be late. I’ll just be getting back from London. Seminar."

  They continued to talk as they walked into the main concourse past the emergency ward on their left. Campbell and Henry turned right to take the bank of elevators to the upper floors but turned when they heard feet running up behind him.

  A winded voice yelled, "Dr. Adair, Dr. Adair!"

  Campbell and Henry stopped. Turning around they saw a blonde running towards them, her left arm in a cast.

  "Dr. Adair!"

  He rolled his eyes and in a perfect Oxbridge accent said, "Professor, Professor."

  She stopped a few feet from him, "Oh. Sorry. Professor Adair." She pulled her old backpack from her left shoulder and put it on the ground. Trying to unzip it, the American was having a hard time with her freshly plastered arm. She picked the backpack up and pushed it into his arms, "Hold this so I can unzip it."

  Campbell stepped backwards, having been taken off balance when she shoved the backpack into his arms. His forehead lifted and his eyes flashed open in surprise. Once he realized what she was trying to do, he unzipped it for her. She rummaged through the bag while he held it, quickly looking up to give him a smile. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to smile back or not. It didn’t matter since she turned her attention back to the bag.

  Campbell glanced over at Henry, who was clearly amused. "Henry, this is Miss McGee, the woman who caused the unfortunate accident with my bicycle yesterday."

  Before Henry could say anything, she pulled her hand out with twenty pounds. "Here you are, for yesterday. If I owe you more, I’ll be happy to pay you weekly."

  Henry chuckled. "She’s paying you for hitting her? Damn, I’ve got to get a job like that."

  Campbell took the twenty pounds and gave Henry a look to shut him up. "This is plenty. I bought a new bike anyway. I wanted one." He handed the bag back to Maggie, "Your arm?"

  "Broken."

  "Oh, blimey. I am sorry. I didn’t think it was that bad." He felt ashamed for yelling at her when she complained of pain.

  "Oh, no biggie. It’s a clean fracture. The shoulder has something torn, so they want me to wear this for four weeks. More of an inconvenience. I truly am sorry about walking out in front of you."

  He shook his head, "Please, enough. I hope your arm heals quickly. Well, good luck Miss McGee. Enjoy the rest of your stay in Britain." He gave a curt smile and turned to the elevator.

  "Thank you." Maggie said.

  Henry smiled broadly over his shoulder at Maggie, and she smiled back. He nodded a pleasant farewell to her as he and Campbell entered the elevator. The elevator doors closed. "I see why you ran into her. Damn good luck wasn’t it?" Henry smiled.

  Campbell narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

  Henry laughed. "Campbell, you really need to get your finger out. The woman was a stunner. Didn't you notice? She’s a little older for a student though, isn’t she?"

  "That woman was an American twit who can’t even cross a street without going arse over tit."

  "Speaking of tits, do you think hers were real?"

  Campbell shook his head in frustration. "I don’t know nor do I care. Besides they weren’t all that big."

  "You do need to get out more. They were certainly big enough. She’s awfully pretty, and she has a great smile. Why didn’t you ask her out?"

  Campbell refused to answer. He looked down at his friend and frowned, noticing that Henry had gotten a haircut. The blonde wavy hair wasn’t so wavy once it was cut short. "You got a haircut."

  "No, I got all of them cut."

  "You’re a regular Eddie Izzard." Campbell was glad to see the tenth floor and the doors open. As he walked to Ward C10, Infectious Diseases/Immunology, he watched as Henry turned to D10, Hematology.

  "Cheers. See you Friday night." Henry yelled out as he disappeared through the doors to the ward.

  *********************

  Riding British Rail from London to Cambridge on a Friday evening always provided entertainment for those commuters who managed to stay sober. It was seven o’clock, and Campbell watched as the after-work drunks filtered through the carriage doors, dropping things, singing rugby songs, and generally looking knackered. He knew the three lads seated across the aisle from him, although lively and singing the Zulu Warrior, would soon be asleep and snoring as most drunks do once the train lulled them into a happy, drunken stupor. Campbell laughed to himself. He remembered his days at University and the numerous tube and train rides he took drunk as a lord.

  The summer sun was still up outside and would be until after 9:00 p.m. It wouldn’t really get dark until 10 p.m. Campbell watched as the stops came and went, knowing that as soon as he saw the Rosie, the maternity hospital built adjacent to Addenbrookes, it was time to gather his things together and wait by the door for Cambridge. Standing by the carriage door he smiled as he smelled the freshly mown lawn of the cricket pitches the train passed on its journey into the station. He loved cricket. The white uniforms, the red ball, the oak bat, the crust-less cucumber sandwiches and squash, all made for numerous pleasurable afternoons on the cricket grounds. Campbell still enjoyed his weekly game, but had to admit his bowling wasn’t what it used to be. Over the last twenty years he’d gone from being an appreciated fast bowler to a respected semi-fast bowler. The games were all friendlies and none of his mates seem to mind that the thirty-eight year old Campbell wasn’t the star bowler he used to be.

  As the train approached the station, Campbell turned back and watched the porter come through and wake the sleeping drunks just in case Cambridge was their stop. He heard one of them tell the porter, "Ely," which was a few more stops up the track. Campbell walked out to the gravel parking lot and found his bicycle. Unchaining it, he took off for home, which was a three-story Georgian townhouse next to Parker’s Piece, one of the large parks in the town center.

  The park was mostly used for friendly cricket games. On the north side of Parker’s Piece was a small cottage, Hobbs Pavilion, which housed the changing rooms for the cricket games. On two sides of Parker’s Piece stretched rows of Elm trees. They had once encircled the entire park, but Dutch Elm disease had infected the east row, quickly spreading by wind to the north side. The city culled the infected trees to stem the spread of the disease, leaving only the west and south rows of trees to border the park. Campbell loved Parker’s Piece, not only because he had played many games of cricket on its pitches, but because, whenever he walked through it, he knew he was almost home.

  After taking a quick shower and putting on a long-sleeved shirt and jean
s, he grabbed his bike and took off for the Baron of Beef pub which was on the north side of the city. Campbell waved to some acquaintances and then pedaled into the car park behind the Baron and Beef, locking up his bike. He went in through the front door and immediately looked to the back for his friends. Fiona, Henry, Peter and Charles were seated at one of the larger round tables. He nodded to them to acknowledge that he had seen them before stopping at the bar to tell the barkeep that he wanted a Black and Tan.

  "Oy!" Henry cried out when Campbell approached the table.

  "Ah, I never thought I’d make it. What a horrid day. I hate these NHS conferences on emerging diseases. They never cover anything of interest or anything that we don’t already know."

  "Amen," Fiona said resolutely. "It’s a complete load of codswallop. We’d be better off just having drinks with each other and trading war stories."

  Henry gave Campbell a mischievous look and snickered.

  "What’s going on?" he asked, staring suspiciously at Henry.

  "Turn around," Henry said.

  Campbell turned around and jerked his head back in surprise. Behind him was Maggie, trying desperately to serve drinks with a cast on her arm. She looked haggard and worried.

  Campbell turned back around in his seat and rolled his eyes at Henry. "She’s everywhere."

  Henry chuckled. "She’s been running around in circles. She obviously can’t carry too many drinks with that cast on, so it means twice the trips and long waits. The customers are a little annoyed at her. I’ve heard some grumbling."

  "Too bad." Campbell said flippantly to Henry just as he felt someone walk up behind him. Maggie came up by his side and sat the Black and Tan next to him. "Good evening, Dr. Adair."

  He turned to correct her, but she was bending down, wiping the table, giving him a great view down her loose peasant blouse of her breasts. He was pleasantly surprised to see that they were pert and round and barely staying in the demi-bra she was wearing. He knew that everyone could see he was admiring the perfectly shaped breasts, but he couldn’t stop looking. It had been a long time since he had been this close to beautiful breasts that weren’t covered by a green hospital gown.