James shrugged his shoulders and let a soft, “hmph,” escape. He didn’t know what to say, nor did Leah. He stared at Bibb, willing her to add to the conversation. He would bet the biggest diamond in the cigarette pack that she had read more than just the first letter. He stole a glance over at Leah, and saw that she, too, was staring at Bibb.
Bibb finally spoke up, softly at first, and then with resolve. “It was the coin. That was how she came back here two days ago, then returned to her husband and the babies the next day. You saw her pendant, didn’t you?” she asked Leah.
Leah nodded slowly, not knowing where this strange story was headed. She glanced over and saw the bottle of whisky. No, she had better stay completely sober for this revelation.
“Your grandfather, Marty, read the letters before he was supposed to. He was, is, a great man, even if he is a bit impetuous at times. How she traveled—Lord, it was only yesterday and the day before, but it was also 230 years ago—is revealed in the second letter. I…well, Marty and I read them all. She never did find out how she wound up there in the first place, but she definitely did go back.”
Bibb shifted in her seat. “You see, Marty didn’t know what kind of coin had been used. The letters just referred to a coin that James had inadvertently received with the purchase of a map on Halloween, 2012. Since you were only a toddler when he read the letters, he would have to wait until you grew up and went to America to find out more. He couldn’t do anything…well, not anything. I think he did a great job of making sure you were well-mannered and got a proper education. He also tried to protect you from the wrong kind of woman, but I see that didn’t go well.”
James shrugged his shoulder, ignored the dig, and stonily waited for her to continue.
“When you came back last year, told him your story, and showed him the coin, he studied it and went out and got one just like it, all the way down to the little drilled holes.” Bibb sighed heavily. “Then he left, and I never heard from him again. I think he went back to be with them.” Bibb turned to James. “What did he tell you before he left?”
“He told me he had a terminal disease and wanted to die like a man. He was insistent that I not know what he had, although he did assure me it wasn’t hereditary or contagious. He said he had three cases of Glenturret, a waterproof GPS, and a good used sailboat. He wanted to sail around the world and ‘discover’ who he really was before he died.”
James stopped for a moment, obviously thinking about something. “He never did let me see his boat nor tell me which port he was sailing from. I was concerned about his supplies. Glenturret is a mighty fine whisky, but I wanted to make sure he had other provisions. The thought of him wasting away at sea, drunk out of his mind, was not how I wanted to remember him. You see, he may have been my grandfather, but he was the one who reared me. He was more like a father to me.”
“I know. Tell me about your family,” Bibb asked, suddenly very interested in the new topic.
James paused at her remark. Now was as good a time as any. “Why?” he asked, watching her for any emotional reaction.
And he got it. Bibb sputtered, cleared her throat as if to speak, and then finally said, “Oh, never mind,” stood up, and walked toward the door.
He got up from the couch and sidled over to the door, blocking it with an outstretched arm. “You don’t need to leave. I know. It’s just I don’t know why.”
Bibb took a deep breath and looked at him, as if he was holding a knife to her throat. “Tell me what you know,” she said dryly.
“No,” he replied slowly, turning his head from one side to the other, and then back again to center, “You tell me, mother.”
Bibb sighed deeply in resignation. “It was a dilemma that actually solved itself and one other problem. You see, the man you knew as your father, the adventurer who never wanted to sit still for his duty in the House of Lords, or even for a civil dinner with friends, was, shall we say, not attracted to the opposite sex. As long as Bruce was climbing mountains in Nepal or scouting buried treasure in the Negev, he could be with whomever he chose. And he chose Siegfried, a very rich man who shared many of his own tastes.
“Marty only had him, the one son. You see, Bruce’s mother had died in childbirth. He never remarried, never really got over losing Teighlor.” Bibb shrugged her shoulders in defeat. “He never stopped loving her; she was a tough act to follow. Still, an heir was needed for the House of Lords, and it didn’t look like Bruce was going to reproduce.”
Bibb paused, then regained her determination to relate the story. “Marty, Martin—that’s his grandfather’s name,” Bibb said to Leah to involve her in the story, “had once been quite an adventurer, too. After Teighlor’s death, he came to America to…well, he said to see if he could ever feel passion again. He planned to visit the last place his great-uncle many times over, Lord Julian Hart, was stationed during the Revolutionary War. You see, since he was a child, he had always wanted to know what had become of Julian. That mystery was the closest thing he ever had to an obsession, and he wanted to see if the research would revive the spunk in him.”
Bibb started giggling, then proceeded to laugh out loud. “Oh, his spunk was fine all right. He met me, one thing led to another, and well,” she paused, took a long deep breath, closed her eyes, and said with gentle gratitude, “we began a wonderful winter romance. He left, but came back again a year later, and then, nine months later, you were born.”
Bibb looked at James to see his reaction to the story. She didn’t get what she expected, though. “Did he ever find out anything about Uncle Julian?” he asked.
Bibb blinked hard a couple of times, sputtered, then replied, “Gee, I don’t know. I forgot to ask. I had other concerns by then. You see, I was nearly forty years old, trying to make enough money to keep my little fabric mill ahead of the bankers, and twelve people gainfully employed. Having a baby really hadn’t been in my plans, nor had marriage. So Marty and I worked it out. He wanted, needed, an heir for Bruce. I needed some financial help, and…” Bibb faded out her commentary with another shrug and a hard gaze down at her hands in her lap, turning them over as if they were going to reveal the answer as to why everyone was here.
It was an awkward moment for everyone, especially Leah, although she wasn’t personally involved. “But you never stopped caring, did you?” she asked in a valiant effort to rescue the embarrassed, estranged parent. “You kept those pictures with you, and followed his actions with the media after Marty left and you no longer had an insider to tell you what was going on in his life.”
Bibb brightened at her words. If she had said them herself, it would have sounded like an excuse, or even bragging. But having heard someone else—a veritable stranger—speak on her behalf was bliss. She looked at James and smiled, “I got as close as I could without getting near you physically. It would have ruined everything.”
Bibb turned her attention back to her hostess. “You see, the story was that Bruce had married a young lady from a well-to-do family in Caracas. The two both loved adventure, so decided to take a one-year honeymoon in South America, where they would climb the tallest peaks in each country. There she conceived, gave birth, and then conveniently died. Bruce was distraught, of course, and asked his father to help him rear the child. He was the absent parent who couldn’t bear the sight of his own child because he reminded him so much of his deceased wife. Well, it was a believable story. The wife was total fabrication, of course. At the time, there was so much going on with the Prince Charles and Princess Diana drama that no one cared about minor earls and dukes, what they were up to, or with whom.
“Bruce died just before your father—your real father, Marty—left. His demise was unfortunate, but he told your father—his father, too—that he had no regrets. He was proud of his little brother, even if he did wind up with a loser for a wife.” Bibb smiled at this. “I never met Bruce, but he seemed to be a likable fellow, even if he was a bit self-indulgent. I guess he got a kick out of Clotilde—was th
at her name?”
James winced at the mention of her and nodded. He had momentarily forgotten about that smear on his life’s history. “What do you mean?” he asked, only because it was apparent Bibb wanted to tell him about it.
“Oh, she and her ‘brother’ go way back. I guess one of Bruce’s friends, Roy, went to school with her. Bruce said she had gone to Roy’s father, saying that she was pregnant, and it was Roy’s child. She wanted £1000 per month maintenance for the bastard. Roy’s father knew about his son’s sexual orientation, and just laughed in her face. When that didn’t work, her ‘brother’ went to the father, said that Roy had promised to support him for the rest of his life, and then dumped him, leaving him heartbroken and penniless. He wanted £1000 a month spousal support. Those two were a real crock of spoiled turnips. Not only were they asking the same amount, when the erstwhile ‘brother,’ Roy’s supposed ex-boyfriend, showed up with his demands, Clotilde was waiting for him in the car. Can you imagine that?”
James rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger, trying to erase the memory of Clotilde and her ‘brother.’ “Yes, I can imagine that, but would rather not. Let’s just leave the topics of conversation at fake marriages, illegitimate children, and disappearing parents,” he said flatly, trying hard not to be rude. “No, one more topic: why were you trying to get me to buy the mill?”
Bibb flushed as she realized that she had overstepped the bounds of propriety with bringing up the subject of skanky Clotilde, who was probably legally still his wife. Bibb said, ‘sorry,’ with her eyes, not wanting to apologize verbally for the faux pas, thus continuing the uneasiness. “I didn’t know how else to get you to come to America and talk to me. I wanted to see you. I didn’t know how I would broach the subject of me and your real father, but I guess you can say I just had faith that it would come out.”
Leah watched James as he sneaked glances at Bibb. His lips, puckered and tight, showed that he was fed up with her deceptions. Leah picked up on his unspoken need to be away from this intense older woman. Yes, Leah had plenty of sympathy for the man who had just OD’d on too much information and emotion. She also knew he was too much of a gentleman to say anything. His eyes shifted to her, and his whole demeanor softened. She smiled back at him, and then turned to her female guest.
“Bibb, didn’t you say you had to go check in with your office?” Leah put her suggestion to leave in a gentle and tactful manner; Bibb had never mentioned her office or business.
“Oh, yes; I do think that would be wise of me. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll excuse myself.” Bibb reached into her purse and pulled out a little silver-plated embossed box. She flipped it open and took out a business card. “Please, call me after you get a chance to…um…get caught up with James. I might have answers to questions that you haven’t even thought of asking yet.”
Leah slowly bobbed her head up and down, said, “Thanks, I might just do that,” and then put the card down on the cluttered kitchen counter. “You’ve got my number, too; it’s on the map. I hope you understand,” she said gently, still wanting the woman to leave before the civil tone of the meeting evaporated completely.
Too much had happened too soon. Her mother’s sudden reappearance yesterday as a very young nursing mother with a musket ball wound in her shoulder was still fresh on her mind. Now it looked as if that was just the feather poking out of the pillow. There was a lot more to learn, and she didn’t know if she was ready for that much information right now. She glanced over at the bottle of whisky on the counter. “Shut up,” she said. “Not you,” she added with a smile at the perplexed James. Hmm, such a fine looking, nice man…
*9 A Dip and an Explosion
Bibb had left, and it was just the two of them now. Leah breathed a huge sigh of relief. She looked over at the uptight and befuddled man sitting on her overstuffed sofa, his head in his hands. James turned his face to her as if to ask, ‘Now, what?’
“Do you want to go swimming,” Leah replied to his unspoken question.
It wasn’t what James had expected to hear, but sounded like a great idea. “Hmph,” escaped his throat. He realized that the only thing better to clear his mind than a dip in that crystal clear swimming pool with his bright and foxy new female friend, would be to have a nice glass of whisky to go with it.
But, it was time for reality. The last twenty-four hours had been crammed with about as many new emotions and stresses as his mere mortal body could handle. The disposal of his life—or at least putting it on hold—before he left England; the long transatlantic flight; the historic letters he had just read that seemed like they were a lost chapter out of that Lisa Sinclaire book—that was unbelievably weird; the near poisoning of this new friend; a short but tense drive on American roads in a vintage, un-air-conditioned pickup truck with the steering wheel on the wrong side—at least for him; the sweaty tackle and wrestle into the grass of two stinky drug-addicted assailants, one of whom had held a knife on his new friend; and finally, and most certainly not least, the revelation that his grandfather was really his father, and that the mother who he thought had died in childbirth was a complete fabrication. His real mother was still alive—a feisty American businesswoman who had contrived to bring him across the Atlantic Ocean to meet her under false pretenses! James shook his head as he thought of the gall of that woman.
“I mean, I’d love to go, but I didn’t think to bring swimming trunks,” he said. Damn, he really did want to get cooled off, but he doubted her neighbors would appreciate him skinny-dipping.
“No worries,” Leah said brightly. “I think I can get you covered. Here, do you like whisky?” She handed him a cup with what appeared to be a cartoon dinosaur on it.
“Oh, my, you do know how to take a man’s breath away. Thank you.” He lifted the charming, cast-glass mug to his nose and inhaled the bouquet of the premium Scotch whisky.
“You’re welcome. I’ll be right back.”
Leah rushed next door to Billy’s apartment, quickly rapped on the door, then burst in. “Hey, Billy, do you have an extra pair of swimming trunks for my new buddy?”
“Sure, come on in. I have loads in here,” he called from his bedroom. “Hey, he seems like a keeper,” he remarked, as he rummaged through the closet.
“Yeah, well, he looks nice, and he’s certainly a sweetheart, but I think he’s more your type as far as a keeper goes.” Leah added glumly, “He’s gay.”
“Oh, no, no, no he’s not!” Billy sang. “He’s straight as a telephone pole. I guarantee it.”
“Okay, whatever you say,” Leah agreed half-heartedly, and accepted the pair of bright orange Hawaiian print shorts from him. She didn’t tell him that her new friend’s sexual orientation had been prime fodder for the British tabloids just a couple of months ago. “Thanks,” she called back, as she let herself out.
Ӂ
Leah cleared her throat as she came in, just to make sure she didn’t catch James off guard. “Flintstones?” he asked, as he held up the cup. “I remember them.” He put down the cup, took the shorts from Leah, and held them up to his hips, “Great, these look like they’ll fit. Where should I change?”
“Just a sec.” Leah opened up the bathroom door, looked around, grabbed the box of tampons from the back of the toilet and threw it into the cabinet, wiped the counters quickly with a used facecloth, then threw it and the other assorted dirty clothes on the floor into the hamper. “You can get dressed in here,” she said. “Just don’t open the other door; I’ll be in there changing.”
“Okay,” James said. “But don’t change too much. I like you just as you are, and besides, I don’t think I could handle any more surprises. Oh, sorry…am I being too familiar?”
“Not if you stay on that side of the bathroom door, you’re not,” Leah replied lightly. “I’ll be out in a sec.”
The two came out of their respective rooms at the same time. “Oh, I thought you Brits were supposed to be as white as a fish’s belly,” Leah said.
/> “Well, I used to claim the olive skin-tone was from my South American Indian mother. Since she was a total fabrication, it must be from somewhere else,” James said with an eye roll and a snort.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stir up old shi…stuff. Here, let me grab a few towels and the phone.”
Leah’s phone was where she had left it on the table. Her mother’s phone, still smudged white on the side with talc, was next to it. She set down the stack of towels next to the phones and decided to indulge. At least she wasn’t drinking alone. She grabbed her Flintstone cup and poured in a healthy splash of Glenturret, swirled the dark amber fluid around, and inhaled. Peace. For the first time in ten months, she felt it. Her whole face brightened. She took a long, slow sip, letting it cool her lips first, flood her tongue, then allowing it to slip back, to warm her throat and belly.
James watched as she savored her drink. Wow, such a sensual woman, went through his head, but he restrained himself from voicing it aloud. Instead, he said, “You have good taste in whisky. That’s a fine trait in a woman.”
“It’s a fine trait in anyone. Come on,” she picked up her mother’s phone and tilted it back and forth playfully, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Bring those letters, would you?”
James picked up the valise with his clothes hanging on the outside. His shirt and trousers, still damp with sweat, were flopped over the top, his shoes tied together at the handle in a futile attempt at letting everything dry out. Yes, the humidity was stifling, but the outlook for the day was promising. He followed Leah out the door, his bag in one hand, his drink in the other. “Do you have your keys, and should I lock it?”
“Yes and yes. You’d better walk on the grass, though—the sidewalk’s hot.”
James obediently followed behind Leah, enjoying the coolness of the springy, well-manicured lawn as it crushed beneath his feet. He tried not to stare as her bathing suit cover-up swished back and forth across her legs. He glanced up. The bright yellow cotton was barely long enough to cover her bottom which wiggled in the most mesmerizing rhythm… Eyes up, Melbourne!
Aye, I am a Fairy Page 9
