Chapter 3

The morning came far too quickly for my liking, but I was soon up and out of bed and preparing for what could be a long day for me. I tried to rouse my sleeping beauty, but she was obviously more tired than I, so I left her in my bed, asleep.

“Where’s the girl this morning?” my employer enquired, “Probably sleeping in, Walter,” Lady Maude replied, “She’s got nothing to get up for after all.” Sir Walter just nodded his head: “Just so, My Dear! Are you ready my boy?” I also nodded: “Just a few last minute things to see to, Sir.”

After dropping him off at the station I returned to Wilburly Hall to collect an overnight bag, just in case. I assume that Lady Maude had roused Davina, but I didn’t see her so she might have gone to her own room. As I passed through the kitchen en route to the garage, I met Mary.

“I’ve decided, Tom: I’m going to tell Andrew that I’ll wed ‘im! It will take a while to arrange, but I’m settled in my mind at last.” I leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“Good for you, Mary; I’m very happy for you! I’m off to Southampton now to meet a queen and I might not be back tonight, but we’ll talk again, soon.”

Perhaps Davina was avoiding me, or maybe she was still sleeping, but either way I didn’t see her before I set off on my journey south. I made good progress and even had time to take a short break for a cup of tea and a sandwich. The Port of Southampton was now more familiar to me, so after parking the Bentley I walked to where the two-thousand or so incoming passengers would be disembarking. I had no idea what Mr Albertson looked like, nor even his age, so I could only wait and hopefully locate him and his family among the multitude of others. I confess that is was the purest of chance that I happened to hear a child’s voice ask: “Gee, Dad, is Sir Walter like a real knight? Does he live in a castle?” A tall man answered:

“No, I don’t think so, Chip: he is a real knight, but that’s just a title nowadays and not many folks actually live in castles anymore.” I stepped forward.

“Good day to you, Sir, and good day to you, Madam! I take it that you are the Albertson family, my name is Thomas Campbell and I work for Sir Walter and he asked me to meet you and convey you to your hotel.” The man extended his hand for me to shake.

“Good day to you, too, Thomas—may I call you that? You can call me Bruce, and this lady is of course my wife, Barbara, and this young fella is Christopher, but he prefers ‘Chip’. I offered my hand first to Mrs Albertson and then the junior member of the party, who I thought to be either about six or seven years old.

“Well, Sir, let’s see about retrieving your luggage, then we can be heading back to Oxford. I understand that you are staying at the Randolph Hotel. I’ve never lodged there myself, but I do know that it is in a central location and very close to several other historical buildings. I would say that it is an ideal choice for someone wishing to explore the city.” Mrs Albertson was looking at me attentively.

“You have such a beautiful, soft accent, Mr Campbell; Scottish, if I’m not mistaken. My name was Henderson before I married Bruce and my family originally came from, I believe, the Caithness area of Scotland.”

“Is that so, Ma’am—I’m from Perthshire myself and Caithness is away up in the north. But it’s nice to meet a compatriot, however far removed.”

While it took a little more effort than it had with Sir Walter, we eventually found all of the family’s luggage and loaded it into the Bentley.

“This is a swell machine, Mr Campbell, may I please ride up front with you?” Chip asked.

“As long as your parents say that it is all right, I don’t see it being a problem.” It wasn’t, and he climbed into the vehicle via its front opening ‘suicide door’, I believe the term is, and onto the leather passenger seat; I opened the rear doors to allow his parents ingress.

“So why do they do they drive on the wrong side of the road in England, Mr Campbell?” was Chip’s next question. I chuckled to myself.

“Well, young man, I suppose you could say that it is debatable what is the right and what is the wrong side. For whatever reason, your country and Canada, and a lot of other European countries adopted the right hand side of the road to drive on, so they build cars with the steering on the left, so the passenger seat is nearest to the side of the road: we call it a pavement, but I believe you call it a sidewalk; language is funny like that. In Britain we reverse the process, as I believe they also do in Australia, New Zealand and other countries that are part of the British Commonwealth or were British colonies; there are probably some others as well that I don’t know about. What you have to remember, Chip, is to always look both ways if you are crossing a road.” He nodded: “Thank you, Mr Campbell.”

“You are welcome, Chip.”

There were more questions that he asked as we journeyed north, but I was happy to answer them if I could—all part of the service, I reminded myself.

I don’t suppose that there are many cities like Oxford in the United States—I do know that there are not many places like it in Great Britain. I had been to Edinburgh, but the first time I went to Oxford it was like stepping into a history book. At the time of writing, The Randolph Hotel, located at the junction of Beaumont Street and Magdalen Street in Central Oxford, has only been open to paying guests for less than a hundred years, however, its Victorian Gothic style of architecture fits in nicely with the older buildings that surround it. From the way he was looking around, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, I could tell young Chip was impressed; and he was not alone as I heard his mother exclaim: “Oh, Bruce, it’s all so beautiful here!”

As I pulled up outside the hotel, a liveried doorman saluted and then called for a porter or two, to help unload the luggage and then carry it into the impressive edifice.

“Is it all right to stop here?” I enquired of the doorman.

“Yes, Sir, no problem.” I followed the Albertson’s into the hotel, where the assistant manager completed their registration and handed them a key, before instructing the waiting porters to show the guests to their suite. The elevator moved smoothly upwards until it stopped and disgorged us into a wide and sumptuously decorated corridor; a short walk and we were at the suite. With the suitcases delivered to the bedrooms, I tipped all the porters accordingly.

The suite was as one would expect from such a prestigious establishment, with rich coloured décor and soft furnishings in abundance. There were two bedrooms, a master and a smaller one for a child or second guest, a bathroom with all the conveniences that one might imagine, and a separate sitting room with the requisite seating and a writing desk and chair. Chip wanted to explore everywhere, while Mrs Albertson merely removed and hung up her coat. We adults all sat down in the heavily upholstered chairs.

“Would you care for refreshments, Mr Campbell,” Barbara Albertson asked me, “After all you’ve had to do all the driving while we just sat there. I believe that I can just ring down and order something?”

“Yes, just pick up the telephone receiver.” She smiled at me nicely: “So, tea or coffee, Mr Campbell?”

“Tea for me, please, and if it’s all right with your husband, I prefer Thomas to Mr Campbell.” Bruce Albertson smiled, too: “Sure, we’re all friends here—let’s keep it informal!”

“—Oh, hello, this is 216, may I order a pot of tea, some coffee for two and a glass of milk, please. Yes, of course, sandwiches and pastries sounds very nice. Thank you!” When she put the phone down: “So that’s what they call ‘afternoon tea’!”

It was about fifteen minutes before there was a knock on the door, which Barbara Albertson answered. A young girl, probably in her mid-teens and dressed in a light-grey dress and wearing a white apron and also lightweight headwear, similar to a nurse’s and matching the dress, pushed a laden trolley into the room.

“Would Madam like me to serve?” she asked, politely.

“Er, no thank you, Miss, I can manage myself!” All the time that this exchange was taking place, Chip had been eyeing the food, hungrily. I sat in my chair trying to seem completely disinterested as Mrs Albertson bent to pour my tea and hers and her husband’s beverages, as her skirt formed itself around a very pleasant-looking derriere. I couldn’t but help notice, too, the way that her breasts moved under gravity to fill the front of her blouse.

“Here you go, Mr—Thomas. May I also offer you something to eat?” she added, in what I recognised as an understated but still recognisable Southern United States accent.

“Thank you, Barbara—perhaps a sandwich or two?” The stand upon which these rested was also passed my way. Chip had also undoubtedly been brought up with correct manners, because he patiently waited his turn.

“Honey?” Barbara enquired, turning her attention towards her husband and passing him a coffee cup and saucer.

“Thank you! I’ll try some of those sandwiches and one of those pastries if I may.” And then finally Chip, who first accepted the offered glass of milk.

“Just those little fancy cakes for me, Mom!” She placed three on a plate, which he also accepted with a smile. Over the next half hour or so, we worked our way through some more of the food and drink, while chatting about things in general. When we had finished that:

“Thomas,” Bruce Albertson said after a short while, “You’ve been a great help in getting us here and helping us settle in. I think the very least I can do is invite you to dinner later. I know that you have to get back to your own home, but we won’t be that late ourselves, because we have our boy to consider. Would you care to do that, Tom; they have a restaurant downstairs, I believe?”

“Thank you, Bruce, Barbara, I’d be delighted to dine with you! I know what you are doing tomorrow, Bruce, but do Barbara and Chip have any plans?”

“No, I guess we were just going to hang out here; maybe take a walk around Oxford, but nothing special, really,” Barbara replied.

“Well, if I may make so bold; Sir Walter has authorised me to offer my services as companion and guide, should you so please.” Both the lady and the boy broke into big grins.

“How about it, Honey?” Barbara asked her husband, who nodded: “If it’s really no trouble, Tom, and it’s a much better plan than we had. Once this meeting tomorrow is over we can begin our vacation together, but until then—well, I’d be much obliged to accept your offer. I’m sure you know this beautiful city as well as most.”

“That’s settled, then; would you like me to ring down and make dinner reservations for, say, seven or seven-thirty?”

“I think seven if you can arrange it, Tom,” Barbara said, “I could sure do with a bath after all that travelling, and I’m sure that goes for Bruce and Chip as well.” Judging from Chip’s expression I’m sure that he disagreed, but I think he dared not do so directly.

“Very well! I’ll go down and arrange it in person and then I’ll come back here and wait for you. If you lend me your key I won’t have to disturb you.”

The Randolph is acknowledged as a premium hotel, and for the money they charge they can accommodate most of their guests’ requests. A specific time to dine was an easy one to accomplish and I was soon ready to return upstairs. Before I did so, however, I asked if there was a daily or evening newspaper that I might borrow or purchase and I was informed that I could do either, so I bought a copy of my personal favourite, The Daily Mirror, which I took back to room 216.

After opening the door, I was not surprised to find myself alone, although I knew of course that I wasn’t: proof of which was the noise that emanated from the other rooms. If you can imagine that the suite was one large room that had been divided in two, and then one of those parts was further divided into three unequal size rooms: the largest being the master bedroom; the next and smallest, the bathroom; with the second largest, the smaller bedroom, being the third and last. None of the three smaller rooms had interconnecting doors and so they opened up into the sitting room.

For no particular reason, I had taken the chair nearest the suite’s door, which faced the other rooms. I therefore happened to be sitting with one leg crossed over the other and holding my newspaper on my lap, when I was distracted by a sound. My instinct was to look up and ahead to where I thought that I heard the noise, and as I did so I saw Barbara Albertson exiting the bathroom with a towel wrapped loosely around her body which covered her from just above her breasts and down to her mid thighs, while a smaller towel was in place around her wet hair. Upon realising that I was there, she gasped but stood stock still. Once again instinct took over and I found myself studying her body. Rather than be offended, as she had a right to be, she smiled at me and then stood in a hands on hips pose. It was what she did next that surprised me most, though: she slowly unwrapped the larger towel, unselfconsciously holding it open for a few seconds so that I could see everything that it had concealed; and what I saw was very nice indeed! The show lasted only brief seconds before she was once again covered up. She quickly entered her bedroom and closed the door, whereupon I lifted my newspaper in front of my face, in case her husband was preparing to exit the room, which indeed he was. Bruce exited the room and from around the edge of my newspaper I saw him walk to his son’s room, knock once and then open the door. “Bath time, Chipper!” The boy was wearing just a pair of white underpants as he trotted out of his room and into the bathroom and the door closed behind him.

If I thought that that was the end of the floorshow then I was wrong: as soon as the bathroom door closed Barbara’s bedroom door opened again and I could see her framed by the doorway. She was naked and drying her body slowly, obviously for my benefit, as she angled her body in a certain way for maximum exposure and she looked at me and smiled. Then, when the drying was over, there came the all-over moisturising, and after that I watched her get dressed. With her final garment on and fastened, she smiled and blew me a kiss.

I was once again notionally reading, when the bathroom door opened again and Bruce went to his room and Chip to his. A short time later, Barbara walked to Chip’s room; I assume to help him dress, and while on the way there she looked at me and grinned.

Dinner passed pleasantly enough and was over by eight o’clock. We adjourned to the bar for a nightcap before it was time for me to leave for Wilburly Hall. We had finalised plans for the next day: in particular when I would collect Bruce and take him to the meeting with Sir Walter and the Board of Directors. As I was getting ready to go, Barbara said to me:

“Thomas, this may sound like a very strange thing to ask, but do you own a kilt? I’m asking this because of my Scottish family connections and the fact that I’ve only ever seen then in pictures.”

“Well, I do, as a matter of fact, but you do know that a lot of what you see and hear about men in kilts is made up and is now mostly for the benefit of people like yourself, Barbara. I’ve worn mine to a few weddings, at the request of the families involved, but that’s all; however, I was told by my boss to make you happy, so if that’s what you want...

“Just out of interest, Barbara, do you wear the Henderson tartan at all?”

“Er, no—to be honest, I didn’t know there was one; but maybe if we go to Scotland I can check it out; I’d love a skirt or maybe a dress made from it!” I smiled.

“Oh, I think I can do better than that, Barbara—let me see what I can do. And what about wee Chip?” I asked, exaggerating the brogue. He looked aghast.

“A kilt’s a skirt that men wear, right? I can’t wear a skirt, Mom, the other kids would laugh their heads off!”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to judge, Chip. According to legend the tartan is used to identify the different Scottish clans and the clansmen were once very formidable warriors, so the wearing of the tartan is the same as wearing a soldiers uniform. I was a pilot during the war and I wore the uniform of my country against the enemy and I proudly wear my tartan for my native Scotland. Sure, some kids might laugh at you, Chip, but then you can tell them what I just told you, and then I bet some of them would want to wear it, too! How about we see if I can get you a kilt in the Henderson tartan of your mother’s clan, but I’ll get her to promise not to make you wear it if you don’t want to.”

“Well—I suppose—”

“All right then, I can only try my best, which all that any of us can do. Thank you for dinner, and I’ll see you again in the morning!”

It was quite late when I got back to the Hall and I expected everyone to be asleep, but entering through the service door at the rear of the house I saw Mary sitting at the table, drinking something that I assumed was tea. She heard the back door open and turned to watch me.

“Hello, Mary, I thought you’d be abed long ago!”

“Hello, Tom. Usually I would be, but I went out after dinner to see Andrew and I’ve not long got back from there. I told him, Tom.”

“So—I think congratulations are in order!”

“I suppose so, but like I told you, it might take a while to arrange; for one thing I’ve got to decide what I should do about working here. I know that I can if I want to, but then it’s long hours and will I want that once I’m married? Andrew has his shop and he says that he can pay me a wage for working there if I want to, and it won’t be so many hours either. I’m a bit torn, Tom, between my loyalty to the family and my future husband; I want to do right by both of them.” I laid my hand on top of hers.

“Well, to my mind you can’t do both, Mary, however much you might want to. You told me the other day about the things that you miss in life and now this evening you’ve addressed that. The Erskine-Taylor’s may like you and value your service to them, Mary, but if circumstances changed and they had to let you go, they would, whereas the commitment you are about to make to Andrew should be for life. He is your priority now, Mary, and he deserves nothing less. Let’s face it, a cook can always be replaced; oh, they might have to try a few before they get the right one, but he or she is out there somewhere. The best thing you can do at the moment is to talk to Lady Maude and see what she says; she may be able to suggest something that you haven’t thought of that is a reasonable compromise, at least for a short while.” Mary smiled and put her other hand on top of mine.

“You are a good man and a good friend, Tom. I’ll do what you said, but—but there is something else I need to get settled as well.”

“And what’s that, Mary?” She hesitated, as if unsure about what to say.

“Well, Tom, it’s like this—ever since we had our little chat that morning, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you said. I am going to marry Andrew, Tom—but I also want to take you up on your offer. Once I wed I become the loyal and dutiful wife, till death do us part, but before then I’d like to taste the forbidden fruit just one time. I’m sure you know what I’m saying, Tom.” I smiled and stood up, still holding her hand.

“Shall we go up then, Mary; your room will be best. I’m ready to do this now if you are—and you won’t be bent over any table, either; although that sounds like it could be good, too!”

That was the good thing about the way that the house was laid out: I could get to Mary’s bedroom without anyone else knowing. It had been a long day for me, but Mary deserved my best efforts and I was determined to see that she wasn’t disappointed.

At least I didn’t have to go through the shaving ritual with her, as I discovered to my surprise that she regularly took a pair a scissors to her downstairs hair—the reason: “It can get very hot in that kitchen, especially in the summer months, and it helps with both hygiene and comfort.” Her body was also a little softer than Lady Maude’s but that didn’t matter to me. Mary had been without a man in her bed for nearly eight years and that pent up passion just came flooding out once released. Her late husband must have been a fairly well-endowed chap, because she never referred to a man’s size in the way my other two lovers had done, and it seems that an eight year absence of loving had done nothing to lessen her enthusiasm.