THAT NIGHT IN VEGAS
The crowd roared and hummed together, in unison, an undulating wave of sound and motion. The individuals sank into the masses, each voice part of the overall thrum, each face melting into the cacophony. There was a rippling energy, a contagious rhythm that sank into the bones and inspired life in a way impossible when alone that flourished in the crowd. Over the rise and fall of the crowd, the announcers' voices boomed, calling out numbers and names and plays for any who cared to listen.
"And that's it…that's it… Gooooaaaaal! One-nil to Milton City!"
At that, the stadium exploded in sound again, as if the tens of thousands of voices present coalesced into a single voice.
Beer and popcorn, perfume and sweat filled the highly air-conditioned American stadium. The vaulted roof of the billion-dollar behemoth of a structure showed the last glimpses of the day's sun, a promised and yet temporary relief from the relentless heat outside.
"Isn't this wonderful?" Edith hummed, her newly purchased shirt still smelling of virgin fabric. Somehow, Edith had already managed a lipstick stain on the white collar where she had pulled it over her head. The bright red shirt was three sizes too big and so she had rolled the edges and tucked them into her tightly-fitting jeans. If she untucked the edges, the shirt would have become a dress. However, it was just as well it was so large. She would most likely never wear the overpriced article of clothing again. Now that their party had taken a plethora of group selfies in matching apparel and made its anticipated appearance at a game, the shirt would be invited to join her husband's already impressive collection of Premier League artifacts.
Edith clutched Margaret's elbow and motioned to the constant movement and sound of the crowd around them. She smiled. "Just like watching Crystal Palace back home."
Margaret laughed fondly, remembering all the nights they had spent with their friends during that first year of uni. They might have spent more time flirting with their friends than watching the games, but they were still happy memories. Later years proved more challenging… their friends had come and gone… and they had not returned to watch their local team play since that first year.
"Except Milton City can't hold a candle to Palace and Selhurst Park isn't stationed in a bloody oven," Henry chimed in. He was barely recognizable beneath the painted layers of red and black paint on his face and it was only the shape of his smile that revealed Henry Lennox still inhabited his overly decorated form. He cast his eyes upwards to the translucent ceiling and frowned. "Enjoy the reprieve while you can. It won't have cooled much by the time we walk back to our hotel."
At Edith's disgusted grimace, he laughed. "The pool will still be open if you fancy cooling off after the game," he said.
"I still think we would have enjoyed Beyoncé more," she groused, her red lips puckering into a sweetly endearing pout. "I brought a dress that would have been just the thing."
"Darling, as fit as you'd look in that dress, I think this shirt is even better," her husband said. He managed to pry his eyes away from the field long enough to cast his new bride a meaningful wink and he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. She flushed happily, not minding the smudge of red paint her husband intentionally left in his wake. Max's enthusiasm was as contagious as the chicken pox, and just as itchy, and Edith couldn't help forgetting her previous disappointment to imitate his energy.
"At least we are indoors," Margaret huffed. Secretly, with all the activity of the last few weeks, she would have much rather stayed in the hotel with her new book. However, this was their last full night of adventures before their party would have to go their separate ways.
Captain Lennox's new assignment called him to Canada. He would be stationed at the British Army Training Unit Suffield for an undetermined period. When he received his orders, Edith refused to be left behind. She insisted they move up the wedding. With all the expected pomp and drama and near-death crises that were inevitable in any event with Edith at the helm, the wedding miraculously still occurred, three months earlier than planned.
The happy couple then disappeared to the blue waters of Corfu for their honeymoon and returned in time to pack up all their belongings and ship them all off to their new home in Canada. Then, it was time for their next trip. They decided to take the scenic route.
"Now, Margaret, you know you've always wanted to travel across America," her cousin had reminded her, back when all their wedding plans were coming together. "We have four weeks between our return from Corfu and our arrival in Alberta. What fun we could have! We can drive all the way across the country and see all the sights we have ever wanted to see!"
"Edes, you are not serious," Margaret had answered. "You must be out of your mind!"
Edith had only smiled, that wide, mischievous show of teeth she developed whenever she had come across a particularly terrible and wonderful idea and Margaret knew it was a lost cause.
"Your classes at uni are finished. Your parents will be preparing for the shift in August. It can be our last big adventure before we have to part ways and pretend we are all grown up!"
Margaret nodded, an uncomfortable lump in her throat at the unpleasant reminder. All through uni, she had dreamed about returning home, back to Helstone, once her studies were completed. Now, with uni complete and nothing else before her, she had looked forward to her imagined hallowed time with her parents, back in her childhood home again. It was to be a sweet reprieve before she undertook the real-life work of searching for a job and determining just where in the world she would settle herself, all on her own, as the grown woman she had now become.
How many nights had she distracted herself from her textbooks by imagining the quiet summer evenings out in the garden in Helstone? Or the long days spent visiting her childhood friends and neighbours?
One unexpected phone call from her father had dissolved all her dreams like baking soda in vinegar.
"I'm afraid I've taken a position as a professor at Milton College," he said, with almost a hint of trepidation in his voice. "We will be leaving our parish and shifting from Helstone over the summer, right after you return from Edith's wedding."
At first, Margaret wished to rage and cry and whine like a small child over the perceived injustice. Then, she realized it was a silly thing to do. She hadn't been planning on relocating to Helstone permanently. To bemoan the loss of a place she had not inhabited for years was foolishness and yet, some deep part of her, interpreted the loss of Helstone as the final severing of what remained of her girlhood days. As long as her parents remained in Helstone… and there remained the possibility of visiting whenever she wished… then she could forever imagine herself as only a train ride away from resurrecting that childish part of herself again.
When the day came that she saw that picture of the "Sold" sign amongst the yellow roses in front of the old cottage, she couldn't help herself. She wept like the child she no longer was and spent the rest of that evening looking at photos from her long-lost childhood days. Then, she wiped off her tears, put her old photos back in her cupboard, and that was that.
She put all her energy into her future – helping comb the internet for properties to rent, looking into moving companies, and determining just what must be done for their relocation to go as smoothly as possible.
For a time, she had wanted to wriggle out of Edith's madcap world traveling scheme, but her parents refused. Edith refused. Even Aunt Shaw refused.
"Someone has to keep Henry company. You don't want to leave him as a tagalong to Edith and Maxwell?" Her aunt said.
"You've always wanted to see the Grand Canyon and New Orleans," Edith reminded her.
While the threat of Henry relegated to perpetual third wheel was hardly one to inspire Margaret's pity, the promise of the Grand Canyon was enough to gain her reluctant acceptance.
It was true. It had been a long standing dream of hers to travel the world and this was the perfect opportunity. She had the time, she had the freedom, and she had the full financial support of her very wealthy and generous aunt, who was only too happy to spoil her favourite daughter and favourite niece.
As much as Margaret understood Aunt Shaw's point, the only thing worse than being stuck as a third wheel to the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Lennox was getting stuck as Henry's de facto date for a four week span of time. Margaret, for all she enjoyed him well enough as a friend, really did not want to make their pairing a permanent arrangement and fought tooth and nail against all suggestions to the contrary.
"Aren't you afraid of sleeping all alone in your own hotel room?" Edith had pressed, early into their travels.
"No," Margaret answered tersely. As long as Aunt Shaw was paying, she had no qualms about the additional cost. Even if Aunt Shaw had not volunteered to contribute, Margaret would have found a way to have a room to herself… not connected in any way, shape, or form, to Henry Lennox. As long as he treated her with the same aloof friendliness he directed at Edith, he was pleasant enough company and she enjoyed his addition to their party as much as she enjoyed her cousin's new husband.
For three and a half weeks, the quartet of travelers slowly made their way from New York to Las Vegas. What began as a pristine rental car slowly gathered bits of dust and dirt and rubbish at each stop until it no longer had that "new car" smell. By the time the glitz and glitter of the Vegas strip welcomed them, they were ready. They had perfected the art of loading and unloading their suitcases and now knew which American fast-food restaurants to avoid and which created something halfway edible to their delicate British sensibilities. They even managed to translate the incomprehensible and constantly changing road signs and driving on the wrong side of the road.
While the Lennoxes would not always have the same taste in travel destinations as herself, there was enough overlap to make the journey enjoyable. For three and a half weeks, they were free to roam at will. There was no schedule to keep, no shifts to manage, and nothing to focus on but their shared desire to explore. So, explore they did. It was just so much larger and vaster and more uninhabited than anywhere in England they had ever been. Even the great cities in the northeast U.S. melted into acres of dense forests and the tourist destinations of the far south were surrounded by incomprehensible swamps. These melted into endless prairies dotted with farms, all holding up a sky broader than the horizon and farther reaching than Margaret would have ever imagined.
Yet, that was nothing compared to the emptiness of the deserts they drove through next. Great swathes of land seemed as though they had not seen a drop of rain in months. It was just so very brown and barren and somehow naked – as if the land itself was stripped of any and all robes to reveal the rocky, jagged earth beneath. Occasional cacti forced their way through the sandy soil, their flowers and thorns adding red and pink textures to the landscape. Yet, it was beautiful, too, in its own, wild, rugged way. And the stars, well, there really was nothing like the desert stars at night or the way the sun turned the rugged rocks into a rose-pink mirage each dusk.
"Imagine, an entire city in the middle of the desert? How can they manage it?" Edith had gushed, once they came upon the first glittering, ostentatious signs of the Nevada city.
"The same way as Dubai and Abu Dhabi, I imagine," Henry responded wryly, his head twisted around to cast a grin where she sat in the seat behind him. "If there's enough money and determination, anything is possible."
"It's a marvel!" She answered, ignoring his tone, and remaining fixed on the sights passing by the window outside.
Margaret might have found the urban oasis more of a marvel if it wasn't for the overwhelming reach of the thermometer. The summer sun glared down upon every glass-lined sky-scraper and reflected from every overly chlorinated body of unnatural water. Not even the awe-inspiring architecture could fully block out the blasts of heat which flooded each doorway and walk-way and baking oven of a parking lot. Despite the glittering gilded lights of the city at night, not even the reign moon could fully sate the heat reverberating from the pavement and artistically landscaped rocks.
Edith, predictably, had filled their scheduled time in the city from morning to night, determined to shop everywhere, see everything, and experience all the novelties the tourist death trap of a city had to try. Everyone else knew her aim was an impossibility but she was determined to try and so they all indulged her… until it came to their last night.
"No, Edith, we will not go to a Beyoncé concert," Henry had stated flatly, without bothering to look up from the telly. All her pleas and persuasions fell on deaf ears and so she tried to recruit Margaret and Max as her allies. This failed spectacularly.
"There's a WWE fight tonight!" Her husband answered, as if that fact alone should be the nail in the coffin of her argument. At her aghast expression, he paused and tried again. "Wrestling is preferable to Beyoncé any day. Come on, you'll love it!"
"Margaret….," Edith pleaded, hoping her cousin would support her.
"No wrestling," Margaret said. "Also, I don't care where we go, as long as it's air-conditioned." She fiddled with the control unit of the room again, hoping if she pushed the "down" button twenty more times it would actually decrease the temperature of their hotel room. She had already tried this strategy five times that morning and still, she tried again.
It didn't work.
"You know, we could split ways. You blokes go see the large men pummel each other and we can go to the concert," Margaret said, though her tone came out grumpier than she had meant it to.
Edith's eyes grew wide, as if Margaret had suggested they spend their day laying naked on the pavement in the blaring run, rather than attending two separate events.
"It's our last night! We couldn't possibly…," Edith protested.
The argument possibly would have continued the rest of the day – if Henry hadn't stumbled upon the fact that Milton City was playing against Real Madrid that very night.
"Why in heaven's name would a Premier League team even bother to play here? I thought Americans didn't bother with football? They don't even know the proper name for it!" Edith had complained.
"Well, there's enough American fans… or enough fans from other countries who happen to be in America…. that the teams travel around the states in the summertime and let their reserve team players have a go at it. It won't be anywhere near as grand as a proper game back home, but it is better than nothing… and it will be a right better show than that silly concert you want to drag us to… and it will be air-conditioned."
Edith grumbled something under her breath. Her good humor was restored by her husband's appeasing kiss on her temple and the whisper in her ear, shared only between the two of them. The next moment, Max bought tickets to the football match and began a search for an appropriate kit for the event.
"I don't know how often I'll wear a Milton City shirt, but if we are going to go, we have to do things right," he said. Then, he ensured they each had matching shirts and began to search for appropriately colored face paint.
By the time the quartet made their way to their allotted seats, the stadium was already alive with motion and flooded with an ocean of purple shirts warring with red. Their party happily contributed to the rows of scarlet. Not even Aunt Shaw's funds could rationalize the exorbitant costs of the lowest level of seats but neither did they settle for the worst and they settled in their row of seats in the middle of the stadium.
Max and Henry hardly made use of their seats throughout, so dedicated were they at cheering for their chosen team. This left Edith and Margaret charged with the solemn duty of acquiring refreshments and ensuring no cup of overpriced beer went dry. Back and forth they went, exploring the stadium and taking turns joining in the cheers and songs.
It was in this way that Margaret first caught sight of the strange figure in their row. He was an anomaly. Despite the nearly full stadium, the three seats on either side of him remained empty, even a quarter of the way through the game. The man wore neither purple nor red nor a single article of clothing marked with a football symbol. Instead, he sat clothed entirely in black, as if a mistaken ink blot against the cacophony of colors around him. The fine black suit and dark red tie could have been forgiven if it were not for the absolute stillness of the man who wore them. He was the marble statue surrounded by tree branches in the wind. He neither cheered nor shouted. He did not so much as lean forward in his chair to take in the game before him or leap to his feet in excitement over a goal. Not once did he leave to purchase a concession. Instead, his eyes remained glued on the iPhone in his hands, his eyes rarely leaving the screen to take in anything of the delicious chaos around him. Every now and then, he glanced up, but not at the field. Instead, he looked at the aisles around him, as if searching for someone or something which failed to appear.
Yet, as strange as the man appeared, he was easily forgotten in the noise and bustle of the crowd around her. When Margaret returned with her next round of beers and hot dogs, she thought no more about the lone man at the end of the row. Instead, she considered carefully how to balance the tray of drinks and the tray of food while manoeuvring the many limbs and appendages attached to the writhing, wild bodies between her and her chair. She was nearly speared with a flag before she bumped into a man jumping up and down with a home-made banner. She took a step forward, but stopped when she saw the group of men in the row before her that were clearly already sloshed. They stood in a row, outrageously clothed in sparkling purple wigs, and they were singing so loudly they nearly drowned out the rest of the crowd around them.
In a sudden, unexpected movement, the row of interlocked men leaned back in unison, as if engaged in a choreographed dance, and Margaret jolted back to avoid them. Yet, this sent her off balance and she caught her foot against a very well-polished black shoe. Plastic cups of beer flew through the air in conjunction with a roar of the crowd and they elegantly toppled directly onto the pristine dress jacket of the man so unfortunately caught in their trajectory. Perhaps, this baptism of concessions could have been forgiven and forgotten more easily, if it had not been followed up by a splattering of yellow and red and green sauced hot dogs. To add insult to injury, the many condiments now decorating the man's fine suit were reorganized further by the addition of an unbalanced pair of arms and legs. These, and the woman they were attached to, then settled themselves in the midst of the man's fine suit, gaining her own smattering of ketchup and mustard and beer on her newly acquired Milton City shirt and smudging his suit into even more of a mess.
With a surprised gasp, Margaret looked up into the equally surprised, and dismayed, face of a stranger. He was far too close… and yet, she could not blame him… because it was her own movement which had settled her securely on his lap. As quickly as she could, she righted herself and took a step back, a furious blush heating her face. Her embarrassment turned to mortification as she took in the sight of him.
Beer dripped from his black hair and down the lapels of his jacket, mixing with the yellow mustard, loosening the condiment, and causing it to run in rivulets down to the legs of his trousers. Scarlet ketchup marred the white of his pristine dress shirt and dripped off his silk tie. His entire form was sodden and marred and fragrantly perfumed with alcohol.
"I am so sorry, sir," she stammered. "I did not mean… that is to say… oh, how embarrassing! Let me gather some serviettes and water and help you clean up!" She handed him all the serviettes that had survived the tumble, but then stood in awkward indecision. Should she help mop the ketchup off his tie? This seemed a rather intimate gesture for one clumsy stranger to perform for another… and yet she felt she ought to do something. As he saw her stand, her hand half-outstretched before her, he grasped the white paper square from her hand and began to clean off his jacket himself.
"Oh, don't mind it. I will take care of it," he said, his voice deep and lilting. Yet, there was only amusement and not irritation in his tone.
"Again, I'm so very sorry!" She said again, leaning down to gather up the empty cups and what she could gather of the toppled food trays. She could not meet his eyes as she did, her embarrassment still burning hot trails within her.
He considered her, then. He arched an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth tilted up in the barest echo of a smile. "Hampshire?" He asked.
She nodded and forced a smile. "Yes. I grew up in Helstone, though I've stayed in London the past few years." He had not quite said enough for her to place his accent, but she caught enough to assume he was from somewhere in the north of England.
"Where do you come from?" She asked.
"Milton-Northern," he answered.
Her hand stopped right in the middle of balancing the fourth cup and she gawked at him, her face once again flushing with surprise.
"Oh! That is funny, isn't it!" She burst out. At his questioning glance, she continued. "My father recently took a position teaching at the college there. We will be moving to Milton next month. I've never been there and don't know a soul… oh, but I have so many questions!"
His lips crept ever so slowly across his teeth until a genuine smile graced his features. "Well, you know one now. John Thornton," he said. He reached out one mustard-drenched hand towards her. She switched the empty cups to her other hand so she could firmly shake his hand. She grinned.
"Margaret Hale."
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Hale. It does seem the world grows smaller by the day."
"So it would seem," she answered.
By unacknowledged agreement, the pair made their way towards the nearest sources of water, each equally as desirous of ridding themselves of as much of the scent of mustard and beer as humanly possible. Margaret cringed when she realized she had relish stuck to her hair… and she did not think the stains from the alcohol would ever fully come out of the leather of her shoes. Yet, this was nothing to the mess of her poor, unwitting victim.
"What brings you to Las Vegas?" She asked, as they meandered up the aisles of the stadium.
"Business. I'm in the textile manufacturing business. There's an international conference with others in my field from around the world and we meet in Vegas every five years."
"You come halfway around the world and then ended up at a Milton City game? Were you feeling home sick?" She asked, meaning to tease him. Yet, her words had the opposite effect as intended. His face twisted into a scowl, as if storm clouds had swept across his brow, and his posture grew rigid. At first, she thought he would not answer, but then he glanced down at her, only now making her realize just how much taller than her he stood and how small she felt beneath his frown.
"There was a possible client who wished to speak with me about my company further. The last we spoke, we were to meet at a posh restaurant on the Strip. It was only after I arrived at the restaurant that the man informed me of the change in plans." He sighed and then gave her a wry smile, almost as if he was letting her in on some inside joke, shared only between the two of them. "When he heard I am from Milton-Northern, and Milton City happened to be playing in this very city tonight, he thought I would feel more at home here and made the last minute change."
"Yet, he isn't here, I take it?"
"He is not… and I cannot reach him."
"Bollocks. Well, at least you get to see a game, eh?"
At the way his expression twisted and his frown deepened, she knew she had missed the mark. She considered him further.
"You do not like football?" She surmised.
"I used to… my father used to take me to watch Milton City play every season…," he answered. Then, after a heavy pause, he reluctantly continued. "But that was before he died. I haven't watched Milton City play since."
"Oh… oh… I'm so sorry," she said, suddenly sobered by the weight of his admission.
"Ah, well, I suppose it's not all a loss," he said, noticeably forcing a more cheerful air into his tone and posture. "It's not every day a beautiful woman falls into my lap. Tell me, what brings you to this festering oven of a city?"
She flushed furiously at the compliment, but then she smiled. "A grand adventure, actually. My cousin's new husband has been deployed to the army training base in Canada. They wished to tour part of the U.S. before he has to report to base. I've always wished to travel and so here we are."
"I do envy you that. For all the times I have to fly across the globe for meetings and conferences, I rarely have time for sightseeing. There is little that hotel rooms have to recommend themselves and I cannot claim board rooms or offices have much appeal."
"That's a shame," Margaret said, her own mind filling with all the ways she would force her way out of hotel rooms in order to explore new cities and places. "Do you manage to get out at all?"
"Well, in Egypt, I did manage to see the pyramids."
Her eyes lit up and she nearly gushed her envious response. "Oh, I would love to go there! Well, we did make it to the Grand Canyon two days ago and that was even more spectacular than I could have hoped. I'm glad we've done this. I knew, if I didn't wander the globe now, I'd be less likely to do so in future. I will need to start looking for a teaching job, when I return, and then it will be harder to get away, at least for a time."
"Teaching?" He asked, one dark eyebrow arched in question.
She nodded.
"And you will be looking to work in Milton or back in London?"
She shrugged. "I have no idea. Anywhere I can find a good position, I suppose. My godfather, Adam Bell, said he has some connections in Milton that might be worth pursuing."
At that, John laughed, a merry, engaging sound that Margaret decided she rather liked. "As I said, it is a very small world. Adam Bell is my landlord."
It was Margaret's turn to laugh and shake her head at yet another coincidence.
The pair had now reached their destination and separated to do all they could to tidy themselves up again. It was just her luck that the billion dollar establishment installed automatic hand dryers rather than paper towel dispensers. She silently cursed the attempts to save trees and tried her best to use toilet paper to mop the splotches of yellow and red from her khaki shorts. There was no hope to rescue the white of her collar. And there was no amount of public restroom soap that would remove the stench of beer and mustard clinging to every thread of her shirt and hair on her head. At least, she was no longer sticky and so she would have to make the best of it.
"Well, Mags, you do know how to make new friends and make a first impression," Max teased, once she returned to her group.
"It's a brilliant way to meet handsome men," Edith said, sneaking a wink at her cousin.
"That's not…," Margaret began, about to defend herself, but then she stopped. It was true. John Thornton was a handsome man… and she was glad she had met him… and she most likely would have never spoken with him if she had not tripped over his shoe.
Henry was less supportive of her efforts to expand her acquaintances and he took it upon himself to gather the next round of refreshments.
"You are banished from hunting and gathering food for us. I will take over," Henry proclaimed. Though, by the unsteady way he walked and the slurred manner of his speech, Margaret rather wondered if he was in any better state for such delicate manoeuvring than Margaret had been.
For all the merriment of her party, Margaret couldn't help but glance over to the empty seat where her new acquaintance once sat. She feared, for a time, that he would not return at all.
She was relieved when she saw the far seat fill again with a lone figure. His soiled dress shirt and tie were wrapped in his removed jacket and hidden beneath his feet. Instead, he wore only a plain, white undershirt and the (mostly) black trousers. His efforts to wash himself had left his black hair tousled and unkempt and Margaret had to admit she much preferred this new incarnation of the man over the one she first observed. Even his posture had changed. He no longer sat in the same rigid, unengaged manner but relaxed into his seat, his face breaking into a brilliant grin when he caught her eye.
She moved to the seat beside him, bestowing him with her own warm smile.
"You look better," she observed. "Again, I'm sorry about all that."
He shrugged. "As I said, you've made this night far better than it was at first so I should thank you for it."
She laughed at the absurdity of him thanking her for drowning him in hotdogs, yet, she couldn't argue the point, not with how warmly he was smiling at her.
"Come, meet my friends," she said, and she grasped his hand to pull him to his feet. He acquiesced. Edith asked him a rapid-fire set of questions which made him shift uncomfortably and grow more reticent than he had yet been. The Lennox brothers looked over him curiously and made a few enquiries about him, but over the excitement of the game, it was hard to maintain any conversation. Milton City scored a second goal. The Lennox brothers were on their feet, shouting with all their might, edging ever closer to the edge of their row of seats so they could inspire the players with their dedicated awe.
John Thornton showed no more interest in watching the game but he did not protest when Margaret rescued him from Edith and invited him to take the empty seat next to her.
"I'm so glad to have met you," she said, once he was settled and collected in his new seat. "You see, my father is in the process of choosing our new home. He sent me a series of listings today, but, well, I have never been to Milton. He's not one for doing much research and, well, would you be willing to tell me anything you know about the neighbourhoods these listings are in?"
"I'd be happy to help," he answered. "In fact, there is one place I know for certain is to let… in Crampton… and when you come, maybe, I can show you around…"
It was a brisk fall evening when Hannah Thornton looked up from her book. Her son was eagerly making his way across the dining room, freshly showered and dressed and preparing to go out for the evening.
"John?" She inquired. "Where are you going?"
"Oh, you remember, Mother. I am going out… with that new acquaintance I met," he said.
"But you…," she stammered in confusion, unsure how to phrase her question. It was not John's stated aim to leave the house or meet with a friend that so unsettled her but the fact that, for the first time in decades, he was wearing a Milton City shirt. She had not seen him dressed in this manner since he was a young teenager... and by his actions, he wasn't behaving much older, either. He whistled under his breath, his steps unusually light, and there was a small smile, stuck in the corner of his mouth, as if he had forgotten it was there.
"Oh, he's going to meet that girl, Mother, that one I told you about," Fanny interjected. She placed her phone down on the table and looked over at her mother with a knowing expression. "The one he met on his trip to Las Vegas."
Hannah's eyebrows shot up. She did not know the entire story of just what had happened. All she knew was the state of her son's suit when he returned home from his business trip… and that raised more questions than answers… answers Fanny was only too delighted to come to her own assumptions about.
"Margaret Hale is the daughter of a parson," John explained, casting his sister a warning look.
"A former parson," his sister retorted.
"Miss Hale and her family have recently moved to Milton from Hampshire. They are good people. I've been helping them get settled."
"I'm sure you are," his sister said, rather smugly. "Is she as 'well-settled' with you here as she was in Vegas? Tell me again, John, how exactly did you miss that dinner with the CEO of Smith's and somehow end up at a football game, totally sloshed, and with a random girl in your lap?"
"That's not… Fanny… where did you hear… why would you think?" John stammered, his face flushing.
"John, it doesn't take much imagination. I saw the handprints."
A spark of recognition flashed in Hannah Thornton's face and her eyes sparked as she made the connection. Her mind filled with all of her daughter's vapid presumptions about just what had occurred during his trip to Vegas and what kind of company he had been forced to endure.
She scowled. "Oh, that woman?"
The End
This came about for the Weavers and Spinners Midsummer Meeting collection on Ao3. Thanks all!
Many thanks to dianakc for translating this into English.