I had the great fortune of being in Scotland a few
times several years ago. My company sent me to help one of our manufacturing
plants develop a new product. I was able to travel pretty much all over the
small and beautiful country on weekends. I was even a guest player at Royal
Troon Golf Club, one of the famous Open courses. The things I remember most
about the country, other than its beauty, was the friendly people I
encountered. Years later I wanted to write a story that would include some of
the things I remembered about Scotland
and its people. Consequently, I began to write the romance novel, My Scottish Connection. I had nearly
completed the novel in October, 2013, when my senior daughter Kris reached a
critical stage in her fight with breast cancer up in Illinois. She succumbed to the disease later
in the month, breaking my heart at her loss.
When
I finally completed the story and did my final edit a bit later, I wanted to
dedicate the story to Kris. In the front of the book I placed a beautiful and loving
tribute to her with a recent photo. I only wish Kris could have lived to read
the story. She was such a beautiful daughter and wonderful human being. She
will be forever with me.
Here is a short glimpse of the beginning of the story, but
rest assured it is only the beginning. The story has so many peaks of valleys
of emotion that a short synopsis would never be enough.
My Scottish Connection
By
Paul
R. Meredith
The New Years Eve masquerade party was in full swing when near midnight, the orchestra leader stopped the music and announced the coming of the New Year in just a few seconds. Then he resumed directing the beautiful dance music. Sylvia Blackwell and Tom Littleton stopped dancing when the regular music ended and the announcer started the countdown of the final ten seconds before the New Year. They both turned to watch the clock as it ticked away those final seconds to the announcer’s voice commands. And then just as the countdown to the New Year reached zero, totally expecting what was to come, Sylvia was twirled around and kissed hard on the lips as the orchestra was playing Auld Lang Syne. Sylvia, expecting to be kissed at that moment by some of the men in her party, especially her date, Tom Littleton, willingly accepted and even returned the kiss with some fervor. It lasted several seconds as she kept her eyes closed to completely enjoy the moment for as long as it lasted. Sylvia was surprised the kiss was so compassionate and so different than any kiss Tom had ever given her previously, and at the end, she smiled as she opened her eyes and removed her masque to see the man she was with, the man who had so completely made the moment for her. But when she looked, whoever it was had already turned and was walking briskly away. He turned his head slightly and said, “Thank you, my lady,” and then he scurried off and quickly melted into the crowd. Sylvia was only able to catch a profile glimpse of the tallish, handsome man as he fled, but not his full face. He still wore his masque. Embarrassed to realize it wasn’t Tom Littleton who kissed her, she found herself flushed and unable to catch her breath for several seconds. Then the orchestra’s playing of the theme song suddenly seemed louder as the dancing resumed with the people all making their noisy celebrations.
Completely
stunned at what had just happened in the middle of the dance floor, Sylvia
turned to her date Tom Littleton and asked, “Who was that man?” She was
obviously shaken as her voice quavered.
“I don’t
know him. I thought you surely did though, especially from the way you returned
his kiss so willingly, and I might add, so long.”
“But in the
excitement of the moment, I thought it was
you, Tom. I closed my eyes to savor the moment with you,” she tried to explain.
“You must believe me!”
“Sorry, but
it wasn’t me. I can say that for an absolute fact. I couldn’t kiss you because
you were tied up kissing that other man while I stood there like some sort of
buffoon.”
“I am so
sorry, Tom. You must believe me when I tell you I thought sure it was you who
was kissing me.” Sylvia was still flushed with embarrassment. Sweat had broken
out on her forehead, neck, and the top of her bosom, and not necessarily from
just the heat. She carefully looked around the room trying to see if she could
locate the man who had scurried away after the kiss, but he was nowhere to be
seen. He had disappeared from the party. She wanted to slap his face for being
so brazen as to kiss her, a total stranger. Soon after she realized the man had
apparently left the party, she asked Tom, “Would you please take me home? I’m
tired and out of sorts, and I have a terrible headache and my stomach hurts,”
she lied. She was still in a state of mild shock due to the turn of events
resulting from the stranger’s kiss.
Tom could
only stare at her in disbelief. “Sure, if you insist, but you told me we could
stay for breakfast. And what about our plans to get a room after the party? You
told me to make the hotel reservation for us.”
“I’m sorry,
Tom, I guess that was a mistake on my part,” she told him as she pulled on his
arm to leave. “I really don’t feel well. I didn’t plan on getting a headache.
I’ll reimburse you for the hotel room.”
Tom,
clearly upset the way things were headed, led her from the dance floor to the
cloak room where he retrieved her wrap. Then he quickly escorted her to his car
and drove slowly away from the party at the club, still not sure how he should
react to the big change in his plans. “You seemed fine earlier. What happened
to your stomach? Did you eat something that disagreed with you?”
“I don’t
know—guess I could have, although it’s my headache that hurts more than
anything else,” she lied again. Sylvia was so unnerved by the kiss from the
stranger that she knew she couldn’t deliver what Tom expected of her if she
spent the night with him. The mood change had ensured that. She wasn’t sure if
she was upset over the brazen kiss from the stranger or the fact that she
didn’t learn who he was—or both. The evening was shot as far as she was
concerned. Tom was obviously disappointed in the change in Sylvia’s attitude.
Arriving at
Sylvia’s apartment, Tom stopped the car and took the key from the ignition
switch. “Come on, I’ll walk you inside so we can talk about this.”
“No,
please, that’s not necessary, not tonight anyway. I’ll be fine after I get some
sleep. We can talk about it later, and I promise I will pay you back for the
hotel.” Sylvia leaned over and gave Tom a cursory kiss on the cheek. “Talk to
you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, I
guess that will have to suffice,” he said, “I never got my New Year’s kiss from
you. You gave that to a stranger.”
Sylvia
acted as if she never heard the comment, but she did. She simply didn’t know
how to respond to it.
Tom sat
there with the car key in his hand, dumbfounded at the sudden turn of events.
He said nothing as she exited the car and rapidly walked to her door. It
suddenly hurt him once again, this time more deeply, that Sylvia had never
kissed him at the turn of the New Year. The only person she kissed was the one
man she claimed she didn’t know. Tom drove away angry, angry with Sylvia, and
angry with himself for feeling as if he had just been taken in like some damn
fool. He had just wasted the biggest night of the year, and had nothing to show
for it except another lonely night alone, and without the loving he had anticipated
from the only woman he had cared for in the last ten years. His New Year was
starting in a way he wouldn’t have wished on his worst enemy, if he even had
one, which he didn’t at the time. Tom ordinarily made friends easily and kept
them for a long time.
On his
drive home, even as disappointed as he was, Tom reflected on how he loved
Sylvia so much. He remembered being drawn to her that first time at a gathering
of friends when his good friend Jack Finch introduced him to her in his home.
There was something about her quiet personality and clean good looks that drew
him to her like a magnet. She had the most beautiful light blue eyes, dark hair
that framed her face, and she was about average in height for a woman, but
almost perfectly thin. He smiled as he thought of that clumsy first
conversation they had, both of them being sort of the quiet type. He had
initiated the conversation clumsily by saying to her, “Hi, I don’t suppose
you’d care to talk with me outside, would you? We could get some fresh air.” At
the moment he couldn’t think of anything else to say to her.
“Thanks,
I’m fine in here,” she had responded. That effectively and abruptly ended their
first meeting. But a few days later Tom called Sylvia and apologized for being
crudely forward at their first meeting. He eventually worked up the nerve to
ask her out to dinner. To his complete amazement, she eagerly accepted. But
even that first dinner date was clumsy. Neither of them knew exactly how to
converse with each other until Tom took her home. That was when he acknowledged
to her he wasn’t good at first-date conversation, causing her to laugh. She
admitted she wasn’t that much of a talker either, not until she got to know a
person better.
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