Place du Tertre
by Marjolein

Prologue


  "Come on, Will," Charles called to his friend who was lagging
  behind at the metro station 'Château Rouge'. They had left the
  Métro line # 4 a few moments before and were on their way to one
  of Paris's most famous public squares, 'Place du Tertre'.
  This was the place where celebrated painters like Cézanne, Van Gogh
  and Gaugain used to eat, drink, mingle and most importantly, paint.
  Actually, one of these famous men was the reason William was a bit
  distracted. He and Charles had just spent a few hours in the 'Musée
  d'Orsay' and he was still basking in the afterglow of the most
  rare emotion he had ever felt while studying Van Gogh's
  'Midday Siesta'. He, who had always thought he disliked Van
  Gogh's paintings, had been standing in front of this colorful and
  powerful piece of art and had experienced an unexpected feeling of
  joy.

  William Darcy was CFO of an eminent west European investment
  company. He was a man of the world and his business trips had taken
  him to many places. He had seen innumerable towns and even more
  hotel rooms. Most of these trips were purely business and if he
  visited the tourist spots, it was because one of his business
  associates had organised it for him to meet future acquaintances. It
  was not that he wouldn't enjoy the sights; it was only a matter
  of time and preference. William was almost always working; and if
  not, he was enlarging his circle of business `friends'.

  This business trip was slightly different. This time his oldest
  friend, his `partner in business, love and crime', as they
  called themselves, Charles Bingley had come along. Charles and
  William were childhood friends. They had attended the same schools
  from preschool through to university. Both had started to work in
  their family companies, both had faced the deep loss with the death
  of their fathers, and both had had to deal with the enormous task of
  taking over the lead of the company. After a few years, they had
  decided to join forces, no longer only as friends, but also as
  business partners. And it was a good merger. William was the
  financial genius, very good with numbers, very able to `read'
  the figures which represented possibilities of where to invest
  money, time and energy, and very thorough before making the decision
  of which target to choose. Charles was the amiable one, very skilled
  in making new relations and maintaining them. He talked easily and
  was easy to talk to. His single disadvantage was the fact he could
  only think well of people, and tended to see only the bright parts
  of a possible deal instead of more than the positive sides. William
  sometimes needed to hit the brakes and slow down his very fast-
  forwarded friend. Charles sometimes needed to speed up his sometimes-
  too-careful friend. In a meeting, Charles was the talker and William
  the observer. Together they made a good team.

  Today, a sunny Sunday in August, they were in Paris and Charles had
  decided to visit some `must-sees', taking advantage of a day
  without obligations. It would look good in the upcoming
  conversations with several French partners the following week if
  they had seen some of French culture, and since Charles simply
  enjoyed visiting and seeing new things, he had persuaded William to
  come with him. William did not regret it. He was able to appreciate
  art and culture; he only needed someone to drag him away from his
  work and take him to the places to be seen. As an admirer of fine
  paintings he hadn't objected to Charles's idea to visit the
  'Musée d'Orsay'. The museum is set in an ancient railway
  station and maintains a very large, famous collection; paintings as
  well as decorative art. A `masterpiece tour' would only take
  a few hours to enjoy completely, not to mention all the other art.
  The friends had agreed to choose a certain amount of pieces at this
  visit to experience thoroughly. Therefore they had bought the 'Guide
  to the Musée d'Orsay', consulted the map and directed each
  other towards the upper level where the impressionists and post-
  impressionists hung.

  They had looked, they had admired, they had walked, they had
  strolled and they had been having quite a nice time. They both knew
  what they liked and appreciated what they saw, even if it was almost
  too much to handle in one visit.

  "Holy sh*t, another masterpiece," Charles had cried when he
  walked towards a Degas.

  "Look, they have five cathedrals here," William had pointed
  towards five pieces of Monet's famous Rouen Cathedral Series.

  William had then walked towards a Van Gogh, though he disliked most
  of his work. He had only seen a few early works of the Dutch painter
  and many reproductions of his later pieces. He couldn't explain
  why, but somehow he didn't like it. It was a matter of taste.
  Then the 'Midday Siesta' had caught his eye. And somehow, an
  unexpected feeling of joy had washed over him. The strong yellow,
  blue and red stripes seemed to live a life of their own; they looked
  too hard by themselves; but melted together, they formed a fine
  picture of a man and woman sleeping in the shadow of a haystack.
  William had looked at the bright painting very closely. He had then
  taken a few strides back and looked again. It had almost been as if
  he could 'feel' how the painter had made the stripes. He saw the
  broad, hog-haired brush that was used for the blue air, and the
  knife that had made the dark blue trousers and orange hay. He knew
  he couldn't, but he felt an urge to touch the brown spots that
  divided the man's stomach and the woman's upper-arm. And
  along with sudden joy, he felt surprise. He had never liked Van
  Gogh's paintings; he had always said they looked like pictures
  for a comic book: too many lines, too many stripes. He knew he was
  able to appraise a good painting, he had just never expected to
  qualify one of van Gogh's in that way. He felt the hairs on his
  neck rise and suddenly he had to chuckle; he had expected to see
  very nice paintings and drawings, knowing he would like them, but he
  certainly had never expected this one to be the most imposing.

  He was thinking about the painting and the feelings he had had
  seeing it, when he stepped off the train onto the Métro platform.
  Charles, oblivious of his friend's thoughts, was meters ahead of
  him. "Come on, Will," he called.

  The occasions when William's emotions became visible were very
  rare. This was not such a moment. "Pfff. What a crowd in the
  train," William complained.

  "Don't whine. We agreed to play the tourists today. That
  includes Métro trips!"

  "True," William had to admit. "As long as you don't want me to buy
  cheap tourist stuff on the street."

  "Hah!" Charles reacted. "It is me the street sellers are
  after. Be glad you have dark brown hair."

  "You have never complained before about the attraction your blond
  curls provide you," William said, refering to the women who
  surrounded Charles most of the time, no matter which occasion or
  gathering. "Let's head for the 'Place du Tertre' first to
  have a drink. I really feel I could use one right now," he
  continued. "We can visit 'Sacré Coeur' afterwards."

  "Excellent," Charles replied. They had spent a few hours in
  the museum and when they had felt they had enjoyed enough for one
  visit they had gone to the metro station and travelled north. It was
  quite some time since they had had their last drink and the heat had
  made them thirsty.


  * ~ * ~ * ~ *


  The background was partly done. She had used bright yellow and
  orange colors which represented a kind of wheat field. It was quite
  indistinct, which was her intention. All the attention should be
  drawn to the main subject of the painting. And right at this moment,
  this subject was pretty blank. She wanted to paint a male person and
  with some soft chalk she had already roughly outlined a head and
  part of a torso. Elizabeth Bennet looked around to see if she could
  spot an interesting man to use as a model. She only needed to place
  a few dark stripes on the precise place et voilà, a character
  would become visible. It was her special ability. After all, this
  was 'Place du Tertre', the place famous for its portraits and where
tourists were painted in a few seconds … willingly or not; the
very place where the great masters had painted over a century ago.

Elizabeth could hardly believe she was standing and painting here
while her sister Jane worked as a waitress a few meters away. A
friend of the family had arranged it for them. They both had been
through rough times the last year and couldn't afford vacations.
These were supposed to be working holidays, but working was the last
word she would use to describe her current occupation. Painting was
her life, well the most important part of it anyway, and 'living' in
this very special place was a dream come true. A spot on 'Place du
Tertre' was very hard to acquire and she still wondered what Mr.
Leloux had done in order to give her this incredible opportunity.

While Elizabeth filled the hours painting, Jane worked in the
terrace area of the café Mr. Leloux owned. She liked it; unlike
Lizzy who was hardly able to speak French, Jane's French was good
enough to take orders, and she managed to find time to talk with the
English- and German-speaking customers. To Jane and Elizabeth
the 'working' part of their holiday was a farce. Since Mr. Leloux
had been able to arrange a pass for Elizabeth for only two days, as
on the other days there were no spots available, he had insisted
that Jane also work for two days instead of the whole week.
Therefore, the Bennet sisters, who stayed at Mr. Leloux's, had
one week holidays in Paris for the cheap price of two days
`work'.

Elizabeth spotted a dark man sitting on the terrace and observed him
through her eyelashes. He was thinking. He sat very straight. He
wasn't speaking to his companion, who was busy anyway, talking to
Jane. Apparently, she had again managed to find a few seconds to
talk; well, more than a few actually. Elizabeth noticed Jane and the
blond man were taking their time. And it looked like they were both
enjoying themselves, according to the happy faces and the way her
beloved sister acted. As for the dark brown-haired man, Elizabeth
couldn't quite assess him. He seemed to pay no attention to Jane,
and even though he was obviously being neglected by his friend, he
didn't seem to be offended at all. It was more like it was a
normal event for him to be placed temporarily in a secondary spot,
on behalf of a woman. He didn't mind, his thoughts were elsewhere,
that was for sure. But where?

Elizabeth tried to read his face. It was very difficult to read
emotions there. It was blank, like a poker face. Picking a piece of
soft chalk she focused on his nicely shaped head. She would save the
face and its expression for later. He was nicely tanned, neither too
creamy white nor too brown. It perfectly suited his dark brown hair.
Elizabeth softly drew the shape of his strong jaw with the light
chalk and chose a variety of yellows, reds and soft pinks, different
shades of brown and a bit of white, grey and deep black paint to
prepare her palette for the character she was about to create. She
decided to do the tan first and afterwards paint the specifics like
eyes, nose, mouth and shades on top of it. While she mixed some of
the paints she kept observing her model. He was a puzzle. She liked
puzzles, especially when they were difficult and challenging. And
this man was certainly not an open book. Luckily, Jane continued her
conversation with the blond man, which gave Elizabeth time and
opportunity. She chose a very soft, pointed sable brush, looked
again, detected a tiny hint of joy on his face and placed the first
stroke to create his face.


* ~ * ~ * ~ *


William was enjoying his café-crème. He sat in the middle of
'Place du Tertre', beneath the trees in the shade, a soft breeze
playing with his dark curls. He was completely relaxed. Luckily and
unsurprisingly, Charles was involved in a conversation with one of
the waitresses, and he wouldn't be pestering him with comments
about the weather, the beauty of their surroundings or the taste of
the coffee. Charles was always making some sort of conversation with
any woman he met, not all of them were as beautiful as this blond,
tall and slim lady. Charles's flirtation with the waitress gave
William the chance to contemplate their visit to the museum that
morning. Slowly he stirred the café, lightly blowing on it to cool
it down before sipping the beverage and putting the porcelain cup
carefully back on the saucer. He turned his chair a bit to catch a
sunbeam whose full strength was pleasurably diminished by the leaves
of one of the old trees. Stretching his long, athletic legs, he sat
back and heard the cane seat crack with his movement. Looking above
into the green cover, he closed his eyes briefly trying to listen to
what Charles had to say to the blond lady.

He noticed there were not only male painters, but discovered a woman
as well. She was, as the others, standing on one side of the
terrace. 'Place du Tertre' is a square place surrounded by several
cafés. In the middle of it, there is a large terrace and on every
side, painters work and sell their products. Therefore waiters are
running constantly from the cafés into the center and back. The
woman sat on a high stool in front of an easel right at the corner
of the terrace. Her long brown hair was tied casually in a ponytail
with a ragged piece of cloth. She had rolled up the sleeves of the
red and blue checkered cotton blouse, which showed her lightly
tanned arms. The upper three buttons of the same blouse were open,
drawing William's attention to other tanned parts of her body. He
shifted his admiring gaze a little bit upwards and aimed at her
unpainted natural looking mouth. She bit her lower lip as if she was
pondering on something. Slowly, his eyes made their way from her
mouth along her cute pert nose and slightly red colored cheeks
towards her eyes. He was too far away to be able to determine their
color, but this did not prevent him from espying the direction of
her glance. It was aimed directly at him.

"Charles, I have to go to the men's room," he said
suddenly. "I'll
be back in a minute." His friend seem to nod while William stood
up and left the center. Returning from the men's room a few
minutes later and crossing the small street towards the terrace, he
was able to peek at the painting the woman was working on. It was
then that it happened.

Time stood still. Trees and leaves seemed to blur into an unformed
green mess. Conversations and human voices melted into a monotone
rumble. Cane chairs and tables transformed to a mushy shade of light
brown. Only visible was a firm, rectangular shaped, bright yellow
and orange wheat field with a very masculine shape in the middle.
William perceived the woman with the long brown pony tail standing
in front of the rectangle. She was even more beautiful from a close
distance than she had been from the cane terrace chair. He
recognised himself standing before the wheat field. Well partly, it
was him but then again it was not. He saw his head, his hair and his
chin; it was very clear it was him. But where his eyes, his nose and
his mouth should have been, he only saw bright stripes. The very
same emotions, which had surprised him earlier when he had seen Van
Gogh's painting, washed over him again. It was not as if this
painting was a copy, but both styles certainly had similarities.
They had the same vividness and the stripes did nothing on their
own, but made a strong and powerful picture when combined. The hairs
on the back of William's neck started to rise again and he felt
small but very distinct tickles all over his body. The woman looked
at the small workbench beside the easel. It was clear she
contemplated if she should choose something which looked like a
knife or a soft pointed brush to set lines for the face. William
could absolutely not explain why, but he felt an enormous relief
when she chose the brush. The sable hairs turned brown with oil
paint and the woman neared the canvas. William could feel the brush
approach. He licked his lips as if to prepare them to ease the paint
onto his mouth.

Suddenly he wasn't standing in 'Montmartre' anymore. He found
himself in front of a bright yellow field. The now unveiled sunbeams
burning on his skin, he sensed something animal-like coming close.
Then, he enjoyed the soft touch of the sable hairs. The woman bent
towards him, still biting her lower lip, squinting her eyes to watch
his mouth through her lashes. She touched him through the sable
hairs. She followed the exact line of his lips. No, she did not
follow, she created him, she painted him, she made him. William felt
every single sinew, every single nerve as he had never felt them
before.

He looked at the woman, followed her hand and her brush on his face.
Then, she changed the pointed brush for a flat hog-haired one and
tickled William's neck. He stretched his hand out and, with his
index finger, he touched her lower lip. She didn't bite hers
anymore but opened her mouth slightly to the touch of his thumb as
it followed the curved line. She put the brush away and, joining
William in the wheat field, she only used her fingers. Paint became
unnecessary. Touches were enough to create … to create a man and
woman standing in the sun soaked surrounding.

Using both hands and laying her fingers on his temples, Elizabeth
stroked her thumbs under his jaw. They went up again and joined her
fingers on the side of his head. Her left hand shifted to the
backside and grasped his thick brown curls. Then her right index
finger started to stroke his straight nose, followed the curves of
his fine nostrils and went upwards again to touch the brows. Eyes
closed, William felt every possible square millimeter on his face
lighten up. His skin breathed only after her fingers brushed it.

After opening his beautiful brown eyes again, William touched her
left cheek with his right hand and moved the other towards the nape
of her neck. He watched her opening her now rosy red lips a tiny bit
more, which was enough invitation for him to bend towards her and
stroke her mouth with his. Not completely unexpected, her tongue
searched his lip. He wanted to kiss her but she surprised him when
her tongue left his mouth and made a way of its own. Where before
the brushes and her fingers had been, a new moist trail was made.
His cheek, his nose, his jaw, everything was drawn again with the
delicate tip of her tongue.

First, William stood as firmly as he could and kept his position so
Elizabeth remained able to reach him. But after a few moments he
couldn't hold his stance anymore. His hand went down to stroke
her back and bottom, and then he lifted her up. Very gently, he laid
her on the surprisingly soft wheat and joined her. Her actions were
not interrupted by this movement but the places where she carried
them out changed considerably. Her tongue left his face and moved
from his neck, very slowly but very certainly, to his chest. She
pushed William on his back and leaned over him. Pleasantly surprised
to feel not a single sting from the dried wheat in his back, William
managed to focus all his attention on more pleasant caresses. Eyes
closed, he stretched with his arms under his head and remained
silent, skin momentarily the most important sense organ.

The planned portrait changed very slowly from a torso into a
complete body. Every touch of Elizabeth's fingers and every lick
with her tongue, created a part of his being, lying in the field.
Slowly opening button by button, she found her way to his chest.
Sometimes the strokes were fierce, sometimes soft and gentle. One by
one they did nothing, but together they built an enormous tension
inside William's body. He held his breath when she reached his
abdomen, went to both sides of his slender waist and followed the
trail downwards. Easily, she opened the fly of his jeans. Lying on
her knees at his side she mouthed a "shhhhh," but no sound
came out. It was completely silent. Only feeling, no hearing, no
speech was witnessed.

She quickly got rid off his shoes and pulled his jeans down and off.
Her tongue continued its excursion to follow the waistband of his
boxers, touched the prominent bulge softly through the cotton
material and moved along his inner thighs. Her hands were bolder and
stretched the waistband. One finger went inside and explored the
sheltered surroundings, softly stroking his arousal which begged to
be set free. Fast, skilled hands helped and removed William's
last remnants of clothing. Elizabeth shifted, spread his legs gently
and sat on her knees in between them. She licked the lower parts of
his abs from left to right and left again. Her fingers stroked his
erection, then went down and teased him by only stroking the tiny
hairs. This half touch did more to arouse him than a full grasp
could ever have done.

William lost the ability to remain passive nor did he wish to remain
so, and with one swift movement Elizabeth was on her back on the
soft yellow surface. Now it was time for William's skilled hands
to open her buttons and remove her blouse, shorts, shoes and very
pretty underwear. He discovered a very nicely tanned and finely
built figure beneath it. His tongue started its journey inside her
mouth. He met her tongue to take over the baton in this agonizingly
slow relay race. In his opinion, it was time to speed up, and she
didn't disagree.

He made a moist trail to her ear and softly nibbled her lobe. The
sigh she made was only felt when her sweet breath touched his hair.
His journey also went downwards, an intermission made to visit her
nipples thoroughly. She twisted her head slowly from left to right
when he licked her waist and went down further to her most sensitive
spots. Her legs opened automatically to ease his knees in between
them. His touches were as firm and certain as hers had been before.
His tongue licked her core and sensing every move she made and
measuring every reaction, he searched and found the exact place
where she wanted him to be.

Had both her and his touches and licks only drawn masculine and
feminine shells, the creation of internal specifics was started when
he drank her in. All muscles tensed, breath inhaled sharply, she
exploded and with the waves of her orgasm every molecule fell into
place. Looking up he held her tenderly to help her regain herself.
She let neither of them relax, and pulled his strong body towards
hers.

Baton taken over again for the last part of the race, William
entered her. He filled her with his whole being and gave her the
opportunity to create his insides. Thrust after thrust an inside
stroke was made, a puzzle piece set in place, a color added to the
painting. She lifted her hips and met every move he made with her
own answer. Together they increased the movement of the trip and
climbed the mountain towards the finish line. Elizabeth reached the
peak first, clenching around William and pulling him in deeper. He
couldn't restrain himself anymore and, barely able to lean on his
strong arms, he added the final moist highlighting to the portrait.
Panting, he placed a short kiss on her mouth and fell down on the
wheat, careful not to hurt her.

Another sharp cracking sound was produced by the cane chair.
William's eyes shot open and he looked around in bewilderment.

"William?" Charles's attention was drawn to the sudden
move and he
looked with surprise at his friend, whose confused face showed
emotions he had never seen before.

"Wait, Charles," was the short reply.

The chair fell when William suddenly stood and walked towards the
terrace's corner and the female painter.

"I want to buy this." It was not a question, it was a command.

"But sir, it is still wet. It's oil and will take some time
to dry," was Elizabeth's surprised answer.


"That's okay, I'll call a taxi and take care," he
said hastily,
asked for the price and paying the full amount without blinking an
eye.

"Charles, I need to go."

"But William…" Something in his friend's eyes told him
not to argue
this time and the amazement was enlarged when William added a soft,
and from his mouth rarely uttered, "Please." Charles sensed
this wasn't the time to ask for an explanation. The truth was his
friend might never be able to explain what was going on. Therefore,
the two men took the painting from the easel, carried it carefully
to the nearest spot where they could call and be collected by a taxi
and left 'Place du Tertre'.

"Lizzy, what was that?" Jane approached her sister wondering
why the two men had left so quickly and unexpectedly. The blond man
had barely had time to pay his tab.

Elizabeth was looking at her now empty easel. Her body felt like it
was winding down from an exquisite, fulfilling but extremely
exhausting action.

"I ….. I was painting his face, you know, the dark brown
haired man
who sat near the blond one you were talking with, and it felt like
every spot, every stripe came out of the blue. It was like it went
automatically. And I felt…. I felt……Jane, I don't
know," Elizabeth
answered, wondering if she would ever be able to paint such an
intense piece again. Not knowing what actually had taken place, and
therefore completely unable to explain it to her sister, nor to
herself for that matter, slowly a new feeling found a place in her
heart. It was a feeling of loss. She realised she not only wanted
her painting back but recognised a hesitant craving for the man
himself.

She looked with astonishment at the hog hair brush in her hand,
still dripping wet with white shaded paint. Without thinking, she
carefully placed a plastic wrap round the hairs, to make sure the
wet white was saved from drying. Instinctively, she knew it would
remain the last link to her lost painting. Before she closed the
wrap entirely, she brought the brush to her mouth and blew softly on
the wetness.



A few kilometers ahead, sitting in a taxi, a dark brown-haired man
suddenly felt a cool, soft, tickling breeze at the back of his neck.



"Place du Terte" is the NB I wrote a while ago. Since some of
you
obviously would like to see it continued, I decided to make it the
prologue of a longer story. So here is "Place Du Tertre, the
River."
It is a modern P&P. I followed the advice to `write what
you're
comfortable with' and this story is mostly set in the
Netherlands,
where I live. I figured most of you don't understand the Dutch
language, therefore I already translated it into English. I used
English names or Dutch names, which also sound English. I'll use
next to places like `Meryton' common Dutch towns
as `Amsterdam', `Utrecht' and perhaps
`Boekelo'. If you have
questions about the Dutch customs or habits I use, please let me
know, I'd be delighted to answer them.
I hope you'll enjoy.

`Place du Tertre, the River` © Marjolein, the Netherlands
2003.
<hr>

<b>Chapter one</b>
A dark green, steady, old oak tree stood in the middle of the
serene, brilliant green, flat field covered with grass of different
varieties. Its strong trunk was partly covered with moss as a
result of years of weather influences. The roots, which dug deep
under the ancient ground, were not only fed periodically by fresh
rainwater, but also by the cold ground water, bubbling to the
surface in a small spring. As it was very quiet and peaceful, with
the only sound to be heard a wind whistling through the oak leaves,
a young deer dared to approach the well to drink the pure, unspoiled
water. He was of a delicate brown color with golden spots, to
suggest he always stood beneath the tree where the warm sunbeams
that played on his coat were partly blocked by the oak leaves.
Carefully, step by step, the fragile legs carried the young animal
away from his mother towards the place where he could get the thirst-
quenching drink. The surface rippled immediately by the touch of the
soft deer lips. It reflected the oak, the blue sky and the warm
yellow sun. The mother's ears twitched as she sensed something.
She
and the oak knew the event coming and were prepared, the pure water
and the young deer were not.
Blue slowly turned from white, light purple and green into a dark
shade of grey when clouds covered the sky. Above it, positive and
negative ions fought to be released. Tension built an enormous
electric power and the drops of heavy rain waited for the right time
to fall.
The deer hadn't expected it, and when the first lightning touched
earth, he did not know what to do. Gripped with fear, he jumped,
scratching the sand and mingling it with the clear water, racing
over the well to his mother. Where moments ago only a small breath
of air was heard tickling the leaves, a big bang followed the
bright, white light. Immediately the clouds opened and heavy rain
battered the green field, the strong tree and the frightened deer.
The wind gained power and threw the water upon the tree. Its
branches fought their ancient battle. Some leaves could not hold and
fell to the ground or into the well. Small branches cracked and were
broken by the powerful rain. The wind blew the grass in several
directions. All colors had lost power. The grass looked dark green,
like ancient, half-rotted moss, the deer became wet; a deep dark
brown with not a golden spot to be seen, and the water had lost
every blue color and reflected a dark purple and grey-green light.
Everything seemed dark and somber.
The thunderstorm stopped as suddenly as it had started. The young
animal left his mother again to look at his surroundings. He had
survived but would never forget his first storm. The oak regained
its position. The trunk stood steady, some of the branches bent back
into their original positions, some large and some small ones were
broken, changed or even damaged for good.
It was as it always is when a sudden event enters a life, no matter
what kind of life. Part of it will remain steady, part of it will
bend only temporarily, and part of it will be changed forever.
Heavy rainwater mingled with the pure well water. There was not
enough room for both in such a small place and the little creek
which had before danced away from the spring, changed into a river.
Water from deep down and water from high above joined and left the
field together.

<center> ~ * ~ * ~</center>

When living in north-west Europe and in search of a conversation, no
matter with whom, the weather will always be a safe topic. Blessed
with a sea climate, the area welcomes temperatures between 14 and 90
degrees Fahrenheit. And since the ground is very flat and a bicycle
a cheap and easy means of transportation, every inhabitant learns
from childhood how to cope with the extreme circumstances. One day,
cold rain batters the face, on another the hair might be covered
with pristine, white snow. Warm beams of sun tan the skin and wind
blowing from each possible direction dry it. So the circumstances
outside are different every day and very hard to predict. It
isn't
only a safe topic to talk about; it's also, to many people, one
of
the contributors to mood for the rest of the day. Of course, rain
will always be an excuse for a very low mood. So Elizabeth Bennet
was asking herself if the Teutonic weather gods were teasing her.
They seemed to be allowing the water to pour on the earth just to
emphasize the way she was feeling now for weeks in a row.
This day was just like the others. She rose from the bed in which
she had slept since her childhood but for a fiveyear interval. She
drank coffee with her father, smoked the first few of many
cigarettes and took her bike to travel the fivemile distance to
work. A rain suit protected her from the wet tears heaven was
drowning on her, but it couldn't protect her from the damp and
cloudy feeling she had within. She had felt it since that particular
Sunday two months ago, when she'd made a big step and said
goodbye
to her life; her easy, material goods-filled, and yet so damaging,
life. She left her husband, her house, her safe surroundings and now
it appeared many of her so-called friends. It hadn't been an easy
step and it was supposed to be a step forward. But for now it only
looked like a big step backwards at least she didn't feel she was
progressing. Right at this moment, she felt more damaged than she
had the last five years. This thought wasn't far from the truth.
A
habit of smoking thirty-five cigarettes a day and getting only a few
hours sleep every night can easily ruin a body and a mind in a short
time.
"Ouch," she coughed. <I>I will quit smoking. I will,</I>
thought
Elizabeth, when she pushed the pedals, fighting against the wind,
which always came from the direction she needed to go, or so it
seemed. She breathed in the damp air. <I>When I'm ready.</I>
Elizabeth placed her bike against the wall, locked it, and entered
the office. "Hi," she yelled to the back where a man was
sitting in
front of a huge desk, filled with papers, photos, magazines, empty
coffee cups, filled ash trays, a nice Mackintosh and a lot of
computer equipment. It was Jack, owner of the advertisement studio
and not only her boss but a very good friend as well.
"Hey, you drowned cat," was the reply she got.
"Well, thank you. It's exactly how I feel." She hung the
rain suit
in front of the heater and dried her hair with a towel. "I wish I
was still in Paris. Those were the only nice days I have had since I
chose to return to my parents."
"Is it that bad? I mean they have a huge house, nice garden,
situated so well next to a wood. You must get <I>some</I>
inspiration there," the man answered while filling another cup of
coffee out of the machine and handing it to her.
"Thanks. Of course, the house and its surroundings are still
wonderful and I think I appreciate it more, now that I have lived
somewhere else. But, you know, the inhabitants are still the
same."
"Really?"
Elizabeth took a seat at the huge table which stood in the middle of
the office. She shoved a pile of magazines to the side, bent forward
to retrieve the sugar, and sweetened her coffee.
"Where's the cream?" she asked absent-mindedly, while
lifting more
papers and magazines in search of the bowl full of creamers. "I
guess my father and mother are pretty much the same as the ones I
left five years ago. I'm the one who's changed." She
found the cream
beneath the latest issue of <I>The Liquor Store</I>, opened one, and
poured it in her coffee.
Jack said nothing because he knew she would say more. She needn't
him to pull the words out. He just left his desk and joined her at
the table. They had a kind of morning ritual before starting work:
skimming the morning paper, drinking coffee, smoking a cigarette
together, and discussing the world, the universe and the office. He
had to lift another pile of papers from the chair before he was able
to take a seat and turned to give it another place. Right in the
middle of Elizabeth's desk would be nice.
Other people were always wondering how those two could actually work
in such a mess. Papers, opened and closed packages, magazines,
samples, paint, ink, computer supplies, brushes, boxes and lots of
other stuff seemed to lie everywhere. But somehow Jack and Elizabeth
always managed to find everything they needed. They called it their
<I>organized mess</I>. "I know I ought to be thankful my parents
took me back home immediately … and believe me I am, really. I
don't
know where else I could have gone. Going back home is one thing, but
hiding under my mother's wing is not exactly the part I
prefer,"
Elizabeth said. "She wants to steer my life again. She asks me
where
I am going in the evening. She wants to know whom I am seeing, etc.
Now I remember why I was so happy to leave them in the first
place."
"Hmm hmm," was the only reply she got. It was enough to
continue.
"I know I shouldn't complain. But believe me, I'll be
really happy
next week when our new apartment is ready."
"Is Jane as eager as you to leave the house for the second
time?"
Jack asked referring to Elizabeth's sister, who had also come
back
to her parents' after a failed relationship.
"Oh, yes. But she is way too sweet to admit it. I can hardly
believe
she lived there for almost a year without complaining. But then
again, Jane never complains. Isn't it weird? Mother was so angry
when we came back. Well not angry, but ashamed that two of her
daughters failed to maintain a relationship. I am the worst, of
course. Mine was a marriage, Jane's <I>only</I> a
relationship,"
Elizabeth rambled on.
"Anyway, what's up boss?" She regained her own positive
attitude
very quickly. "What's on the role for today?"
"I think you should continue with your season paintings. But if
you
feel you have some time and creativity left, I could use some help
with the brochure," Jack answered and turned to pick up a draft
version from the beer brochure on which he was working. He showed it
to Elizabeth and they talked about the text. It was for their main
client, <I>Merytayns</I>, the huge beer factory settled in Meryton
where they both lived. The ancient way of saying something came from
Meryton was <I>Merytayns</I> and it also was the name of the factory
which had produced beer for almost four centuries. The factory was,
for the greater part, still owned by one family, which happened to
be Elizabeth's. She owned a few stocks herself. Her uncle, Mr.
Phillips, married to her father's sister, and believed to be one
of
the reasons her father withdrew himself from the daily care, took
care of the business. Every single person living in Meryton had
something to do with the factory. If they didn't work there, like
Jane did in financial administration, they worked for them, like
Elizabeth did with her advertisements. <I>Merytayns</I> was the
first alcoholic drink to be drunk by every citizen of the little
town and when teenagers went away on their first holiday without the
parents, they always proudly wore a <I>Merytayns</I> t-shirt to show
everybody where they came from.
"By the way," Jack casually asked, "have you heard
something about
an interim director in <I>Merytayns</I>?"
"No," Elizabeth answered, "but Jane said something about
a certain
investigation. I think Mr. Phillips hired someone to do a survey. I
am not sure, but I've heard he is going to check the whole
factory,
to see if there are things that can be done more economically. "
"What for? Are there problems?"
"None that I know. But you know the head of financial
administration
left a few months ago? Jane said everything has been a bit hectic.
Well, we will find out this evening at my aunt and uncle's 25th
wedding anniversary party. I expect every important employee to show
up. "
With this remark, Elizabeth took a piece of cloth and bound her
long, brown, slightly curling hair in a loose tail. Drinking the
last drop of coffee from the cup, she stood up and walked to the
back of the office, where a door led to a small corridor, hiding
other doors to several rooms including the one where Elizabeth's
half-finished paintings stood. She was working on four paintings,
which would become the main theme of the advertising campaign for
four new <I>Merytayns</I> flavors. It was a huge project and very
secret. Next year at the beginning of every season, a new
<I>Merytayns</I> flavor would be launched on the market; strong and
dark ones for the winter and autumn and light, bright ones for the
spring and summer.
Elizabeth stood in front of her creations. The `autumn' was
the one
she worked on most. Was it because it reflected her mood? She
neither knew nor cared. She continued working on that one, because
it felt best to do so. Preparing her palette with dark purple-
colored paint, she closed her eyes slightly and tried to think where
she could place the color best in the thunderclouds above the green
land, where she had already painted a huge tree and something which
might become a creek, a stream, a brook or even a small river. But
that part would be painted later. She concentrated on the storm and
clouds right now.

<center> ~ * ~ * ~</center>

"Jane, I'd like you to meet Mr. Bingley," Mr. Phillips
said. Jane
quietly laid down an invoice, and calmly faced her uncle and
employer. He had introduced her to several people the last few
months. She didn't know what was going on, but it looked like he
was
asking for information and help from more than one agency. This Mr.
Bingley would just be another consultant for whatever advice her
uncle thought he needed, and she would be asked again to prepare a
room and a desk and provide the newcomer space to work.

"Very pleased to meet you sir," she said looking at a very
handsome
man. Very handsome indeed. He was tall, blond and had amazingly
beautiful eyes. They were not blue, nor they were green, neither
they were both. Jane decided they were a dark shade of turquoise.
She felt she could drown in them and deep down she felt they were
familiar. Somehow she knew she had seen those eyes before but she
couldn't remember where, and it truly bothered her. How could she
ever forget such beautiful eyes? She was so busy thinking about this
dilemma, she completely forgot to introduce herself properly. Only
after a warm voice vocalized: "The pleasure is mine. Bingley is
the
name, Charles Bingley," was she capable of accepting the offered
hand and saying, "Jane Bennet."

"Jane," Mr. Phillips interspersed, "Mr. Bingley is going
to give us
advice about some issues. I expect he will be here for several weeks
and maybe longer. Could you arrange everything? Office, desk,
computer, network access, e-mail etc? We will be in my office."
Before Jane was able to answer, the two men turned their backs to
her and walked away to the huge hall and Mr. Phillips's office.

<I>Why me? He has a secretary, for god's sake</I>, she sighed,
turned back to her own desk and picked up pen and notepad.
Therefore, she neither saw the admiring looks her colleagues gave
the gentleman, nor the look said person gave her when he turned his
head back before leaving the room.

Jane checked her desk to see if there was any confidential
information which she should be hiding before leaving and stood up.
Her blond hair flung back by the movement and she straightened her
skirt. She was considered pretty tall for a woman, had a figure most
of her female colleagues would give everything to own, and her whole
being radiated nothing but kindness. Not one single person had ever
had a real fight with her. She had a very pretty face with bright
blue eyes. People who were introduced to the Bennet girls could
hardly believe the blond Jane and the brown Elizabeth were sisters.
Not that Elizabeth was not pretty, oh no. But the sisters were very
different… beautiful, but both of a different kind.

Jane crossed the hall, making clicking noises as her high heels
touched the marble floor. She knocked on her uncle's door and
opened
it after she heard his dark voice give her permission to enter.

"Sorry, to interrupt you," she said friendly. "May I
please have
some information? I need some things before I can make
arrangements."

Mr. Phillips, sitting behind his heavy, mahogany desk, nodded at Mr.
Bingley. He had more than one reason to ask Jane for help. He knew
her to be very capable of organizing, but he also knew that while
she looked very open, she was not, and that she was very good at
starting friendly conversations. It was not the first time he used
her to entertain important business clients between meetings. She
wouldn't need to make reservations for a hotel room this time,
because Mr. Bingley had his own place to stay and it was
coincidentally not very far away.

"Mr. Bingley has rented Netherfield, Jane," he said.

"Really?" Jane asked surprised. "Is the house ready to
move in then?
It was empty for years."

"I rented it a few weeks ago and part of the rooms are
ready." The
warm voice sent sparks along Jane's spine. Of course, she knew
someone rented Netherfield. Meryton was too small not to know. The
10,000 inhabitants found out everything from each other. The parts
they didn't know were filled in easily. Her own mother was one of
the people who knew best; it was as if she invented the
word `gossip' herself. Netherfield was a huge house with
very nice
stables. A few weeks ago the first rumors could be heard in Meryton
that someone rented the property again to use it as a horse breeding
stable. And shortly after the rumors came certainty, when local
painters and carpenters were hired to fix the stables. Yes, first
the horses, then the people. Not that the house needed much work, a
thorough cleanup session would do. It was fully furnished after the
last owner died in his twocenturyold family home. The heirs had no
intention of moving in themselves and were apparently wealthy enough
not to need to sell it.

<I>A woman hired it. Is he married?</I> Jane thought.

"My sister is going to bring her horses by the end of the
week."

<I>Good, he is not married. Oh my god, what am I thinking?</I>

"My friend and I decided to come a few days earlier."

<I>My goodness, he is gay! Not that I have anything against him
being gay, of ourse…</I>

"I'm moving myself next week," she said. <I>Why on earth
am I
telling him this?</I> Mr. Phillips frowned at his niece, causing her
to blush.

"Jane, I think the office where Paul used to sit will be suitable
for Mr. Bingley."

"Of course," was Jane's answer and she started to note
the
information she needed. The way his name was written for the right e-
mail address, how much space he would need, the number of chairs,
etc.

"I'd like to interview all the employees in the office. A
table and
four chairs next to the desk would be nice, if possible, "
Bingley
said.

"Jane, make sure he gets his own pass for the parking lot. By the
way, you and Elizabeth are both coming tonight, right?" Mr.
Phillips
asked.

Surprised at why he was asking something he already knew, she looked
up from her notebook, blushed again, this time caused only by the
look of the turquoise eyes, and answered, "Yes, of course. We are
coming together with our parents and sisters." Then she closed
the
notebook, nodded her goodbye and after an answering nod from her
uncle, quietly left the room.

"Mr. Bingley, I would be honored if you would come to my 25th
anniversary this evening. My wife and I are giving a party and the
hall is very close to Netherfield. I could arrange a taxi to come
and get you, if necessary. All the staff members are coming; it
would be a nice way to meet them." Mr. Phillips said.

"I would be delighted, sir," was the quick answer from
Bingley, who
could hardly believe his luck to be able to see the woman again; a
woman who seemed so familiar and so beautiful. "Is it okay if I
bring my friend? He is coming this evening and I …."

"Of course," interrupted Phillips, "Bring him with you.
It wouldn't
be nice to leave him alone in such a huge house, would it?"

"No sir, it would not." <I>It would not indeed, but I really
don't
know if Darcy would consider it nice that I'm dragging him to the
first local party immediately after his first arrival.</I>

"I'm sure my friend would also be delighted," and the two
men went
back to their business conversation.



Chapter two, part one
Meryton, a small city with 10,000 inhabitants, had a history which went back
several centuries. It had gained city rights more than seven hundred years
ago and had been the scene of a few historical battles. Royal armies and
Spanish troops had each in turn besieged the fortified city in order to free
it from the enemy. The last time the Spanish units left Meryton and were
forced to surrender it to royal hands again, the city maintained the Roman
Catholic habits of the Spanish. At the beginning of the twenty-first century
it remained a Catholic bastion between Protestant villages. With its canals,
partly saved city walls and ancient buildings, it exuded an atmosphere of
history. The narrow streets, some of cobblestone, formed the same pattern
they did centuries ago.
The fact Meryton possessed city rights that the villages surrounding it
lacked provided the inhabitants an excuse to maintain an old fashioned sort
of pride. People who lived in the city were ‘much better and more
sophisticated’ than the peasants and villagers around them. Of course, this
form of chauvinism is highly ancient and not part of this time, but
nonetheless fun to maintain. And so, the Merytoners pretended to be better
than their surrounding neighbors. This feeling, as old as the city itself,
can still be found on the soccer fields, the tennis courts and on the
vehicles that form the annual carnival procession. Meryton had also several
industries, a few vacation resorts, large discos that attracted thousands of
party-seekers every weekend, and many small cafés. If such an old city is
situated somewhere in the country, hidden in large woods and fields of corn,
clearly its inhabitants also go back several centuries. It seemed everybody
knew everybody in town, and everybody had an opinion of everybody. Parties,
like the Phillips’s wedding anniversary, were the excellent means to
exchange information, shape and reshape new and old opinions.
“Honey, hurry now,” Mrs. Bennet ordered her second daughter in her usual
impatient manner. “We are going to be late, if you don’t make haste. I
promised your aunt we would be on time so I can take care of the gifts. We
must be there before the guests arrive.” She literally ran through the house
to collect her husband and five daughters, afraid she would not arrive on
time at the huge Phillips party where she was to play the role of mistress
of ceremonies.
“Mom, you two go and take Lydia, Kitty and Mary with you. We’ll take your
car,” Elizabeth answered, seeing that Jane, like herself, was far from
ready. Mrs. Bennet considered the possibility and, after a short period of
deliberation, decided lending her red Peugeot to the girls wasn’t as bad as
arriving too late at the party. “Here.” With a sudden toss, the key chain
flew in Elizabeth’s direction. Her mother didn’t even wait to see if she
caught it, she had already turned around and shouted orders to her youngest
daughters.
With a sigh of relief Elizabeth saw her family leave. “I wish it was next
week.”
“Lizzy, don’t. We ought to be grateful we can stay here.” Jane walked out of
the bathroom, still brushing her beautiful, long, blonde hair.
“I know, I am, really,” her sister replied. “I don’t know where I could have
gone to. It’s just….”
“Mom acting as if you’re a teenager again.” Jane completed the sentence,
putting the brush on the hall table and picking up her purse. “Do you know,
are we supposed to give a gift ourselves or did Dad put our names on the
Bennet envelope?” It was common practice locally to give money on wedding
and anniversary parties instead of the often ‘useless’ gifts. The parties
were usually huge and expensive; it was an unwritten law to give money and
even the amount was always pretty much the same, as a result of old habits.
“Don’t know. Let’s give for ourselves. I don’t want them thinking we can’t
afford it and yes, it’s the feeling of being beneath her wings again,” Lizzy
said, swiftly changing from one subject to another and back, without any
misunderstanding between the sisters. Elizabeth searched her father’s desk
and found a nicely printed congratulations card with matching envelope. She
wrote a few lines, closed the expresses with both their names and took the
appropriate bills from her wallet. Without hesitation, she also paid for
Jane, quickly closed the envelope, put it in her own purse next to the
package of cigarettes and said, “You drive.”
“Ready then?” Jane answered automatically with this question. “It isn’t bad
to arrive a little bit late, but if we want to have a nice seat we really
should go now.” She picked up the brush again and brought it back to the
bathroom where it belonged. She dimmed the lights in the house and after a
quick check to see if the backdoor was locked, followed her sister to the
garage where the Peugeot was parked.
“Let’s go girls … ta ta ta da da da, “ Elizabeth sang the popular Shania
Twain’s song, opening the doors and taking her place next to the drivers
seat, careful not to step on her long black skirt. “Let’s go and face the
world,” she dramatically added.
“Hey, you, what is the matter? First you’re complaining about mother and now
it looks as if you don’t want to go to the party.” The second half of the
question was barely audible because of the noise the engine made while still
standing in the huge garage. Jane easily put the car in first gear, drove
out of the building and touched the small remote control to automatically
roll the garage doors down. “Don’t you look forward to seeing your cousins?“
“Oh, Jane, you know I love to see the cousins, especially the ones I haven’t
seen in a while. It’s just, I’m not looking forward to all the questions,
the looks, the … you know.”
Yes, Jane knew. She knew how it was when a relationship broke up and all the
‘friendly’ neighbors, trying to gain information, kept asking questions. But
Jane saw merely genuine interest and not gossip, unlike Elizabeth. “They
feel sorry for you. It’s nice of them to ask how you are.”
“Yeah, right,” was Elizabeth’s soft reply. She opened the mirror on the sun
visor and checked the little make-up she was wearing. Dropping her eyes from
the mirror to her person, she softly stroked the skirt and brought her hand
to her throat. She had been surprised when she had bought the skirt the
week before. Surprised and a little shocked, because it actually fit her
perfectly. She must have lost more weight than she first thought, to be able
to wear such a tight piece of clothing. Above it, she wore a dark, red top,
with a very low neckline and a transculent blouse with long sleeves. Not one
single adornment completed the outfit; every ring, necklace, watch or brooch
she possessed had something to do with Jonathan, her almost ex-husband, the
last person she wanted to think of. She realised, though, that she would be
reminded of him this evening. She already knew she would hear his name
several times, when passing a table or just before joining another group of
party-goers. In the little town, where juicy stories were not available
every day, she and Jonathan were still the ‘story of the month’.
They weren’t really very late, but the parking lot was already crowded and
it took Jane a few minutes to find a space. Then, Elizabeth dropped her
purse and the twilight didn’t make things easier to find anything quickly.
Therefore they were among the last guests to walk into the party hall. Jane
increased her speed and Elizabeth followed her, still rummaging through her
bag, wondering if she had forgotten to pack her lighter. Vainly attempting
to do everything in the same moment, she tried removing her coat. Of couse
this wouldn’t work while digging in her bag and again she dropped the small
purse. Immediately, she leaned over to get it, unconsciously noticing that
the grey lines in the white marble tiles seemed to form a pattern like water
waves. At the exact moment, her hand reached her belongings … another’s did
too.



<b>Chapter two, part two</b>


An electric shock, and not a tiny, little one, went through
Elizabeth's body the moment her fingers touched the other hand.
She noticed the long, gracefully shaped, though very masculine,
fingers. Elizabeth had read piles of books about the art of palm
reading and she truly believed the shape of one's hand revealed some
significant characteristics about the person. She liked the hand
immediately. However, her opinion about the rest of the person
changed very quickly and drastically when, while in the act of
standing up straight again her eyes followed the line from the hand,
up along the arm to a very broad shoulder, a beautifully shaped face
and then to very deep brown eyes.


Those eyes were not a warm, inviting, "want to drown yourself
in", color of brown. They were color of cold and wet mud, poisoned
by too many chemicals and other artificial garbage, sucked up by
heavy machines from the dark depths of a misused, heavily traversed
river and thrown out at the side, disgusted by people who didn't know
what to do with the filth they had created. It was not the healthy
kind of mud one wants to bathe in.


Elizabeth froze when she saw those eyes and read a certain amount of
disgust in them. Then her eyes went downwards again, only to see the
package of cigarettes lying on the ground. Quickly she picked it up
and extended her hand to accept her handbag from <I>the
eyes</I>. "Thank you," she politely said and placed the cigarettes
where they belonged. She looked again at the face, trying to avoid
the eyes. A slight sense of familiarity crept inside her
consciousness, recognizing the features. She was sure she had seen
the man before, she knew his face, his features and his beautiful,
curly, brown hair, but she couldn't connect them with the hard,
cold eyes. She tore her gaze away and noticed the man wasn't alone,
but accompanied by someone who could be described as his opposite.
This blond person, only a little bit shorter than his friend, beamed
inviting kindness. He shook hands with Jane who, Elizabeth noticed,
was blushing a little.


"Elizabeth," her sister said, still shaking hands and turning
towards them. "Let me introduce you to Mr. Bingley. He started
today at <I>Merytayns</I> as a consultant." While gesturing in the
direction of Elizabeth she continued, "Mr. Bingley, this is my
sister Elizabeth."


Releasing Jane's hand, the said gentleman turned towards
Elizabeth. "Please Jane, call me Charles. Very nice to meet you,
Elizabeth. Let me introduce you to my friend, Darcy."


Another handshake was made. It was at least firm, Elizabeth noticed.
"Darcy," and with a slight interval, "William." His voice was dark
and, in contrast to his eyes, warm.


They learned that Mr. Phillips had invited the two gentlemen to his
party and Jane suggested they join them. Festivities like this could
be quite overwhelming for guests who didn't know the other
partygoers.


They were among the last guests to enter the room, which made
Elizabeth suddenly realize that everybody would see them as they
walked towards their aunt and uncle. With a barely noticeable
motion, she straightened her back, tilted her nose a tiny fraction
higher in the air and plastered a beaming and very confident smile
on her face. No one would see what she really felt deep inside. She
hardened herself mentally for the remarks she knew would come,
gestured to Charles and William to follow them and entered
the `party-barn'.


William Darcy was tired, exhausted from a long work-week and a
boring ride to the middle of nowhere, as he described the region
where Netherfield was situated. Charles had decided a few weeks
earlier that he wanted to do things differently. Not that their
business was dropping or anything like that, on the contrary, it
looked like more and more companies needed D&BI and the money they
had to offer. Charles had expressed that reading all the annual
reports and spending hours and hours talking with only the top
echelons of possible clients no longer gave him sufficient
satisfaction. He felt the urge to delve deeper into an organization
and try to make it work more efficiently. Both he and William had
seen many well-run, but even more badly-run companies. They were
sure they had gathered enough information and experience to improve
management in certain organizations and when Charles had made his
statement, William had suggested he could start as a consultant. It
seemed they found a niche in the market because when they had
dropped the news left and right that Bingley was available for
financial and management advice, several clients immediately reacted
positively. Charles had already set his sights on Netherfield as a
pleasant house for himself, his sister and all her horses; one of
his private and least lucrative investments. Due to the house's
proximity to the beer factory he decided this would be the start of
his new career.


The two friends had decided together that they had better wait to
see how things turned out before William also made the change.
Therefore, William stayed in his old position, finding good
investment opportunities, and Charles tried to improve a target that
didn't presently look suitable enough for straight investment. It
had been a busy week without his companion and William was not too
pleased when he had heard his first visit to Netherfield would not
bring him the pleasant and quiet evening he craved, but yet another
social event. It would have been all right if he could have met
interesting business associates, like the ones he was going to see
at the horse event Caroline Bingley was taking him to the week after
next, but it appeared he would only be introduced to the locals
tonight. He wasn't interested in peasants and production
employees at that moment. However, he understood it was important
for Charles, and therefore for the company, to accept the
invitation, so he had agreed to accompany his old friend.


While Darcy had carried the wooden box of expensive bottles of wine
and waited in the party center's foyer for Charles to return from
the men's room, he had noticed the two women entering the
building. That is to say, he had noticed a very fine looking blond-
haired woman and another person trying to get rid of her long coat;
he couldn't see her face. She had dropped her handbag.
Automatically, he had put the box down and immediately bent forward
to help her. His eyes had fallen on the cigarettes and his opinion
was set.


The feeling of disdain wasn't about to abate when he entered the
huge party room shortly afterwards. Apparently, the room had
originally been a barn, judging by the shape of the roof and the
still visible loft, where antique looking farming equipment was
exhibited and the hemisphere windows divided in several parts. Dark
red and white checkered curtains, fancifully trimmed with red
ribbons, partly covered the old brick walls. Tablecloths, with the
same pattern, covered very long tables and it seemed that every
chair, placed along those tables, was taken. More than 300 guests
were already seated when the four walked across the wooden dance
floor towards the table where Mrs. and Mr. Phillips were standing to
accept the congratulations and gifts. Darcy pretended not to feel
the looks, because he was used to receiving them. This didn't
prevent him from hearing catty remarks: "Wow, look who she is
dragging along. That could be the reason for her behavior of
course," and "Hey, is she back on the track fast, or
what?" Vain enough to assume he was the <I>who</I> in the first
remark and curious enough to wonder which of the two women filled
the role of <I>she</I>, he presumed <i>she<i> was the smoking one.


Jane first congratulated her aunt with a smacking kiss on both
cheeks and offered her uncle the same treatment. Elizabeth followed
her sister and gave the envelope, which Mrs. Phillips automatically
passed on to the woman behind her. The two women waited for the
gentlemen to express their felicitations and offer their gift.
William noticed that the woman behind the couple was all ears when
Mr. Phillips introduced Mr. Bingley to his wife. He assumed she
didn't only want to hear their names to write them correctly on
the label that she affixed to their gift for the Phillipses to
remember who gave it. And hearing very soon afterwards she was the
mother of both the women accompanying them, he concluded from the
greedy look in her eyes he had to deal with a `You -- bachelor? Me --
mother of available daughters!' sort of person. No, this was
definitely not the way he had intended to start his quiet weekend in
the country and after a polite, but short "Pleased to meet you", he
turned and followed his friend and the ladies to the only available
chairs left.


They were seated in a corner not very far from the dance floor yet
far enough from the music to converse. Darcy, not in the mood to
share the last and facing the dance floor, tried to stretch his long
legs beneath the table to take his very much rehearsed position:
the observer. A waiter, carrying a huge square tray, brought them
coffee and cake and immediately went along to collect coffee cups
from other guests. William saw another waiter approaching with lots
of beer on his tray and a few other drinks. Then the musicians said
something and Mr. and Mrs. Phillips walked to the center of the
dance floor to open the dance. After polite applause from the guests
sitting next to the floor, and a few turns on their own, they were
accompanied by other couples. They were ballroom dancing and more
and more people filled the floor to join them in their quickstep.
Distracted from the movements as a sharp smell invaded his nostrils,
he turned his head back to the table and with a vexed wave of his
hand tried to fan away the smoke coming from a cigarette.


Elizabeth also watched the dancers and longed to join them. She had
always loved dancing and begged her mother to send her to ballroom
lessons when she was a little girl. For some reason, her mother
hadn't thought them necessary and offered her piano lessons
instead. It was not the instrument Elizabeth preferred, but young as
she was, she realized with four sisters, all of whom wanted to take
music lessons, it was very reasonable to have all five of them
sharing the same piano. And since the piano is a very good means to
improve musicality in all its breadth, she also polished her sense
of rhythm, from her early years on. Later, when she was 15 years
old, she had her dancing lessons, like all the other kids in Meryton
that age. Tapping her foot, following the pace of the music, she
drank her coffee and lit a cigarette. <I>Well, dancing was one thing
Jonathan had been good at,</I> she thought, putting the lighter back
in her bag. She noticed Darcy … William waving the smoke away so
she automatically replaced the ashtray and took the Marlboro with
her other hand when she saw him looking at it. The temperature
emanating from his look could easily extinguish it and
simultaneously deprive her of any desire she might have had to start
a conversation with him. But politeness would demand conversing very
soon because Charles and Jane went away to dance and she simply
wasn't the type of person to sit quietly and alone with someone.
Well, as alone as possible among 300 other people, of course.


She got a reprieve when the waiter came back and with her nod placed
a glass of beer, <I>Merytayns</I>, of course, in front of her.


"Hi, Rob," she said amicably, "Jane also wants one glass of beer and
orange juice afterwards. She's the lucky one driving me tonight."


"Do you know what Charles will drink?" she asked, turning towards
William.


Slightly surprised that a nod was enough to say you wanted beer, not
fully realizing what <I> Merytayns</I> really denoted in this
community, he faced the waiter, "He wants a glass of white wine,
a dry one, and I'll also have an orange juice, please."


Rob put the beer in front of Jane's seat and went away to fetch
the other drinks.


After a few moments of relative silence, Elizabeth tried to be
polite. "Your friend is a good dancer," she stated casually.

"Yes," William answered and nodded when the waiter brought him his
juice.


"And you, do you like to dance?"


"Not much."


The answer was once more very short and didn't invite more
conversation. However she tried again, "Why not? Never took
lessons?"


William, not in the mood to explain, only shrugged his shoulders
before sipping his drink.


With a hardly noticeable "Then not," Elizabeth gave up and
looked at her sister and Charles again. She noticed they weren't
dancing anymore, but stood talking with Mr. Phillips. Her uncle
seemed very pleased and had his business smile on. He and Charles
were conversing and Jane stood between them. Even from a distance
Elizabeth could almost sense her sister's thoughts: was she the
niece, the employee, or both tonight? <I>Merytayns</I> had been a
family business for ages.


In these family companies, the line between private and professional
life is not always easy to discern, Jane, however, realized she was
both: the favorite niece of the boss entertaining his business
associate. She didn't need pity though. This associate was not
only polite (she had spent hours with worse), but handsome, friendly
and a good dancer as well. Added to the fact she still sensed
something familiar about him, she stayed with the gentlemen, careful
not to interrupt them and to nod at the right moment. These were
skills that came very naturally to her.


Expecting them not to come back to the table very soon, Elizabeth's
eyes left her sister and Charles to wander around the room.
Suddenly, her face brightened, its pleasure answered when another
woman walked towards her.


"Charlotte, what a surprise!" Elizabeth rose and hugged her
friend. "Charlotte, this is Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, this is my
friend Charlotte Lucas."


"William."


After the handshake, Charlotte took Jane's seat across from
Elizabeth and the two chatted.


"Your mother told mine you couldn't be here tonight," Elizabeth
said, wondering.


"I wasn't going to come. Did I tell you, my other colleague
quit and now Lucy and I have to do everything on our own? We've made
a five-days-on, five-days-off schedule. But Lucy had already planned
a vacation months ago, so she will be away six weeks. She's working
the rest of the week now, to give me some time to relax and then
it's going to be show time, 42 days in a row."


"42 days?"


"Yes, 42 days just the old brat and me."


"Why did the other one quit?"


"Sometimes I think of her being an instruction manual because
many aren't able to read her," Charlotte answered cryptically.
Elizabeth, knowing from her friend's stories whom `the old brat'
was, understood her perfectly.


"Which reminds me," Charlotte continued, "I do have a favor to ask."


Seeing Elizabeth's questioning eyes, she continued, "Do you
think you can find time to ride Lady Brown and Ilioan? Not tough
training, only a ride in the woods, some simple exercise."


Lady Brown and Ilioan were Charlotte's horses. When she had
enough time to train them properly, she competed with them in
regional contests. For the past few months, after she accepted a job
a few hours distance from where she spends the nights during her
work shift, she had neglected them a little. Without owning any
themselves, both Jane and Elizabeth had ridden horses since they
were teenagers.


"I'd love to and I'm sure Jane will as well," Elizabeth replied.
Remembering the Lucas house and stables were located next to the
property belonging to Netherfield, and also aware of the gossip that
someone had rented the house and fixed up the stables, she
continued, "Do you know who rented Netherfield?"


"I've been told the handsome man talking with Jane did."


"Ah," Elizabeth wanted to ask Charlotte more, but didn't consider it
proper, when William sat beside her, so she turned again towards him
and asked, "He did? How long does he plan to stay here?"


"Ask the man himself", William said, seeing Charles and Jane
coming back from the dance floor.


Elizabeth stood to give Jane a seat. Immediately after Elizabeth
informed her sister of the promise she had made about the horses,
Charles started asking questions about the neighborhood: if there
were many horse trails, nice woods in which to ride and if the girls
did this often. His sister bred horses and sold them when they were
ready to go into training. She didn't keep stallions, but had
quite a few good mares. Charles said he liked to ride now and then,
only for the exercise and relaxation after heavy workdays and he
hinted enough that Jane said she would be delighted to show him
around.


Elizabeth danced with her father and Charlotte returned to her own
table. Jane and Charles kept talking about horses until she had to
join the other employees of <i>Merytayns</i>. As was common in this
area, they did a kind of act, telling jokes about their boss and
singing funny songs in between them. It was done in the regional
dialect that everybody in Meryton spoke and was quite funny,
although it certainly didn't reach the level of professional
stand-up comedy.


Elizabeth was standing with her father at the other side of the
dance floor during the act, so Charles and William were alone for
the first time since their arrival at the party.


"A wonderful evening, don't you think?" Charles started, nursing his
glass of dry white `house wine', "Nice people, they sure know how to
party over here."


"Ah, c'mon, take a good look Charles," William replied rather
harshly, "they sure know how to drink over here. The waiters
don't even ask if you want another glass. They put a full one in
front of you the second yours is emptied. I warn you, everybody will
be completely drunk by the end of the evening."


"So? What about it? Think how good it will be for the sales
figures."


"Right, be sure he gets a tax-deduction for this. Did you make
plans yet on how to start the job, anyway?"


"I got an office today and I want to interview all the staff
members first thing Monday morning."


"Hah, looks like `fun'," William said ironically and
nodding in the direction of the group of employees singing on the
floor he added, "Quite a challenge. Be sure you stoop to their
level."


"Will, what's the matter with you?" Charles answered, rather
annoyed. "What would <I>you</I> know? You haven't spoken to
any of them."


"No and actually, I don't feel the urge right now."


Charles, genuinely trying to improve William's humor,
suggested, "You don't need to. But neither is it necessary to
sit here on your own the whole evening. I haven't seen you speak to
anyone, and why don't you dance? Hey, you can ask Elizabeth.
She's a good dancer, you saw her dance, didn't you?"


"Stop it, Charles," William answered shortly, feeling his
headache progressing into a splitting one. "I've no desire to dance
right now and I certainly don't want to talk to a walking chimney."
At his last remark he pushed the package of cigarettes with his
fingertips in a sudden movement to the other end of the table … where
Elizabeth caught them. He had not seen her coming back and noticing
her frowning at him, he realized she had overheard him.


Okay, that was it, definitely. She'd had enough. She had tried to
start a polite conversation several times, she had tried to be kind
to him and all she got back in return were gruff uninterested
answers, and now he called her a walking chimney. It was not
<I>what</I> he said that annoyed her immensely, it was more the
<I>way</I> he had said it, with a cold, disdainful look and a voice
dripping with nausea. Deciding the evening would be more pleasant at
Charlotte's table, Elizabeth got her bag and the cigarettes and
turned to leave the gentlemen without a word.


Her action was stopped when she almost bumped into her mother and
Jane.


"C'mon honey. Don't leave us now. A mother is entitled to know with
whom her daughters spend the evening. Come and introduce me to your
companions." Mrs. Bennet hooked her arm through Elizabeth's
and dragged her back to the table. Both her elder daughters being
taller than she, she didn't see the alarmed look Elizabeth gave Jane,
who only shrugged it off in reply.


After Jane introduced her mother to the gentlemen, Mrs. Bennet took
over the conversation, firing questions at Charles and William.
While his friend chose to remain silent, Charles tried to answer
them as politely as he could. Was it true Charles had rented
Netherfield? Was it his sister who was to join him? How long had
Charles and William been business partners? Was it necessary for
them to travel a lot?


"Paris?" Mrs. Bennet asked, completely ignoring Elizabeth,
tugging her arm. "You were in Paris a few weeks ago? Lovely city,
isn't it? We have some business associates there and Jane and
Elizabeth visited them recently. Do you know my Lizzy painted in
Paris? Not just anywhere, mind you, she worked on <i>Place du
Tertre</i> itself. Have you ever been there? It's very famous
for…." The rest of what Mrs. Bennet said went unnoticed.


Twice, two pair of eyes locked with each other.


Shock, realization, surprise, recognition hit …. once, twice,
thrice, four times.



Chapter 3


Coming from the meadow at the top of the mountain, the sweet water
droplets fought their way down to start their long journey, mile
after mile towards the dark depths of a salty sea. The narrow
groove, hiding between the bright green blades of grass, wasn't
capable of holding all of them. They bubbled and jumped and pushed
each other constantly out of the path they all needed to take, only
to fall back in small streams towards the channel, enlarging the
hollow with their combined power. One by one they were weak, but
together they were strong enough to make their mark in the solid
rocks that formed the mountain, pushed together by ancient powers,
millennia before these moist globules started their expedition.


William had taken vacations to the mountains numerous times. He had
seen them as a child and as an adult, in Europe as well as in
America and Asia. In winter and summer, he had skied on them and
climbed them. He had often stuck his hand into a mountain stream.
Why he was thinking about such a flow of pure, clear water, why he
almost felt the temperature fall after placing a warm, exhausted
foot into the ice cold substance, he couldn't tell, not even when
he tried to find an explanation.


He was sitting on an old stone bench in the garden of Netherfield,
inside a walled section where roses or perhaps delicate herbs might
have been grown years ago. It had clearly seen better days; the
upkeep was lacking. However, William didn't notice, constantly
seeing pictures of older memories mixed with recent ones from the
evening before. After a good night's sleep, his headache had
disappeared, but he still had trouble thinking clearly. He really
needed to focus on recalling everything that had happened.


He had been sitting at one of the long tables. At least he knew that
was correct, because he had spent the whole evening sitting on the
same chair, looking and wondering about the way people partied in
this region. Waiters came time after time with huge trays to replace
every empty glass for a full one, most of the time filled with beer.
The employees had done a kind of act, with silly songs and banal
jokes. It was definitely not an act he wanted to have his employees
perform if he were to give a party, which, in his imagination, was
not very likely.


Most of the guests, who had been sitting at a distance in which he
overhear them, spoke in the dialect of the region. Half the time he
hadn't understood what they were saying. A while after the act,
Mr. and Mrs. Phillips had been called to come to the dance floor
again. They had danced a sort of wedding waltz and while they were
turning and turning, as many people as the floor could hold had
wrapped them in long, thin, strips of colored paper. A few guests
had thought it funny to use toilet paper instead. After a while the
music had stopped and someone had fetched two chairs with armrests.
The chairs must have been collected from another room because no
others had armrests and William remembered he had been wondering why
on earth they were necessary. Then he had seen how Mr. and Mrs.
Phillips had taken their seats and how a few men had lifted the
chairs, with the couple sitting on them, into the air. All the
people had been singing and clapping and they had carried the couple
through the room. He still wasn't sure, but he had thought they
were singing, "The groom dare not kiss his bride, kiss his bride,
kiss his bride." He must have been correct, because after a short
while the men carried the chairs towards each other and the
Phillipses kissed on the mouth while everybody was cheering. After
they were put down on the floor again, William had looked in
amazement how they went ahead in a polonaise, a dance consisting of
a long line of people, walking behind each other to the rhythm of
the music.


Had William thought at that moment he had seen enough to wonder
about, he couldn't have been more wrong. After another couple
of "normal" ballroom dances and when the musicians had taken
another short break, something new had been announced. Suddenly all
the guests had hooked their arms into each other's and they had,
almost all of them, started to sing songs together and move their
upper bodies from left to right and back to left. A woman sitting
next to William had tried to catch his hand, but he had politely, or
so he thought, rejected the gesture. He had kept his seat, whereas
many others had stood up, all singing, moving to the music and
turning towards the dance floor again. With huge steps, imitating
skating moves, they went into the centre again to join in a
polonaise and other wild, loose dances. He could be wrong, of
course, but William was almost certain everybody was more
intoxicated than he had ever been in his whole life.


With a sudden jolt of his head, he ceased his contemplation. No,
this was not the part of the evening he had in mind. He had to stop
avoiding and try to remember another part. Damn, it happened too
often lately, he tended to forget things, while `that'
specific part of his life he so desperately wanted to forget kept
haunting him. William stood up and stretched his legs. The stone
bench had made him cold, or was it the memory of the ice-cold,
mountain stream water? It must have been the rain, which had started
to drizzle a short while ago. At first he hadn't noticed it at
all, thinking about the previous evening, but it couldn't be
ignored anymore. Luckily, he had been clever enough to bring his
outdoor coat when leaving the house for an early, brisk morning
walk. Pulling the hood over his already wet hair he started to walk
slowly towards the other side of the wall. Carefully, so as not to
step on the delicate plants that still might be alive, he watched
the ground and tried to stay on the pathway, holding his hands on
his back.


It had happened before the whole event with the chairs, right after
the first act. He had made one of his clever remarks about the brown-
haired woman, the smoking one. He hated cigarettes and frankly, he
couldn't explain why. Anyway, they were disgusting and therefore
people who smoked where also disgusting. But this didn't mean, of
course, it had been his intention for her to hear it. She had picked
up her handbag and wanted to leave, that had been obvious. But her
mother had prevented it and pulled her back. William had seen nosy
people all his life. Everywhere he went, he had to deal with people
who tried to find out all they could about him. However, this woman
had beaten every single forerunner with her straight-forward
questions and already made-up conclusions. Within a few minutes she
had snatched information from Charles about their trip to Paris.


Paris … now he knew why she had looked so familiar. She had been
the one who had painted him on the Place du Tertre. Could it be that
she also remembered … ? Nah, it was impossible. It had to be
impossible. He had been sitting on the terrace taking a little nap.
His eyes had been closed and Charles had been talking to a waitress.
He now realized the waitress had been Jane Bennet. Jane and Charles
had been talking and he had enjoyed the sun, sitting on the cane
chair. Then he must have fallen asleep, because the only thing he
could remember next was the moment he woke up out of a very strange
dream.


`Well,' William thought, `Dreaming is okay. As long as
I'm capable
of dreaming, it's okay.'


There had been a time that he had lived by more than dreams alone
and he was certain that, one day, his fantasies would become reality
again. What was it, what one of the guests had said yesterday?
'Get back on track.' Yeah, he definitely had to get back on
track. If he could just once, once would be enough, get it over
with, he could go on with his life. Elizabeth might have been a good
start. The past few weeks, she had already caused him to dream a lot
more -- more than he had done during the ten months prior – and he
hadn't even known who she actually was for the past few weeks.
She had only been the woman who had created the painting that he
kept in the closet in his private bedroom at Pemberley; almost every
time after he had looked at it, he had this dream about him and a
woman in the wheat field. Sometimes the woman had been Elizabeth,
sometimes another and every once in a while she hadn't had a face
at all. However, it was a vivid dream and it seemed so damn real. A
dream was only dreamt by one person, right? Elizabeth couldn't
possibly …?


Yeah, he really needed to get back on track again and Elizabeth
could have been the one pulling him in. Then again, she smoked, she
belonged to the family his company was working for and most
important, she had very likely no intention left at all to help get
him back on track, especially after his "compliment". She
might have been a nice opportunity and all he had done was push her
away as if the groove that formed his path of life already had been
too crowded for her to join. `Real smart, Will, real smart.'
Get back on track … again, what was the reason he got off track
anyway?


"Damn you, Victoria," he said aloud, shook his head to clear
it and, after closing the little wooden fence to the walled garden,
walked with steps, as huge as his long legs were able to make,
towards the main house. There was work to be done, books to be read
and figures to be examined. Enough things to keep him busy during
the time he spent in this part of the world.



~ * ~ * ~



Also in the habit of rising early, Jane watched the drizzling rain
from the kitchen window. Warming her hands on a warm mug of coffee,
she kept asking herself the famous ancient question, "Does fate
exist?" How huge was the chance of meeting the same person she
had spoken to on Place du Tertre? Not very likely … actually, it
was extremely minute.


She recalled the short time she had spoken with Charles Bingley on
Place du Tertre. How long had it been? Probably no more than 10
minutes and as far as she could remember it had been nothing more
than a common, friendly conversation with one of the customers on
the terrace. But she realized her memory must have been playing
tricks on her. How else could she explain her strange reaction when
she saw the man standing at her desk yesterday?


`His eyes.' Turning from the window towards the kitchen
table, Jane's eyes fell on the cupboard where Kitty's purse
lay and she found her answer. As always, Kitty wasn't the neatest
person. When they had gotten home yesterday evening she had thrown
her purse carelessly on the cupboard. Its contents had partly fallen
out and Jane spotted her sister's sunglasses. `The sun, of
course! I couldn't see his eyes, because he wore sunglasses.'
She
decided it was perhaps for the best that she hadn't seen his eyes
before. `Imagine what would have happened if he had taken off his
sunglasses. Would I have stopped him?' Jane thought about the
moment she had waited on another customer. When she had turned
towards Charles again he had asked her for the tab pretty hastily.
It had appeared as if his friend had wanted to leave as soon as
possible. After they had gone she had asked Elizabeth if she knew
what had happened. Her sister hadn't been able to give her any
answer. To Jane, it didn't matter now anyway. She had met Charles
again and it was both a good as well as a bad thing. Good that she
had made his acquaintance again and bad because he was working for
`Merytayns'. Depending on what Mr. Phillips had in mind, he
could become her superior as well. That did not bode well for the
start of a relationship.


`Whoa, what am I doing? Thinking about a relationship?' Jane
gulped her coffee and coughed simultaneously, almost causing her to
spit it out. Quickly, she put the mug on the dresser and leaning on
both her hands, she shook her head as if to shake loose the very
word `relationship'. The man was nice, he was handsome, he
was extremely friendly, he was a good dancer and she had had a very
nice conversation with him once they had found out they had met
before. They had talked about Paris, about Place du Tertre and some
other places they both had seen, about the beer factory, about her
family, about Meryton, about which music they liked and she could
continue to name the subjects they had discussed. But they had
definitely not mentioned any relationships. Of course not, who would
chat away about relationships during the first, or perhaps second,
conversation anyway?


`Oh my, I'm rambling again.' Jane thought to herself.
`He is friendly, he is polite and he is a business associate.
That's it. Period.' Pouring another mug of coffee, her mind
couldn't
resist adding: `And he's damn cute, of course. If the way a
man is moving while dancing says something about the movements
during other activities… hmm hmm hmm ...'


Mentally cursing herself for such naughty thoughts, she was already
wondering how she should react when she saw him again on Monday. She
decided it was best to be careful and wait to see what would happen.
Perhaps she was nothing more to him than the niece of his client;
only an assistant, like the many others he must have had before on
his former assignments. Yeah, she would also be polite and friendly
and the business associate, period.


"You are not spitting out the coffee, are you?" A voice,
sounding both husky and squeaky, followed by a number of coughs
caused Jane to jump out of her reverie.


"Hey, Lizzy, no, I didn't spit it. It would be a waste. You
look like you definitely need some." Jane reacted when she saw
Elizabeth entering the cozy Bennet kitchen. She was still wearing
the T-shirt she had slept in and judging by the shape her face was
in, wrinkled and all, it didn't look like she had had much rest.


"Oh, yes, please," Elizabeth answered, stroking a hand
through the disordered mess that was her hair and then sighing when
she drew a kitchen chair back to take a seat at the huge, light oak
table. Her feet grew cold on the floor, which was made of very old,
small bricks. They had been used as auxiliary material for the
production process of "cologne pots" and were very rare. The
bricks were two and a half by ten centimetres and wearing the
complete variety of pale blue and brown colors for which the pots
were famous. They had held the pots in position as they hardened in
the heating oven and the stones had been used to harden floors in
farmhouses and the lower levels of stately homes for centuries. The
original ones, there were many fakes to be found on the market, of
course, could still be found in ancient buildings and Mr. Bennet had
been very pleased when he had secured a large number of them to use
in in his house.


Jane gave her sister a mug of coffee and placed the milk pitcher on
the table. "I didn't expect you to wake up early."


"Nor did I," Elizabeth answered, preparing her coffee. "I
woke up and couldn't sleep anymore, so I figured I could get up
anyway. No need to lie in bed and do nothing else but think."


"Thinking about yesterday?" Jane asked, stirring her own
coffee while sitting opposite her sister at the table.


"Yeah. That, too. And Paris."


"I've also been thinking about Paris. Coincidence, huh?"
Jane glanced at her sister.


"I don't know. Funny we met them before. Yes, you could say a
coincidence. I don't know what else to call it. But, frankly
… I don't care."


"Why not?" Jane asked surprised.


"You know I painted William Darcy? Well I didn't know it was
Darcy back then, of course. The second I finished it, and I did it
pretty fast, he jumped out of his chair and bought the painting."


"I remember, yes…we've talked about it. There's a
reason we keep asking why they left so quickly."


"Yesterday, I didn't recognise him at first. I had only
looked at him while he was sitting on the chair with his eyes
closed. And when he came towards me and bought the painting, I
hardly faced him, but only looked at my piece to be sure he was
careful with it. Yesterday, when Mom mentioned Paris, I realized he
was the same man." Elizabeth explained, without realizing she had
painted his eyes brown although she could only remember him sitting
with `closed' ones.


"Yes, yes, same for me. Mom mentioned Paris and then I knew
exactly where I had seen Charles before," Jane interrupted her
sister and rambled. "Before, I knew I had seen him, but I
couldn't find the link. He wore sunglasses at Place du Tertre.
After we both realized we had met before, we had such a nice
conversation."


"I saw you did." Elizabeth replied softly.


"You did not, huh?" Jane recognised her sister's
woebegone expression and added in a friendly voice, "Why not?"


"Oh, Jane, I tried to talk to him. I tried to be polite, really.
But he's no different from the others. I don't know what I did
wrong, but it's clear his opinion of me is set. It's obvious
he felt way too important to talk to me. Haven't you noticed the
way he looked at us the whole evening? It was obvious that nothing
could match his level of sophistication. Everything seemed only
worthy of his scorn."


"Elizabeth, c'mon." Jane tried to stop the tirade.
"He isn't that bad. I heard him speaking with Uncle Phillips.
He was very polite and friendly. He's Charles's business
associate,
did you know? They are co-owners of a huge investment company."


"I don't care what he does for a living. He didn't want
to talk to me and he called me a `chimney'."


Jane, not a smoker herself, couldn't help laughing. "Well, he
is right about that, isn't he?"


"Yeah sure," Elizabeth sighed. "I guess he's right. I
guess everything is right, what they are saying about me, anyway."


"Oh no, Elizabeth. Don't end up with a cynical view of
everything people say to you." Jane faced her sister and stated
firmly, "You know not everybody is right. People only know half,
or
less about what happened and gossip filled in the rest. Only you
know what really happened and why you did the things you did. I'm
not happy about everything, but you're my sister and you'll
stay
my sister, always. I'm glad I have `my' sister back and
not the one you were the past couple of years."


"Thanks, I needed that. What do you mean by the past couple of
years?" Elizabeth asked, genuinely surprised. Why would she have
been different the past year?


"And since I have my own sister back, I don't want her to
change into a sarcastic pile of misery. About the smoking … what
if we agree you're not to smoke in our apartment? I know a few
people who managed to quit by gradually decreasing the number of
places they allowed themselves to smoke. You do want to quit,
don't
you?"


"Yes, I do and okay, I won't smoke in the apartment, but you
haven't answered my question. What did you mean by me being
different the past year?" Elizabeth tried to get the explanation
from Jane. But then her father entered the kitchen and the intimate
conversation between the two sisters stopped.


They talked about their plans to go shopping for curtains and cheap
furniture for their new home. Elizabeth had only taken her personal
possessions when she left her former home and since her soon-to-be-
official ex-husband had the locks changed the week right after she
had left, she didn't have access to her other belongings. Her
lawyer had advised her to arrange an appointment very soon to make a
list of things she wanted to take with her. She still had to make
that appointment and she expected that it would take at least some
weeks before she would actually receive the items. Not that she
wanted much. She was only interested in the things she had brought
with her when she moved from her student-room to Jonathan's house
a few years earlier, as well as a couple of personal gifts. She
wanted a new, fresh start and desired as little as possible to
remind her of her former marriage.


Jane also owned little furniture and therefore it felt like leaving
home for the first time to a student-room for both the women, with
nothing but the childhood bed, a desk, chair and small closet.
Although their parents hadn't wanted them to pay for rent or
share in the household expenses when they had come back, they
hadn't been able to save much money, so they would have to start
simply and cheaply in the apartment they would share together
beginning the next week.


Soon afterwards, their mother entered the kitchen and Mary followed.
Elizabeth went to dress and she, Jane and Mary left the house
shortly afterwards using their mother's Peugeot. The middle
sister had, very surprisingly, asked if she could come along and
Jane, unable to refuse anyone, had agreed. The three talked about
many subjects, but with their younger sister along, Elizabeth
didn't get her answer that Saturday.



~ * ~ * ~



At the same moment the girls left one kitchen, Charles entered
another. It was one of the few rooms of Netherfield cleaned up and
ready to use. Situated in the basement, the kitchen windows were on
the same level with the outside ground and a few stone steps gave
entrance to the adjacent scullery, where a food elevator was still
installed to transport steamy dishes to the upper levels. The
paneled closet doors, with high windows, were painted in a soft,
creamy yellow, matching the exposed wooden beams in the ceiling.
Also matching were the creamy, yellow-painted, long, wooden shelves,
fixed to all the walls, at a twenty-five centimetres distance from
the ceiling. They displayed ancient copper, brass and tin pots and
pitchers, next to original clay pots and `Delfts Blue'
plates. The two-century-old mantle was still unaffected and beneath
it stood a more than 100-year-old iron stove. Originally for wood,
it had been rebuilt for gas after the Second World War. Although the
kitchen appeared unchanged over the past few decades, it had
undergone considerable renovation a few years before. Modern
equipment was installed and because original materials were used for
the closets, walls, floor and dresser, the room looked like the
original, which had been used for many years. The microwave was
cleverly hidden behind a paneled door and so were other appliances.
The granite dresser was original, as was the marble plate where meat
was prepared. William was sitting at the kitchen table reading a
newspaper when Charles entered.


"Morning," Charles cheerfully said. "A newspaper? Where
did you get that?"


"The delivery boy gave it to me," William answered. "It
seemed you had already arranged to have it delivered to this address
and apparently it's common in this area to deliver papers on the
kitchen table."


"Huh?" his friend reacted surprised. "Was the door
unlocked? He just walked in?"


"Yeah, I walked a bit in the garden this morning and after I came
back to the kitchen, I didn't consider it necessary to lock the
back door. He apologised for being late, but hadn't thought it
would be a problem because, can you believe this, he knew we had
been at the party yesterday."


Charles looked surprised.


"The delivery boy wasn't the only visitor though!"
William continued.


"Really?" Charles noticed William had made some coffee and in
search of a cup or mug, he opened the closet doors. "Mrs. White
will love this," he said, referring to the widow who had been his
housekeeper for years.


"Is she coming?" William asked.


"Yeah, next Saturday Caroline will bring her horses and move in
herself. There is no job for Mrs. White left at our former house,
unless the new tenants want to hire her. So she said she preferred
to stay with us, as long as we could offer her a live-in position.
There's plenty of room upstairs. Caroline asked her to take a
look during one of her visits here and Mrs. White agreed. So, enjoy
one of your last lonely times in this kitchen. From next week on
this will be the `White Domain'. We're lucky to have her.
There aren't many live-in staff nowadays."


"I will."


"Now, who else came?"


"A carrier from the local bakery. He said he was on his delivery
round and since he heard Netherfield was rented again, he came down
to ask if he would have to come here every Saturday. He also came
through the back door, with only a slight knock. So much for
privacy."


"Hmm,"Charles replied. "It looks like it's common
over here to simply walk in, using backdoors. I think I've heard
something like it before. I'll ask Jane Monday."


"I told the boy he had to come back next week. I expected you
would have some staff here by then. Coffee mugs are behind the third
door from the left."


"Amazing you found them and were able to make coffee on your
own," Charles teased.


"You won't believe what I'm capable of. It may look like
I've never had to make coffee, because I have live-in staff at
Pemberley, but as you can see, I've been taught to brew it
myself. Turns out to be handy, sometimes."


After Charles joined him at the table, Darcy asked, "Jane works
at `Merytayns' right?"


"Yup, She's so sweet. We had so much fun yesterday evening.
We talked almost the whole evening, once we realized we had already
met in Paris."


"Be careful."


"Will, you always tell me to be careful. No need, believe me."


"She works for `Merytayns' and she's the boss's
niece. I don't want you to ruin your first assignment as a
consultant over a crush for an employee."


"You don't want?" Charles initial reaction was one of
anger. But, as a result of a very long friendship, he knew
William's
words were sometimes bossier than he really intended and he also
understood that his friend only meant well for him … and the
company
for that matter.


After a few moments of silence, while William read the paper and
Charles emptied his first mug of coffee, he realized he ought to be
careful with his new job. Will was right, he shouldn't let his
personal needs interfere with his professional ones. He was annoyed
William had noticed his attraction to the woman so soon. "Am I
that transparent?"


"Yes."


With a big sigh Charles admitted, "Okay, she's a very pretty
woman, but I'll keep my distance, at least as much as I can. She
had already made arrangements for me yesterday morning and perhaps
Mr. Phillips will assign her as my P.A."


"Hmmm."


"Okay, okay, I'll take care." Charles ended the
conversation about
Jane and picked a section of the morning paper. The two men spent
some time together in silence with only the rustle of paper audible.
But as often happens, logical reasoning cannot always dictate
sentiment and Charles found himself not completely focusing on the
news. A movie of a certain pretty, blonde woman kept playing in
front of his eyes.



<b>Chapter 4</b>



<i>glossary :
Het huis van Frederik Hendrik; Dutch for: The house of Frederik
Hendrik
De markt; Dutch for: The Marketplace
</I>



Upon arriving home Elizabeth learned that her presence had been
requested elsewhere for dinner. Slighty tense as a result of the
choice of formal words her mother preferred to use, she composed
instantly after hearing who had issued the invitation.

"Ah, Mother, why didn't you say rightaway it was Charlotte? I
thought Jack had asked me for one of his business dinners. When did
she call?"

"Only half an hour ago. She could have asked you sooner though.
How am I supposed to manage this household if all of you come and go
from the dinner table, whenever it suits you," her mother
replied, wailing every single syllable.

"My dear, I think you are absolutely right," Mr. Bennet said,
deciding to take his share in the conversation, "It does right to
your clear judgement to apportion Charlotte with the largest part of
the blame," and with a voice suddenly warming up, "Lizzy,
Jane, how was your shopping expedition? Did you find something you
like?"

While Jane informed her parents about the secondhand sofa they had
purchased, and, not being in the luxurious position to even think
about superfluities, only a few other necessary items, Elizabeth
called her friend to arrange the dinner meeting.

"Nothing fancy," Charlotte said, when Elizabeth asked which
restaurant her friend would prefer "Just to have a nice chat."

"<I>Het Huis Van Frederik Hendrik</I> opened a few weeks ago. You
know the former post office on the market -- Shall we eat there?"
Elizabeth proposed.

"Perfect, I'll pick you up at 6.30."

"Right, see you then, bye!" And so Elizabeth found herself,
barely one and a half hours later, walking with Charlotte towards
the Meryton centre from their parking spot near the medieval church.
The Town Square, called `De Markt', was situated very close to
the church and three ancient roads converged there. The arteries
could be estimated at least as old as the church, because from
whatever direction, the roads aimed straight towards the ancient
building. Several restaurants were adjacent to the building and when
the weather was cooperative, tables and terrace chairs were put out
on the square to create a place to see and be seen. Due to the
temperature, eating outside wasn't an option. Charlotte and
Elizabeth went inside the latest hot spot of Meryton, the ancient
post office that recently had received a new purpose as a restaurant
where simple, but tasty dishes were served.

After leaving their coats in the corridor, where some plain, ancient-
looking hooks were installed for just that use, they chose a table
in front of one of the tall windows, of which the upper part was
leaded, facing the town-square. The building was 105 years old and
part of it had always served as a post office while the other half
was a residence. The restaurant was situated in the former office
and the interior decorator had built around the original black-and-
white tiled floor, using small, square, black-painted tables and
long, straight curtains which were white from the ceiling down to
where the windows ended where the walls began. At that point, the
curtains became black. Simultaneously the decorator had tried do to
something with a royal battle theme and huge portraits of ancient
war heroes were painted on the walls between the windows.

"What do you think?" Elizabeth asked.

"Hmm, don't know." Charlotte didn't like it, but as
she wasn't knowledgeable enough to analyse why she did or
didn't like it she simply shrugged. "And you?"

"It's the same painter who did half of the restaurants here.
I don't like his work. The portraits are badly done. The faces do
nothing for me. And they're giant, they dominate the room."
Still facing the walls, Elizabeth absentmindedly took the menu from
the table and continued "Honestly, they almost spoil the whole
room. But I like what he has done with the black and white."

"I agree, you hit the nail on the head."

A small party of four entered and was about to take the table next
to Elizabeth and Charlotte, when one of the women turned and noticed
them. With a small shake of her head and a hardly audible cough the
four put the chairs back in place and removed themselves to a table
at the other end of the room. Lowering her lashes, Elizabeth tried
to focus on the menu, fruitlessly ignoring the blush that burned a
slow path from her neck towards her cheeks. Embarrassment mingled
with disappointment formed the knot in her stomach, irrigated with
the juicy sauce of fear, her newfound trepidation that moments like
this would occur. Thus was created a maze of emotions melted
together in plain hurt—hurt and a tiny piece of indignation. How
could they? They weren't entitled to hurt her like this, to shun,
quash and reject her publicly. Noticing the discomfort, reading the
internal struggle on her friend's face, Charlotte raised a
questioning eye to her friend.

"Colleagues of Jonathan."

"This wasn't the first time something like this happened,
right?" Charlotte asked slowly.

"No"

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't let them make you feel disconsolate. You don't
deserve it." She placed her hand on top of Elizabeth's menu,
pushing it flat on the table and forcing her friend to look up.

"I know," Elizabeth said softly and after a few moments in
painful silence continued "But it hurts, you know. <I>noaber</I>
help, my ass. Pastoral, pleasing, picturesque, peace. Yeah right, as
long as you follow the right paths. Don't you dare step
aside." Deliberately using the word for a neighbour from the
ancient, dialect of the east to emphasize the irony, she fiercely,
though in a low voice, spat out every element of her aliteration.

"Do I smell some repressed anger here?" Charlotte asked and
after an interruption to order their meal and drinks, "Why
don't you leave town? Start somewhere new."

"Leave? Never! Would make <I>them</I> feel vindicated. After all,
I did nothing wrong … well that is to say … I didn't
commit any serious crime. But that doesn't matter, does it?
Judgement is so easy. Here we have it. A break up, a divorce, I'm
the bad girl and he is the poor guy. See? Easy as that."

"It was about time for you to spit it all out, right?"
Charlotte asked. "Do you have any regrets?" Elizabeth chose
to look out of the window, without seeing anything that was
happening outside.

"Yes and no." The answer came out in divided pieces between
loaded periods of silence, as if it was the first time Elizabeth had
come to really think about it. Charlotte patiently listened, not
interrupting her friend except to give the waiter the opportunity to
serve the dishes.

"I don't regret that I ended the marriage."<I>That's
for sure.</I>

"I know the way I did it wasn't right. Not really very
proper." <I>Now, that's an understatement.</I>

"But hey, is there a proper way to end a relationship?" <I>Of
course there is. At least if it's true when people say they ended
it with mutual agreement. </I>

"I don't hate Jonathan." <I>That's not true. Yes
it's true. It isn't hate.</I>

"I feel nothing." <I>Meaning, I don't care about his
feelings.</I>

"I think, I ought to feel pity for him, but I don't."
<I>That's true, I don't care a bit he's hurt and that
I'm the reason for it.</I>

"I feel nothing. I don't know what he is saying about
me." <I>Not that I can't imagine it.</I>

"They won't hear anything from me about him, that's for
sure. He's a good man, he really is Charlotte." <I>He always
meant the best for me, that's true. He did what he thought was
best.</I>

"But not for me."

When the hush following this remark lasted longer than the silences
after the other utterances, Charlotte decided to react, "Well, it
says something about who you really are."

"Maybe. Too bad there're so few people who see it. It is such
a damn cliché. Hard times reveal who your true friends are.
Believe me, I've few left."

"Hey, quality first, right? Believe me Lizzy, you might be
<I>topic of the month</I> right now. But in a few weeks time
you'll see, something else will happen and you'll be out of
the
spotlight. I think you're wonderful for not pouring scorn on
Jonathan. It would have been the easiest thing to do and you chose
not to."

"Thank you," Elizabeth responded genuinely pleased. "But
why does it still hurt?"

"Because you feel everybody is condemning you?"

"I guess you're right. I mean, who are they to form an
opinion while knowing so little about us?"

"You said it yourself. `As long as you follow the right
trail.' They pretend they always follow the right path and
nothing proves that they really do as detesting someone who dared
leave it."

"Sometimes, when I go to the supermarket or when I'm on my
bike and see an acquaintance approaching, I brace myself for what is
to come. It doesn't happen often, really. Only a few times, when
a person chooses to look the other way or quickly steers the cart
into another row, but it hurts."

"Right, I imagine. Or at least I try to." After finishing the
remnants of her beef, Charlotte said carefully, "But it isn't
easy to approach a person the first time after something significant
has happened. What words to choose? Which questions to ask and which
not? How to phrase the first line? You aren't making it easier
when you are showing a `hey don't come any nearer'
attitude," and after some time to give Elizabeth the opportunity
to ponder her words, she continued cheerfully: "But, I'm sure
you can't maintain this attitude very long. You're way too
inviting,
friendly and open for that."

Pricking the trout with her fork, playing with her food instead of
eating it and looking at the crayfish adorning the dish, she sensed
a sudden temperature drop. "Speaking of attitude." Elizabeth
nodded towards the entrance where she saw Charles Bingley and
William Darcy entering the restaurant, "Please tell me mine
isn't as repulsive as his."

Charlotte, facing the opposite of the entrance, had to turn around
to see whom her friend was referring to. Immediately she spotted
Charles Bingley, whose friendly eyes rounded the room, clearly
approving of what he saw before he approached the two women and
expressed his wish that they were enjoying their meal. Charlotte
answered affirmatively and faced the other man briefly. Elizabeth
was right. He was tall and it seemed indeed as if he used his height
to look down on everything. His blank expression showed nothing but
a slight condescension. Looking <I>down</I> meant automatically he
was <I>up</I>. Up on his own level where he certainly wasn't
inviting anyone to join. With a small nod she turned back to
Elizabeth. "Don't be afraid, even if you were to spend the
night in a freezer and decided to come out only to sprinkle liquid
nitrogen around, you'd spread more warmth."

Elizabeth chuckled but couldn't resist searching William's
eyes when the men took their seats at the table behind Charlotte:
the same one the other party abandoned a short while ago.
Charles's back almost touched Charlotte's and William sat
opposite his friend, which allowed Elizabeth to watch his face
undetected. Noticing his look at the huge portraits, she was certain
she spotted disapproval and had to admit smilingly to herself she
had found something to agree with him on, even if it was minor. More
feeling than seeing his eyes turning towards hers, instantly and, so
she liked to believe inexplicably, she turned her own towards her
friend.

"Anyway, I guess you're right. I'll try not to see demons
in the supermarket. However, intentions and actually acting upon
them are two different things," she leisurely continued their
initial conversation.

"So tell me," Charlotte said, also back on the same topic
again,"We've only been talking about hurt. It's time for
the positive part. Find anything for your new home today?"

"Ah, yes," Elizabeth replied, immediately brightening up.
"We found a secondhand sofa. Nothing special and really cheap,
but I love it. It has a zillion different shades of green. Char, it
was fun to shop with Jane. It was fun to choose something I really
like. And it was <I>my</I> decision to buy it. Mine alone. Jane even
let me negotiate a bit about the price."

Charlotte, surprised by the sudden flood of words, sensed an
improvement of her friend's mood. "Ah, I wish I could help
you move next week."

"Oh, Char, egocentric me. We've been talking about me and me
alone the whole evening. I'm sorry."

"Don't." Charlotte turned and answered the waiter who
approached the table, "Ah, yes please we would like to see the
dessert card." They perused the menu for the desserts and made
their choices.

"Tell me. How is your work Char," Elizabeth said trying to
avoid the profound glance she felt William Darcy cast at her every
now and then, a glance that caused her to shiver and feel
uncomfortable.

"Well, what shall I say," Charlotte chuckled. "It's
one big role-play and I don't have a textbook. It's all about
improvising."

"Role-play?"

"Yes, I feel I have to perform my play every day." Charlotte
had accepted a job as a professional companion, in the original
meaning of the word. An old and very wealthy lady paid her to
provide friendship and keep her company. When Charlotte was on duty
she lived in the servant appartment, adjacent to the main house. She
had to serve the old lady breakfast, spend some time chatting with
her about the morning paper, take her to the hairdresser, read
through the television guide to plan which programs to watch
together in the evening, avoid letting her drink too much booze,
prepare dainty dishes and <I>fake</I>, that word hadn't been used
in the originial job descripion of course, friendship.

"She's old money, you know."

Elizabeth nodded, not knowing old money herself, but familiar with
the expression.

"She's pretty small, but she sits in her room straight like a
statue, dominating her whole surroundings. She acts as if she never
gets no for an answer, which perhaps she actually really never
does," and showing her mirth between bites of her excellent
chocolate mousse Charlotte chuckled, "Except from me, when I
refuse to give her another glass of Port."

After a few moments of silence where the women enjoyed their dessert
Charlotte continued "Do you know the <I>Van den Bild De
Bourgh</I>?"

Elizabeth answered affirmatively telling Charlotte briefly about the
times she had visited the famous Rotterdam artmuseum with the huge
<I>Potter</I> collection.

"The De Bourgh family founded the museum in cooperation with the
rich Van den Bilds. I don't know if they own part of it, but Lady
Catherine likes to believe it's hers and hers alone."

"Are you allowed to call her Lady Catherine?"

"I mostly call her ma'am. She likes it. I think she had been
called `my lady' or `madam' her entire life. Nobody
dared call her anything else. Nobody dared contradict her either."

"Which has made her believe she is always right?"

"Oh yes. She is always right. She always has to say something
about everything and everybody and her opinion is always correct."

"You never disagree with her?"

"No. That's when the role-playing starts. I pretend I always
agree. She has been treated thusly her entire life. Who am I to
change that?"

"Must be difficult." Elizabeth tried to imagine how it would
be not to be able to defend one's opinion. This fantasy
wasn't very difficult to achieve, having adapted her own opinion
to that of another too often these past few years. <I>Did I?</I>

"That's why it's so difficult to find and keep good
personnel. That, and because she always makes you feel you are
beneath her."

"Really?" Elizabeth was surprised to hear the casual tone
Charlotte used.

"Oh yes. I can't tell you precisely how she does it. But she
uses those small words and looks and moves her hand in a certain way
to dismiss you." Enjoying their coffee Charlotte remained talking
about the grand old lady. About the huge house, the gardens, the
employees who had to take care of all the property, the daughter who
called on her mother twice or perhaps three times a year. No,
calling on wasn't the right term. No one just called on the lady.
Those who were allowed could pay her a carefully organised and
planned visitation. Not that there were many people dying to chat in
the unduly decorated room. Elizabeth heard about the illness the
lady was suffering from and the decision Charlotte had to make.
Staying with Lady De Bourgh till her death meant increasingly acting
as a nurse. Leaving her would mean she had to search for another old
lady in want of a companion.

"You really talk about this as a business decision, don't
you?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes, of course. It's my job and if I want to stay in this
field I've to look into the future. I expect the lady will live
another year, perhaps two. Staying till the end will mean I've to
wash her, to nurse her, to feed her, to comfort her, etcetera.
I'm not really accustomed to doing that but I might learn.
She's cancer and doesn't want to use any medication, perhaps
some
painkillers in the future, no more. But, on the other hand, if I
stay with her it will show my faithfulness. It will look good on my
résumé."

"Wow, Char you make it sound like an investment, like a business
proposition."

"Like I said, it's my job. It's not like I care for her,
or so. I do my job, she pays me."

"You're very practical. I should almost say pragmatic,"
Elizabeth concluded.

It was warm inside the restaurant. They had finished their dinner
and were not inclined to go home yet. Elizabeth proposed that they
walk a little. It wasn't raining and, though too cold for eating
outside, the temperature was nice enough for a enjoyable stroll. The
minute they`d paid the tab and rose to collect their coats both
of the gentlemen at the table behind Charlotte did the same.
Together they crowded the small corridor.

Darcy noted the chocolate brown pants hugged her bottom perfectly.
His gaze traveled from her casual ankle high boots with low heels up
to her brown hair, which hung loosely on her shoulders, lingering
extra long on her nicely shaped derrière.

She thought he was overdressed. The restaurant wasn't very chic
and most of the guests were casually dressed. William Darcy was the
only one attired in an expensive suit. It certainly didn't cause
him to remain inconspicuous between other visitors, rather serving
to make him look like the only `Hugo Boss' advertisement in a
Jeans Magazine.

"May I help you?" Charles offered and took Charlotte's
coat to help her in, leaving William, gentleman that he was, no
option but to help Elizabeth into hers. She thanked him politely and
heard Charles asking where they could find the famous area of
Meryton where the canal, the rampart and the ancient cannon could be
seen. Charlotte glanced at Elizabeth and replied they had just
agreed to take a stroll and that it would be their pleasure if the
gentlemen accompanied them.

"Of course, we're happy to show you around. It's a lovely
sight and very nicely lit." Charlotte said, stepping outside with
Charles at her side and claiming his attention with engrossing tales
about the city and its history.

The other couple remained silent. She, not willing to start, waited
for him to phrase an opening line. He, not willing to start either,
remained silent. She, not used to saying nothing at all, started to
feel uncomfortable. He, enjoying the silence he rarely received in
company, kept his mouth locked. She, uncomfortable enough not to
endure this silence any longer, decided to abandon her initial
intention and said: "I hope you enjoyed your meal."

"I did."

"But?"

"But what?" he asked surprised.

"`I did', is way too short an answer. You didn't like it
very much, did you?"

"What makes you think so?" After adjusting his long steps to
Elizabeth's shorter ones he turned his head slightly, so he could
see her. The day before, at the party, he had already noticed that
she possessed a pleasingly light figure and that she danced with
grace and elegance. While helping her to don her trench coat, he had
smelled her sweet hair and admired silently the short curly locks
and the long tresses she held aside at the back of her neck. And now
he witnessed how her face could change from emotionless to
seriousness to a frolicsome question mark. Unbeknownst to him, she
had decided to act a little boldly in order to have a conversation
with this man at all and he automatically answered her emotion when
a smile adorned his face, emphasizing its natural beauty.

"It's the way you say it. The intonation you used when you
said `it was'," Elizabeth answered. "Words may form
the phrase, but the tone provides the meaning."

"C'est le ton qui fait la musique," William replied.

"Wow, what a long answer that was."

"Does that imply that a short answer cannot receive your
approval?"

"What makes you think so?" she bounced back.

"It was the tone in which you said it," he playfully
answered, giving her her own answer back.

"Well it is a French saying. I guess, I don't have to expect
other long answers from you…unless you are repeating mine."

"I disagree with you on disapproving of a short answer."

"I never said I disapproved of short answers!" Elizabeth
objected. "I was surprised to hear such a long answer from you,
that's all."

"Why should you be surprised?"

"Why do you think? Why should I be surprised?"

"Do you always answer a question with another question?"

"You only give me short anwers. I've never heard you uttering
a long one, except the French translation of my own answer."

"Right."

"See what I mean?" Thinking to herself that this was
absolutely the most unusual conversation she had ever had with a
relative stranger about strange questions and answers, she pained
herself to find a way to end it. "Well, did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Enjoy your dinner?"

"Yes, I did. It wasn't top-notch of course."

"No it was not. I agree. It's a new restaurant, opened a few
weeks ago. You didn't like the paintings did you?"

"What made you think so?"

She felt the urge to stamp her feet, annoyed by his short answers,
which constantly forced her to draw longer ones out of him. On the
one hand they discouraged her from asking other things, on the other
hand she sensed a challenge. She felt he did it on purpose, he was
deliberately fencing himself off. How was it again, the way to have
a decent conversation? Right… You ask open questions and you look
at each other while answering them. You use a friendly tone in your
questions and answers and you show your interest in the other. Why
on earth should this man act the way he did? She had tried to start
a polite conversation, how many times now? Then her mind wandered
back to the sunny afternoon on Place du Tertre, looking at his face,
his blank non-emotional face. She had found him a puzzle and she
liked puzzles. He had had a beautiful face of course and it still
was a beautiful face. The man was an enigma. But why did she dislike
him so much? Of course, she had almost forgotten -- she wasn't
good enough. Meryton wasn't good enough. Nothing was good enough.

"Yes, you were right. I don't consider those paintings to be
extremely beautiful." His warm voice woke her out of her reverie.
Again he had managed to confuse her, this time by actually saying
something without her asking a question. But his warm voice
couldn't change her opinion. Of course he didn't consider
them to be beautiful. She started to wonder if there was anything at
all which he might consider beauteous. Following Charlotte and
Charles at an easy pace, not trying to follow their conversation,
Elizabeth looked at the ground where he and she placed both their
feet and noticed his very fine leather shoes.

"Charlotte!" the others were a little ahead and had chosen
the lower path along the canal side when Elizabeth called. "I
think we might better take the upper path." Her friend nodded and
turned to follow the other two. "There's mud down there, this
path has cobblestones," she said pointing at his footwear.

"That's very kind of you." Walking next to each other
again, after having climbed a few stone steps during which, she
noticed, he had stayed behind her, his right hand slightly raised
with care, ready to catch her should she stumble, he expressed a
desire to learn how she made her discovery about his
preferences. "How did you know I didn't like the
portraits?"

"I saw you looking at them on entering the room."

"You surprise me."

That answer only raised another question, expressed by a slight
raise of Elizabeth's brow.

"<i>C'est le ton qui fait la musique</i>. Did you know words
aren't as important as many people like to believe?" Elizabeth
didn't answer, having discovered that it was probably the best
option for getting him in a talkative mood. "Sixty to eighty
percent of the impression we have of someone else is based on non-
verbal communication and their signals have five times the strength
of verbal ones." Although she hadn't been aware of the exact
numbers before, she knew the importance and "volume" of
silence. Wondering where his declaration was leading, she raised her
head slowly towards his and faced him with another questioning
movement of her brow. He answered her unspoken question "We show
our feelings seven percent in words, thirty-eight percent in the
tone and fifty-five percent in the expression of our face."

After they had walked towards the old cannon, proudly standing on a
stone platform, still defending the beleaguered city from its
attackers and had listened to Charlotte's explanation about its
age and history, Elizabeth and William followed their way to the
other side of the wall. "I still don't have an answer as to
why you are surprised I knew you didn't like the paintings in the
restaurant," Elizabeth asked.

"Conversation is part of my job when making business deals.
Showing too much emotion can be dangerous. I was surprised you saw
it, that's all."

"Dangerous?" She was utterly surprised.

"Being an open book, like you, might be inviting at first, but in
business … it won't take you very far."

They descended the stairs on the other side of the wall and, on
nearing the place where Charles had parked his car, goodbyes were
said. His "thank you, it was a pleasure," was only answered
by a slight nod from her and when the men drove away, the women
walked together, arms hooked, towards the church.

How could he criticise her demeanor? She had always been an open and
inviting person. Hadn't Charlotte said so only an hour ago?
Normally, people liked her, liked to talk with her. She always had a
topic to talk about, was always ready for a nice chat. She could
smile, she could laugh, she could flirt, she could wink, and she
could send Jane complete messages across the loud Bennet dinner
table without uttering one word. It was one of her better traits and
he had managed to turn it around into a drawback, a disadvantage.
What did he mean, he was surprised? Surprised she had sensed his
disapproval? An open book? <I>Look in the mirror, man and you'll
see an open book. The book called, `How to scare the world of in
7 days', no make that `7 hours'.</I>

Chapter 5

"In 1615, a certain William bought a house in the center 
of Meryton, where he started to brew beer. They brewed 
the beer in the same house for more than two centuries 
till a new factory, just outside the canals encircling 
Meryton, was opened in 1876. William's daughter, 
Janechen, married Peter Kuipson, a descendant from a 
family of keg makers … as you can see by his name, as 
'Kuip' is the ancient name for keg. It appeared he was 
more interested in the content than making the container. 
In 1676, Peter was appointed Guild Master of all the 
brewers in Meryton. We still have this original document 
and are very proud we've been able to save it all those 
centuries." Jane and Charles stood in the middle of the 
huge vault, looking at a document, carefully sealed in a 
plastic cover, signed by the Guild Master himself. 


Mr. Phillips had appointed Jane as Charles's assistant 
and one of her tasks was to show him around and tell him 
as much as she could about the history of the brewery. On 
Charles's first day, she had handed him some nicely 
illustrated books about 'Merytayns', but he stated he 
preferred to see everything instead reading about it. 
"How much time do you have?" she'd asked, her eyes 
twinkling with joy, eager to tell the story, showing the 
pride she felt for the company that had belonged to her 
family for centuries. "As much as you think we need," 
Charles answered, and Jane, who already had access to his 
digital agenda, reserved some time on subsequent 
afternoons. 


On Tuesday, she showed him the vault – not that the room 
itself was very special, but the contents were certainly 
worth a close examination. Carefully, Jane opened drawer 
after drawer showing Charles documents and original 
cashbooks. At the back of the vault, a folding table with 
a chair was attached to the wall. With great attention, 
Jane gently laid down a thick register. Charles politely 
drew back the chair, allowing Jane to sit while she 
browsed the stiff pages. He leaned over her, his hand 
resting on the back of the chair, unconsciously inhaling, 
next to the stale air of the rarely opened vault, the 
delicate scent of both her hair and perfume. A simple 
bulb emphasized the impersonal, almost clinical 
atmosphere, producing a profuse amount of white light. It 
seemed his thumb wanted to fight the cold ambiance on its 
own, abandoning the other fingers, slipping slowly over 
the edge to touch Jane's back. 


Jane, ignoring the sudden, temperature rise caused by his 
unexpected touch, found the page she wanted. "Here it is. 
Peter Kuipson died in 1684 and his son Herman succeeded 
him. In 1734, his son Gerard inherited the brewery. 
Gerard was the leading party in an agreement about the 
wage brewing. Look, here is the original contract," she 
said, pointing to the top where Charles saw some figures. 
"Wage brewing was merely done at the expense of farmers, 
who ordered the factory to brew beer out of their own 
cultivated barley. Competition was fierce and the brewers 
considered it necessary to fix a price of 0,75 Dutch 
Florins for approximately 500 liters," Jane added. She 
turned another page and told Charles about the capital 
expenditures in wortboilers (1), which increased the 
brewing capacity. 


"There's something else…." 


Suddenly, Jane, intending to get another book, pushed the 
chair back. Her abrupt movement caused her to bump 
against Charles, lifting the chair a little, its leg 
coming down on his foot. 


"Oh, sorry." Quickly she removed the chair, almost 
dropping the heavy book. Simultaneously trying to catch 
it, their arms shot out touching each other again. "Got 
it," Jane said, hoping her voice sounded as light and 
casual as she wanted it to be. Inhaling deeply, she 
carefully turned and put the book back in the iron 
closet. She opened another drawer and chose a huge 
leather-bounded specimen. 


Clasping his hands behind his back to avoid touching any 
other off-limits territory, Charles watched as Jane 
searched for something she clearly wanted him to see.


"Look. In 1812, a certain Peter Harpers owned the 
factory. The change of name was due to a Kuipson who only 
had daughters somewhere in the century before. Peter was 
in the same position, having two daughters and no sons at 
all. His eldest daughter, Marianne married Gerard Bennet 
who inherited 'Merytayns'. It was the first time the name 
Bennet was connected with the brewery." Jane showed 
Charles the document proving the transfer of ownership to 
Mr. G.P.B. Bennet. 


"Are you a lineal descendant of Gerard Bennet?" Charles 
asked. Jane nodded and Charles's gaze shifted from her 
face to the closet with the well-kept ledgers and books. 
"Then, this is not only the brewery's history but your 
personal background as well," he softly added. "Almost 
two centuries the name Bennet linked to one factory. It's 
amazing."


"You can say that again." Jane fingered the paper softly. 
"However, nowadays only the name is attached."


"Your father used to manage as well?" 


"Yes he did, but not anymore. He still owns quite a bit 
of stock, though." Jane closed the book, and while 
Charles held the closet door, she put it away, debating 
what she could tell him and what should remain private. 
Although Jane had a strong feeling Charles was 
trustworthy, she realized she could not enlighten him on 
everything, partly because she didn't know all the 
details behind why her father and his brother-in-law, Mr. 
Phillips, had a huge disagreement. It had been a large 
enough argument for her father to step back and part with 
daily management. She assumed it to be – as she believed 
it is often the case with disagreements – one big 
misunderstanding. The other reason she was reticent to 
tell this part of 'Merytayns' history was the way her 
mother had raised her: never wash one's dirty linen in 
public. Apparently, her father had signed an agreement 
with his brother-in-law. He retained his stock, but could 
sell them only to a member of the family. They didn't 
bring in much annual income and since Mr. Bennet, by 
stepping back, also lost his wages as general manager, 
the family had little money to spend. Every euro Mr. 
Bennet earned from teaching business economics at a trade 
school was needed to maintain the family property and the 
family pride. The property consisted of a few hectares of 
land complete with a very nice house. The pride mostly 
residing in Mrs. Bennet, who refused to believe she had 
lost the position of the wife of an important 
businessman, a woman who needed to see and be seen 
everywhere.


"Mr. Phillips is also a relative, right? What about his 
brother?" Charles remembered he was introduced to two 
Phillipses the Friday before and, having seen the other 
name on some documents as well, he was curious to know 
more about the family.


"Ah, yes. Well that's another part of 'Merytayns' 
history," Jane answered. "I assume you know by now we 
also have another factory in Breevoort. We produce the 
export beer over there."


"Yes, I've seen something about it in your annual 
report." Charles rested comfortably against the wall, 
blocking the exit and showing every intention of taking 
his time. For a reason Jane pretended not to acknowledge; 
she didn't want to look in his bright, turquoise eyes and 
looked for something with which to occupy herself. She 
remembered a box of original photographs and turned to 
open another closet to fetch it.


"At the end of the 19th century, some gentlemen came to 
'Merytayns' with a business proposition," she said, 
opening the box and picking a brown-colored photo that 
showed a number of people in front of a factory. "They 
asked if the Bennet family wanted to invest money in 
their brewery called 'Klock'. Those gentlemen where Theo 
and Marcus Phillips. They were in huge financial trouble 
and in search of an investor. After long negotiations 
'Merytayns' spent money, but not as a loan. The Bennets 
bought the entire factory offering the Phillips' brothers 
jobs as managers. The two families remained close." Jane 
took another picture and pointed at two heavy gentleman 
wearing expensive suits, smoking fat cigars, standing a 
little in front of the other employees. Charles came 
close to take a good look, taking advantage of the 
opportunity to inhale her scent again.


"The closeness of the two families reached its peak about 
25 years ago, when my mother's sister married Mr. George 
Phillips, who manages the Breevoort part of 'Merytayns' 
and my father's sister married Mr. Mark Phillips, who is 
my boss, as you know." Jane stored the photograph and 
while her face showed no change of emotion, her voice 
revealed more by dropping down in volume and clarity when 
she said, "Perhaps it was the closeness of all the in-
laws that made my father decide to leave the factory."


She spoke so softly that Charles almost couldn't hear 
her. Automatically, he bent forward, causing him to touch 
her. "Sorry," he said, leaving to Jane to decide whether 
he was sorry for her father, or for his touch. Feeling he 
had spent enough time with a beautiful woman in a small 
space, he cheerfully added, "I think I've had enough 
history for now. Let's return to today. Would you please 
show me where the famous beer is made?"


"Of course," Jane said and after making sure everything 
she had touched was returned to the right place, she 
closed the vault carefully and asked Charles to follow 
her to the malt house.


~ * ~ * ~


The next day Jane showed Charles the other 'Merytayns' 
factory in Breevoort where the export beer was brewed. 
During the 45-minute drive she told him about the color 
of the bottles. 'Merytayns' destined for the European 
market was bottled in brown bottles, because dark glass 
best protects beer's taste from the damaging effects of 
light. However, for some reason, when 'Merytayns' started 
exporting, beer in brown bottles sold poorly overseas and 
therefore export-beer was bottled in green glass. There 
were both brown and green flip-top and crown cap bottles 
and both factories produced those two bottle lines. 


During the ride, Jane pointed at a huge lake. "Look. 
They're already working on the obstacles for the Military 
next week."


"Ah, yes I know. Caroline will be going," Charles 
answered. They were referring to the 'Boekelo Military', 
a famous horse event, scheduled for the next week. An 
international three-day event competition, the Military 
comprised three phases: dressage, speed and endurance, 
and show jumping on three consecutive days. It was a 
three-star event; only advanced horses and riders of 
international level would compete. 


"Do you mean Caroline will ride?" Jane asked surprised.


"Oh, no," Charles said smiling. "She goes to many of 
those events to meet other horse breeders. I'm not sure 
which day she'll go, probably Sunday for the show 
jumping. That's the best day to meet acquaintances."


"We always go on Saturday," Jane said.


"We?" Charles asked, trying to find out whether the other 
half of we was male or not.


"Yes, Elizabeth and I," Jane answered. " 'Merytayns' is 
one of the main sponsors, so we have plenty of tickets. 
Our Event Team will be there, of course, and as we're not 
only selling beer and supplying the bars, but sponsoring 
as well, our Promotion Team will be present." She 
explained to Charles that the Event Team consisted of 
employees whose full-time job was to build temporary bars 
and cafés at events such as huge sports championships, 
outdoor gatherings and parties held in places where no 
built-in bars were available. They had to take care of 
the equipment, quality and quantity of the beer and other 
beer-related necessities like carbon cylinders, towels, 
beer mats, skimmers, etc. Normally the organizer of the 
event took care of the staff and the rest of the 
catering. 'Merytayns' sponsored events like this one in 
Boekelo, with money and by placing beer stalls for free, 
as well as tables, chairs, stools, ashtrays, and 
'Merytayns' logo-embroidered clothes and aprons, 
everywhere on the grounds. This worked both ways, of 
course, because the more stalls, the more beer sold. 
'Merytayns' was also clearly visible, increasing its 
product recognition. 


"Mr. Phillips gave me tickets for the VIP lounge on both 
Saturday and Sunday. You know, in order to meet business 
relations, make new acquaintances and so on. I've been 
told the view from the show jump track is marvelous. 
Would you care to join me?" Charles tried to phrase the 
question as casually as he could. Although their 
acquaintance had been of short duration, he was convinced 
that his first appearance in public as representative of 
'Merytayns' would pass much more agreeably if Jane was 
around. He was not so certain of her answer and to his 
own surprise he dreaded it, feared hearing her say "No, 
thank you." Not immediately receiving the relief he 
wanted, reading the struggle of doubt on her face, he 
tried to focus on the road. 


Jane looked outside. They had already passed the 
surroundings where the event would take place, but her 
mind was still situated between the huge wooden obstacles 
where horse power would dominate next week. He wanted her 
to join him in the VIP lounge. Why? His sister was going, 
why wouldn't she join him? They lived the same house so 
Jane assumed that they were very close, otherwise why 
share a house at their age. It wasn't as if they had to 
double up their first independent living arrangements in 
order to save money. On the other hand, perhaps they did 
-- what did she know about his sister or about him, for 
that matter? She was going to share her next apartment 
with her sister, but only because they loved each other 
dearly. Jane felt that not only were they sisters but 
very close friends as well, and she assumed Elizabeth 
felt the same. Actually, she not only assumed but was 
also very certain about it. Smilingly, she had to think 
about her sisters. 'Okay, I imagine I could manage Mary 
or Kitty sharing my house, and perhaps even with Lydia -- 
not all of them together, of course. How did father and 
mother endure all five of us? I could, but Lizzy would 
certainly go mad every single day under the same roof as 
Lydia without a calming father near.' She couldn't 
imagine how it would be for a sister and a brother, not 
having those male relations herself. 


A soft cough coming from the direction of her companion 
as he tried to pay attention to the road brought her back 
to the question at hand. Apparently, his sister wouldn't 
be joining him and he asked her instead. She reasoned it 
was best to politely decline the offer. He was her 
colleague and she should maintain some distance. Even if 
she was to treat him indifferently, others might assume 
there was more than ... well, than there was. 
Instinctively, she knew accompanying him was actually 
what she most wanted. Not a person to pander to all of 
her own whims, not sure that she could compare this 
feeling to a passing fancy, she tried finding clear 
motives to justify an affirmative answer. The view was 
indeed superb from his suggested vantage point – she 
would certainly be able to closely follow the complete 
show jumping competition on Sunday.  The VIP lounge was 
warm, comfortable, dry and the seats were cushy, food and 
drinks were free and she loved hot chocolate, especially 
after a long walk across the endurance track. At least 
that was what she remembered, not having been inside the 
VIP lounge herself other than as a bartender when she was 
younger, making some money for the holidays. She recalled 
several businessmen hanging out at her bar the whole 
afternoon, while the women tried to follow the 
competition. Again she found herself wondering why 
Charles Bingley wanted to have her along. 


"Well?" She heard him saying. A tiny word, containing as 
many questioning feelings as four characters could 
possibly hold and Jane recognized it.


"Oh, sorry … that I didn't answer immediately," she 
quickly said. "It's just … you surprised me. Why would 
someone like you ask me to accompany you? I assume it's 
your job to attend those gatherings and that you're used 
to it."


Reacting spontaneously and impulsively, as was typical 
for him, Charles answered, "Yes, I go often to those 
assemblies and I've discovered I'm much more at ease with 
a beautiful and very nice lady next to me."  


A more cynical mind than Jane's could ever become, would 
interpret this remark to mean that he was accustomed to 
always taking beautiful women wherever he was going and 
that Jane would merely be the next number in a very long 
line. However, the object of his current desire could 
only hear the huge compliment formulated in his 
clarification; he found her beautiful and needed her in 
order to be at ease in company. Repeating his words 
inaudibly, her cheeks slowly colored a nice shade of red. 
"Well …. er …. you're flattering me." She heard herself 
stammering.


"I mean it. I would like it very much if you could come. 
To be honest, I don't go to this kind of horse event very 
often and I'm sure you can tell me a lot about this one, 
since 'Merytayns' has sponsored it for many years," 
Charles explained.


Believing he meant every word he said Jane truly wanted 
to say yes --but she couldn't. "I'd love to, but I have 
to ask my sister first. We always go together on Saturday 
and I won't pass over her."


Admiring her loyalty, but not able to hide his 
disappointment completely, Charles's hastily said "I 
understand" was quickly followed by, "Sunday is a deal 
then?"


Jane could not help but laugh softly at his persistence. 
"Deal," she smilingly said as they reached the part of 
Breevoort where 'Merytayns' second factory was situated.


Charles took his time and visited the Breevoort factory 
thoroughly. They examined all the production departments 
as well as every office. Since Jane had no other 
business, she followed him wherever he went. After a 
lively conversation with Mr. Phillips about, among other 
things, the way the Breevoort factory was managed, they 
returned to Meryton. Jane saw she was too late to make it 
home for her family's dinner and Charles was happy to 
have an excuse to ask her to dine with him. They had a 
pleasant time discussing every subject that could 
possibly come up during a last-minute dinner date with 
two easy-going people.


~ * ~ * ~


On Thursday afternoon, Jane showed Charles around the PR 
Department. She told him about 'Merytayns's' 
advertisement strategies, including the advertising 
campaign called "Craftsmanship is Mastership" which had 
run 30 years in a row, making  'Merytayns' famous 
nationally and internationally.


Friday afternoon Jane confided in Charles the huge 
secret: 'Merytayns' would be launching a new strategy in 
the coming year. Four new flavors of beer where being 
developed – one for each season. The first one would be 
on the market not this winter, but the one after. It 
would be a very strong and dark beer for the cold winter 
days and nights. Many people were working on this project 
to ensure it was a perfect operation in which every piece 
would fall in its place. Not only was the taste of the 
new brew still under construction, so was the promotion 
concept. Elizabeth was an important link in the secret, 
being that she was the designer of the four main themes 
for the respective beers. Her paintings would form the 
foundation for every single promotional article 
representing each beer. Jane decided it would be okay to 
show Charles the paintings; and she had another reason to 
visit her sister. She knew Elizabeth had been informed 
about the concept's delay today. Originally the seasonal 
beers were to have been launched in the coming year. A 
few weeks ago it became apparent that the deadline was 
unreachable and management was advised to wait at least 
half a year. This Friday after a long meeting the final 
decision fell: an entire year's delay. 


Elizabeth was working in the back room when Jane and 
Charles entered the studio. Jack, having no doubt Jane 
would only show the paintings to trustworthy people, 
nodded his head in the direction where they could find 
his employee. Charles, never having been introduced 
properly to Jack before, shook hands and immediately 
engaged him in a lively conversation. Despite having 
joined Charles in several meetings over the preceding 
week, and witnessing him in action, Jane found herself 
again pleasantly surprised by his frankness and admired 
his ease.


Her sister's attention was caught by an unknown male 
voice as she entered the front office. Her eyes instantly 
conveyed that  she did not share Jack's confidence in her 
sister's judgment. Jane understood Elizabeth and felt 
compelled to explain "Hey Lizzy, Charles would like to 
see your paintings and since he signed the pledge of 
company confidentiality, I figured it would be okay."


Elizabeth answered with a shrug. She didn't like to show 
unfinished works but wouldn't admit it, seeing both 
Jane's and Charles's expectant faces. "I was just working 
on one. Come," she said and turned to go ahead. 


"I guess you had a phone call today?" Jane asked 
cautiously.


"Yup, PR called me. An entire year delay," Elizabeth said 
as she held the door giving Jane and Charles the 
opportunity to enter. 


"The roll-out you mean?" Charles asked. "I heard about 
the postponement this morning. Do you know what the 
reason for it is?" He directed the last question to Jane. 


"Hasn't Jane told you about 'Merytayns' most important 
ingredient?" Elizabeth answered in her sister's stead,  
and seeing Charles questioning expression she added, 
"'Merytayns', which is actually lager, is brewed 
according to the Reinheitsgebot, the German Purity Law, 
using no other ingredients than malted barley, hops and 
water. Here in Meryton we add another vital ingredient – 
time." 

Elizabeth knew the facts by heart, not only because she 
had often joined the conducted tours 'Merytayns' 
organized several times a year for tourists, but also 
because she had, just like her sister, the same pride in 
her family's heritage as brewers. 'Merytayns' was not 
only beer, it was the effort generation after generation 
of Bennet descendants had put in their factory. 


"She's right," Jane added. " 'Merytayns' needs time to 
develop. Quality has been top priority for ages and is 
still a crucial part of every important business 
decision."


"Do you think quality is the reason for the 
postponement?" Elizabeth asked her sister.


"I guess Uncle Mark needs to be sure everything is 
perfect before he dares to try something new," Jane said.


"I'm not sure if I like this," Elizabeth replied. "I 
prefer to work towards a close deadline; I need the 
pressure. Now, I have more time but I'm not sure that's 
best for my paintings. At some point I simply must stop 
altering and adding."


"A year is quite a long time." Charles went towards the 
four easels. "Darcy would love these." Slowly he walked 
from one easel to another taking a good look at every 
season Elizabeth had started to paint. "You work on all 
four of them simultaneously?"


"Yes and no. It depends on my mood. Sometimes I work days 
in a row on one painting and sometimes when I've prepared 
a nice color I use it on two, three or all four. I think 
it's better to work simultaneously because they belong 
together. Since they are  a set they mustn't vary too 
much," Elizabeth explained.


"They're similar to the painting William bought in 
Paris," Charles said. "The style that is."


Elizabeth asked, "Does he still have the painting? It was 
wet when he bought it. I hope he managed to get it home 
intact."


She didn't get an answer immediately as Charles felt his 
cell phone vibrating in his pants. "Well, that's timing. 
You can ask William himself," he said, looking at the 
little screen. "Hi, William. Yes. Where are you? In 
Meryton? Oh, right, I forgot -- you had that meeting up 
north today. Of course you're gonna stay. No, Caroline 
hasn't arrived yet. By the way, I have something you must 
see. I'm sure you'll like this…." Ignoring, or perhaps 
not at all noticing the alarm in both Jane's and 
Elizabeth's eyes, he explained to his friend how to drive 
to the studio. After he hung up, Jane expressed their 
worries.  However, he convinced them that they needn't be 
concerned about William Darcy. He understood the 
paintings, the whole project in fact, were strictly 
confidential. He resolutely defended his friend's honor: 
"If anyone is able to keep a secret, it's William. 
Besides, he's working closely with me on this assignment, 
so he knows this is not something to be made public."  


They were interrupted when Jack entered the room. 
"Elizabeth, there's someone here to see you," he said. 
Although he was surprised, when he learned that Mr. Darcy 
had come to see the paintings, he steered said gentleman 
directly to the backroom. Jack's demeanor carefully hid 
the surprise and any concern he might have in the sudden 
interest in an order 'Merytayns' placed months ago, 
especially today, after the announced postponement.


Elizabeth didn't say much and tried to stay in the 
background after William entered the room. She was 
surprised to realize that she was curious to know what he 
might say about them. For some inexplicable reason his 
opinion mattered to her. Trying to read his face she 
didn't pay attention to Charles, who was explaining the 
purpose of the paintings and therefore she missed the 
information shared between the two men. Upon hearing of 
the postponement, William shot his friend a meaningful 
look, signaling wordlessly that he considered money to be 
the real reason – a lack of money. 


Having missed the silent interchange between William and 
Charles, it was with relief that Elizabeth observed his 
expression when he examined her work on the easels. It 
developed from aloof indifference to a subtle joy. His 
mouth turned into a smile, very small, but a smile all 
the same, and his eyes shone with a certain glow as his 
glance shifted from one 'season' to another, ending his 
perusal on Elizabeth's face. As she finally put the 
brushes she had been holding since Jane and Charles came 
in down on a nearby work bench, she saw him move his hand 
to his neck, where he apparently had to scratch an itchy 
spot. No words were exchanged but they weren't necessary; 
he liked them and she knew it. 


'Being an open book can be dangerous.' The same words he 
used almost a week ago crept into her consciousness all 
at once as she read the emotions beaming off his 
countenance right into hers. 'Dangerous…' After examining 
her creations herself, she turned back to him. 'I didn't 
know I had this kind of power.' 


The moment appeared to be as short as it was intense. 
William suddenly turned and his face became indifferent 
again when Charles declared, "Hey, it's almost dinner 
time. What shall we do? Would you ladies care to join us? 
It would be our pleasure to dine with the two of you." 
Jane declined, explaining that this was to be their last 
evening at home; they would be moving out the next 
morning. They knew their mother would like them to eat at 
home. Disappointed, but ever cheerful, Charles suggested 
that he and Jane return to the factory where she had left 
her bike and agreed with William to meet him in half an 
hour at the restaurant on the marketplace. After this 
plan was accepted by all, Elizabeth said her good-byes 
and fixed her attention on the paintings again, not 
thinking it necessary to escort them to the front door. 
Much to her surprise she saw William didn't leave 
immediately. He kept looking at 'Spring'.


"What is that?" he asked in a polite tone, pointing to 
some green spots. 


"As you can see, it's a clear mountain stream, the purity 
of the water emphasizing the natural ingredients used to 
brew 'Merytayns'," Elizabeth calmly explained. "What 
you're pointing at are two leaves. They happened to have 
fallen into the water."


"I see." William looked at Elizabeth briefly, said 
goodbye and left the studio. The scent of paint, thinner, 
ink and other painter's equipment lingered in his 
nostrils, the image of 'Spring' "burned" on his eyeballs 
and he wondered if she, while working, saw the same thing 
that he did when he gazed at the painting. Did she also 
see two green leaves, originating from different trees 
but falling into the same stream? Powerless … unable to 
do anything but follow the strong flow of the water, 
turning around each other in irregular circles, pushed 
and pulled toward and from each other by romping water 
droplets, barely touching and quickly parting afterwards… 
Unable to return to the branch they left, but only able 
to follow the path the water would allow. Traveling 
together, not because they chose to do so, but because 
they were placed there by ... by what? What caused two 
such different leaves to flow simultaneously on the water 
-- wind, storm, rain, drought? Just circumstances? Or 
could it be called fate?

~ * ~ * ~






(1) Wort Boiler: Wort is clear liquid. It's heated and 
filtered Malt. Wort goes into a huge boiler (the Wort 
Boiler) and hops are added. These hops work as a natural 
preservative. The liquid is boiled intensively and then 
quickly cooled to a temperature of 6 degrees C. after 
which the excess proteins are removed naturally. The 
filtered brew is now ready for the next phase, the 
fermentation. 



Chapter 6

It was the second Saturday morning in a row that William found
himself sitting on the ancient stone bench in the walled section of
Netherfield's garden. Like last week, one woman dominated his mind.
Well, it was not only on Saturday mornings; her image, her voice,
even her scent had been shutting out every other subject daring to
invade his consciousness the whole week. Only when focussing firmly
on his work, had he managed to ignore her.

He was wondering if others had noticed his distraction. Did Charles
know? He had never told Charles what he felt when they had been
at 'Place du Tertre' and Elizabeth had portrayed him. Charles had
only looked very questioningly at him when he had wanted to buy the
portrait immediately, but had never raised any questions or made any
remarks afterwards. Friday, William had been surprised when his
friend had urged him to come and see the paintings Elizabeth was
working on. Could Charles see what Elizabeth and her art did to him?
Perhaps he was presuming too much right now and Charles hadn't given
it any further thought but for the fact William would like the
season paintings because of the portrait he had bought in Paris.

The second he decided Charles couldn't possibly know what he felt,
he realized he shouldn't automatically project the same conclusion
on Elizabeth. As he himself could not fathom what was happening when
he was close to Elizabeth and one of her works, he couldn't
conceivably conjecture what she experienced, or whether she was
conscious of what she was doing to him. Even so, he couldn't help
feeling that she also sensed something. When he had seen her
standing, searching his eyes, holding some brushes, still wet from
paint, he had felt a familiar touch to his neck. Had it felt like a
stroke, a tickle, wind softly blowing? He couldn't tell. Although
his first impulse had been to scratch the itch, he only now knew it
had been pleasant, instead of irksome.

For some reason, Elizabeth's opinion of him was important to
William. He never showed his true feelings. His face showed the
appropriate emotion when circumstances, common behaviour or
propriety demanded it. On sealing a business deal with a handshake,
only after the necessary pen stroke was made, of course, did his
face show happiness. At a funeral, during the condolence
formalities, he demonstrated the suitable, sad sentiments. However,
in most situations, whether negotiations, business meetings or
informal gatherings, where he felt the best accords were made, or
convictions about other relations firmly formed, he made it a custom
never to show any emotion. He had also discovered this attitude
helped him if he wanted to keep most women, and sometimes men, at a
safe distance. Wherever he was, he felt he was the honey that
attracted the flies: male ones because of his money, excellent
reputation, and his bright, analytical and logical intellect, and
female ones for the same reasons as well as the fact he was
extremely handsome.

Somehow Elizabeth could see through him. She had known his opinion
about the wall paintings in the restaurant the week before, right
from the moment he saw them. This had astonished him. He was sure he
hadn't shown any disfavor – not that these paintings really
mattered, but still, she had recognized his impressions about them
and this surprised him greatly. What she had seen exploring his
face, in the studio yesterday, he didn't know. He had also looked in
her eyes, but wasn't sure if he knew the language of the message
inside. He had never bothered to look into women's eyes before, to
scrutinize whatever message he should find there, but he sensed
these eyes were certainly worth taking a close look. This was
something he needed to take care of later. First, he wanted his
ability to remain indifferent back. He needed it to function
professionally. He had already lost an ability last year, one he
dearly wanted to get back, and he couldn't cope with losing another.
Since, for some inexplicable reason, he attached importance to
Elizabeth's opinion, he had considered it necessary to explain to
her why he showed little emotion. She was a clever girl and he was
sure she'd understood him last week, during the walk at the rampart.

Clattering chains in a horse trailer startled him out of his
reverie. Looking up he saw what he would describe as, `the invasion
of Caroline'. He'd almost forgotten she would move in today;
bringing horses, dogs, staff and most of all noise along with her.
He could be sure she would give him enough practice in maintaining a
fourth ability: keeping his patience. With a sigh, William stood up
and started to walk towards the main house. The sooner he had
welcomed Caroline, the faster he could go back to his work and have
an excuse to avoid her. Besides, he was genuinely interested in
<I>Merytayns</I> and the information Charles had gathered during the
past week, gave him another reason to enter the study Charles had
fit up. Inhaling an extra breath of clear, fresh, morning air, he
felt ready to start the day and dive into the books representing the
beer factory that had managed to stir his curiosity.

~ * ~ * ~


According to plan, not only was Caroline Bingley moving in on
Saturday; the eldest two Bennet sisters also changed their home.
Where the single sister hired staff to carry her belongings, light
as well as heavy, the duo transported personal property using their
own strength, assisted by their sisters, who were happy to help. The
huge hall of Netherfield was filled with one wailing voice,
complaining about everything the owner could find reason to heap
criticism on. In the little space, that would soon be Jane's and
Elizabeth's new residence, five happy female voices echoed off the
unpainted and unpapered walls. In the large house, the glass seemed
half empty; in the little flat, it looked half full.

Caroline Bingley ordered staff around to clean rooms, that weren't
really very dirty at all, but uninhabitable according to her norms.
The week before the cumbersome antique curtains had been cleaned by
a specialized dry-cleaner. She gave detailed instructions when the
personnel from her favorite interior decorator came to drape them
cautiously. They had to do it several times before she was happy
with the result. Although there were many people to help the lady
move in, they didn't make much noise, trying not to annoy their
client and hoping to receive a nice tip.

The walls and floors from the two bedrooms were new and fresh
enough, and didn't need a makeover other than a good cleaning. Mary
took care of that, while the others piled Jane's and Elizabeth's
belongings on a trailer. John Lucas, Charlotte's brother, had
promised to help, and using his father's van, they managed to do the
moving in two trips. All together they cleaned and organized the
kitchen, color-washed the stucco in the living room in a delicate
yellow-white shade, mopped the linoleum floors, shook out and rehung
the curtains that remained from the previous occupants, and sang
along -- pretty loudly -- with the radio.

However different the two moves were, the persons changing their
homes all ended the day in the same restaurant … 'Het huis van
Frederik Hendrik'. Because Jane and Elizabeth proposed to treat
everybody, John and the five Bennet sisters settled on it at the
insistence of Lydia and Kitty for a "real" restaurant instead of a
snack bar; whereas Caroline simply stated she wanted to dine out and
William suggested going to the same place to eat where Charles and
he had gone the week before. The menu was simple, so it wouldn't
take hours.

When the party from Netherfield entered, the others were already
seated. The room was U-shaped and as Jane, Elizabeth and their
guests chose the backside and the others a table in front, they
couldn't see each other. This didn't prevent Charles, William and
Caroline from hearing them. It wasn't crowded, but Kitty and Lydia,
assisted by John and some glasses of beer on a nearly empty stomach,
managed to make as much noise as would have been common for a filled
restaurant.

Although both Jane and Elizabeth tried to silence their guests a
little from time to time, they couldn't refrain themselves from
laughing along with them when John told a pretty good joke or when
the others made a funny remark. After an hour and a half, they ended
their meal and paid the tab. While they walked to the corridor to
collect their coats, Elizabeth folded her arm around Kitty's neck,
and laughingly tried to steady her sister, who obviously had drunk a
little too much. She exaggerated her sister's state, which wasn't
really very bad, by joining her in an unstable step. John teased
Lydia and tried to find out if she also needed someone to help her
walk by tickling her neck. The youngest Bennet daughter couldn't
take this lying down and chased John in order to get even with him.

"Hey, Lydia, calm down," Elizabeth said. People who have drunk a
little bit too much are often very honest, but not always tactful,
and Lydia made a great example when she replied, "Huh, who are you
to criticize me, Lizzy? You had your hands in another man's pants
when you were still married." She said it with a smile and truly
thought she had made a joke, but Elizabeth couldn't laugh.

Mary noticed her sister's sudden distress and hissed, "Lydia, you
don't need to say that aloud in the middle of a restaurant."

At that moment, they all spotted the other guests as they rounded
the corner. William and Caroline sat with their backs to them, but
Charles, seated opposite them, saw them immediately and rose. "Jane,
what a coincidence," he said smiling.

"Indeed," Jane replied. "We were treating our helpers to a dinner
after we kept their noses to the grindstone the whole day."

"Ah, I trust you managed to move today?"

Jane held up the others by blocking the path and noticing his
sister's questioning face, Charles quickly continued with, "Jane,
may I introduce you to my sister Caroline?"

Jane very politely introduced herself, her sisters, and John to
Caroline. She asked how her move went and whether she liked
Netherfield. While the others went outside, almost with as much
noise as they had made the hour before, Jane and Charles stood
together entangled in small talk. This didn't last very long because
Lydia kept calling her sister, who happened to be the only one sober
enough to drive, to come outside now. Caroline asked where the
restroom was, Jane showed it to her and left.

After walking only a few meters, Elizabeth suddenly stopped
short. "Damn," she murmured.

"Lizzy, what's up?" Jane asked.

"I forgot my purse. Why don't you take the girls and John back home?
I'm sure Mrs. Lucas will bring you back and I'll walk to the
apartment myself. There isn't enough space in the car for all of us,
anyway." No sooner said than done, Elizabeth turned on her heels and
walked back inside, leaving the others no option but to follow her
advice.

William looked surprised when he saw Elizabeth again. She looked him
straight in the eye, and only broke her gaze when Charles reacted to
his friend's wonder, turned and showed as much surprise as William
on her return. She explained, "Forgot my purse."

When she walked to the back of the restaurant, her mind worked at
super speed. At first, when she had looked in his eyes, the evening
of the Phillips's wedding anniversary, she had compared them to
filthy mud. Last week, in this same restaurant, they had been
nothing more but aloof and cold. She had recognized some disapproval
in them, and this had apparently bothered William, according to the
conversation they had had afterwards.

Yesterday, when he had been viewing her paintings, she had
discovered another shade of brown appearing in his gaze – warm
brown, with golden flecks in it. The color brown, when early in
autumn, leaves from a willow fall on the lazily flowing water
beneath it; when sunbeams manage to break through the remnants of
the roof of foliage, and speckle tiny sparks of gold on the small
ripples, carrying the temporary blanket. She had seen the sparks
appear when he had shifted his gaze from painting to painting and
they had still been there when he had locked his eyes with hers.

'Still waters run deep.' Elizabeth suspected William, for some odd
reason, didn't want to bring his emotions to the surface, but wanted
to keep them buried, deep down, at the bottom. God only knew exactly
how deep his water would be. William had said it was dangerous to
show feelings, but this didn't prevent Elizabeth from seeing them.
She recalled the talk they had had the week before. He had said
she'd been right in her assumption of his opinion of the paintings
in this restaurant, but instead of praising her for her skill, he
ran her down for showing emotions herself.

In Paris, she had thought his face looked like a puzzle, and she
liked puzzles. At this moment she didn't know what to think anymore.
Not that she doubted her opinion, formed on 'Place du Tertre', but
she wasn't sure if she had enough time, energy and desire to solve
it. In addition to that, although she had met him just a few times
and only briefly, she'd already discovered the pieces of the puzzle
she'd found immediately affected her own mood.

At the party, she had been ill-tempered after his remark. In the
studio, she had become lively when she had seen how much he enjoyed
her paintings. At this moment, his eyes caused her mood to drop.
When she passed him, in search of her purse, she noticed his eyes
were missing the glow of yesterday's gaze. They were aloof again.

'Hmm, he heard Lydia, of course', Elizabeth thought, promptly
determining the reason for him to look at her the way he did.
Although annoyed by this man … no, by his ability to affect her
mood, she decided to ignore him. Who cares what his opinion about
her might or might not be? She already had enough to work on. She
needed to get back to herself, first. To recognize again what her
own feelings were, and what she exactly needed or wanted, instead of
worrying again about a man. Today, she had moved to a new apartment
… the start of her new life, a life in which she did what she wanted
and where she could decide for herself what was best. Perhaps
William had heard what Lydia had said ... perhaps not. Who knows if
this had caused him to reject her again, or if he had found another
reason ... she didn't care.

The moment she bent to grab her purse from beneath the table, it
occurred to her she shared this new life, too. But this time she
shared it with a sister … her most beloved one. And if sharing a
life, well at least a house, was easy, it was because it was Jane,
especially as she had been in such a good mood this past week. After
Jane broke off her relationship and came home again, she had been
silent and withdrawn. She was always polite and kind to everyone,
but no more than that. The past few weeks, from the moment they had
been sure the apartment was theirs to rent, her mood improved. Her
happiness had also accelerated in the past few days. Could this
Bingley guy be the reason for it? From what Jane had told her, they
had spent quite some time together this past week. Recalling her
sister's joy when she saw Charles a few minutes ago, Elizabeth began
to suspect this man might mean more to Jane than she had thought
before. 'Good for you, Jane. If someone deserves to be happy, it's
you,' Elizabeth said silently to herself.

She walked back and noticed Caroline had returned to her seat. As
Charles's sister was sitting with her back to Elizabeth, she wasn't
aware of her audience when she spoke. "My, oh my, Charles. I see,
you've found yourself a kitten again, and so soon this time. How
long have you been here … one week? A very pretty kitty, if I may
say so, but I couldn't have expected anything less, of course,
knowing your former choices. You've definitely chosen the best one
out of that litter. Let's hope she's not secretly sharing the same,
fine qualities with her sisters. I've only seen differences so far
and let me tell you, that's definitely to her advantage."

"Got it," Elizabeth said, intentionally casual, when she passed the
table, not seeing if Caroline was surprised by her presence or not.
Contrary to her resolution not to take the slightest notice of
William Darcy, she couldn't resist giving him a last look when she
left. This time she saw doubt and a little bit of anxiety. It seemed
she was no longer the only one questioning what was overheard and
what was not. Not that it mattered, of course.


~ * ~ * ~

Half an hour later, Jane and Elizabeth sat in their new living room,
on their new couch, enjoying a bottle of wine and a quiet
evening. "We shouldn't be doing this," Jane said as she poured her
sister another glass. "We should be putting away everything that's
still in those boxes."

"You're right, but I prefer to sit. We've been busy enough today,"
Elizabeth said and thanked her sister when she accepted the
glass. "I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to straighten things out.
Let's just sit and relax." After some moments, in which the girls
said nothing and took pleasure in the silence, she added, "You won't
believe how happy I am to have a home for myself again."

"So am I," Jane replied. "… and I'm glad you're happy again."

"Which reminds me…" Elizabeth turned and eyed her sister. "You said
last week you're glad you have your sister back. I forgot to ask
again, after we went to buy this couch. What did you mean by that?"

"Well …" Jane had to think about it for some moments before she gave
her answer. "Before you met Jonathan you did everything in a burst
of liveliness, sometimes even impulsiveness. You always took the
initiative when things had to be organized. Not that you only did
what you wanted …you always informed others if there were people you
had to show consideration for, and then you organized everything."

"Hey, I did organize the wedding." Elizabeth went on the defensive.

"Perhaps, I'm not explaining well enough," Jane replied. "Before,
you did what you liked and what you wanted and since you met
Jonathan it looked as if you only did what he liked and what he
wanted. And, correct me if I'm wrong, at one point you hardly did
anything."

Jane's statement gave Elizabeth something to think about. She tried
to remember examples to confirm what her sister said. She had to
admit, there were plenty. All the vacations … Jonathan had always
decided where they should go. He had arranged the ski-lessons for
her, he had booked the hotels, arranged for the house they had
bought. Actually, he had bought it with his money, because she was
still studying then and had no money to bring in. Of course, she'd
agreed when they had searched for a house and decided to buy one …
half of it would be hers once they were married. But he had made the
appointments with the real estate agent, he had selected the
insurance agent. He had negotiated with the former owners on the
price for the wall-to-wall carpet. "I'm sure he didn't do it on
purpose," Elizabeth finally said.

"I didn't say that," Jane replied.

No, that was true, Jane didn't say Jonathan made her follow his
decisions. He had always asked for her opinion. He had always
listened to what she had to say. However, the more Elizabeth thought
about it, the more she had to agree with Jane. "Perhaps, you're
right. I really hadn't looked at it that way. But the fact is, I
never disagreed with him."

"Are you right about that?" Jane gave her sister a questioning
look. "C'mon, you didn't leave him for nothing, did you?"

"Would you believe me if I said I really don't know why I wanted to
leave that marriage?"

"It was you who wanted to leave right?"

"Oh, yes, it was me, definitely. Jonathan didn't have a clue, or so
he said. But I'm still asking myself why I wanted to leave. I was
aware of the feeling that urged me to stop; I just can't give it a
name right now. Am I making sense?"

"Why do you want to know?" Jane grabbed the bottle and filled the
glasses again.

"First, I still don't know if what I did was right. Okay, how I did
it was not very nice, that's for sure."

Jane chuckled. "No, you're right about that, but let's save that
question for later. Now you want to know if you were right when you
left him."

"Jeez, Jane, you act like a psychiatrist."

Elizabeth had left her spot, sat on the ground with her back against
the couch and stretched her legs while she leaned her head on her
sister's knee. Jane gently stroked her hair. "Talk about it dear,
talking is good."

On Elizabeth's, "Hmm … hmm," she added, "So, do you need to know why
you wanted to leave him?"

"Yes, I think I do. First, I want to be sure this was the only
solution. Wasn't there another way to work things out? Couldn't I
have done something to prevent this from happening? Second, this
marriage was clearly not working for me. I will never, ever want to
let something like that happen again. Not that I'm going to be
married again, believe me, but if I ever decide to step into a long-
term relationship again, I want to be sure the guy is the right one."

Continuing to stroke her sister's hair, Jane couldn't help but laugh
a little. "You know you don't decide to step into a long-term
relationship. Such things just happen. You fall in love with someone
and from there the relationship grows and grows. It's not a
calculated decision."

"For you perhaps. I refuse to fall in love."

"Okay, if you say so. How calculated was your decision to leave
Jonathan?"

"I don't know. At one point I simply had to. But I cannot remember
the exact moment I told myself to quit. I guess it gradually grew."

"See, that was what I meant when I told you how you changed during
your marriage. That was also a gradual change. It happened very
slowly. Perhaps you never even noticed," Jane concluded from her
sister's remark.

After talking a little longer about it, Elizabeth headed to bed, the
same bed she had slept in many nights before, but she couldn't fall
asleep immediately. As was common the past few weeks, she was
fretting about herself and about her life. Jane's statements had
given her new insights to ponder. Her sister knew her very well and
if Jane said she had slowly transformed into a `rattlebrained
Jonathan follower' without an opinion of her own, Elizabeth could be
sure she was right; perhaps not a hundred percent, but still, part
of it must be true. Indeed, she had never really thought about it
because she and her almost ex-husband never quarreled. She had
always had the chance to express her own opinion, but for some
reason she had done it less and less. Well, that was part of giving
and taking, right? Sometimes you firmly stand your ground and
sometimes you bend. Okay, so far so good, but wasn't it the idea of
an equal marriage to have as many `stands' as `bends'? While
pondering it, suggesting new ideas, reducing the number of answers
and deducing facts from what was left, she slowly came to a
conclusion. In her marriage, the amounts of giving and taking had
definitely been out of balance. How it came that far and who was to
blame for it, she wasn't sure … not yet anyway. She was certain,
though, that she had found something to make her understand her
past. Realizing she needed to cope with everything that had happened
in her life before she could continue, she was happy enough with her
discovery to be able to drop off into an easy sleep.

Chapter 7

The next Saturday, Elizabeth and Jane went to the Boekelo Military.
As neither were in the possession of a car, they had to take the bus
from Meryton towards Breevoort. They were dropped off at a stop
close to the huge, temporary parking lots from where a shuttle
service would bring the visitors to the military site. It was quite
early since they both preferred to arrive and start walking the
course before most visitors did, and the sun hadn't had the
opportunity to spread her warmth. Elizabeth wrapped herself in her
comfortably warm scarf and this move caused her not to pay attention
to the road when they crossed over it. She followed Jane, expecting
her sister to pay attention, therefore she didn't see the huge car
approaching, and was surprised when a Mercedes stopped right in
front of her the moment she had reached the roadside. Looking up
surprised, she concluded Jane must have seen the car coming as she
noticed the signs of recognition on her sister's face. Elizabeth
followed Jane's gaze and saw the occupant and the explanation for
her sister's look.

Charles Bingley opened the front door and invited the two women
in. "I bet you are going to the military? Get in … it will save you
from waiting for the shuttle service." He spoke fast and opened the
back door quickly because, regardless of the early hour, cars were
coming from behind and he didn't want to block the road too long.
Jane and Elizabeth had no time to consider and stepped in the car,
accepting the lift Charles obvious wanted to give them.

It happened rapidly, but Elizabeth had the opportunity to scrutinize
the car. She could see from the symbol on the front that it was a
Mercedes. At first glance it looked black, but when she walked to
the back door, she noticed the color changed from deep green to warm
purple. It must have that new multicolor metallic paint, she
thought, showing different colors depending on the light and angle
of view. Elizabeth didn't know all the types, numbers and varieties
of Mercedes', but from its appearance she could see it was one of
the top models. It was the kind of car in which it would be suitable
to have a driver in uniform in the front. She saw the seats were
leather and expected them to be cold, assuming they would adapt to
her temperature. To her surprise, the seats were comfortably warm
and amazingly soft. Buckling herself in, she caressed the dark
reclining seat and took a thorough look, taking in all the luxury.
Jane's voice startled her.

"William, thank you for the lift."

Only then did Elizabeth notice there wasn't a professional
chauffeur. William Darcy drove the car and he certainly wasn't
wearing a uniform covered with shiny, golden braiding, but casual
clothing. At least Elizabeth assumed he was, noticing his green
moleskin coat. He looked at them through the rear-view
mirror. "You're welcome."

"Mr. Phillips gave us some three-day passes and assured us we would
get access to the parking lots close to the entrance. Do you know
where exactly we must turn off?" Charles turned in his front seat
and looked at Jane, who sat right behind the driver's seat.

"Do you mean the lot for competitors, sponsors and exhibitors or the
V.I.P. lot?" Jane asked.

"Oh, actually, I don't know." Charles answered.

"It doesn't matter," Elizabeth said. "In both cases you need to turn
off there, close to that white house yonder." William slowed down.
The minor road was blocked and he had to show their pass before they
could go through.

"Now you have to drive carefully. We will cross both Roads and
Tracks several times, that's why they block this road for visitors
without a pass," Elizabeth explained. It was the second competition
day of the three-day event and the speed and endurance phase was
held today. This consisted of four phases: Roads and Tracks,
Steeplechase, another Roads and Tracks and the Cross-country. The
first Roads and Tracks was a road-racing circuit with a distance of
3,740 meters, which should be covered at a speed of 220 meters a
minute. The speed was attainable in a trot or a slow canter. The
second part was a Steeple-chase with a length of 2,415 meters. The
competitors had to jump four hedges, two twice and one trice for a
total of eight obstacles, and ride it within four minutes. Converted
this meant a speed of 690 meters per minute, so it should be done in
a gallop. The third phase was another Roads and Tracks, this time
6,080 meters, with an obligatory stop of ten minutes between 1,000
and 3,000 meters. This Roads and Tracks ended at the main grounds
where there was another 10-minute stop and a veterinary inspection
for the horses. If the horses passed this test, they could start the
fourth and most spectacular phase, the Cross-country, made up of a
5,800-meter track with 24 difficult, massive, immovable obstacles.

By showing his pass, William was led to the parking lot for sponsors
and special guests. "Thanks for the ride, but I'm afraid we have to
split up here," Elizabeth said after they stepped out of the car. On
Charles's questioning face, in which she thought she noticed a
slight sign of disappointment, she added, "Jane and I don't have
passes, so we won't get access by this entrance. We need to walk
around and show our tickets at the main entrance."

"Ah, come on, we'll see what we can do. Perhaps we can get you
passes, too." Charles said and started walking towards the entrance.

"No, please that's not necessary. We didn't come here to beg for
free tickets," Elizabeth said facing her sister with an alarmed
look, not wanting the men to think they couldn't or wouldn't buy
tickets themselves.

"Indeed Charles, don't worry." Jane said. "We'll walk around and
perhaps we can meet somewhere in the `Straw-village' ?" She referred
to the main grounds, where the campsite was located with the V.I.P.
tents, next to the show jumping field and the autumn fair with all
the stands. The third phase of the endurance would end on the Show-
jumping field where the Cross-country would start.

"No, wait. I see Mr. and Mrs. Phillips there. We agreed to meet here
at this time." Charles said and before the girls could say
something, he walked towards their uncle, told him he and William
had given the sisters a lift, and asked if there was a possibility
for them to get in without having to walk around.

"Of course," Mr. Phillips said. "I didn't know you had plans to join
the men today. If you had asked me, I would have arranged passes for
you."

"Yeah, right. Only because we join the men," Elizabeth whispered
offended. "Didn't know … hah."

Their uncle had their names registered. "Yes, please note ….Bennet,
Miss J. and Miss E.. With double `n' … yes indeed, same as the
Bennets from `Merytayns' ."

The attendant, who took care of the V.I.P. entrance, gave them their
passes. "Welcome to the Boekelo Military, Miss Bennet. I hope you
have a pleasant stay," he said politely as he handed Elizabeth her
pass.

"What?" Jane asked when Elizabeth suddenly chuckled.

"Mom would love this," Elizabeth said. "If she had the chance, she
would have arranged this herself, don't you think?"

Jane had to agree. Elizabeth referred to their mother's
disappointment the past week when she had heard Jane had declined
Charles's invitation to join him both days at the Military.

"Jane, how could you?" Mrs. Bennet had said, thoroughly
vexed. "Don't you know how important it is for us? It's about time
people know that the name Bennet should be connected
with `Merytayns' instead of only Phillips. At least make sure you
stay close to Charles when you meet people on Sunday. Stay close and
see to it that you shake hands with everybody he shakes hands with.
Say your name clearly so everyone can hear it's a Bennet who is
standing next to this new consultant. Be polite and for heaven's
sake, don't flirt with other men. I have a feeling this Bingley guy
might be important for `Merytayns'."

Jane had said nothing but Elizabeth had reacted to her mother's
words. Jane wasn't the type of person to flirt with other men.
Mother should have known that. Jane agreed to join Charles on Sunday
because he simply had invited her, perhaps for no other reason than
he didn't like to go to these events on his own. Mother shouldn't
have jumped to conclusions. Elizabeth was sure Jane had accepted it
because she liked the man himself, not because he might be important
for the beer factory, and for the same reason Jane had decided to
join her sister on Saturday -- because she liked her.

Their mother would be delighted if she heard the girls were
announced as the Bennets from `Merytayns'. When she thought about
it, Elizabeth concluded it was indeed a huge coincidence they had
crossed the main road the same moment Charles Bingley and William
Darcy drove by. Now they would join the man after all. Although
Saturday was not as important a day as Sunday with its Head Gear
competition, they would be spotted by other business acquaintances
in the company of `Merytayns' management.

It didn't make a difference to Elizabeth. She loved to watch the
horses and competitors turn in their fantastic performances. She
looked forward to watching the tournament and it didn't matter if it
was only in the company of Jane or with several other people as
well. Her eyes sparkled when she breathed the smell of leather,
horses and hay, and read the cross-country description with drawings
of each obstacle attentively. She nodded her agreement absent-
mindedly when her aunt suggested drinking a cup of coffee before
walking the course.

They went to the main tent next to the V.I.P room where many stalls
were located, where books, outdoor clothing, horse necessities, home
and garden decorations, gifts and other merchandise were being sold.
Elizabeth was looking at some very nice illustrated books when
William brought her a paper cup with coffee.

"Here you are," he said. "If I remember correctly from the party,
you use both milk and sugar. If I'm mistaken, you can have mine,
it's black."

"Thank you. You're right, milk and sugar, as expensive as possible,"
she joked, surprised he remembered.

"I don't smell any whiskey or other pricey ingredients … so I guess
it isn't so expensive after all."

"You're right. It was only a manner of speaking. Besides, I don't
think drinking whiskey at this hour of the day would do me any good."

"No indeed, certainly not with the distance we have to walk. How
long is it, anyway?" William gestured at the description. They
walked towards a high table and Elizabeth spread out the paper, so
they could both examine it.

"Have you been here before?" she asked, and when William shook his
head and explained he had visited other Militaries but never here in
Boekelo, she pointed at the map. "See, here's the start. The first
obstacle is sponsored by `Merytayns'. The course is a little less as
six kilometers but I think we have to walk some more. The footpath
is crossing the track several times." William listened silently to
her cheerful chatter and sipped his coffee, surprised to find
himself relieved to see her so lighthearted. She hadn't been this
way on the earlier occasions they had met, and it pleased him to
discover this trait. They continued in a pleasant chat until the
others approached them and suggested they start walking.

The company of six leisurely walked through the `Straw-village' on
the grass paths that were still fresh and green, but would be muddy
by the end of the day due to many pedestrians following their route.
Elizabeth sometimes glanced at the merchandise displayed in the
temporary booths and pointed nice items out to Jane that would suit
their apartment perfectly. Unfortunately, the prices didn't suit
their wallets, so this morning it would be browsing only.

At the end of the `Straw-village' Mr. and Mrs. Phillips and Jane
sped up but Elizabeth saw a woman looking around, her face a huge
question mark. "Are you looking for something, Ma'am?" she helpfully
asked. On the question of where she could find rest rooms Elizabeth
explained that she had to walk back to the other side of the `Straw-
village' to find them or she had to walk quite a ways on the other
side, following the footpath where half-way the track mobile toilets
were installed.

The fact the woman hadn't asked anything, did not go unnoticed by
William. A questioning look was enough for Elizabeth to offer her
help. He liked it, as he did her next suggestion when he said, "I'm
afraid I also have to use them." Both he and Charles had stopped
when Elizabeth talked to the woman and they now saw that Mr. and
Mrs. Phillips and Jane were quite a piece ahead of them. Elizabeth
saw how Charles looked at the three then back at William with
something that could be described as annoyance on his face, then
back to Jane. "I'll walk back with William. You go ahead Charles,
we'll catch up with you in no time, don't worry," Elizabeth said and
immediately turned, leaving the men no other option than to follow
her proposition.

After William had returned from the rest rooms, they walked past the
booths again. "I shouldn't forget to visit that one, when we return
this way," William said pointing at a booth were riding outfits were
sold. "I need some new riding gloves."

"Oh, but then you had better buy them now, instead of when we're
back," Elizabeth said. "You might never know if they'll still be
available this afternoon. It's early now. At this time they will
have their complete stock, it's a question what will be left of it
this afternoon." She walked towards the booth. William followed her,
admitting to himself she might be right.

After meandering through the tent to where the booth was and picking
up some gloves from a rack, Elizabeth examined William's hands. "I
particularly like these ones," she said, pointing at some gloves
hanging behind the counter. "They have those strengthened parts
between the ring finger and the little finger. Besides they have a
variety of lengths in fingers. You have long hands and long fingers.
Don't you hate it when the fingers of your gloves stop a centimeter
before you finger does?"

William lifted his hand and turned the palm up. He looked at his own
hand as if it was the first time he actually noticed he had long
fingers. "Indeed, you're right," he said, he voice colored with
surprise. "Would you believe the thought of searching for gloves
with extra long fingers has never crossed my mind?" He shifted his
look from his hand towards her face and from there to her hands. Her
fingers were also long … long and graceful.

Without thinking why she did it, or if it might be impolite,
Elizabeth took William's right hand. She gently took it and put it
against her hand. "See, how huge it is compared to mine," she smiled.

Wondering if she also felt the little shock when their hands touched
from the top of their fingers to the base of the palm, he broke the
full contact and took her hand instead. "You also have long fingers
and your hands are also slender. They might be much smaller than
mine but I definitely see some similarities."

"Really?" Elizabeth laughed and quickly caught his right hand with
her left, turning his palm up. "Let's see if we have resemblances."

"Oh, no, don't tell me you really believe you can read my palm."
William laughed and tried to pull his hand out of her grasp.

"Sure, why not?" Elizabeth said, quickly noticing in particular one
extremely long line. `Wow, he must be very clever.'

"Yeah right ... well, palmist, what do you see? Any prosperity for
me?" William joked, rolling his eyes, showing Elizabeth he didn't
take palm reading seriously.

Elizabeth realized she couldn't convince him right this minute about
the things she truly believed in, and didn't want to put too much
energy in it. Deciding to joke along with him, she answered: "I see,
I see, I see … wait a minute ... yes, I see it clearly now … Today
you are ... going to … buy gloves!" She looked at him with a bright
smile and William had to laugh heartily. The warm sound surprised
her, sending pleasant shivers along her spine. Was she fooling
herself or was this man quite different from the William Darcy she
had met several times the weeks before? It must be the healthy fresh
air, she decided to herself.

"May I please try on some of those?" William asked to the attendant,
pointing at the gloves on the rack behind the counter. Indeed, they
suited him perfectly, matching his long fingers.

"Thanks for your advice," he said when they walked along.

Of course, due to the gloves, they had used more time than they had
planned, and when they came back to the starting point, they
couldn't see the others anymore. They must have gone on ahead. To
her own surprise, Elizabeth didn't mind at all. If someone would
have asked her a few days ago if she would like to walk with no one
else but William Darcy, she would have answered in the negative. But
for some odd reason, this half hour in his company changed her
opinion a bit. He was able to share an easy conversation with her,
he could laugh and apparently she was able to show him something
new. And on top of that, this hadn't annoyed him at all. On the
contrary, he had looked at her with some warmth in his eyes. She had
felt a strange sensation when his palm covered hers. It had been
like an electric shock, but simultaneously a feeling of rightness.
She decided he must have changed his attitude. The fact that her
bright mood that day could be the main reason she saw the man, who
was not much different from the weeks before, from a new
perspective, hadn't crossed her mind … not one single moment.

A few meters from the first obstacle, which was a huge wall made out
of `Merytayns' kegs, they waited, and both held their breath a
little when the first horse approached and took the heap of casks.
After waiting to see a few competitors, they walked along.

"So, the Mercedes is yours?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes."

"A driver in livery would do nicely in that kind of car."

"I sometimes have one." William said it matter of factly. At first,
Elizabeth wanted to laugh, as she had said it as a joke. It didn't
occur to her that William actually had a chauffeur. Driving in such
a car, let alone with a paid driver in front, was beyond her
comprehension. His tone, making it sound as though it were no big
deal at all, stopped her laughter.

"I didn't know. I'm not used to being driven," she said honestly.

"Most of the times I drive myself," William answered. "I only ask
Gerard when I have several difficult conferences and meetings in one
day, so I can prepare for the next one in the car."

"Ah, you also see it as a luxury?"

"No, I see it as a necessity." William leisurely tucked his hands in
the pockets of his pants and despite the huge steps he took, he
adjusted his speed to Elizabeth's. "I only ask him when I think it's
necessary. If I would use a driver in livery for every little,
insignificant ride then, yes, I would consider it a luxury."

"I've never been in such a position. I see every trip with a
chauffeur as a luxury. Heck, I don't even have a car at my
disposal." Elizabeth said it cheerfully, not making a big deal of
it. "The bright side is … the past few months I've used my bike more
often than in previous years."

"I'd be happy to lend you my car with Gerard, when you have a
special occasion."

Elizabeth looked at Williams face to see if he was joking or not,
but it only showed sincerity. She quickly declined the offer. "Don't
be ridiculous. I wasn't hinting at a free chauffeur-driven ride,"
she laughed.

"I know you didn't ask … I offer it to you anyway." William glanced
at Elizabeth, wondering if she could see that he would not be averse
to sharing that ride with her.

"Well, thanks, but I don't think I'll need a chauffeur very soon."

William shrugged his shoulders. They walked along briskly, engaged
in an easy conversation, only stopping at the obstacles to see how
they were taken by the horses.

"O, my!" Elizabeth suddenly said.

William, alarmed by the sound of her voice, hearing a certain amount
of shock, looked in the direction Elizabeth was staring. "What?" he
asked in a low voice.

"That's my ex-husband," she hissed. Unconsciously, Elizabeth stood
closer to William, as if she wanted to hide behind his broad
back. "Well, almost ex, that is. We are in the middle of divorce
proceedings." She stood stock-still, said nothing, but waited for
her ex-husband to approach her. Where they were standing, the
footpath was rather narrow and people who wanted to walk in one
direction had to wait for people coming from the opposite direction.
It wasn't very busy, but they couldn't proceed, and Elizabeth didn't
want to turn and walk away. So there was no escape, she had to face
Jonathan, and since she wanted to show she was perfectly capable of
handling the situation, she plastered a beaming smile on her face,
tilted her chin a fraction into the air and looked her ex-husband
straight in the eye. "Well, good morning Jonathan, what a surprise
to see you here," she said cheerfully.

"Hi….Corinne wanted to see the military and I decided to join her,"
Jonathan said. Only then did Elizabeth notice the woman Jonathan had
his arm wrapped around. She was a little bit taller than her, and
saw that her hair was platinum blonde, except for the first few
centimeters that Elizabeth concluded might need a new dye job.
Surprised that such an insignificant detail could vex her, she
shifted her look to her ex-husband again. Her smile faded a
bit. "How are your parents?" she asked. "Fine, and yours?" Jonathan
replied. After Elizabeth's nod there was silence but for the
giggling coming from Corinne. Jonathan glanced quickly at her,
tightened his embrace a little and faced Elizabeth again.

Then William did something that surprised them all. He wrapped his
arm around Elizabeth and drew her a little towards him. "We're
blocking the footpath," he said very politely, and with amazing
calm. He pulled Elizabeth backwards and made the same movement
himself, nodded at the other two and by voicing a "Good morning", he
made it clear it was his intention for Jonathan and Corinne to
continue on their way.

Releasing Elizabeth from his unexpected touch, William started
walking again. As easy as their conversation had been before the
sudden meeting, it was notably absent now. Then William experienced
something completely new for him. He could feel Elizabeth's mood
dropping below the freezing point. She said nothing and even when he
glanced at her face, didn't show much. She could as well have been
thinking deeply about a math problem or another brainteaser. Her
facial expression showed surprise and concentration on whatever
question she tried to answer. It didn't show vexation or depression,
but somehow William sensed its presence. This must be what his
little sister Georgiana was referring to, when they drove home from
gatherings or family meetings and she asked him if he could also see
that Mr. so-and-so and his wife had been quarrelling. He never had a
clue as to what she was talking about. "Ah, come on William, you
could clearly see they must have had a huge fight right before we
came. If eyes could shoot, he surely would be suffering some bullet
holes right now." Georgiana used to say. But he never had seen or
heard a fight and was always amazed how women gathered their
knowledge about such domestic situations.

A few weeks ago, he had said Elizabeth was an open book, showing her
emotion. He thought she wasn't doing that right now, and still he
knew she was ill at ease. Since this experience was so new for
William, he didn't know how to react. Should he ask what was the
matter? Perhaps she wasn't depressed but only mad. He might be
wrong, and there might be nothing at all. But when Elizabeth only
glanced briefly at the next obstacle, not taking time to wait for a
horse to approach and admire the jump, but walking away to the next
with huge steps, William knew he was right. Something was bothering
her.

As far as he knew, he had never been in this position before,
sensing what someone else must be feeling. William automatically
followed his routine way of solving new problems and challenges; he
approached it analytically. She had been in a very bright mood this
morning. Although she hadn't said much when she entered his car,
they chatted easily in the tent, enjoying a cup of coffee and
looking at the map together. She had been cheerful when they
selected the gloves for him. Walking along the first few obstacles
she had shared her excitement with him, pointing out to him the
difficult parts and the easy route the competitors could take. She
got depressed when she spotted her ex-husband. It must have had to
do with his unexpected presence.

Quite sure his analysis was adequate, but due to inexperience unable
to react properly, he said nothing and walked next to her. He was as
silent as she was and they both looked mostly at the ground.
Suddenly, the noise of horse's hoofs startled William. Of course,
they were at a military … they were supposed to hear horses.
However, in a split second, he realized a squeal whistle was only
blown by the attendants when there was danger close to the obstacles
or crossroads of the course and the walking path. He looked up and
saw a horse approaching … fast and very close!

Quickly, he wrapped both his arms around Elizabeth, pulled her close
to him and took a few steps backwards. He literally dragged her
along. The horse whizzed past at a short distance. Relieved they had
escaped a painful collision, William stood still and panted, his
shock decreasing. He didn't get much of a chance to catch his breath
though, because Elizabeth struggled to free herself from his grasp.
She turned around and eyed him furiously. Her hand shot out,
smacking him in the eye.

"Take your hands off of me!"


Chapter 7, part two


Charles sped up his pace, catching up to Jane and the others easily.
Although he initially had agreed to keep Mr. and Mrs. Phillips
company, they were soon replaced when he adjusted his steps to
Jane's. After Charles explained why Elizabeth and William hadn't
joined him, but would come later, Jane asked, "I expected Caroline
would be here. Will she come later on?"

"I don't know. When we left she was still in her rooms. I wouldn't
be surprised if she was sleeping in." Charles answered.

"Sleeping in? But the horses … who takes care of them?" Jane
reacted, surprised. She knew it wasn't absolutely necessary to get
up as early in the morning to take care of horses as it would be to
milk cows, but she didn't expect the owner of so many horses, and
the responsibilities that came with them, to sleep in as easily as
Charles made it sound.

"Don't worry." Charles sounded relaxed, but, like Jane did in the
vault the week before, he quickly decided what he could reveal about
his sister and what he should keep private. Although he felt at ease
with Jane and trusted her, he knew it wasn't fair to expose
Caroline's faux pas, so he decided not to tell about how Caroline
had lost her inheritance. Charles owned the horses and let his
sister stay in his house because she had no other place to
go. "There's well-trained staff to take care of the horses. They
live at the apartments upstairs in the stables. Caroline can safely
sleep in."

"Is Caroline your only sister?" Jane wasn't the type to ask personal
questions before she knew someone very well, but talking with
Charles felt so comfortable; she didn't have the slightest problem
telling him about her family and inquiring about his relatives.
Questions which Jane would normally consider nosy seemed natural in
conversations with her temporary colleague. Well, not only a
colleague, but a boss as well. When they were at work, she had to do
what he ordered her to do. She didn't have the slightest problem
with it because Charles was able to phrase every request in such a
sweet way; Jane was more than happy to help him.

"I have another sister. She's married … no kids … I don't see her
very often —only when Caroline invites her," Charles answered.

"Parents?"

"Nope." The shortness of the answer caused Jane to look up, his sad
look causing her to cover her mouth with her hand. Charles saw her
movement. "Oh, well, it's quite some years ago. I think I'm over it,
but it was indeed a rough year. My parents died in a car crash, only
a few months after Darcy lost his father, due to illness."

"Oh, Charles, I'm sorry." Jane genuinely said. "I cannot imagine how
it would be to lose both my parents all at once. It must have been
horrible." Automatically, her hand moved from her mouth to his arm.

"Darcy was a great help." Close to an obstacle, they stopped walking
and watched a horse approach. Charles covered Jane's hand with his.
It felt right.

"Darcy … but he had just lost his own father. How could he manage to
help you? I mean, wasn't he still mourning his own loss?" Jane
asked surprised.

"He threw himself upon what he knows best. He helped us organize
things, he took care of the funeral and the will. He gave my sisters
and me several options we could do with the family belongings and
let us decide which to choose, although I still suspect him of
talking us into the one he thought was best. Not that I mind, when
it comes to financial stuff, he really knows his stuff. It gave the
three of us the opportunity to mourn our parents." Charles
remembered how William had suggested to divide the inheritance.
Originally, each sibling would have received a third of the entire
fortune, which existed mainly out of a family house, horses and
working capital, that Mr. Bingley had invested in several projects.
The working capital needed to be split up in parts and divided
between the three heirs. William had explained the working capital
would be the most profitable if Charles could use it in one piece.
They agreed that next to a little sum of money, the eldest sister,
Louise, would take the family house; Caroline, the horses their
mother was so fond of, and Charles, the working capital, which was
more valuable than a third of the complete inheritance. This meant
at the start, Charles would have a debt. Every year, the sisters
would receive, from their brother, an amount of money, with a nice
interest on top off it, so that in ten year's time Charles would
have paid his siblings off Unfortunately, Caroline appeared not to
be capable of handling her portion. She got involved in some nasty,
illegal business, lost a considerable amount of money, had to sell
the horses her mother had bred for years, and asked her brother for
the rest of her inheritance immediately. Charles managed to buy the
horses before someone else did. Together with William, he arranged a
settlement, so Caroline could pay the rest of her debt back in
yearly portions. Every Euro she received from Charles, immediately
had to be diverted to the persons, she once thought reliable.

"Did William even have time to deal with his own loss?" Jane lightly
brushed Charles arm beneath her hand.

"I don't know. William Darcy is normally not one to display his
feelings. He was very good in alleviating mine though, especially
the evening I came home after identifying my parents." A shiver
showed how Charles relived that evening again. Jane immediately
squeezed his arm, which he answered by brushing her fingers. "It
showed me how important friends are. Sometimes I think they are the
most important creatures in the world. Real friends, that is." On
saying that, he eyed her intensely.

"I'm sorry you've been through that. It must have been a nightmare."
Turquoise burned all over her body, muffling her in a pleasant
blanket of heat.

"Charles," Mr. Phillips rudely interrupted the special moment. "I
see the chairman of the catering association of Breevoort at the
other side of this obstacle. You really must meet him." The company
of four walked to the other side, where a bleacher stood. Jane took
a seat next to Mrs. Phillips, while Charles and her uncle talked
with the caterer.

Elizabeth and William walked on the other side, but they didn't see
Jane waving. "It's okay," Jane said to her aunt. "We'll catch up
later. It looked as though they were entangled in a nice
conversation, they won't mind."

Mrs. Phillips nodded, "Sure hon, you're right," while waving at
another acquaintance.


~ * ~ * ~


William stepped back and saw Elizabeth was as surprised as he was at
her sudden reaction. She slapped both her hands on her mouth, and
made some irregular steps back and forth. With her eyes, she
followed his hand and cringed when he cautiously touched his cheek
close to his eye.

"Oh my, I can't believe I did that. I didn't mean it. I … I… I'm so
sorry," Elizabeth stammered, shocked at her own behavior. "I'm so
sorry. Does it hurt?" Her fingers closed into a clenched fist, and
again she made some irregular movements, swinging her arms up and
down in frustration. "I didn't see the horse approaching. I hadn't
heard him at all. I was thinking … I didn't sleep very well last
night. Oh my, I hurt you." The words left her mouth falteringly. She
wasn't only surprised, but quite upset by now, and searched for
excuses. She was suffering PMS, the hormones could be a valid
reason, but she was not going to tell him that. "It was a shock for
me. I didn't expect the horse. Of course we didn't … otherwise we
wouldn't be walking on the track. But I didn't want to slap you,
believe me, please. I'm just tired and I was …. and ….. and …."

"And Jonathan?" William quietly said.

"Yes, and him too." Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself.
Although she tried to hide the tears that were stinging behind her
eyes by looking at the ground, William saw she was really upset. She
blinked several times, and prevented a sob from leaving her mouth,
by swallowing hard.

"Look, we're almost at the point where we can get something to
drink. What do you say, let's go and sit down for a while. We both
got a scare… I think I could use some coffee, too." William pointed
at a `Merytayns' tent and the long wooden tables and benches that
stood in front of it.

"Yes, thanks … good plan." Elizabeth quietly followed him.

A few minutes later, William came outside, two paper cups with hot
coffee in his hands. Elizabeth was sitting on a bench, her back to
the table, elbows on her knees, watching the incredibly interesting
blades of grass between her feet. With slightly shaking hands, she
lit a cigarette.

"Here you are." William handed Elizabeth her coffee, and seated
himself next to her. "You shouldn't do that."

"What?" Then she saw William nodding at her cigarette. "Ah, yes …
you're sitting next to a walking chimney, well a sitting one, right
at this moment."

William immediately knew she was referring to the remark he had made
at the anniversary party. "You heard me saying that, at the party,
right?"

"Yes." Elizabeth thought back on how offended she had been. She
wasn't mad at him now. "You know what? You're right, and actually I
want to quit, but I truly don't think I can handle doing it all at
once." She had a puff from her cigarette and looked into the
distance. She meant what she had just said, she really wanted to
quit. Her emotions, which seemed to be in constant turmoil lately —
changing her from a happy, beaming ray of sunshine into a dark,
roaring thundercloud within mere seconds —caused her to think she
wasn't strong enough to cope with that battle right now. `First
things first,' she thought. "That horse scared me to death. I didn't
even hear the whistle until you grabbed me," she said after another
puff.

"I suspected as much." It remained silent a few moments, but for the
hardly audible sounds of sipping coffee and puffing smoke.

"Why did you wrap your arm around me when we talked to Jonathan?"

William shouldn't have been surprised by the question because his
action had astonished him as well, but somehow he didn't expect
Elizabeth to ask it so directly. Why had he done it? "I…" Now it was
his turn to stutter. Had it been the giggle of the other woman? Had
it been the look in Jonathan's eyes, when he hugged the woman a
little more? "I saw he…." Had it been Elizabeth who stood stock
still? "I noticed you ... Actually, I don't know. I just did. It was
an impulsive reaction." He never acted impulsively! "I went too far
didn't I? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it."

"Oh no, it was all right. Perhaps you did exactly what I wanted most
at that moment." Elizabeth turned her coffee cup around in her
hands. "I didn't expect to see Jonathan with another woman ... so
soon."

"You were extremely quiet afterwards."

"I didn't understand it. I saw him with that Corinne and I felt
jealous. I mean isn't it ridiculous? I left him, I shouldn't be
jealous." Elizabeth sipped her coffee while William softly hummed,
encouraging her to continue. "My head is saying I should be happy
for him. Happy he found someone else and went on after me. My
feelings are telling me something completely different. I begrudge
him her. I don't want him to be happy. It would have been perfectly
all right if he had been without any woman for at least five years.
Isn't that silly of me?" She almost spat out the last few sentences.

"It sounds as if you hate him." William's serene, quiet voice calmed
Elizabeth.

"I don't know. Yes, I hate him….. No, I don't. He isn't a bad man or
anything. I just don't understand why I feel this way. Love and hate
are flip sides of each other. I guess something happened and my love
turned into hate. I saw him with his arm wrapped around Corinne and
suddenly, I hated him. I don't want him to be happy with another
woman. Hell, I don't want him to be happy at all or at least, I'd
rather never know if he's happy, but I can't explain why. I just
don't want it, that's all." Elizabeth took another nip of her
coffee. Then she suddenly looked up. "Why am I telling you this?"

William answered her look. "Because you need to talk about it, and I
happen to be present right here and now. Besides, I'm willing to
listen."

A few weeks ago, Elizabeth would have considered William Darcy among
the last persons she would take into her confidence, and tell about
her most private feelings. Perhaps he was right, and him being here
at the right moment in the right spot, nothing special, it could
have been almost anybody. Besides, she thought she owed him an
explanation as to why her reaction was way out of proportion. Out of
proportion …. Even that was an understatement. She slapped him in
the face for Christ's sake. She smacked him, while he practically
saved her life. "You must think I'm a silly creature."

William thought back to the times Georgiana had begged him to open
himself up. At that time, he hadn't believed his emotions important
enough to talk about, but that didn't mean he trivialized his
sister's request. Initially, he didn't think it was necessary to
unveil his feelings, and later on he convinced himself there wasn't
anyone trustworthy enough to rely on. It could well be that William
Darcy didn't dare show he wasn't the perfect, strong, steady man
that many people regarded him as, but that possibility never crossed
his mind. Thinking back to his sister, he remembered her words
clearly. "No, I do not. My sister Georgiana always tells me how
important it is to talk about what you feel. She says analyzing your
thoughts can help."

"You have a clever sister."

"Yes, I have. By the way, I don't think you're alone in begrudging
your ex-husband. Look around, how many ex-lovers act childishly?
Read the magazines about glamour couples who split up. They don't
even want the other to have simple, material things like cars. They
love to throw mud at each other in the media. Imagine what a scene
they would have made if the one spotted the other with a new
flame."

"I guess you're right. I just didn't expect it. Do you think…. Could
it be…"

"I think what … ?" William could almost feel her mind working at top
speed to find an answer to some question she asked herself. "We're
out of coffee. Let me get new ones and you can reflect on it, okay?"

Elizabeth also took the opportunity to light another cigarette. Upon
his return, she smiled a silent `thanks' as she accepted the drink.

He immediately got back to the point, "So, you asked `Could it be
…?' Now you fill in the blanks."

"I left Jonathan. Perhaps …. no not perhaps, leave that word out…. I
felt guilty. I know I hurt him and I felt guilty I put him through
that. Could it be I expected my guilt would lessen if I saw that he
had moved on?" Elizabeth, again looking at the grass between her
feet, spoke softly.

William had to do his best to hear what she said. He thought a
little about her question before he said, "Perhaps you wanted your
guilt to lessen."

Suddenly Elizabeth looked up and faced William in surprise. "I
wanted to feel happy if he moved on." She slowly repeated William's
words, connected them with some of her own, and took a little time
to let them sink in. "I wanted this divorce to become a perfect one.
That is, as perfect as a divorce can be." She chuckled about her own
contradictory words. "What I mean is, I wanted that we would leave
each other in relative harmony. No fights about financial matters or
personal belongings, no throwing `mud', as you said before. I wanted
a `we both agreed it was best to split up', divorce. In that case, I
wouldn't have felt guilty at all, wouldn't I?"

"It almost sounds as if you regret it."

"Oh no, no regrets. The bird's nest had fallen out of the tree and I
couldn't collect the courage to climb up again and refasten it. But
I sometimes wonder if I shouldn't have noticed that things were
going wrong. What if I had tried harder to save my marriage earlier
on? In the end, it wasn't worth it." (Note: 1)

"Did he hit you?"

"Why do ask that?"

"Well, I guess you were thinking of Jonathan when the almost
accident with the horse happened, and when … well…. you slapped me."
Again, William softly touched his cheek.

Elizabeth tried not to look at the red spot she noticed was
appearing on his face. "No, he didn't hit me. It would have made
things much easier for me though."

"Easier if he had hit you?" William asked surprised.

"Yes, at least I think so. If he had hit me, abused me, or cheated
on me, it would have been easy to say, `okay this is it, I'm gone'.
Instead I felt I was slowly drowning in the marriage. I wasn't
happy, but I still do not know precisely why I wasn't happy,
although I have an idea."

"Could it be that this is also a reason you feel guilty?" William
asked the question automatically, he didn't even have to think about
it. "As long as you don't know why you were so unhappy, you're not
finished with it?" He really started to sound like a professional
now. Could it be all the training he received in communication
lessons were starting to bear fruit? As far as he knew, those
lessons had never included relational therapy; it must be a natural
gift. Elizabeth sure knew how to bring out skills he never knew he
had mastered.

"That's a nice thought, and other people are not making it easier
for me." A soft sigh escaped her mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"You wouldn't know how many people have asked me if Jonathan hit
me. `Did he hit you? Was he a bad man? Were you cheated on?' For
all these questions, I have to answer `No,' and if I do, I can see
them think, `Ah, it wasn't fun anymore so she quit the marriage,
easy as that. She treated him like garbage.' If he would have hit
me, it would have been perfectly all right if I had left him. People
want to choose a good side and a bad side and since I left him
without a valid reason, I'm the bad girl." Elizabeth really started
to sound as if she was angry.

"Come now, surely not all the people have condemned you! Where
there's a marriage there are two people, and where there's a divorce
there are also at least two people. Two people means there are
mistakes from both sides." William spat it out, as if people who
said such things could make him angry as well. Elizabeth looked up
in surprise at the fierceness with which he had said it. "You also
say `no', if they ask you if he was a bad man." William continued.

"Yes, of course. He isn't a bad man. He is good, and I truly think
he wanted the best for me. He is a good man, but not for me, that's
all."

"I think that's beautiful of you to say so. Not many ex-wives say
that about their ex-husbands. It says something about who you are."
William looked at the ground when he said it, so he didn't notice
the warm look Elizabeth gave him.

"Oh well, perhaps I'm overanalyzing myself. Sometimes I wish I was a
man."

"A man, why?" William smiled.

"Men can fight, they smack each other in the face, turn around, say
sorry, drink a beer and it's all over and finished. Women have to
analyze why they argue, they discuss it with several friends before
they talk to the person they are dealing with, they make up
elaborately especially if they were fighting with another woman, but
they will never forget, and with every tiny friction in the future,
they will touch upon the subject again." Elizabeth used her hands to
underline her words, with swinging movements.

William had to laugh out loud now. He pointed to his cheek
again. "Well, at least you started to act like a man on one point
this morning."

Elizabeth cringed again. "Yeah, yeah, rub it in nicely. Do I have to
apologize again? You must know by know how sorry I am." For the
first time since the slap, she touched his cheek again, tentatively
and tenderly this time. "It's turning light red." Her cheeks also
turned red, when she thought back to her own behavior.

William carefully took her hand and removed it from his face. "It's
okay, really, you don't have to say it again. It's written all over
your face," he said it softly and with a warm voice that seemed to
warm up even more by the tender stroke he made with his thumb on
Elizabeth's wrist.

"Oh, yes, me the open book. I wonder how open I am, if I don't
understand myself." Elizabeth removed her hand from William's, a bit
unnerved by her body's reaction to his gentle touch, turned around
and took the almost empty cup from the table and smothered her
cigarette in the last remnants of coffee.

"If you want to, you can always look for professional help; visit a
psychiatrist or a relational therapist." William suggested.

"I don't want professional help. As long as I can talk about it, I
want to find out on my own." Elizabeth said. "Besides, I have you as
my shrink, right?" She looked at him, winked, and nudged him
jokingly.

This made William laugh. Him the shrink? He remembered Georgiana
screaming at him that he was the one who needed to look for a
psychiatrist. "You're the first one who has ever called me a shrink.
If my sister heard this, she would absolutely not believe it."

"Well, shrink or not, you helped me enormously by listening today."
Then Elizabeth grew silent and serious again. "That is …"she
stumbled. "Would you please… I've told you all this in confidence.
It's remarkable, I've met you only a few times, and I've told you
something about myself today that's quite personal. I would
appreciate it if you keep it private."

"Of course. It's safe with me." William said very earnestly.

"I hoped so. Last week in the studio, Charles said if anyone was
able to keep a secret it was you." Elizabeth slowly turned her head
and looked William in his eyes. She hesitated, but felt enough need
to tell, "Euhm, it may sound exaggerated, but I feel I've found a
new friend today."

William didn't break the intense look. "I feel the same." Suspense,
not unpleasant but a comfortable form of tension, slowly grew, until
William broke it by saying, "Speaking of Charles," he took his
mobile from his pocket, "let's call him and figure out where they
are. They must be wondering what we're doing by now."

It appeared the others were close, and they agreed to meet each
other at the tent. Elizabeth insisted she buy the next coffee after
she had been treated twice. In the tent, they waited and chatted
cheerfully about the horses they had seen so far, till the others
appeared and the company came together again.


~ * ~ * ~



The mountain stream came to the end of the first meadow, where the
steep slope flattened out, causing the water droplets to fall into a
small pool which formed a short, natural eddy before finding their
course again. Dancing their mutual Waltz in the whirlpool, the rain
drops and the liquid from the spring, turned around each other.
After having survived their first confrontation in the stream on the
meadow, fighting for a tiny place to pass through, they watched each
other's spinning movement. The thunderstorm, which caused them to
mingle, was nowhere to be seen, having done his deed and left. The
steady tree, at the other end of the meadow, waved them off with the
branches that had survived the natural disaster. Short twigs and
leaves were their farewell gift having fallen off the tree and into
the water, drifting with the stream. The fawn, which had been so
frightened by the thunderclap, and had kicked mud and other plants
into the stream, was long gone —away with his mother, into the
safety of the woods. The first phase of the long journey had ended.
Sunbeams touched the surface, tentatively warming the liquid with
golden sparks of heat. Gliding into the second stage, the stream
left the pool and descended on a new path. Pebbles weren't as sharp
as before, polished by quintillions of drops that had led the way
before them. There was no need to fight for a place anymore … broad,
flat stones invited all to come and follow the course. The drops
went on … stopped pushing, fighting, and turning, and decided to
travel together. Not against, but next to each other.


~ * ~ * ~



Note 1: `The bird's nest has fallen out of the tree.' As far as I
know this is a saying in the region where I live. It means that a
marriage is split up. Perhaps the saying is known in more places in
the Netherlands, and who knows, even more people all over the world
are familiar with it. I don't know. If others have heard of it, I'd
love to know.


Chapter eight

Early the next Saturday morning, Elizabeth and Jane headed for
Lucas's Farm. As promised at the party, they went to ride
Charlotte's horses Ilioan and Lady Brown. Both the sisters had done
it several times the week before in the evenings. As it was dark
pretty early in the evening, they used the ring behind the stables
that Mr. Lucas had installed together with the stalls. The ground
was scalped, without stones and other irregularities and filled with
soft sand. The fence was made of huge timber poles, and impregnated
with creosote to keep it in a good state of preservation. Four huge
lampposts provided enough light to make riding in the dark possible.
It was all properly trimmed, as were the rest of the farm and its
surroundings.

Mr. Lucas didn't need the farm to provide an income anymore. After
his son and daughters declared they didn't fancy the idea of taking
over the farm, he sold most of his pastures, his cattle and the
milking rights (note: 1) a few years ago. He kept some sheep and
fattened up newborn calves until they were a few months old, to keep
him occupied. It was his favorite pastime, next to tidying the
gardens and buildings. His four children still lived at home, even
though they were all in their twenties. They didn't need to pay rent
or pay for part of the housekeeping, but Mr. Lucas insisted they all
lend their hands in keeping the property and animals in good repair.
It was very likely one of the children and his or her partner would
settle for good in part of the building once married, as was often
done in the region. But neither daughters nor son had found a soul
mate for life yet, and so the happy Lucas family still consisted of
six people. The house was huge and the family friendly and inviting.
Almost every day, the huge kitchen would offer a place for a guest
for the ten o'clock coffee break, lunch, dinner or one of the many
parties for which the family was famous. Neighbors, friends of the
family, participants in one of the many projects where Mrs. Lucas
volunteered, people who rented a stall for their horse … everybody
felt at ease at the Lucas Farm.

This wasn't the case for Elizabeth, who wasn't relaxed when she
parked her bike in the open barn next to a 50-year-old `Lanz
Bulldog' tractor. She and Jane wouldn't use the ring this morning,
but would be going on a ride outside. This shouldn't have caused her
to feel ill at ease if it weren't for the company they would have.
To train Charlotte's horses wasn't the only commitment the girls had
made at the party; Jane had also promised Charles to take him on a
ride in the beautiful countryside, where she knew all the paths.
This week, Charles reminded her of it, and they arranged to go
riding on Saturday morning. William Darcy would also join them, and
he was the reason Elizabeth felt a little uncomfortable.

When she entered the stall where Iliohan stood and took a brush to
clean the brown coat, her mind drifted back to the previous weekend.
She had told William much about her private feelings. At the moment
after the near accident when she opened up, it felt right, but now,
seven days later, she was doubtful. She hardly knew him, what must
he think of her? He might have laughed about her silly secrets. He
had suggested she should see a psychiatrist. He must think she was
nuts. Realizing she would meet William again in a short time and not
knowing how he would react to their previous meeting—he might well
make jokes about her— made her feel vulnerable.

Iliohan, seeming to sense her uneasiness, stretched her neck and
nuzzled between the long brown curls. Elizabeth smiled and caressed
the horse behind the ears. Meticulously brushing her, Lizzy relaxed,
and hardly noticed when Jane brought saddle and bridle from the room
where the saddlers were kept, and put it on the hatch.

"Here you are," Jane cheerfully said. Unlike Elizabeth, she was in a
very good mood. For the first time in many months she felt
completely at ease in the company of a man. She had spent several
hours with Charles the past few weeks and every time she was
surprised at how comfortable she was. They talked about everything
and it appeared they shared quite a few interests. Jane had to
execute several orders for Charles, which made her look at the
bookkeeping with fresh eyes, analyzing figures she had never
bothered to look at before. When she didn't know where to start
searching, he was very patient and explained where to look, and when
she presented the wanted results, and very often more, he was
profuse in his compliments. He also came by her desk frequently to
ask her advice or to use her knowledge, and thanked her elaborately
afterwards. During lunch breaks, or on other occasions when they
could talk about things besides work, he appeared genuinely
interested in her and in what she wanted and liked. Sometimes, when
Jane allowed her thoughts to wander, she wished he wasn't her
colleague and temporary boss. If that had been the case, she might
have allowed herself to dream about something more with Charles than
just being a friend. Since she had resigned herself to never having
a relationship, a love relationship that is, on the job, and
certainly not with her boss, she convinced herself that she liked
him as an acquaintance. Her confidence and happiness grew under his
attention; she beamed her true beauty again. It had vanished after
her first disastrous relationship, and she made herself believe it
was just returning because Charles was such a good friend to her.

* ~* ~*


Not so far away, two other horses were being prepared for a ride
outside. A stableman brushed the mares, scratched the hoofs, saddled
and bridled them, and called the main house to say they were ready.
After Mrs. White took the call in the kitchen, she went in search of
the riders. Charles was, as she expected, still in his room, hastily
searching for his favorite sweater. She found William standing in
the front living room, looking outside through one of the tall
windows. When she passed the opened door, Mrs. White quickly knocked
and informed him the horses where ready.

"Thank you," William politely answered. "Where's Charles?" After
Mrs. White answered that Charles was still dressing, William
smiled. "Of course." It wasn't uncommon for Charles to be late. It
seemed he always needed to have something special at the last
minute.

Mrs. White went back to the kitchen and William turned to look
outside again. He made a nice silhouette in front of the window, in
his crème-colored riding breeches and tight, black turtleneck
pullover. In his hands he held the riding gloves Elizabeth and he
had chosen the week before. Gently stroking the soft material, he
recalled the electric shock he had felt when she had touched his
hand. With his index finger, he followed the lines on his right palm
imagining it was Elizabeth's finger touching them. It had been a
week since he spoke with her. How would she be? Would she regret
that she had told him about herself? William had been so proud
someone trusted him enough to share her feelings with him. It was
completely new for him. No one had ever told him about her feelings
the way Elizabeth had done. Not that he had ever been interested in
private emotions before, except for his sister Georgiana's. When
Elizabeth had sat there on the bench and spoke to him, he
immediately had known how to react. He thought he had asked the
right questions and had managed to calm her. It had felt so good.
But what if she regretted it? What if she wished she had never told
him all this? She would perhaps avoid him. William had wanted many
women to leave him alone often enough, but they always seemed to
stick to him like bees to honey. This was the first time he wanted a
woman not to walk away from him, and he was truly racking his
brain in order to find some easy topics beforehand to keep the
conversation flowing. While doing so, he saw Jane and Elizabeth
approaching the house, entering the driveway and heading for the
stables. With a huge sigh to calm himself, he turned, took his
moleskin coat, and walked to the back door, which was closest to the
stables.

William and the girls reached the stables at the same time. "Good
morning," he said good-humoredly, nodding to Jane and Elizabeth. He
followed that with a polite, "thank you," as he took the reins from
the stableman. He was quite certain the servant did his job well,
yet he checked the tack precisely. After quickly examining the
buckles of the bridle he softly tapped the long neck, and his
fingers slide beneath the girth to make sure it was tight, but not
too tight. He measured the stirrup leather, seeing that it didn't
have the same length as his arm and loosened it a hole. Then he
walked back to the left side, donned his new gloves, and in one
swift move he mounted the mare. At that moment, Charles ran towards
the square where the others waited for him. He closed his green
jacket while walking, and simultaneously greeted the girls. Without
doubting that his servant executed the preparations correctly, he
accepted the reins and took his place in the saddle.

"Let's go ladies. Show us the way; we are at your mercy," Charles
cheerfully said and headed in the direction of the front entrance.

"There used to be an exit at the backside of the garden. It leads
directly to a sandy path. Do you know if it's still there?" Jane
asked and turned her horse the other way. To her surprise it was
William who answered.

"Do you mean behind that walled section? I've seen a gate there." He
stretched his arm and pointed at the backside of the huge field of
grass.

"When did you discover that?" Charles asked surprised.

"You have beautiful grounds here, especially early in the morning."
William answered and followed Jane.

A narrow pathway led to the gate where Jane dismounted to open it.
Behind the conifer hedge, which served as borderline for this side
of the Netherfield property, a beautiful path was situated. Seeing
the tall, ancient trees, William concluded that it must be an old
road. It was broad enough for two horses to walk next to each other,
and as expected by all four of them, Charles immediately took his
position beside Jane, which automatically put William and Elizabeth
in the second row. Iliohan was a bit taller than the mare William
rode. If they had turned their faces towards each other, they would
have noticed their eyes were on the same level. It was too soon for
both of them, and William, as well as Elizabeth looked at everything—
from the reins in their hands, the pricked up ears of the horses to
the top of the trees above them—everything but each other. Elizabeth
noticed William wore real leather boots, whereas she wore cheap,
imitation rubber ones. Her gaze wandered from his boot up his leg,
which was covered with a pair of fine breeches. The cloth couldn't
veil how well shaped his tight was. Then she looked at his hands and
recognized the gloves.

"How do you like them?" She pointed at the purchase they had made
together the week before.

William looked at his hands and lifted one up. "It's a bit early to
tell," he said while spreading his fingers and turning his hand back
and forth. "It's the first time I've used them. I don't have a clue
how they will do in heat or rain with slippery reins. They fit
perfectly though and are very supple. I think you made an excellent
choice last week." Upon saying that, he looked at Elizabeth who
quickly turned her head.

She knew she shouldn't, but she felt shy. "Well, it was your own
choice."

They remained silent for a few minutes before William
continued, "This is a beautiful path. Do you often go outside
riding?"

Elizabeth explained to him they didn't own horses themselves. She
sometimes borrowed Charlotte's or rented a horse at the local riding
school. If possible, she took them outside where she could enjoy the
surroundings, which she preferred above training in a ring. An easy
conversation started and they discovered they both liked to walk,
ride and cycle through the countryside.

"I love to sit on a bench and watch the sun rise. It's amazing how
fast the colors change the hour before the sun is really, completely
visible," Elizabeth said. "I always try to count the various shades
of the color green, but I never manage to capture all of them."

Slowly, the uncomfortable feelings between them faded. "I'm very
fond of the smell early in the morning," William said. "It's
completely different once the sun has risen."

"I'm afraid I'm not very good when it comes to smelling things,"
Elizabeth said. Her smoking habit almost completely deprived her of
that particular sense, but she barely noticed the importance of it,
after so many years of smoking, not knowing what she missed.

Jane left the sandy path and rode between two trees towards a brook.
In the area there were many ditches and brooks, to allow rainwater
to flow off from pastures and fields. Where ditches were small and
situated directly next to the land, the brooks very often had an
extra horizontal strip of grass called the `mow path', because
little tractors could ride there and mow the sides of the brook, to
avoid stoppage. Those paths were often used as rider trails and made
it possible to avoid traffic. The path was small and they stayed
behind each other, until Jane left the brook and crossed a
cornfield. The corn was already cut, but the field wasn't yet plowed
so they could freely cross it, carefully stepping between the
stubbles.

"Where do you ride when you're home?" Elizabeth asked William.

He told her there were many official paths and riding tracks in the
neighborhood of his home Pemberley. He wasn't used to crossing
tillage or following brooks.

"This is the only time of the year we can ride on this land, of
course," Elizabeth explained. "Once this ground is cultivated, you'd
better not tread on it otherwise you'll find a very angry farmer. I
like to ride here. It makes me feel as though I'm in the middle of
nature instead of those man-made tracks."

"I'm afraid our country is too full and organized. If there is some
nature left, it's forbidden to ride with horses on it," William
agreed.

At the end of the field, there was a forest trail with a steady base
instead of the loose sand of the land. After checking the girths
again, they continued in an easy trot. Both Charles and William were
excellent horseman. Elizabeth noticed William's lower legs barely
moved, his back was straight and his hands stayed steady. They
jumped a brook to the field on the other side and back, for fun.
After crossing another field, they quickened to a gallop. The four
horses behaved well together without chasing each other too much.

"What do you say, a full gallop now? This is a nice long road," Jane
proposed. The others agreed and Elizabeth spurred Iliohan first.
William very quickly followed her, Jane and Charles closed in on
them. Elizabeth stood in her stirrups, released the saddle, bent
forwards and loosened the reins a little, unknowingly allowing
William to see her derriere, which he quickly assessed as very
nicely shaped.

Jane and Charles rode side by side as the horses seemed to adjust
their speed to one another The two mares were developing any kind of
friendship, because Lady Brown suddenly turned her head and snapped
at Charles's mare. This started a quick succession of happenings.
The horses jumped aside, causing both riders to loose their seat for
a moment. Jane tightened the reins, but not quickly enough for her
mare to make another leap. A third animal involved herself in the
scene; a rabbit crossed the road suddenly. Lady Brown couldn't avoid
it. She tried to stop as soon as she could, almost stumbling over
her own legs, causing Jane to lose her seat completely and with a
loud scream, she fell off the horse onto her back with a heavy thud.
She could feel her head touch the ground painfully before everything
turned black.

"Jane!" Charles screamed, frightened. He jumped off his mare and his
feet touched the ground before his mare even made a complete stop.
Without worrying if the horse would wait or bolt away, he released
it and ran to Jane. Feeling his heart racing with shock, he kneeled
down. "Jane?" he asked softly, brushing the hair out of her face.
The chin strap of her cap was cracked and the head covering which
should have protected her lay on the ground next to her, still
rocking from the sudden impact. Relief washed over Charles when Jane
immediately opened her blue eyes. Blinking a few times before sight
became keen again, she tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in her back
made her think better of it.

"Are you okay?" It was a rhetorical question, as Charles could
easily see she wasn't okay at all, and it frightened him more than
he had expected.

"My back," Jane softly groaned.

Charles knelt behind Jane and carefully touched her. "Can you try to
sit?" He moved to sit behind her and gently helped her sit up. This
went well, however a shooting sting in her head caused Jane to grab
it with both hands. Charles forgot to breathe.

"It's okay, really. My back is okay, but my head. I don't want to
move it," Jane said in short pieces, inhaling sharply between each
word.

Charles stretched his legs, carefully pulled Jane's backward to his
chest and whispered in her hair, "Shh, say nothing. Close your eyes
if you can and try to relax."

Jane slowly bent back, put her hands down in her lap and laid her
head just beneath Charles's collarbone. Closing her eyes, she felt
his arms encircle her and his hands caressing her upper arms ever so
gentle.

Elizabeth and William did not to hear the scream due to the wind
produced by the speed they were traveling. They proceeded on their
private race until, after a bend in the way, Elizabeth restrained
Iliohan because she knew there was another path a few hundred meters
away. There may have been other road users and she didn't want to
cause a collision. From a full gallop they slowed down to a trot and
finally to a step. Panting, Elizabeth looked back and, to her
surprise, she saw only William. "Where are the others?" she asked.

William also looked back. "Perhaps they stopped earlier," he said
while rearranging the reins in his hands.

"I don't think so. It was Jane who proposed a full gallop; I don't
expect her to stop early." She sensed something was wrong. They
turned and trotted back.

It wasn't long before they saw the two sitting in the middle of the
road. "Jane, Charles what happened?" Elizabeth cried scared. She
dismounted quickly, having enough presence of mind to hand the reins
to William, and ran to her sister. Charles explained what had
occurred.

"Look." William pointed at something on the ground. The rabbit lay
dead at the side of the road. Lady Brown must have kicked it.

"Amazing, a horse would never do that on purpose. It must have been
very bad timing for all of them." Elizabeth briefly looked at the
animal but shifted her attention back to her sister quickly. "Can
you stand up?" With the help of both Elizabeth and Charles, Jane
managed to rise. Her back felt sore but she could bend it. Her head
was aching but she wasn't nauseated or dizzy.

"I fell on my back—only after that, my head touched the sand. I
didn't bang my head on the ground directly," Jane said.

"Do you think you can ride?" When Jane answered negatively, and it
appeared no one carried a cell phone, Elizabeth had to think of some
other way to bring Jane home safely. Very calmly she proposed
Charles could stay with Jane while she and William could take the
shortest road to Netherfield on Charles's horses and return by car.
Charles could take Jane to the doctor and William and Elizabeth
would ride Charlotte's horses back home.

While Elizabeth got Lady Brown and tied her to a tree together with
Iliohan, William remarked that Jane should not sit on the ground. He
took off his moleskin jacket and gently spread it out on the side of
the road.

"William, your coat is way too expensive to sit on. You shouldn't do
that," Jane objected.

Ignoring her protest, he kindly said: "Sit down and try to relax. We
will be back as soon as we can."

Charles helped Elizabeth adjust the stirrup leathers to her
length. "I'm so sorry. It happened too quickly.

"It wasn't your fault, Charles. Now, make sure she stays still until
we're back." Elizabeth mounted the mare and, together with William,
headed in the direction of Netherfield.

"I can't believe it. Four people and no one had a cell phone."
William muttered.

"Somehow I always forget to take mine when I need it," Elizabeth
answered. "But let's not worry over things we can't change." She
spurred the mare to a trot. "Let me get used to this horse first. I
know a short way, but we have to clear some ditches." Soon she felt
comfortable enough with the horse to make some jumps, and they
crossed some corn and grass fields, taking a short cut.

Both the mares, and the riders for that matter, were quite exhausted
when they reached Netherfield stables. Without batting an eyelid, or
asking one question about where the others were or why William was
dressed in his pullover only, the stableman approached them and took
the horses.

"Let me pick up my cell phone, first. I'll be back quickly. We will
take that car." William pointed at a four-wheel drive car that was
parked next to the stable, and quickly walked towards the house.

"Do you know where Charles has left his mobile phone?" Elizabeth
asked. "If we bring him his, we can stay in contact."

William raised his finger to acknowledge he heard her suggestion and
approved it. "I'll check his room quickly."

Not used to having other people taking care of the horses she rode,
Elizabeth followed the stableman and took one horse. "Which box?"
After a nod from the servant, she entered a box and quickly removed
the bridle and saddle from the horse. She didn't have time to put a
blanket on because William came back ready to depart. He wore
another jacket; not a moleskin this time, but it was also water-
repellent and looked expensive. They drove away as Elizabeth pointed
the way.

William was surprised at Elizabeth's calm demeanor. He was sure she
must be frightened that Jane had been seriously hurt by the fall,
but she didn't show it.

"Do you mind if I use your cell phone?" she politely asked. "It's
Saturday which means Jane must visit the weekend medical practice
instead of our family doctor. You need to make an appointment for
it. If I call now, perhaps I can arrange something by the time
Charles and Jane reach the practice."

"Naturally." William reached the pocket of his jacket and handed it
to Elizabeth.

Shortly after, they reached Jane and Charles, who sat together on
the same spot where they had left them. Charles and William both
helped Jane stand up and they supported her while she walked with
little steps to the car. Charles buckled her in carefully, ensuring
she was comfortable. William took his moleskin coat from the ground
and threw it on the back seat of the car, not even bothering to
check if it had stains on it. He handed Charles his phone and
Elizabeth told Jane she had made an appointment. Charles listened
carefully as Elizabeth explained how to ride towards the medical
practice.

"Oh, and Charles," she added, pleadingly, "please make sure Jane
doesn't trivialize her injuries when she's at the doctor? I know my
sister, she's afraid she will burden others and -" She stopped mid-
sentence. It was the first time she showed her anxiety.

"You can count on it," Charles said earnestly and forced a smile on
his face when he looked Elizabeth in the eye. He walked round the
car and Elizabeth quickly hugged Jane.

"See you later, sweetie." Elizabeth stepped back and waved as the
car left, a huge sigh escaping. William noticed it, and felt the
urge to wrap his arm around her, to comfort her as much as he could.
Instead, he put his hand tentatively on her shoulder, but said
nothing, considering every word would sound awkward. Elizabeth
didn't need words; the little gesture was enough to show her he
cared. She turned her head upwards and faced him, and like Charles,
forced a little smile. It was the first time William noticed how
beautiful her eyes were. They were brown, but not like his. They
were highlighted with green flecks, which made them mysterious even
when they weren't shining with joy.

Elizabeth then walked towards the rabbit. She picked it up from the
ground by his hind leg and examined it. "It must have died
immediately." She turned it around and, with a slight shrug,
said: "Well, it's a nice, fat rabbit. I might as well take it."

"Are you allowed to take wild game with you?" William asked.

"To be honest, I really don't know. The shooting season for rabbits
has opened, but I don't have a hunting license myself. My father has
one though, and he even hunts on these grounds. Anyway, we weren't
hunting now were we? It was an accident, it's fresh meat and it
would be a shame to leave it behind." She explained practically as
she walked towards Iliohan and laid the rabbit across the saddle.
They untied the horses, mounted them and slowly headed towards the
Lucas Farm. Not in the mood for talking, they said little.

As unfazed as the staff were at Netherfield, such was not the case
at the Lucas Farm. They were bombarded with questions so Elizabeth
explained to Mr. Lucas what had happened, while noticing the
admiring look Charlotte's younger sister Maria gave William. She
couldn't blame her, he was definitely worth admiring; the tall, well-
built man he was.

Mr. Lucas insisted Lucy and her sister Sylvia take care of the
horses. "Off you go to find out how Jane is," he ordered. "I'll
drive you and have John deliver the bikes later on."

"Oh, no, Mr. Lucas, that is absolutely not necessary," Elizabeth
objected. "Don't bother, we will bike ourselves. That is…" She cast
an inquiring look at William.

"Sure," William said convincingly. Later, he admitted he hadn't
ridden a bike in years. "But, I have been told that's one of the
skills you never forget," he smiled.

They had left the Lucas property before asking themselves where they
should go ... the apartment or Netherfield? Using his mobile phone,
William called Charles and learned he had taken Jane to Netherfield.

As Lucas Farm was next to Netherfield, Elizabeth and William quickly
made their way to Netherfield and entered via the back door in
search of Jane. Charles greeted them letting them know the doctor
had examined Jane. He didn't think she had any serious injuries. "No
serious head injury, nothing wrong with her back. She broke her fall
perfectly. But she has some bruises and perhaps a light concussion.
The doctor advised her to rest and lay down to relieve her back."

"Why is she here and not at home?" Elizabeth asked. She was visibly
relaxed upon hearing the relatively good news.

"Well, uh…" Charles stuttered a little. "I figured she would be
better off here, because there's always someone in the house to take
care of her." He blushed as he added, "That is, I completely forgot
Mrs. White has the weekend off and Theo, one of the stablemen, is
taking her to her sister right now."

"So..?" Elizabeth asked when Charles didn't continue.

"So, we're alone in the house, and I'm not so sure my idea is as
good as it sounded before." On Elizabeth's questioning look he
quickly added, "I don't mean she isn't welcome, she absolutely is.
But perhaps she won't feel completely at ease, when she's alone here
with only Caroline, William and me. Perhaps, you can … there's an
empty room next Jane's right now, with a connecting door. Would you
also be my guest, please?"

It sounded so pleading, Elizabeth could do nothing else but accept
the offer. Besides, she thought Charles was right and Jane would
like her to stay. "Okay," she said. "Let me put this rabbit
somewhere in the stables, and then I'll get some clothes from home.
I guess I need to get some things for Jane?

When Charles nodded affirmatively, William quickly added, "Come on,
I'll take you in the car."

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders, allowing the two men to take the
lead, and considered this would become a different weekend from what
she had expected it to be.

* ~* ~*


note: 1 Milkingrights: In the Netherlands farmers are allowed to
sell or buy milking rights. Those rights represent the quota of milk
a farmer is allowed to produce. As far as I know in many European
countries it's forbidden to trade milking rights.

Chapter 9

After checking on her sister, whom she found sound asleep on top of
a bed in one of the guestrooms, Elizabeth went downstairs. William
stood in the hallway, waiting for Elizabeth. They were about to
leave to collect clothes from the apartment together. As Charles was
nowhere to be found, Elizabeth asked William if he could take her to
the scullery. "I need something to hang the rabbit with, and perhaps
I can find it downstairs," she said.

William walked ahead of Elizabeth, though she knew exactly where the
room was she needed to go to. She just didn't feel comfortable
traipsing about the house by herself.

"What I remember, from when we were kids," Elizabeth explained, "is
that they used to kill game in the scullery next to the kitchen. I
hope there's some of the equipment left." She sent William a
questioning glance asking if she could open the drawers of the
beautiful, antique, built-in closets.

He nodded and watched as she searched. "Did you come here often,
when you were a kid?"

"Not very often. I've been here a couple of times after a hunt. Mary
and I participated in the beating (Note: 1) and afterwards we were
all invited to the house." She rummaged in the drawers. "I'm afraid
they took the hooks; a rope will have to do."

They walked outside and Elizabeth tied a rope to one of the hind
legs of the rabbit and attached it to the cullis. "Nice, high and
dry," she mumbled.

"Why did you do that?" William asked.

"The meat will be tastier when the blood sinks down. This is how
we've done it for years. It's cold enough outside so it doesn't need
to hang in a cold store." Elizabeth cast a quick look at
William. "Have you ever killed game?"

"Actually no ... I like to eat it though," answered William, who was
accustomed to visiting the best restaurants, with an excellent
selection of game on the menu. "I allow my neighbor to hunt on my
land and every year he offers me something from the catch. I never
had to kill or prepare it myself though. They take care of that in
the kitchen."

Hearing him say "they" in the kitchen, Elizabeth deduced that
William had a rather large staff. She wondered what his house would
look like. Assuming it wasn't very likely she would see it -- why
would he invite her? -- she shrugged off her question as trivial.

"Shall we?" William gestured toward the car and they drove to Lizzy
and Jane's apartment.

A short time later, Elizabeth opened her apartment door and let
William and herself in. "Please have a seat while I gather Jane's
things. It won't take long."

William took the opportunity to look around. The room had little
furniture, but somehow the two sisters managed to create a warm
atmosphere by scattering personal belongings throughout the room
without making it look cluttered. A beautiful painting graced the
wall above the couch, and William was convinced it came from
Elizabeth's hand. It depicted a huge wave and was at first sight,
very simple. Its superficial starkness did not prevent him from
taking a closer look. Puzzled as to why the blue surface wasn't
emanating coldness as that color often does, he strode towards the
couch. Placing his knee on the seat he was able to approach the
painting very closely. He discovered little golden flecks beneath
the blue strokes, not enough to mix the blue into green, but
precisely and sufficiently enough to take away the chill. "It's
yours, right?" William asked when Elizabeth entered the room, her
arms laden with clothes. On her confirmation, he continued, "It's
amazing. Simple at first sight yet so much to see when you take a
closer look."

"Isn't that often the case?" Noticing the golden flecks in William's
brown eyes again, she shifted her gaze to her painting, and wondered
if he knew how much of her meaning he had caught. "Thank you," she
simply said. The few words didn't do justice to the warmth she felt
within, but an attentive observer could see by her shining eyes, and
the curled corners of her mouth, how much she liked him saying it.

"I need an overnight bag to put these things in. Let me find one and
we can go." She wanted to be back with Jane as soon as she could,
figuring her sister would also like to wash and change clothes. "I
guess it's okay if I take my shower there?"

"I'm sure it is." William, slowly tore his gaze away from the wave
and turned to a pile of books that, for a lack of a bookcase, were
placed on the ground. "I would like to freshen up myself," he
absentmindedly added. Thinking the collection of one's books often
says something about the owner, he tried to inconspicuously skim
through the titles. The number of art books didn't surprise him. The
publications about business economics were probably Jane's. Then he
heard Elizabeth mutter something and he followed her voice down the
little hall to see what was the matter. "Something wrong? Can I
help?"

His warm tone startled Elizabeth, who hadn't heard him coming close.
Quickly standing up from a kneeling position she bumped her head
against a shelf in the meter closet. "Ouch." She touched the sore
spot with her hand.

"Watch out," William said, a bit more forcefully than he
intended. "One concussion a day is enough. Are you okay?" he asked
with a concerned look. "Let me see." Carefully, he brushed a lock of
hair aside, while cupping her face with his other hand. "There's no
blood, but I'm afraid you're going to get a bump. Do you have
something in the freezer for cooling?" He softy blew on the spot,
which was already turning red. It caused goose bumps everywhere on
Elizabeth's body, except for the spot it was intended to cool.

"I didn't hear you," Elizabeth said faintly. While she softly pushed
William's hand away, she tried to hide the impact his voice, touch
and breath had on her skin. In a stronger voice, she explained, "I
wanted to put the light on because it's rather dark here. But it
didn't work and I'm afraid the fuse has blown so I have to change
it. It's the third time it's blown since we moved in."

"Let me." William wanted to replace it but Elizabeth didn't give him
a chance to do.

"No need." Quickly she took a box with spare fuses, removed the old
and screwed a new one in. "Fortunately this one is not for the
fridge. Imagine what would welcome me after being away for a
weekend." She smiled and wrinkled her nose simultaneously.

"Well, you certainly couldn't get an ice pack from your freezer if
that was the case," he smiled.

"It's not a big bump, I don't think I need an ice pack. Not even one
that's really frozen instead of melted" she joked. "Can you take
this, please?" She handed William the overnight bag, which she had
found in the closet. She then picked up the mail that was still
lying on the doormat.

William put the bag on the table and kept it open to allow Elizabeth
to put what she and Jane needed inside. At last, she placed the mail
on top of them. "I can read it at Netherfield," she said with a
frown, which did not go unnoticed by William.

"Is this all?" he asked and when Elizabeth nodded, he zipped the bag
closed. A quick glimpse at the hand-made paper envelope told him it
came from a lawyer's office.

* ~* ~*


"It was thoughtful of Charles to take Jane to Netherfield,"
Elizabeth said as they sat in the car on their way back to the
house. As William nodded a silent yes, she continued. "I mean, if I
go to work on Monday and she still needs to lie down, there will
always be Mrs. White to look after her."

"Damn it, no," William muttered.

Utterly surprised by that answer, Elizabeth's mouth dropped open.
Would William disapprove of Jane staying at Netherfield during the
week? Well, who was he, to say anything about it. It was Charles's
house after all. Astonished and a bit offended, she looked at him
and saw her assumption confirmed as his faced suddenly turned into a
mask of disgust.

Hearing him saying it right after she dropped the casual remark left
little space for another interpretation. However, Elizabeth swiftly
adjusted her assumption when William pointed at something else that
could very likely explain the reason for his remark.

"That's Louisa's car," he said curtly. On Elizabeth's question as to
whom Louisa might be, William explained her connection with Charles
and Caroline. "An entire house filled with Bingleys, now 'that's'
fun."

"Come on, it's a large house. Three of them can't possibly dominate
it. Besides, you're still here and as far as I know you're
definitely not a Bingley," Elizabeth laughingly said.

"Right, and neither are you." William's mood seem to lighten up a
bit again. "Nor Jane."

"You said Bingleys. That includes Charles, you know. You wouldn't
spend so much time with him if you didn't at least like him as a
friend, right?" Elizabeth was still smiling and she sounded so
friendly William could not possibly be offended by her attempts to
belie his remarks.

"Of course, you're right. Charles is nothing like his sisters,
believe me. Louisa and Caroline – the two of them alone can fill a
palace." William sighed, got out the car, opened the door for
Elizabeth and took the bag from her.

On entering the house from the back, two shrill voices welcomed them
immediately.

"You can't give me a room without a bathroom." It didn't sound
familiar so Elizabeth figured this must be Louisa.

"She's right Charles. You can't send Louisa to an attic room, just
because you invite anybody who crosses your path. What where you
thinking; asking her without my consent?" This was definitely
Caroline with her high, stuck-up voice. "We have no housekeeper this
weekend; nice schedule you have."

"It was an accident. I didn't plan anything," Charles answered his
sisters.

Apparently the sisters hardly heard what he said, as Caroline
interrupted him immediately. "And which of her noisy sisters is
coming to nurse her?" This caused not only Elizabeth's eyebrows to
rise but some of her hairs, and quite a few of William's as well.

"Hello, Louisa; Caroline, good morning." William spoke not too
loudly but was clearly audible as he and Elizabeth rounded the
corner. In his right hand he carried the bag and his left hand lay
on the small of Elizabeth's back. It remained there while he dropped
the bag on the ground, nodded to Charles and extended his hand to
Louisa. "It's been awhile, Louisa. How are you?" But before he gave
Louisa the opportunity to answer he continued, "Let me introduce you
to Elizabeth Bennet."

It was clear the sisters would not be physically filling the house
as Elizabeth noticed Louisa was as thin as Caroline. Charles's
eldest sister, who was a bit taller than Elizabeth, had salt-and-
pepper colored hair worn in a stylish chignon. She had covered her
bony body in elegant, but colorless clothes. The quality of the
cloth, the tailoring, as well as the subtly embroidered logos of
famous brands, radiated "expensive". Together with her refined
makeup, she could be described as having sophisticated elegance.
Though Elizabeth, biased by the words she heard the lady utter
before setting eyes on her, could see no beauty. The handshake was
formal and weak, and the pale blue eyes only projected cold
indifference.

"Nice to meet you," Elizabeth said and shifted her gaze to Caroline
whom she had met before in the restaurant. As Caroline had been
sitting on that occasion, this was the first time Elizabeth could
actually see how tall she was. Head and shoulders over her, Caroline
sent an aloof glance downwards. Like her sister she wore designer
clothing, meticulously applied makeup, a not too subtle fragrance
and had, to Elizabeth's surprise, manicured, long nails; not the
kind of nails that would survive several workouts with horses.

"Hello, Elizabeth," Caroline said in a none-too-friendly tone, but
then noticed how William still kept his left hand on Elizabeth's
back, making it clear that he apparently had no objections to her
presence. Like a beaming sun suddenly appearing from behind a
thundercloud, her face brightened and her voice transformed into
cloying sweetness. "I hope your sister is doing well? Please tell me
if she needs anything and I will take care of it." She hardly
listened to Elizabeth's, "Thank you, I will," and turned to
William. "I hope the morning was lovely? Nice area to take a horse
outdoors?"

"Until the moment Jane fell it was indeed a very nice morning. If
you will excuse me, I've promised Elizabeth I'd bring this bag
upstairs." With a curt nod, he picked up the bag from the floor and
took it upstairs to leave in front of Jane's bedroom.

After William disappeared, Caroline and Louisa apparently saw no
reason to stay in the hallway and so turned and left for the large
living room. Charles expressed his concern to Elizabeth and made her
promise to ask for whatever either of the sisters might need. "I'm
glad you're here," he said with a bashful smile.

"I'm sorry we're trespassing," Elizabeth said.

"Oh, but you're absolutely not. I feel responsible for what happened
this morning and giving Jane some shelter and a place to rest was
the least I could do."

Elizabeth started to laugh. "There's absolutely no need to feel
responsible. Neither you, nor anyone else could have stopped that
rabbit." A bit more seriously she continued, "It was sweet of you to
bring Jane here. I'm happy to know she won't be alone when I have to
get things from home or the store."

Charles answered with a beaming smile, "I'm off to Meryton now. Jane
was prescribed a painkiller. I'll collect it from the pharmacy."

Elizabeth thanked Charles again, waved him off, smiling to see him
so eager to be helpful, and then walked upstairs to Jane. Picking up
the overnight bag, Elizabeth softly knocked on the door. The large
room was darkened by tall, velour curtains, so the daylight didn't
bother Jane, who lay on the bed with her eyes closed. She was awake
and noticeably happy to see her sister. With Elizabeth's help, she
changed into her pajamas and freshened up.

A knock on the door did not announce Charles with the medicine but,
surprisingly, William with two bowls of soup and some sandwiches on
a tray. "I figured you must be hungry," he said while handing the
tray to Elizabeth. "Would you do me a favor?" he asked while
retrieving his mobile phone from his pocket. "Next to the bed there
should be a knob. Could you push it?" As Elizabeth did so, he speed
dialed a phone number. "Charles, can you hear it? Yes? Okay." After
snapping his phone shut he explained while still standing in the
corridor, that Charles and he discovered there was a servant-system
with buttons in the rooms connected to the bell-board in the
kitchen. "It's working, so if you need something you can ring
downstairs."

Elizabeth objected. "It's very kind of you, but absolutely not
necessary. I brought Jane's as well as my cell phone. She can call
me if I'm not in the room. But thanks again, that's very kind of
you."

William answered with a shrug and turned to leave.

"William?" Elizabeth called after him. She hadn't said his full name
many times before. It caused the nape of William's neck to tingle
pleasantly before he slowly turned.

"Thanks for the soup. That was very thoughtful." Slowly the corners
of his mouth went up. As negligible as the movement was, it produced
an immense change in his mien. His usually serious expression
suddenly brightened like a little bypass flame on a stove that, with
the right turn of the switch, lights the main burner. Again,
Elizabeth saw how warm William's brown eyes were when he set them on
her and nodded a silent and pleasant, "You're welcome".

Elizabeth stayed quite some time with Jane and made sure she ate
something. As Jane insisted her sister should not feel obliged to
stay in the room the entire day, and certainly not when she was
sleeping, Elizabeth put some of the mail she had brought from home
in her pants pocket, and took the tray to the kitchen, where she
washed the bowls. Some warm sunbeams, which managed to reach the
basement, invited her to come outside; a request Elizabeth was by no
means willing to refuse. Donning her coat, which she had left
earlier in the scullery with her riding boots, she took the ancient
stone steps two by two to the small path at the back of the house.
Inhaling fresh air and enjoying the natural fragrances of the
beautiful autumn garden, she casually wandered to the backside,
where she found a stone bench.

It wasn't the solitary place she had expected it to be for she had
hardly finished the letter from her lawyer when William joined
her. "I see, you've found my favorite spot." He approached the
bench. "May I?" he gestured towards the empty place and at
Elizabeth's nod seated himself next to her. "Is there something
wrong?" For someone who couldn't see Elizabeth, this question would
surely come as a surprise; however, William was able to read her
countenance. In fact, even an illiterate could read that she was
upset.

"If you ever want to slim down, start a personal lawsuit. Every
letter from your lawyer will cause you to lose at least one kilo."
With fierce movements, Elizabeth folded the letter and put it back
in the envelope. William said nothing but waited patiently for her
to continue. "They say going through a divorce is in the top ten of
life's most stressful moments. I don't know who figured that out but
they're absolutely right."

When Elizabeth didn't say anything for a while, William softly broke
the silence. "So, the letter didn't bring you any good news?"

"It's so silly," Elizabeth sighed. "I had hoped we could go through
this like adults; make clear agreements and divide everything
honestly."

"You had community property?"

"Yes, but I don't want half of it. When we married, he possessed
much more than I did and I don't consider it fair to claim it after
such a short marriage."

William turned his head and looked at her in surprise. "So, what's
the problem then?"

"Instead of being grateful, he still tries to get the best out of
it. Even though I granted him everything he owned before the
marriage, he wants to bargain." She sighed, "I have the feeling he
deliberately wants to make my life miserable."

"You shouldn't let him do that." William sounded rather fierce. "Do
you have a good lawyer? What does he say about it?"

"He said I should not sign a list right away but think about it for
a few days and send it via him and Jonathan's lawyer."

"Your lawyer is right. You had a letter—does that mean you take care
of everything by mail or do you visit your lawyer personally?"

"Visiting a lawyer is way too expensive for me. I have legal
insurance, thank heaven, but that means I have to use the lawyer my
insurance appoints. Their office is in the north, about a three hour
drive away."

William wanted to offer the services of his personal lawyer, but on
second thought he kept his mouth shut. Elizabeth wouldn't accept it
anyway, and she would be right. He had only known her for a short
while. What justification could he make to provide his lawyer's
service for free?

When William remained silent, Elizabeth continued, "I don't get it.
It took me quite a while to make the final decision. When I told
him, Jonathan was all tears and misery. He couldn't continue without
me, etcetera. It didn't take him long to change his mind though.
Only a few days later, I received the first letter from his lawyer.
No attempt to get me back … to try it again as he had offered … but
immediately fighting to get the most out of it. It hurts me."

"When it hurts, you should fight back." William suddenly stood up
and put his hands in his pockets. "You went away. He can't stand it,
of course, and wants to fight back. No matter how worthless the
things he wants are, he just wants to fight. That's logical."
Considerably gentler, he continued, "Care for a little walk?" At
Elizabeth's nod, they slowly headed towards the same exit they had
taken with the horses that morning.

"I don't want to fight," Elizabeth said in a low voice. She didn't
want a straight solution from William, not from anybody actually.
She only needed to voice her feelings. It was strange; one minute
William annoyed her by giving direct answers to problems she didn't
remember having voiced as questions. The next moment she felt free
enough to tell this man her most private feelings. Who was this man
she first laid eyes on that sunny day on Place du Tertre, who
insulted her at the second encounter but now that she knew him a
little bit better, made silence comfortable if sharing it with him
during a nice walk?

At the end of the sand path behind Netherfield, William broke the
quiet. "Last week you said you didn't know exactly why you were
unhappy in your marriage. Have you found an answer yet?"

Elizabeth didn't react immediately. She kicked a little heap of
autumn leaves that formed a beautiful reddish yellow carpet on the
gray, sandy ground, ballooned her cheeks and exhaled audibly before
carefully formulating her answer. "I wasn't myself anymore. I did
what he did and in the end I liked what he liked. Sometimes I even
waited before giving an opinion on the most insignificant matters
until I knew what he would say." They took another road so they were
actually walking around the property, just outside the borders of
Netherfield. After some time, Elizabeth continued, "It happened
gradually, but at the end I never took the initiative in anything at
all. Who knows, I might even have forgotten what it was to take the
first step in a situation."

This time William didn't need much time to react. "That's
ridiculous." The tone in which he said it caused Elizabeth to turn
her head quickly upward and look at him with questioningly eyes. "I
mean…" William continued on with a gentler intonation. "Look at this
morning, you were all initiative. Jane fell, we couldn't reach a
doctor right away and you took over the lead immediately. You even
arranged an appointment before we came back to her. You were
terrific." Elizabeth shrugged, but a broad smile couldn't hide how
much she liked hearing his praise. William continued, "See, you
haven't forgotten how to do it. … but how could you lose it anyway?
During your marriage I mean."

"I don't know," Elizabeth said. "That is…. I think he was just too
strong for me. He was better at substantiating his point of view.
After some time, I was tired of even trying to oppose them. I often
took the easiest way."

"You made the decision to end the marriage, right? That certainly
took effort. It's not an easy thing to do."

"Oh, yes, you're right. But it took me some time to get there,"
Elizabeth explained.

"I bet you doubted."

"Of course I did. But that wasn't the only thing.

"You were the one who then filed for divorce?"

Again Elizabeth waited a bit before she responded. Doubt as to
whether she should actually disclose her most secret thoughts or not
consumed her for some minutes. She felt a bit ashamed and truly
thought she was the only person in the entire world who had such
feelings before daring to take the big step. "Well…" she slowly
began. "Yes, I took the initiative. But before that I had wished
many times ... oh, you don't want to know how often ... that I
didn't need to take that step. In my more desperate moments, I
wished he would get killed in an accident, or that he would catch a
fatal disease. That would have been easy, huh?"

"Yes, that would have been easy," William also took his time. "…
perhaps. Perhaps not. Be glad you don't know which option would have
been easiest."

"Yes, I am."

After this, they both remained silent until they were half way down
Netherfield's gravel driveway. Elizabeth again began doubting if it
had been wise to tell him. Cautiously glancing at William, she
noticed he was deep in thought. With a slightly furrowed brow and a
solemn look, he walked on and she was convinced he avoided her
eyes. 'Right, silly me. He really must think I'm nuts by now.' She
mentally kicked herself. 'I knew I shouldn't have told him.' Trying
to lighten the atmosphere she felt had suddenly become gloomy, she
audibly took a breath of fresh air and cheerfully said, "A pity Jane
has to stay inside. The weather is so lovely today."

"I hope she is doing well," William said. "Send her my regards. You
have to excuse me now. I have work to do." Although he sounded
friendly, his demeanor wasn't as bright and breezy as Elizabeth
hoped it would be. On the other hand, she concluded after a short
contemplation, he was rarely joyous. Recalling the times she had
met him, she only remembered a serious man. With a few exceptions,
he had been polite, most of the times friendly, now and then even
smiled and only one, exceptional moment had he laughed out loud.
That had been last week at the military when he teased her after she
made her remark about typical male and female behavior.

* ~* ~*


Whereas Elizabeth spent the rest of the afternoon as she planned,
comfortably together with Jane or in the other room reading a book,
William's time didn't pass as productively as he desired. He tried
to concentrate on the accounts and statements he should have been
able to plough through quickly, but time and again his mind drifted
away to the conversation he had had with Elizabeth that afternoon
and from there to other, older memories.

During their walks, mutual confidences seemed to unfold, but nothing
was further from the truth. As revealing as Elizabeth had been when
she told him about her feelings and experiences, William stayed
utterly close-mouthed. He felt no reason to disclose to Elizabeth
why he could advise her so credibly about Jonathan's reactions. He
knew them very well.

Walking toward the wall of his room, having crossed the distance
from the little bureau many times this afternoon, William's eyes
were again drawn towards a small painting. It was from an unknown,
regional artist, in oil and it reminded him of Monet's 1874 'Bridge
at Argenteuil'. It wasn't a copy, but the chosen point of view at
the side of the river, the shape of the bridge and the equivalence
of light and color certainly were similar. Wondering why he could
not keep his eyes off the oil painting, he tried to focus on
Elizabeth and what she had told him about her marriage. Then it
suddenly hit him.

Every time Elizabeth told him something about her divorce or
marriage, William would think back on his ex-wife and the years they
had spent together. Almost all of the ways Jonathan had reacted to
Elizabeth were familiar to William. He had done the same. Talking
with Elizabeth made memories he had persistently banned from his
consciousness, come to the surface again. She was the bridge between
his present life and bygone days. The past was where, if it was up
to him, his former marriage would stay for ever.

Thinking through it, he almost saw the bridge in the painting
morphing into Elizabeth. Her beautiful, svelte ankles stood in the
strong current of the river, where the water tried to find a way
between the piles. Standing straddle-legged with outstretched arms,
her fingers barely touched the banks. Far away at the other end of
the bridge, but still way too close for his liking, he could discern
Victoria, his ex-wife. Her beautiful, long red hair was,
uncharacteriscally loose, and the wind caught the strands and blew
it to all sides. She flung her head back and when she opened her
mouth, showing her beautiful teeth, William could hear the resentful
tones of her wicked laugh coming towards him across the bridge.

Would Victoria have wanted him dead like Elizabeth had wished her
husband? The fact Elizabeth had those feelings and dared to voice
them was the reason William stopped talking. He wouldn't value her
any less now that he knew. No, it was the sudden realization that
probably plenty of people on the verge of divorce, more specifically
his ex-wife, had those very wishes. This thought alone made him
silent and introverted. If so, how badly would Victoria have wanted
his life to end? Would she have been capable of deliberately ending
it?

Suddenly in the middle of the bridge another man appeared. The
association with killing must have brought him into William's
virtual image.

"No!" William loudly yelled. The memories of his former marriage
were supposed to stay buried deep down in the past, any recollection
of this man was absolutely the last image in the world he would ever
want to see again and should be forgotten forever. William's fist
hit the wall, right next to the painting. He vigorously shook his
head, turned on his heel and walked quickly to the bureau. Opening
his laptop and loading his spreadsheet program, he searched through
the pile of reports for calculations or analysis that absolutely
needed to be done. He would ensure they would distract him from
other contemplations.

* ~* ~*

The water droplets headed towards the bridge with the inbuilt weir.
Choosing which arch to take they followed a current that would lead
them between the two middle piles. It was one of the many
surmountable obstacles one could find in an ordinary river. But
nonetheless, a hindrance that had to be taken, before the journey
into the future could be continued.

* ~* ~*


Note: 1 Beating: A beater is a person that strikes bushes or other
cover to rouse game. The action is called beating.

Chapter 10

By the end of the afternoon, abundant and persistent hunger pangs
told Elizabeth she needed to search for some food. Although Jane
convinced her she couldn't hold her food, Elizabeth insisted she
should at least eat some clear soup.

"You stay here, and I'll make you some."

"Like I would run away," Jane faintly replied. "This bed is way too
comfortable anyway. I feel I could spend the rest of my life here."

"Hmmm, I guess not the bed but the house perhaps?" Elizabeth
teasingly said to her sister. "Charles is nice enough, isn't he?"

"Don't be silly." Jane denied it a bit too fiercely, making her grab
her head immediately. "Ouch," she groaned before softly
continuing, "Yes, Charles is nice, and my boss. Just my boss."

"He was quite concerned about you. Are you sure he is just your
boss?"

"Lizzy, please don't tease me. He is my boss and as he is so … he
can't be more." Again Jane groaned a bit from her headache.

"I'm sorry sweetie, I didn't want to tease you. Perhaps I'm seeing
things that aren't there and he is only concerned and no more. Now,
you lie down and I will bring you some soup." Elizabeth fluffed up
the head pillow and put another glass of fresh water on the
nightstand before she went in search of Charles.

She found him together with William in one of the front rooms, which
was fixed up as a study, and heard that both Charles's sisters had
left early in the afternoon to go shopping in Breefoort.

"I expect them to eat out," Charles said. "We can order something if
you want to."

Elizabeth, who was actually in the mood to <I>do</I> something after
such a quiet afternoon, suggested, "When I washed the bowls this
afternoon, I saw that Mrs. White has flour, sugar , enough milk and
eggs. I can make pancakes."

"I haven't eaten pancakes in years," William interrupted.

"Yes, that would be nice," Charles added with a beaming smile. "I
love pancakes."

"Then you'll have to come down and eat in the kitchen. They are best
right from the stove onto the plate." Elizabeth beamed back at
Charles, happy to be able to pay him back at least a bit for the
shelter he gave her and her sister. "Give me a few minutes to mix
the ingredients and then you're welcome to eat."

She quickly made her way to the kitchen where she easily found the
equipment to make the batter. Soon she tuned Mrs. White's little
radio to her favorite radio station and sang along with the 'Back to
the Seventies Show'. She danced to Donna Summer's 'Love to Love You
Baby', simultaneously whisking the mix to the subtle sound of the
percussion hidden for attentive ears beneath the infectious voice of
the singer. "Hmmmmm … Love to Love You…" She put the bowl on the
counter, and while rocking her hips provocatively to the music,
opened the fridge to collect butter and bacon. "… Love to Love you
baby, hmmmmm…"

William leaned, arms folded, against the doorpost, and smilingly
looked at the dancing Elizabeth. As it was already dark, the lights
were on in the half-subterranean kitchen. But somehow at that
moment, the atmosphere was much brighter than the other evenings
when William had gone downstairs to the kitchen on an hour he didn't
consider it necessary to bother Mrs. White. His eyes followed the
movements Elizabeth's body made, and he wondered if he had seen her
this cheery before. His mood was lifted by her pleasing voice
singing along with the radio, he couldn't help but move slightly
with the rhythm… until she turned and noticed she wasn't alone. The
sexy tone altered halfway in a catching laugh.

"Hi," Elizabeth nervously said. She stopped dancing and turned to
the counter to put everything she needed together.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." William smiled and approached
her. "Anything I can do?"

"Do you like pancakes with apples? You could pare some. Here's a
corer." Elizabeth handed him the utensil and together they ended the
preparations.

Charles arrived and set the table. The men took their places while
Elizabeth cooked pancake after pancake. The conversation went from
easy and pleasant to cheerfulness, and William told Charles how he
had caught a singing Elizabeth unawares. "You should have seen her
face turn beet red," William teased.

"Hey you, do you want another pancake or not?" Elizabeth pointed her
spatula at William with a quasi-threatening look.

"Yes, Ma'am." William obediently answered. "Don't worry, your
singing is lovely."

"Yeah, right." Elizabeth turned and made the same throaty noises she
did right before she discovered William was watching her, although
she didn't dare to utter them as flirtatiously as before.

"Hey, I mean it." William smiled.

"Careful, Will," Charles joked. "Otherwise, you'll have to make you
own pancakes."

"Shouldn't be a problem."

"And I should believe that?" Elizabeth turned away from the stove,
with the pan in her hands. "Can you turn over the pancake with just
a flick of the pan?" She showed own prowess and after a nice flip,
she caught the cake upside down in the skillet.

"Sure." William hoped he sounded convincing.

"Okay, you can make my pancakes then. I haven't eaten any so far,"
Elizabeth challenged.

William rose and let Elizabeth willingly put an apron on him. Sure,
he could cook something as simple as a pancake. Elizabeth took her
place at the kitchen table and together with Charles they cast
amused glances toward the man at the stove.

"Okay, watch this." William turned to them and held the panhandle
with two hands. "One, two, three…" At the first two counts he
slightly moved the pan up and down. At the third count it appeared
that he had held in the first two times because with a firm swing he
flung the pancake in the air. To his audience's great amusement, he
not only had underestimated his strength, but the height of the
ceiling as well. With a "plop" the half-baked batter attached to the
surface. Charles and Elizabeth both screamed with laughter. That
wasn't the end of the comedy show though. When William looked in
amazement at the ceiling and the pancake, the partly cooked batter
slowly came off and fell … right on his face.

Tears from laughing rolled down her cheeks as Elizabeth quickly
stood up and closed the distance to William. "I can't believe it,"
she laughed. "Even in the absolute cheapest slap-stick comedy they
don't let this happen, but you managed to get it right on your
face." She gently drew William towards the sink. "Here, let me clean
it off." William put the pan back on the stove when Elizabeth wet a
face cloth. The bigger pieces could be picked out his hair easily.
For the smaller dough spots she used the cloth.

William's hands hung in mid-air as Elizabeth's one hand held his
shoulder and the other covered with the cloth rubbed his face, firm
but gentle. Slowly his arms went down until his hands found a place
to rest on her waist. The question of whether this was inappropriate
hadn't even reached his brain, when his thumbs pointed towards
Elizabeth's belly button and he slightly spread his fingers. What a
slim waist she had, slim but not bony. A pleasant feeling of warmth
and familiar intimacy reached his consciousness. Nothing was wrong
with his bold hands, they belonged right there where they were lying
now. 'Why didn't I dance with her at the party? I could have held
her like this the entire evening.'

Elizabeth continued her ministrations, gently wiping off the batter
from William's face. She felt his hands closing on her waist, his
fingers brushing towards her hips in a tender movement. As if a
sunbeam suddenly descended on her, warmth spread through her entire
body. Although there wasn't any visible spot on his mouth, the face
cloth automatically moved towards William's lips. Barely touching
it, Elizabeth's index finger, hidden in moist cotton, followed the
line of his upper lip. Slowly her eyes moved from the scarcely
opened mouth to his brilliantly beaming, golden brown eyes. Gazes
locked and the grip on Elizabeth's waist deepened ever so lightly.
For him it felt like deja-vu. Had they done this before?

Suddenly, for a split second, he stood in a sun-soaked, yellow
surrounding. An invisible power gently pushed his head forward.
Someone … something pulled on his mouth with her lips as the
ultimate goal to reach.

"Charles, where are you?" The loud, clapping noise with which
Caroline slammed one of the back doors shut and her question, which
had the right construction but lacked any intonation of a typical
query, abruptly broke the spell.

In the blink of an eye, William was in the kitchen again. He
released his hold on Elizabeth's waist. "The faucet is leaking."
With a firm turn, he closed it thoroughly, only to watch Elizabeth
immediately turn it back on to rinse out the cloth. "I'll make you
another pancake," William offered.

"You'd better use the spatula to turn it this time." Elizabeth
laughed while she whisked the mixture again and William put some
butter in the pan.

"The broth is boiling." William lowered the burner.

Charles couldn't possibly fathom what just happened before his eyes
between William and Elizabeth. However, he sensed that the earlier
easy-going atmosphere transformed into another, indescribable
sentiment, and with the slam of the door it vanished, suddenly
making many mundane chores at the counter and stove necessary to be
done immediately. With an audible sigh he rose, opened the kitchen
door to the basement hall, and called in the direction of stairs to
the main floor. "Caroline, we're here."

"You won't believe this," Caroline snorted. Her spike heels ticked
crossly on the bluestone stairs leading to the basement. "Some idiot
hung a dead animal on the cullis. I wanted to show Louisa the
stables. We were scared to death. What kind of savage does this? The
poor rabbit."

Caroline barged into the kitchen and in her wake was Louisa, who
fanned herself with an exaggerated air. On seeing William with an
apron on cooking something for himself at the stove, Caroline
abruptly stopped. Louisa didn't, bumping into her sister causing her
to inelegantly stumble into the kitchen.

Biting her lip in order not to laugh, Elizabeth put the tray she had
found for Jane's broth down on the counter and turned to
Caroline. "I'm…."

William interrupted her. "If I remember correctly, we ate at a nice
restaurant not so long ago and you had no objections to the rabbit
on your plate," he answered with extreme calm while facing Caroline,
keeping one eye on his pancake as much as he could.

"That was different," Caroline snapped.

"How do you think that animal came to be on your plate?" William
smiled lightly. "It's rather hypocritical to enjoy a good piece of
game in a restaurant and imagine the meat has no further history
than lying in a sealed styrofoam tray."

Caroline's mouth was already open for a reply, but she slowly closed
it after William's calm remark.

In Elizabeth's view, the word hypocritical was rather harsh and she
couldn't help but feel sorry for the hurt look in Caroline's
eyes. "I hung the rabbit there," Elizabeth admitted. Surprised by
the reaction, she decided to ignore the short but very dirty look
Caroline sent her. "I suppose I shouldn't have hung it where it was
so easy to see. Sorry it scared you." William stepped aside so
Elizabeth had the chance to get the soup from the little pot on the
stove. Their hips touched, sending sparks up her spine.

"Your pancake is ready to turn." William lifted the pan from the
stove.

"Here." Elizabeth fetched a pan lid from one of the cupboards. "You
can use this. Slide the pancake onto it and then put it up side down
with the lid on the pan."

"Thank you." William took the lid from her. "It won't take long now."

On hearing this, Charles offered, "Let me bring the soup to Jane, so
you can quietly eat your meal." At Elizabeth's nod he quickly took
the tray from her.

Caroline was astonished to see all the busyness at the
counter. "William, I'm sorry you have to cook." Dropping heavily
onto one of the kitchen chairs, underlining her mood with an
exaggerated sigh, she continued, "I can't imagine that this would
happen at Pemberley?"

"Why not?" William didn't bother to turn from the stove.

"Pemberley is such a large estate. Surely there would be staff all
the time. If I remember correctly, you have several cooks, not to
mention the other kitchen help, and now we're only talking about
dinner. When was it we had that lovely gathering with your relatives
from France? Do you remember Louisa? We had that ten-course dinner
that night." Caroline shifted her look to her sister who nodded
affirmative.

"I think it was late August." Louisa also took a place at the
kitchen table. She pushed away Charles's plate, sticky with molasses-
drenched leftovers, with a disgusted look.

"I'm surprised you don't remember we hired extra staff that
evening." William lifted the pancake slightly with the spatula to
check if the bottom was done. He shook the pan to loosen it from its
base and let it swiftly glide on the plate Elizabeth had
ready. "Next one with apple?" He shortly glanced at her to see her
reaction.

An engaging smile played round the corners of his mouth; one that
Caroline wasn't likely to perceive because after Elizabeth's
approving nod for the apple pancake, William turned to the others
and with this little movement, his expression swung 180 degrees. In
a serious tone he continued, "I owe it to my ancestors to keep
Pemberley well-maintained. The house and the gardens are a result of
many generations and it's my duty to ensure it remains that way, and
improve where possible."

Elizabeth silently took her place at the kitchen table and listened
to the interesting conversation.

"You've certainly improved it, buying antiques that suit the house
whenever you can. Oh, Elizabeth, you should see the house," Caroline
said. "It's a living fairy tale."

"It is beautifully situated on a little hill. The light-colored
façade has a neoclassical design and the entrance hall alone would
take anyone's breath away." Louisa's words complemented her
sister's.

"Every lady of that house must have felt like a princess."
Caroline's eyes went heavenwards giving the impression she'd like to
be that princess someday. "Imagine the parties one could give in the
large rooms."

"I don't consider my house something out of a little story." William
turned towards the stove again to make sure Elizabeth's pancake
wasn't burning. "As far as I know, there have never been titled
persons in our immediate family and certainly not royalty. Besides,
running a house like Pemberley is not always a party. You might even
call it work."

"Of course, you're right. It's a huge responsibility." Then
Caroline's eye fell on a little grease spot on William's
pullover. "I'm sure your guests would never have to cook their own
meals. What happened to your clothes?"

"We had a little accident." William winked at Elizabeth which did
not go unnoticed by the two sisters.

"I'm so sorry William, I'll have it cleaned this week," Caroline
frowned. "I'll also talk with Charles. If Mrs. White has a day off
there must be someone else here to replace her. It's ridiculous that
you had to cook your own meal."

"I didn't, Elizabeth made pancakes and they were delicious."

Instead of granting Elizabeth an appreciating look, Caroline
sneered, "Perhaps you're used to cooking your own dinner. I'm
definitely sure William has more important things to do."

Wondering what could be the real reason Caroline was so catty
towards her, Elizabeth acted as if she didn't notice and cheerfully
replied, "I wonder if William is as good at those more important
things as he is at cooking pancakes, because this one tastes really
good."

William gave Elizabeth a soft smile. "Thank you. It was my pleasure
to return the favor. I should do this more often." Although he knew
very well Caroline would reject it, William turned to her, "Would
you like one Caroline? I think there's batter left for another." As
expected, Caroline, and after her, Louisa, turned him down. While
repeating the offer to have someone clean the pullover or if
necessary even replace it with a new one, and insisting William
should leave it in Caroline's room, the two sisters left the
kitchen.

* ~* ~*


In the meantime, Charles climbed to the second level with the tray.
Halfway up the second flight of stairs he remembered the dumbwaiter
next to the kitchen. It was an old one and probably installed when
the house was built. It still functioned perfectly and Mrs. White
used it to transport dishes with food and other things from the
kitchen to the little closet next to the dining room on the main
floor. The little square shaft also reached to all four levels
including the attic. It would have been easier if Charles had placed
the tray in the elevator and walked upstairs without it, but as his
offer to bring Jane the soup was spontaneous, he hadn't thought
about it. Clumsily holding the tray in one hand, he carefully
knocked on Jane's door.

Jane's eyes dilated in surprise at seeing Charles in her room. She
greeted him faintly, automatically raising her hand to her hair.

"Here is soup for the patient." Charles kicked the door closed with
his foot and cringed when he heard the clapping noise and feared the
impact on Jane's head. "Sorry, I'm afraid I'm not good at this."

"Don't say that." Jane smiled and tried to sit up.

Charles put the tray on a side table and approached her. "Here let
me help you." He plumped up the pillow. "This isn't enough. Here
let's put this one from the couch behind it." Quickly, he grabbed
two little square pillows and placed them behind the big one from
the bed making it easier for Jane to sit up. Wrapping his arm around
her shoulder, he carefully let her lean back.

Partly uncomfortable and awkward, but simultaneously feeling her
skin tingle everywhere he touched it through her nightdress, Jane
joked, "I'm not breakable, you know."

"Is it okay? Do you want another pillow? Wait, you will need a bed-
table to put the tray on. Let me fetch mine out of my room."

Before actually hearing what he said, Jane watched his retreating
back. Soon he came back with a pine bed-table, placing it carefully
over Jane's lap. "Does it stand firmly enough? It's a very handy
one, I use it often when my bed is way too comfortable to leave and
I have work to do."

Jane smiled at seeing him bustle about. "Thank you, Charles, it's
wonderful. Please don't go through all this trouble for me."

"Of course I will." Suddenly Charles stopped, eyed Jane profoundly
and sat himself on the bed side. "You scared me to death this
morning," he continued in a low voice.

"I'm sorry." Jane watched how Charles fumbled with the bed-table
pretending to check to see if it stood firmly enough. "Thank you for
your help. You were wonderful this morning." She bashfully smiled
and continued, "And you're wonderful for having me in your house.
Sorry for all the inconvenience I'm causing you."

Charles immediately dismissed it. "Please stop apologizing. I'm glad
to have you here. Besides, I owe you. It was my horse that quarreled
with yours and…"

"Yours? Caroline's you mean?" Jane questioned casually.

"Caroline's, it doesn't matter. If it wasn't for that horse…"

"It was a silly accident Charles, don't blame yourself."

"I do. Besides …" Charles hesitated a little. "I took you to my
house as a selfish act." Jane raised an eyebrow. "I couldn't stand
to be uncertain about your well-being. If you're feeling any better
I want to know immediately, and that's easier to find out when
you're close." His hand hesitantly moved from the table to her
fingers, and he tentatively brushed them with his knuckles. They
both followed the movement meticulously without saying a word until
Jane broke the silence. "Perhaps something of that broth you brought
me might help me feel better?"

"Of course." Charles stood up and brought the tray from the side
table to the bed. "Here you are. Now be a good girl and eat it."

When he sat on the bed again, Jane had to laugh. "You are not going
to watch me eat it are you?" Suddenly she felt uncomfortable again.
Every hair that was not in the exact, correct position as she would
have liked it to be, seemed to prick up on her head, telling her she
looked awful.

"Promise me you'll eat it then." Charles's pleading eyes melted
Jane's heart. On her almost invisible nod, he rose to leave her
alone. But before he went downstairs he turned towards the bed
again, ignored the little warning voice in the back of his head,
bent forward and kissed Jane softly on her brow.

Jane found herself alone in the room again with a huge bowl of broth
she had absolutely no desire to eat. Staring into the liquid, she
tried to read the answer to the question that was teasing her. Was
it the accident that morning that had deprived her of any appetite
or was something else the reason she had no desire to finish it?

* ~* ~*


It was the same muddled feelings of doubt that caused Jane to refuse
Elizabeth's suggestion to come downstairs for the evening. "I feel a
lot better than this morning, but I really think it's best to stay
here," she explained when Elizabeth came to pick up the tray.

Elizabeth went downstairs on her own, bringing the leftovers of her
sister's meal to the kitchen, then washing the dishes. Not that
there was much to clean, because the men left the kitchen as neat as
a pin. At least Elizabeth automatically expected it to be the result
of Charles and William, for she couldn't imagine Caroline and Louisa
dirtying their manicured hands on downstairs household chores.

Except for Jane, the others were all present when Elizabeth entered
the Chinese Room. Originally, Netherfield's main floor had been
split into several sleeping rooms as well as the entry hall with the
staircase, the room at the front, which was the study now, and two
rooms on the south side. One had been an anteroom for guests and
making music and the other had been the drawing room. During a
renovation at the beginning of the twentieth century, those two
chambers were conjoined to one large room. It was called the Chinese
Room because the original, painted, Chinese patterned leather still
covered some of the walls as it had since the day the house was
built. Charles spent the evenings there and used it like a large
living room. Modern equipment was cleverly hidden in antique
furniture, allowing the possibility of a breath of ancient grandeur
combined with modern comfort.

Charles suggested they could play 'Settlers Of Catan', the popular
board game, and both William and Elizabeth agreed. The eagerness
with which they did caused Caroline to hesitantly agree to join the
party as well. Although not very fond of party games, she decided,
nevertheless, that she simply could not be absent from this merry
little pastime, and persuaded Louisa to join as well.

They decided to play 'Catan' together with the 'Cities and Knights
Expansion Set' as it would not only lengthen the duration of the
game, but also make it less dependent on the dice and more on the
strategic decisions of the players. It didn't take long before
William had a few cities. Elizabeth noticed he not only knew how to
use his own cards, but had a particularly useful skill.

"Do you have a sudden clairvoyance?" Elizabeth asked with raised
eyebrows. "You know everything we have in our hand, it's amazing."

William looked at the board, seemingly deep in thought over what to
do next. "If I want to trade, I need to know what I can ask for from
whom, right? You need stone because I expect you want to build a
road towards the mountain there, and as you have at least two cards
of grain and as the others are all out of it, I ask your grain for
my stone."

Elizabeth blinked in surprise. Indeed, she had a grain card and,
yes, he was completely right; she wanted to build a road at the
exact place at which he pointed. Lifting her cards a bit and keeping
them close to her eyes, she gazed intensely at them before she
raised her eyes just over the edge to send William a mischievous
glance. "I'm not so sure I want to trade my grain with you."

Unmoved, William shrugged and picked up the dice pretending to give
them to Elizabeth for her turn. "Then not. You need it, not me." He
lied. He needed Elizabeth's grain card but it was the last thing he
would admit and squaring his shoulders a bit he feigned
disinterestedness and turned away from her.

"First, who says I need it. Secondly, even if I needed it I would
certainly not trade it with you," Elizabeth challenged and she
rotated one of her knights on the board so that the image on the
little round disk was upright from her point of view. At doing so,
her little finger barely touched one of William's pieces but he
could see she pushed his inactive knight that was lying close, a few
millimeters away. He got her hint that she was well aware he needed
her grain card to activate that knight, become the strongest player
on the board and win a round from the barbarians.

"I might as well trade my grain with Charles when it's my turn."
Elizabeth smiled at the other side of the table were Charles
suddenly cheered up on seeing he could indeed use the grain as well.
If he could activate his knight with the grain, the barbarian's
could conquer the board for the first time it would mean William
would lose a city.

"Of course you realize I will not forget this." William teasingly
said, put the dice Elizabeth had touched seconds before on the right
place again and smiled at the pleasant thought he had found a player
with skills equal to his.

"Don't worry, I'll help remind you before and after I've played you
off the board." Elizabeth took the dice from William who had nothing
else to do with his turn without the grain. "Imagine, you used the
grain to make batter for pancakes," she teased and glanced toward
the ceiling.

Caroline could not see the playful banter between Elizabeth and
William for the harmless challenges that go together with party
games, but she immediately recognized what Elizabeth was referring
to. "Charles, I said it before in the kitchen. If Mrs. White is
taking a leave, I insist you hire someone else. It is ridiculous
that we have our guests cooking for us."

She was the only one who was oblivious to the sudden change of mood
because she had no idea her statement had a whole other meaning of
cattiness with respect to Elizabeth's remarks. Neither did she
notice the annoyed look in William's eyes when she smiled at him. "I
am sure this would never happen at Pemberley. I'm sure there's
always someone to take care of your sister, Georgiana." Absent-
mindedly, she took the dice from Elizabeth. "Actually, how is your
sister doing?"

"She is fine, thank you," William answered shortly. "She's in
Switzerland this year."

"Of course, I almost forgot. It's for her education, right?"
Caroline forgot to throw her dice.

"Yes, it is a practical year." William looked at his cards.

"Oh, how I would love to see her again, soon." Caroline turned
towards her sister. "Don't you agree with me, Louisa. She is such a
pleasant girl."

"Oh, yes. I imagine you must miss her William."

"I do," William answered politely. "That reminds me, Caroline, I
must ask a favor of you."

"Certainly," Caroline said self-assuredly as though a request from
William was a common occurrence.

"Next week, we will have one of our business relations from Great
Britain over and he mentioned he'll be bringing his wife and
daughter. Since Georgiana is not at home, could you entertain them?"

"Naturally." Caroline beamed from ear to ear. "When can I come to
Pemberley?"

"Actually, we have some meetings up north and it would be more
convenient if they stayed here." William glanced at Charles. "I
expect Mr. King advanced his visit because he has high hopes of the
deal."

"Oh, is it Mr. King and his family?" To Elizabeth's utter amazement,
Caroline left the table and fetched a little book from one of the
drawers in the closet. "Here, I have it." Caroline searched through
the pages. "We received that lovely Chinese lacquer box from him at
Christmas two years ago. It will do perfectly on the little side
table there." Carefully, Caroline collected the little black box
from the closet.

"You actually keep a book of which gifts you receive and from whom?"
Elizabeth asked, surprised.

"Yes, Caroline does it. She always puts a gift from one of our
relatives or clients somewhere in the room when they visit us."
Charles explained.

"I suppose you've never entertained business relations?" Louisa
asked.

At Elizabeth's negative shake, Caroline continued, "Louisa, don't
forget not everybody entertains important guests."

"Of course not." Louisa turned back from the table and watched
Caroline place the box on the side table. "You must be friendly, but
not overly nice. You must be able to detect what their interests are
so you can converse on a topic they enjoy."

"Of course, you must know a great deal about many different topics
to not only have a conversation but one on a certain level as well,"
Caroline added.

"I think Elizabeth knows what you mean. Shall we continue the game?"
Charles laid the dice on the table at Caroline's place to indicate
it was her turn. His sister, however, remained standing, prefering
to continue focusing the attention on the fact William asked her for
a favor. "William, I'm sure you're conscious about how important it
is to entertain your business relations or their family for that
matter? One should be welcoming, taking them to the finest
restaurants and of course showing them the best shops we have to
offer. They must feel they are your best friends."

"Yes, I know," William casually said. "People behind a business who
take care of those social obligations are very important."

"They must be indeed if you have made your entire education how to
deal with them." Elizabeth smiled.

"Well, what do you expect?" Caroline joined them again at the table.
Methodically organizing the cards in her hand she raised her chin a
little and continued, "The continuation of an entire company might
be at stake, it's self-evident one prepares thoroughly for such
meetings. But I expect you never have had to deal with them?"

Elizabeth wasn't completely sure, but she really thought she saw
William's lips twitching a tiny bit. "As a matter of fact, I have
had some meetings with business relations, but I've never pretended
to make them feel they were my best friends. Staying polite and
friendly should be enough and if something does grow into a
friendship, it will happen spontaneously. In the end, they will feel
if it's true or not. Honesty is the best policy."

She looked intensely at her cards when she spoke but she could feel
William looking at her, smiling widely.

"Caroline, it's your turn to play," Charles urged his sister. "You
have a week to organize where to take Mrs. King and her daughter,
and where to put their gift. Let's continue the game, first things
first."

Play continued, and after a long, strenuous battle, William won the
game … one point ahead of Elizabeth.

Place du Tertre, the River, chapter elever, part one 

Early riser as Elizabeth was, she had made it a custom to walk
around on tip toes, making as little noise as possible when she left
her bedroom, lest she awaken someone. This Sunday, in a rather
unfamiliar house, she didn't act any differently. But unlike in her
parent's house, or the apartment, she discovered Netherfield held
another early bird as well. William was already sitting on the
kitchen table with a mug of fresh coffee when Elizabeth entered.

"You're up early," she said, surprised but pleased with his company.

"I can say the same of you." William calmly smiled back. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please." She nodded eagerly. "Do you mind if I smoke? Nothing
tops a cigarette and coffee first thing in the morning."

"And rest room right after it?" William stood up and took another
mug from the cupboard.

"How did you know?" Elizabeth was taken aback. Indeed after a mug of
coffee and one or two early morning cigarettes, she always needed to
use a toilet.

"I used to know a smoker and she had the same habit. As far as I
know, the nicotine affects the metabolism." William smiled,
surprised as he was that he felt comfortable enough to discuss such
private habits. But then his friendly expression suddenly vanished
at the memory of the woman who had made him familiar with the
morning routine of a chain smoker.

He must have been very familiar with her if he knows such details.
Surprised at why something like that would bother her, she took the
mug from him. "Thanks." Questioningly, she raised her package of
cigarettes.

"I don't mind, but I think Mrs. White disapproves of it." But at
Elizabeth's shrug he continued, "I guess she won't smell it if you
smoke under the range hood."

Elizabeth hopped on the counter, put the ashtray on the stove and
crossed her legs. Stretching out her arm, she turned the fan on. As
it was a new and silent one, she still was able to talk to William
without being drowned out by its noise. "Is this also something your
friend used to do?"

"No, she didn't," William curtly responded, remembering how often he
had asked Victoria not to smoke in every room in Pemberley and how
she always refused. In the end, he had practically forbidden her to
smoke in his house and he thought she had quit because of it. But a
few months later he discovered she never had. Absentmindedly, he
took Elizabeth's package and started to read the back while he stood
in front of her.

Although not able to read his mind, Elizabeth had coincidental
musings. "I want to quit." She turned her head to blow the smoke
into the hood. "…eventually."

"Eventually?" William put the package down again next to the mug. He
hadn't gone back to his chair and, standing in front of Elizabeth,
he put one hand in the pocket of his dark grey trousers, which
Elizabeth assessed as being considerably chic but William would very
likely call just 'casual', and leaned with his other hand on the
counter a few inches from Elizabeth's knee, almost touching her.

"Yes, eventually. When I'm ready for it. I tried to quit a few
times, but that was because someone else urged me. I don't think
that works. I really need to want it myself."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with some good encouragement."

"Of course not," Elizabeth replied. "But when it's too pushy, it
will work in the opposite way."

William wanted to protest, but something in Elizabeth's eyes
restrained him. He turned and took his place at the kitchen table
again. While doing so, his fingers slightly brushed her knee, an
accidental caress they both felt … very consciously.

"You're reading about the factory?" Elizabeth pointed at the book
that was issued a few years ago, on the centennial anniversary of
purchase of the factory in Breevoort by the Bennets.

"Before Charles took this assignment at Merytayns, I didn't have any
idea how beer was produced." William wrapped his long fingers around
his mug to warm them while he opened the book with his other hand.

"Really? Never interested in it?"

William turned the pages until he reached the chapter about the
Bennet family. "I never paid attention to it, other than to drink
the liquid, that is," he said while reading the family tree and
looking at the pictures of the last few generations of Bennets.

Elizabeth laughed. "They tell us we get our first drop of Merytayns
in our milk bottles. It's one of the goodies we give each other at
baby showers, a bottle of Merytayns with a nipple on top."

"You're joking." William absentmindedly leafed through the book as
he was not that interested in the family history. He never dove too
deeply into the owners' past of a company in which he was
interested. Plain cold figures, or the development of the products
and services that were brought on the market, could always count on
his attention.

"No, I'm not kidding, but I'm sure the daddies always drink the beer
instead of the babies."

"I bet," William answered. "It would certainly not be good for the
young mothers."

"That's not totally true. Of course it isn't good if they drink a
lot of it, but do you know many young mothers drink a bottle of dark
brown beer? They say it's good to start the breastfeeding."

William chuckled. "In that case, the babies would indeed start with
beer as their first drink, wouldn't they?"

"It's a good start. But not for always, I prefer coffee nowadays,"
Elizabeth laughed. "I'm ready for my second one, and you?" William
looked into his mug that was indeed almost empty. He quickly drank
the last sip and handed it to Elizabeth. As she took the cup, their
fingertips touched, and they both felt jolts through their arms.

Keeping his attention on the book, William reached the chapter about
a century of advertising <i>Merytayns</i>. "I don't see your work in
it." It wasn't a question, but his voice showed his surprise.

"The book is several years old and Merytayns hasn't been using my
work that long." Elizabeth put sugar and milk in her mug and asked
how William drank his coffee. On his answer that he preferred it
black she chuckled, "A typical accountant."

"I'm not an accountant," William protested.

"You're a figures man. Just like an accountant." After Elizabeth put
his mug on the table in front of the book, she took her position on
the counter next to the hood again.

"What makes you think I'm a figures man? Not that I know how you
would describe such a person."

"From the moment I've been here in the kitchen you've been leafing
through that book," Elizabeth explained. "You have thoroughly read
the profit and sales figures of the last few decades and the market
shares. Those are in the fourth chapter. Then you skimmed the other
chapters."

William was stunned. "You are a sharp observer." His eyebrows rose
in surprise.

Elizabeth casually shrugged. "I need to be. When I paint, I often do
a person in a few strokes. I need to observe thoroughly to assess
which strokes are needed and which absolutely are not."

William's mind jumped back to Place du Tertre, a few months prior.
As his eyes focused on Elizabeth's slender fingers now holding a
cigarette, his thoughts put something else in her hands … the wooden
handle of a brush topped with delicate sable hairs.

After she inhaled deeply, Elizabeth put the cigarette down on the
edge of the ashtray and casually brushed an unruly lock of hair out
of her face. However, from William's point of view, she carefully
laid the brush down on the worktable next to an easel and used her
finger to create a soft, colorful line on a blurry countenance.
Imagining himself in the squeaky cane chair in the center of Place
du Tertre again, he could almost feel his skin tickle at the exact
same place where Elizabeth's finger followed the line of her own
eyebrow. In a familiar movement, he moistened his lips with a quick
swing of his tongue.

It must have been a weird sight because he noticed Elizabeth was
eying him with an amused look on her face. "What are you staring at,
so intently? Something wrong with my clothing?" he vaguely heard her
say. She made a fuss of inspecting her clothes on possible stains
and rips. "They seem well enough to me. They aren't Christian
Lacroix, but they are clean, and what about yours?"

"Everything I wear is Hugo." Having been distracted with his
fantasies, he realized what he said was the silliest answer he'd
ever heard and even worse, it had been he who had said it. He shook
his head and blinked a few times, his face coloring dark red.

"You wear what?" Elizabeth laughed.

"I …" William stuttered. "I mean, my clothes are from Hugo Boss."

"Your clothes are from Hugo and you are the boss?" Elizabeth, who
knew perfectly well he was referring to the brand of clothes, joked.
She had to chuckle at William's apparent discomfort, but
simultaneously she wondered why he had so intensely stared at her.

William smiled back. "I'm sorry, I think I was staring at your
hands. You said something about painting and then … You have
beautiful hands, you know that?" He wanted to say more. He wanted to
say what he had felt when he was at Place du Tertre: what he thought
when he gazed at the portrait she had painted there, the one he had
locked carefully in his bedroom at Pemberley; how just thinking
about her paintings and seeing her hands brushing a lock away made
his skin tingle all over again, as it had done on that sunny day in
Paris. He would like to know if she had felt something special when
she had painted his portrait and if so, what those feelings had
been. He wanted to ask if she understood what was happening to him,
because he could find neither rhyme nor reason to it. But he didn't
dare. She would probably laugh in his face. She had painted him and
he had fallen asleep, having a very strange head trip. That was it.
No, William would not talk about such silly things as dreaming about
tenderly brushing hands.

"Thanks." Elizabeth spread her fingers and looked at her hands.

"So, why hasn't Merytayns used your work before?" William asked,
changing the conversation to a safer subject.

"I haven't been painting for very long." Elizabeth took her
cigarette again.

"Really? I assumed you painted for years. From what I've seen, I
think your work is remarkable. You learned this only in a few
years?"

Elizabeth's countenance suddenly fell. "I mean, I've painted for fun
for years." She jumped from the counter and turned to the stove to
smother her cigarette. "I quit and only last year I took up the
thread again."

"Why did you quit?" William noticed Elizabeth tighten her shoulders.

"I've always loved to paint and I even started an education that was
a combination of advertising science and practice. But after the
first year, someone convinced me that painting doesn't pay enough to
keep body and soul together. I switched from Advertising to a more
theoretical education and now I have a degree in Business
Administration." Elizabeth turned again and leaned against the
counter. She heaved a deep sigh. "At that time, I thought it was the
right decision."

"You've changed your mind?" William quietly asked.

"Yes and no." Elizabeth shrugged. "The education is never lost. I
majored in both Advertising and Marketing and I learned a lot. But
after a few years, I felt that marketing wasn't what I truly wanted
and I decided to try to sell my paintings. Merytayns used a portrait
I did of the ancient Peter Kuipson, the Guild Master. They liked it
and then I got the assignment to paint the four seasons."

"I liked them."

"They aren't finished yet."

"Did you dislike it when we came in the studio and viewed them
before you had finished?" William still tried to avoid looking at
her hands, and he slowly turned a page over.

Elizabeth was surprised. How could he know? She hadn't shown her
annoyance, had she? "Actually, yes I did. Not many people get to see
my paintings if they aren't ready. Consider yourself chosen." She
smiled.

"I would like to," William smiled back, "but I'm afraid Charles
practically dragged me in. I think he had no inkling that you
probably wouldn't approve of the idea."

"How did you figure it out I didn't like it?"

Now it was William's turn to have his countenance fall. "My mother
loved to paint. We were never allowed to even peek before she was
completely happy with her work."

"Does she sell her work?"

"Did."

Elizabeth could hear him heave a soft sigh.

"Did," William repeated. "She died years ago."

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth said quietly. "It must be awful."

William kept silent for a minute and then nodded, unhurried. "No,
she didn't sell her work. Whoever it was who convinced you painting
doesn't earn daily bread easily, he or she might be right. Only a
few people are capable of making much money out of their work and my
mother wasn't one of them. I don't think she even wanted to. She
once told me she regretted the few times she had given a painting
away to a relative or a good friend. She loved them too much." He
spoke slowly, carefully choosing his words. He kept glancing through
the book but Elizabeth noticed he wasn't even skimming the chapters
this time. He didn't see a thing; his thoughts were elsewhere.

In an attempt to raise the spirits that had suddenly dropped,
Elizabeth closed the distance a bit and seated herself on the chair
next to William. "You know," she started. "I didn't mind at all that
you saw my season paintings." William raised his head and gazed in
surprise at her. "I saw how you took your time to examine them one
by one. You didn't glance at them superficially with a disappointed
look as I have seen many people do." Then she chuckled, "Well, not
that many people actually, as, like I said, I don't show unfinished
paintings often. Most of the time they are disappointed because they
can't imagine what the end result will be and think what they see is
what they get."

"I could see they weren't completed, but I liked them already,"
William said and the golden flecks in his eyes started to shine a
little bit again.

"Are you sure your mother didn't let you have a peek every now and
then? It looks like you're trained." Elizabeth said it friendly, but
she grew silently mad about her own stupidity, when she saw she had
turned the shining flecks off with her tactless remark.

Now it was Elizabeth who had plenty of questions to ask: Did he miss
his mother? How long ago was it since she passed away? Had she been
ill? What kind of paintings did she make? Did William still have
them and if so, did he look at them often? Did his mother's work
remind him of who she was? What kind of woman had she been? But
Elizabeth deemed it too private to pry and instead, on impulse, she
laid her hand on his arm. "Are you up for a walk? One of the seasons
I have to finish is Autumn and I have a feeling I could get plenty
of inspiration from this weather."

"I would like to … very much," William sighed. "But I have to get
through the reports of Merytayns. I'm afraid I have too many
obligations this week so I planned to do it this morning." Then he
smiled at Elizabeth, feeling her hand practically burning through
his arm. "But, perhaps this afternoon? If I start right away I might
get ready in early and have some time left."

"In that case, I won't keep you any longer," Elizabeth smiled. "I
need to go upstairs and see if Jane is awake anyway. Don't let me
bother you."

She quickly stood up, rinsed out her coffee mug in the sink and
walked to the door. "Thanks for the coffee. It tasted good."

Before William knew it, he was looking at a closed kitchen door.
Don't let me bother you … He mentally repeated her words. With a
small thud, he closed the book and saw the image on the back flap.
It was an aquarelle of how the two Merytayns factories must have
looked 100 years ago. The small river that meandered around Meryton
and provided its canals with water divided the image into two. In
the top half was the Merytayns factory in Meryton, and in the bottom
was the one in Breevoort. With his fingertip he absentmindedly
followed the line of the water. Then, with a sigh he took the book
and stood up to leave for the study.

'Lately you bother me day and
night!'

Place du Tertre, the River, chapter elever, part two 



Ballooning his cheeks and consciously breathing out at a steady
pace, William stretched his back and raised his arms as high as he
could. He had been working a few hours on several Merytayns reports,
analyzing them, and making notes where he wanted to know more
details. Charles had joined him for two hours, but left the study
when Caroline announced they had visitors. Other than vaguely
wondering if it was common for this area to have neighbors visit
each other on Sunday mornings, William hadn't paid much attention to
the noise in the hallway, remaining focused on his task. Now,
deciding to stretch his legs and get some coffee, he crossed the
hallway. In the Chinese room, Caroline greeted him with an obvious
fake smile, rolling eyes and a slight nod toward the other end of
the room. There he spotted Mrs. Bennet and her two youngest
daughters, Kitty and Lydia.

"Oh, if it isn't the man who called my daughter a walking chimney!"

Mrs. Bennet's voice was even shriller than William remembered. Not
sure if it was his good upbringing or Elizabeth, whom he observed
visibly stiffening from her mother's ill-mannered greeting, he
ignored the remark and politely asked how Mrs. Bennet was doing. It
was his first and last contribution to the conversation though, as
he took some coffee from the side table and positioned himself with
his cup in front of the window.

"Mr. Darcy, I was just telling how lucky our Jane is to have found a
friend in Mr. Bingley." Mrs. Bennet seemed not to notice William's
lack of interest in her talk, and shifted her position in her
armchair towards him. "But then again, Jane is such a sweet girl.
She could have been married now. A pity, things didn't work out that
way."

"Mom," Elizabeth softly hissed.

"What?" her mother replied. "Nothing to be ashamed of, darling. At
least she handled things graciously."

From his position at the window, William could sense Elizabeth
gasping for breath; although he was somehow sure she tried to do it
silently. He could also hear Lydia chortle, "Yes, she did, huh,
Elizabeth?"

William unconsciously pricked up his ears, when Lydia dropped her
voice and continued, "Unlike your sleeping around."

"A pity, indeed." Mrs Bennet stood up and started to walk
around. "But who knows, maybe it was for the better for Jane. You
have a beautiful house here, Mr. Bingley."

"Thank you, Mrs Bennet," Caroline answered in Charles's place.

To Elizabeth's horror her mother continued, "Jane would know exactly
how to update a place like this. She has such wonderful taste in
decorating."

Elizabeth's chair was so positioned in the room she could see her
mother, as well as Caroline and William. Reading the emotions from
all three faces she saw, not that she was surprised of it, the first
had no clue about the hostility her remarks aroused. On Caroline's
face, she saw a look of total disdain. William's, however, was more
difficult to fathom. He stood, stiff as a rod, his mouth a firm
line, his jaw tensed, staring into the distance. Not entirely sure
how to explain it, Elizabeth thought she saw surprise, slight
distaste and perhaps even shock.

"Mother, I think this household is being run perfectly," Elizabeth
said to her mother in such a way everyone present could hear
it. "The Bingleys did a great job renovating the stables and opening
the house again."

"Of course, they did," Mrs. Bennet replied. "But it needs more to
make a house a home. Not everybody is capable of adding a warm and
welcoming atmosphere just by remodeling some wooden panels."

Now Elizabeth was sure she saw William snorting in contempt. "I had
a nice evening yesterday and I certainly didn't feel cold or
unwelcome."

Lydia and Kitty didn't take part in the conversation before, other
than Lydia's vicious remark to Elizabeth, but after some whispering,
Lydia turned to Charles. "Well, there's a way for you to prove this,
you know."

Charles smiled back at the girls. "And what is that?"

Kitty started. "When a new neighbor moves in, it's quite customary
to have a house warming party."

"Yes," Lydia eagerly added. "To sort of warm the house with all your
new neighbors. Customary is an understatement here. If you don't
give a party you'd be going against some very ancient country rules."

Mrs. Bennet's face brightened with this new suggestion of her
daughters. "My girls are right Mr. Bingely; a party is a wonderful
idea. Just an open house, perhaps some music." She turned on her
heels admiring the entire room anew. "This house is so suitable for
parties. Now, when I was a little girl we used to have Gala nights
here. A palm-court orchestra in the Salon, card tables in the
gentlemen's room, exquisite buffets in the dining room … ah those
were the days."

"It's not a necessity. Mr. Bingley and Caroline are free to do
whatever they want, and if that means no house warming party, so be
it. Don't exaggerate. There are no strict rules at all." Elizabeth
ignored the cross look Lydia gave her.

"Oh, no problem at all. If it's common in this area to invite all
your neighbors over for an introductory party, we certainly won't
break the habit," Charles cheerfully said.

"Let me know if there's anything we can do to help." This time Mrs.
Bennet turned to Caroline. "We know the best caterers here. Don't
use the florist on the market square in Meryton. The one on North
Street is much better."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bennet," Caroline stopped the rant with a flat
voice. "I must say, you are right. This house is perfect for a
gathering. You don't need to worry; we have plenty of experience
organizing a party. I've worked with the best party services before."

Slightly offended by the sudden interruption, and disappointed she
would not be asked for help, Mrs. Bennet said shortly, "Fine. That's
settled then." Turning to Elizabeth she continued, "We'll head home
now. Elizabeth, make sure Jane gets enough rest." A little softer,
but still audible for at least some present, she added, "And make
sure you're not a nuisance while you're here. Please remember not
everybody always wants to hear your opinions on every insignificant
detail."

"Don't worry, Mom, Jane couldn't be in a better place than here
right now. Let me walk you out." Although Elizabeth tried to sound
calm and reassuring, she could almost feel her blood boil form
annoyance, anger, and shame. The last emotion being the predominate
one. Shame, because she felt her mother and sisters had done
everything possible to make a fool of themselves. And not only that,
Elizabeth was sure it hadn't done any good to the already bad
impression Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst had of Jane and
herself. When passing Charles's sisters, she could almost feel how
they were preparing nasty descriptions to persuade Charles that they
were the absolute last people with whom he should become acquainted.



* ~* ~*


After waving her mother and sisters off, Elizabeth quickly took the
few sandstone steps to the monumental front door. As she was
absolutely not in the mood to re-enter the Chinese room again, she
rounded the corner to the tile covered basement stairs. She hastily
crossed the long hall, entered the kitchen, grabbed her coat from
the hook in the scullery, took the small servants back door and ran
the little steps to the back square. She needed fresh air, now!

She didn't get much of a chance to enjoy it in solitude though, as
William soon joined her at the pine wood hammock.

"I thought you gave me a rain check." He smiled at her and
continued, "Or have you changed your mind -- do you want to walk
alone?"

"Oh, it's okay," she languidly said. Actually Elizabeth preferred to
be alone but she had not only promised William to join him on a
walk, she concluded his presence might distract her thoughts as
well.

She figured wrong.

William took out his handkerchief and handed it to Elizabeth. "Your
mascara…"

"Must be the drizzle…" They both knew she was lying.

"You're upset." William stated it matter of factly. Elizabeth chose
to look the other way, admiring the small spruces at the other end
of the garden.

"That was quite a welcome your mother gave me." He snorted.

Now Elizabeth turned her head quickly. How could he? Getting annoyed
by your own mother was one thing, but that didn't mean a complete
stranger was entitled to say it out loud. Feeling her temperature
rise from sudden anger, she wanted to automatically say something in
defense of her family. Her thoughts propelled back to when she had
observed William's stiff manner that afternoon. He might have been
difficult to fathom, but she was sure she had read disdain on his
face. She recalled how he had tightened his shoulders when his
mother addressed him. Then, in the same split second the image of
William in the lounge of the party centre, right before they entered
her aunt and uncle's anniversary, filled her view. His cold brown,
muddy eyes pierced through her again. Then, his remark that she was
crystal clear … so unprofessionally crystal clear, that he made
while they walked towards the Merytayns' Cannon after the dinner at
The House of Frederik Hendrik, drummed through her ears again. All
annoyances caused by her mother and sister's foolish behavior and
comments vanished; stifled by a sudden urge to defend.

"My mother means well," she snarled. "At least she did her best to
keep the conversation going. I cannot say that for you or anyone
else present in that room."

"Sometimes no conversation is better than the ramble I heard this
afternoon." The words were as cold as his gaze, icily staring at her.

"Sure, that's why you didn't say one single word during my aunt and
uncle's anniversary party? Afraid you'd get an actual response?"

William stared at her in utter surprise. Anger briefly flashed
through his eyes, but in a partly successful attempt to sound calm
he slowly said, "Right, I think we should leave the rain check for
another moment." Firmly pulling the hood over his head, he abruptly
stopped, then with huge steps he walked away, braving a sudden
downpour.

Not only wet by the rain but expeditiously cooled down as well,
Elizabeth shouted, "William, wait." With short quick steps, trying
to keep his pace, she walked next to him. "I'd like to walk with you
… if that's okay."

When he didn't reply, or slow his gait, she stopped and shrugged her
shoulders, ready to turn back to the house. But to her surprise,
William pulled at her arm with a firm grip. "Let's get shelter in
there." He pointed to the little arbor in the corner of the garden
and they both started running. The octagonal bower had seen better
times and could definitely use a renovation, but it was still dry,
and the few panes that were broken had been covered with plastic.
Elizabeth almost stumbled over the threshold when she hastily ran
inside, and William quickly closed the French doors. Along all the
windows were broad benches. Elizabeth could imagine them covered
with floral patterned cushions, the same cloth as would have been
used for the lampshade which she spotted, now a bare frame, hanging
on the pointed ceiling. She seated herself while William preferred
to stand, both hands in his pockets, in front of the doors
overlooking the huge lawn, his view foggy by the curtain of rain.

Rubbing her arms, Elizabeth silently observed William. Why did she
react so strongly to that man? Another memory of their short history
rose to her consciousness; the time she had slapped him. Slowly
shifting her look to the hands in her lap, she realized the
resemblance. At the military she had been angry at Jonathan and his
Corinne, and vented it on William by her impulsive reaction. It
wasn't so different from her reaction now. Thank God she hadn't hit
him this time, but she had lashed out with her catty remark. And for
what? For him saying something that was true? There was a distinct
difference, though. A few weeks ago William had remained calm,
trying to ease her. Now, he had reacted as she deserved. Elizabeth
softly sighed.

"You were right. I'm upset."

Slowly, William turned around till he was facing her. He looked at
her for what seemed minutes. Finally he calmly said, "I shouldn't
have said that about your mother."

"It's okay … I-" Elizabeth started.

"No, I was out of line. I apologize," he firmly said.

She dared to look at him again. "Well, what you said was true. My
mother certainly gave you quite the welcome," she laughed nervously.

William looked at her intently, then noticed her rubbing her arms.
With two steps he was next to her. "Are you cold?" Seeing her teeth
clatter, he realized it was a rhetorical question. He grasped the
lapel of her coat tentatively. "It's soaked. You should take it
off." He knew he sounded worried, but he didn't care because it was
precisely how he felt. "Here, take mine…" He quickly stripped off
his moleskin coat, which was indeed still nicely dry and warm on the
inside.

"No," Elizabeth objected. "You'll get cold yourself." She looked
around at the stored garden furniture. "Isn't there something here I
can wrap around me?"

William suddenly felt nervous, and quickly cleared his throat. "You
can wrap this around you."

"I said no…. then you would get-" She couldn't end her sentence, as
William interrupted her.

"We can wrap it around..."

William's eyes completed his statement with the proper question
mark. Elizabeth hesitated, then slowly nodded. She shifted a little
so William could sit next to her, while he draped his coat around
her shoulders.

"Hey," Elizabeth protested. "I thought you said <i>we</i>. You're
not covered now." She laughingly pulled at his coat in order to
shift it back to William.

"Wait." William tried to conceal he was inhaling shakily. "This
might help." He wrapped his arm around Elizabeth's shoulder and then
the coat over his arm, Elizabeth and his other shoulder,
simultaneously pulling her close to him.

And so they sat, silently watching the rain smash against the panes;
the water droplets finding the shortest way to the ground in
straight, parallel rivulets.

Place du Tertre, the River

Chapter eleven part three,



If William was nervous or fearful of Elizabeth pushing his arm away,
it was for naught. She felt surprisingly comfortable and at ease in
his embrace … and suddenly warm. His arm was spreading a warmth on
her shoulder that she could feel to the tips of her toes. William's
upper leg, glued to hers from knee to hip, wasn't cooling her down
either, nor his heaving chest which slightly brushed her breast with
every breath.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you." Elizabeth kept staring at her hands
clasped together in her lap.

"Like I said, I was out of line. I should do the apologizing here."

William's fingers, tenderly drawing steady, perfectly symmetrical
ellipses on Elizabeth's upper arm, had a calming effect on her.
Slowly, unconsciously, she leaned a little bit more on him, shifting
her hands a bit until they touched his leg, and rested her head
against his shoulder.

"No, you're not. I was a bit annoyed with my mother and sisters and
I directed my anger at you." Elizabeth joked, "You have that effect
on me, you know? Apparently you open the anger floodgates in me."

William briefly increased the pressure of his fingers on Elizabeth's
arm in a teasing manner. "I do hope that's not the only effect I
have on you."

"Of course not, but I was upset, and you happened to be there, so
you got my snarls. You said something that was true and I couldn't
handle it. You were here at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I don't consider this the wrong place, right now." His breathing
had calmed down and William felt perfectly content sitting next to
Elizabeth, feeling her body pressed against him. He was tempted to
wrap his other arm around her as well and lock her in a complete
embrace, but sensed that might spoil the moment. So he laid his hand
casually in his lap and enjoyed the moment, while trying to ignore
the sudden excitement that arose in a certain area.

Elizabeth played with her watch. "Not only did my mother embarrass
me, my sister did as well."

William continued his strokes again. Even though he expected she
wouldn't be happy, he decided Elizabeth was a woman who preferred
honesty above pretence. "I heard what your sister said."

"You did?" Elizabeth wasn't surprised. She knew all along it might
be very possible he had heard it, yet it didn't lessen the
embarrassment. "You know, I normally don't casually sleep around as
she said."

"There's no need to excuse yourself," William gently said. "I don't
need to know if you don't want to explain."

"It just isn't true what she said, and I hate it when she takes
every opportunity to point out something she thinks I did." Somehow
she wanted to clarify, regardless of the fact William had just said
she didn't need to. It felt good to tell, and the reassuring
atmosphere, created within his cocooning arm and his tender
caresses, made it that much easier.

"Lydia is my little sister, and to be honest she's sometimes ….
impulsive," Elizabeth started. "On more than one occasion I've tried
to stop her from doing something she suddenly wanted to do. Well,
you can imagine, she hasn't always liked that. She accuses me of
constant, uninvited meddling in her life. And now there is something
she can rebuke me for and she uses every opportunity to do so."

"I assume you made a tiny mistake?"

"I don't even know if it was a mistake. Well, it was anything but
respectable. When I tell you this, it may sound very calculated but
it wasn't. It just kind of happened." Elizabeth heaved a deep sigh
and started to tell about the past summer; how deep down, she felt
the need to end her marriage, but didn't dare oppose her husband;
how she slowly started to flirt with other men after having a couple
of drinks at parties; and how on one fatal evening, she had done a
little bit more than flirting, when she and another man had
thoroughly kissed and groped each other. She had fully realized how
likely it was for her husband to catch her. Jonathan had seen her,
of course, and had been justifiable angry. It was the start of a
quarrel that ended with him threatening divorce. In hindsight, that
was exactly what Elizabeth had wanted. She hadn't had the courage
to say it herself so she forced a situation where Jonathan would say
it.

"Do you regret that you and that man … ?" William asked.

"To be honest … not really." Elizabeth was self-assured with that
statement. She truly believed her own remark. "Of course, I wish I
had had the strength to just say to Jonathan I wanted a divorce. I
think I kind of fled into the behavior of flirting with other men; a
kind of unrealistic world. And in this little town, I now have the
reputation of being the woman who played around, who cheated on her
husband. On the one hand, I hate it so much, and on the other hand,
I don't care, because strictly taken, they are correct. I broke my
wedding vows. Of course, it wasn't technically `adultery', but the
remarks of the others made me feel as though they were accusing me
of it nonetheless."

"I can imagine you'd hate it to be accused of that," William softly
said.

"Well, most of all because very few people seem to wonder what made
me act that way. It's quite simple: I kissed another man, so I am
the bad one. They don't have a clue that Jonathan had so much
influence on me that I didn't dare to even suggest a divorce myself."

"It must have been a tough time for you." William drew Elizabeth a
bit closer to him, and with that movement his coat slowly glided off
his shoulder. With his other arm, he quickly gripped it, put the
coat back and left his arm there longer than was necessary, enjoying
every second he had Elizabeth in this complete embrace. "Did you see
that other man afterwards?"

"Oh, no," Elizabeth reacted. "I haven't seen him since and I don't
care. I think he enjoyed the moment and the idea of no strings
attached. That part of Lydia's casual sex remark was true."

"And you, do you enjoy the idea of no strings attached?" William was
surprised that he would dare ask.

"You know, when I was younger, and studied in another city, I was a
normal red-blooded girl; I had a few casual relationships, I just
enjoyed the moment, and liked the freedom of no commitment."
Elizabeth's face lit up as if she had found a solution. "Well, that
might be just the thing. Go out again, party, and live for the
moment, no commitments, just to get past Jonathan; erase my last
experience with him for good." She laughed as if someone told her
the last good joke of the day.

Infected by Elizabeth's sudden change of mood, William laughed. "Who
knows, it might work."

Elizabeth saw the rain had stopped. "Come on, I don't want to sit
here talking about my former life. What must you think of me? When
I'm not slapping you, or snarling at you, I burden you with my
problems." She gently pushed William's arms away and rose to her
feet. "It did feel good to talk, and I thank you for listening, but
now I'm passed my annoyance and I'd like to do something else. Shall
we go into the house, get a new coat for me and go on our walk after
all?"

William just smiled at her. He liked how Elizabeth's mood could
brighten in seconds. She wasn't one likely to stay gloomy for hours.
He liked how she could laugh. He recalled her dinner with her
sisters, the day she had moved to her apartment, he had heard her
laughing and joking. His mind went back to when he had seen her
dancing at the anniversary party; an elegant, dazzling appearance on
the dance floor. Well, he had to admit it, he liked her, the woman,
Elizabeth Bennet. He admired how Elizabeth dared to share her
secrets with him. He felt pride that for some unknown reason, he was
the one who made her comfortable enough to talk, but that pride
alternated with envy, that she dared to do what he knew he should do
himself. William saw by talking about it, Elizabeth eased the pain
of what she had experienced, and he realized this approach might be
helpful for him as well. He certainly had a history, and the need to
get over it was increasing every day. If only he could become so at
ease that he could dare share. But William Darcy had <i>never</i>
shown insecurity, or shared private and incomprehensible feelings.
The moment was approaching though. He felt it. The only reason why
Elizabeth was so relaxed, was because he felt so utterly at ease in
her company. Her presence made him feel comfortable and her soft,
warm, feminine body against his had made him want to lose himself in
her. It was contradictory. His physical reaction had been anything
but relaxed, but his mind had been all peace and quiet; an addictive
feeling he feared he might not be able to live without much longer.

He laughed when Elizabeth pulled him to his feet. Although he felt
the need, he couldn't find the right thing to say, which words to
choose, and after some seconds he concluded it wasn't necessary. It
must be obvious how much he admired her. There was no need to say
something that was so obvious. He was sure Elizabeth realized how
much he held her in great esteem. So he only nodded, and they
quickly got back to the main house.

* ~* ~*


Upon entering the house, their plans changed as they discovered Jane
was fully dressed and sitting in the Chinese room. On Elizabeth's
worried cries and surprised questions, Jane simply answered she was
sick and tired of lying on the bed. She was no hothouse flower, and
although her muscles hurt, she felt there was nothing wrong with
being up for a few hours. So, Elizabeth joined her and Charles at
the cozy arrangement of couches in front of the fireplace. She could
not help but smile when she saw how caring Charles was for Jane.

"Do you want some tea, Jane?" Elizabeth heard Charles ask
softly. "It's no trouble at all. What flavor would you like? Are you
sure you're warm enough? I can get you an extra blanket."

It was Elizabeth who interrupted this sweet conversation by the loud
noise of her sneeze.

"Lizzy, your clothes are wet. What happened?" Jane asked, worried.

Elizabeth and William told the others they were caught by the sudden
downpour. After another sneeze, Elizabeth followed Jane's advice
that it might be a good idea to take a nice, hot shower, instead of
continuing on her walk outside. Half an hour later she re-entered
the Chinese room, finding a nice fire ablaze. Caroline and Louisa
sat at the other end of the room in front of the little television
watching a fashion program. Jane and Charles were
discussing 'Merytayns' figures over a cup of tea. Elizabeth went to
the fire and stretched her hands out to the heat of the flames.

"That's nice. Was there lightwood here? I didn't see it before," she
asked.

"William was nice enough to go to the stables and cut the wood,"
Jane explained.

As Elizabeth looked around, her sister added, "He's taking a shower
now."

"I see you're not only talking shop this weekend, but studying the
figures as well?" Elizabeth nodded at the papers and reports
scattered over the couch.

"William and I studied some reports this morning and we have a few
questions. It's very likely Jane knows the answers with all her
inside knowledge of 'Merytayns'," Charles clarified. "But don't
worry, Elizabeth, I won't wear your sister out too much." He cast a
caring look towards Jane. "In fact, I think you should take the day
off tomorrow." Upon Jane's objection, he softly added, "I insist on
it."

Elizabeth took a place on one of the couches, pulled her legs
casually under her, and started to read the book she had taken from
upstairs, when William entered the room, laptop in hand. She noted
how Caroline looked up from the television immediately, flashing a
bright smile at William. "There you are, Will. Enjoyed the shower?"

William absentmindedly nodded towards Caroline and walked towards
the fireplace. "Are you warm again?" he asked and sat next to
Elizabeth.

"Yes, thank you. The fire is just the perfect finishing touch."

William softly smiled, then aimed his attention towards Charles and
Jane. "Here, this is what I meant earlier." He opened a file and
turned the laptop so the others could see it.

Jane briefly looked. "This entry is for the staff beer." On the
questioning looks from the men she continued, " 'Merytayns' delivers
a crate of beer to the houses of all of the employees every Friday
afternoon."

"Amazing," William quietly said.

"If you ever want to make suggestions to cut down expenses, make
sure this is the absolute last one." Jane laughed. "Don't touch
their beer; it's an ancient ritual."

Once again, William looked surprised, but he said nothing, shrugged
and made a note. The three continued to analyze the figures.
Elizabeth also said nothing, but took the opportunity to observe
William. He was so different from the sweet man in the bower. A dark
crease disgraced his brow, and the friendly wrinkles at the corner
of his eyes had disappeared. His face emanated concentration; a
cold, aloof business mask. Slowly, but ever so steadily, doubt
crawled into Elizabeth's consciousness. Again, she had shared some
very private feelings with this man. What must he think of her? What
possessed her to burden him with her silly tales? 'Imagine, I even
said I didn't regret my actions last summer.' That wasn't true. She
wished she had been stronger, she wished she would have told
Jonathan right away instead of lowering herself to playing around.
And now, she allowed William to believe she was pretty happy with
herself. 'Silly me.' She now felt she had lowered herself twice.
First, with her actions last summer, and now when she made it appear
she was rather indifferent towards it. But she wasn't. She decided
she would never again drown in a relationship like that one. She
decided she would never bottle up her frustrations again, but would
release them out immediately. And if she ever had a relationship
again, she would never, ever let another man come between her and
her lover, not even for a little kiss or a fun flirt.

Again, her look slowly shifted from her book to William and back.
What kind of man was he? He could make her burst out in anger, just
by saying nothing more than the truth. Earlier, he had made her
feel so at ease that she shared her most private thoughts with him,
and now, seeing him working together with Charles, focused on
financial figures, his face stern; he made her uncomfortable. Then
she realized it. William was exactly the man who could make you
drown if you didn't pay attention.

Having felt awkward many times in her life, Elizabeth automatically
reacted as she had done before; tease, answer with just the right
amount of impudence, sprinkle remarks with a touch of humor and
irony; they were her trademarks.

To her utter surprise, she received very likely unintentional
assistance from Caroline. The two Bingley sisters approached the
fireplace as soon as the television program ended. Seeing the
couches were occupied with people, papers and reports they took a
place at the table instead. Caroline wearily took one of the
magazines and made an attempt to finish the crossword.

"William, darling, do you know another word for efficiency or skill?
It starts with a C." The sudden question startled William. Annoyed
for the interruption he curtly answered, "Capacity."

"Hmm, too short."

"Competence," Elizabeth piped in.

Caroline audibly tried to fit the word. "… t e n c e… that could
match with pinnacle vertical. I think you might be correct,
Elizabeth." She immediately shifted her attention to William again,
clearly unaware of his reluctance to enter a conversation at this
time. "I thought you would have known that, Will. Isn't competence
part of that famous list of `C's you mentioned to me the other day?
The one you draw up when you make a strategy plan for a company
you're interested in?"

William said nothing.

"You mean Content, Context, Conduct, Change and Control?" Elizabeth
kindly asked.

Caroline who had no clue those C-words were indeed the ones to which
she was referring, rather cattily snapped back: "Now, Elizabeth, you
must know William makes very professional analyses before he decides
to invest in a company. It's not just a simple list."

William slowly looked up from his laptop into Elizabeth's eyes. The
lifting of his left eyebrow the tiniest bit was the only sign he was
surprised. "Elizabeth is right."

The words did not reach Caroline's ears. "William invented the most
incredible calculation system. He showed it to me a while ago."

It was funny to see how Caroline's attempts to exhibit William's
perfections, and his assumed eagerness to share them with her,
resulted not only in his irritation, but also showed Caroline's lack
of knowledge about the subject. Elizabeth was too modest to even
realize it also proved she knew exactly what the subject was, and
how much that surprised William. Instead, she wondered what Caroline
precisely was to William Darcy. Only the sister of his friend and
colleague, or something else? It was clear the lady in question
would like it to be more. But before Elizabeth could ponder what
that goal could be, she surprisingly discovered it amused her to
witness William in a slightly irritated state.

"Oh, really? That sounds interesting. What kind of calculating
system was it?" Elizabeth sweetly asked Caroline.

"William, help me on this." Caroline obviously had no clue how to
continue. "You explained to me you could measure the return on … on
what was it again?"

"Assets." His voice was as sharp as the answer was short.

"Return on assets … you mean the 'DuPont Formula'?" On Caroline's
gesticulations that this indeed rang a bell of recognition,
Elizabeth mimicked William's earlier reaction -- with the difference
being she moved her brow quite a bit, and her surprised look was
anything but genuine. "You invented that?"

"Of course, I did not." Somehow William felt the need to
explain. "We used the simpler version of the formula on one of our
strategic plans. That report was lying on a table once and Caroline
asked what it meant. I never said I invented it."

"I thought that formula was old-fashioned, replaced by other
financial performance measures such as 'Economic Value Added'
and 'Market Value Added'." Elizabeth said calmly, at ease discussing
business as her education had never left her.

"You're right, but it's always a good start."

"A start?" Now Elizabeth truly sounded surprised. The amount of data
required to do the DuPont analysis would certainly not make it the
first thing you'd do when examining a company.

"Yes." He sounded arrogant now. "When done properly, of course, it's
necessary for a good 'SWOT analysis', and from there on the 'Generic
Strategy Choices', formulate 'Business Unit Strategies' and 'Product-
market Scope Analysis'." He used the words as if they were the most
usual topic to discuss on an enjoyable Sunday afternoon.

"Right, of course, You make it sound plain and simple."

Caroline wanted to say something but was baffled by the jargon. She
could only sit idly by and watch as William focused his attention on
Elizabeth. "If you want to be successful in business, Elizabeth, you
need to see things simply. Iron out all the unnecessary details
out." William smoothed out the piece of paper in front of him as if
to illustrate his point.

"Naturally, and I assume since you have success in business you are
quite capable in doing that?" Elizabeth knew she was provoking him,
but to her surprise she discovered she didn't regret it. It felt
like she was stepping back from him, keeping a safer distance, after
the trust she gave him this afternoon.

"Yes, I can." William sounded remarkably confident, even cocky.

"It isn't an accident that he's successful. It's amazing, all those
analysis systems he invented." Caroline finally got the opportunity
to pipe up.

"I bet he used men like Kotler and Porter to help him develop that."
Elizabeth laughed. She deliberately used the names of two globally-
known strategic marketers of whom it was very unlikely William had
personally met, to ridicule Caroline's remark.

William cast a quick look at Caroline before he turned to Elizabeth
again. His irritation with Caroline's silly remarks made him sound
more conceited then he intented. "Of course, I did not invent those
theories, but I'm proud to say I'm able to have a helicopter view
because of them. No details and no emotions."

"No emotions?" The corners of her mouth twitched slightly, which
somehow annoyed William even more.

"No emotions," he repeated. "Emotions are dangerous." Suddenly, he
looked quite solemn. William realized Elizabeth was teasing him, but
he was not in the mood to joke back. He was very serious about how
to run a business, and having heard Elizabeth's familiarity with
strategic theories, he simply could not understand how she was able
to make fun of it.

Elizabeth didn't notice the change of his mood. "Absolutely." The
twitching became more visible, combined with repeated nodding of her
head.

"Charles and I have a reputation to uphold. We've invested venture
capital for years now and we do it very carefully. Other investors
trust us and when we believe in a company, they will follow,
blindly."

"That's quite a reputation indeed." Elizabeth's smile vanished.
Teasing was no longer appropriate. She felt as if she had touched on
something that was really important to him. "You're not allowed to
make a mistake." By his look it seemed as if William was relieved
she understood. But she couldn't resist adding, "But I'm not sure if
I would be proud to say I'm emotionless."

"It's necessary," William replied. "No, we cannot make mistakes, we
have to be very careful, and therefore we have to be able to turn
around and let an opportunity go if we have to."

"Meaning?" Elizabeth asked.

"We will never invest in a company which is dealing with, or has had
to deal with fraud or other illegal actions. If we find something,
we will say our adieus and move on."

"Even if that happened years ago and the people who committed it are
long gone?"

"Yes. The company will never be completely free again from the slur,
and therefore Charles and I won't have anything to do with it." Both
William and Elizabeth didn't see the surprised faces of the other
four people in the room. Caroline and Louisa were plainly astonished
Elizabeth dared such a conversation with William. They had never
seen someone, and certainly not a woman, contradict him this way.

"This all indeed sounds as though you only work for perfection. I
wonder if anyone can find something amiss in you?" Her voice was
teasing again. "Never is a long time. It seems you cannot forgive
and forget, but you even manage to make that sound like a perfectly
positive trait."

"I wouldn't say it's a positive trait, but in business you need to
be tough; therefore, it's permissible."

"And in your personal life?"

"That's different."

"But William, you seem to forget there are people behind companies
as well," Elizabeth softly explained. "People of flesh and blood who
made a company grow."

"See, and that's where success begins; the ability to differentiate
between business and emotions, being able to make the tough
decisions; it's the best chance for true growth for a company."

"I see." Elizabeth shifted her gaze from William to Charles, back to
William and finally to Charles again. "I assume 'Merytayns' is in
good hands then." With her business knowledge, she realized William
wasn't making a bad point, but 'Merytayns' was a family company and
close to her heart. It disturbed her to see the organization that
she considered socially conscious viewed in a cold, commercial and
almost insensible light. She couldn't estimate how much Charles
agreed to William, but she knew it was important to the latter. It
was a mismatch between the company she was connected to her entire
life and the man she knew only a few weeks. Although the brevity of
her acquaintance with William should not countervail against her
lifelong bond with 'Merytayns', this contrast bothered her, and it
surprised her. She decided it best to end the conversation and do
something safe, so with her last statement she picked up her book
again, start reading, and enjoyed the warmth of the flames.

* ~* ~*


The river slowly continued its journey along dark wooded walls,
sunny mountain meadows, and stony vales. Every now and then,
something fell into the water, joining the expedition. Once it was a
leaf, fallen from an old oak tree; another time, a few grains of
sand blown by the wind into the water, or a white blossom of spring
dropped by a busy bird. Sometimes these fellow passengers stayed
only temporarily, quickly descending to the bottom of the stream,
seeking their end and easily forgotten. In other cases, they
followed the flow, becoming permanently part of the liquid that
formed the river, burdening the pure H2O with other substances; the
lasting memories of visited places, experienced events and witnessed
happenings.

After a winding trip, the river reached its first lake; the waves
suddenly and unexpectedly dropped down on the peaceful surface. The
calm ripples of the lake drew them to the next stage of their
inescapable expedition. The innocent, pristine water droplets were
still unaware of the dangers lurking deep down at the hidden, dark
depths of the lake … ignorant of the pollution slowly dripping into
the water from the village, that from afar seemed so peacefully
situated at the waterside.


To be continued...