Chapter 10
William awoke abruptly and looked around, blinking in confusion at his surroundings. Then he realized that he was at home, in his bed; he had returned from San Francisco late the previous evening. His heart was thudding in his chest and he felt a dull throbbing in his groin. He wondered why, but then he remembered the dream from which he had just awakened. Elizabeth. Again.
Elizabeth had been prominently featured in his dreams for the past three nights. On Friday night, she had tantalized him but had remained out of reach; however, on Saturday night, she had joined him in the huge bed in his hotel suite, writhing beneath him and moaning his name as he buried himself deep inside her lush naked body. In his most recent dream, the bed in question had been this one, and he had been the one writhing beneath her as she rode him feverishly until they both cried out in fierce release.
He had had erotic dreams before, but he couldn’t recall ever having three such explosive dreams on consecutive nights. He had hoped that once he returned to New York, his fierce attraction to Elizabeth would abate and he would regain control of himself. But I’ve just gotten home. Once I’m back to my normal routine, I’ll be fine.
He peered at his alarm clock, rubbing his sleep-fogged eyes until he could read the numbers. It was almost 7:30, very early by William’s night-owl standards. He could feel the beginnings of his usual morning headache, and he reached up to massage his forehead. I guess I need to make an appointment with Dr. Rosemont. Not this week—I have too much to do before I leave for Boston. But soon.
Sitting up, he stretched his arms, arching his back. A soft groan of pleasure rumbled deep in his chest as he stretched out his tight, tense back muscles. Combing his hands through his sleep-tousled hair, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. After a quick call to the kitchen to let Mrs. Reynolds know that he wanted his breakfast earlier than usual, he ambled through his dressing room and into the bathroom.
Smiling in sleepy satisfaction, he entered his luxurious retreat, which he
had ordered renovated to his precise specifications a few years ago. A whirlpool
tub sat in the corner next to the door. It was large enough for two, and he had
selected it with this thought in mind, but on the few occasions when he had used
it, usually to soothe tired muscles after an unusually long run, he had been alone.
I hope some day soon I’ll find someone to share it with.
William crossed the room to his glass-enclosed shower. He opened the door and turned on the water, which streamed from several nozzles at varying heights. While the water heated, he stripped off his Juilliard tee shirt and soft gray boxers.
He
stepped into the shower, its glass walls now fogged, and sighed in pure sensual pleasure as
the sharp jets of hot water pelted his skin. Like the tub, the shower was large enough for
two, but, also like the tub, he had never shared it. It was much the same in his bedroom—he
had never had company in his extra-long king-sized bed. Except for Elizabeth in my dream
last night. And that doesn’t count. Unfortunately.
He wondered what she would think of his bathroom. He cleared the steam from the shower door and looked over at the tub, imagining her reclining in it, her body hidden beneath clouds of bubbles, her hair spilling around her shoulders. She raised a hand and beckoned to him to join her, the image so compelling that he began to open the shower door, momentarily forgetting that it was only a fantasy.
Me and my imagination. He shook his head ruefully as he grabbed a bar of soap and lathered his body. From a very young age, William had possessed the ability to conjure up vivid worlds in his mind. It was one reason he was universally lauded for his musical artistry. He left the concert hall behind, transporting himself to another time or place, taking his audience along on his sensory and emotional journey. The previous weekend, though, had exposed the troublesome side of his imagination, with enticing images of Elizabeth popping into his head and arousing him at remarkably inopportune moments.
After his shower, he retrieved an oversized bath towel from a heated towel bar. As he dried himself, he inspected his reflection in a mirror. Although he was satisfied with his lean, tautly muscled body, the tired, wan face staring back at him displeased him. I need a vacation. Never mind that, I need some sleep. Sleep that’s not interrupted by … disturbing dreams.
A few minutes later, wrapped in a thick terrycloth robe, he crossed the center
hall to his sitting room. A breakfast tray sat on an antique mahogany table, holding
his standing morning order of freshly-squeezed pulp-free orange juice, coffee,
and a cinnamon raisin bagel, lightly toasted. He gulped down the juice and poured
a cup of steaming black coffee from the thermal carafe, inhaling its delicious
scent. He thought he detected a hint of hazelnut, and a quick taste confirmed
his suspicion.
Coffee cup and bagel in hand, William wandered back to his bedroom. He crossed the room and stepped out onto his spacious balcony, which overlooked the patio and garden at the rear of the house. Itwas a cool, overcast morning, in sharp contrast to the crystal blue skies and warm sunshine in San Francisco the previous weekend.
As he stood on the balcony munching his bagel and sipping his coffee, a misty
rain began to fall. Traffic will be a mess today. In instant confirmation
of this assertion, the dissonant cacophony of a dozen car horns blared from the
Manhattan streets below. With a sigh, he retreated to his bedroom.
It was only 8:00, and Richard was not due for their regular Monday morning meeting until 10:00. William’s head was still throbbing, and he thought it might help if he rested for a while. He retrieved a book from his bedside table and took it with him to the sitting room. He loaded a CD into his state-of-the-art stereo system, and the sound of John Coltrane’s virtuoso saxophone poured out through the speakers as he refilled his coffee cup and settled back into the soft leather upholstery of his favorite armchair. He propped his bare feet on the matching ottoman, soaking in the music as he drank his coffee.
William reached for his book, a history of Napoleon’s military campaign in Russia, but was distracted by one of the framed photographs displayed on the bookcase nearest his chair. He removed the photo from the shelf to inspect it more closely. It had been taken on the beach near Pemberley many years ago. He saw himself at age four, wearing a bathing suit and a solemn expression. His mother knelt behind him in the sand, smiling brightly, her arms wrapped tightly around him, her hair blowing in the breeze. The impact of her vibrant personality was almost palpable. It was his favorite photograph of her, and his smile as he gazed at it was bittersweet.
Why have I been thinking about her so much lately? He looked at the picture, noting the beach and her dark hair tossed about by the wind, and in a flash of insight made the connection. Elizabeth reminds me of her in some ways. There was little physical resemblance between them, though they were both beautiful and had dark hair. Rather, it was their personalities—they were strong-willed, outspoken, intelligent women. In addition, they had vocal talent in common, along with a joy of performing that shone on their faces and infused their voices with rare beauty and energy.
He replaced the photo on the shelf with a sigh. On the flight home, he had worried incessantly about his perplexing feelings for Elizabeth. He wanted to see her, to be near her, to talk to her. Yet he continued to doubt that any potential existed for a long-term relationship. Besides, he was confident that she would be offered the teaching position at Pacific Conservatory and would soon be moving to San Francisco. He supposed that her departure from New York was for the best, since it removed the matter from his hands, but in spite of that he felt a sharp pang of regret.
I need to call her. I told her that I would. I’ll do it later this week. Besides, he wanted to ensure that Elizabeth had received the small peace offering he had sent her before he left San Francisco. He still believed that the points he had made over coffee on Saturday morning were logical; however, as he had replayed their conversation in his mind during two mostly sleepless nights, he had become uneasy. He now realized that she had been much more upset on Jane’s behalf than he had anticipated, and that he had probably been too relentless in his pursuit of logic.
The final day of his trip to San Francisco had been somber. Charles had eventually decided that he would move to Los Angeles and devote himself seriously to his father’s business, as William had recommended. Charles was now making preparations for his move with a heavy heart but firm resolve. William knew that he was partially responsible for Charles’s current unhappiness, but he felt confident that his friend would be spared much greater pain in the future as a result of his decision.
William’s eyes grew heavy. He set his empty coffee cup on the table beside him and closed his eyes, letting the jazz music envelop him. I’ll just rest for a few minutes.
A quiet “Ahem” caused William to open his eyes. He looked up to find his housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, standing beside his chair.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, William, but it’s 9:45.”
He rose to his feet, belting his robe securely around him. “Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. I didn’t intend to fall asleep. I’m having some difficulty getting started this morning.”
“You looked so peaceful, I hated to disturb you,” she replied with an indulgent smile. “You’ve been working too hard lately, and I’m sure you’re tired after your stressful weekend. But I didn’t want you to be late for your meeting with Richard. You know you’d never hear the end of it from that cousin of yours if you were.” She shook her head slowly, her eyes disapproving but with a hint of a twinkle.
“You’re right.” He snickered. “Is Gran at home?”
“Mrs. Darcy left a few minutes ago for the Opera Guild board meeting, and after that she has plans for lunch. And her bridge group is meeting here later this afternoon. But she asked me to tell you that she hopes she’ll see you at dinner tonight.”
His grandmother led an active social life, so he was not surprised to hear that her day was fully scheduled. She and Georgiana each had a large bedroom and a private bath on the fifth floor of the six-story Darcy townhouse, which also housed a shared sitting room for the two women. William occupied the entire third floor of the house. This arrangement gave them each a modicum of privacy, yet still allowed them to spend time together as a family in the common areas on the first and second floors.
Mrs. Reynolds picked up his breakfast tray. “Well, I’d better get back downstairs.”
“Thank you again—I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’ll be down soon.”
They went their separate ways—Mrs. Reynolds to the kitchen, and William to his bathroom to brush his teeth.
Fifteen
minutes later, he emerged into the hallway, neatly but casually dressed in a pale blue Oxford
cloth shirt and navy trousers. He ignored the elevator, which he almost never used, and trotted
down the staircase to the first floor, his shoes clattering on the steps. When he stepped
onto the gleaming marble floor of the house’s center hall, he was met by his secretary,
Sonya Lawrence.
“Good grief, I thought a herd of wild animals was coming down the stairs,” she said with her usual deadpan delivery. “I was wondering if I should go get my elephant gun.”
“Good morning to you, too.”
“You’re as noisy on these stairs now as when you were eleven.”
William smiled. Sonya rarely passed up an opportunity to remind him that she had known him since he was a boy. “At least I never tried to slide down the banister like Richard did.”
“Ah, yes. The day he broke his arm. I’ve heard the story from Mrs. Reynolds. You can always count on Richard for some excitement.”
“Speaking of Richard, is he here yet?”
“Just barely,” a hoarse baritone voice replied from behind William. He turned and saw his cousin Richard Fitzwilliam approaching. Richard’s eyes were bloodshot, and his clothes were rumpled.
“Out late again last night?” William smirked.
“You bet. You should try it some time. Only problem is, I didn’t have time to shower or change—had to come straight here.”
“I’m flattered … I think.”
“You should be. I wouldn’t try so hard to be on time for most people, but I know I’m dealing with my cousin, Mr. German Train. But, anyway, how was the wedding? Were you really the best man, or only in the top five?”
William ignored Richard’s joke. “Unfortunately, it was called off at the last minute.”
“Oh, no! What happened?” Sonya asked.
“It’s a long story. Basically, there were some misunderstandings that couldn’t be resolved.”
“Poor Charles,” she said. “He’s such a sweet guy. He must be devastated.”
Richard shrugged. “Well, that’s too bad. But I hope you had some fun anyway, Will, maybe boinked the maid of honor.”
“Oh, very nice, Richard.” Sonya glared at him.
William was too mortified to reply. Richard’s crude remark had unfortunately reminded William of his dream, in which he had been doing precisely what Richard had suggested. William swallowed hard, doing his best to present an outward appearance of composure. Richard had the instincts of a bloodhound, and the last thing William needed right now was for his cousin to find out about Elizabeth.
Mrs. Reynolds bustled down the stairs towards them. “Good morning, Richard.”
“It will be once I wake up, Mrs. R.”
“If you wouldn’t tomcat around so much, you’d be in better shape in the morning,” she scolded.
“What can I say? Women find me irresistible, and I don’t want to disappoint any of them. With the number of single women in Manhattan, that makes me a busy man.”
Mrs. Reynolds shook her head in resignation and turned to William, her eyes warming. “I left some coffee up in your office. And some freshly-baked blueberry muffins—I thought they might help to perk you up.”
He smiled his thanks. It reminded him of arriving home from school as a boy. His first stop, after depositing his books in his room, had usually been to the kitchen, where Mrs. Reynolds had always had an affectionate greeting, a warm plate of cookies, and a glass of milk waiting for him.
“Hey, what about me?” Richard grumbled. “I could use some perking up too.”
Mrs. Reynolds stared at him, pursing her lips. “You’re playing too hard, not working too hard like William, so don’t expect any sympathy. But your tea is up there waiting for you.”
“Bless you, Mrs. R.,” Richard groaned. “You’re a lifesaver.”
William smiled to himself. His cousin’s seemingly contradictory tastes were a source of endless amusement. After a hard night of partying, a Bloody Mary might have seemed a more appropriate beverage to some people; however, Richard was a devotee of a specific mixture of Japanese green tea and herbal tea which he drank every morning without fail.
“So, shall we get this show on the road?” Richard said. “I need to get home and shower before my lunch meeting with the people from the Philharmonic.”
Richard and Sonya followed William up the steps to the second floor and into his office. They seated themselves at the conference table, and Sonya distributed copies of William’s schedule for the next four weeks.
“Would some decent lighting be too much to ask?” Richard grumbled, setting down his teacup and squinting at the pages. “This room is like a cave unless it’s sunny outside. I don’t know why you don’t take down that damned chandelier—it’s useless.”
William glanced up at the large chandelier hanging in the center of the carved, gilt-trimmed wood ceiling far above their heads. “It’s been here since the house was built, Richard. It’s part of our heritage.”
“I know, I know. And our great-grandfather bought this table. And the drapes have probably been hanging there since the Crusades. Will, you’re starting to sound like Gran. If she had her way we’d be using oil lamps. Though maybe I shouldn’t knock it—perhaps then I’d be able to read this schedule.”
William smiled ruefully. Preservation of the family legacy, particularly as it concerned the Darcy family home, was a passion for their grandmother, one she had done her best to instill in the rest of the family with decidedly mixed results. He reached over and turned on a lamp beside the table. “There. That should help your bloodshot eyes.”
“And who bought the lamp?” Richard quipped. “I assume it dates back to the Norman Conquests?”
“Not to interrupt this fascinating stroll through Darcy family history, but maybe we could get this meeting started?” Sonya said with a superior air. “Some of us have a lot of work to do today, Richard, though I know you’re not familiar with that concept.”
“Ouch!” Richard yelped, clutching his chest in mock agony. “That really hurt.”
Sonya executed an exaggerated eye roll and then briefly reviewed William’s schedule, after which they discussed final logistics for his upcoming recital in Boston.
William considered himself extremely fortunate to have Richard and Sonya assisting him with his career. Richard was William’s agent and manager, an arrangement that William had proposed eleven years ago when his career had begun to explode. He trusted few people and had preferred to take a chance on Richard, despite his lack of experience in representing artists, rather than to allow a stranger to manage his career. Richard had shown a surprising aptitude for, and enjoyment of, the work, justifying William’s confidence in him.
It was only a part-time job, which suited Richard since it left him relatively free to pursue his active, adventurous social life. He had no need to work at all: his trust fund provided him with plenty of money to support him in idleness, if he so chose. William was grateful for the deep bond of friendship that made Richard willing to be of assistance. William also knew that Richard genuinely enjoyed the sense of purpose and accomplishment that came from the work. Not that he’d ever admit it.
Sonya had originally been hired almost twenty years ago to assist William’s mother and grandmother in launching the Darcy Arts Trust, a charitable foundation that supported the musical arts. She still held this position, working closely with the Darcys in the operation of the foundation. Sonya also assisted William with the day-to-day details of his life. A cool, elegant blonde, she looked a decade younger than her 45 years.
“I’d like to take Georgie to Pemberley after school is out,” William said. “Do I have a block of free time when we could spend a week there?”
Sonya pulled out a wire-bound appointment book and flipped to the months of June and July, scanning the pages. “We had two weeks blocked out in July, but, remember, you agreed to schedule your summer residency at Interlochen during that time.”
“What about June?”
“Mostly booked—you’ve got the LA trip, the Juilliard recital, and the recording sessions in Chicago for your new CD. But it looks like you could get to Pemberley for five days or so right before you go to Interlochen.”
“All right, I’ll talk to Georgie about it after school today and let you know tomorrow. I want to invite Charles Bingley to join us.”
“You do look like you need a vacation, Will,” Richard said. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I haven’t been sleeping well the past few days. Jet lag.” William deftly changed the subject. “Let’s talk about your meeting with the Philharmonic.”
“Oh, yes.” Richard handed him a set of contracts and began to highlight some key points.
William was usually attentive in the weekly meetings, but today his mind wandered to Elizabeth. He wondered what she was doing at that moment, and remembered that her interview with Catherine would start soon. Don’t let her intimidate you, Lizzy. He smiled at the thought, doubtful that anything could intimidate Elizabeth Bennet, not even Catherine de Bourgh.
Elizabeth sat in the reception area outside Dr. de Bourgh’s office at Pacific Conservatory, drumming her fingers on the arm of the sofa and trying to relax. She had been sitting for nearly half an hour awaiting the start of her job interview, and despite her efforts to remain calm, she was becoming somewhat nervous.
To distract herself, she inspected a flower arrangement on the coffee table. It reminded her of the flowers that had arrived for her yesterday: twelve perfect roses in a deep shade of lavender, displayed in a beautiful crystal vase. The card had read, “Please accept my apology. I’ll call you in New York. William.”
Well, at least he recognizes that he has something to apologize for. That’s
a small point in his favor. A very small point. He still said all of those things.
The flowers were undeniably beautiful, and the thoughtful gesture had surprised
her. But she had no intention of going to dinner, or anywhere else, with him,
and she would have to make that clear when he called.
Furthermore, the arrival of the flowers had required her to make explanations that she would have preferred to avoid. She had told Jane that William had sent the flowers in apology for a quarrel resulting from their differing loyalties. Jane had accepted the vague explanation, too absorbed in her unhappiness to probe further.
“Elizabeth! It’s so good to see you again!”
She looked up to see Bill Collins approaching. “Good morning, Bill,” she said with a welcoming smile. She was genuinely happy to see a friendly face.
“You look ravishing.” He eyed her gray suit with its slim skirt that skimmed the tops of her knees. Elizabeth had saved for weeks to buy the suit for job interviews, and she was grateful that it had escaped the shampoo disaster in her suitcase. Her hair was pulled back at her neckline and gathered into a large tortoiseshell clip.
“Thank you. You look very nice yourself.” She saw a flush of color at Bill’s neck, and a secret smile on his lips.
“I’m so very, very sorry about the cancellation of your sister’s wedding.” He sat next to her on the sofa and patted her hand.
“Thank you.” Jane had shown tremendous courage and grace under pressure all weekend; however, she was deeply unhappy. The sisters’ farewell this morning had been affectionate and tearful, and Elizabeth hated to leave Jane at such a time. It gave her another reason to want this job: she could be close to Jane again, and could keep an eye on her as she resumed her life without Charles.
“Hasn’t Dr. de Bourgh called you in for your interview yet? It was supposed to be at 8:00, wasn’t it? 8:00 on Monday morning—I’m certain that’s what we arranged.”
“Yes, that’s right. Her secretary said she was busy.”
“Well, yes. No doubt on a very important phone call, probably to New York, or maybe London. As you know, she’s very prominent in the world of—oh, good morning, Dr. de Bourgh!”
Bill straightened up, almost saluting. Elizabeth stood as a tiny woman stalked
toward them. She wore a severe black pantsuit, accented with a leopard print scarf.
A jeweled snow leopard held the scarf in place, and large diamond studs flashed
in her ears. Her silver-gray hair was cut short and arranged in a spiky style,
and she wore large rings on several of her fingers. Her nails were short but flawlessly
shaped, and lacquered in a deep shade of bronze. Her face was lined beneath her
artfully applied make-up. Elizabeth guessed her to be in her early 60’s.
Despite Dr. de Bourgh’s diminutive frame, Elizabeth felt the room crackle with energy from her mere presence, her eyes blazing with fierce purpose. Elizabeth sensed that Catherine de Bourgh could be a formidable ally—or foe.
Dr. de Bourgh looked sharply at Bill, raising a perfectly-groomed eyebrow. “Collins, I can’t remember the last time I saw you wearing anything but jeans and a tee shirt or sweater. Why are you so dressed up today?” She eyed Bill’s tan chinos and brown tweed jacket. Her voice was deep and slightly husky, and she spoke forcefully, lending importance to every word.
Bill glanced involuntarily at Elizabeth. “Well, you see, I—that is, it seemed …” His voice trailed off, his hands flapping at his sides.
Bill Collins, speechless. This is an impressive woman indeed! Elizabeth braced herself as Dr. de Bourgh’s appraising stare settled on her.
“You are Elizabeth Bennet, I presume?”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Dr. de Bourgh.” Elizabeth was astonished by the strength of the woman’s brisk handshake.
“Let’s get on with this interview, since you’re so far behind schedule. I’m expecting a call from Itzhak Perlman, making arrangements for us to meet for lunch later this month when I’m in New York.”
Elizabeth was caught off guard by Dr. de Bourgh’s brusque reference to the tardy start of the interview. You’d think I was the one at fault! She also suspected that the name-dropping reference to the famous violinist had been intended to impress her. Her lips twitched, suppressing a smile. Dad will enjoy hearing about this.
“Oh, Dr. de Bourgh, I’d be happy to rearrange the schedule for the rest of Elizabeth’s interviews while the two of you talk,” Bill volunteered, having recovered his composure. Elizabeth was scheduled to meet with several faculty members in the course of the morning.
“Yes, yes, very well. Please do that, Collins.”
“Excuse me,” Elizabeth interjected, “but I don’t have much flexibility in my schedule. My flight to New York leaves shortly after 1:00.”
“Well, certainly you can switch to a later flight if necessary,” Dr. de Bourgh sniffed. “At least, if you’re interested in this job.”
“I am interested, very much so, but my ticket is non-refundable.”
“I never purchase non-refundable tickets. And that is the reason. One has so little flexibility for schedule changes. I recommend that you do the same in the future.”
“That’s so wise of you, Dr. de Bourgh,” Bill enthused, “and I’m sure that Elizabeth—”
“Collins, I thought you were going to work on revising her schedule. I suggest that you do so at once.”
“Yes, of course, Dr. de Bourgh. I’m so very sorry. I’ll get on it at once.” Bill scurried away.
“Now, Ms. Bennet, please come with me.”
Elizabeth followed Dr. de Bourgh down the hall to her office, noting the gold nameplate on the door, engraved in bold letters: “Catherine de Bourgh, Dean.” The office was richly decorated with a thick Oriental rug, an ornate walnut desk, and an eclectic assortment of musical instruments.
Elizabeth took a seat in front of the desk, examining a wall of photos of Dr. de Bourgh with a procession of famous people. The older woman sat down in her black leather desk chair, set a pair of reading glasses on her nose, and picked up a file from the center of her immaculate desk. She extracted Elizabeth’s resume from the file and perused it briefly.
“So,” she barked, “you chose to study musical theater instead of classical music.”
Elizabeth nearly laughed aloud. Why is it that everybody wants to criticize my career choices lately? “Yes, that’s right.” She wasn’t in the mood to justify her decision.
Dr. de Bourgh looked up, her reading glasses perched low on her nose, her eyebrows raised, and waited. Under other circumstances, Elizabeth would have relished engaging in a staring contest, but she realized that if she wanted the job, she had better provide the information her interviewer sought.
“I enjoy singing, dancing, and acting. Musical theater gave me a chance to do all of those things.”
“And opera would not have afforded you the opportunity to act?”
“Of course, but in general Puccini and Mozart don’t include too many dance routines in their operas.”
Dr. de Bourgh stared at her in stony silence, and Elizabeth silently cursed herself, determined to hold her tongue. She’s almost as infuriating as William Darcy! Almost. But I want to come home to San Francisco, so I need this job.
“Your Broadway experience is quite limited, though I see that you’ve had more success obtaining roles off-Broadway and in touring companies,” Dr. de Bourgh remarked.
“I did get one Broadway role, in ‘Rent.’ I spent about a year in the company.”
“Yes, I can see that. It’s right here on your resume.”
Elizabeth fell silent, wondering if Dr. de Bourgh was always so prickly, or if she had somehow provoked the older woman. She had seemed to have a chip on her shoulder from the moment they had met in the reception area.
“Now, do you understand the nature of the position we have available, Ms. Bennet?”
“Yes, I think so. I would teach voice lessons to students preparing for musical theater careers. I would also teach some courses related to Broadway music. And I would lead a seminar in performance technique for singers.”
“That is correct. Also, we have a continuing education division, and I would expect you to teach some evening courses in that program from time to time. And we have an active summer music program in which you might be asked to teach, for additional salary, of course.”
Elizabeth nodded. “All of that sounds fine.”
“You don’t have much teaching experience.”
“I’ve been teaching for two years, classes similar to those you want me to teach here. And I recently won a university-wide teaching award at Pace University. It’s not on the resume I sent you because I just learned about it a few weeks ago.”
“Hmm.” Dr. de Bourgh stared at Elizabeth over her reading glasses again. She glanced at the resume in front of her one more time and then looked back up, frowning.
“Ms. Bennet, I’ll be blunt. You look like an adequate candidate for the position. But you should understand that if I hire you, you will be judged solely on your performance at our institution, not on the friends you may be so fortunate as to have.”
The cause for Dr. de Bourgh’s attitude suddenly became clear. Bill Collins, with good intentions but clumsy execution, must have gone overboard in praising her. “Of course. I’d expect nothing else. And I’m confident that I will do a very good job for you if you hire me.”
Bill popped his head into the room. “I beg your pardon, Dr. de Bourgh—I’m so sorry to interrupt—but I have the revised interview schedule prepared. How much more time do you need to spend with Elizabeth?”
“We’re done,” the tiny woman announced, rising abruptly to her feet and removing her reading glasses. She nodded at Elizabeth, unsmiling, and extended her hand. “Thank you for coming in, Ms. Bennet. I’ll be speaking to the faculty members with whom you are to meet, and I will attend your audition performance later this morning.”
“Thank you for your time. I look forward to hearing from you.”
Elizabeth followed Bill out into the hall, shaking her head. Dr. de Bourgh didn’t seem to possess even a shred of warmth. She wouldn’t be a pleasant person to work for. But I want to move back here—especially now, for Jane’s sake.
Two days later, William lay asleep in his bed in New York, but in his dreams he was on the beach with Elizabeth again. This time, the setting was not the relaxed urban oasis of Crissy Field Beach. This beach was wilder, more primitive, with ocean waves crashing relentlessly into the shore. A short walk down the beach, a grove of towering palm trees provided shelter, but here, there was nothing but the ocean, the sand, and a sheer, rocky cliff separating the beach from the lush landscape above.
Night was falling and the beach was deserted except for the two of them, sitting
close together on a blanket spread over the sand. Elizabeth turned her face up
to William’s with a seductive smile, and he captured her lips in a deep,
slow kiss that stole his breath and left his body demanding much more.
Their kisses grew increasingly impassioned as they explored one another’s mouths, tongues dueling in a heated battle. William’s hands captured the curves he had longed to touch, caressing her through the light fabric of her dress. He ached to see her lovely body, to touch her soft, warm flesh, to feel her beneath him and to hear her cries of ecstasy as he possessed her.
William gently pushed Elizabeth backward until she lay on the blanket, her eyes glowing with desire as she gazed up at him. He leaned over her, his mouth devouring hers as he slipped the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders and drew the loose bodice downward, revealing her voluptuous breasts to his burning gaze. William groaned and shuddered when her soft hands delved inside his shirt to explore the muscles of his torso. His hungry mouth captured a pale pink nipple, and Elizabeth moaned and arched upward, clutching his head to her breast and stroking his hair as he suckled her.
“Elizabeth,” he growled, rolling on top of her and pressing his potent arousal against her, “I have to have you. I can’t wait any longer.”
“I want you too, William. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”
Their clothes were quickly discarded. With a shuddering breath, William positioned himself between her legs and slowly pushed himself inside of her, groaning at the exquisite feeling of her tight, warm flesh enveloping him. He began to move, slowly at first, but gradually increasing the speed and depth of his penetration.
“Oh, William!” Elizabeth cried as he finally filled her completely. She frantically grasped his buttocks, her hips rising rhythmically to meet his powerful thrusts.
William’s entire body was taut as he raced towards his release, pleasure slamming through him in waves as powerful as those pounding the shore behind him. He felt the waves within him beginning to crest.
“Lizzy, I’m—” William gasped, but he was interrupted by her wild cry as she climaxed, her body bucking beneath him, her fingernails scoring his back. When he felt her convulsing around him, he lost control and joined her in paradise, emptying himself inside her with a hoarse shout of triumph.
Afterwards, he lay beside her, weak with exhaustion, his head on her shoulder. She enfolded him in her arms, stroking his hair gently, their labored breathing intermingled with the sounds of the ocean.
William sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake, his heart pounding, and realized what had happened. Again. The room was dark. A glance at the clock confirmed that it was only 4:00 am, well before dawn.
Is that four or five nights in a row? Let’s see—it’s Tuesday night … well, Wednesday morning. Five, then. Dreams of Elizabeth had become a regular feature of his nights, to his increasing concern. He had made love to her in a variety of settings, most recently on the beach near Pemberley. He could no longer pretend that his fascination with her would subside on its own, in the familiar atmosphere of home; clearly he needed to take some definitive action if he hoped to regain control of himself.
I should call her. If I spent some time with her, it would probably break the spell. She can’t be as intriguing and intelligent and sweet as I’ve made her in my imagination. And making love to her couldn’t possibly be as extraordinary as it is in my dreams.
It seemed like a good plan, except for one problem. He had forgotten to ask Elizabeth for her telephone number, and he had discovered the previous afternoon that she wasn’t listed in the Manhattan phone directory.
This problem could have been easily solved with Sonya’s assistance. She treated every request for information as a personal challenge, and could probably locate Elizabeth in Antarctica or on a Tibetan mountaintop if necessary. A Lower East Side phone number would be child’s play by comparison.
William, though, preferred not to make this request of Sonya. She knew him very well and considered herself to be his secretary and his surrogate older sister in approximately equal parts. He was certain that she would guess his reason for requesting the phone number, and he wasn’t prepared to deal with the teasing he would undoubtedly receive at Sonya’s hands in her elder-sister role. Well, that’s something I’ll have to work out, or I may never get a decent night’s sleep again.
He turned on a light. Shielding his eyes as they adjusted to the brightness, he wandered into his bathroom. Afterwards, instead of returning to bed, he was drawn inexorably across the hall to his sitting room and to the piano in the far corner. He turned on the lamp beside it and ran his fingers fondly over its smooth rosewood case. His grandmother had custom-ordered the Steinway instrument for his 30th birthday, and it was his most precious possession. He sat down and touched the keyboard, tenderly caressing the cool polished keys.
William spent a portion of many nights sitting at his piano, seeking peace
when sleep eluded him. One touch of the keys, and his worries were swept away
by his profound connection with the instrument. The experience felt in some ways
as intimate as lovemaking, with his piano a demanding, passionate mistress whose
embrace never failed to soothe his troubled spirit.
His fingers hovered over the keys until he knew what he wanted to play. Finally, the instrument sang a poignant, introspective melody under his strong yet gentle fingers. This particular Chopin Nocturne* had been one of his mother’s favorite pieces; she had often stood beside the piano while he played it, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. Even now, whenever he played the Nocturne, he played it for her.
As the sound of the final notes faded away, he lifted his hands reluctantly from the keyboard. He felt drowsy, so he turned off the lamp beside the piano and returned to bed. He drifted to sleep, and this time when he dreamed of the beach, he saw a frail little boy walking beside his mother, his hand held tightly in her protective grasp.
“Yes, that’s right, I’m holding for Charlotte Lucas,” Sonya said, balancing the telephone on her shoulder while she filed some contracts in the cabinet beside her desk.
During the seemingly interminable pause, William caught himself fidgeting with a paper clip he had removed from Sonya’s desk. He forced himself to put it down and stand still. Sonya had tracked Charlotte down at University of California at Berkeley, where she was completing her Ph.D., and was presently on the phone with the secretary of the Art History department.
Sonya covered the mouthpiece with her hand and glared at him. “Would you get out of here and go to your office? I’ll transfer the call in there when I reach her. You’re driving me nuts hanging over me this way.”
He shook his head and stared at her through narrowed eyes. “Aren’t secretaries supposed to respect their bosses?”
“Not when you’ve known your boss since before his voice changed.”
“Everywhere else I go I’m treated with respect, even adoration, but here in my own house.…”
“Exactly. You get too much adoration, if you ask me. And even here, you’ve got Mrs. Reynolds fawning over you, and your grandmother and Georgie wrapped around your little finger. Somebody needs to cut you down to size. Not that I can really do the job by myself—” Sonya removed her hand from the mouthpiece. “Yes? Oh, she isn’t? Would you have a number where we could reach her? It’s rather urgent.”
After a brief pause, she glanced up at William. “The secretary doesn’t want to give out Ms. Lucas’s cell phone number.”
He took the phone from Sonya and spoke in a pleasant but authoritative tone. “Hello? Yes, my name is William Darcy. I’m a musician … yes, that’s right, the concert pianist … yes, I was in Newsweek recently … thank you … that’s kind of you. I’m calling because I’m also the executive director of the Darcy Arts Trust, an arts foundation, and last weekend I met Ms. Lucas. We discussed some possible sources of grant funding for her research. It’s important that I speak to her and I was hoping to reach her at home this evening …. I don’t suppose you could possibly … ah, thank you. I appreciate this.”
Sonya rolled her eyes at his triumphant expression. He dictated Charlotte’s cell phone number while Sonya wrote it down on a pad in front of her. He thanked the secretary at Berkeley and hung up.
“She was a fan,” William slipped his hands into his pockets, a lazy smile on his face.
“Please tell me she didn’t mention that ‘Classical Music’s Sex Symbol’ tripe from the Newsweek article.”
“No, she didn’t. But she was happy to give me that phone number.”
“Why is this so important to you, anyway? I know you promised this Charlotte Lucas some contact names at foundations that might fund her work, but I could have just e-mailed them to her or called her with the information.”
“I prefer to handle it myself.”
“The personal touch, eh? So, will I be sending her flowers every day on your behalf, like Richard does on the rare occasions when he’s trying to impress a woman?”
“There’s nothing romantic about my interest in Charlotte Lucas. Thank you for your help getting the number.” William was glad he hadn’t asked Sonya to get Elizabeth’s phone number. At least her suspicions about his interest in Charlotte were incorrect.
Sonya stood up, eyeing him speculatively. “Well, all right. I’m going home now, if you don’t need anything else.”
“That’s fine, Sonya. Good night, and thank you.”
He snatched the sheet of paper with Charlotte’s phone number from Sonya’s desk and strode quickly into his office, shutting the door behind him. Once there, he sat down at his desk and immediately began to dial. He was pleased when Charlotte answered the phone.
“Hello, Charlotte. This is William Darcy.”
“William! What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“I imagine not. I hope you don’t mind my tracking you down.”
“No, I don’t mind at all. What can I do for you?”
“I’m glad you phrased it that way, because I have a favor to ask.”
“Yes?”
“I need Elizabeth’s phone number.”
His request was met with brief silence. He waited, and finally Charlotte spoke.
“I’m not sure if I should give it to you. What are you planning to say to her?”
He frowned. “That’s rather personal.”
“William, you’re asking for information about a close friend of mine. So I think it’s a fair question.”
“Very well. We had a conversation on Saturday morning, and I said some things I wish I had saved for a better time. I’d like to apologize.”
“The way I hear it, you already ‘said it with flowers.’”
He smiled. “Ah, then she got the roses. Did she like them?”
“No comment.”
“You mean she didn’t like them?”
“You’re putting me in a difficult position here. Don’t ask me to share things that Liz has told me in confidence. I won’t do it.” Charlotte’s tone was firm.
“I’m sorry. I had hoped that she would like the flowers.”
“Lavender roses—a unique choice. Why lavender?”
“No special reason. I saw them at the shop and they seemed like the right flowers to send to her.”
“How interesting.” She sounded amused, but he didn’t understand why. “All right, I’m going to give you her number. I’m still not sure that I should, and I do have one condition.”
“What?”
“If you call her and she tells you to get lost, you have to promise not to keep calling.”
“Of course. No problem.” He answered instinctively, but then the significance of Charlotte’s remark sank in. “Wait—are you saying you think she’ll do that?”
“I don’t know. I told you I wouldn’t share things that she confided in me, but since you already seem to suspect it, I will tell you that she’s pretty upset. For all I know, she might hang up on you.”
William didn’t answer. He hadn’t considered the possibility that Elizabeth might not be willing to speak to him.
“Look, may I give you some advice?” Charlotte’s matter-of-fact tone was tinged with kindness.
“Go ahead.”
“Stop talking and start listening. There’s a lot more to Liz than meets the eye, and that’s saying something. But you’ll never find out what an amazing person she is if you keep insulting her every time you see her. So just relax, and let her do the talking for a while.”
He was offended by the suggestion that he had done nothing but insult Elizabeth all weekend. We got along fine quite a lot of the time … didn’t we? But why would Charlotte say that unless—
“William? Are you still there?”
“I was thinking about something. All right, Charlotte, I’ll consider what you’ve said. Now, may I have that number?”
As he hung up the phone, he looked across the room at the portrait of his parents above the fireplace. His mother looked distant and remote, in sharp contrast to her ebullient expression in the photograph taken at Pemberley. But it was his father who dominated the portrait and, to some extent, the entire office. Edmund’s large antique globe rested on a stand in the corner. His collection of antique maps, to which William periodically made an addition, hung on the walls. And in the center of it all, Edmund, imperious and unyielding, stared at his son from the portrait.
Gazing at the portrait, William lost himself briefly in the past. Shaking his head slowly, he returned his attention to the task at hand. He looked at Elizabeth’s New York phone number, written below Charlotte’s on the sheet of paper. Come on. Just pick up the phone. You can do this.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted the receiver, preparing to dial. But before he had entered the first digit, he heard a knock at his office door.
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was precisely 7:00. “Come in.”
Mrs. Reynolds opened the door. “Dinner is ready, William.”
“Thank you.”
He hung up the phone with a sigh and followed her out into the hall. His grandmother demanded prompt attendance at dinner. The phone call would have to wait until later.
------
* – Nocturne in C# minor (1830) by Frederic Chopin. Performed by Claudio Arrau on Chopin: The Complete Nocturnes, The Complete Impromptus, Phillips, 1997.
Copyright © 2006 by the author
Last updated
September 23, 2006