An Unexpected Song > Table of Contents > Chapter 49 – “17 and over” version

Chapter 49

 

Walk-away cocktail—a crab or shrimp cocktail in a small paper cup. They’re sold by several vendors at Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco.

Oh, and regarding the name of the restaurant later in the chapter… it’s a real place, one I couldn’t resist using for reasons you’ll understand when you get to that scene.

Elizabeth had known her luck would run out eventually. There were only so many excuses she could offer, so many times she could claim to be dashing madly from one commitment to the next, before she’d end up trapped—especially when so many people seemed to be involved in the chase.

Charlotte was in some respects the easiest to handle, a voice on the telephone that could be sidestepped by the arrival of a mythical student or the need to grade phantom papers. By now Charlotte had clearly extracted some basic information from Jane—the awkward sympathy in her voice made that obvious—but Elizabeth continued to parry her friend’s attempts to draw her out.

Jane was another matter. Elizabeth saw her sister’s eyes following her constantly, brimming with maternal concern. But, thank heaven, it rarely went beyond that. They had always respected one another’s boundaries, neither pushing to induce reluctant confidences nor revealing things the other preferred not to know.

Elizabeth knew that he had sat in their living room on Sunday afternoon, his emotions raw, his heart despondent. Jane had told her that much, but it had been all she could bear to hear. Anything more might have cracked the fragile shell in which she had encased herself, and that was something she couldn’t allow, not while her wounds were still so fresh.

She hadn’t allowed herself to cry since Saturday night, when the terrible beauty of his music had shattered her heart, and when he had later encountered her before she could tuck the jagged shards safely out of reach. Since then she had taken refuge in a continuous round of activity. Backstage work for the continuing performances of South Pacific, a fortunately-timed rehearsal of Golden Gate Jazz, even a whirlwind course of house cleaning that had left Jane shaking her head in awe—anything that kept her too busy to think.

Last night, restless under Jane’s watchful eye, Elizabeth had tagged along with their neighbor Chloe and three other women from the building to a bar in the Marina, one she had recently heard mentioned as the hottest singles gathering spot in town—this week, at least. She had danced up a storm at first, laboring to throw herself into the spirit of the evening. But then her breath had caught at the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered frame topped with a head of wavy hair, and it was as though she had been drenched in ice water. She had left for home soon after that and had busied herself with organizing her closet until almost two in the morning.

Time spent at the conservatory was a trial in its own right. It lacerated her pride to know that she had come here unwanted, that her only value to Catherine de Bourgh was as a warm body obtained at no cost and little effort. But Elizabeth walked the halls with her head held high, investing everything she did with an extra helping of diligence. The Powers That Be might not appreciate her, but her students did, a fact she kept firmly in mind whenever her energy threatened to flag.

This morning, as was her habit on Wednesdays, she lingered after her morning class, using the classroom as a private rehearsal hall. She immersed herself in the imaginary world of the characters she portrayed, but midway through her fourth song her heart lurched in her chest at the sight of someone standing in the doorway, obscured by shadows. He had often lurked there, an unseen and cherished audience for whom she had sung with her heart in her eyes and in her voice.

Today the shadowy figure moved into the room and revealed his identity—Bill Collins, another person she had avoided with success… until now. Yes, her luck had run out, as she had known it would.

He trotted down the steps to the front of the room. “Elizabeth, my dear,” he began in an unctuous tone that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “I’m glad I found you. There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

“Bill, I’m rehearsing right now. But I could stop by your office later.” And if all worked according to plan, later she would think of another excuse.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but it’s rather important, if you just could spare a few minutes now.”

She turned to the CD player, hitting the “stop” button with an unnecessary degree of force. “What is it?” she asked, concealing her impatience under a wafer-thin veneer of courtesy. Maybe at least he’ll be quick. She almost laughed at the depths of her wishful thinking. Bill was never quick about anything.

He slid one hand over the lid of the mahogany upright piano beside them. “I overheard you talking to Jim the other night after rehearsal.”

“Oh.” Bill had returned to Jim’s apartment unexpectedly to retrieve his umbrella, and she had been afraid he’d heard their private conversation. “I thought Jim might know of a school that needed a music teacher.”

His hand continued to caress the piano almost as though it were encased in flesh and not hardwood. Elizabeth found it creepy yet oddly fascinating to watch. “I was surprised you didn’t choose to take me into your confidence as well,” he said, a hint of petulance in his voice. “I’m not without influence, and I’d be honored to help you in any way I can.”

The mournful expression in his basset hound eyes was almost comical. She scrambled for a tactful excuse. “Thank you, but I was afraid I’d put you in an awkward position if I told you my plans before I was ready to make them official.”

“That was very thoughtful of you, Elizabeth. But I must tell you that I think you’re making a mistake in resigning from the conservatory.”

“Because of my contract?”

“No, not really.” The hand stroking the piano paused in its ministrations. “Anyone would understand that you don’t want to rely on that man’s charity for the rest of the school year, now that you know the situation. But you’ve become a valued member of the faculty. Perhaps if you met with Dr. de Bourgh and asked her, with all due humility, to award you an ordinary contract—at a reduced salary, of course—she might consider—”

“No, she wouldn’t. She’s never wanted me here, and now I know why. She’ll be glad to be rid of me.”

“I’ve sometimes wondered about her lack of enthusiasm for you, when you’re clearly a dedicated teacher, and given that she didn’t seem to know of your, um, personal association with William Darcy. But she must have suspected something after he made his gift. I’m sure she assumed that he expected… er, favors from you in return for his generosity.” He glanced down at his shoes, his face turning pink.

“That’s not true,” she retorted, color rushing to her own cheeks. “He’s not that sort of man. He did it because he knew I wanted to be here for Jane, after the wedding was called off.” It was odd to find herself defending William’s actions, but she couldn’t bear for Bill to criticize him.

“Please allow me to apologize,” he answered immediately, touching her arm gently. “I meant no criticism of you, of course. You’re far too fine a person to enter willingly into such a cold-blooded arrangement. That’s why I was sure you didn’t know about his patronage.”

She nodded in a wordless acceptance of his apology and forced herself to calm down. Bill had at least recognized that she deserved to know the truth. Unlike certain other people.

“My point was that we must consider appearances,” he continued. His hand returned to the piano, now just resting on the lid as though for moral support. “For Darcy to bring a woman onto the staff, apparently for the purpose of satisfying his intimate needs… and particularly when he’s destined for Anne, Dr. de Bourgh’s own cherished daughter!”

There it was again—Bill’s unshakable belief that William would marry Anne. Elizabeth made a non-committal sound in her throat, ignoring his unintended insult in suggesting that William’s only possible interest in her was sexual. However unflattering the idea, she had believed it herself for a time and could hardly blame Bill for drawing the same conclusion.

He continued in a pedantic tone. “So, you see, Dr. de Bourgh’s resentment is natural, given the way things appear.”

“That’s why it’s best that I resign at the end of the semester.”

“I suppose so,” he said, stepping closer, “though I hate to admit it. If you need assistance of any sort, please promise that you’ll call on me.”

“That’s very nice of you, Bill.”

He dropped his eyes to the floor and spoke with some hesitation. “And I’m sure you know that I’d go to great lengths to help you stay in San Francisco.”

“Because of Golden Gate Jazz.” She knew there was more, but hoped to deflect him from anything else.

“Partly, but I have a much more important reason.”

The limpid expression in his eyes almost made her groan. She was in no condition to deal with a lovesick Bill Collins. “You know,” she said, gesturing toward the classroom door, “I have an appointment in a few minutes, and—”

He grasped her hand. “Elizabeth, I know you’ve noticed that I have… deep feelings for you. Ever since I met you at of your poor sister’s wedding rehearsal, I haven’t been able to put you out of my mind.”

She drew her hand from his. “Bill, this really isn’t—”

“I know you told me over the summer that you wanted friendship, and friendship only, from me, and I’ve stayed within those boundaries. It hasn’t been easy. I was forced to stand by and watch that man use you, knowing he would break your heart yet powerless to stop him. I did whatever I could to alert you to his arrangement with Anne, but beyond that I could only stay close at hand, ready to comfort you when you finally realized the truth about him.”

“Bill, what I told you last summer is still true. I don’t think of you as anything more than a friend.”

“Not now, perhaps,” he said, his eyes full of tremulous hope, “but friendship often breeds love. I know you’re grieving now, and in part I blame myself. Perhaps I should have done more to try to warn you.” He extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “But you’ll move past it with the help of your friends, among whom I’m honored to count myself. And when you’re ready for more I’ll be here, my hand outstretched, waiting to claim you as my own.”

“Bill, please stop this and let’s forget it ever happened.” She moved quickly toward the steps.

“I can’t forget, Elizabeth. I love you!”

“Bill, I’m sorry, but I don’t love you, and that’s not going to change.” Her patience exhausted and her emotions in a precarious state, she spoke in a harsher tone than she had intended.

He looked pitiful standing there, his sloping shoulders hunched slightly, the handkerchief still clutched in one of his hands as they hung loosely at his sides. He opened his mouth to speak, his upper lip trembling slightly, and then closed it again.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a softer voice, sympathy for him blunting her frustration. “I knew you had… well, I’ve always thought of it as a crush on me. But I never did anything—at least, not intentionally—to attract you or to suggest that I thought of you in that way. You’ve been very kind to me, but I think of you as a friend, nothing more.” She began to climb the steps.

“It’s because of him, isn’t it?” She heard tears clogging his angry voice. “You deserve so much more than he’ll ever give you, and I don’t mean material things. He belongs to someone else. And he exposed you to ridicule in your professional life, without even the decency to tell you what he’d done. But you love him anyway, don’t you?”

To her astonishment this remark, made by the foolish and angry man standing a few steps below her, shattered her protective shell. Tears she had suppressed for days sprang to her eyes, and she answered him in a broken voice, “Yes, I love him anyway. Excuse me.” With a little sob, she hurried up the steps and out of the room.

A short time alone in her office was sufficient to regain her composure, her shell transparent but restored. She pulled her compact from her purse and checked her reflection in the tiny circular mirror, applying blush and lipstick to combat her unusual pallor.

She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in almost a week. A week of late nights spent watching Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert, Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, or other famous faces in shades of soothing gray. Often she drifted to sleep on the sofa, awakening a few hours before dawn and feeling her way gingerly through the darkness to her room. Then she would slide between cool sheets with an involuntary shiver and await the second portion of the evening’s entertainment—the dreams.

They were never the same. Sometimes she watched him walk away with a slow, reluctant gait, his head bowed and his shoulders stooped, and her heart wept tiny droplets of blood that seemed to stain her soul. Sometimes he demanded her attention, his piercing gaze holding her in thrall as he engaged her in fierce arguments in which they seemed to speak two different languages, their words incomprehensible to one another. Sometimes he rejected her in haughty accents that aroused her ire, and she awoke with her heart pounding, angry words trembling on her lips. Other dreams made no sense at all, little more than a random jumble of her past and present tossed into a blender, leaving her desperate to escape, to find solid ground on which to plant her feet.

But the worst dreams were those steeped in the recent past. In these, he held her tenderly, whispering words of love, his body surrounding hers with a solid blanket of warmth. She hated awakening on these mornings and finding herself alone, her skin prickling from the gentle pressure of the sheet and the faint air currents in the room until every fiber of her body seemed to tremble with the memories.

But now was not the time to think about sleep, or dreams, or any of a thousand other things. She snapped her compact shut and returned it to her purse, summoning energy from deep within her. Almost immediately there was a knock on her door announcing the arrival of the first of the students whose voice lessons made up her Wednesday afternoons. She called “Come in,” in a steady, almost cheerful voice.

Not long after her final student had departed, Elizabeth sat in her office reviewing teaching notes for the next day’s classes. The hallways of the school were still at this hour, with only faint echoes of laughter from a nearby corridor, and occasionally a muffled note or two escaping the soundproofed practice rooms nearby. A peek out her window confirmed that the fog was rolling back in, obscuring even the half-hearted traces of sunlight visible earlier in the day.

Late afternoon was usually her most productive time, a buffer between the busy day and her plans for the evening, but today she found herself restless and inattentive. She was about to pack up her things and head for home when the phone rang. It was Jim Pennington, bass player and unofficial leader of Golden Gate Jazz.

“I may have a line on a job for you,” he said.

“Already?” She had asked Jim’s assistance in her job search only two nights ago.

“I bumped into the director of the Newberry School at lunch today, and I asked her if they needed a music teacher. Turns out they do.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s only for a couple of months—they have a teacher going on maternity leave starting the first of the year. But I still thought you might be interested.”

“Oh, absolutely! You know, I begged my parents to send me there after I got bitten by the musical theater bug. There wasn’t another school in town where a ten-year-old could go to regular classes in the morning and spend all afternoon singing and dancing, or rehearsing a play.”

“I take it your folks said no?”

“We were comfortable, but we didn’t have the money for an expensive private school. Besides, Mom insisted that I’d get over being stage-struck—that it was just a phase.”

“Then this seems to have ‘fate’ written all over it.”

“I must say, I had no idea public school principals were allowed to fraternize with directors of private academies.”

“Got to keep an eye on the competition,” Jim said cheerfully. “No, seriously, Marian —that’s the director—and I have been friends since grad school.”

Jim dictated the phone number and Elizabeth scribbled it on her desk blotter. “I owe you, Jim. Dinner for you and Jan, anyplace in the city you want.”

“Anyplace you can afford on a schoolteacher’s salary, you mean. In other words, Jan and I can share a walk-away cocktail at Fisherman’s Wharf.”

“Oh, I think I can afford one for each of you.” They laughed together. “We must really love what we do. Either that, or we’re insane.”

“Some of both, I think. Have a good evening, Lizzy, and let me know how the interview goes.”

The interview went very well. Elizabeth slipped away from the conservatory between classes Thursday afternoon to meet Marian Charleston, director of the Newberry School. Marian was impressed with Elizabeth’s qualifications and didn’t seem bothered by her desire to leave her job after only one semester. “I’ve met Catherine de Bourgh,” had been her only comment, uttered in a dry tone that spoke volumes.

Except for its brief duration, the job sounded perfect. Starting after the Christmas holidays Elizabeth would be asked to offer private vocal instruction, teach general music classes, and assist with staging of the spring musical until the permanent teacher returned from maternity leave at the end of February. “But there could be other, permanent opportunities in the future,” Marian had assured her. “Jim spoke highly of your abilities, and you seem like you’d fit in very well here.”

It was a powerful balm to Elizabeth’s wounded ego to feel wanted and appreciated. By the time she returned to the conservatory to teach her evening class, her spirits were much improved. She was to spend all day Friday at Newberry, meeting with teachers and parents and observing classes, after which she would be offered the job—or not.

The red light on her phone was flashing in a slow, patient rhythm, so she checked her voicemail, finding a message from Aunt Madeline. Elizabeth dialed the Gardiners’ home number, smiling when she heard her aunt’s brisk, cheerful voice.

“Lizzy, thanks for calling. Look, I don’t mean to be abrupt, but my book group will be here in about fifteen minutes so I’ll get right to the point. Your uncle and I have a proposition for you.”

“Which is?”

“I finally managed to twist Jessie’s arm into coming with us over Thanksgiving. You wouldn’t think it would be hard to get one of your kids to accept an all-expenses-paid trip to Barbados, would you?”

“They know what a relentless tourist you are. With Uncle Edward tied up all day in his conference sessions, they’d be completely at your mercy.”

“Which is no doubt why Jessie was so relieved to find a way to wiggle out of it. Her best friend just announced that she’s getting married the day after Thanksgiving, and she wants Jessie to be her maid of honor. So your uncle and I find ourselves with a spare bedroom in our suite for Thanksgiving week. I know last month you said you had other plans, but I thought I’d see if your schedule might have freed up.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed and she pressed her lips together. Aunt Madeline’s tone had been casual—too casual. “Did Jane call you?”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. “Don’t be angry with her. She’s worried about you, and from what she told me I don’t blame her.”

“I appreciate your concern—and hers—but I’m fine.”

“I’m not so sure about that, but we’ll defer that discussion till a time when seven people aren’t about to descend on my house. So what do you say? Will you come with us?”

“Were you telling the truth about Jessie, or was that just an excuse to ask me again?”

“I was telling the truth. And remember, you were the first person I asked along on this trip. This isn’t a mercy invitation—your uncle and I would love to have you with us.”

“Well, I’m not going to New York for Thanksgiving anymore, and I’d love to get away. But…” Elizabeth swallowed and licked her lips. “He has a house there.” She knew there was no need to explain who “he” was.

“On Barbados? Really?”

“Uh huh. Somewhere on the east coast.”

“Will he be there for Thanksgiving?”

“He’ll be in New York with his family.” A raindrop plopped against the outside of her window, sliding down the glass like a solitary tear.

“Then I don’t see what difference it makes,” Aunt Madeline said firmly. “If you’re interested we’ll find out where it is and see if we can have a look around the place.”

“No, I wouldn’t want to go there,” Elizabeth said, gripping the phone tightly. The last thing she needed was a reminder of the nostalgic, almost boyish smile that had shone on his face whenever he told her childhood stories of Pemberley.

Aunt Madeline made a sound that was the verbal equivalent of a shrug. “Fine, then we won’t go. There are plenty of other things for us to do.”

“Well…” Elizabeth saw herself lying on a chaise lounge, a piña colada in one hand and a new mystery novel in the other. It was an irresistible image. And perhaps her dreams wouldn’t pursue her there.

“It would do you good to have some time away to relax. And, you know, it’s a great excuse to buy a sexy new bikini.”

Elizabeth giggled. “Well, that clinches it. Yes, I’d love to go. Thanks, Aunt Maddie —and I’m sorry if I didn’t seem appreciative before.”

“That’s okay. Compared to Jessie, you were like Silly Putty. Now, you need to get your plane ticket right away, because we’re leaving a week from tomorrow.”

“Wow. I didn’t realize Thanksgiving was coming up so soon.”

“Two weeks from today.”

They discussed flight times quickly in deference to the imminent arrival of the book group and then said goodbye. A tiny smile played around the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth as she thought again of the lounge chair, just a few steps across the sugar-white sand from the warm, placid ocean. Aunt Madeline was right—the trip would do her good.

“So you’re starting at Newberry right after the holidays?”

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes sparkling. “It’s an amazing place.”

“This all certainly happened fast.”

“I know, but my intuition tells me this is right.”

It was late Friday afternoon, and Elizabeth had accepted Marian Charleston’s enthusiastic job offer an hour earlier. She sat on an oatmeal-colored sofa in her counselor’s office, her fingers absently trailing along the armrest, traversing the tiny hills and valleys of the nubby fabric. Her eyes were continually drawn to a vase of dahlias on the coffee table, their heads proudly upright, pastel-colored advertisements for the power of high self-esteem.

“Well, then, good,” the counselor answered, leaning back in her chair. “You have good instincts and I’m glad to see you trusting them. I’m just surprised the school was in such a hurry to make a decision when you won’t start till early January.”

“They had another sub lined up, but something came up and she won’t be available. The performing arts are a huge part of their program, so they can’t afford to have the music department short-staffed.”

“What will you do after the permanent teacher returns?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Maybe things will work out and they’ll find a way for me to stay. If not, I’ll go back to waiting tables for a while and apply for teaching jobs for the fall. And I can probably line up some private voice students to earn a little extra cash.” The salary at Newberry was paltry compared to her current income, but at least she’d be earning it honestly.

There was a brief silence, during which the counselor picked up Elizabeth’s file and glanced at it. “I was disappointed that you cancelled our appointment on Tuesday.”

“I’m sorry, Diane. Something came up at the last minute.” Elizabeth glanced down at her fingernails. They were short and a bit ragged. She didn’t remember biting them —it was something she rarely did—but it hardly seemed likely that someone else had gnawed on her nails, particularly without her knowledge.

Elizabeth looked up from her studious inspection of her fingernails to find Dr. Diane Walker’s large gray eyes fixed on her from behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Elizabeth was accustomed to this. The doctor would simply watch her in silence, hands folded serenely in her lap, and wait for Elizabeth to incriminate herself—or at least, that was how Elizabeth thought of it. The technique was rendered even more annoying by its high success rate. There was something magnetic about the lure of those wise, penetrating eyes.

“Oh, all right,” she grumbled, staring at her nails again. “I cancelled Tuesday because I didn’t want to talk about anything.”

“Do you want to talk now?”

“No, but Jane made me come anyway.” It was unlike Jane to issue ultimatums, but she had made an exception last night when Elizabeth had mentioned her plan to cancel today’s session. Jane had given the order with a perfect mixture of authority and gentle affection, making it clear how serious she was without raising her voice even an inch. She was going to make a wonderful mother some day.

“Why do you think she made you come?” Diane set the file folder on the table beside her.

“She’s worried about me.”

“Why?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I had a fight with my boyfriend. But it’s nothing.” She spoke casually, though she doubted she was fooling Diane.

“You had a fight with William?”

Elizabeth nodded. “A week ago.”

“And that’s why you didn’t want to talk?”

“I thought you’d make too much of it, try to connect it to… other things.”

“What other things?”

Elizabeth sighed, her eyes flaring. “I knew you’d try to say it was somehow related to Michael.”

“Is it?”

Of course not.” Elizabeth rapped out the words. “William is different from Michael, and just because Michael did something it doesn’t mean William would.” Elizabeth said the words with a singsong lilt. “I know it, chapter and verse. I know it so well I ought to set it to music.”

Diane smiled. “Any time you’d like to sing during our sessions, feel free. I already told you I’d love to hear you. But there’s a difference between knowing the words and knowing them, deep down in your soul. When you say you know them, which of those are you talking about?”

This time Elizabeth mirrored Diane’s silent technique, her hands folded demurely in her lap, green eyes challenging gray to a duel of wills. Her lips twitching, Diane awarded Elizabeth a small victory by speaking again. “Why did you expect me to think the fight was somehow related to Michael, since evidently it’s not?”

“Because you think everything is related to him.”

“I don’t believe that’s true, but we have been finding that Michael has colored your view of many aspects of your life, far more than you’ve realized.”

“But I’m better now.”

“You are better, and you should be proud of the progress you’ve made. But, Elizabeth, sometimes you hold yourself to impossible standards. We’ve been meeting for a little over two weeks. You’d been carrying that burden around for six years. Be patient with yourself.”

Sudden tears stung Elizabeth’s eyes and she bit her lip, staring at her fingernails again.

“For now let’s not worry about whether or not it’s connected to Michael,” Diane said gently. “Would you like to tell me what happened with William?”

Elizabeth forced back her tears and swallowed. “Not if I can help it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I hate to cry, and if I tell you, I know I’m going to.” It wasn’t really crying that frightened her as much as the loss of control that might accompany it, but she wasn’t sure how to explain that.

“You might. But is that really so terrible? We’ve talked about the problem with bottling up pain. It doesn’t get better—it just takes root inside you and grows.”

With a shaky sigh, Elizabeth nodded. “Is there an extra charge if I use up all your Kleenex?”

Diane’s mouth was too wide for her face, one of several small imperfections that denied her any pretense of conventional beauty. But her warm, wide smile transformed her, seeming to radiate light over the entire room. Elizabeth felt better already as Diane slid a box of tissues across the coffee table, skirting around the relentlessly confident dahlias. “Knock yourself out—they’re on the house.”

It took a while, but Elizabeth told the story of her heartbreaking weekend, starting with the unpleasant scene with Caroline on Thursday evening and continuing through William’s passionate goodbye kiss on Saturday night. Diane listened, asking for occasional clarification but not commenting further. By the time Elizabeth finished, a small snow squall of Kleenex surrounded her, but it hadn’t been as harrowing an experience as she had anticipated.

Diane glanced at her watch. “Oh, my goodness, our time is up. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late. Let me check if my next appointment is here yet.”

“That’s okay. I’m pretty much talked out for now,” Elizabeth said, digging into her purse for a mirror.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay, I suppose. Relieved, in a way.” She glanced at herself in her compact mirror and grimaced, dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex.

“Good. We’ll try to synthesize what happened at our next session. Speaking of which, I have some homework for you.”

“Okay, boss.” This wasn’t the first time Diane had given Elizabeth an assignment, usually either a question to consider or a coping technique to practice.

“I’d like you to think about the issue you raised a while ago.”

“What issue?”

“How the problems with William might be connected to Michael.”

Elizabeth scowled, crumpling the damp Kleenex in her hand. “So you’re saying it’s my fault? William is blameless, and I’m just blowing things out of proportion because I’m a few high kicks short of a chorus line?”

“I didn’t say that. Good joke, though, about the chorus line. I just asked you to think about it. Maybe we’ll find that there’s no connection to Michael at all.”

“I can save us both some time. There isn’t.”

“Give it some thought all the same. After all, you’re the one who brought it up.”

“I’ve got to stop doing that,” Elizabeth grumbled.

“And you might want to talk to Jane. She knows you very well, and she might have some insights to contribute.”

“I’ll try, if there’s time, but she has a busy weekend planned.”

Diane rose to her feet. “Do you have plans for the weekend? Something fun, I hope?”

“Aside from dinner tonight, not really.” Elizabeth stood up, smoothing her charcoal gray skirt. She wasn’t sure how much fun dinner would turn out to be, but she decided to leave that bucket of worms undisturbed. “It’s the final weekend of South Pacific. I’ll probably stop by the cast party tomorrow night, but it’s more for the students than for the teachers.”

Diane walked Elizabeth through the waiting room. A massive peace lily languished in the corner by the window, its leaves limp. It needed water, or perhaps a visit from the dahlias. “Well, then, here’s another homework assignment,” Diane said. “Have some fun this weekend. And I mean it. I’m going to expect a full report next week.”

Elizabeth snapped into a jaunty salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And try to have some patience with yourself. See you next week, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth was a few steps from Sushi Rika restaurant when she slipped and nearly fell, the sidewalk slick with the day’s almost continuous drizzle. She paused to regain her equilibrium, shaking her head at the sea of cars jamming the road, their angry red brake lights reflected in the wet pavement. Every car in San Francisco seemed to be in motion this evening.

The restaurant doors opened and a young couple emerged. Elizabeth grabbed the half-open door and, careful of her footing, stepped gingerly inside. She brushed a few raindrops from her gray wool blazer and patted her hair, grimacing. As always in damp weather, her natural curls had morphed into an unmanageable frizz.

She located Jane and Charlotte and hurried toward their table, brushing her flyaway hair out of her eyes. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a mess.”

“Tell me about it,” Charlotte said, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t brave Friday rush hour traffic for anybody but the two of you.” She drained her glass and signaled their waitress. “Another Sapporo, and…?” She glanced at Jane, who shook her head, and then at Elizabeth.

“Make that two.”

Once the waitress was gone, Jane raised her eyebrows at Elizabeth, who understood the silent question at once. “It went fine,” Elizabeth said, offering a faint smile. She had repaired her make-up as best she could, but she knew her eyes were still red. Perhaps it wouldn’t be obvious—the lighting was relatively dim in their corner.

“Was that top-secret Sister Code, or can anybody play?” Charlotte asked.

“I saw my counselor today, right before I came here,” Elizabeth explained. She leaned an elbow on the table, which responded by wobbling slightly.

“Ah, so that’s why you’ve been crying. Nothing like therapy to bring on the waterworks. So I assume you told her about William?”

Elizabeth had known she’d be prodded into discussing William over dinner, but had hoped at least that the raindrops in her hair would have time to dry before the grilling began.

“Maybe Lizzy would rather not discuss it,” Jane said quickly, shooting an apologetic glance at Elizabeth.

“Sorry, Liz.” Charlotte slid her index finger down her beer glass, leaving a vertical line in the beads of condensed moisture. “It’s just that you haven’t been yourself, and we’re both worried about you.”

Elizabeth hid behind her menu as fresh tears sprang to her eyes, provoked by Charlotte’s sympathy. She forced them back relentlessly—she’d cried more than enough for one day—and took a deep breath. “I know. But right now I think we should order. What looks good?”

They turned their collective attention to the menu, which offered brightly-colored illustrations of the different specialty rolls prepared by the sushi chefs. Selecting items to share was, as always, a laborious task. While Jane loved sushi, her tastes were conservative; meanwhile, to Charlotte, the more exotic the dish, the better. Elizabeth, whose preferences fell somewhere in between, sat back and watched the negotiations, occasionally tossing in a suggestion designed to ensure that Jane would be able to eat at least a few bites of her meal without worrying that it might rise up in rebellion.

Their order placed at last, Elizabeth grabbed control of the conversation before it could loop back in her direction. “Char, I want to hear all about your weekend in Phoenix. Did you even make it to the ballpark, or did you just lock yourselves in your suite all weekend?”

“I wouldn’t have minded that, but Richard’s too big a baseball fan to give up the World Series, even for indoor sports.”

“He must have been upset that the Yankees lost,” Jane said. “Especially that one game—what was the score, 15-2?”

“Plus I kept rooting like mad for the Diamondbacks just to yank his chain. So he needed cheering up—lots and lots of it. By the time I got home I felt like I’d run a marathon and won a hot dog eating contest.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Jane blush at Charlotte’s crude joke. “Did you two make any plans to get together again, maybe over the holidays?”

Charlotte shrugged. “It’s not that kind of thing. I mean, he’s terrific, but neither of us wants a Relationship, with a capital ‘R’.”

“It just seems like you two have so much in common,” Jane said.

“Yeah, not the least of which is a severe allergy to commitment. Don’t get me wrong —if I’m ever in his corner of the world I’ll call him, and he’ll probably do the same in reverse. In fact, I’ll be back east in February for a conference and I told him I’d get in touch.”

They were interrupted by raucous laughter from a nearby table occupied by a large group of college students. From the balloons tied to chairs and the tiara gracing the head of a girl at one end of the table, it appeared to be a birthday party.

Charlotte leaned one arm on the table, and it wobbled again. “Is Charles still coming up this weekend?” she asked, sitting back and glaring in the general direction of the table leg.

“He’s due in late tonight,” Jane answered, smiling, “and I’m meeting him at Marina Green first thing in the morning.”

“So what’s his excuse?”

Elizabeth stared at Charlotte, wrinkling her nose. “His excuse for what?”

“For coming to town. I mean, obviously his reason is to see Jane. But what’s his cover story? The jazz group, as usual?”

“No, we’re not playing this weekend. Jim’s got a family thing going on.”

Two pairs of eyes turned to Jane, who tilted her head to the side and shrugged one shoulder, still smiling. “He just said he needed to talk to me.”

“Hmm, that sounds promising,” Charlotte mused. “You think he’s hoping for a reconciliation?”

Elizabeth nodded enthusiastically. “That’s certainly what I’m hoping for.”

“He didn’t say anything to suggest that,” Jane replied diffidently. “Perhaps he wants legal advice about Caroline and how it might affect the rest of the family.”

“Legal advice? What has Cruella done now?” Charlotte asked, her eyes gleaming.

Elizabeth glanced at Charlotte, making no attempt to suppress her smirk. “She’s under investigation for insider trading.”

“Fabulous!” Charlotte clinked glasses with Elizabeth. “Do they give the death penalty for that?”

“Not so far,” Elizabeth said, “but maybe we can convince Jane to lobby the court in favor of it.”

Jane shook her head, her expression mildly disapproving. “Now, come on, you two. If you can’t manage any sympathy for Caroline—”

“Which we can’t.” Charlotte snickered, clinking glasses with Elizabeth again.

“Then at least think about Charles the rest of the family. This can’t be easy for them.”

“True,” Elizabeth said, though she was too angry with Caroline to manage any genuine contrition. “I feel sorry for them, just not for her. Has Charles told you anything more?”

“Not really, just that Caroline is beside herself, and he’s been keeping the press at bay. I’m so glad William was there for part of the week—I know Charles appreciated the moral support.”

Elizabeth’s stomach clenched and her eyes flew to Jane. “He was there?”

Jane winced. “He spent two days with Charles before going on to Sydney.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t want to talk about him, so I didn’t think I should mention it. I’m sorry.”

“Well, I’m glad he went,” Elizabeth said softly. “Some time with Charles was probably just what he needed.” The news summoned up a much more cheerful image than the one she had been carrying of him, lonely and rudderless in a foreign city.

“From what Jane told me about Mr. B. being in the hospital,” Charlotte said, “I’m betting William went down there for Charles’s sake, not his own. Besides, he doesn’t strike me as the sort to cry on a friend’s shoulder.”

Elizabeth sighed. Charlotte was right about William. In a way, that was part of the problem.

“And it meant a great deal to Charles,” Jane added. “William is a good friend to him.”

Elizabeth blew a gust of air through her nostrils but didn’t comment. Jane still didn’t know about William’s interference in her love life.

“May we open the subject, finally?” Charlotte asked, her frank gaze on Elizabeth. “And don’t pretend you don’t know what subject I mean.”

The birthday party group launched into a tuneless rendition of “Happy Birthday,” candles flaming and cameras flashing. Elizabeth was glad for the temporary distraction, but when the din subsided, she found herself the object of Charlotte’s scrutiny again.

“As long as we don’t spend the rest of the evening dissecting every detail.” Elizabeth sat back in her chair, clutching her beer glass. “What do you want to know?”

“I already know the basics, Liz. I’m just tired of pretending that nothing’s wrong. ”

Elizabeth eyed Jane, making no effort to conceal her annoyance, though she had already guessed as much. “Charlotte, the Gardiners… Who else have you told?”

Jane reached over to touch Elizabeth’s arm. “Please don’t be angry. Charlotte was concerned about you, and I thought if I told her enough so she’d understand what was going on—”

“That I’d stop plaguing you with questions.” Charlotte folded her arms over her chest. “But the thing is, it’s a bad idea to play ostrich. Didn’t you already try this whole avoidance schtick without success after Michael r—”

“I know.” Elizabeth cut Charlotte off before she could say that word. “Diane helped me to see that today.”

“Well, hallelujah.” Charlotte seemed to place a mental check mark next to an item on an invisible list. “And I do get why you’re upset with William. He put you in a bad situation when he paid for your job.”

The tension in Elizabeth’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “It’s like he handed Catherine a loaded gun. It’s going to be so easy for her to ruin my chances at other schools. All she has to do is twist the truth a teensy bit and it’ll sound like I slept my way into a job. And once that kind of gossip starts…”

Charlotte nodded pensively, dragging her teeth across her lower lip. “Yeah, you’re going to be this week’s special in the lunchroom, all right. That’s tough. What are you going to do about it?”

“For starters, I’m submitting my resignation on Monday.”

“Effective when? End of the semester?”

Elizabeth nodded. “I can’t leave before then.”

“No, that would be tacky. Say, I don’t know if the Music Department at Berkeley will be looking for any adjuncts in the spring, but I could ask. Part-time would be better than nothing.”

“Thanks, but I accepted a job this afternoon.”

“You already took it?” Jane’s surprise showed on her face.

Elizabeth briefly explained the circumstances leading to her substitute teaching job at Newberry. “It’s not what I had in mind when I got my master’s, but I think it’ll be fun.”

Charlotte raised one eyebrow. “Things sure are moving along at Mach 5.”

“I’m a little concerned about that too.” Jane lifted the red and white ceramic teapot from the table, jasmine-scented steam rising from her cup as she poured.

“Diane asked about that too. I don’t know, maybe I’m being impulsive. Everyone seems to think so. But the job seems great, the timing is perfect, and it leaves all my options open for the fall. And it feels so good to know I won’t have to walk around the conservatory feeling like a kept woman anymore. You can’t imagine how humiliating it is.”

Jane patted Elizabeth’s hand, her clear blue eyes soft with sympathy.

“This really sucks,” Charlotte said. “You seemed like you were settling in there and really enjoying it. Except for Dean-y Dearest, that is.”

Elizabeth shrugged, doing her best to look nonchalant. “Easy come, easy go.” Absorbed as she was in other problems, she hadn’t even begun thinking about her students and how much she’d miss them.

“But I could see you having the time of your life in this new job.” Charlotte glanced at Jane. “You never saw Liz at summer camp at Interlochen. One year she helped out with the young kids’ theater program, and she loved it.”

“That’s right—I remember you talking about that, Lizzy.” Jane smiled and dabbed at the table with her napkin, cleaning away a few droplets of spilled tea.

Charlotte leaned an elbow on the table, which wobbled again. Swearing under her breath, she peered under the table as though she expected to find a gnome attempting to topple the furniture. She excused herself and stalked off in search of a solution, her long strides propelling her toward the hostess with impressive speed.

“Are you mad at me?” Jane asked Elizabeth. “For telling Charlotte, I mean.”

“No, you were right—she knew something was the matter and she wasn’t going to stop asking questions.”

“And you’re sure about this job? You didn’t just take it for my sake, so you could stay in town?”

“Like Char said, I think it’s going to be a lot of fun. And, yeah, I took it so I could stay in town, but that was for my sake, not yours. I love San Francisco, and I love getting to see you all the time.” Elizabeth smiled, and she felt a small door creak open in her protective shell, admitting a tiny gust of warmth.

Charlotte returned accompanied by the hostess, who invited them to move to another table. They relocated their purses, coats, and drinks to a nearby non-wobbling table —they were sure of that, because Charlotte checked it thoroughly beforehand. No sooner were they seated than Charlotte returned to the topic of William. “I really feel for the poor guy, all alone in Australia with no idea what you’re going to do. He must be pretty broken up.”

Elizabeth fidgeted with the threads holding her bamboo placemat together. “I know. I admit, I don’t like thinking about that.”

“But you’re going to take him back eventually, right?”

“I don’t know. I love him, and I miss him so much. But he still did what he did, and nothing can change that.”

“And he deserves to pay for that.” Charlotte nodded firmly. “I get that. But don’t send him away and refuse to talk to him. What’s the point in that?”

“I needed time to think.”

“Think? About what? Just grab him by the balls and give them a good hard twist. And then tell him he’ll be singing boy soprano, permanently, if he ever does anything like that again.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh at Charlotte’s suggestion. “Thank you, Ms. ‘I’m allergic to Relationships with a capital R.’ I’m afraid the situation is a little more complicated than that.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be if you didn’t insist on overcomplicating things. C’mon, Liz. The guy made one mistake—a big one, I’ll grant you, but still, only one. And for that you voted him off the island?”

This was exactly the sort of conversation Elizabeth didn’t want to have. She saw Jane watching her warily, but she answered Charlotte in a measured tone. “It isn’t so much what he did as his dishonesty about what he’d done. I kept talking to him about Catherine de Bourgh and how much she hated me, and speculating on what I might have done to cause it. He knew exactly what was going on, but he never told me.”

“Ah, yes. You were competition for The Little Princess.” Charlotte’s snort dismissed Anne de Bourgh. “I agree, he should have told you what he did.”

“There’s more,” Elizabeth said, “something else he did that’s even worse.” She flashed a warning glance at Charlotte. “And there’s a good reason why I can’t tell you about it, so don’t even start.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed at this ultimatum, but Elizabeth was spared further commentary by the arrival of their food. Jane scanned the plates, anxiously seeking out the items she had ordered, while Charlotte exclaimed over an unpronounceable delicacy she’d discussed with the waitress. It looked vaguely menacing to Elizabeth, as though not long ago it had waved sharp tentacles in a grim warning. She waited for the dust to settle before filling her plate, grinning at the almost orgasmic groan that emanated from Charlotte after her first bite.

“I’ve got some other news,” Elizabeth said, hoping to divert the conversation onto safer ground. “I’m spending Thanksgiving in the Caribbean.”

“Where?” Charlotte glanced up from her plate, still wearing a beatific expression.

“Barbados. I’m going with my aunt and uncle.”

“Isn’t that great?” Jane said, her eyes shining as she smiled at Elizabeth.

“Well, yeah,” Elizabeth retorted with a sidelong glance at her sister. “You’d certainly think so, since you engineered it.”

“All I did was tell Aunt Madeline you could use some cheering up.”

“Think I could stow away and come with you?” Charlotte asked, a wistful look in her eyes. “I’ll do whatever you want—carry your bags, bring you piña coladas on the beach. Anything, so long as I don’t have to go home to Michigan.”

“But aren’t you looking forward to seeing your family?” Jane asked.

“Oh, sure. But I’ve been here for almost ten years, and my blood has thinned. I freeze my ass off whenever I go back there.”

“Even in July?” Elizabeth teased.

“Yeah, actually. Maybe I’m feeling sympathetic vibrations from the previous winter.”

“I’ll send you a postcard. Maybe its sympathetic vibrations will be warmer.”

Charlotte sniffed, refilling her plate. “Thanks a bunch. I suppose I could set it on fire and warm my poor, frostbitten hands over the flame.”

“Glad I could help.” Elizabeth grinned, nibbling a piece of sushi, and the last of the tension in her shoulders drained away. All things considered, it had been a good day.

Elizabeth opened her eyes and immediately shut them again, temporarily blinded by a ray of sunshine piercing the narrow gap between the living room drapes. She shifted sideways and opened her eyes again, gazing in bleary-eyed contemplation at the tiny dust particles floating in the slender beam of light that now warmed her shoulder. It was Sunday morning—early morning, from the sharp angle of the sun—and she had fallen asleep on the sofa again last night.

She pulled herself upright, yawning and massaging her groaning neck muscles. A small bouquet of daisies and carnations lay wilting on the coffee table, a gift from the cast of South Pacific. She had attended the final performance last night and had then made a brief appearance at the cast party, departing not long after one of her graduate students had proposed, in slurred accents she could barely decipher, that she join him in his apartment for a “private party.” She had left with two fervent wishes for his welfare: first, that he would not remember propositioning her in the morning, sparing him some awkwardness at his next voice lesson; and second, that he would neither attempt to light nor to blow out a match until the alcohol saturating his breath had a chance to dissipate.

Back home again, she had settled in with a dish of peanut butter ice cream and her videotape of Adam’s Rib, one of her favorite Tracy/Hepburn movies, to await Jane’s return from her evening with Charles. She remembered turning off the lamp, the flicker of the black and white image on the television the only illumination in the room. She recalled reclining on the sofa, her head resting on its puffy arm as she bundled an afghan around her bare legs, and then… nothing, until a few minutes ago.

It was strange that Jane hadn’t awakened her when she arrived home. Unless… Suddenly wide awake, Elizabeth jumped to her feet and flew down the hall. Jane’s bedroom door sat open, the bed in pristine condition. This discovery wasn’t necessarily significant —Jane always made her bed immediately after vacating it, and she might have slipped out for an early-morning run—but Elizabeth preferred to believe that Jane was sharing an intimate breakfast in bed with Charles.

It had been almost twenty-four hours since the sisters had seen one another. The condo had been empty when Elizabeth returned from her dance class late Saturday morning, her legs trembling with exhaustion after five weeks of missed classes. Intent on making the Guinness record book for the longest, hottest shower ever taken in the continental United States—and perhaps Alaska and Hawaii as well—she had at first missed Jane’s note beside the phone: “Gone to Napa for the day—don’t wait up—everything is fine. Charles says hello. Love, Jane.” The word “fine” could be interpreted in far too many ways for any certainty, but Elizabeth chose to believe that Jane and Charles were well on their way to reconciliation.

And if it’s true… what then?

Elizabeth had spent much of Saturday afternoon pondering this question. After lunch she had packed her briefcase full of journal articles and teaching notes and made her way to Peet’s Coffee and Tea on Market Street. At first, lulled by the thick aroma of coffee enveloping her like an invisible fog, she had fallen into the easy concentration of her years in graduate school, when she had studied almost daily at a small Italian café in Greenwich Village. Soon, though, she had found herself pondering the timing of Charles’s visit, and from then on she had accomplished very little.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that he had arrived in San Francisco so soon after William’s trip to Los Angeles. Was Charles here with William’s blessing? With his knowledge? In defiance of his continued discouragement? She didn’t know, but she couldn’t seem to stop guessing, turning the question over in her mind like a prism but finding it opaque at every angle.

She stretched her arms above her head and wandered to the living room window. Her back ached, and every major muscle group in her body seemed to clamor for an opportunity to shake off the effects of her night on the sofa. Her eyes fell on Buena Vista Park, the wooded oasis across the street, and its steep shade-dappled paths beckoned. Nodding to herself, she folded the afghan and headed for her bedroom to get ready for a long walk in the woods.

Once in the park, Elizabeth couldn’t seem to leave. After days of gray drizzle, the crystal skies and sunshine were—quite literally—a gift from the heavens. She strolled along the woodland paths, twigs snapping beneath her feet, and inhaled the clean, unmistakably green scent of growing things. She stopped occasionally to savor the commanding views for which the park had been named, her thoughts swirling like a leaf carried on the chilly morning breeze.

Inevitably, her mind was full of images of him. They had often visited the park together. She could almost see him strolling beside her, the dust of the path dulling the sheen of his expensive Italian loafers, an insult to his wardrobe he would insist on correcting as soon as their walk ended. She could almost feel his large, warm hand entwined with hers, silent communion flowing through their fingers. She paused at a spot offering his favorite view of the sun-bleached buildings cascading down to the Golden Gate Bridge, framed by the dusky peaks of the Marin Headlands. She could almost smell his scent, spicy and pleasantly masculine, as he drew her into his arms for a warm kiss.

If he were here, what would I ask him? What would I say? The hole in her heart was as ragged and painful as ever, yet she had begun to wonder in unguarded moments what portion of the damage had been caused by his actions, and how much was due simply to his absence.

She mentally shook herself to halt this dangerous line of thinking. If he appeared at this moment, magically transported onto the breezy hilltop, nothing would have changed. She couldn’t cede control of her life to another, not even the man she loved with a passion she had never thought possible. Yet she knew that only a foolish woman opened her heart to a man with the idea of molding him according to her needs. The answer, if there was one, would demand compromise, a sport at which neither she nor William excelled.

The arrival of a family walking three dogs who strained at their leashes, barking in fierce tones, shattered the serenity of the park. Sighing, she navigated the path down the hill to her building, hoping to find a message from Jane—if not Jane herself —waiting inside.

But she found the condo as silent and empty as she had left it. As eager as Elizabeth was for news from Jane, her continued absence suggested that she and Charles were alone somewhere in romantic seclusion. Perhaps they had extended their trip to the Napa Valley, California’s wine country, and had spent the night at a bed and breakfast with lace curtains and a giant four-poster bed covered by a sumptuous down comforter. Elizabeth had often imagined visiting such a place… with him, of course, nestled close to her in their warm hollow beneath the covers, the firelight turning his skin a deep burnished gold. She bit her lip and captured a tear at the corner of her eye before it dampened her cheek.

Elizabeth veered away from that dangerous line of thought, spending her time in the shower thinking of more practical matters. The work she hadn’t finished on Saturday still awaited her, and she needed to spend an hour at least working on songs for Golden Gate Jazz before their next rehearsal. But first she needed something to eat. Perhaps Chloe or another of their neighbors would be in the mood for a late breakfast at Squat & Gobble.

At the promise of food her stomach growled and she finished her shower quickly. She emerged from the bathroom, one towel wrapped around her body and another turban-style around her head, and came face to face with Charles Bingley.

“Lizzy!” His face reddened, but his perennial smile held fast.

Aside from her involuntary gasp, she hid her embarrassment well, grateful that her skin was already flushed from the heat of the shower. “Hi, Charles,” she said cheerfully, gripping her towel with a heightened sense of urgency. “Excuse me.” She made her way to the privacy of her room as fast as she could without actually breaking into a gallop. She had barely shut the door to her room when she heard a knock, and Jane entered, wincing.

“Lizzy, I’m so sorry! I called on our way here and there was no answer, and when we got here I didn’t hear you in the bathroom, so I thought you were out. I should have checked more carefully.”

“No harm done,” Elizabeth answered, grateful that she hadn’t decided to leave the towel in the bathroom and return to her bedroom naked. “How are you this morning?”

Joy shimmered in Jane’s eyes. “I’m wonderful,” she said softly, grasping Elizabeth’s hand.

Elizabeth had to restrain herself from jumping up and down with excitement. “Then you’re back together?”

“We’re going to take things one step at a time, but… yes, I think so.”

Elizabeth let out a little shriek and threw her arms around Jane. “That’s wonderful!” She stepped away, a bittersweet ache filling her heart as she absorbed the glow of contentment on her sister’s face. “Of course,” she teased, “when you say ‘taking things one step at a time,’ you mean other than spending last night together.”

“We didn’t,” Jane answered quickly, a hint of embarrassment in her smile. “At least, not the way you’re thinking. I’m sorry I didn’t call to let you know, but I wasn’t planning to stay. We just kept talking and talking, and before we knew it we’d talked all night.”

“That was probably just what you needed.” Elizabeth stifled a rueful grin as Jane brushed her hair back from her face, the strands floating perfectly into place like soft filaments of spun gold. Even a sleepless night couldn’t mar Jane’s perpetually flawless appearance.

“We got some important things out into the open. I think we understand each other much better now.”

“I can’t wait to hear all about it. But we can do that later—right now I should let you get going.”

“No, let me explain. I was going to call your cell if you hadn’t been here. We want you to join us for brunch at Top of the Mark.”

“But wouldn’t you rather be alone? Isn’t he going home later today?” Elizabeth unwound the towel on top of her head, and her mass of heavy, tangled hair dropped to her shoulders.

“No, he’s staying till tomorrow morning. But the best part is, next Friday he’s coming back to stay.”

“He’s moving back? You’re kidding!” This was better news than Elizabeth had dared to imagine. “Then he’s not going to ask you to reconsider moving to LA?”

Jane beamed at her. “Dry your hair and get dressed as fast as you can. We have a lot to tell you.”

Rather than try to tell the story in the car, the threesome made cheerful small talk on the way to Top of the Mark, with Jane and Charles sharing anecdotes from their day trip to the Napa Valley while Elizabeth tried to stifle her impatience. When at last they were seated, each with a plate filled from the buffet, Charles offered Elizabeth a succinct summary of his personal epiphany and its consequences, leaving her astonished by the sudden turnaround in his life.

“So you really just walked away from all of it?” she asked, her wide-eyed gazed glued on him.

He nodded, dragging his fork through his scrambled eggs. “I did it almost a week ago, but I’m not sure if it’s really sunk in yet. I think that’ll happen when I start having to pay rent and grocery bills.”

“Well, I think it took a lot of guts,” Elizabeth said, darting an approving glance at Jane, who was listening intently while sampling her cinnamon French toast.

“It’s about time, don’t you think?” Charles said with a self-deprecating shrug. “I’m almost thirty-three. I just hope it isn’t too late for me to grow up.”

“It’s not,” Jane said, and they laughed softly together, sharing some private joke.

Elizabeth was surprised to find herself close to tears as she watched them. The room, despite its size, threatened to close in on her, and her heart pounded. She set down her fork and shut her eyes, drawing a deep breath. When she regained control she re-opened her eyes, grateful that Jane and Charles had been too absorbed in one another to notice. “Do you know what sort of job you want?” Elizabeth asked.

“Some day I’d like to own a jazz club, but that’s far in the future,” Charles said. “For now it’s more a question of who’s going to want to hire me. Outside of Father’s company I have no track record, and God knows I won’t be getting any sort of recommendation from him.”

“But you must have business contacts who could help you,” Elizabeth said.

“Maybe, if I wanted the same kind of job in some other corporation. But I don’t.” Charles paused to eat a large forkful of his eggs. “But I have an interview tomorrow morning before I fly home, something Will dug up for me.”

Elizabeth’s heart thumped. “Oh?” She hid her expression by taking a long, slow sip from her coffee cup.

“Yeah. He called the executive director of the San Francisco Symphony. Turns out they need a Director of Public Relations. Will put in a good word for me, and they want to talk to me.”

“That makes sense,” Elizabeth said, glancing at Jane, who nodded in return. “You can do the sort of work you’re used to, but for a musical organization.”

“Brilliant, isn’t it?” Charles looked directly into Elizabeth’s eyes, his message obvious. “And it was Will’s idea. He’s been absolutely incredible through this whole thing.”

Elizabeth licked her lips and sighed. “That’s William. He’s generous to a fault.”

Charles squared his shoulders, looking unusually determined, and she steeled herself for the lecture that appeared to be on its way. “Look, Lizzy—” He broke off abruptly, and she intercepted a warning glance directed at him by Jane. He shook his head and picked up a croissant. “Never mind.”

“Is there anything new in Caroline’s situation?” Elizabeth asked, pasting a neutral expression on her face and willing it to stay there. Regardless of her feelings about Caroline, gloating in front of Charles would be bad form indeed.

Charles grimaced. “Not really—I mean, you know about the investigators searching the house and her office, right?” When Elizabeth nodded, he continued. “But one weird thing happened—after our family attorney talked to Caroline, he advised her to get another lawyer. Doesn’t that sound bad?”

“Not really,” Jane said. “He may just want her to be represented by someone who specializes in white-collar crime. Or he could be worried about a potential conflict of interest. For example, if Louisa were also part of the scheme, it could cause problems for the same attorney to represent both of them.”

Yeah. Or maybe he just decided he couldn’t bear to spend another minute with Caroline.

“Well, as for me,” Charles said, taking Jane’s hand, “I’ve got my own legal counsel right here.”

A few minutes later Jane saw a colleague across the restaurant and excused herself to say hello. As soon as she was gone, Charles turned to Elizabeth. “There’s something I need to talk to you about. Jane probably wouldn’t like it, but I can’t help that —I have to do this.”

So she hadn’t escaped Charles’s lecture after all. Elizabeth set down her fork and quirked an eyebrow at him, her unsmiling expression neither inviting him to speak nor warning him to keep silent.

He was evidently satisfied with her manner, because he continued. “I don’t know the details of what happened between you and Will. He didn’t tell me much. I know it partly had to do with his advice to me about Jane, but he said there was another problem too.”

Elizabeth barely nodded. It would be pointless to explain about her job.

“I’m the last person who should tell anybody what to do, but I hope you’re going to give Will a second chance. He’s crazy about you. And if you’re holding out for someone better, I’ve got to tell you, I don’t think such an animal exists.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin, instantly defensive. “In spite of the damage he did to you and Jane?”

“Yeah, he screwed up there, and he and I have had words about that. But I’ve forgiven him, so don’t you think you could do the same?”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Elizabeth said, surprised to find that she meant it. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“Okay. I’ll butt out.” Charles paused for a moment and then continued with a rueful shrug. “On second thought, I’ll butt out in just a minute. Lizzy, whoever coined the phrase about a man with a heart of gold was describing Will. He makes mistakes just like the rest of us, but I’ve never seen him do anything that wasn’t motivated by good intentions. And that includes the whole business with Jane. He was trying to protect me.”

“Who died and made him your keeper?”

Charles gave her a wry grin. “I more or less asked him the same thing, but to be honest there was a time when I needed someone with common sense looking out for me. I guess I still do—he’s had better ideas about my job prospects than I have.”

“He’s a very sensible man… sometimes.”

“Anyway, he did everything he could to make things right, and he deserves credit for that. He confessed his mistake and apologized. He supported my decision to leave Father’s company in spite of the consequences. And now he’s trying to help me find a job. Oh, and he even gave me a place to stay this weekend.”

“The penthouse?” Jane, who was making her way back to their table, hadn’t mentioned that detail.

“Yup.” Charles suddenly scowled and smacked his fist lightly on the table, causing the coffee cups to rattle in their saucers. “Damn it! That reminds me. There’s a metal tin—the kind that usually holds cookies or crackers—in the kitchen of the penthouse, and it has your name on it.”

“It might be from Mrs. Reynolds.” William hadn’t mentioned anything about it, but the housekeeper had sent Elizabeth tins of homemade cookies twice before.

“Well, we’re right across the street. We can run over there to get it when we’re done here.”

“Sorry I was gone so long,” Jane said as Charles popped to his feet to pull back her chair. “I got lured into shop talk, and that’s always dangerous.” She smiled at Elizabeth. “What did you two talk about?”

Elizabeth winked at Charles. “Oh, nothing in particular.”

Late that night Elizabeth again sat alone in the dimly-lit living room, this time with a mystery novel on her lap, Alicia Keys crooning softly on the CD player, and a steaming cup of herbal tea at her elbow, exuding a warm apple cinnamon fragrance that might have recalled her childhood had her mother not been largely incompetent in the kitchen. Her legs were covered by an afghan, the rest of her body dwarfed by an oversized San Francisco 49ers football jersey with ink stains on the sleeves.

She reached for a chocolate chip cookie and munched it as she read, her taste buds exulting in the sweet, buttery flavor laced with dark chocolate. She had been correct—the package addressed to her had been a tin of homemade cookies from Mrs. Reynolds, wrapped sufficiently to stay fresh—or, at least, fresh enough—during their week spent languishing on the penthouse’s kitchen counter.

Elizabeth had tried every excuse she could concoct to stay downstairs making small talk with the doorman while Jane and Charles made the trek up to the penthouse to retrieve the package. But a cheerfully oblivious Charles had firmly escorted the sisters to the elevator while prattling about William’s generosity in providing him temporary living quarters, his remarks accompanied by a host of pointed but good-natured looks in Elizabeth’s direction.

Trapped into going upstairs, she had resolved to avoid those rooms haunted by memories. But she had soon realized that to achieve that goal she’d have to shut herself in the hall closet—and even then, only if she first tossed William’s raincoat out onto the cold marble floor in the foyer.

She had tried to look away as they passed the living room, but like a motorist creeping past an accident site her eyes had been involuntarily drawn to the cream-colored sofa where she had spent many cozy evenings curled up beside him. The dining room was even worse, holding memories of her intimate birthday dinner—either a few weeks past or many years ago, depending on whether one reckoned by the calendar or by the scrapes and bruises on her heart. Even the kitchen, their destination, offered no haven, as she heard a faint echo of her own voice saying, “I love you” and saw the joy that had blazed in his dark eyes as he made his own declaration.

She had weathered it all with what she thought was admirable nonchalance, though Jane’s occasional worried glances had suggested otherwise. Mercifully there had been no need to visit William’s bedroom. That, she knew she could never have borne. Even now, hours after leaving the penthouse, the thought of it made her eyes ache with unshed tears.

She swallowed the last bite of her cookie, marked her place in the paperback and set it aside, and idly lifted a note from the coffee table. It was dated November 1, the day before William’s return from New York to San Francisco.

She heaved a shaky sigh, resisting the urge to scuttle back into her protective shell and triple-lock the door. I wonder what she’d say to you now. First you healed his heart, and then you broke it.

Her ego jumped to its feet in heated protest. His actions, not hers, had precipitated the crisis and caused the heartache; she had simply responded in the only way she could.

Oh? Do you honestly believe there was nothing else you could have done?

Elizabeth shoved that question aside and returned the note to the coffee table. She reached for her mug of tea, finding it lukewarm. With a grimace, she took it to the kitchen to reheat it in the microwave. She had just returned to the sofa and opened her book when she heard the sound of a key in the lock, followed by the sight of Jane coming through the door. Even from across the room, the happiness radiating from her eyes lit up the room.

“I didn’t think you’d be home tonight,” Elizabeth said. “I thought for sure Charles would convince you to spend the night with him.”

Jane approached her, the pink in her cheeks either a blush or a sign of the chilly temperatures outside. “It’s too soon for that. We’ve barely seen one another for the past six months, and we have things to resolve between us.”

“But you’re still expecting things to work out, aren’t you?” Elizabeth swung her legs off the sofa to make room for Jane.

“I think so,” Jane said, hanging her jacket in the hall closet. “We’re going to date for a while and give Charles time to get settled in his new life, and that’ll give us time to get to know one another again.”

“I bet you’re the one who wants the time, not Charles, right?” Elizabeth lifted her mug of tea from the end table and sipped, wincing as the steaming liquid scalded her tongue. At the rate things were going, she’d have to change her name to Goldilocks.

Jane smiled and nodded, seating herself on the sofa. “He’d be perfectly happy to elope to Reno in the morning if I were willing. Charles can be impetuous, but his enthusiasm is one of the things I love most about him.”

Elizabeth blew on her tea, hoping to cool it. “There’s something I need to make sure you understand. If you want to move back into the house with him sometime soon and sell this place, you should do it. I can find someplace else to live.” Elizabeth hated the idea of losing Jane’s company, but she hated even more the thought that Jane might delay reconciling with Charles for her sake.

“We’re not ready for that,” Jane said, accepting a cookie from the tin Elizabeth extended to her. “Besides, Charles is thinking of selling the house.”

“Why?” Elizabeth pulled the afghan up to cover her torso, shivering slightly as a chilly draft seeped in through the windows.

“It turns out there’s a mortgage on the house that he didn’t tell me about when we bought the place.”

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. “He borrowed money for the house and didn’t tell you?”

Jane nodded. “The house and the mortgage were both in his name.”

“And that’s okay with you, that he lied to you?”

“Of course not,” Jane said softly. “But he explained why he did it, and he’s promised not to hide things from me anymore.”

“And just like that you believe him?” This was hitting too close to home for Elizabeth’s comfort.

Jane’s smile was sympathetic—evidently she had divined the source of Elizabeth’s agitation. “I believe that he means it, and that he’ll do his best. But it may be hard for him. He got used to hiding things from his father when he was just a little boy.”

“I can see why,” Elizabeth said, plucking absently at a loose fiber on the afghan. “It must have been a miserable way to grow up, getting stomped on by that horrid man.”

“I know.” Jane sighed and reached for another cookie. “So I’ll just do the best I can to help him—reassure him, encourage him… and ask a lot more questions than usual for a while, just in case he backslides,” she finished, with an impish smile.

Elizabeth laughed. “I like that. Cautious optimism with micro-management thrown in as a backup strategy. Do you think Mr. Bingley will try to cause trouble? He’s going to be furious when he hears about you and Charles.”

“And he’ll blame me for Charles’s decision to resign from the company. But they were unrelated events, whether he thinks so or not. Charles came up here with no idea whether or not we’d reconcile.”

“Which is good. I know you’d hate to feel as though you drove a wedge between Charles and his family.”

“Yes, I would.” Jane’s smile faded. “Especially now, with his father just out of the hospital.”

“That reminds me of something I didn’t want to ask about at brunch.” Elizabeth looked up at Jane, whose open expression invited her to continue. “It’s great that he’s finally standing up for himself, but could his timing have been any worse? I mean, did he really need his father to be flat on his back with staples in his chest in order to have the nerve to stand up to him?”

Jane pressed her lips together, her brow compressed in a thoughtful frown. “I know. It makes me feel sorry for Mr. Bingley. But he was harsh with Charles’s mother that morning. Charles spoke up for her sake and just kept going.”

Elizabeth nodded, faintly impressed. “Well, good for him, for defending his mom. And I’m sure having William there must have helped.” She had so rarely spoken his name over the past week that it felt unfamiliar rolling off her tongue.

“Absolutely. He was supportive and helpful and—well, Charles told you all about it at brunch. William has been a wonderful friend to Charles.”

Elizabeth felt an unpleasant trembling sensation in the pit of her stomach. She snatched a cookie from the tin and nibbled around its edges, staring at the afghan in her lap as she reached a decision.

Jane rose to her feet. “Well, I should probably get to bed—I’m meeting Charles for an early breakfast before his flight, and I’ve got a full day at the office.”

“Wait.” The word shot out of Elizabeth’s mouth. “I—I mean, please wait, just for a minute. There’s something I need to ask you.”

Jane perched on the sofa arm. “Of course,” she said gently. “What is it, Lizzy?”

The CD stopped playing, leaving the room silent except for the muffled sound of laughter from Chloe’s condo next door. “The day William left for LA… when he came here, and you talked to him.”

“Do you want to hear about it?” Jane’s bright blue eyes were warm with sympathy.

Elizabeth nodded. “Please.”

“He showed up right around lunchtime,” Jane began, reclaiming her seat beside Elizabeth on the sofa. “He looked… tired, and a bit pale. I don’t think he’d gotten much sleep. I found out later he hadn’t eaten either, so I fixed him some lunch.”

Elizabeth shot Jane a glance of pure gratitude. “I’m glad you took care of him. He forgets, sometimes, when he has something on his mind.” She blinked hard, her eyes suddenly moist. “Did he come just to return my things?”

“That’s what he said, but I think mostly he needed someone to talk to. He loves you so much, Lizzy, and he feels terrible about what happened. And he was bewildered—and hurt, I think—by your unwillingness to discuss it, to try to work it out.”

“That’s not really fair,” Elizabeth replied, yanking the afghan up over her shoulders. “We had a discussion Saturday night that accomplished nothing. His problem is that he doesn’t think he did anything wrong. He thinks I don’t understand his reasons, and that if he explains them all will be forgiven.”

“You really are two of a kind,” Jane said mildly. “You’re both absolutely sure you’re right.”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth, feeling a rare wave of annoyance aimed at Jane. “You don’t know everything he did, because I haven’t told you. If you knew—”

“That he discouraged Charles from reconciling with me?”

“Did Charles tell you that?” Elizabeth goggled at Jane, who sat beside her in utter serenity.

“Not exactly. He made a few comments that I think were designed to see if you’d told me or not, and that confirmed my suspicions. Mostly I guessed because you wouldn’t tell me what had happened. You just said it was worse than his interference with your job. I could only think of two things you wouldn’t want to tell me. Either he’d hurt you or forced you somehow—in an intimate situation—or else it had to do with me. And I couldn’t imagine that he’d take advantage of you, not after he was so gentle and patient the night you told him about Michael.”

“No. He’d never do that.”

“Which left the second option. I know William doesn’t really approve of me. He’s perfectly polite, of course, but his manner has always been a bit cool. And you already told me he had reservations about our family. So I can see why he’d want someone different for his friend.”

“Well, I can’t. You’re way too good for Charles.”

Jane smiled and shook her head, touching Elizabeth’s hand. “Thank you, but I think you’re a bit less than completely objective. And, besides, I can see why William would have encouraged Charles to maintain ties to his father. Charles needed to make a sincere effort before he gave up and walked away, or he’d always have wondered if he did the right thing. We’ve talked about that.”

“But William thought you wanted Charles’s money, and that’s absurd.”

“It was possible, wasn’t it?” Jane lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. “Charles has been pursued for his money before. William barely knew me the night everything happened, about the pre-nup, so he didn’t know if I could be trusted.”

Elizabeth had listened to enough of Jane’s excuses for William. “Well, he’s had plenty of chances to get to know you since then, but he was a little too interested in sticking to his narrow-minded prejudice. Every time I think of all the pain you suffered…” She shook her head, her hands convulsively gripping the afghan. “I can never forgive him for that.”

“I wish you would,” Jane said in a measured tone, “because I have. Whatever William said and did, I know he wanted the best for Charles. And have you considered the timing of Charles’s visit, so soon after William was there?”

Elizabeth nodded reluctantly. She knew what Jane was about to say, having pondered it herself.

“Something you said to William during your argument must have changed his mind about me. I think that’s why he went to LA—to make things right with Charles.”

“I came to the same conclusion.” Elizabeth sighed, bit her lip, and wound the loose thread from the afghan around her finger.

Jane’s calm gaze was fixed on Elizabeth. “And there’s one more thing to consider.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in a silent query.

“Charles made his own choices. Granted, he was influenced by his father, by William, and perhaps by Caroline too, but he still chose for himself. And he’s accepting the responsibility—in fact, that’s why he wanted us to have brunch with you today. He wanted to tell you the story himself, because he knows how important you are to me and he wants to win your respect.”

Jane continued, quietly but with a filament of authority shimmering through her words. “I don’t blame William, and neither does Charles. And aren’t we the two people directly involved in what happened?”

Elizabeth stared at her fingernails, scowling. Jane was entirely too good at winning arguments through calm, relentless logic. “It isn’t just that,” she blurted out, her voice ragged with pain. “How could he think I’d be so attached to you, and respect you so much, if you were shallow and greedy? Is that all the faith he has in me?”

“I think he has a great deal of faith in you. But you need to learn to work together as a couple instead of acting as individuals, each bent on making all the decisions.”

Elizabeth sighed, eyes still on her fingernails. Jane observed her in silence and at last spoke. “But you’re the only person who knows how you feel, so I’ll stop nagging. You know that whatever you decide, I’m in your corner, right?”

Elizabeth leaned her head on Jane’s shoulder. “Thank heaven, or I’d be lost.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Jane stroked Elizabeth’s hair gently. “You’re so much stronger than you realize.”

After a few moments of silent contemplation, Jane asked, “Do you want to hear more about his visit, or is that enough for tonight?”

“I think I can handle the rest,” Elizabeth said, sitting up straight.

“He saw the photos, from the night of your birthday dinner. In fact, he took one with him.”

“I’d forgotten about those.” It was a lie. Elizabeth’s copies of the pictures were safely buried in her bottom nightstand drawer, sharing an envelope with a small green shoot adorned with faded purple orchid blossoms.

“He loved the photo where you’re smiling at one another—he said, ‘That’s my Lizzy.’ He was trying hard not to cry.”

Elizabeth brushed a tear from her cheek. “Is that it?” She was rapidly changing her mind about her capacity to hear anything more.

“Mostly…” Jane frowned, pressing her lips together, and then suddenly her eyes widened. “I almost forgot. When he was in New York, he went to see Michael.”

“He did what?” Elizabeth sat forward, her eyes huge. “What happened?”

“I think it’s been eating at him, knowing what Michael did to you. He said he went to see Michael on a quixotic impulse, partly to avenge you and partly to somehow make New York a safe place for you.”

“I can’t believe he did that.” Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she wanted to smack William or fling her arms around him. It was yet another example of his presumption that he could arrange other people’s lives—or even rewrite history. Still, the protective instinct behind his behavior was sweet, and she couldn’t help but be touched by it. “What happened?”

“Nothing, really. He went the place where Michael was tending bar, but of course there was nothing he could do. So he went away even more frustrated than before.”

“Poor William. I should have known he’d try to do something about Michael.” But it was too painful an area to dwell on, so Elizabeth sought to shift the discussion in another direction. “Is that everything about your visit with him, then?”

“Pretty much. We talked about Charles a little bit, but that was before we knew about Mr. Bingley’s bypass surgery. I think he called Charles as soon as he left here.”

“Thanks, Jane. I’m sorry it took me so long to ask for the story.”

“I understand. You needed some time.” Jane stood, yawning. “Honestly, Lizzy, he wants so much to make things right. I hope, when you’re ready, you’ll at least let him try.”

“I’m not sure what he can say that’s going to change anything, but I know I have to give him a chance. When he comes back from Australia we can talk.”

“Good.” Jane leaned over and hugged Elizabeth lightly. “You’re doing the right thing. And now I think I’ll be on my way to bed… that is, if you’re okay. Because if you want to talk some more—”

Elizabeth forced a smile onto her face, displaying a sangfroid she didn’t feel. “No, I’m fine. I’m just going to sit up and read my book a little longer.”

Jane rose to her feet, yawning. “Don’t stay up too late.” Just before she turned the corner to head down the hallway, Jane turned back. “And, Lizzy?”

“Hmm?”

“Long talks—I highly recommend them. You’d be surprised how many things two people can work out in a long talk if they love one another and want to make things right.”

Elizabeth bit her lip and forced herself to meet Jane’s compassionate gaze. Unable to form a coherent sentence, she simply nodded.

Jane’s bedroom door closed with a soft click, and Elizabeth was alone again in the shadowy living room. She arranged the afghan around her legs and reached for the note, poring over it in the deep quiet of the night.