Beginning, Previous Section, Section VI

Chapter 15

Since Henry Tilney had moved into Edward's apartment, he made a habit of going to dinner at his family's house, Northanger Abbey, every Sunday. Henry would say that he went because he was such a good son, but it was really the food that provided the attraction. He could not cook himself, and Edward would only cook healthy things involving lots of organic vegetables and tofu. Henry was certain that he had never had such a well-balanced diet, but the cook at Northanger Abbey could always be relied on to make something tasty for dinner with lots of cholesterol and fat.

Henry's little sister was still banished and his older brother Frederick was currently stationed in some (classified) Middle Eastern country, so it was just Henry and his father together for the evening. Of course they had plenty to talk about concerning the shop, and they both loved the shop enough for the conversations to be genuinely enjoyable to both.

Dinner that Sunday evening consisted of deliciously unhealthy large hunks of meat, also known as sirloin steak. Henry had already heard Edward's indignation at a steak house that had recently opened near their apartment, so he knew all about how clogged his arteries were going to be from simply looking at all that red meat. And it tasted darn good.

After the important task of consuming the main course was completed and before the lesser task of eating dessert was begun, there was a break for conversation. So that meant that Henry and the General talked about the shop.

The General said, "We need to replace the secretary again."

"Again?" Henry asked. Their current secretary, Jane Fairfax, was annoyingly perfect. She was efficient, she never made a mistake, she was a skilled pianist, she was reliable, she was, overall, no fun at all. John Thorpe said that at least they could save on air-conditioning with having such an icicle in the office.

"She just gave her notice," the General said. "Apparently she's decided to move away from the city to live with her aunt."

She wanted to live with her aunt? How typically uninteresting. Jane Fairfax probably never went out and just had fun like any normal human being. She probably just went home and studied shorthand. Henry knew he should be disappointed for the shop to be losing such a valuable employee, but he could never make himself like her very much. Catherine was much more fun.

"What?" the General immediately asked.

Henry looked up at his father and then realized he must have said that last sentence out loud. The General was still touchy about the Corleone/Ellie/Catherine incident, so how could Henry talk himself out of getting into big trouble with the General, especially after his no-seeing-Catherine-or-else-you-don't-get-the-shop edict.

"I ran into her the other day," Henry began. "She's... she's working at Uppercross now."

The General scowled; Henry knew that his father considered Uppercross to be their primary competition. Henry tried to rationalize with the General to get him to look more kindly towards the Uppercross people. They went after different niches in the piano-buying market. Uppercross had more moderately priced pianos for the family with a musically inclined kid, whereas Northanger Pianos went for the music school looking for a piano for their best recital room. But Uppercross sold a larger number of pianos per year, and Uppercross had more name recognition, and Uppercross now had the General's old secretary.

At least that information gave Henry a very good excuse to have seen her, and therefore he had a reasonable excuse for why he randomly started talking about her. He was now always talking about Catherine Morland, consciously or otherwise. He had never been hopelessly in love before, and it wasn't too bad. But his father would still not be thrilled about it.

"Uppercross should be thanking us for training her so well," the General grumbled. "She didn't know how to do a thing when she came to us."

Henry nodded and thought it was safe to add, "She seemed to be happy there. But she said that it wasn't as much fun as working at Northanger."

The General unexpectedly smiled slightly at that. "We're more fun, are we?" he asked. Henry had to admit that it was not a typical thing to say about working as the General's secretary. Usually his secretaries were running away after two or three weeks.

"But Cathy's going to be starting college in January, so we would have been losing her soon even if she had stayed," Henry said, then he realized that he shouldn't have known about her college plans if they had really just ran into each other when Henry was at Uppercross.

The General did not seem to think that piece of information was suspicious. Instead he reacted to the news by saying, "That's still nearly two months away."

"Yes," Henry said, hoping the conversation would shift to some less controversial topic than Catherine Morland. "But I'll tell John to be on the look-out for a new secretary for us. It's his turn to deal with it."

"He's the one that got that Henry Crawford creature, isn't he?" the General asked.

Henry winced at that memory. Henry Crawford was the secretary before Jane Fairfax, a sleezy guy with a long list of faked credentials and a complete inability to do the simplest tasks if there was something more fun he'd rather do. He had lasted three days before Henry had told him to leave. Usually it was the General who would get so frustrated with secretaries, but Henry got so fed up with trying to deal with Henry Crawford that he fired him himself, with the enthusiastic blessing of John Thorpe, Edward Ferrars, Hugh Palmer, and the General.

"OK, I could take care of it again this time," Henry said. "Jane Fairfax was very good."

"You're right, though," the General said. "Catherine was more fun."

The General was simply drinking a glass of wine while he said that, as if it were the most everyday thing to say in the world. Didn't Henry's father remember that he was supposed to hate Catherine Morland passionately for endangering his business relationship with the powerful (and scary) Corleones? Didn't the General remember how he was making Henry's life difficult by forbidding him to openly see her?

Since the General was voluntarily talking about her, Henry decided to take a chance and he said, "I could offer her her old job back, if you'd like that."

Even more unexpectedly, the General nodded and said, "She was better than all the people we've had in the last few months."

"And ... the Corleones?"

"Don't worry about them," the General said. "That reminds me - I invited Ellie and her boyfriend to dinner next Saturday. You should come, too."

"What?"

Henry was not certain what was going on, or who he was talking to since it was obviously not his cranky father, who never forgave anyone anything. And now he was going to let Henry rehire Catherine Morland and he was back to speaking to Ellie, apparently with the Corleones' blessing. Henry was about to ask more questions about this, but then dessert was served and the General was unwilling to let the conversation return to those more interesting topics.

But it was still very good news. Surely Catherine would return to Northanger Pianos, and there was nothing that Henry wanted more.

All day Sunday Edward waited for Elinor to call. Marianne would tell her about their escapade the night before, and, according to Marianne's theory, that would show Elinor how much he cared. More importantly, she would know that his engagement was called off and his pseudo-marriage would be publicly ended. He didn't expect her to come running to his side at the news that he was available, but it would still be nice if she called.

So he waited. Henry was at his father's house for the night, so it was only Edward and the cat Lucy sitting together in the living room, looking at the door and hoping that Elinor would come in. Edward imagined that Lucy had a similar hope, so he talked to her about his hopes and dreams for his future with Elinor until the cat retreated to Henry's bedroom to sleep. Henry was mildly allergic to cats, so Lucy loved spending time around him and covering all his things with cat hair.

And so Edward waited alone. Elinor must be mad that he had been spying on her during her date with Brandon. Perhaps Elinor was already on her way back to Baltimore to go to classes on Monday. Perhaps she was actually madly in love with Christopher Brandon and was too distracted by his charms to remember that Edward was sitting at home pining.

No, she wasn't madly in love with Brandon. She didn't look like she was having much fun last night. Surely she knew that Edward was a much more fun dining companion than Brandon.

Edward didn't notice that he skipped dinner while he continued his vigil facing the front door, cell phone and apartment's phone both close at hand. Hours past. Soon Henry would be home, and Edward would be forced to acknowledge just how hopeless his chances were with Elinor Dashwood, the most perfect woman in the world. And then Edward would be forced to acknowledge that he was noticing his lack of dinner, after all.

At around 11:30 Edward came to the logical conclusion that the best way to handle his romantic entanglements was to get take-out. Unfortunately most take-out involved too many fatty sauces or grease, and there was a limit to what he could endear for his breaking heart. It was adequately too late for Elinor to come by, so he went out to find something that wouldn't give him nightmares of future heart attacks for weeks.

The good delis were closed. The fast food chains used low-quality meat and fried too much. The pizza in the windows of late-night pizza places glistened with grease. He was in no mood to deal with waiters at a real restaurant. He was not going to sample the meager culinary offerings of a bar late at night. He finally decided on going to a convenience store and getting the least disgusting pre-made frozen meal, and he made his way back to his apartment.

The apartment building was not very large and Edward rarely ran into other people coming out of or going into the apartment, so he was surprised to see the elevator doors closing just as he came in to the lobby. He pressed the up-button and watched the elevator's progress on the numbers lighting up over the closed elevator doors. 2... 3... 4... 5... Stopped on 6. He lived on the sixth floor. Was Henry back already? Usually the train ride from Long Island kept him out until later. Edward waited until the elevator lights went down the sequence from 6 to 1 and the door opened.

It didn't occur to him until he was finally opening the door to his apartment that perhaps the person in the elevator before him was Elinor. He had not processed that idea for long before he saw her standing in the middle of the apartment, looking around confused.

She turned around when the door opened and smiled. But then the smile disappeared too quickly, and she said, "I'm afraid I'd make a terrible burglar. You've already caught me in the act."

"Don't worry. I won't call the cops. You aren't armed, are you?" Edward said.

She shook her head and smiled again. "You don't need to worry. It's not like you have anything very valuable here, though I did always like that afghan." She pointed to the colorful afghan on the couch, Edward's, and he had to smile. Surely that had to be a good sign; she wanted something of his.

"If you're letting me keep the apartment until the end of the year, I can let you keep the afghan," Edward said, picking it up from the couch and tossing it to her.

It was so easily to fall into their old banter. They shouldn't have to worry about being serious and addressing the unusual circumstances they were currently in. They could just sit around and joke together at midnight in their old apartment.

"We're leaving early tomorrow morning, so I just wanted to stop by to say bye," Elinor said, sitting down on the couch and still holding the afghan. So she was accepting his gift.

"Back to class?" Edward asked. His frozen mediocre meal was forgotten. He sat down across from her.

She nodded and said, "I was hoping to be able to also figure out where Lucy is hiding so I can say good-bye to her, too."

Edward smiled. How like Elinor to always think of their cat. "She's in your old room now sleeping, or at least she was when I went out a little while ago," Edward said. "Let me wake her up."

He began to get up from his seat, but Elinor quickly motioned for him to stop and said in a lowered tone of voice, "Oh no, don't wake her up. So she's here? After all that's happened?"

"Where else do you think I'd let her stay? A classy hotel somewhere with all the room service she can eat?" Edward asked. He didn't understand Elinor's reaction. Why shouldn't he still have their cat? "I couldn't imagine the apartment without her now. I love little Lucy to bits, but you know that already."

Elinor didn't smile indulgently like she used to do when he talked about their cat. Did she want Lucy for herself? Would Edward be willing to give her up?

"But let me get her. She would really be disappointed if she didn't see you," Edward said. But before he could get out of his seat, Elinor was up and moving towards the door. She still had the afghan, but that didn't make Edward very happy. He was too concerned with Elinor's short visit. They hadn't talked about anything important yet, like Brandon, Edward's now broken engagement, Marianne, or their future.

She opened the door, then turned around to look around the apartment one last time. She looked at Edward and said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come tonight. It was a mistake. It's just that Marianne said-oh, nevermind what stupid thing my sister said now. I really do hope you will be happy together. And I'm really happy about your book. I really, really am. And-tell Lucy... tell her... tell her I say hi."

And she left. The door closed. And Edward was confused.

What had just gone wrong? She seemed so friendly at first. They joked together like the old times. And they started talking about Lucy, like they used to. Then Elinor ran away. She really did run away; if she had stayed longer she would probably have cried. Edward didn't get it.

What was wrong with his staying with Lucy? If Elinor wanted their cat, she could ask directly instead of asking about her. And why did she care so much about not waking up their very lazy cat?

While he was heating up his dinner, an uncomfortable idea occurred to him. What if they were talking about different Lucys?

No. Surely he couldn't be that much of an idiot. If the woman he loved more than anyone else on the planet was talking about a cat, surely he would know that. If she was talking about another human being to whom Edward had been engaged until recently, he would notice.

She thought that Lucy Steele was staying in her old bedroom? She thought that Edward still loved her "to bits"?

No. Edward couldn't have screwed up that much, could he?

Catherine Morland came back from lunch Monday with a huge smile on her face. Her co-workers at Uppercross knew something was up. Louisa and Henrietta Musgrove rarely speculated about the secretary's personal life, she had never seemed interesting enough to have a gossip-worthy personal life, but a smile like that had to have a good explanation.

"Saw your boyfriend again?" Louisa asked. It was common knowledge that the cute guy from Northanger Pianos was always flirting with Catherine whenever he came by.

Catherine blushed and said, "He's not my boyfriend." She went to her desk and checked her messages, still smiling.

"Well, what happened?" Henrietta asked. "What did he do, propose or something?"

Catherine shook her head no. "He's not my boyfriend," she repeated, but even being reminded of her lack of romantic attachment to Henry Tilney did not make the smile go away. She did not notice the inquisitive looks of the Musgrove sisters, or she chose to ignore them.

"It's not like anyone has any secrets around here," Louisa said. "We'll all find out eventually."

Catherine still smiled and didn't say anything.

Louisa Musgrove was not used to having her direct requests for information denied, especially when that information may be related to interesting gossip, so she did not merely accept Catherine's unwillingness to elaborate. Instead she remained by Catherine's desk, waiting for the explanation.

"She's not going to say," Henrietta said, moving towards the showroom. "Come on, Louisa. We should be out there. What will Mary say when she hears that we've been leaving the show room empty?"

The rear entrance door opened and Mary Musgrove came hurrying in. She was always in a hurry and always believed she was late for something, even if it was being late for coming in after lunch for her own shop.

"What is it, girls? What are you doing here? Is something wrong? Don't tell me, I'm sorry, I should have been back earlier. Catherine, what is it? What's wrong?" Mary asked. Anyone else would point out that nothing could be terribly wrong since Catherine was still smiling so much, but the peeved look that was forming on Louisa's face was never a good omen, and all the Musgroves immediately reacted to whatever Louisa was about to do next.

"Nothing's wrong, Mary," Catherine said, "But I do have something I want to tell you. I have to give you my two week notice, I'm afraid. My friends back at Northanger need me."

Mary Musgrove frowned. "That is bad news. I hate trying to find new help. But I don't see why you should be so happy about it, Catherine. One would expect you'd feel a little sympathy for all the extra work you're going to be creating for me. All those interviews with all sorts of very unqualified people. What's wrong with us, anyway? Why don't you like us enough?"

"Oh, Mary, don't be so impossible," Louisa said, rolling her eyes. "Catherine's boyfriend works at Northanger and he's been dying to get her back there."

"Your boyfriend? I don't see why you didn't tell us about that earlier. Then you never should have stopped working there," Mary said. "You've really created lots of unnecessary work for us."

"Charles will do the interviews, you know that," Henrietta said.

Catherine usually found the interactions of the Musgrove family very entertaining, but she still was too happy about how she was going to be able to spend the last month and a half before she started music school. The General had forgiven her. She would be able to see Henry again at work. Henry could openly see her outside of work without them having to always be concerned about whether the General would happen to show up. Things were marvelous. Life was marvelous. And when life was marvelous, there was only one thing to do. She had to play some Bach.

"I hope you don't mind, but I would really like to just play something for a moment," Catherine said. The Musgrove ladies all looked at her like she was crazy, but Mary nodded, now too absorbed in her own troubles to care about whether the secretary was doing her real job or out playing on a piano.

Catherine very nicely got up from her desk and went into the showroom. There was one other customer there in the front, talking to Charles Musgrove. Catherine sat down at a piano in the back of the room. She took a deep breath and then played the first thing that she thought of: a prelude from the Well-Tempered Clavier. It was the same prelude she had played for Henry the first time they met. Life really was something special.

She played until Henrietta and Louisa came back, and she remembered that she still had two weeks to get through before she would really get to be happy. She would be with Henry again! Henry had taken special efforts to get her back! Everything was going so well for her.

Life was not so great for Edward Ferrars. Elinor was gone and he was at the Corleone's again.

"What's that novelist doing hanging around here still, anyway?" he heard one of the Don's business associates saying. "I hear he's getting between one and one point four million for the paperback rights for his little book. Why's he tuning pianos at eighty bucks an hour?"

Edward wished for the thousandth time that the Corleones shut their doors more often. He hadn't even heard of the paperback deal yet. They were going to pay him that much just for his book? But he was still quite attached to his little publisher, Waechter, Talvela, and Waechter. They had printed him when no one else would, even if they wouldn't give him over a million dollars for the rights to print the paperback edition. So sure, he could get more money if he let another publisher handle the paperback edition, but Edward was never a very good businessman. He liked the people at Waechter, Talvela, and Waechter.

"You don't know Candles. He wouldn't take all the money if he doesn't like the guy who's giving it to him. He's a real softie," Michael Corleone said. Edward was impressed and scared that Michael Corleone knew him that well.

"But he still has more cash than he could need from that book," the first man said.

"He likes the pianos," Vito said in an authoritative tone. "He likes the family, too. He always comes when Carmella asks."

Maybe the Don was right. Edward did like pianos, and he did like, on some level, knowing what the Corleones were up to.

"And we like him here, too," Michael said. "Mom and Dad like knowing what the guy's up to."

"Plus we're still working on that special project..."

Now that was still the one thing that terrified Edward the most. The Don had done so much for his book, but there was always that "special project" in the background, when he would remind Edward of his debt to the Corleone family and make Edward bump off a book reviewer or something.

"Eduardo! There you are! And with the B”sendorfer, of course. I think you like that one more than the others. It never goes out of tune anymore because it can tell it's loved." When Carmella Corleone entered the room, it was impossible to be concerned about what was going on in the rest of the house.

Edward laughed and said, "All of your instruments are fine and you know it, Mrs. Corleone."

Carmella said, "Of course, but I wanted you to come over. I saw what that Lucy Steele creature was saying about you this morning in the Herald. Why does she always go to the Herald, anyway? She hasn't even offered an interview with the Times."

Carmella sat down on the Steinway's piano bench while Edward remained seated in front of the B”sendorfer. Mrs. Lucy Steele Ferrars had announced her decision to divorce Edward in another exclusive interview with the Herald, citing irreconcilable differences. Lucy had left a message on his voice mail to check the Herald so that morning Edward had gotten a copy. She did not say much that was not completely true, and the lies were almost complimentary towards him.

"I'm just a small town girl. My home is Sussex, Pennsylvania, where everyone knows me as the girl with the restaurant, Steele's," she had said. Of course that had been followed with the remark: "If any of you are in Sussex, you'd better stop by. We make a darn good lemon meringue pie. My recipe." Edward was glad to see that she had her priorities back in place. First the restaurant, then everything and everyone else, just like old times.

She later said, "Ed's made his choice. He's leaving me and his family back in Sussex. He chooses New York. But I'm not going to live here. No way."

It was logical. Of course their faux-marriage was not going to work. He hadn't told his family or her that he wanted to stay in New York City indefinitely; in fact, he hadn't really decided that himself. He had the apartment until the New Year, but after then, well, he had no idea.

Mrs. Corleone said, "Of course the Times would never print anything that could cause you embarrassment, Eduardo. I would send Vito after whoever was responsible, and you know that Vito knows how to keep everyone in line." She said that in a matter-of-fact tone, and Edward knew not to question her more closely about precisely how Don Corleone would be able to directly influence the workings of the New York Times. Edward really didn't want to know any details about Vito Corleone's business dealings.

"The interview in the Herald today wasn't bad," Edward said. He always did what he could to defend Lucy Steele when discussing his problems with the Corleones, just in case they decided to take matters in their own hands when dealing with all the lies she had been spreading about Edward.

"She said that you were abandoning your family and your roots," Mrs. Corleone said. "That is not a very nice thing to say about someone she said she was married to." She knew the truth about Edward and Lucy's relationship and was still vaguely annoyed that she hadn't been allowed to more directly go out and refute all of Lucy's accusations against her dear friend Eduardo.

"Well, she's kind of right," Edward said. "I am living here instead of where I grew up. But people do that all the time. I just happen to be also leaving behind a fianc‚e who has gotten herself in the newspapers."

"But you never abandon your roots," Mrs. Corleone said, uncharacteristically sternly. "You always remember where you came from. You, Eduardo, must never forget the pianos. You must not forget coming to Vito and me to tune our pianos, and you must never forget the kindness of my husband and your friends in what they did to get you the attention you deserve."

Edward nodded his head, now scared. What was she going towards?

"My husband places the greatest importance in the world on loyalty," she continued. "Once he does someone a favor, he expects not to be forgotten."

"I-I will n-never forget you all," Edward stammered. "You've all been so-so very kind. I-I hope we will remain friends, even when I stop working at Northanger Pianos."

This was new information to Mrs. Corleone, and thankfully adequate to distract her from continuing talking about loyalty to the Corleone family.

"You're going to be stopping working at Northanger Pianos?" she asked. "But you cannot stop. Who will look after our pianos?"

"At the end of the year my contract is up," Edward said. It was the truth; he had never intended to stay in New York for longer than a year, and now that he had made enough money to live off through the success of his book he had no need to keep on working. He happened to like working at Northanger Pianos and he did genuinely like tuning pianos, so he was not quitting before planned. Besides, Henry would kill him if he made Henry have to find a replacement so soon.

Mrs. Corleone shook her head and said, "It was inevitable. All the piano tuners I like the most quit the business. Would you still come and visit and tune our pianos even now that you're famous?"

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Edward asked. Seeing her look concerned, he genuinely did want to come back to their house even after he was forced to by the shop. "So long as you keep inviting me to dinner every now and then, I'll look at your lovely pianos."

This was the sign of blind loyalty and partiality that Carmella Corleone was hoping for. She smiled and said, "What are the rates of the literary elite?"

"I love Italian food," Edward said.

She laughed and said, "You are very hard to please, Eduardo. I am glad you came to us and that we helped you. You will never leave us for good, will you?"

"No, never," Edward said, and he knew that he meant it. He didn't care if the Corleones were involved in more than he ever wanted to know about. He liked them. He really was a big softie when it came to people he liked.

Two months later

Bildungsroman Blues was down to number twelve on the best seller's list, and the first draft of Teleological Romance was about half-way finished. Edward hadn't heard a word from Elinor or Marianne. He hadn't expected to hear from Elinor, but he had thought that Marianne would keep him informed about the progress of Brandon and Elinor's relationship. Or maybe Marianne had finally decided that Edward was a lost cause. Not even she thought he had any chance with Elinor.

It was Christmas time, so that meant that Catherine was wrapping up her work at Northanger Pianos. The General now openly praised her and bemoaned her departure. He even approved of Henry's close friendship with her. Edward was making arrangements for his departure as well. A temporary replacement had been arranged, a too respectable and too dull recent college graduate, Mary Bennet. Henry declared her to have even less life and vitality than Jane Fairfax, but he had to admit that she was good at what she did, even if she had even less talent at playing the piano than even Henry.

Edward was going to become a full-time writer, with no back-up career in case his next books completely failed. He would be living without a safety net. Once the money from his first book ran out and the advance for the second book was gone, he would have no reliable source of income. He would just have to write another book, and another and another. It was a risky industry to get into, but at the same time the risk sounded like a lot of fun.

Of course he would be even more eager to prove his genius to the rest of the world if he knew that Elinor Dashwood would be taking note. Every sentence he wrote he imagined her reaction. Would she like the characters in Teleological Romance? Her good opinion was the most important thing in the world to him, and it would remain that way even if she continued not talking to him. Even if she married Brandon-no, she wouldn't marry Brandon. He wouldn't let himself even think of that unfortunate and unlikely occurrence.

But if she was just as lonely as he was, why hadn't she called? Why hadn't she written? Why hadn't she even inquired about their cat? Did she completely hate him?

Edward did the most reasonable thing he could think of: he sent a Christmas card to Mrs. Dashwood, one to Marianne, one to Margaret (even if he didn't know her, it couldn't hurt to try to get everyone in the family thinking about him again), one to Brandon, and then, finally, one to Elinor. None of them said much beyond the customary friendly greetings and a brief update about what he was up to. Surely Margaret Dashwood would care enough to mention in passing to Elinor that she thought that Edward sounded sad and in need of a good friend.

He couldn't move back to Sussex, PA. He didn't want to. He liked their apartment in midtown Manhattan, even if Elinor no longer lived there. The entire place still was filled with memories of her. She had chosen all the furniture and colors of the walls, so it was still her apartment. Edward renewed the lease (after gawking at just how high the rate was) and made arrangements to stay in the city, with Henry and Lucy still living with him to keep him from going insane and Catherine still visiting more than a just-friend should.

But Henry would still just not ask the girl out. Edward didn't understand. Henry was crazy about Catherine. He would debate over what to wear whenever he knew she was stopping by, and he would ask Edward's advice on what they should all do together. And Catherine never hid how crazy she was about Henry, though Henry still just didn't seem to quite notice. Henry still thought that he had to win over Catherine, Catherine still thought that she had no chance with Henry, and all Edward could do is wonder how he could help. Then he remembered the mess with Elinor and decided that he had absolutely no right to interfere with the love lives of his friends. He would only make things worse.

Christmas holidays meant that Edward had to go back to Sussex to deal with his family again. Lucy Steele had completely dropped out of his life. He had never been out of contact with her for so long, and he found that he almost missed hearing from her. She was, strange to say, a friend, and he always wanted to know what his friends were up to.

Edward flew into Pittsburgh on Christmas Eve and was picked up at the airport by his brother Robert. Edward hadn't seen Robert since when he had sent Robert off with Lucy to Rhode Island. Robert was wearing red plaid flannel shirts and worn jeans and looked every inch the burly small town electrician. Edward had gotten into the habit of wearing suits in New York and hadn't thought about the change in his dress when he packed for going back home. He was the successful author with more money than he currently knew what to do with. But when the brothers saw each other and hugged in the baggage claim, there was no doubting the family resemblance. The same yellow-orange hair, the same tall, awkward frame, the same disarmingly innocent smile.

"How's Mom?" Edward asked.

"Good, good. She's been waiting for you to help put up the Christmas tree," Robert said.

It was a Ferrars family tradition that all the kids were responsible for putting the Christmas tree up. Robert always put up the strings of lights, of course, and Fanny took on the responsibility of taking everything down when she decided that she had had enough of looking at the Christmas decorations, so that meant that Edward put up all the bulbs and ornaments. Edward had never realized how wholesome his home life was. It was the stuff of Norman Rockwell paintings.

"And Lucy? I haven't heard from her lately. How is she doing?" Edward asked.

Robert blushed-it was the curse of the Ferrars men to turn completely red when they blush, so Edward couldn't help from noticing his brother's embarrassment. Robert said simply, "She's good. She's really good. She's coming over tomorrow."

"For Christmas?" Edward asked. She never used to come over on Christmas day, even when Edward and she were engaged. "Is her uncle still in Sussex?"

"Yeah," Robert said. He wasn't going to elaborate.

Back at the Ferrars' house, Mrs. Ferrars and Fanny were waiting for the boys' return. It was Edward's first trip home since he success with his book, so he had to first listen to his mother make a fuss over how well he looked and how proud she was to read all about his book.

"I told Lucy enough about what I thought about what she had been saying, but that's all behind us now," Mrs. Ferrars cryptically added, with a look in Robert's direction. Edward was no idiot; obviously there was something going on now between Lucy and his little brother. He wasn't very surprised, but he didn't understand why no one would just tell him about it.

Once Fanny and Edward found themselves alone together in the living room, Fanny had her own news to impart. "John Dashwood was a real creep," she said. "So you don't need to worry about me embarrassing you in front of your girlfriend now."

"Elinor? She's not my girlfriend. She never was," Edward said. The thought of the state of his relations with Elinor was enough to make him depressed again. He sat down on the couch next to Fanny to wallow in his misery.

"You mean even after Lucy stopped making a big fuss?" Fanny asked. She sounded genuinely surprised at that news. "You must have really screwed up somehow, then."

"I didn't do anything," Edward protested. "Maybe that's the problem. I should have tried harder. I should have done more."

Little sisters are not known for their compassion for their older brothers' sorrows. Fanny nodded and said, "I knew it had to be your fault."

"Why did you break up with John, anyway? Maybe he could have told me something about what the Dashwoods are doing now."

"You never liked John," Fanny said. Of course Edward couldn't argue with her there. He never did like John Dashwood. "Neither did Elinor Dashwood. He never knew anything about anything. He was an idiot."

"But what about Elinor?" he asked. Fanny had met her, so perhaps as a woman she could give some sort of helpful advice. "What do you think I should do? I haven't talked to her in two months. Not a word. She was dating Brandon when I last saw her. Can you believe that?"

"Christopher Brandon?" Fanny repeated. "John said that the Brandons are really loaded, but then again so are the Dashwoods, so it's not like she could be after his money. Heck, even you have money now. By the way, brother dearest, I am expecting a very nice Christmas present."

He had gotten requests, veiled or not, from all his family members for their presents this year, so he said enough to assure her that her request had not fallen on deaf ears. She would be getting the desired Gucci handbag.

The conversation topic was adequately changed, and the others came back into the living room with more lights for the tree. The Christmas tree was duly decorated and the kids were duly sent to bed early.

Edward spent the night doing the same thing he did every night back in New York: he tried to think of how he was going to win the heart of Elinor Dashwood. He fell asleep before having a really marvelous idea for how to solve all his problems. The morning was spent unwrapping presents, and before Christmas dinner Lucy Steele finally made an appearance.

"Hiya Ed," she said, sitting down at the table next to Robert. She then proceeded to kiss Robert on the cheek and say hi to everyone else there. She was accepted as part of the family, as usual, but no longer as Edward's approved fianc‚e. She had shifted loyalties in the past few months. She was now openly Robert's girlfriend.

Edward had expected as much, but he hadn't expected to see his brother kissing his ex-fianc‚e at the dinner table. He supposed he ought to be happy for them, especially since he was so in love with Elinor Dashwood. But, heck, it was still weird. He concentrated on the turkey dinner instead of looking across the table to see Robert and Lucy whispering and giggling together. It just wasn't ... right.

Apparently they thought otherwise. Before Mrs. Ferrars served dessert, Lucy said, "Hey, you guys, Robbie and I have got an announcement. I already told my uncle, so he's probably already told half of the town by now. So we should tell you before you find out from the postman."

"That's not making it sound like a very special announcement, Luce," Robert said. He held her hand and smiled. He turned to the rest of the family and said, "We're getting married."

For a moment no one said anything. Edward supposed he should have been expecting that, too. But... so soon? Lucy had only officially broken her engagement with him two months ago, and now she was engaged to his little brother?

"Finally," Fanny muttered, serving herself some mincemeat pie. Then after she had gotten the slice of pie, she looked at the happy couple and said, "Well, I could have told you two that you were perfect for each other years ago, but who listens to me? No, Lucy had to have Edward, when we all knew he was just going to drive you crazy, Lucy. Robert is better for you."

Mrs. Ferrars nodded. She also seemed to approve of this new idea. "Fanny and I have been wondering when you two would make it official."

Now it was Edward's turn to give his reaction. "Well, you two have my blessing, at least," he said, shrugging. "Go for it. Be happy. Send me an invitation."

He supposed he should be happier for them, but, well, if everyone knew that Robert and Lucy were so gosh darn perfect for each other, why didn't they say anything before? Why didn't they make Edward's life easier and interfere before he lost the most wonderful woman in the world because Lucy hadn't realized that Robert would make a better husband?

"You mean it?" Lucy asked.

Edward looked at them, and saw that Robert in particular was waiting for more of a reaction than that. Did he mean it?

Well, actually, he did. They did look happy together. They really were better suited for each other than Lucy and he ever were. They would do well together.

"You two will be very happy together," Edward said, though still without the enthusiasm of the rest of his family.

"Edward's just bitter because he can't get Elinor Dashwood to talk to him," Fanny said, ever the helpful sibling. "She's going out with Christopher Brandon now."

"Really?" Lucy asked. "But Mrs. Dashwood and Mrs. Jennings always said that Chris was after Marianne. Geez, Edward, tough luck for you."

That didn't make Edward feel any better. Not even Lucy Steele thought he had any chance with Elinor. No one did. Tough luck? But he was still in love with Elinor Dashwood. Didn't that count for something.

Later that night, after Lucy had gone home and Fanny and Mrs. Ferrars went to bed, Robert and Edward were left up drinking whiskey. Edward usually avoided hard liquor, but it was a special occasion. His little brother was marrying his old girlfriend. Hard liquor was appropriate.

"I have a bit of a confession to make," Robert said around his third shot. "You know when we were all in New York and you were after Elinor and Lucy was visiting the Jennings and you asked me to get everyone away so you could see Elinor?"

Edward nodded. That wasn't one of his most pleasant memories.

"Well, I sort of told Lucy you were stopping by."

"I know. She said so."

"It was sort of on purpose. And the trip to Rhodes Island, I shouldn't have taken your money for that. I kind of convinced her that she wanted to go."

"That's OK," Edward said. "You were a big help, you know, even when you were trying to steal my fianc‚e away. That's what I wanted to happen."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Edward said. "It's all because I'm in love with Elinor. Don't tell Mom or Fanny or Lucy that."

"Lucy already knows. Fanny already says so, though I don't know whether she believes it. And Mom always knows everything."

Edward had no ground to disagree with his brother there.

"Well, I'm sorry for not trying to steal Lucy away from you earlier," Robert said. "If I had known how unappreciative you were of that sweet girl, I wouldn't have waited."

Edward was about to point out that Robert had been trying to steal Lucy away from him for the past six years and had not been successful because Lucy had never taken him seriously, but that didn't seem like a nice thing to bring more attention to. Everything had been a muddle from the beginning, and it was looking like Edward was going to be the big loser in it.

"Maybe it had to be this way," Edward said, shrugging. "I had to meet Elinor first. I don't know. This is the way things turned out. And now you and Lucy are together. That's right. Lucy and I were never right together."

"Yeah."

"Make certain to call her every day."

"I'm going to see her every day. Unlike you, I'm never leaving her."

"She'd like that."

And Edward knew that Lucy and Robert really were going to be good together.

Lucy Steele had had enough of long engagements back when she was engaged to Edward. Now that she knew how she was going to live happily ever after, she wanted that "ever after" to begin at once. A wedding date and location were quickly chosen and invitations sent out. Of course the invitation list included Mrs. Jennings and the Dashwoods after all the kindness they had shown Lucy in the past few months.

A few days before New Year's the invitations arrived announcing the marriage of Lucinda A. Steele and E. R. Ferrars. Robert had been cursed with the first name "Evelyn" and refused to allow Lucy have that printed and distributed to their friends, so he was a pair of initials. Everyone in Sussex, PA, knew about Robert's first name, thanks primarily to Fanny's love for spreading malicious gossip about her brothers, so they knew who E. R. Ferrars referred to. How was Lucy supposed to know that the Jennings and the Dashwoods would not realize who the initials referred to?

Edward Ferrars was a very unlucky man when it came to love. Even his brother's initials were acting against him. He just wanted to talk to Elinor Dashwood again. He didn't know that Lucy was going to make her cry by sending her a wedding invitation.

Chapter 16

Edward Ferrars' New Year Resolution: Marry Elinor Dashwood.

Elinor Dashwood's New Year Resolution: Forget about Edward Ferrars.

Things weren't looking very good for our fair hero and hearty heroine. Edward decided to take the first step towards reconciliation: he called her Baltimore number. No answer. She must have still been at Barton Cottage on her Christmas break, so that would mean that her probably-by-now-serious boyfriend Christopher Brandon would be close by. That would be awkward, so Edward decided he had to take a more indirect route: e-mail. But Edward rarely used e-mail, so he didn't have anyone's address. A quick phone call to Robert produced Brandon's address. Robert hadn't found Edward's request at all odd. He just said, "Oh yeah, Chris, I haven't been in touch with the guy in ages. I like him. Make certain to mention he'd better come to the wedding."

E-mail was sub-optimal, but it was a beginning. And communicating via e-mail would allow Edward to carefully choose his words so as to be able to avoid sounding like he was in fact in love with Brandon's probably-by-now-serious girlfriend. After a day of serious thought and contemplation, Edward had finally decided on what message to send:

Hi Brandon,

This is Edward Ferrars. I got your address through Robert. I was wondering whether you had Elinor's e-mail address. We all hope to see you at the wedding this spring.

-Edward

It was succinct. No implications of his true intentions for getting Elinor's e-mail address. No long-winded excuses for why he should be worthy of getting Elinor's e-mail address. And a mention of Robert's wedding, as promised. It was perfect in every way. He was less than satisfied with the reply:

Edward-

I received your e-mail yesterday and discussed it with Marianne. She does not believe that it would be good for you to impose any more on Elinor than you already have, and I am prone to agree with her. I have not told Elinor that you wanted to be in contact with her and I hope you will refrain from trying to do so. She does not need more complications in her life. I regret if this causes you pain or disappointment, but we all only want the best for Elinor. I am certain you will respect our wishes.

-CB

That made the situation even more awkward. If Edward persisted in trying to get in contact with Elinor he would alienate his only pseudo-allies, Brandon and Marianne, who weren't being very supportive right now. He didn't want them to actively hate him.

So he would just have to wait to see whether Elinor tried to get in contact with him. Sure, she had gone for almost two months without saying a word to him, but eventually she would want to ask him something. Maybe if he got his next book done quickly and if it did well she would make contact in some way to congratulate him.

Added to all of this was the two or three phone calls a day he got from different relatives congratulating him on finally setting a date for the wedding to Lucy Steele. Apparently his aunts and uncles did not remember Robert's first name or Edward's middle initial, and though Lucy had insisted that she would write little notes on any invitations to people who may not understand, Edward was still the one left doing most of the explaining.

He called her up to specifically ask, "Did you explain to the Dashwoods the significance of the 'R'?"

"Of course," Lucy had said, insulted that he was doubting her competency in handling the arrangements for her own wedding. Perhaps she really did think that she had explained the initials joke to the Dashwoods during her visit. At least Edward never got a phone call from them offering their congratulations, though a phone call from them on any matter would have been welcomed.

Overall, this was not a very good start to the year for Edward Ferrars.

You know she's the one for you. She's the sort who'd follow you anywhere. She'd be the Bonnie to your Clyde, the one who'd send you cakes with files baked in them when you're in jail, the one who will be there waiting for you when you get out of the Big House. She's your accomplice, your match, your everything.

Henry Tilney sat in the plaza outside of the Julliard School of music, waiting for Catherine, of course. She had enthusiastically thrown herself into her studies and now spent more time in the classroom and the practice rooms than Henry liked. She never could meet him for lunch anymore. She sometimes made arrangements to meet him for dinner, but it wasn't the same. He didn't get to see her every day. And he didn't like that.

She was still young. She must not realize how much angst she was causing by ignoring him. She probably wasn't even conscious of spending less time with him than usual. And he wasn't going to bring her attention to it. He should be happy that she had gotten her scholarships and could continue her musical training full-time.

But he wanted to see her more.

It was now mid-February, a fact that Henry's roommate was forever bemoaning. Henry listened to Edward mope about Elinor, or at least he did the first few dozen times. Now it was just getting sad. Edward wasn't going to get the girl, and he would never get over it.

But Henry didn't have to dwell long on Edward's sorrows. Catherine came skipping down the steps, happy and cheerful in the cold winter afternoon.

"One of my professors got me a ticket to see Martha Argerich tonight, so we'll have to be quick about dinner," Catherine said cheerfully.

Henry scowled. He didn't want to be "quick" about dinner with Catherine. He had wanted to hear all about her week. He wanted to tell her about how things were going with him, and about how unbearable Edward was getting recently.

"Martha Argerich?" Henry repeated, hoping he sounded interested in this being whose attractions were apparently superior to his own. He recognized the name of the great pianist, and he knew that her concerts would be sold out months in advance, but that didn't mean that he was genuinely happy for Catherine.

"She's wonderful!" Catherine said, clasping her hands together and raising her eyes towards the heavens in adoration. "I've made you listen to her Rachmaninoff number 3 and her Tchaikovsky number 1. There's always the chance that she just won't show up or feel like playing tonight, but I've always wanted to see her."

That was right; Martha Argerich was so revered that even her eccentricities were respected and accepted. So Catherine was going to duck out on a long dinner with him for the chance of seeing Martha Argerich perform. OK, he couldn't really blame her, so he would just blame Martha Argerich and the maliciously friendly Julliard professor for conspiring against him.

"Let's get something fast around here so I'll have time to get changed before the concert," Catherine said. She was also now living in the student residence, though she still made frequent trips to see her godparents.

Henry nodded and let her lead the way to some unassuming cheap restaurant filled with other students, some of whom she greeted and smiled at and seemed really happy to see and to introduce to Henry. He tried to be pleasant to her new friends, especially so they would associate Catherine with him, and that meant taken. But he was much happier when they sat down in a relatively secluded corner and got the menus to order.

"I never knew what it really meant to be a musician before now," Catherine said. "Every day all I have to do is think about the music. It's not like high school when I had to worry about all my other classes, or like the last year and a half when I also had work to do. It's just music, all the time. And it's so wonderful, Henry! I only have to worry about what's important."

"That's great, Cathy," Henry said, and he meant it. It was great that Catherine got to do what she wanted with her life. He didn't get that excited over working at the shop, but that was because he wasn't like her. He wasn't so young, passionate, and energetic. He couldn't find the simple joy in one's vocation like Catherine Morland did.

"There's just so many options out there for me. I love chamber music, but it's not the same as when it's just you in front of a piano, with or without an audience listening. The art of playing with others is completely different. I've become a better listener. And everyone else there is so talented. I feel that if I don't practice all the time I won't be good enough to deserve to stay."

"You're good, you know that. We all know that. You deserve to be there."

"Thanks, Henry, but you should hear the other people. It's great, though, to be around other people who realize how important music is. And I feel like they really understand me, I mean, really."

What did that mean? That Henry didn't really understand her because he couldn't play the piano? Something of his thoughts must have shown in his face, because Catherine quickly said, "Oh, don't think that I don't think you guys understand me, too. But you see me as someone different, as that girl at the shop who likes Mafia movies. But they see me as someone different, as an artist."

"You know that's not just how I see you," Henry protested. "Maybe at the beginning, but, well, we've become better friends than that. Right? I mean, you don't see me just as a salesman, right?"

Catherine laughed and said, "You look so serious, Henry. Of course not. You're my friend."

He was about to say, "Is that it?" but then he stopped himself. That really was it. That's the only way she saw him and he would have to live with that for the time being. That didn't mean he had to like it, though.

Edward Ferrars had a strict daily schedule. He would get up at 6:30 in the morning so he could be in front of his computer working when the sun rose. He would get disgusted with everything he was trying to write by 9:00, at which time he would read the newspaper and maybe a novel until he was inspired to go back to writing, no later than noon. Then he would become convinced he was a talentless hack at around 3:00, at which time he would go out somewhere for some reason or another so he could have increased human contact. By dinner time he was back in front of his computer, but then he would get hungry and decide to cook. Then he would return to his computer, feeling guilty about all the work he wasn't doing, until he started feeling sleepy. He rarely was in bed later than 9:30.

His life was boring, boring, boring. He was almost done his first draft of his book thanks to his full-time writing regime, but that didn't mean that it was any good. Some parts he could tell were great. Other parts weren't. He needed a really sensitive reader to tell him where he was going wrong in those parts. He needed Elinor Dashwood, again.

But could he really call her, for the first time in three months, and ask her to read his book? Of course he could! He was still in love with her, wasn't he? But three and a half months was a very long time. He heard through Lucy that Elinor had very politely declined the invitation to Lucy and Robert's wedding, but Marianne and Mrs. Dashwood were going.

"I hope she's not still mad at me because of what I said about you two to the papers," Lucy had said.

"She doesn't care at all about me, at least," Edward said. And he was right. She didn't care about him, otherwise wouldn't she have made some contact?

It was 5:30 pm, but Edward didn't have the excuse that he had to gather the ingredients for dinner. He had plans for the night: dinner with the Corleones. He was actually looking forward to seeing them again. He missed playing with pianos, and dinner at the Corleones was always interesting, to say the least.

He took extra care with his clothes when he went to the Corleones' because he was always sure to be shown off to all their guests as the "famous" author Edward Ferrars. He was glad that he had settled nicely back into obscurity for the time being, but his name was still familiar, his book was still selling, he still was asked to do book reviews or contribute to magazines, he was still a known literary figure. But at least his marital status was no longer an object of debate.

Edward was early and the temperature outside was only slightly below freezing, so he decided to walk from his apartment to the Corleone's. He found his black overcoat in the hallway closet and, after a lot of searching, his old green and brown hand-knitted striped scarf. Henry Tilney had been attempting to counteract Edward's worst fashion intentions by hiding the most hideous items of Edward's wardrobe, but no one could get Edward to dress consistently well while giving him any freedom of choice. To him there was nothing wrong with wearing a $2000 suit with a $1000 coat, a ten-year-old ratty scarf, and a bright red knit hat, also found where the scarf had been hidden. And then he had cashmere gloves. In this suitably mismatched ensemble, Edward Ferrars started on his walk.

In addition to being a very, very cold winter evening, it was also very windy. In the middle of the city the tall skyscrapers did little to block the gusts whipping down the wide streets. The few other pedestrians hurried through the wind tunnels in the city, but Edward hardly noticed. He was bundled up past recognition, kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the ground in front of him, and started walking.

But there was one person who could recognize him no matter what he was wearing. He was waiting to cross Park Avenue when he heard his name - "Edward?" - Standing next to him was a very surprised Elinor Dashwood, also bundled up for a polar expedition and looking like she would be blown away in the wind.

"Elinor! You're here! In New York!" So he couldn't be expected to always say the most elegant thing in every situation.

She looked away awkwardly and said, "I thought of calling."

She was probably lying, but that didn't matter. Fate had interfered. The gods were on Edward's side. Elinor Dashwood had been thrown into his path, against all the plans of the Christopher Brandons in the world, and Edward wasn't about to complain.

"How long are you here? Let me take you out to dinner. Anything. Lunch. Breakfast. Tea." He knew he was rambling, but he couldn't just let her go away. He would trap her into committing to see him again.

"Chris and I are only here until tomorrow evening," she said.

Of course Brandon had to be lurking nearby his girlfriend. This was the first confirmation Edward had of their actual relationship, but he had been imagining it for so long that their coming to New York City together for a few days didn't surprise him.

"Where is he now?" Edward asked.

"With Eliza. I wanted some time ... alone," she said. She still wasn't looking at him; did that mean that she wanted him to go away? But he wouldn't be so tactful. He hadn't seen her in months, though he hadn't stopped thinking about her.

"Please, let me take you out to dinner," Edward said. "I'll just call my friends and tell them-"

"No, no, I couldn't," Elinor said quickly and firmly. Edward still could tell based on her tone of voice whether he would win an argument with her, and this time she was going to win. She had made up her mind not to listen to him tonight, and he would never make her do anything she did not want to do herself. He'd just have to think of another way to track her down and get her to talk to him.

But Fate or the gods or whoever it was that was looking after Edward Ferrars interfered once more. A car stopped in front of them and the passenger side door opened. And Carmella Corleone stuck her head out. In order to facilitate talking to Elinor, Edward had unraveled the scarf and taken off the hat, making him an easily recognizable target for Mrs. Corleone's concern.

"Eduardo, there you are!" she said. "You're walking? You foolish boy. Who is your friend? You must come to dinner, dear."

Usually the unexpected appearance of the Corleones scared Edward, and usually he tried to prevent them from meeting any of his friends, but this time he was glad for the coincidence. If there was one will that could not be opposed, it was that of Carmella Corleone, and she had just decided in a split second that Elinor should come to dinner.

Edward tried to hide his smile while he made the introductions. "Mrs. Corleone, this is my friend Elinor Dashwood. Elinor, Carmella Corleone." Of course Mrs. Corleone recognized Elinor's name; thanks to Lucy Steele, everyone who knew anything about Edward knew about Elinor. And anyone who knew Edward well could see that he wanted to stay with Elinor.

Elinor hesitated, so all was lost for her. Had she immediately produced some very valid excuse for why she could not come to dinner, perhaps she would have had a chance against Carmella Corleone. But Edward could see that she had been caught off-guard and, though she knew she was supposed to protest, she couldn't think of what to say.

"I couldn't possibly impose," was the best she could do.

Mrs. Corleone laughed and said, "Any friend of Eduardo's is a friend of the Corleones. Come, both of you," and the rear passenger door opened.

Elinor looked at Edward, waiting for what he thought of the situation, and he just smiled and shrugged. "After you," he said, pointing to the open car door.

She shook her head, no doubt telling herself that this was a very bad idea, and went in. Edward slid in after her. Mrs. Corleone loudly and verbosely congratulated herself on her success in finding the two of them and ordered the chauffeur to go straight home.

When Carmella Corleone was nearby, no one had to worry about a lack of conversation. She found out where Elinor lived and about her medical school studies and about why she was in the city. To that last question she had discreetly said that she was here with "a friend", which made Edward irrationally pleased. Had she really been crazy about Brandon she would have said she was here with her "boyfriend", not just "friend", so she was either being tactful around him or she wasn't going to marry Brandon yet.

She did not say a word directly to Edward, but after the first few minutes she began to smile. She smiled at Mrs. Corleone's questions, she smiled at the luxury apartment building the car pulled up to, she smiled at the doorman, and she even smiled at Edward a few times.

Edward tried to relax and reassure himself that Elinor wasn't going to bolt before he would be able to talk to her, but he was still nervous. If he wanted to, he could reach over and touch the arm of the woman he loved. After getting used to the misery of unrequited love, he didn't know what the next move was. How could he speak to her privately at the Corleones? Would he be able to get her to go out for coffee afterwards? Could he invite her back to the apartment to talk?

The large Sicilian butler nearly pleasantly greeted the guests, as opposed to his usual monosyllabic utterances. He must have been on his best behavior for the dinner party tonight. Usually he gave Edward cold stares and the occasional threatening look to keep Edward in line, along with all the other past and present employees of the Corleone family.

He took Edward's coat and scarf, only slightly smiling at the scarf, and Elinor gave up her long winter coat and wrappings. She was not dressed for an evening out, wearing a pair of brown slacks and a thick white woolen sweater.

She looked at Edward's suit, blushed, and said, "It looks like I'm a bit underdressed tonight."

Had he ever seen Elinor Dashwood blush? He couldn't remember her looking the slightest bit awkward or out of place. She was always impeccably ... appropriate. He was the one who would blush and bluster and feel like he didn't belong at the lovely places she would take him when they would go to social events.

"Oh, you look lovely, Elinor," Mrs. Corleone said. At some point during the car ride she insisted that they were close enough of friends to be on first name basis. They weren't quite close enough for "Elinor" to turn into "Elinora" or some other more Italian-sounding variation, but probably by dessert Mrs. Corleone would have thought of some endearing variation for Elinor's name.

"I could stop by my hotel and-" Elinor began, but Mrs. Corleone shook head and said, "Eduardo, tell Elinor that she's beautiful just the way she is."

Edward wondered briefly whether Mrs. Corleone knew the true way things stood between Edward and Elinor, but he could tell in a glance in her direction that Carmella Corleone wasn't plotting anything. She simply wanted Elinor Dashwood to feel comfortable at her party. Or at least that's what Edward hoped her expression meant.

"Of course she's beautiful," Edward said as casually as he could. "You're always beautiful, Elinor."

He had never told her that before; when they were living together it never occurred to him that he ought to compliment her. She was the sort of person who was so obviously gorgeous and superior that it would be foolish for someone like him to point it out to her or to indicate that he had noticed it. But perhaps the opinion of best-selling author Edward C. Ferrars was more important than the opinion of the goofy, unfashionable roommate, because she smiled and actually thanked him graciously for the compliment. She always did have excellent manners.

"What about me?" Constanzia Corleone came into the hallway in a dazzling low-cut red dress and wearing an even more dazzling and attention-grabbing large diamond engagement ring. The wedding was planned for early summer.

Edward gave Constanzia a light kiss on the cheek and said, "You're always beautiful, too, Connie."

Constanzia smiled and said, "I like the suit. Now introduce us." But without waiting for Edward or Mrs. Corleone to say anything, she turned to Elinor and said, "I'm Constanzia Corleone and you must be Elinor Dashwood."

"Must I?" Elinor asked, with a quick look at Edward. He hadn't thought that the entire Corleone clan was aware with his Elinor Dashwood fixation. He thought he had been admirably discreet.

Connie was still not allowing anyone else to get involved with her conversation with Elinor. She said, "What other Elinor would there be to come with Edward? The only time he has ever shown up with a woman was with Ellie's friend Catherine. Mother, why don't we invite Catherine over again? It's been weeks, no, a month, since we had her over. I like her."

"Catherine?" Elinor repeated. Her responses were very succinct, but when the Corleones decide to start talking they rarely let their guests say more than a few syllables. Edward would have here explained that Catherine Morland was a friend he met through work and who was now in love with his friend Henry, but he wasn't fast enough.

"He never even introduced us to Lucy Steele when she was in New York," Constanzia said. "Everyone thought that since Edward was such a great friend of the family that we'd have met Lucy, but we had to tell them that Edward had hardly mentioned her when he visited. Now at least we can say that he's brought along his Elinor Dashwood."

She was very far from being his Elinor, and Edward knew he had to say something to that effect before Elinor started thinking that he was so much in love with her that everyone who knew him knew about it. Sure, it would be true, but there had to be better ways to bring that issue up.

Mrs. Corleone made the necessary interruption. "She's my guest, not Eduardo's," she said. "I was the one who got her to come. She would have left dear Eduardo on the street corner if I hadn't been driving by. Now Eduardo, be a darling and take my guest into the parlor and see that she gets a drink."

Constanzia and Mrs. Corleone stayed in the hallway to handle some minor crisis involving dinner. Edward and Elinor went into the pink parlor where, much to Edward's chagrin, Vito, Michael, and Sonny Corleone were sitting. They were all holding wine glasses and seemed to be discussing something important, but all three turned and smiled when they saw who came in.

"Candles, you're here early," Vito said, standing up and shaking Edward's hand. He turned to Elinor and said, "I don't believe we have met, have we? But your face is familiar. Have we printed it in the papers?"

Elinor didn't seem alarmed by Vito's reference to his superhuman power over more things that he should not have power over, such as what pictures newspapers print. She seemed more charmed by his good manners and shook his hand and said, "I'm Elinor Dashwood, Edward's friend. Carmella invited me to join you tonight."

"Elinor Dashwood! Of course!" Vito turned to his sons and said, "Someone should update the Time's picture file for her. The papers never do you justice, Ms. Dashwood. These are my sons Michael and Sonny. Sonny's a nutcase who believes that the media is all controlled by big corporations and the government. Michael can tell you that he's full of it because Michael is the one pulling all the strings."

Everyone except Edward laughed. Why did Elinor find the Corleone family's mob connections so amusing? Or maybe she just thought that they liked to exaggerate. But Edward knew better. He knew that the next time Elinor Dashwood was mentioned in The New York Times or probably any other New York newspaper her picture would be more recent and more flattering. And if Michael Corleone now pulled all the strings, that meant that Vito Corleone was letting him. Vito remained The Don, and everyone else had to listen to him.

"My family is trying to convert me to their way of thinking, but I'm sticking to what I know," Sonny said. For all his 'sticking to principles', he seemed to have been fully accepted back into the good graces of the Corleone family, thanks to the exertions of Constanzia, Ellie, and Edward. Now Sonny and his family officially agreed to disagree, and so he was back in his suits and coming to family dinners with Ellie whenever her studies allowed her to come.

"Sit down, both of you," Vito said. He was atypically cheerful tonight, so that meant that he must be up to something related to The Business. Edward and Elinor sat down next to each other on the couch near the three Corleone men. Edward was briefly pleased by his continued proximity to Elinor, after all this time, but he was quickly distracted from that small pleasure by what Vito said next: "Candles, you know that special project we have all been mentioning? Well, now's the time for us to begin working on it."

Edward's little yelp of fear was drowned out by Carmella Corleone coming into the room in mid-tirade over the appetizer. His reaction was noted by Elinor Dashwood, who was sitting next to him, and Michael Corleone, who could always been relied on to notice everything that was going on in the room. Edward blushed and hoped that the Corleones would not use his show of cowardice against him. But what sort of hired goon would he be if he couldn't stay calm and collected when someone merely mentioned the existence of the Special Project? Surely they had to have better people for the job, whatever the job may be. Edward had no idea how to handle a gun.

The doorbell rang and they could hear Constanzia welcoming the arriving guests. The dinner party was beginning. Business would have to wait until later. Edward almost felt relieved, but he knew that he was merely delaying the inevitable. Vito Corleone had been mentioning the Special Project for months. There was no way he would conveniently forget about it now.

Mrs. Corleone forgot about the appetizers in order to join her daughter in greeting the guests. They all came into the parlor. The first person who came in certainly took Edward by surprise: it was Isabella von Ridderbusch. She was dressed in a pink sequined dress that most grieving widows wouldn't be able to get away with wearing. But she had the guts and the lack of taste to attempt it anyway. She was followed by a much older man, Peter Walsh, a retired investment banker and old friend of the Corleone family.

Mrs. Corleone began the introductions, starting with Edward. "Peter and Isabella, this is our dear friend-"

"Edward and Elinor, what a pleasant surprise!" Isabella said. Edward hadn't seen her since her party over a year ago, when Edward and Elinor first met. She hadn't known who he was then and he was surprised that she seemed to think they were on first name basis now. He remembered that Elinor hadn't liked Mrs. von Ridderbusch then and it looked like she didn't like her now.

"Mrs. von Ridderbusch, how unexpected," Elinor said coolly. She more politely smiled at the older man and said, "Mr. Walsh, I believe we have met before, haven't we? You knew my father."

Peter Walsh smiled broadly and was no doubt about to launch into how great of a man Mr. Dashwood was, but Isabella interrupted. "It's Mrs. Walsh now," she said.

"Oh really?" Elinor said, raising her eyebrows. If Peter Walsh lived more than five years, it would be a minor miracle.

"She knows how to make a drafty old mansion into a happy home," Mr. Walsh said. He looked at his young wife with such genuine love and adoration that Edward had to smile. Elinor's expression relaxed as well. Whatever made people happy was fine by them.

The new Mrs. Walsh was introduced to the Corleone men and while their beverage preferences were being asked, the doorbell rang again and more guests came. Isabella was seated next to Elinor and when the general conversation did not involve Elinor and Edward, she turned to them and said, "I did not expect to see you two here together. The last time I heard about you, Edward, my brother John said you were moping in your apartment writing another book about how sad your love life was. And you, Elinor, you were looking at engagement rings at Tiffany's yesterday with that nice man, what is his name?"

Elinor looked more annoyed than embarrassed by what Isabella said. She glared at the other woman and said, "I'm sorry, but that's still a family affair, Mrs. Walsh. And his name is Christopher Brandon."

That revelation was enough to unsettle Edward. Elinor and Brandon were picking out engagement rings at Tiffany's? Edward didn't need to try hard to fill in the rest of the story. Their engagement was supposed to still be a secret, and that was why she wasn't telling the Corleones or Edward about the real reason for her trip.

Edward tried to pretend that news did not effect him at all and said, in his best non-shaky voice, "The book isn't about my sad love life. It's about Ward's. And it gets better. He gets the girl in the end. I'm just not at the end yet."

"No need to be so touchy," Isabella said, but she seemed quite satisfied by what he said. She tried to hide her smile by taking a sip of her wine.

Elinor was pressing her lips together and obviously willing herself not to say something nasty to Mrs. Walsh. Edward would have loved to hear what she wanted to say, because he could think of some very nasty things he'd like to say himself. But the final guests had arrived and it was time for them to begin dinner and listen to Mrs. Corleone lament some more about the sorry state of their nonetheless delicious appetizers.

Elinor and Edward were seated next to each other at dinner but they didn't have a chance to say much beyond asking the other to pass certain dishes. All the loud talking at the Corleone table never allowed for any personal conversations to take place. Everyone had to be shouting everything at once.

Dinner dragged on, then the after-dinner cocktails dragged on even longer, and while Edward and Elinor remained at each other's side they still couldn't talk together. They were both waiting, but the Corleones and their guests wouldn't let them alone. Edward was the famous writer with a new book he was working on. Elinor was a member of a very well known and widely respected family, and she was also Edward's Elinor and therefore a somewhat notorious public figure. Everyone had something to say to them.

Once the guests started to leave, Edward tried a few times to steer Elinor to the door. But every time they were intercepted by some member of the Corleone family who had some reason why they couldn't possibly leave yet. In the end it was just Elinor, Edward, Michael, and Vito in the room. And that meant it was time to get to business.

"The special project, remember?" Vito said, looking at Edward with a far too happy expression on his face. He seemed genuinely pleased by the idea. No good at all was going to come out of it.

Elinor had somehow come to genuinely like the Corleones during the course of the evening, in spite of her good upbringing and her rather rigid sense of morality. She didn't seem to find them at all intimidating or scary. She merely smiled and laughed while Edward quivered. He was quivering now, and she smiled and said, "I'm now curious. What is so special about it?"

"It's been my father's pet project for two years now," Michael said. His voice was very cool and even, but he had an amused glint in his eye whenever he looked in Edward's direction. He knew Edward's feelings on the matter of this project, and he seemed to find it funny.

"More than two years, I've been waiting for someone like Edward Ferrars to come along for years, ever since I got the first of those damn pianos," Vito said. "My wife told me that everyone that's anyone has a piano, and pianos go out of tune so everyone that's anyone has a piano tuner. So because of that the strangest people were now prowling around my home, tapping things and doing mysterious things to my very substantial investments."

This was all a very thrilling story, but Edward was still waiting for when the Don would say who he wanted killed or what building he wanted Edward to blow up. Was he after a certain piano tuner? Did he expect Edward to plant some incriminating evidence inside a piano when he went in to tune it? A robbery perhaps?

"Then when he heard that Candles here was a writer, Dad was nearly jumping for joy," Michael said to Elinor, though he gave Edward an extra look and an extra smile.

Elinor was interested in hearing the rest of the story, so she nodded her head and said, "Edward is an excellent writer. You were very lucky to have met him. So what do you want him to write about? His piano tuning memoirs?"

The poor, na‹ve girl. Did she really think that a Mafia mobster would be interested the treatment of pianos by Manhattan's most exclusive piano teachers? Maybe smuggling would be involved.

Vito shook his head and said, "Who knows what Candles would write about us in there. No, we want him to do something bigger than that. We want him to tune some pianos for us."

"Tune some pianos?" Edward repeated skeptically. "That's it?"

"Of course not," Michael said. "Dad means tune some pianos at places we arrange for you to go to. It will have to be undercover now that you're relatively famous. At least the people we're sending you to might recognize your name." He then started listing their victims: famous movie actors, Broadway stars, other famous authors, big-name corporate leaders, media figures... Edward hadn't realized that all the people lived in New York City, much less had pianos they'd agree to have some random guy with an assumed name tune.

"You want Edward to spy on people while he tunes their pianos?" Elinor asked. "That doesn't sound very ethical."

Edward knew Elinor would disapprove. Maybe her presence would help him find the courage to refuse to cooperate.

"No, we would never ask Edward to compromise his integrity. We want him to tell us about the pianos," Vito said. "We want to know how many, whether they've ever been touched, and, if possible, we want Edward to get his clients to play for him. I don't know whether you've heard Edward try to play the piano, but he's terrible. So that part should be relatively easy, and we've specifically chosen times when the household staff says that the client would be home. And we want him to write about that."

"And then?" Edward asked. Surely there had to be a catch. They didn't just want him to write cutesy stories about the pianos of the rich and famous. "Plant bugs? Steal something? What?"

The Corleones all laughed, though Edward noticed that Elinor did not. She seemed more amused by him than by what he was saying. Michael said, "That would certainly be news, Edward Ferrars plotting to rob J.D. Salinger."

"J. D. Salinger, too?" Edward repeated. "He has a piano? I thought he lived in New Hampshire or Vermont or somewhere rugged like that. The weather would kill a good instrument."

"No one sees J. D. Salinger," Elinor said. She seemed actually intrigued by the Corleone's no doubt nefarious plan. Didn't she see the dangers that were involved?

"Dad has had me on this for months," Michael said. "I've talked to more maids and cooks than I ever thought I would in my life. We have two dozen piano appointments set up over the next two weeks, Candles. It will be a series, maybe publish it in an anthology if it turns out well. But we saw your book. It will be good."

"I want it mean, sarcastic, truthful, yet at the same time sweet," Vito Corleone said, now wistfully twirling his brandy in his glass. "You're going to like them all, but you're going to hate to see the waste of all those beautiful pianos." Edward nodded his head and hoped he would remember those instructions.

"But what are you going to do with the articles?" he asked.

"Put them in the Times magazine, of course," Vito said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world and Edward was the greatest simpleton for having to ask. "Just do the set of them, give them to us, and we'll take care of it. Don't worry about going through your agent. You're a friend of the Corleone family. We take care of our own."

"I don't know-" Edward began.

"What?" Vito said, no longer looking as genial as before. "We've been preparing you for a project for months. We took care of the publicity of your book for you. I've let you into my house to see my pianos. I've let you become a friend of the family. And you do not know whether you will take advantage of this very special project, perfect for every way for you?"

"Of course Candles will do it," Michael said. "Right, Elinor?"

Elinor actually smiled and said, "Of course. Won't you, Candles?"

He supposed he should be glad that she could still find this terrifying situation amusing. Edward sort of made some noise of agreement, not enough to be interpreted as a sign of commitment but not a sign of refusal, and Mrs. Corleone came in to announce that Edward and Elinor's taxi had arrived.

"Come back tomorrow afternoon, Candles," Michael said. "We'll talk details."

"Ok..." Edward said. Perhaps he would have thought of a good reason for why he must refuse by then. He had to think of the best interest of all those unsuspecting New York celebrities with pianos. Who knew what the real reason for Edward's visits would end up being?

He was still worrying about the Special Project when he found himself into the back of the taxicab with Elinor Dashwood. The driver asked, "Where to?" and Edward realized that he had more pressing problems to deal with, namely how was he supposed to keep Elinor from going back to her fianc‚?

"The Park Plaza Hotel," Elinor said. She turned to Edward and said, "You don't mind if we drop me off first? It's late and I told Chris that I'd meet him for breakfast tomorrow morning."

Meeting him for breakfast meant that they must not be sharing a hotel room, at least. And they wouldn't have to meet in the evening to exchange sweet nothings or to kiss each other good night.

"You don't want a cup of coffee or tea or to stop by anywhere..." Edward was desperate for any excuse to prolong the evening, but it really was late and they had already spent the evening being fed and being given many drinks.

"No thanks," Elinor said. The cab was already headed to her hotel. It wouldn't take long to get there. She said, "I liked your friends. The Corleones are fun people."

"I like them, too," Edward said gloomily. "But every time I go there I always wonder whether I'll make it out alive. Michael scares me to death." He was going to lose the girl again and these last precious moments together were going to be spent on small talk. Swell.

Elinor laughed and said, "I noticed. I think that's why Michael likes you. Every time he says something to you, you jump. I've never seen you so unsettled by someone. Mr. Corleone also seems to make you nervous."

"I've heard them talking too much when I was tuning their pianos. You have no idea the sort of things they're up to." Edward wasn't willing to elaborate. Besides, there wasn't much traffic and she hadn't even officially told him about her engagement.

"Carmella told me about their last project when you and Connie were doing something to the Yamaha in the other room. I remember seeing parts of their series when I was still in New York. It was impressive."

"Their last project? Impressive?" Edward had heard them talking about the Mafia trial, bumped off Mob lawyers, corrupt judges, intimidated witnesses-he wouldn't have imagined that Elinor Dashwood's reaction to the mess would be admiration for how well they carried it off. The Mafia boss got a minimal sentence last week and the papers were livid.

"It's kind of sweet that Vito and Michael are able to always work together," Elinor continued. "Carmella said that Michael wouldn't work under anyone else. And you can tell that Mr. Corleone wouldn't trust anyone else as much as he trusts Michael to get the things done for his great projects. I wonder whether the series will win any awards."

"Awards?" Elinor was being more and more confusing. Were there awards for what the Corleones did? Then he stopped looking out the window and thinking about how he was going to change the conversation topic to actually think about what she was saying.

"Wait, Elinor, you don't think they're just newspaper reporters?" he asked.

Elinor laughed. A lot. Her usual laughs were just little ripples, but this was a very loud, full-throated laugh. "Of course they are," she said. "Mrs. Corleone told me. Vito was the news editor for The New York Times for ten years before he had his heart attack and had to work from home. Now he does special series and projects for the paper. Including the Tarumbino family trial and now the celebrity pianos."

"What?" Edward asked. "I thought - "

"Don't tell me what you thought," Elinor said, and then started laughing again.

Newspapers? They were always talking to the witnesses because they needed statements. They knew what was happening before it came out in the papers because they were the ones writing the papers. They got his book reviewed and could control special statements in the Times because of their work connections. It was so blatantly obvious now. There was still the bizarre coincidence of their name, but even that seemed to make sense. They used the 'Godfather' mystique to intimidate people as a joke. They genuinely did like Edward and genuinely did want him to write about pianos. They weren't going to kill him.

And, good lord, they must think he was an absolutely lunatic after tonight. Planting bugs or robbery?

Edward started laughing too. Somehow he had a feeling that things would turn out OK after all. He said good night to Elinor when they stopped in front of her hotel and was still laughing when he realized that she was gone before they had ever talked about the way things stood between them.

But it was too late for talking now. They had had a pleasant evening together. That was a start. He would call her the next morning. He knew where she was staying. He'd get to see her again.

If one is given free tickets, did that make leaving during intermission more permissible? Catherine wouldn't be wasting her own money, but would wasting a gift be more reprehensible? She had seen her idol play, but Catherine couldn't completely enjoy the experience. There was still something nagging her. OK, maybe not just something. Henry Tilney was bothering her.

Just that afternoon her piano teacher had said that she seemed "distracted". Her teacher was right; Catherine was in the middle of playing her Debussy sonata when she remembered playing it for Henry once at the piano shop, and then she started thinking about Henry, not Debussy, and then she just wanted to see Henry again, and then she was thinking about how they were going to meet for dinner, and then how she was going to just get her heart broken by him as she always did every time she saw him and saw that he still just thought of her as a good friend...

The ticket had been given to her as a way to help "clear her head" and "get her focused". And now she couldn't enjoy the ticket because she was still too unfocused. When Henry wasn't around, she kept on thinking about him. When he was around, like during dinner, all she could tell him about was how great things were when he wasn't there. What a mess.

The lights in the auditorium were up and the other audience members were getting up to go to the lobby. Catherine hated wandering around the crowds during intermissions. She would often see someone she knew from college and then she'd have to talk about the performance and the music and try not to sound like the ignorant girl she still was.

She'd go see Henry tonight. Tell him that he was driving her crazy. Martha Argerich was still fairly young. Catherine would be able to see her again. And maybe once she had seen Henry she could be less "distracted" for her lessons and her teacher would forgive her for not hearing the rest of the recital.

Catherine grabbed her coat and left the auditorium. Carnegie Hall was within walking distance of Henry and Edward's place. Henry had been planning on spending the evening with her, so probably he would be home. Unless he had been able to find some other girl to go out with, someone who wouldn't run off to hear wonderful pianists.

She walked quickly through the streets of midtown Manhattan until she got to Henry's apartment building. The doorman recognized her as a frequent guest of the Ferrars apartment and let her in without the usual rigmarole about proper identification and calling ahead and consulting lists of expected and allowed visitors. With Edward's rise in popularity, the security arrangements for his apartment had also increased. Edward Ferrars hadn't requested it for himself, but the other residents got annoyed at all the reporters wandering around the halls looking for people who may know something about Edward and his lady friends. Now the press had lost interest in Edward, but that didn't mean that it all wouldn't start again when his next book came out.

Catherine now wished that they had at least called ahead to warn Henry that she was coming up. What if he was there with some girl? What would she do? She knocked on the door and waited while she heard the door being unlocked. Finally the door opened, and there was Henry Tilney, looking adorably surprised to see her there. Catherine did her very best not to sigh at the sight of him, but it was very difficult not to be obvious in her admiration of such a hot guy. But she knew he was more than just a very pretty face, and a very sexy body, and very nice clothes, and a very nice Fossil watch (a birthday present she had helped Ellie pick out). He was also the nicest, sweetest, most overall wonderful guy in the world.

Too bad he was still too old for her.

"The concert is over already?" Henry asked.

Catherine nodded, then shook her head. "I left early," she said. "Can I come in?"

"Of course."

She walked into their very neat apartment, left as Elinor Dashwood had left it many months ago. Henry had put some of his books in the shelves that once had Elinor's books and her old bedroom was now filled with Henry's things, but the apartment still had a more feminine touch than one would expect for the residence of two young men.

Catherine took off her coat and put it on a chair. She was dressed nicely for the concert, wearing a short black dress that Ellie had helped her pick out a few weeks ago. At least she didn't feel like the little college freshman she, of course, still was. She could pretend that she was elegant and sophisticated, someone that maybe some day Henry Tilney would be romantically interested in.

She had told herself when she was leaving the performance that she would actually talk to Henry about her feelings, but now that she was at his apartment it was ridiculous. She was too young and awkward. He was too wonderful.

She sat down on the couch and Henry sat down on a chair opposite her. "So why did you run out on Martha Argerich to come here?" he asked.

Catherine looked down at the flowers on the coffee table, then over to the pictures on the bookshelf, then back to Henry Tilney sitting in front of her. "I... wanted dessert," she said finally.

Henry laughed and said, "No, really."

He didn't take her seriously because she was just a silly little girl. How humiliating. To think she had been going to confess her undying love for him. Sure, she did still have that unrequited, undying love burning inside of her and distracting her from her Debussy and from appreciating Martha Argerich recitals, but she wouldn't let Henry laugh at her for it.

"Really," she said. Her desire for dessert was strengthened by her indignation. She would show Henry that she meant what she said. She was a woman of strong convictions, and one of those convictions was that she wanted dessert. "We didn't get any dessert at dinner so I thought you'd want dessert, too."

She was being very reasonable. He would have to admit that. And she knew that he did love sweets, thereby showing off her great insight into his soul.

He looked amused, which wasn't always a good thing, but he nodded his head, meaning that he did accept her weird explanation as the truth, which was definitely a good thing. He got up and started going towards the kitchen.

"Sure, dessert," he said. "I don't think we have anything good here, though. Edward's the one who buys the groceries. We have lots of fruit and vegetables but no chocolate."

"Not even ... chocolate chips?" Catherine asked. She followed him into the sparklingly clean kitchen. Edward must be avoiding working on his novel these days by cleaning.

Henry opened and closed a few of the cabinets. She could see the matching plates and bowls, care of Elinor Dashwood and therefore sacred relics to be used with much care and, if one is Edward Ferrars, with the occasional wistful sigh. Also in the cabinets were Edward's mismatched coffee cups and teapots and shelves filled with tins of teas. Then there were boxes of pasta, cereal, bags of flour and sugar... The last cabinet was half empty and had pop-tarts, a few jars of nutella, and chocolate chips.

"Look, chocolate chips!" Catherine said, pointing to the package.

Henry was hesitant. "Edward would kill us if he found out we ate them."

"We could replace them," Catherine said. "We could make cookies. It looks like he has all the ingredients around here. Then we'd be able to have our dessert together."

"Maybe we should go out..." Henry said, looking at the clock. But an evening with Henry at his apartment without other people around sounded much more appealing to Catherine than another nice meal out. She wanted to cook with him. It would probably just make her even more in love with him and even more distracted, but it was a far too pleasant plan to be abandoned.

"Oh, come on, Henry," Catherine said. She grabbed the chocolate chips and went to the appropriate cabinets with the flour, sugar, and other ingredients. Henry still seemed reluctant to agree to the chocolate chip cookie plan. She knew he liked cookies. He probably wasn't much in the kitchen, but she would do most of the work anyway.

"They're Elinor Dashwood's chocolate chips," Henry finally said. "If Edward knew..."

Catherine couldn't help herself. Henry looked terrified at the idea of getting between Edward and his Elinor Dashwood obsession. She had to laugh.

"You guys can't go on forever treating Elinor Dashwood like your third roommate in here," she said. "Move the furniture. Eat the chocolate chips she left behind. She's gone. I never met the woman but I'm already tired of all of this."

Catherine hadn't even realized that she felt so strongly about this. But yeah. She liked Edward Ferrars, and she didn't like the fact that he was pining away for some woman who had forgotten about him. And Henry was letting Edward pine.

Henry looked grave, but he said, "You're right, you know. It's just that Edward has been really fragile ever since the Lucy Steele thing. I'd do anything to keep him from getting hurt."

"He'll get hurt when she goes off and marries whoever it is he says she's going to marry," Catherine said. "Think of this as the first step in his recovery. We're taking the chocolate chips."

She went over to the oven and looked at the dial so she could start preheating the oven. She wondered whether Henry would listen to her or whether he would demand that she leave the chocolate chips alone.

She got her answer very quickly. "Let me do that," he said, gently pushing her away from the oven and adjusting the dial himself. "What temperature do we need it to be?"

She bit her lip to keep herself from smiling too much. She had won. Henry Tilney was actually listening to her. And she would be able to spend her evening cooking with him.

Making chocolate chip cookies can be a very stressful experience, particularly when wearing a sleek black dress and heels and when there is a large guy always in the way and needing some menial task to do to keep him from doing something important wrong. But somehow only one batch got burnt, one batch was a tad underdone, and there was a touch too much salt in them. A success. But Catherine's greatest success was still that she had won an argument against older, wiser Henry Tilney. She couldn't be more pleased.

"You got sugar on your dress," Henry pointed out while he was setting the kitchen table for them. A plate of freshly baked cookies and two tall glasses of milk; a very romantic setting for dessert.

Catherine looked at her pretty little dress and saw he was right. There was also a streak of flour on her and a few splatters of batter from when she was mixing it. The dress would have to be sent to the dry-cleaners. She also now thought of the terrible condition her hair must be in. And who knew if she got anything on her face. She believed in eating lots of uncooked batter and tasting everything in order to get cookies to turn out well. She could see flour and sugar spilled on the counter tops and even on the floor. She must look like a mess, a little girl whose mother had let her cook in the nice neat kitchen. Henry still looked impeccably neat, clean, and in charge of the situation, as always. He didn't say much, only looked at her and seemed to be waiting for her to carry on the conversation.

"Where's Edward tonight?" Catherine asked. It was getting late and she didn't want their evening to end.

"At the Corleones'," Henry said. That was such a regular occurrence that Catherine didn't even feel scared for her friend. Dinner at the Corleones was always a lengthy affair, so that meant there was still time to eat cookies and drink milk with Henry.

"Shouldn't you be getting back to your dorm soon?" Henry asked. "Don't you have homework or something?"

"Nothing much," Catherine lied. She would have to stay up late in order to finish an assignment for her music theory class, but she didn't want to leave yet. Was Henry trying to get rid of her?

How was Henry going to get rid of her?

Catherine nibbled on one of her (very good) cookies and drank some milk, and Henry had no idea what to do. She was too sweet and pretty. What was he supposed to do with her? She didn't realize how crazy he was about her or how much crazier she was making him by sitting there eating cookies. If she didn't leave soon he was doomed to do something stupid, like declare he was in love with her and scare her away.

"Sorry about the chocolate chip thing," Henry said. "You're right. I should be helping Edward move on."

"You're just being a good friend," she said and smiled sweetly. She wasn't supposed to smile sweetly at him. That was just going to make him get more unsettled. She didn't seem to think he was behaving any differently than usual, or maybe she just was too tactful to mention that he was behaving like a tongue-tied schoolboy.

"About tomorrow's weather..."

"Oh?"

He had no idea what the weather was supposed to be like tomorrow. He just wanted something to talk about that didn't directly concern them. He didn't want to hear about how great Julliard was. He didn't want her smiling sweetly at him. And he didn't particularly want her to leave, either.

Catherine frowned. She was no doubt misinterpreting his silence and lack of comment about tomorrow's weather to a desire to see her gone. In fact, she put down her milk glass and said, "If you want me to go home, I will. Do you have an early day tomorrow?"

"No, no, I just..." Henry knew he was usually considered to be a charming talker and he had never had such a hard time carrying on a conversation. This wasn't good at all.

And then he knew precisely what he wanted to say. He would ask her out. On a date.

He smiled in hopefully his most charming way and said, "Would you like to go out to dinner with me on Friday?"

Catherine was slightly confused by his sudden change in mood, but she said simply, "Sure. This time I won't run off to some concert."

"Good, otherwise I'll be able to complain and moan about how you stood me up," Henry said. With another charming, confident smile.

She looked slightly confused. Did one "stand up" a friend going out to dinner? He watched her face carefully as she tried to figure out what he was saying. She still didn't understand. She looked at him suspiciously and asked, "Where should we go?"

"I'll surprise you. Somewhere nice, though."

"How nice? I am still a poor college student, you know," she said.

"Don't worry, it's on me," Henry said.

"What's the occasion?"

"Do I need a special occasion to ask you out?"

That got a reaction. She opened her wide eyes even wider. "You're asking me out? Like ... on a date? Why would you do that?"

Henry had to laugh. That wasn't exactly the response he was hoping for, but he couldn't possibly screw it up any more by being honest with the poor girl. "Why else? Because you're beautiful and clever and still single."

"Still... single?"

The girl really didn't seem to understand that he really was asking her out on a date. He said, "You're allowed to refuse to go, you know. Then I'll mope here with Edward about the women who have broken our hearts."

"Don't make jokes, Henry," Catherine said sternly.

When she was determined to be so serious, what was Henry to do other than to laugh more? He said, "No joke, my heart really would break. Honestly. I've been in love with you for ages."

"Ages?" Dear, sweet Catherine still doubted her control over his heart.

"Ages," Henry said. "Maybe it's been epochs or eras by now."

"Really?" She looked like she was in shock. Maybe he shouldn't have told her. Now he couldn't take it back as a joke. She wasn't going to cry, was she?

Henry's usual grin disappeared and he more seriously said, "Yes."

She slowly began to smile. "But why didn't you say something before?" she now asked.

"Because I was too afraid," Henry said. She was smiling more. Good sign. "And because I was a stubborn idiot who wouldn't listen to the relational advice of Edward Ferrars. He said I should just ask you out. So I am."

"A real date?"

"A real date."

"Oh, Henry!" She would have gotten up and kissed him but for the front door swinging open. Edward Ferrars was back from his dinner with the Corleones.

Edward didn't take the time to remove his coat and scarf. He came right into the kitchen and said, "They're reporters for the New York Times."

That was enough to spoil the mood. Catherine and Henry had no idea what Edward was talking about. Henry asked, "Who are they?"

"The Corleones!" Edward said. He grabbed the copy of that morning's edition of the Times and flipped through the first few pages. Henry wondered just how much Edward had had to drink that night.

"Ah ha! Al Neri! Look! He's one of the Don's employees," he said. He thrusted the newspaper in front of Catherine and pointed to the by-line.

"It's about the Tarumbino family trial," Catherine said.

"So that's how they control the New York Times," Henry said. "Al Neri works for them."

"No, no, Elinor said that Vito Corleone has been running the series on the Tarumbino family trial," Edward said. He flipped through the paper some more to find more evidence of his new bizarre theory. He added, "By the way, Elinor Dashwood turned up. She came to dinner. She's still in New York. She's engaged but that's OK."

"Elinor Dashwood?" Henry asked. "Why is it now OK that she's engaged?"

"It's OK because she doesn't hate me and she isn't married yet, so I can still win her over," Edward said, but his attention was focused on the paper, not on what he was saying. Apparently he thought his love life was pretty much set now that he had found Elinor Dashwood again. And maybe he was right. But then again he was now babbling about the Corleones being writers, so maybe Elinor's apparition is just another figment of Edward's imagination.

"The guy has finally cracked," Henry muttered. Catherine looked at him with wide-eyed alarm. What were they supposed to do with a crazy famous writer?

"Isabella Thorpe was there, too. She has a new husband," Edward said. "Ah ha!"

"What should we do, Henry?" Catherine asked in a low voice. "Do you think he'll be OK?"

Henry shook his head. He hoped Edward wouldn't hurt himself.

"What do you say about that?" Edward asked. He was now holding the Op-Ed section open and pointing to a columnist. "Michael Corleone. Look. Doesn't that prove it?"

"That's his cover, maybe," Henry said, taking the newspaper. The column was about the Tarumbino trial, of course. What other topics would the Corleones know all about? But then he started skimming the article. It referred to his father's investigation. It had details. It was obviously the work of a skilled persuasive author.

"You know the special project? It's another series of articles. They want me to tune Julie Andrews's piano, and lots of other famous New York people. That's all. No killing. Just piano tuning and writing. That's why they were so pleased to have a piano tuner with literary aspirations. And that's one of the reasons why they were so eager to see my book," Edward said.

Henry gave the paper to Catherine and said, "Call me crazy, Cathy, but I'm starting to think that maybe he's right. I was wondering how Dad had handled getting the advertising in the Times without talking with me."

Catherine looked at the editorial and started to read it. "But their names," she said. "Why would they all be the Corleones, with all the right names for the children, too? And Sonny has a temper, and Michael handles the business dealings with his father, and Constanzia has a boyfriend named Carlos..."

"If they helped me out, maybe they helped the guy who wrote the 'Godfather' books out, too," Edward said. "Or maybe it's all just a coincidence. Or maybe the book came first and then they started naming their kids when they saw that they had the same last name as the people in the book. Or maybe..."

"You know what this means?" Catherine said, looking at both men.

"What?" Henry asked.

"It means... we've been real idiots these past few months," she said slowly. "Newspaper reporters..."

"Newspapers," Henry said, shaking his head in disbelief. And then he just had to laugh. They were all idiots. He laughed a lot. Catherine laughed, too. Edward laughed. All three of them were laughing. Then Henry gave Edward a cookie and Catherine a kiss and they all said good night, still laughing.

"Could I leave a message for one of your guests? Her name is Elinor Dashwood."

"Yes, she is staying here. What is the message?"

"Please tell her to call Edward Ferrars. It's urgent. My number is-"

"Edward Ferrars? The writer?"

"Yes, that Edward Ferrars. Now my number is-"

"Would you like me to get her? If you really urgently must speak with her, I'm sure she'd understand."

"But it's only 6:30 am. I wouldn't want to wake her."

"You said it's urgent."

"Just tell her to call me the moment she comes down to go to breakfast."

"But then she'll want to know why we didn't wake her up for your urgent message."

"OK, fine, wake her up. Tell her it's me and it's urgent."

"I'll take care of it myself. No other details? She'll be sure to ask."

"I haven't thought of them yet. So please, let me talk to Elinor."

Edward nervously paced around his apartment while he waited for the concierge to get Elinor. Of course merely transferring the call to Elinor's hotel room was not sufficient. Based on how long it was taking, the man really must be going up to Elinor's room himself to deal with Edward's mythical urgent message. Edward had wanted to talk to Elinor while she was still in the city, so he couldn't complain that he was achieving this goal a little too well.

"Edward? Is that you? What's wrong?" Elinor sounded remarkably alert and concerned, but that was probably because of the unusual circumstances around the call. It's not often that one is woken in one's sleep by the concierge saying that the writer Edward Ferrars was on the phone with a very urgent message.

Edward tried to think of some very good reason to justify the urgency of his message, but he was never a very good liar. So he simply said, "Nothing's wrong."

"Then why did you have the concierge wake me up?" She sounded merely confused, not annoyed or mad at her beauty sleep being so rudely interrupted.

Edward shrugged, then since that does not translate well in conversations on the phone, he said, "He insisted."

"He insisted on waking me up?"

"Yes. I couldn't convince him not to."

Edward hoped that she was smiling on her side. After a pause, she said, "So why did you call?"

"To leave you an urgent message to call me back when you were awake. I was afraid you'd go back to Baltimore before we had a chance to, you know, talk."

"OK, all right, meet us at breakfast. Nine, here at the hotel."

He would prefer to speak to Elinor alone, but he'd have to work with what he was being offered. He'd get to see Elinor again! Edward sat down in front of his computer and knew it was hopeless. He wouldn't be able to write a sentence that morning. But he could print out parts of his novel to show to Elinor! Maybe she would be so impressed by his writing that she'd realize all of Brandon's deficiencies and say that she's giving up on med school and will move back to their apartment as soon as Edward could throw all of Henry's things out the window.

"What are you so happy about?" Henry asked, en route to the shower.

"Throwing you out," Edward said.

That was an adequate explanation for Henry, so he disappeared into the bathroom. Edward spent the morning skimming for the correct passages to print out for Elinor's perusal, then set off, far too early, for the Park Plaza.

He was so absorbed in what he would say to Elinor that he hadn't given much thought to how he would look to her. There were only suits in his closet, so he was in a gray pin-stripe suit. His hair was too short for his neglect for it to have any visible effects. The old hat and scarf had mysterious disappeared overnight (now hidden in the back of the linen closet), so he actually did look every inch the successful man-of-the-world that one in his position ought to be. And, gosh darnit, he cleaned up well. He was still a tall, skinny guy with thick glasses and cantaloupe-colored hair, but he was a fashionable, edgy artist with a distinctive style about him. Edward Ferrars had moved up in the world.

He walked into the Park Plaza and found the dining room. He was ten minutes early, but he needed a cup of tea to calm his nerves for the meeting. Unfortunately he saw Brandon sitting in the dining room, reading the New York Times. Elinor wasn't down yet so there was no way that Brandon knew that Edward was expected for breakfast.

Edward nervously approached the table, then noticed that it was set for three. Perhaps he was expected after all. "Err, hi, Brandon," he said.

Brandon looked up from his newspaper and did not look exactly pleased to see him, but he did not seem all that surprised. "Good morning, Edward. Take a seat."

"Did you know I was coming?" Edward asked. He sat down and a waitress came at once to get his order. She was quickly dispatched to fetch a good pot of English breakfast tea and a bit of milk, and Edward looked back at Brandon, waiting for the other man's response.

"The concierge said you called early this morning," Brandon said. "I have no idea how you found out that Elinor was in the city-"

"I saw her last night," Edward said quickly. Edward avoided looking at his dining companion. What time was it? When would Elinor come down? And where was that tea?

"You said you weren't going to contact her," Brandon said. He didn't approve.

"It was an accident," Edward said. "We ran into each other on the street, and I was on my way to a dinner party so Elinor joined me."

"That doesn't sound like something Elinor would do," Brandon said. He was right, Elinor normally wouldn't invite herself along to a dinner party, but Edward did not feel up to explaining the Corleones, if they could be explained. One simply did not refuse an invitation to their dinner parities, whether it's issued weeks in advance as a summons or whether it's issued on a freezing cold street corner.

"We didn't get a chance to talk much together," Edward said. Brandon would probably consider that a very good thing, but he didn't say anything. Instead he sat back in his chair while the waitress put down the small pot of tea and saucer in front of Edward. The pot was too small. He ordered a second and carefully added the proper amount of milk to his morning beverage.

"So you want to talk with her this morning. And say what?"

This was one of those situations where it would be best for Edward not to tell the truth. Elinor was more-or-less engaged to Brandon, so Brandon would not want to hear that Edward wanted to tell Elinor how much he loved her and missed being around her.

"I heard about your engagement," Edward said. "I wanted to ... congratulate you."

Brandon did look surprised by that, so Edward quickly clarified, "Elinor didn't tell. It was Isabella Thorpe - or whatever her last name is now. She saw you two together in Tiffany's."

"So that means that it's going to become common knowledge in a few days," Brandon said. He actually smiled at that. Edward would have expected Brandon to be livid that his secret was going to be out before he was prepared to make an announcement. Love must really change a guy.

Then Brandon must have undergone a moment of temporary insanity, because he said, "I suppose that I should get back to Baltimore and ask Marianne to marry me, then, before she hears about it from someone else."

Edward poured more tea into his cup and tried to think of a good follow-up comment. Did Brandon really just say he was going to propose to Marianne Dashwood? The girl who had already admitted to blowing her chance with him? Marianne? Then Elinor was in New York just to help Brandon pick out a ring for Marianne?

Elinor was not going to marry Brandon?

The lady in question chose this time to make her appearance. She greeted both men at the table, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world to find Edward there, looking like his world had just gotten thrown off its axis. He no longer had any idea what he was supposed to do, where he was in all this mess, what his position with Elinor was and could be.

"It's so strange to see you always in suits now, Edward," Elinor said. She ordered a pastry for breakfast, and Edward started on his second pot of tea. Just to be safe, he ordered a third pot.

"They're the only things in my closet now," Edward said. "My roommate Henry says that if I have any freedom in coordinating my outfits I'll mess it up, so he makes certain I have no choice."

"Your roommate?" Elinor asked.

Oops, Edward had been avoiding telling Elinor that he was not, in fact, living alone and pining for her. But he really did have nothing to hide anymore. Let her know that her room is being occupied. Besides, he sort of let the truth slip out and he always was terrible at lying directly at Elinor.

"My old friend Henry Tilney from Northanger Pianos, I told you about him," Edward said.

Elinor nodded and said to Brandon, "Edward's old friend Henry. We never met."

Brandon looked interested in this new information, too. "How long has he been living with you?"

"Oh, for a few months," Edward said. "Since Elinor moved out. Right before then, actually. He was sleeping on the couch until her things went down to Baltimore."

He took another long sip of tea. This was not quite the conversation he had been hoping for with Elinor, but at least they were all talking, even if it was about something as insignificant as Edward's living arrangements.

"Since then?" Elinor asked. "So when we were here in October, Henry was at your apartment?" Edward was surprised by how genuinely interested she seemed to be in that information. OK, yes, Edward had been caught in another lie, he hadn't told her about Henry when she visited. Add that to the list of reasons why Elinor should never trust a word Edward ever said to her.

"Sorry, I should have mentioned it when you stopped by," Edward said.

"What about Lucy?" Elinor now asked.

First Edward thought of Lucy Steele, but she had never even seen the apartment, so that meant that Elinor must be referring to their cat. He said, "She's still there."

"The three of you?" Brandon asked. Edward really would have preferred this surreal interrogation to proceed without Brandon's input, but he really was not in a position to tell the other man to go away.

Elinor must have had similar thoughts. She said, "It sounds like Edward and I have more to talk about than I had thought. Sorry, Chris, but I don't want to bore you with all this."

Brandon half-smiled and Edward imagined that he would have said that he was not bored at all - he looked very interested in what Edward was saying, actually - but of course he could tell that Elinor wanted him away and he was soon to become engaged to Elinor's sister. Brandon and Marianne, wow, Edward still found that idea hard to accept.

Brandon made his exit, and Elinor got her pasty and Edward his third pot of tea, just in time for him to pour the last of the second pot into his teacup.

"So the three of you?" Elinor asked, but with a smile. She shook her head and said, "You were talking about the cat, weren't you? Our cat Lucy."

"Of course," Edward said. "You didn't think- I mean, it had occurred to me when you visited that perhaps we had gotten our Lucys crossed, but I didn't imagine that really..."

Elinor shook her head again and said, "You weren't living with Lucy Steele."

"She doesn't even know where our apartment is," Edward said.

Elinor and his apartment was always something sacred that Lucy Steele was never to visit. He knew that, even before he knew that he wasn't in love with Lucy. Lucy Steele didn't belong in Elinor's apartment. And Elinor knew that just as well as he did, and apparently that idea had disturbed her.

Or maybe Elinor was jealous.

No, that was a ridiculous idea. That would require her to actually care for Edward in more than a just-friends manner, and Edward had more than enough proof that that was not the case. She hadn't spoken to him since October. She hadn't even sent a Christmas card.

"Where is Lucy now, then?" Elinor asked. "If she's not staying with you..."

"She's back in Pennsylvania with Robert," Edward said. Now it was his turn to make a profound realization of another mix-up they had all had. "She's marrying Robert, you know that, right?"

Elinor didn't need to say anything in response to that. The look on her face said enough-Elinor hadn't known. Lucy hadn't explained the wedding invitation joke to the Dashwoods. Elinor had thought, all this time, that he was going to be marrying Lucy Steele in a month and a half.

"So you are... not... getting married," she slowly said. He shook his head no.

And then she did something truly remarkable. Elinor Dashwood then started to cry. Right there, in the middle of the dining room in the Park Plaza. And it wasn't merely her eyes tearing up, she actually started sobbing.

"El, are you all right? Elinor? Do you want ... some tea?" He had no idea what he was supposed to do. Other people were beginning to turn to look at them. She was making a Scene. Elinor Dashwood never made a public Scene. And for what reason? Just because they were clearing the air of all the misunderstandings they had had about each other.

"If it makes you feel any better, I just found out right before you came in that you're not engaged to Brandon," Edward said.

That was enough to make Elinor actually stop crying. She looked up at Edward for a moment, her face still streaked with tears. "Me and Chris Brandon?" she repeated. "Why would I be engaged to him?"

Edward was so relieved that she had stopped crying that he didn't mind talking about his own mistakes in all of this. "You two were picking out an engagement ring together," he said. "And he wouldn't let me talk to you these past few months."

"What?" Elinor exclaimed. She had never raised her voice in public like that in her life. Edward was sure of it. And he was getting more and more interested in seeing where this unlikely conversation was going to lead.

"I e-mailed around New Year's and he said to leave you alone," Edward said.

Elinor thought for a moment and said, "It must have been after we got that awful wedding invitation. I told everyone that I never wanted to see you again."

That didn't sound like something Elinor would do. She was never so theatrical. Edward drank more tea, then said, "That's rather melodramatic. Once I heard he was marrying Marianne I would have hunted you down, anyway."

"You would have?" Elinor asked. "If Lucy had bothered to print Robert's full name on the wedding invitation I would have called you. I just thought... that..."

Oh hell, she was going to start crying again. Edward said quickly, "Lucy Steele really is impossible. I told her using initials on the invitation was going to be confusing. Half my family has called to congratulate me, and the other half probably will be very confused at the wedding. But Lucy said it would look more elegant and Robert wouldn't let Lucy print his first name-"

"Chris and I are leaving in a few hours," Elinor said. "I'll be back at Hopkins in time for a 3 pm lecture. I wish I could stay longer and see how our little Lucy is doing, but we have our plans..."

Edward didn't like where this was going. She was going to say good-bye and disappear again. Sure, now they were friends again so it was only a question of time before they would see each, but he was still just going to have to sit back and watch her leave.

Or maybe not. "I'll go down to Baltimore," he announced. "I'll fly out this afternoon. Can I stay at your place? A floor is good enough for me. And then I'll be able to show you my new novel, and we can congratulate Brandon and Marianne, and..."

Elinor looked rather surprised by Edward's newly formed plan. "But you can't just leave New York that quickly," she said.

"Yes I can," Edward said. "I'd rather be in Baltimore with you than in New York by myself." He didn't want to scare her off now by declaring how he happened to also be madly in love with her, but sleeping on the floor in the same apartment as Elinor Dashwood was a step closer to getting her to marry him one day.

Elinor still did not seem as enthusiastic about his plan as he was. "I have so much work to do. I wouldn't be very good company."

"I'll cook you dinner," Edward said. "I should be working on finishing my book. I have a laptop now. I can work on my book at your apartment down there. I want you to look at it."

"So ... you'll come? Just to be with me?" She still looked confused and surprised, and beautiful. Really, really beautiful.

"And to make certain no other Christopher Brandons come along to try to steal you away," Edward said. Make it a joke. Yes. Don't confess your love to her in the middle of the hotel dining room. They had already gotten enough stares and questioning looks. Hopefully no one recognized them, and hopefully he was not still gossip-column worthy.

"Steal me away?" Elinor repeated. She had another brief moment of surprise, like she was finally getting what he was saying. She shook her head and - no, she wouldn't actually reject him there, in the middle of the hotel dining room, would she? - she said, "I'm not going anywhere, Edward. I'll always be here. Waiting for you."

"Well, I've been waiting for you. And I always will be," Edward said.

Wonder of wonders, the girl had been pining for him as much as he had been pining for her. They were both too polite to try to do anything about it before. Now they were sitting across from each other in the Park Plaza dining room, Edward was on his third pot of tea, Elinor neatly ate a corner of her strawberry tart, and they looked at each other and smiled.

"That's not much of a breakfast," he said, gesturing at the tart. "You'll give yourself cavities."

"Don't worry, I doubt it will be fatal," Elinor said. "Unless they spread to the rest of my body..." She took another bite of her pastry, then said, "I've missed you."

"I'll move down to Baltimore as soon as I'm done with the assignment from the Corleones. I really do owe it to them. Besides, I'm still not convinced that they wouldn't throw me into the river if I said no to them. But then we'll get a new place in Baltimore, for you, me, and our little Lucy. And it will be just like how it used to be."

"Really?"

"Really. OK, there may be one little change."

"A little change?" She smiled. Of course she knew what he meant, but she wanted him to say it. He never wanted to go through the misery of being away from her again. He wanted to be able to look after her when she was working too hard at medical school. He wanted her to read his books and tell him what she thought. He wanted her to be with him to share in his successes. He wanted to see her graduate and go out and save lives. He wanted to be with her, forever. So some day he would want to make it official. He wanted to marry her.

But the setting was complete wrong for being romantic. Besides, they did not whisper sweet nothings to each other. It wasn't their style. They had fun. They made jokes. They laughed.

So in a very casual tone of voice, Edward said, "Only a small change. I'll probably eventually make a fool of myself at some point and beg you to marry me. It's ok, you can say no, but it's inevitable, really."

He took another sip of tea and watched Elinor's face. She looked so incredibly ... relieved. And happy. Really, really happy. How could she seem to be so eager to be with him? Why him? What on earth did he do to deserve her?

She said, "Inevitable? You promise?"

Edward did his very best not to start crying himself. She was so lovely, and she was going to, one day, be his. He nodded and said, "Sure, I promise. And I'll be very sad if you refuse me. I may even ask again. And again. You can keep on refusing me, though, because I won't go anywhere, that is, unless you kick me out."

"Don't worry, I won't say no."

"Really? You promise?"

"Yes. Now I should tell Chris that things are OK, and you should see Michael Corleone to hear about other people's pianos." She began to get up. So it was settled. They were now romantically involved and engaged to become engaged eventually. All that had been accomplished over the span of a single breakfast. Wow.

Before she left the table, Elinor said, "But you're still coming down to Baltimore tonight, right?"

"Yes. I'll call when I get in."

"Call before then. I'll meet you at the airport."

"OK."

Then he stood up and kissed her. In the middle of the Park Plaza's crowded dining room. Brandon was standing by the doorway and saw. So did the waiters, who reported to the concierge, who made certain the newspapers made note of the development in the personal life of Edward C. Ferrars, best-selling author and local eccentric.

"The landlord says that we need more soundproofing for the piano," Edward said.

Catherine looked up from the Mason and Hamlin grand piano in the living room and said, "Oh dear, I'll play a quieter movement."

"I think he was just thinking of an excuse to stop by," Edward said. "He'll miss me when I'm gone. Thanks to Yoko Ono, I'm news again. If you insult her piano, you get yourself the target of more performance art than you know what to do with."

Edward still didn't see why Yoko Ono was so upset. She had given her permission for the article to be published and even called him "cheeky" for the trick. And now she was photoshopping him into pictures with lots of fascist dictators and notorious spies.

"The Corleones had better be happy with you now," Henry said.

"The Don says that they're inundated with requests from other people to have me come and tune their pianos," Edward said. "It's time that I get out of this city. And I swear, if Yoko Ono makes another papier-mƒch‚ piano with listening devices inside it and leaves it outside our apartment building, I'll... I don't know... move to Baltimore at once!"

Most of the boxes of his things were already in the moving van, so that was no idle threat.

"Well, I'll miss you," Henry said. "John Thorpe keeps on saying how I should let him take your place in this f------ apartment, as he eloquently put it."

"You'll have Catherine for company."

"Not enough," Henry grumbled, and Catherine beamed. Henry had 'borrowed' the piano from Northanger Pianos so she would be able to do her practicing at the apartment, with him near by. Edward thought it was a very cute gesture. The landlord still needed to be convinced.

"Well, I have to share Elinor with medical school, so I think we're even," Edward said.

Catherine asked, "When are you two going to get married, anyway, Edward? You've spent most of the past two months with her."

Edward shrugged and said, "I haven't even proposed yet. But we have enough to worry about, with moving into our new place and all. Why worry about having to plan a wedding, too? Everyone knows we're together for good now."

"You'd better be, after all you've put us through," Henry said.

The doorbell rang and before anyone could answer the door, the Corleones came in. Many Corleones. First was Carmella and Vito, then Sonny and Ellie, and Constanzia and Carlos, and then Michael and a blond woman. Edward was impressed; he had never seen Michael with a date before. There was a series of hugs and kisses around the room - Catherine and Henry were also favorite guests of the Corleones these days.

"Michael, introduce your fianc‚e to our hosts," Carmella said, gesturing towards Michael's date.

"I can introduce myself," she said, stepping forward. "I'm Kay Adams. I've heard so much about you."

"Kay Adams?" Catherine and Henry both repeated.

"Yes," she said. Edward was impressed by how remarkably normal Kay was. She seemed wholesome. Not Italian. Blonde. Well-dressed.

"Like in 'The Godfather'?" Henry asked.

Michael glared at him, but Kay laughed. "Oh, don't start on that. Michael Corleone and Kay Adams getting married. I think it's romantic."

"We're better than the movies," Michael added sternly.

Catherine nodded and said, "I'm sure it will end up better."

Edward leaned over to Carlos and asked in a low voice, "What happened to them in the movie?"

"Divorced in the second one," Sonny said loud enough for the entire room to hear. "You mean you never saw 'The Godfather, part II'? Tell me you've seen the first one. You haven't? Mom, Dad, you let this guy tune our pianos and not know who the Corleones are?"

"We told him," Henry said.

"Sonny's real name isn't Sonny, it's Tomas, Michael is named for Vito's father, and Constanzia is named after my grandmother," Carmella said. "And there are thousands of Corleones in Sicily. All a coincidence, but the movies did get Vito the nickname 'the Don'. I like that. And the writer, I liked him. We invited him over for dinner. He got a laugh out of us and insisted that we were lying. Then Vito scared him into thinking that we really were the Corleones, like in the movie, and we all laughed and laughed. You did tell him it was a joke, didn't you, Vito?"

"I sent him a Christmas card eventually," Vito said with a smirk. Don Corleone smirking was still enough to make Edward uneasy. The guy was scary, scary, scary, whether he was in the newspaper business or in the Mafia.

"I still don't believe you're really going away, Edward," Connie said. "We all owe so much to you, Carlos and I especially."

"No, no, you've helped Vito out the most," Carmella said. "Those piano articles, Vito hasn't laughed that much in years. You proved he was right. Most people neglect their pianos just as much as we do."

"At least you keep yours very well tuned," Edward said.

Carmella laughed and said, "Well, maybe now that you are leaving, we will not need to call over a piano tuner quite so often. At least not until I find another one I like."

The Corleones took the young people out to dinner while the movers took care of the rest of Edward's things from the apartment. And so Edward Ferrars left New York City later that evening, a wealthy, successful, and famous man. Most importantly, he left on his way to be with Elinor Dashwood, the woman he loved and would eventually marry.