You Won't Admit You Love Me ~ Section IV

    By Elsa

    Beginning , Previous Section , Section IV, Next Section

    CHAPTER 12, Part a

    Posted on Wednesday, 9 November 2005

    Elizabeth had expected to solve the whole mystery regarding Anne Darcy and Wickham the very same day she returned to England. However, there were too many people who had a claim on her attention, and she was not moving as fast as she would have liked with that story. She was not complaining though; despite her need to find answers to her questions, it was the human contact and the affection she derived from it that gave real sense to her life now.

    She spent a whole day, the second one after her return to England, with Jane. They had talked for hours, sharing everything with each other. The only thing that could alleviate Elizabeth’s guilt for keeping so many secrets from Jane for such a long time and for leaving with hardly any explanation was the fact that her elder sister’s mood seemed considerably improved. Elizabeth was more than surprised to see that Charles was trying hard to be on good terms with Jane again, but even she could notice the change in him. He was considerate and discreet, hardly flirting at all. If she was not privy to their history, she could have sworn that he was nothing more than a good friend who did not wish for more tender feelings to develop. The flirting air had abandoned him completely, but he lost none of his pleasant manner and spontaneity. Elizabeth could not say if the change was permanent. Her sister had witnessed this altered behavior for less than a week, but was pleased all the same. Since no one was in a rush, and everyone seemed happy, Elizabeth felt happy as well.

    Besides, she had a more daunting task before her: To prepare the meeting between her father and Jane. She knew that her sister was generous and forgiving, but she was afraid Paul Bennet’s slight of her had been rather serious and many would have considered it unpardonable. After so many years of absence, he had invited only one of his daughters to his home, his land, his universe. Even Elizabeth, who had heard his self contrition and apology, was not certain if she had forgiven him completely; or if he could take back his place in her heart; a place, a pedestal that her own insecurities had put him on. But this was not about her. She knew that she loved her father, even though she didn’t admire him as before. Jane, on the other hand, had to make her own decision. She was entitled to be unforgiving; and Elizabeth had the duty to accept her decision.

    But Jane could not possibly feel anything akin to resentment now. After years of suppressing her feelings, of keeping everything to herself, of living in a foreign country without having anyone around that really cared for her, she was finally allowing her heart to guide her - without any restraint, without trying to silence it all the time. She had decided not to burden it anymore with lies and self-deceit, and her heart flourished in the freedom. It blossomed. It became almost incapable of harboring any ill feelings. The people not treating her with the respect she wanted, she ignored. She now welcomed affection and was ready to respond to it. For the first time in years she was balanced, and content, and she was doing what she wanted in her life. She could afford to be kind and forgiving.

    So, the great meeting was far less daunting than Elizabeth had expected. Of course, Jane did not throw herself in her father’s arms as if nothing had happened, but she received him with a bright, genuine smile on her face and full of determination to listen to what he had to say. Paul, Teresa, Jane and Elizabeth had dinner and immediately after Teresa and Elizabeth left the other two alone for the whole night. It seemed to do the father and daughter good, and a foundation for a healthy relationship between the two was built that evening.

    Elizabeth and Teresa had a very good time themselves. And surprisingly, neither Anne nor William Darcy was mentioned by either that evening. They were talking about Paul’s changed demeanor and gallantry towards Teresa. Elizabeth was surprised to find she had to ease the other woman’s fears and insecurities and to convince her that dating her father, after years of partnership and friendship – and hidden love of course – was a very good idea. Elizabeth’s persuasive skills seemed to work, and the following day Teresa and Paul began going out together, only the two of them, exploring all the romantic places his daughters had suggested, and they both stopped talking about their ‘friendship.’

    Things were going well. So well that Elizabeth would not be surprised to find herself dining together with Paul, Teresa, Fanny and William Lucas one day soon. So, when Jane suggested that it would be a good idea, she only shrugged her shoulders and asked her to delay it a bit. She was not afraid of her father and all the painful memories that such a meeting could evoke. What she feared the most was her mother’s reaction. Even though Fanny seemed content with her life and decisions, Elizabeth had the slight suspicion that seeing the ex-husband she had abandoned – probably secretly hoping that he would pine for her forever– so full of love and admiration for another obviously wonderful woman would be a strong blow for Fanny’s infamously sensitive nerves.

    But even Fanny had changed. First of all, she had not complained about her daughters’ being single more than four times in the week that followed Elizabeth’s return. And when she did complain, she didn’t repeat her usual speech about ‘every woman needing a man to take care after her’ but rather a lecture pointing out that ‘every woman must become a mother.’ At first Elizabeth thought that someone had informed Fanny about her relationship with the great William Darcy and her mother was dropping hints to hurry up the wedding. However, Jane knew exactly what had happened and enlightened her sister.

    “From the moment she heard that Charlotte has left Bill Collins and decided to raise the child on her own, our mother has gone through a metamorphosis. We thought that she would react in an even worse way than at the marriage announcement – which was pretty bad. Remember those vases that William brought from China? Well, forget them – but suddenly Fanny was filled with affection for her ‘courageous daughter.’ She is anticipating her ‘grandchild’s’ arrival with more excitement than Charlotte, buying clothes, and toys, and thinking about the college we must enroll the boy in – for she has decided that the baby will be a boy, of course. And the funniest part was when she protected Charlotte from Bill Collins’ attempts to reconcile. She called him a conceited toad and said the child will be much better off without his tedious presence and perverse thinking and actions.”

    Elizabeth was impressed by her mother, and for the first time in her life she recognized similarities between them. She had to admit that Fanny’s words regarding Bill Collins exactly reflected her own thoughts. If this had been her mother’s opinion from the beginning, why did she want to impose the toad on her daughters? And what had made her so happy about Charlotte’s leaving him? Had her opinion changed, had her views altered or was she only wickedly happy that Charlotte would not marry before her daughters? Was it possible that her mother could think a bit more seriously and hide her true sentiments from them all? And what exactly were those sentiments? Could there be vulnerability and insecurity and perhaps tenderness in Fanny Lucas? What was she doing with it all these years? Despite her absolute confidence in the opposite, it occurred to Elizabeth that a serious conversation with her mother was a possibility. She had to investigate the subject further.

    However, this was not her first priority, William was. It was true that they were back together, that they had finally admitted their feelings and that she was falling more in love with him each day that passed; but she could sense that the story regarding his mother had upset him. She had felt it from the moment that she had first talked to him about the case; the very morning of her return to England, her return to him, eight days ago. She had chosen to be honest instead of retaining the fairy-tale atmosphere of their reconciliation for long. Her conscience dictated it, even if her feelings pleaded for her to return home with him and stay there forever, leaving everything else behind.

    When she first told him about his mother and her actions in South America, sharing with him everything she had learnt about Anne Darcy’s life there before her tragic and mysterious death in Africa, taking pains to emphasize on the importance of her task there, William had listened carefully. He didn’t interrupt her, he didn’t lose his temper, he didn’t seem angry. In the end he only said:

    “As a person, I admire her, Elizabeth. As a human, she deserves all the praise one can bestow on her. But as a mother, Elizabeth…” A sad smile showed resignation, “I can’t forgive her. I know it’s selfish, but I just can’t .”

    Although he tried to hide it from her, shadows darkened his face, and when he thought that she was not looking at him, she would catch a glimpse of a very pained expression on his face. It tore her heart to see him suffering without her being able to help, and it filled her with determination to find out exactly what happened with his family and the Wickhams. She wanted all the haunting images from the past to disappear once and for all.

    Elizabeth also talked about her suspicions regarding the untold story of Anne Darcy’s hasty departure. The time that William had to stop deluding himself had come. He understood that there was no room left for selfishness; for a child’s hurt feelings; for his regret over the Christmas days that he had spent alone; for the yearning that was so deeply rooted in him that he could not remember a moment of perfect wholeness in his life. This was not a family story that mattered only to him. It stopped being a matter of forgiveness; it became a matter of desperate need to find out the whole truth; to find out if he had spent his life in lies. To realize that even he could be called a victim, he was not the only one; and certainly not the one who had suffered the most. It was not a story of selfishness or greed, but rather of duty and conscience. He felt both his parents had failed the rest of the world by acting the way they did. They had let someone cause pain and death or even supported him in doing that. And William Darcy was not sure if he had the power to forgive; if he was entitled to forgive. Elizabeth was certain that the truth would help him, but she feared that the blow that would precede reconciliation with the past would be too strong, even for him.

    Everything was seen under a new light to him now. He remembered the note his mother had left to his father and repeated its contents to

    Elizabeth:

    It’s all about money and power isn’t it? I have forgiven you, please try to forgive me. Take care of our angels. Tell them how much I love them. Don’t destroy my little ‘Meryton’ land. I love you too, George, and I always will. But I can’t go on living by your side.

    Anne It struck them both that George Darcy might have been as guilty as John and George Wickham. He certainly was a part of the awful case that they were trying to unveil. The horrible suspicion had shaken Will, even if he didn’t care to admit it. The other note, that indicated Wickham blackmailing Darcy, did very little to palliate his distress.

    Stop your wife before it’s too late. For all of you. You know me too well, George. I don’t forgive mistakes.
    J.W.

    Elizabeth chewed the edge of her pencil, trying to figure out what she knew and what she didn’t know. A whole week had passed since her return and it was time for some answers.

    In essence, despite the discouraging lack of proof, she knew almost all of the story. Twenty-two years ago, wealthy businessman John Wickham proposed and financed a brand new program for the Ministry of Education. It was called ‘Security in Public Schools’ and its aim was to reduce juvenile criminality. Wickham had volunteered some of his own men, whom he would continue to pay himself, to be the future guards in schools of certain districts. The Ministry accepted with gratitude, and Wickham boasted of finally solving a huge social problem. The reports to the Ministry were all in his favor, but in truth, the situation had declined tremendously. The number of underage drug users doubled in a short period. Cases of AIDS were reported and crime increased. However, the police reports mysteriously disappeared each time someone felt like investigating the matter further. It was obvious that Wickham’s men were well connected and served their purpose very well: they managed to find a stable base for his drug-dealing activities, the secret behind his success, to the new market of children.

    Only someone with a ‘name’ and certain power could reveal anything. Anne Fitzwilliam Darcy had them both. Despite the long-standing friendship between her husband and John Wickham, she never trusted the latter and immediately suspected what was hiding behind his wealth and what he was attempting by financing that program. Obviously she discovered everything and was ready to reveal it to the police and to her readers. But her husband stopped her and she left. She had gone to South America to fight what she could not fight in her homeland.

    The haunting question had intruded. Why had George Darcy not let his wife reveal the whole story? The program was still in force to this day, and children continued to suffer and die because of it. It was appalling to think that someone knew it and had the power to stop it but didn’t. Even Anne Darcy, whose courage everyone had looked up to, had chosen the coward’s way: she had left. But what had George Darcy done? At the very best, he knew but remained silent. At the very worst, he was participating in those activities. Anne Darcy’s note seemed to imply the second theory, but the note Elizabeth had discovered pointed at the first.

    She shook her head, trying to dismiss every dark thought, even if only for a minute. She and William were together; they had found each other; they were sharing a relationship that every day was touching a new, deeper chord in her heart. She knew that he really meant what he had said the day of their reconciliation, making her feel that she had finally found her home: “I never, ever want to be parted from you again.”

    Elizabeth felt a pinch of guilt. That day could have been perfect, like a romantic movie, with them uttering vows of eternal devotion, repeating how much they loved each other, and kissing each other in the way that made their hearts fly.

    But reality had to intervene and less pleasant subjects had intruded, spoiling the perfect retrospective. Even if they didn’t have the slightest impact on William’s affection for her or on his decision to become the man Elizabeth deserved, they did influence his peace of mind. And they caused Elizabeth to become ungenerous and resentful, if only in thought. Why can’t we ever be happy and peaceful and…just the two of us? Without all these ghosts, without all these fears lying between us. Normal…

    Elizabeth was brought back from her musings by the ring of her phone. She forced herself to dismiss her troubling thoughts and met Jane’s cheerful tone of conversation, as they talked about the lovely time they had the evening before. Jane had invited Paul, Teresa and Elizabeth to dinner again, but this time she warned her father that she wanted to introduce a good friend to him. It was none other than Charles Bingley.

    “Dad seemed quite taken by Charles.” Elizabeth offered pleasantly, as it was her conviction that Charles deserved a second chance. “He even ignored Teresa a bit for the sake of talking to him.”

    “He is lucky to have met only Charles’ changed self. He’s spared the trouble of doubting.” Jane said, trying to make it sound as a humorous remark, but not quite succeeding.

    Elizabeth turned serious: “How exactly are things going between you two?”

    “I am not sure, Lizzy.” Jane sighed. “The problem lies with me, not him. We meet at least once every three days, and not only by his initiative. We always have a great time. He’s not pushing me at all… No hints, nothing. And it would have been fine, had I not realized that I was not pleased by this fact.”

    “Not pleased by the fact that he’s a gentleman?” Elizabeth was astonished. Her sister was not in the habit of making such absurd confessions.

    “Not pleased with the fact that he will never dare to become anything more than a friend, Lizzy. He has put me on such a high pedestal, as if I am the perfect woman that no one dares approach. I do not want that.”

    “You do not want that.” It was a statement, not a question.

    “No, I don’t.”

    “I see.” Elizabeth said quietly. After a short pause, she continued with a soft voice. “My dearest Jane, it’s time to admit that you have fallen in love with Charles Bingley.”

    “And how would this help?” Jane sounded amazingly stubborn, but Elizabeth was amused.

    “It works wonders, Jane. Everything becomes clearer once you have uttered the magical words. I am speaking from experience.”

    “Alright. Maybe you are correct. I have come to love him, Lizzy.” She sighed. “Somewhere in Scotland I think. I thought he had killed everything when he came to humiliate me in my own house. But he had not. I knew it from the moment I saw him crying in William’s house, even though I didn’t care to admit it.”

    “Good.” Elizabeth said. “You can always make the first step, you know. Show him that you are not indifferent. It can’t be that difficult if you meet so often.”

    “The thing is, Lizzy…” Jane started hesitatingly.

    “Yes?”

    “I do not believe that people can change.”

    “Oh,” was the only that Elizabeth could say.

    “I am afraid that this gallant, kind Charles won’t last forever. I know I had decided to let my heart speak, but I don’t want to be hurt again.”

    Elizabeth remained silent.

    “Anyway, let’s leave this for now. How did you like the dessert?”

    “You know that I adore anything that your magic hands make, Janie. I am glad Will could not make it yesterday. The comparison between our cooking would be inevitable and not at all to my advantage.”

    Jane chuckled. “So this is why you refused to take a piece or two back home… Seriously now, Lizzy, I was sorry he couldn’t come. I really like your boyfriend, despite my accidentally punching him.”

    Elizabeth laughed, trying to imagine the scene that had taken place in her absence.

    “I hope the business that detained him was nothing serious. It was Sunday night and usually…”Elizabeth tried to hide the nervousness in her voice as well as she could. “It’s… I mean… Now it’s ok. It was urgent, but now he has settled everything.”

    Elizabeth felt a bit guilty at hiding the whole truth from her sister, but she was certain that it would have been awkward to inform her that William had gone in search of Jason. They had decided that whatever information they could gather would be precious, and that they had not the luxury of showing to Younge the contempt he deserved. So, Will decided to have a talk with him. However, Jason had disappeared and there was no way William or his men could trace him. Even his parents had no idea where he had gone, but after the scandal they deemed it only natural that he wanted to escape their wrath. The previous night, William thought he had found him at last, but after midnight he called Elizabeth to let her know his last attempt was fruitless as well.

    Fortunately, Jane did not pay much attention to Elizabeth’s almost incoherent mumbling, since she was meditating on something else.

    “Lizzy, I do not want to cloud your happiness in any way, but may I ask you a question, please? It’s important.”

    “Of course.” Elizabeth was really curious as to what would follow.

    “You said that William is very changed from the moment you returned. You present him almost as a different man.”

    “This is not true.” Elizabeth stated firmly, understanding her sister’s meaning and realizing at last that there was a way to help her with the dilemma she was facing. “William remains the man I fell in love with. He may be a little more open and able to say that he loves me, but none of his ideas, values, or beliefs has changed. He always had deep feelings, a great and brilliant mind and…” She said chuckling, “a great many flaws that I used to forgive and I continue to do so. In essentials, Jane,” She paused to emphasize the last phrase, “he is the man that he always was.”

    “In essentials…” Jane said, struck by the realization.

    “Exactly. In essentials. The question is, Jane, what do you know about Charles’ ‘essentials’ and how much you like them? If you fall in love with the ‘essentials’ you can forgive his imperfections, which are bound to be plentiful and insufferable!” Elizabeth finished the sentence chuckling.

    “That was helpful, you know.” Jane’s voice was happier now. “I believe that William Darcy does you loads of good.”

    “Very astute observation, big sis.” Elizabeth said and they both laughed.

    Elizabeth had felt his eyes on her before looking up. When she lifted her face and saw him gazing at her, with the tenderness that always spoke to her heart, and a yearning that always made her limbs go weak, she became distracted and knew not what she was talking about with Jane on the phone. She terminated the conversation as soon as she could, and turned her attention to him. She wished she could jump into his embrace, and the saucy look she sent his way left him in no doubt of that, but she decided to remain in her seat. It was true that they were not hiding their relationship anymore, but neither would like public displays of affection in Meryton’s offices, so full of people with a tendency for gossiping. However, this didn’t stop him from visiting her at her office as often as he could. Since their wonderful reconciliation they had real trouble staying away from each other for long – and ‘long’ was no more than a few hours.

    She remained seated, drinking in the charming sight he presented. It was evident that he had just come from his own office, now several blocks away, in Pemberley.Net’s central buildings. He wore a dark blue suit that looked perfect on him and he had loosed his tie, making him look less formal and rather playful. No signs of fatigue or lack of sleep were evident on his face, although Elizabeth knew for sure that his night had been neither easy nor marked by any progress that satisfied him. However, his smile made her feel that she alone could bring him all the happiness he needed. She reveled in the feeling, knowing only too well that it was mutual.

    “To what do I owe the honor, Mr. Darcy?” She asked lifting her eyebrows, producing a devastating grin on his face.

    “I came to offer lunch to my favorite employee. Have you seen her today?” He answered leaning towards her.

    She entwined her fingers to focus her mind on something else in order to break the spell he was casting on her, and to resist to the urge to kiss him soundly till she could not breathe. William watched her blushing and averting her eyes, glad that he was not the only one that had trouble keeping a tolerably neutral face while they were together in public. He had disdained the love-struck looks he had witnessed when he was very young, but had discovered at thirty-four the charm of these aspects of a happy relationship. As he admired Elizabeth’s flushed face and eyes which sparkled even more than usual, he had not the slightest restraint in declaring that he had been a fool in his fears and insecurities, even though he was not completely released yet.

    Their eyes locked, and they drew instinctively closer to each other, while Elizabeth whispered: “Will, if you continue like this, I am going to kiss you right in front of everyone.”

    “I wouldn’t mind,” he said, surprised to realize that he meant his words, “as long as you have lunch with me. I haven’t seen you all weekend, Elizabeth… I’ve become unused to staying away from you for so long.” He finished, and left Elizabeth wondering if he was serious or speaking in jest.

    “I wouldn’t want to compromise you in front of your staff.” Elizabeth said and playfully avoided his mouth as his lips was reaching hers. He feigned a look of exasperation and they walked out of the office hand in hand. If their point was not to feed the gossip, they failed miserably. There was nothing else anyone was talking about in the office for the next several hours. However, the comments concentrated more on how well they looked together rather than on malicious speculations on the motives that induced Elizabeth Bennet to date William Darcy. After all, the latter was so handsome; any woman would have died to be his date, even if he were penniless.

    They picked a quiet place they both loved and enjoyed their meal, talking about trifling things, at first not daring to approach the subject of Jason Younge. They had such a lovely time that Elizabeth felt the urge to avoid that discussion completely, it would darken his mood, and it really pained her to witness the subtle sadness casting shadows in his eyes. But Elizabeth Bennet was not a woman who would prefer the temporary relief as opposed to the long term cure. She didn’t want William’s restrained smiles; she wanted more because she knew that he deserved more. So, looking directly into his eyes, she said softly:

    “What happened yesterday, Will?”

    The turn in his countenance was immediate and it was like daggers in Elizabeth’s chest. But he didn’t avert his eyes. He wasn’t seeking to hide his distress from her anymore; this gave her hope, and strength. She reached for his hand and took it into hers, caressing it tenderly, as he was speaking.

    “Nothing happened, Elizabeth. Hopes that turned into nothing. I can’t imagine where Younge has gone. My men thought that they had found him in New York. I spent the whole night talking to his friend there. He hasn’t contacted anyone. He has disappeared. Completely. I am worried, Elizabeth. It’s not like him.”

    She looked at him enquiringly and he explained.

    “Younge is not the kind of man who would drop into obscurity. All his life he has tried to make friends with the people that could be useful to him. I have asked everyone he would have liked to befriend. It all came to nothing.” He paused, unwilling to continue. But Elizabeth should hear this. It was important. “I never imagined that I would say this, but I fear for him.”

    “What?” Elizabeth gave a start and dropped his hand. He tried to smile as reassuringly as he could, taking now her hand into his and caressing it soothingly, as she had done only moments ago.

    “I think that someone heard him when he offered to say the truth and…” He didn’t dare to continue.

    “Oh, my God!” Elizabeth’s free hand flew to her mouth in shock. She had heard many stories of blackmailing and revenge in her profession, she had even written articles about them, but it was a wholly different thing when they concerned people whom she knew so well. “You think that Wickham had him killed?”

    “It wouldn’t have been the first time.” William answered bitterly and squeezed her hand so much that the muscles of her face convulsed. “Oh, my God, what have I done? I’m so sorry darling.” He was almost in shock for the pain he had caused her.

    “It’s nothing, I am fine, really.” Elizabeth’s voice was soothing but didn’t help him relax at all. His own self had begun to frighten him. He had let so many emotions free in the last few weeks; he found that occasionally he could not control his reactions.

    Where his love for Elizabeth was concerned, he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. He relished abandoning himself in the sea of feelings and emotions that her mere presence produced. And by his love for her, he began to forgive himself. Elizabeth brought to the surface everything that was good about him, even if it had been hiding in the depths of him. Seeing himself through her eyes, he started to appreciate what Elizabeth loved in him. The feeling was liberating, and warming. His cynicism was melting slowly. There would always remain large amounts of it, he didn’t doubt that. But at least he wouldn’t suffer from it. And he wouldn’t make anyone around him suffer either.

    But when his past and its secrets returned to haunt him, the fact that he could not restrain his anger and bitterness any longer really frightened him. There were so many questions still unanswered. Answers were evading them. They could get only glimpses of the truth. Sometimes he felt as if they were chasing a chimera, or a monster that would always disappear in the corner letting them know only how horrible it was. It was like the dark figures that haunted his imagination and dreams, rendering his childhood a fairy tale in which villains prevailed and won. He had hardened his heart, closed it, stopped listening to it only to protect it from these fears. He had scorned so that he would stop shaking from fear. He had been cruel in order not to be weak. But now he was vulnerable, and he had no idea how he would react when the monsters of the past would revisit and confront him for one last time. It was inevitable, and he knew it.

    He lifted his eyes and saw Elizabeth smiling at him. Courage poured into his heart, continuing its constant struggle with the hidden fears that had occupied it for so long. But it could not work its magic, for William had realized that the more he had come to love Elizabeth, the more fragile she appeared to him. She seemed too perfect to live in a world full of malice and dangers. Sometimes, he would look at her, striving to suppress the urge to take her in his arms and never let her go. To protect her from everyone who did not love her as much as he did. To protect her from his own overwhelming feelings when they threatened to devour them both.

    But he couldn’t do it, because Elizabeth was a free woman, an independent spirit, ever strong in her fragility. He had learnt that he could not confine her, or set limits on her, or ask her to follow patterns and play roles. He couldn’t ask her to do anything like that; he didn’t want to. He was there for her, whenever she wanted him to be. William would despise himself if he killed what he loved in her. So, instead of begging to forget everything, to leave everything to him, to stop searching, and to stay as far away from this nightmare before it was too late, he only said in a barely audible whisper:

    “We may be in danger, Elizabeth.”

    She didn’t startle, she didn’t make the slightest move, she only continued to look deeply into his eyes, their hands entwined. After some minutes that seemed like forever, she simply stated, in a quiet, calm low voice.

    “Wickham will be after us.”

    “He has power, Elizabeth. You know that. So much, that my father couldn’t protect his family from it.”

    “We don’t know what happened, Will.” Elizabeth was not sure what would have been more desirable: George Darcy not willing or George Darcy not able to confront Wickham? She knew that William didn’t want to think ill of his father. But the idea of the great Darcy family succumbing to all blackmailing of the Wickhams was chilling as it was strange.

    “No, we don’t.” He agreed and seemed unwilling to continue on the subject. Elizabeth insisted.

    “If we could make Wickham talk… To admit…” She looked at him earnestly, trying to give him some hope.

    “That would answer many questions.” He stated in a colorless voice, not helping Elizabeth to understand if the fear of or the will to find the truth prevailed.

    “We need proof, Will.” The smile faded off her face, as all the fruitless efforts of the week came into her mind. “But I am getting desperate here. No one speaks. No one helps. Whenever I ask for a file, it magically disappears. The man has built the perfect cover up!”

    William couldn’t bear the look of disappointment in Elizabeth’s eyes. He smiled lightly, as he continued to rub her hand tenderly.

    “To own the truth, Elizabeth, I have hired private investigators. They follow his every step, checking all his activities.” She startled and frowned for a moment. She didn’t like it when he took initiatives without asking her. But she nodded, acknowledging that this was as much his case as it was hers. He noted the change in her countenance and smiled apologetically.

    “I hate it that we are entangled in this. And I fear for you. More than anything.”

    Elizabeth understood and was touched by his concern. How could she be angry with him, when her own heart dreaded the prospect of seeing him harmed in any way? It was easier to have confidence in their strength than to bear the prospect of seeing the other hurt. Their love was uniting them so irrevocably, that each preferred to suffer than watching the other in pain.

    Her voice came soft, soothing.

    “Don’t be. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Your detectives will find out everything and we’ll send Wickham to jail once and for all. Even if he bribes every policeman or judge in the country, he won’t get away with it.”

    They had finished their lunch and paid the bill. As she was speaking, they stood up and headed for the exit. His arm slipped around her waist in an intimate embrace. And it didn’t leave its place until they had reached Meryton’s offices. They didn’t speak about that subject on their way back, but chose less painful topics, that brought smiles and caused chuckles in both. The afternoon sun lit their faces, rendering them almost carefree, almost happy… They didn’t want to part; they didn’t want to go back to daily routine. They wanted to prolong the magic that flowed between them as long as they could. So, they just stayed there, for long moments gazing into each other’s eyes. And then, while Elizabeth was striving very hard to utter something close to goodbye, William unexpectedly took her face into his comforting, warm palms. Gratified and amused to witness the astonishment in her eyes, he pulled her closer to him steadily, until her brow reached his lips and she closed her eyes.

    Elizabeth felt enveloped in tenderness, in soft care, in pure love that was pouring from his heart, and traveled from his lips to her face, her skin, her mind; that invaded her veins, spreading to her very core. This silent contact communicated exquisite feelings, making the love within and around them almost visible, palpable, audible; like the quiet murmurings of a river that existed and flowed for them alone. Cars were passing in the street, horns were screaming, people were walking, or running with content, sad, furious or simply absent-minded faces. The world was there, but they seemed to have soared to a universe where no one else existed. Elizabeth forgot all about time, about her job, and about her colleagues who, in all probability, were staring at them from the windows. She could only feel his lips, their softness, their sweetness as they kissed their path along her brow, her nose, her cheeks, to be joined at the end of their journey with her own lips that were waiting, aching for him.

    Minutes later, which could have been hours, his mouth assaulted and playfully teased her jaw, to return after a few seconds to her cheeks. His lips pressed against the spot next to her ear. He exhaled deeply, and his warm breath caressed her ear, filling it with unsung melodies. His mouth formed the words “I love you,” pressing against her cheek, not the tiniest sound escaping from him. His velvet lips moved intensely, but slowly, making each letter a distinctive caress, a unique experience marked on her face.

    “It will be a lonely afternoon without you.” He whispered to her, when their bodies agreed to pull back.

    “It will.”

    They gazed at each other for several long moments. A smile curved his lips, as he took in the wonderful sight of her and turned to leave.

    Elizabeth’s fingers rested upon her cheek and they could not leave that spot until he was gone from her sight.

    CHAPTER 12, Part b

    Posted on Wednesday, 16 November 2005

    William Darcy and Charles Bingley had a habit of meeting on Friday afternoons. They had their coffee in either’s home, talking about their week and relaxing in each other’s company. When Richard was hosted in Darcy’s house, he joined them as well and he was the source of naughty remarks and merriment. On this particular Friday however, it was Charles that was flying in the skies, while William watched him amused and Richard looked at him with a sullen face.

    “She wants me, I am sure she does!” was Charles’ mantra, which had been repeated at least ten times in the past hour. He went on with his story that the other two had naturally learnt by heart. They had realized however that no pleading on their part could save them from a repetition of it. “I was sure that the desire came only from my own part, but yesterday as I was leaning to show her the cover of the book, she looked at me in this way…and she came closer, she moved her head, not I, and she licked her lips!” he cried in absolute elation. “I am positively sure that she licked her lips!”

    Richard shook his head, while William was trying to suppress his chuckles.

    “I wanted to make love to her, until she was as lost as I was.” Charles continued with a dreamy look, “But I controlled myself and let her do what she pleased.”

    “And she didn’t even kiss you.” Richard said coldly, while William cast him a reproachful look.

    “No, she invited me to dinner tonight.” Charles’ smile didn’t fade at all. “And her voice was very hoarse when she was speaking.” He added proudly.

    “And you are happy about a kiss that never was? Let me tell you, you are in the dark. I made love to her. Do you hear me? And she doesn’t care! So, spare me your stupid excitement, will you?”

    William could swear that these were the harshest words his cousin had uttered. But, as he had witnessed the degradation of his spirits in the last two weeks, he didn’t even bother to become angry with his rudeness. He only stated:

    “That was mean.”

    “No progress in the Monika field?” asked Charles who didn’t seem at all disturbed by Richard’s insulting speech.

    “Oh, great progress!” Richard cried ironically. “She was very explicit: ‘We had an amazing night, but I don’t want to get involved with you, because I don’t like you, even though I was attracted to you. And now, that we have satisfied our curiosity, you had better take Phil for the night shifts. To avoid embarrassment.’” Richard quoted the words that had given him more pain that he had imagined could exist, imitating the chilling coldness in Monika’s voice when she had spoken them, on the day that she reappeared. Charles only shrugged, while William shook his head. “So, I enjoy a wonderful companionship with my bodyguard.” Richard said, as the muscles of his face contracted in his attempt to smile ironically. “I spend all day with her, not daring to even look at her. And I don’t have the guts to fire her.” He spat at last.

    “She doesn’t have the guts to quit either, Richard.” William observed quietly.

    “What?”

    “She can’t stay away from you any more than you can stay away from her.” Charles completed his friend’s logic.

    “Exactly. You only have to prove that you are not the man everyone believes you are.” William said, unable to eliminate the teasing tone in his voice.

    “What an easy task!” Richard said icily. “And what a help to hear from your relatives that everyone thinks you are a cad. Thanks, cousin, but how do you suggest that I can do that?”

    “You have done it in so many films, why do you ask me? You are the expert at winning hearts.”

    “Yes, by someone else’s screenplays! It’s all so easy when you have all the great lines! But what am I to do in real life, when I cannot make myself understood however much I try?” Richard had abandoned his haughty scornful look and seemed truly humbled and vulnerable. The other men took pity on him.

    “If this was a screenplay, I would have an answer for you now.” William told him pensively. “As it is, I can only wish you luck. You know that I will always be here to listen to you, right?”

    “Yes, but I won’t be here. We’re leaving England on Monday.” Richard said grumpily.

    “Well, you can always call us and bring us down to earth.” Charles said looking sympathetically. “And remember, if Jane forgave me, there is always hope.”

    “I am sorry for spoiling your fun, Charles. I hope you’ll have a lovely time with Jane tonight. You too, Will, with your Elizabeth. You deserve it.”

    Charles winked at him, as William said: “Well, Phil is not that bad of company, is he?”

    Richard threw him a cushion, but at least he laughed; a genuine, healthy laugh that had not been heard from him in the last two weeks.

    Friday evenings were Jane’s favorite time of the week. She usually spent them at home, alone or with some company she felt at complete ease with. It was her special time, rejuvenated hours that filled her with energy and strength to confront all the difficulties of the week. So, when Elizabeth was informed that Jane had invited Charles for dinner that Friday, she knew that these two would end up together. And very soon too.

    It had been almost two weeks since a repentant Charles had shown up at Jane’s doorstep, and things were progressing rather fast for them. They both craved each other’s company and didn’t care to hide it anymore. The last week they met each day, to discuss work or to go for a walk in the park, watch a movie they both loved, and go to the shops to pick a present for Louisa’s upcoming wedding. Jane had decided that she had a great time with Charles, but she wanted more from him. Regardless of what had transpired between them, and free from the comparisons with Jason that used to haunt her, she had come to love this man. And to desire him; desperately so.

    Elizabeth understood her sister very well. That’s why she agreed without a moment’s hesitation to help her choose her attire for the evening, even though she knew Jane had impeccable taste and, in any case, there were no clothes in which she would not look stunning. So, the Bennet sisters spent the early evening pleasantly helping each other dress and laughing as they exchanged hairstyles. Elizabeth, who usually had her hair down or in a loose ponytail, let Jane pin it up beautifully; allowing only some curly locks to fall on her brow and temples. Jane, who always preferred her hair up now let it free. She tossed her head, almost amazed at the feeling of blond waves that followed her movements.

    “I think I will let my hair down at lunch tomorrow as well...I feel so carefree!” Jane said smilingly and Elizabeth chuckled.

    “I don’t think we can feel carefree tomorrow at lunch, no matter what we do with our hair, Jane. I don’t think I will exhale until dad and Teresa are safely out of mom’s house.”

    “Mom proposed this lunch herself, Lizzy.”

    “Yes, but she invited them out of curiosity. She wants to make sure that dad is unhappy without her. And I fear to think how she will react when she sees him so happy. After all, she will see him the day after his engagement!”

    “Poor dad, he seemed so anxious this morning.” Jane said sympathetically. While Elizabeth had invited Teresa to Meryton’s offices to show her around, Jane had undertaken the task of helping their father pick out an engagement ring. They had spent a morning filled with Paul’s indetermination, second thoughts and insecurities that would have been fit of a teenager, but Jane had felt closer to her father than ever. Both daughters were happy to be around at such an important moment of their father’s life and they were anxious to hear a report of good news as soon as possible.

    “Will Charles join us tomorrow?” Elizabeth asked, and if her sister could look her in the eye, she would have recognized her mischievous look.

    “I didn’t ask him to.” Jane sounded very pensive. “It seemed a very family moment. After all, we’re not… And mom will think that…” She failed to continue.

    “But we have such a nice excuse for this gathering!” Elizabeth laughed. And indeed, she found her mother’s idea amusing but considerate as well. They were celebrating Charlotte’s non-wedding, which had been scheduled for that day. Not wanting to leave her sensitive step-daughter alone with any regrets on such a date, Fanny had decided to organize a family lunch, inviting her ex-husband and his companion, giving to everyone new sources of concern, other than Charlotte’s feelings.

    “You haven’t invited your boyfriend either, so, stop teasing and help with this zipper that won’t come up!” Jane gave an end to the conversation.

    William came to pick Elizabeth up directly from Jane’s home, almost simultaneously with Charles’ arrival – since they had left his house together but took different cars. Thus Jane was spared any moments of anxious waiting alone and was given moments of embarrassment and amazement instead. She could not help staring at Charles. He had always been invariably charming, but on this particular night he seemed breathtakingly handsome. He wore a dark green shirt that set off his complexion perfectly and had left the first button undone, so she could catch a glimpse of his very strong and masculine chest. She swallowed hard and forced her eyes to move to his face, but that was not helping either. The fire in his eyes was undeniable; his smile was irresistible. She wondered how she was going to get through dinner.

    Unbeknownst to her, Charles was having a similar struggle. Despite his certainty that he could not be more bewitched than he already was, he found himself falling even harder for that wonderful woman, the kind, generous, clever, strong but also incredibly beautiful and devastatingly sexy woman with whom he was having dinner. He wondered how much further his self-discipline could go. But he could not fool himself; he knew that his stockpile of it was running short.

    Jane poured him a glass of scotch and they began talking about their day and their work. It was a fortunate thing that none of them paid attention to what they were saying, because at least half of the answers did not correspond to the questions each politely made to the other. Jane decided to mention her father and the proposal he was going to make to Teresa, describing the difficulty they had finding a ring for such an extraordinary woman and deciding which words would be appropriate on such an occasion.

    Charles loved watching her speak. Her narration was funny, witty, but at the same time hid a tender regard and anxiousness for the welfare of her father. Her face was soft; her gaze fell tenderly upon him, her eyes smiling. He was distracted again and again, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the subject she was talking about. All he was aware of was her presence. He saw her pausing and looking at him expectantly, then frowning, feigning reproach. Apparently, she had just asked him something and was waiting for an answer Charles could not possibly give. In mock exasperation, she asked:

    “Have you heard a word of what I said?”

    “None.” He admitted, while he met her eyes and held them locked with his own.

    “Am I that boring?” She tried to make light of the situation, but she was breathing far too quickly to succeed.

    “Quite the opposite.” Charles knew that he was taking the path of no return. He was sitting next to her, and his head moved close to hers, as he whispered in a hoarse voice: “You are far too interesting for me to think of anything else.”

    Jane didn’t know how to respond to such a remark, but she found that she didn’t have to as she felt his mouth on hers. His kiss was soft and lingering, like a caress. Gentle, considerate, giving her liberty to decide, not possessing, anxious or demanding. His lips brushed against hers and stayed there, whispering words of love and adoration that she could feel rather than hear. He was there for her, and he could wait, and he would wait; loving her even if she kept him away; caring for her, not for him, because his own self, his own needs didn’t seem so important anymore. He didn’t plead for an answer; a response; a decision. He didn’t want to take anything from her; he only wished to give.

    But Jane was ready, and she wished to take and to give back too. Her lips captured his and moved against his mouth in almost violent passion, so much so that Charles, in his astonishment, was incapable of responding at first. But then, as her fervor made his own desire reach new heights, his hands moved tightly around her waist, and he pressed her against him, as his mouth was assaulting hers. The sensation was so strong that it overwhelmed him. Tears appeared in his eyes and he could not explain why. He wasn’t sad; he was happy, but happiness only could not explain the complexity of feelings that made his heart almost painfully full and dampened his cheeks. When he felt Jane’s hands against his chest, he knew that she wanted to break their kiss; it was true that they needed air. Still he hated to leave her; he would feel abandoned, even if it was only for a moment.

    Suddenly he realized that Jane’s hands were not pushing him back; they were pulling him closer, inviting him to be with her for that night; for every night; forever. The thought sent shivers down his spine. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the haze of passion, casting aside every doubt and fear he had ever felt. But he checked himself. He had to ask, he had to know, he had to let her decide. His hands moved to her neck, caressing it so softly that it tickled her and she shivered. His index finger reached her jaw, and their eyes locked.

    “Jane,” he whispered, desperate to make his voice devoid of pleading, “are you sure?”

    “I am.” She answered, with the most confident voice Charles had heard from her.

    “Jane, don’t let this moment drag you into something that you don’t want. I will barely stand it if you push me away now. But if you regret it afterwards…” His voice broke. “I am not sure if I…”

    The feathery touch of her hand silenced him.

    “Charles, I am sure. I want this as badly as you do.” She smiled guiltily.

    Charles was struck by the realization that she was sincere.

    “How? I mean, why me, Jane?”

    “Because I love your essentials.” She said seriously, glowing.

    “My essentials?”

    “I know who you are.” She said softly and calmly, as the slightest doubt had vanished. “I love who you are. I love you, Charles.”

    His lips crushed hers, to taste, to feel in every way possible her precious profession. To tell her how much he loved her, more than life, more than anything, and to keep speaking of his love for as long as he would have a voice. He wouldn’t leave her ever again.

    William could not take his eyes off Elizabeth’s figure all evening long. He didn’t look at the table at all and only shrugged when she told him with that saucy smile of hers that his plate seemed quite interesting. In fact, he couldn’t tell what exactly he had ordered to eat. It was the first time that he saw the mass of her hair tight up, revealing her perfect, long neck. He wondered how he had never noticed its perfect shape and its inviting grace before. Now his only urge was to fill every tiny spot of it with kisses, until it was a familiar place with him, until he could memorize the feeling of each part.

    Those thoughts were not appropriate at all for the expensive restaurant they were dining at. He had already felt the curious looks of the people around him, occasioned by the fact that he never had anything but business dinners there; and everyone looking at them could swear this was not a business dinner. He didn’t care about their opinion at all; and he didn’t seek to conceal his relationship from them. But he didn’t want to hear or read anything insulting about them; he valued Elizabeth too much to see her on the front pages of the tabloids as a shameless seducer. So, he turned his eyes to her beautiful face and he was caught there.

    The tempting locks that were adorning her brow led him to see details he had never noticed before. The perfect shape of her nose, the soft skin of her cheek, the beautiful line of her jaw, the glow of the place around her earlobes. He wanted to map every bit of her, to know her better that he knew himself. He could not possess her; he knew and respected that; but he wanted to spend his whole life exploring her, fully aware that the more he knew about her, the more appealing she became; it was a process of realizing her importance in his life that made him only love her more.

    She talked about her sister and Charles and she seemed so pleased that his heart became lighter; he was delighted to see her happy. So much that he cursed himself once again for the distress he had caused both to her and to Jane in the past.

    “They look very well together, Elizabeth,” he said with a genuine smile, to gain an irresistible look from her.

    “Don’t they?” She was excited, like a child. He loved her passion about everything, her generosity that was so gratified by seeing her beloved ones happy.

    “Yes, and I think it won’t take them long to be completely inseparable.” He said with meaning. “Charles is a good man, Elizabeth. Your sister is an exceptional woman, but I believe that Charles deserves her. He really loves her. I’ve known him for many years and I am certain that this time his feelings are deep, honest and lasting.”

    Elizabeth touched his hand briefly; a sign of appreciation for the praise of her sister and the reassurance he offered.

    “It is certainly a romantic week for my family. I only have to see how tomorrow will go to pronounce it one of the best weeks of the year.” At William’s questioning look, she told him about his father’s intention of proposing that night and also analyzed her fears regarding the family lunch that was awaiting her the following day.

    William’s eyes were focused on her hand, her fingers while she was speaking. He fought the memory as well as he could, still the picture of his own proposal passed briefly before him. He remembered the ring; it belonged to her, it was made for her… She had rejected it, but somehow he felt that this ring would bind them, if any. He shook his head and took advantage of the first available pause to introduce another subject that was important for him.

    “Elizabeth, I want to talk to you… about your job… and I am not quite sure how to say it…”

    “You don’t want to fire me, do you?” She asked teasingly.

    “No, of course not.” He spoke and exhaled simultaneously. “It’s about…” He cleared his throat. “I want to make you an offer.” Elizabeth looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t come to the point immediately. “Look, you’re all that matters in my life and my love for you has completely changed my life…for the better.” Elizabeth was at a loss as to where all this would lead. “However, I am sure that I can make good decisions and be totally unprejudiced where business is concerned.” He swallowed hard. “My admiration for your work and my love for you are different things, Elizabeth. And only the former, not the latter was involved in my decision to offer you the editor’s position at Meryton. No one is more capable to undertake the responsibility. No one deserves it more than you.” Noticing Elizabeth’s cheeks turning crimson and hesitation spreading all over her face, he added anxiously: “Really, it is a decision that is expected profit Pemberley. All the board members were in complete agreement. They begged me to make you accept the position.”

    She was still not answering. Her lips had unconsciously parted a little in dismay. Trying to focus on the task before him, and not get side tracked again, William continued. “You don’t have to answer immediately. Think about it. Take your time. We want you there, Elizabeth, but it’s your decision.” He told her in complete earnestness, only to add a moment later, chuckling: “Though I am not sure how well they will think of the new president of the Net if he fails to accomplish an agreement that is so wished for.”

    “William, this is not a game.” Elizabeth said seriously. “I want you to tell me the truth. No embellishments. Please.”

    “I have always told you the truth, Elizabeth.” He sighed. “Even when it would cause nothing but pain to us both.” Their eyes locked in silent understanding. “And you have heard it, and born it. Please, hear it now that is far more pleasant than before. We want you. You are the best person for the job. Consider the possibilities… You will love it, I know you will!”

    She could hear excitement in his voice as she searched his eyes for all the answers and reassurance she needed. And she found it there, in his direct, admiring, smiling look. She took a deep breath and announced with a steady voice: “I’ll be honored to take the position. I won’t let you down.”

    “I don’t have any doubts.” He took her hand in his and caressed it affectionately, but discreetly. “After all, your predecessor was quite brilliant and set the best example for you.”

    “In everything but modesty.” She teased him back.

    “I can’t be modest. I am dating the most wonderful woman. Actually, I am very proud of myself.”

    “You have grown quite insufferable, Will, do you know that?”

    “It’s your fault. I never teased anyone before I met you.” He answered smugly.

    William thought that he could spend the entire night in her doorstep, kissing her for hours, until at least a tiny amount of his thirst for her could be quenched. But he knew that he had to let her go all too soon for his taste. She had promised her father that she would be waiting for him. To offer her support in the most unlikely case that Paul Bennet would have to face rejection and consequent heartbreak. All the same, he could not make love to her as he had dreamed of all day long and had desperately desired from the moment his eyes met hers that night. His only comfort was that she seemed to be craving him as badly as he was her. She clung to him and returned his kisses with so much passion, that he was not certain how much longer he could ignore the voice that ordered him to make Elizabeth his that very instant. He tried to gain his self-control, but his mouth seemed to have a will of its own and it traveled along her marvelous neck, tracing soft kisses everywhere, tasting what he had so desperately admired from afar during their dinner. As the last coherent thought evaded her, Elizabeth knew that she could not deny him anything that he would ask.

    He knew it, and the decision to resist what she was offering was one of the most difficult he had ever made; only the knowledge that he was doing it for her sake enabled him to break the kiss. When she opened her eyes, she seemed a little surprised, as if she didn’t recognize the surroundings, but as realization struck her, tenderness and gratitude filled her eyes. She mouthed the words: “Thank you.”

    He smiled warmly as his hands caressed her cheek lightly.

    “You are an incredible woman, Elizabeth. To control myself for a night doesn’t seem a sacrifice when I think how blessed I am to have you by my side.”

    “Good, because I was momentarily afraid that I was losing my charm.” She was so deeply touched that she feared that unless she teased him, she would burst into tears.

    “If only you knew how my desire for you drives me crazy. What a sleepless night I will spend tonight, thinking of you, remembering how beautiful you stood before me, how your body felt perfect in my arms, how my mouth aches when it doesn’t kiss yours.” He whispered against her ear. “Then you would not be in any doubt regarding your spell on me.”

    “I love you, Will.”

    “I love you, Elizabeth.”

    William’s words and actions had succeeded in rendering Elizabeth unable to sleep or to stop thinking of him. She tried many distractions. She attempted to watch television, listen to music, to eat something or drink some milk, anything that usually helped. Nothing proved to help, as the feel of him seemed to haunt all her senses. She walked all over the house, and even thought of cleaning it, just to find away to exhaust herself to sleep. In the end, she thought of her last refuge: reading. The novel that was currently on her nightstand was far too philosophical to help her relax, so she searched for a magazine in her archives. As she was picking up an old Meryton issue, the idea struck her: she had never looked for the issue that followed the one in which she had found the threatening note! She had searched for any possible evidence from other sources, but this one she had completely forgotten, though it was the first one she had intended to look at.

    It was the work of an instant. She knew. She could never turn back. She felt as if she had aged by years; she felt that her life would not be the same; that something was about to take place. The metamorphosis had already started. Her body began shivering from a strange feeling she had rarely experienced. It was more than the mere excitement that a possible answer could provide; it was the absolute certainty than it was a matter of hours until she would know everything. She couldn’t explain why; but she knew that if she went to Meryton’s offices that very moment, the suspense would be over. And something worse, which she couldn’t even conceive at present, would begin.

    Elizabeth hesitated only for an instant. She ignored the fear that had somehow intruded and made her breath strained and the flow of blood in her veins palpable, painstaking. She dismissed the thought of calling William; her inner voice told her to go alone. But there was no way she could get rid of the dreadful feeling that filled her, spreading a coldness all over her body and leaving a strange taste in her mouth…It tasted like blood…Had she bitten her lips? Why did she have to do this if she was so scared? There were no answers, just the need to act only in one way; the way an inner voice dictated mercilessly. This would lead either to salvation or destruction. She put on the first clothes she could find and ran out of her apartment.

    The building of Meryton was not dark, but for the first time it seemed cold and unfriendly. Moreover, she had the feeling that someone was watching her. Am I going crazy? She tried to dismiss the fears that would have seemed ridiculous to her two hours ago, but now, at this place, at this hour, the feeling was so palpable it almost paralyzed her.

    She found the issue she was looking for, throwing other papers around like a maniac. As she expected, the editorial was not written by Anne Darcy. Her name was not mentioned anywhere in the issue; she had disappeared. Elizabeth read everything; not a single line escaped her examination. And even though Wickham’s name was not mentioned at all, she was neither disappointed nor disheartened. Her conviction was not shaken at all. She knew that she was close, so close that she could touch the solution of this cursed mystery. She returned to the archives’ collection and gathered all the copies of the issue she had been reading so carefully.

    When she saw it, she didn’t gasp; she was not surprised. She only took a deep breath, knowing that the irrevocable had just taken place. Right in the depth of the shelf, evidently untouched for the last twenty-two years was the only issue that had the same number on it, but was not in the least similar to the rest. Elizabeth’s hands trembled as she read the title: “John Wickham uses ‘Security in public schools’ program to distribute drugs to innocent children.”

    The editorial was written by Anne Darcy. The most astute, the most remarkable journalistic piece Elizabeth had ever read. Her breath was caught in her lungs. All her suspicions were true, and the proof was there, in the pages before her. Anne Darcy provided names, facts, lists, reports, details. Her accusations were perfectly founded, and Elizabeth doubted that more than half a day would be needed to certify everything. It was Anne’s masterpiece; written while she was conscious that it was probably the last thing she could do, written in doubt if it would manage to be published; written in full knowledge of the risks but without the tiniest amount of fear. Written by a great woman, fighting a great struggle, knowing that she would probably lose all the same.

    Elizabeth had in her hands what she had been desperately searching for in the past weeks; but nothing akin to satisfaction filled her. The only feeling she was aware of was terror, pure, tormenting terror. A strange noise reached her ears and she startled, not being sure if it was a real menace or a product of her tortured mind. The adrenaline in her blood was more than she could bear. She knew a secret that had brought pain, death and so much fear and darkness in countless lives. She felt the responsibility, which fell like a suffocating burden on her shoulders. Fear paralyzed her. The suspicion that she was being watched became a certainty. She wanted to scream but realized how unlikely it was for anyone to hear. Where were the security guards? Where were they?

    In her panic, she grabbed the issue and began running. She almost fell down the stairs. She pressed her hands against the wall, to gain support and find the strength to continue. Sweat was running down her cheeks, she was panting, her hair was now undone and fell in her eyes, blocking her vision. But she kept going, running like mad, dreading the invisible enemy and praying to see a human figure soon, to force her to return to something like her normal self, to tell her that life was not so changed as it seemed. To tell her that she would live; that they would let her live.

    She was crying now and the effort seemed too great for her to make it. She saw the exit of the building as her only hope to stay alive. She half suspected that someone would shoot at her before she had a chance to see the dark sky again. The irrational craving for the sight of dark sky caused sobs to overtake her. She managed to leave the building without anyone attacking. She stood still only for a moment. Only for a second to breathe in the cool breeze she had feared she wouldn’t have the chance to feel on her face again. Then she ran as fast as her legs could take her to the pub that was only a block away.

    Everything will be fine, she thought as she reached the entrance and her grip on the magazine became instinctively tighter. Nothing will happen if I am in a crowded place. And I will call Will to come and pick me up, and we’ll go to the police and we’ll be safe. She stood for a moment to stop panting, to arrange her hair and put a happier look on her face before she entered. She went directly to greet the owner, with whom she was acquainted. She wanted to show anyone who was watching that she was not alone.

    “Good evening, Miss Bennet.” He welcomed her with a warm smile. “Always a pleasure to see you here.”

    At the sound of her name, the woman who was sitting nearby turned her head immediately. Elizabeth felt terrified as she met her scrutinizing look and felt the urge to start screaming or run away, to a place no one could find her. She was afraid that the woman would take out a gun and shoot her at any moment. The eyes that were looking back at her were cold, defiant, but Elizabeth could even discern a glint of inner amusement in it. Will she be so happy to kill me?

    The owner was looking at her expectantly, waiting for an answer obviously. But what had he asked? How she was faring or what she would have? She tried to follow her instinct and knowledge of him that she had.

    “I am fine, Mr. Jones. And you?”

    “I am doing great, Miss Bennet, thank you.” He smiled warmly, as Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief. “Now, is there anything you would like to drink?”

    “I’ll have a scotch, please.” She said, doubting that it would be strong enough to help her knees stop trembling.

    The owner moved a few steps away. Elizabeth opened her handbag, put the magazine into it, and grabbed her cell phone. She had not dialed more than half the number when a very well known and despised voice was heard behind her.

    “Trust me, you don’t want to talk to him before you talk to me. ”

    And then despite her fear, despite the pain in her chest, despite the haunting words of Anne Darcy’s last editorial that echoed in her mind, she smirked. She smirked gracelessly, letting a huge amount of tension escape and appearing more brave and fearless than she was or wanted to show. Trust George Wickham? That man had quite a sense of humor!

    CHAPTER 13

    Posted on Monday, 12 December 2005

    Elizabeth thought that she was living in a nightmare; no matter how hard she tried, she could not persuade herself that this was really happening. Besides, it felt like a nightmare. She looked down at her hands and didn’t recognize them as her own. Her voice sounded strange in her ears; all the people in the pub were lost in a mist, and she could not see faces or hear distinctive voices. There was one person, however, that she could see with amazing clarity and absolute fear. George Wickham’s eyes had not left her face, torturing her with their cold, scrutinizing gaze. And as it always happened in dreams, she had no command of her reactions; her body, her face, her mind had all wills of their own and refused to obey any logical attempt on her part to do something to save herself. She could not help her gaze being full of irony or disgust, although she knew that irritating him would be the stupidest thing she could do. She was frightened; however, her face had decided to be brave.

    Long, tormenting moments passed before his voice was heard. Lower than she remembered, but very calm and soft.

    “You should by now know better than to laugh at me, Miss Bennet.”

    “I am sorry, Mr. Wickham, I have never met a man who intended to kill me before, therefore I have no idea how I should behave.” I can’t have said that! My whole body is shaking, how can my voice be so steady?

    “I see, Miss Bennet, that you have not formed a favorable impression of me.” His lips formed a satisfied smile, but his eyes remained icy cold, causing torturing shivers down her spine. “But this is not a place to discuss these things. If you would follow me outside…”

    “Do I really look like a woman who would follow a suggestion equivalent with suicide?” Her eyes met his; challenge was written in them.

    “It is clear that you are scared out of your wits,” he commented chuckling in a surreal way, while Elizabeth tried to refrain from slapping him, “therefore I will not trouble myself with mentioning that you are being paranoid. But to prove my good intentions, I will accept to have our discussion in a secluded corner of this place.” His voice did not betray any feeling, any thought, any weak point Elizabeth could take advantage of; he seemed to be the predestined winner, who was used to making his opponents retire before putting up a fight. How different from his interview, when he was giving a show to impress me. And I was stupid enough to buy it! Elizabeth was getting more and more disgusted, but couldn’t say if she felt worse towards him or towards herself.

    “I am not moving from my place. You’ll have to drag me.”

    “My dear Elizabeth, I am afraid that you overestimate your power to pose demands.” It was the first time she heard her name was coming from his lips. He made it sound horrible, ugly; he made her ashamed of it. “I have too much power to be obliged to face such childish stubbornness.”

    “What can you do to me, in such a crowded place?”

    “You will follow me to that table.” He said pointing at one that was almost hidden from her view, obviously ideal for a secret rendezvous. “Because I can do many things to him.” His eyes lit dangerously; like a wild animal who expects to derive pleasure from the terrified expression of its prey.

    “Am I expected to understand whom you mean, or do you just feel clever when no one knows what you’re talking about?” She felt, no, she was certain that she completely understood his meaning, but she was determined not to play his game.

    He laughed, a cold, heartless laugh, without the tiniest hint of merriment in his eyes. His eyes were unreadable; two spots of burning coal that mirrored nothing. As if they were unconnected to the rest of his face; as if they were just two instruments used only to watch and cause fear, without having the slightest contact with his soul. Does he even have a soul? “Oh, I am sorry; I seem to have overestimated your intelligence. I was referring to your employer, the great William Darcy.” She wanted to slap him. It hurt more to hear ironic remarks directed at William than towards her.

    “Mr. Darcy,” she said with as an indifferent voice as she could command, “has no fear for his life, if we take into consideration the excellent security that he surely employs. In any case, I do not see how you could use his wellbeing for the purpose of making me yield to any demand of yours.” Her voice was not calm, and had lost its ironic tone. She regretted that he could see that she was very upset; that she had let him upset her so.

    “Stop the games, Elizabeth.” He said, looking like a tired parent asking his child to give him peace. “I know very well that you are his present distraction. Everyone talks about it. I would have learnt it even if I had not been watching both of you on a 24 hour basis.” She gave a start and he nodded, silently answering her unasked question. Yes, I am about to tell you some very unpleasant truths, so don’t play innocent with me. “And you are clever enough I hope to see that there are so many other interesting ways of rendering somebody’s life a hell other than killing him.” He winked at her and she followed him to the table he desired, wondering if she had the strength to face what was happening; or if the burden would be too heavy for her as it had been for so many others; if she too would be crushed.

    She had already made her first retreat. She desperately needed to attack him.

    “Still, you do not seem to have shown that much imagination in dealing with Mr. Younge. Or should I say the late Mr. Younge?”

    He laughed again; and it was like a terrible clatter in her ears.

    “You are really scared of me, aren’t you? Funny the way things turn, isn’t it?”

    She didn’t answer. She couldn’t think of any answer that would really hurt his ego and self-confidence.

    “For your information, however, I will let you know that Jason Younge is still in this world, polluting it with his presence.”

    “Why should I believe you?” She regretted asking, she would give the impression that she was very weak and panicked.

    “Because I do not consider you an opponent worthy enough to try to lie to you.”

    “So you only play fair with the inferior?”

    “At last! A spirited remark! Thank you Elizabeth, I had begun to get bored with the frightened caricature you had become.” It seemed that nothing could shake him; it was a battle lost from its very beginning; like the one Anne Darcy had fought.

    “So, would you care to know what happened to your friend Jason?” He asked scornfully.

    “Jason is most definitely not my friend and I couldn’t care less about him.” She spat.

    “Ah, Elizabeth, now why should I believe you?” He retorted ironically.

    “I don’t give a d**n if you believe me or not, George.” She pronounced his name as if it was the most offensive word she could utter.

    “Now that we are at ease with each other, I can tell you that little secret of mine.” He leaned towards her to whisper to her, while she felt nauseous having him so close to her. She felt as if she was cheating on Will at that moment. Wickham’s lips touched the skin of her cheek before moving to her ear; and they lingered there for what seemed an eternity. Elizabeth felt cheap. She wanted to push him away, and rub her skin to remove the atrocious feeling of him, but she couldn’t. His hands grabbed hers before she could move and held her motionless. “I have treated Jason with much more patience than anyone in my place would have shown .”

    “I can imagine. You are the definition of honor and generosity.” She finally managed to disengage herself from his grasp.

    “I must inform you, Elizabeth, that I do not accept lectures on ethics by someone who is using her charms with her boss to get a position in that insignificant publication of yours.” She didn’t answer, just continued to stare at him in the same way, as a smile curved his lips.

    “You can’t deny it, can you?” His voice felt like hot oil on her skin.

    “I do not see any point in denying it. I am sure that your emotional intelligence will not let you understand any of my feelings, and I wouldn’t want to waste your time and mine as well.”

    His hand was tapping the table and for some moments he seemed completely concentrated on that action; fingers on the wood; fingers tapping the wood one after the other, rhythmically, in excellent succession. When he lifted his eyes to look at her again, his face was cold, relaxed; unshaken. Elizabeth regretted that she had let him gain time. She had begun to suspect, or rather hope that his passiveness was a mask; she prayed that she could break that mask; destroy the defenses; attack.

    “I had warned Jason I would kill him, from the first time he talked to Darcy. From the time he did not let me properly seduce that little sister of your man. You should be angry with him for that, too. Had I married the girl, I would have become the Pemberley CEO. Darcy would have taken an insignificant position, you would have never been allowed to search as much as you did, you would not be forced to face the dilemmas you do now and you would go on living in your fairy tale leaving me to do my job in peace.”

    “You seem to be too certain of my wishes, Mr. Wickham. What makes you suppose that I would have liked to live in a fantasy?”

    Wickham sighed and smiled wickedly. “Ah, Elizabeth, ignorance is a huge privilege. Unfortunately, people cannot appreciate it, until they are forced to face knowledge. Trust me, when you hear all that I have to say tonight you will find yourself willing to give everything you possess to gain back your blissful ignorance.”

    “You know nothing, absolutely nothing about me and don’t you dare presume…” Elizabeth felt that she was losing her self-control again.

    “On the contrary, I know everything about you, your thoughts, your ridiculous ideals, your feelings. I know how to drive you mad. I know that you have fallen for William Darcy...”

    “You said that I am only sleeping with him for the promotion.” She interrupted him, trying to trap him somehow.

    He was unshaken, nay even amused: “I was just trying to get an interesting reaction from my comment before. You see, Elizabeth, I know your weak points. I know how to hurt you; I know how to make you beg me; how to make you give anything to me…” He leaned dangerously towards her again.

    “In that case, you also know how close I am to slapping you this very moment.” Her eyes were fire.

    “If Jason Younge were here now, he would assure you that attempting to hurt me, in any way is definitely not a good idea.”

    “Jason was a stupid rascal.” Elizabeth wondered why she didn’t feel she meant her words. It surprised her that she couldn’t feel anything akin to resentment for Younge anymore; but most of all, it astonished her that she wanted to appear cruel to Wickham, to show that she had no heart either, that she could still abuse someone that she considered dead. Yes, she was desperately trying to give the impression of being heartless. On that night, heart was another word for vulnerability. She could not afford vulnerability.

    “He still is. But now he is also a wounded one.” He answered with his horrid smile.

    “So wounded that he cannot contact anyone?” She looked at him defiantly.

    “So wounded and frightened that he does not dare contact anyone. My men,” he said in perverse amusement, “have showed interesting powers of imagination. I, for one, would never have considered stabbing one’s whole body with a dull spoon as a remarkable torture. But they recorded his screams, and judging from them, it must be quite an experience.”

    Elizabeth didn’t even try to hide her panic. She was tired, exhausted, drained; she didn’t want to fight any longer; she couldn’t see any point in it. Even if he pulled out a gun at that moment and threatened to shoot her, she doubted that she would even attempt to flee.

    “What do you want from me?”

    “I want what belongs to me. I want what you found at Meryton, Elizabeth.”

    “I found nothing.” She didn’t say it to be believed; she just considered that she had the duty to show some resistance.

    “Oh, c’mon sweetheart. You ran like crazy to Meryton and then you left the buildings as if you had seen a ghost.” He spoke in such a superior air, as if he were some kind of god that knew everyone’s actions and all the motives for them. She wanted to beat him, just to see an expression of pain on his face; to make sure that he was human too, to destroy his arrogance; but then, she realized he was right in thinking of himself as a god, or rather a devil: he knew everything about everyone and she began to fear that nothing could save her from his clutches. A new wave of fear crushed her, but it took her exhaustion away. Adrenaline filled her veins once more. She could defend herself; she would fight for her life. And she would definitely live just in order to give a punch to that fool who played shamelessly with so many lives. A punch that would set him bleeding. Yes, blood and pain… She tried to concentrate on what he was saying: He was speaking in a low voice, rather to himself than to her. “I could never imagine that the Darcys would leave clues behind them. Very brave; and very stupid on their part.”

    Elizabeth barely contained her gasp at the realization. Her hands were trembling, her whole body was shaking, but the thought was there; He did not know what she had found at Meryton. He knew that she had found something important that had greatly upset her, something that contained clues, as he had said. Clues, not proof. He did not know about the forgotten, unreleased issue. This could be her salvation. She only had to gain control over her self; over her brain, over her reactions. But this continued to be a nightmare, in which no part of her obeyed and in which she was facing exactly what she mostly feared and wished to avoid. And those hands of hers would not stop trembling!

    “I see that the mention of your late in-laws has upset you greatly, Elizabeth. And I do not possess so much time to comfort a scared child. Drink some scotch; smack your lovely cheeks, whatever. Just stop looking so terrified. It’s really unbecoming. And irritating.” His fingers had resumed their rhythmic tapping on the table and his eyes were focused on them rather than her.

    “I am not scared, you idiot.” She spat. Somehow, she wanted his attention back to her. She wouldn’t be dealt by him like some annoying insect, because this is how she felt now. Like an insect that could only bite him and cause him momentary discomfort but not really harm him. And the only reason why he didn’t crush her with a simple movement of his hand was because he wouldn’t give himself the trouble.

    “Hardly spirited at all. You’re losing your charms one by one, Elizabeth.” He was still not looking at her.

    “I am not trying to recommend myself to you.”

    “Judging from what happened to Mrs. Darcy, who lost our good opinion, you should be dying to make yourself pleasing to me.” His fingers were moving faster and faster. A bomb before the explosion. Elizabeth’s eyes followed them despite herself. She was hypnotized, completely under his control, at his mercy. Her breathing became faster, her cheeks turned crimson, her legs felt heavy as if they were tired by overexertion, as his recital was reaching its crescendo. Thumb, index…and a sudden stop. She waited for something to happen, she was certain that something would happen when he would stop. Something that would release the tension that was built. But nothing, absolutely nothing occurred. This was a torture; and he was enjoying it.

    “I am not afraid of you!” She cried in despair. “Kill me, Wickham. Kill me now, pull out your gun and just shoot me!” The truth was that she was more afraid than she had ever thought possible. She wanted this to stop. She was praying for this to stop. In any way possible. By a bullet, if necessary, but she wanted the torture to stop.

    He smirked.

    “We, bad guys, are very stereotyped, aren’t we?” He paused for a moment, pretending to think hard: “Well, sometimes, with good reason. My excellent father used to lose his patience rather easily. But you, clueless reporters, suffer from a pathetic lack of imagination.” He smiled in condescension. “Do you think that the worst I can do to you is kill you? Do you really believe that the worst my father did to Anne Darcy was killing her?”

    Elizabeth remained silent.

    “You are sadly mistaken, Miss Bennet. We were almost charitable in killing Anne Darcy painlessly in a road accident. We were not very angry with her then. Actually we spared her a more torturous death planned for her as soon as she returned to Columbia. She had pissed off our providers, not us.” His smile made her sick.

    “So, you expect me to praise your kindness in your dealings with Mrs. Darcy?”

    “Oh, no, Elizabeth. Don’t take the trouble. To own the truth, my father was very cruel with her.” He said it as if he were very proud of it. “But not when he killed her.” He whispered cryptically, leaning to her again and resting his cheek against hers for a moment.

    He wore an expensive aroma and his skin felt soft against hers. In that split second, she remembered William. How different he was, how different he felt. How he was right when Wickham was wrong. How she had learnt to surrender to him, to trust him, to love him and she recalled that she had a duty to resist Wickham and his attempts to intimidate her, to make her feel ashamed of herself. The disgust that Wickham evoked in her in contrast with the precious thought of William reminded her that she had the power to choose the good over the evil; and to fight for it.

    It also gave her an amazing clarity of mind.

    “The worst thing you did to Anne Darcy was taking her away from her children; and making her husband hate her.” she said with a firm voice.

    “Thank God, this conversation might actually take less than an eternity!” He clapped his hands idly, in mock approbation of her understanding.

    “You threatened George Darcy, didn’t you? Did he know everything? Was he working with you in this?” She was delirious; she could not stop talking and asking.

    “We are not here to discuss the Darcys.” He dismissed her passion tiredly.

    “You are trying to frighten me, are you not? You haven’t succeeded yet.”

    Wickham was ready to mock her, but on taking a deep look in her eyes he noticed a rather annoying sparkle in them. A sign of life. He knew he had to kill the life in her eyes to succeed.

    “Very well, Elizabeth, you want to hear about the Darcys? You’ll hear about the Darcys.” His voice had acquired a triumphant arrogance, which betrayed a sadistic pleasure derived from the prospect of what he was about to say. He wanted to shock her, to defeat her with words. This, however, more evil than his previous apathy, seemed at the same time more human; a human flaw. Elizabeth knew how to confront human flaws, or so she thought.

    “He knew, George Darcy always knew, even before she found out. He knew about my father’s mercantile interests and was wise enough to stay away – or even co-operate with us whenever it suited him.”

    “No, this cannot be…” Elizabeth muttered, without even knowing why every fiber in her body was revolted at the thought.

    “Oh yes, it very well can. Do you think that my father was a beginner then? That the school thing was his first project? Do you really believe that the stocks gave him so much power and influence…and money? And are you naïve enough to insist that George Darcy, a man of the world, with so many sources was unaware of these activities?

    “Unlike his daft son, George Darcy was a clever businessman, Miss Bennet. Unlike you, and unlike his stupid wife he knew that conscience and ethics are luxuries. Do you hear me? Luxuries, dwelled upon by idealists like you who mess around! And if you think that you are clever or worthy enough to fight us, you are sadly mistaken. You and your semblances exist only because we let you exist. Because you are good at making the masses believe that yes, fighting the system, the crime, the…corruption,” he smirked, “as you call exists and is effective. You do a wonderful job at blinding them, Elizabeth!”

    “But sometimes we get out of hand, don’t we?” She asked calmly. Now it was her voice that had lost all its emotion. He ignored her, somewhat lost in his feverish speech. Elizabeth was watching his mouth open and close in exaggerated syllables, his muscles convulse, his color raised, his eyes bright with fiery pride. Emotion appeared at last, and it permitted her to have a glimpse of his inner layers. What she saw there didn’t scare her, like the enigma he previously was, but disgusted her; disgusted and saddened her. So much ugliness existed in the world…

    “When George became my godfather, when he gave me his name, the name he didn’t give to his own son, he knew. He knew that the baby would grow and follow my father’s lead, he knew that I would have none of his scruples, none of his reluctance and his hesitation…None of the weaknesses that prevented George Darcy from joining my father in the “Security in schools” program and become really grand. He knew that I would not succumb to the ridiculous romantic notions that held him captive of the shrew he married; the shrew that caused my father’s displeasure; and George Darcy’s downfall.”

    “But you have succumbed to romantic notions, Mr. Wickham. You are in love with yourself.” Elizabeth said sardonically. The fiercer Wickham’s speech was becoming, the more immune to it she felt.

    “I simply care about the only person who will never betray me, Miss Bennet.”

    “I wouldn’t be so certain Mr. Wickham. Love is always danger and risk; you always have to be prepared, independent of who the receiver is.”

    “You are talking nonsense. I…” He was irritated that she refused to understand.

    “You love yourself. I suppose it could be understandable, given the psychotic brain you possess. But love, Mr. Wickham can bring disappointment; and disgust. And believe me, it is far better to feel these things towards another than towards yourself.”

    He laughed. Seconds passed, one by one, while his face convulsed as he could not stop, and she merely looked at him, without betraying any feeling; or more accurately, without experiencing any feeling.

    “No, Miss Bennet, the worst is to see your dear wife, with whom you are stupidly infatuated, to whom you have offered everything – everything – to whom you have revealed all your secrets, betray you.” He winked at her, but she didn’t need the hint to realize that they were talking about William’s parents again. She blinked quickly and then cursed her weakness.

    “Oh, yes, where do you think that Anne Darcy found all these clues to nearly threaten us? Do you think that any of our men would betray us? No, Miss Bennet, no one is as stupid as that! Only an idiot husband would do that, would open his heart to his wife to ease his conscience… Ha! Yes, as if the harpy could ever ease his conscience. The notion of conscience is a delusion for cowards, Elizabeth. A delusion that his loving wife used to crush him, to make him a ridiculous miniature of the man he could be. She tried to publish, Miss Bennet, she actually tried to publish the information… To make known to public what had been her husband’s words of agony, his tumult, his despair – a despair that her own uprightness had given birth to! Now, Miss Bennet, you surely think that I am not in a position to judge people, but what do you say? She was supposed to love the man, and she tried to tread on him as if he were an insect. Do you still admire her? I’d be thrilled to hear your opinion.”

    Elizabeth’s mouth remained decidedly shut. Her brain almost refused to register all this awful information, as for analyzing it – it was simply out of the question.

    “And he was so pathetic that he would been have resigned to his fate; go to jail and try to drag my father along with him… Lose everything.” He paused. His wicked smile disappeared for a moment, replaced by a harshness that made him look like a maniac. Then, struck by a sudden idea, his mouth opened for a moment, and then resumed his previous wicked smile.

    “Actually,” he said in a much lower and calmer voice than before, “your Mr. Darcy should eternally be licking our feet. Everything he has is Pemberley…My father saved Pemberley, Elizabeth.” He stated. “My father stopped her from exposing everything to the hungry mass; giving them something to devour – to satisfy their appetite, while someone would continue our work.”

    “It’s not working.” She interrupted him in the middle.

    “I beg your pardon?” He tried to hide his surprise, but Elizabeth noticed the shadow that passed momentarily over his eyes; she was pleased.

    “Your speech, Mr. Wickham. The ‘whatever we stupid good people do, bad people will win, because you are more powerful and more clever, standing behind and supporting everyone and everything….without you the world can neither exist or function’ speech. It’s not working. I have heard it before… In stupid movies actually. Shall we take it to a more personal level?”

    “Personal?”

    “Yeah, personal… Let’s talk about your trepidation to lose everything that makes you talk nonsense Mr. Wickham.”

    “You want personal? Fine, you’ll have it!” He spat in anger but then his face turned soft again. His index finger grazed her cheek. “I tried to protect you, Elizabeth. But you wouldn’t listen to reason.” Elizabeth thought that this resembled stupid movies again: this time with Wickham acting monstrously the part of a serial killer.

    “Personal, huh? My father sent a very personal note to George Darcy. Warning him that he would lose all personal life if he did not make up for his unforgivable mistake. I may prefer more refined techniques, Miss Bennet, but believe me, when my father said that he would kill both Darcy children, he meant it. He had the power to do it without paying any price.” Wickham spoke slowly, distinctly, as if every word had to be overly-accentuated so that it would never fade. Elizabeth still tried not to betray any feelings, but now a flood of them invaded her, crushed her, broke her in thousands of pieces. She stopped breathing; she could not bring herself to breathe without thinking; she had to find each muscle, each part of her lungs and make them obey her. Inhaling. Exhaling. She focused on the act.

    “Well, this finally made Mr. Darcy get the hint and try to put limits to his wife’s illusions that she was the goddess of justice. He failed miserably. She tried to go to the police. My father happened on her on her way there. Once or twice in his life he had experienced such rage. And of course, he would be ruthless. I believe that his exact words were: ‘If you ever dare appear in your home again, you will not find your children alive. The only way you will look at your children, from now on, will be either by looking at their pictures or watching their dead bodies. You choose.’” He paused and pretended to be pensive.

    “Hmmmm…that apparently shook Annie at last. You see, she believed in justice; stupidly, blindly bound on the idea…But she was a mother, Elizabeth; and a clever woman. ‘I will kill them even if it is the last thing I will do in this life,’ my father said…As I have told you he was less refined.” Wickham smirked again. “The note she sent to poor George, yes, that was my father’s doing. He made her write that on the spot; so that George would believe she had left him of her own will, because he had let her down. To own the truth, that was not necessary. George Darcy would not go after her even if he had known the truth. He knew how much was at stake. But it was my father’s small revenge to him; for talking. My father made sure that George Darcy would remain miserable, betrayed, and in the dark, for the rest of his life. And so he did. Till his dying moment. Yes, not polished, my father,” he murmured, “but a genius all the same.” An uncanny smile appeared on his face.

    “What do you hope to achieve by telling me all this?” She asked dryly.

    “You asked for it, Elizabeth, remember? I was rather reluctant to comply, but I did it all the same.”

    He was right.

    “What do you want from me, Wickham? I’ve had enough of your games!”

    “I could say that too, but you see, I began to find pleasure in the shocked picture you present, my dear.” He answered smugly.

    “What do you want?” Her eyes were fierce, she was getting deeper and deeper in the nightmare.

    “I want the proof. All of it.”

    “I don’t have any proof. Just indications.”

    “You’re lying.” He said scornfully.

    “Look, there is only this paper.” Elizabeth opened her bag and pulled out a Meryton issue. She handed it to him in complete silence.

    As she watched him perusing it, she wondered if what people called fate existed. How could she have known, years ago, when she had made a habit of keeping old magazine issues in her bags that this would result in her salvation one day? Was it destined to be this way? How she had left the issue where she had found the threatening note and Anne Darcy’s hints in her bag? Why? What had made her to do it? The thought was just…weird. She shivered and waited for his reaction.

    His laugh was hoarse, as if it released some of his tension.

    “And you got through all this just for a note? And Anne Darcy’s declaration that she did not trust Wickhams?” He was almost incredulous, but evidently very pleased with himself.

    She didn’t answer. After all, this was a nightmare. She wasn’t sure if she could keep herself from shouting the truth at him.

    “You thought you could threaten us with such a note? Where everything is insinuated, nothing said? Really, Elizabeth, I had never had a high opinion of your mind, but I thought you less naïve than this!”

    She lowered her eyes, in a desperate attempt to regain the control over her body and mouth.

    “You will not get away with this, Wickham.” She hissed. Why couldn’t she simply keep her mouth shut? “William Darcy can…”

    “No, he can’t. He can’t do anything to me, Elizabeth. You cannot do anything to me. Understood? Whatever happens, you lose and I win.”

    “What are you going to do? Threaten to kill us for the rest of our lives?”

    “I told you before, Elizabeth, but you wouldn’t listen. I do not need to threaten your lives. I have back-ups, Elizabeth. If anything is ever revealed, Pemberley will be destroyed. Losses of millions, loss of creditability, loss of many generations’ labors. Do you think Darcy will forgive you if you will be the means of it?”

    No response.

    “Really, Miss Bennet, did you plan to reveal only what could be used to your advantage? You would have to explain that George Darcy served the other front. You would have to stain the Darcy name – forever. I don’t know how upright your William is, but how can you picture him facing the prospect? Will he still love you when you will be the cause of his name being pronounced in disgust? When his sister will die in shock?”

    No response

    “Really, Elizabeth,” he continued his sadistic monologue, acutely aware of the devastating effect it had on Elizabeth’s composure. Her hands were shaking; she tried to hide it by entwining her fingers nervously, but to no avail. All color had vanished from her face. A small drop of sweat traveled along her brow. “Tell me, has your William no family pride? No pride at all?”

    Silence.

    “I see you get my point,” he said tapping the table lightly and trying to make her look at him. “But in case you are still harboring any doubts about my power to take everything, and I mean everything, from you and from him, let me tell you this. There are papers at Pemberley, well placed, that can be used in a very interesting way. Papers that could persuade anyone that Pemberley’s owners, past and present, knew everything about the drug-dealing. These papers are hidden and being watched over by some loyal friends.” She gasped as she realized where all this was heading.

    “I can extricate myself from this, Elizabeth, even if you go and publish everything. I’ll throw all the blame to my father and deny even suspecting his horrid activities. But this will be my revenge if you stain my father’s name: I will prove that your boy knew and helped in everything; that he was the successor of my father, as well as his… I have placed abundant evidence and many friends in Pemberley, Elizabeth. Do not ever, ever doubt that I am capable of this…” He winked.

    She needed air, there was not enough air anymore; she was suffocated and she wanted to cling to life. Emerge from the nightmare and cling to life. She stood up. Suddenly. Abruptly.

    “I am leaving.”

    He didn’t try to stop her. It was evident that his words had worked their way through her. He regarded her realizing that the light in her eyes was gone; only shadows existed there. Another soul killed by the truth. Killed by me. Drained. Crushed. He smiled inwardly, a warming sense of pride settling into his heart. This was his art; he was very good at it. And Elizabeth Bennet was one of his finest creations – or rather destructions. He watched her as she closed the door behind her, without even turning to look back. A small death. A great miracle.

    Richard was having yet another sleepless night. He tossed and turned, and each time Morpheus flirted with him, Monika’s image appeared and his eyelids shot open. It was sheer torture and he had no idea how to fight against it; he had no idea if he wanted to fight it. He wished to know what he should do. He prayed to go to sleep and wake up and find everything fixed. He begged to be able to have a glimpse of his future. The slightest hope that this unbearable burden would someday disappear or become easier to carry. He wanted…

    His cell phone rang. He looked at the clock. 2:00 a.m? Could anything have happened to Monika? His heart was caught at the thought.

    “Yes?” He answered the phone in a breathless voice.

    “Richard, it’s Monika.” She didn’t sound alright; he had not heard that agitated tone in her voice since the night they had…What the hell was wrong?

    “What happened?” He asked more abruptly than he meant to.

    “There is nothing wrong with me, but rather with…” She paused and he could swear that she was having trouble maintaining a steady voice. “Look, Richard, I need your cousin’s cell number.”

    “My cousin’s?”

    “Yes. Darcy’s.” She answered curtly.

    “What game are you playing?” He couldn’t explain the feeling that was burning in his chest. Anger, rage…Jealousy?

    “Please, Richard, believe me, this is not a game.” Her voice was…pleading? He had never heard her speak like this before. He felt his anger dissipating. All he was aware of was the sudden urge to reach for her and hold her. He tightened the grip of his phone unconsciously. “Trust me, Richard.”

    “Trust you?” He repeated her words, so difficult to absorb, in a broken voice.

    “I’ll call you as soon as I tell him what I have to. It won’t take long. But please, Richard, give it to me. We don’t have much time.” She, who had always been cool and detached, was anxious, almost panicked. Richard gave her the number without further enquiries.

    “Thank you.” Her voice was low, warm. “Gotta hang up now.”

    “Monika.” He sounded soft and tender, as if his words were embracing her, soothing, comforting.

    “Yes?”

    “When you do what you have to do, don’t call me.”

    “Oh.”

    “Come home, Monika.”

    A gasp, a sigh, a sob?

    “I will.”

    Elizabeth opened the door of her apartment and threw the keys on the floor. She kicked the door closed, without even looking back. Her stare was blank, her eyes focused on the void in front of her, hardly blinking. Her brain was empty; her heart was empty; her soul was empty. She felt like a machine rather than a human. She dreaded the moment when she would become human again. For the first time in her life, Elizabeth Bennet preferred to hide from the pain because she was not certain if she could bear it.

    No one was in the house. Probably Paul had finally secured his beloved Teresa’s hand. The thought didn’t fill her with warmth, didn’t even bring the slightest smile on her face. It was better this way.

    She poured herself a glass of wine, tasted it and spat it out immediately. No, she needed something stronger. With unsteady hands she grabbed the tequila bottle and poured some liquid to a glass. It was not flowing as fast as she wanted. She hit the bottle on the bench and broke its upper part. Half the tequila splashed on the floor. She tried to fill the glass, but her hands didn’t quite co-operate. She drank but felt no taste. Her right hand was bleeding. She felt no pain. It was as if her heart was not residing in her body anymore, as if it had decided to watch her pathetic existence from afar. She had no tears.

    She tried to fill the glass again, cursing her inability to control her moves. Without any patience, she brought it to her lips, half empty. Amazed, she found that her mouth was immune to the usual burning of the alcohol. Determined to make at least her tongue sense something, she drank a third and a fourth glass, more filled this time. The bleeding continued, tiny drops fell on the glass. She paid no attention. She could not even feel disgust. Nothing.

    Glass in hand, she stood with her back against the wall and slowly let her body slide down, until she was sitting on the floor, crumbled, her knees tightly pressing against her chest. She looked at her glass. Empty. Her hand searched blindly for the bottle. Her fingers touched something but she had no control over them. She pushed the bottle too strongly; it fell down and broke to pieces.

    She continued watching the void before her, distinguishing no objects, no colors. Everything was a blur, or rather distinct spots that would not unite to form a picture. Minutes passed. She closed her eyes. Opened them again. And there, at the table that stood opposite her, eye level with her, stood a photograph. Their photograph. Scotland.

    She felt a drop, a single drop dampening her cheek. It took her a few moments to realize that it was a tear. Her tear.

    And then, without realizing how or why, she began weeping, uncontrollably, her whole body shaking, her hands crossed, each arm embracing the other. As if she was all alone in this world and no one but herself could offer comfort to her trembling body. Self-pity filled her. She was mourning for her loss, for her life, for what she had become.

    Pity…vulnerability, and the tears continued flowing, blurring her vision. It didn’t matter. There was nothing left to see. There was nothing of importance left. It was as if she saw her happiness, no; her whole life ending. It was as if she was crying for her own death, having the unmistakable sense of the irrevocable. Of something that had ended. Forever.

    “Why?” She shouted, at the top of her voice. All the rage, all the torture, all the despair was in that word. The yelling of the woman that had been exiled from Paradise, that had forsaken happiness, after witnessing exactly what it was. How could she go on?

    William was there, always there, with her, residing in her. Dying with her. “Why to me? Why to us?”

    Blood, sweat and tears, all mingled on her skin and her mouth, leaving a bitter taste. He was in her, but he could not help her. It was a decision she had to make on her own. She was so lonely; so lost. She could picture his dark eyes looking at her sadly. Not anger or fear or bitterness. Just sadness. She could not bear it; she could not bear his sadness. She had to get away from him, to stop thinking of him.

    But his marks were there. On her soul, on every part of her body. His touch was everywhere; she could feel it, burning her skin, but not offering any solace. Not anymore.

    His touch, his love. She remembered the melody of his profession, she recalled the way he had imprinted his love on her skin, on her cheek, by drawing the words with his mouth. It was there.

    She could not go on living with this burden! What would she decide? If she remained silent, violating her sense of duty, her principles, whatever she had ever believed in and fought for, she could never be what she was; the woman that William had loved. She would be a stranger to herself; a stranger to him. She would be lost forever, a living corpse, a wondering shadow; just like Anne Darcy.

    If she betrayed William… She would never forgive herself, even if he forgave her. She could not stand the idea of his pain, his disgrace, the loss of everything, the humiliation… Another death. For both.

    Whatever she chose they were lost. Lost.

    Call him. Talk to him.

    What for? Why leave the decision to him, pass the burden to him? This was the coward’s way out. She had to protect him. She had to decide alone. It was the last thing she could do for him. It was the last thing she would do for him.

    She dug her nail deeply into her cheek, the cheek that had received his mark of love. It slipped down, making the wound deeper, extricating the memory, removing his gift. More blood.

    She screamed.

    Pain.

    William thought that he would dream of her, but instead a sense of foreboding kept him wide awake. He had this paranoid fear for her, for them. He suddenly felt that their relationship was something most precious and fragile; and in danger. His heartbeat could not return to a normal pace. It was as of his own body was preparing him for something that was to occur. When his cell phone rang, his every fiber tensed. Elizabeth? A weak voice whispered in him.

    “Mr. Darcy, there is something you should know.” Monika’s voice was firm, but filled him with apprehension all the same.

    Continued in Next Section

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