Posted on 2008-11-19

"Excuse me, what is that thing?"

The young lady with curly light brown hair looked up suddenly from her cup of coffee and muffin. She saw standing before her a fine giant of a man, almost as tall as her brother, about twenty-five years old, with brown hair that was somewhere between straight and curly and eyes somewhere between brown and green. He was wearing a dark red work suit with a company's logo on the chest and black boots. His shoulders were broad and his hands were pretty big -- again, sort of like her brother's. His face looked like he usually shaved, but he didn't yesterday. His voice was somewhat surprised, and he was looking curiously at the large black bag next to her chair. She could tell from his accent that he wasn't English. He was holding a couple of plates, one full of bacon, sausages, bread, and cheese and another one full of pickles.

"Oh, that's my harp," she said as if people saw them every day. "I'm a music student." Her usual shyness must have evaporated somehow over the summer, because she said in a more astounded tone of voice than his, "And are you eating pickles for breakfast?"

"I'm from Bosnia," he said with a small smile, "I have the right to be strange. Could I -- do you mind if I sit down and eat here?"

"Please, go ahead," she smiled at him too. Heavens, this man was tasty! But that wasn't necessarily reassuring, as she already knew from experience.

The young man set his plates down and started to eat his meal. This place was a classic "stop on the way", the kind of place where people driving through England stopped for a cup of coffee or a meal or maybe, even though they shouldn't, a drink, and then went back onto the motorway to wherever they were going without looking back. "And what made you bring your harp in here?"

Her voice became just a little breathless. "I almost always take it with me when I'm traveling. Sometimes at the places where I stop I just feel like playing. I thought about it but in here... I don't know, the atmosphere didn't seem right this time, so I decided to skip it. A park would be better, but I don't want to go too far out of my way. And what do you do?"

"I'm a lorry driver, delivering construction materials from a factory to a building site up in Lancaster. And then I have to turn around and deliver something else somewhere else. I work for WME, you know," and his voice became a little deeper, as he deliberately imitated a television commercial, "We Move Everything."

A lorry driver! Now what would Aunt Catherine say about that, if she were aware of this conversation? Consorting with your social inferiors, Georgiana Michelle Darcy? How unfit for a young lady of your position, to lower yourself in this manner! Good God, are the shades of Pemberley House to be so polluted? Yes, that was what she would say.

"So you're driving that huge red thing that I parked next to?"

"Right! That's what I've been doing for four years now. When I came here I had to learn to drive on the wrong side of the road to get a job." They both smiled at that.

"I'm from Derbyshire," she said, "My brother lives there, and I do some of the time too. I'm going to visit some friends of our family, the Reynolds, they run a bed-and-breakfast in a village near Cambridge, for a few days and then it's on to London to start autumn term at the conservatory."

"I'm trying to save up some money to study," her table companion said, "I don't want to spend all my life in a lorry. I wanted to go to the university in Sarajevo, but then the war started, so... I really wanted to study engineering."

"From Sarajevo, like Goran Bregovic. And what brought you here?" she asked. She understood what he was talking about, but she didn't want to ask him any embarrassing questions. There was a bit of sadness in both of their eyes after he mentioned Sarajevo. Maybe some of his relatives were dead? She definitely would not make the mistake of asking him whether he was a Serb, a Croat, or a Moslem.

"Refugee status. Otherwise I would have had to join an army, and I didn't want to."

"To take sides, you mean?"

"Right." His expression became more serious; bad memories were clearly intruding on his mind. Georgiana wished she could give him a hug. "It was like there was an earthquake all of a sudden, and the -- what do you call it -- the fault line went right through all of us. And the next day your neighbor was your enemy and you didn't understand why. Awful, really -- it's like the whole country went nuts. Sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

She patted his hand briefly. "Maybe you just needed someone to talk to."

"Maybe you're right." His face softened a little. "I spend hours and hours driving by myself. Maybe it's making me weird."

"No, I think it's the pickles, actually," and both of them burst out laughing.

"Don't make fun of me!" His smile said he didn't mind. "It's a traditional breakfast in my country to eat pickled vegetables. In England, this is the closest I can get. Oh, I should have presented -- sorry, I mean, introduced myself. My name's Srdjan."

"Your name is Surgeon? Like a doctor?" her eyes went wide. "I can't believe it."

"No, it's spelled S-R-D-J-A-N. Only one vowel in there. Srdjan Stanojevic, to be exact. And what is your little name?"

"I'm Georgiana. Georgiana Darcy. You know, Srdjan, I can tell something's bothering you. There's something I was sad about that happened last year. But you do just have to go on. You can't change what's happened, but what comes next can be better. My music is what helps me cope with everything."

"One of these days -- maybe after some years -- I'll hear you play in... what's the name of that grand place in London for concerts? The Albert Hall. Could I see your harp?"

"Sure!" She unzipped the bag carefully and lifted up her harp. "But I don't think this thing and I are going anywhere near the Albert Hall. My teacher, Mrs. Annesley, wants to arrange performances and concerts for me, but I'm not sure I'm ready yet, unless I can play with my eyes closed. Crowds scare me."

"You could close your eyes and think you're in that park." Srdjan said. "It's beautiful. Like you."

Georgiana felt herself melt inside for a few seconds. "Or I could imagine I'm at home and my brother William is listening to me play. And Mrs. Reynolds is baking a cake. She's like a mum to William and me. And Pandora is hopping around the room... "

"Who is Pandora?"

"Oh, she's my pet rabbit," Georgiana smiled at the picture she'd been creating in her imagination. "I call her that because she likes to turn things upside down. She's small, brown, and curious." Or am I describing Elizabeth now? She certainly turned William's life upside down, or maybe I should say right side up. He's a lot less brooding and quiet than he used to be. He was happy when she visited. So where is she now?

"Thank you for letting me sit and talk with you, Georgiana," Srdjan said as he stood up abruptly. "I have to get back on the road so my boss won't yell at me. It was nice to meet you. Have a good trip to your friends -- and make some nice music."

"Wait, I'm going back out too. Let's go together." She also stood up and zipped her harp back into its bag.

"Let me carry that for you," Srdjan offered. She let him -- and there he was, holding her harp, but she felt she could trust him not to steal or break it. He lifted it with one arm, and used the other one to open the door for her. They walked out to where Georgiana's green Volkswagen was parked next to the WME lorry. Georgiana opened the boot of her car and told Srdjan how to place the harp inside. Then she took a small flat object out of the boot and gave it to him.

"What's this?" That was clearly a rhetorical question, since he was holding a CD with Georgiana's name written in cursive and a picture of her, wearing a long, flowing dress and standing next to her harp, on the cover.

"It's a selection of my music. I sell these from my website. This one's free," she said with a smile.

"It's nice, thank you," he said, "but I don't have anything to give you back. Even the lorry isn't mine and I don't think you would want it."

"Don't worry about it," Georgiana said with a small wave of her hand. "You gave me a nice fifteen minutes. That's something."

"Maybe it is." He turned his head slightly and then proceeded to climb into his lorry. "I'll remember you, Georgiana."

"Be safe, Srdjan!" she waved to him as he got his motor started and headed for the motorway.

William and Richard are right, Georgiana thought, there are some nice guys out there. Ones with more on their mind than sex or money, that is. And when the next one who wasn't just passing through came along, she'd be ready for him.

Now if she could just find a way for William to come back to London and propose marriage to Elizabeth...