Chapter 8
Lumberjack? Animal wrangler? Marine biologist? Ski bum. That would do it. Days outside, no schedules, no endless meetings about which numbers don’t match up and why next week’s stock price was going to adversely affect the second quarter’s debt ratings. Darcy leaned back in his chair and looked around the conference table. Would this meeting never end? He knew he had been right to question Robin about Delteon, but even he hadn’t foreseen the upheaval he created by noting a few numbers buried in a paragraph on page 306 of a secondary due-diligence report. He picked up his pen, clenched it, and refocused on Ken Whitley’s blistering rebuttal to Chris Brandon’s presentation.
Half an hour later, Darcy shut the door to his office, rolled his neck and stretched. Helluva way to kick off the new year, he groaned, gazing through the floor-to-ceiling window. The snow was coming down hard. It was a virtual white-out. Lucky Georgie, still in Palm Beach for a few more days.
His stomach rumbled. A glance at his watch elicited another, more heartfelt groan. It was nearly two o’clock. Late for lunch. He was starving and not going anywhere in that storm. Especially all the way uptown to Haven Hospital. Until a few days ago, he hadn’t realized it was over on 77th Avenue, only a few blocks from his apartment. Darcy remembered the building from his childhood, with the animal statues in front. But he hadn’t connected the name and its proximity to his apartment until he had Googled it. He’d hoped to get over there this afternoon on his way home and drop off Elizabeth’s shoe. He knew he could messenger it, but that seemed so businesslike. So like what she would expect of him.
Maybe if he could make it out of here early. Darcy peered up at the sky. Maybe if he left now. But he couldn’t. More meetings. And he was really hungry. Another stomach rumble brought to mind all the leftovers in his refrigerator at home; Mrs. Reynolds’ beef stew sounded good right about now. He leaned over his desk and buzzed his assistant. “Alison, can you please order me soup and a sandwich?”
The door flew open and Charles Bingley bounced in, a giant Panera bag in one hand and an overcoat in the other. “Special delivery!” He paused and took an exaggerated bow. “Darce! It’s a white-out! It’s like Y2K came a decade late! The city is disappearing! It’s amazing.”
Darcy bit back a smile and sat on the edge of his desk. “But you made it through, with baked goods?” His eyes were fixed on the bag and his question held a hopeful edge. My hero.
“Nope. Lunch.” Charles set the bag on the coffee table and hung his coat over a chair. He plopped down on the leather couch and shook his head like a wet dog. A shower of watery, melted snow flew off. “I called you twice and Alison said you were stuck in meetings and likely to bite her head off because you hadn’t been fed.”
His dimples deepening, Charles looked up at his best friend. “Oh, Will, stick your eyes back in your head and sit down. She felt awful that your first day back was so hellish.”
Charles slicked back his wet blond hair. “I was down this way to meet with some guys, but they’re stuck at LaGuardia. So I figured we’d have lunch.” He frowned at Darcy and began unpacking sandwiches and soup containers. “Now, come have a seat, young man, and tell me all about your New Year’s Eve,” he said in a high-pitched voice.
“My god, you still do the worst Mrs. Reynolds impersonation I’ve ever heard.” Darcy took off his jacket, tucked his tie into his shirt, sat down across from Charles and reached for a sandwich. “Napa chicken salad?”
Darcy devoured his sandwich and most of his creamy potato soup before he answered Charles’ query about New Year’s. The details were skimpy and left Charles dissatisfied. “You dropped Liz off and went home? At 10:30? Why didn’t you come back to the party? I mean, did you hear my mix? It was awesome.”
Liz? He calls her Liz?
“You really went home? You didn’t have a secret rendezvous for a midnight kiss?” Charles sighed. “Will, you’re being so damn careful. What am I going to do with you?”
“Stop channeling Mrs. Reynolds. I was tired.” And I am sick of this conversation.
Darcy switched to the topic he knew Charles preferred. “So you and Jane skated yesterday?” He gestured at the window. “Good timing.”
Charles folded up his napkin and leaned back. He took a deep breath. “Darcy, she’s the one. Jane is the one. She is so amazing.” He smiled and rubbed his chin. “I can’t believe I’ve only known her for two months.”
Darcy shook his head. And spent every waking moment with her.
“I mean it, Will,” Charles said. He reached over into the pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a small, robin’s-egg blue bag.
Tiffany’s? Oh my god. This is too soon.
Will covered his shock by brushing the crumbs off his lap.
His blue eyes dancing merrily, Charles started laughing. “You should see your face, Darcy. You’d think I’d pulled a toad out of my pocket.”
“Okay, it’s a Tiffany’s bag. And it’s not for me. Must be Caroline’s birthday.”
Charles pulled a slim box out of the bag. He leaned forward and opened it, showing Will the elegant silver bracelet sporting an ice-skate charm.
Darcy, hiding his sigh of relief, exclaimed, “It’s beautiful. Jane will love it.” He leveled a look at his friend. “It is for Jane, right?”
An ear-to-ear grin split Charles’ face. “Yup. The one and only. Our two-month anniversary is next week. I know you’re going to think I’m nuts, Darce, but I’m gonna marry that girl.”
Wow. Tread lightly, Will thought. “Do I dare ask what you gave her for Christmas?” he ventured.
“A Kate Spade overnight bag and a long weekend at that B&B in Stowe. The one Marty and Thorpe always go on about. We can’t go till March, though. I think I might ask her then.”
Will reached for a bag of chips and ripped it open. He shoved a few chips in his mouth. “Why March?”
“Gotta go to Australia. Didn’t I tell you?” Charles’ face lit up and he started waving his hands. “It’s the Queensland Beer shoot. And there’s an account review on that canned kangaroo-meat company. KangaBurger.” He wrinkled his nose. “But Queensland owns like a dozen other companies, and I really want to score the skincare line.”
Darcy swallowed the last of the chips and reached for a water bottle. “How long will you be gone?”
“Two weeks, at least.” He sighed and furrowed his eyebrows. “It’s going to be so hard to leave Jane.”
“Hence the anniversary present?”
Charles smiled sadly. “Can’t let her forget about me.”
“Does that worry you?”
“No. I think she loves me too,” he answered plaintively. “But she is so beautiful. I mean, that red hair is gorgeous. Guys are always staring at her.” He cleared his throat. “She never notices it, but they do.”
Will looked up from the bag he had folded into a one-inch square. He’d never heard Charles sound so unsure of himself with a woman. He’s so needy. Was Jane not as demonstrative with her feelings?
“Why? Why doesn’t she notice?” he asked.
Charles smiled. “I think she’s used to it so it doesn’t mean anything to her. At least that’s what Liz says. Jane has always been beautiful. Even in her first-grade picture, when she was missing her front teeth.”
He’s like a puppy that fell in a puddle of love mush. Will coughed. “You’ve seen her school pictures? Where are she and Elizabeth from?”
“Outside Philadelphia. Mr. Bennet is a guidance counselor at Meryton High School; their youngest sister is a senior there. Another sister is in grad school. Neurobiology, I think. Their mom runs a gift shop.”
Four girls? Darcy thought. “So, sisters leave the suburbs of Philly and make good in New York?”
“Well, yeah. But Jane says they weren’t always from Philadelphia. Their parents grew up in West Virginia, in coal country. Still some family there.” Charles sighed.
“Coal miners’ daughters?” Darcy was shaking his head, trying to connect the dots between these two smart urban women and their working-class roots in coal mining. Every horrible stereotype he’d ever read or seen flashed through his mind. Blackened faces, overalls, missing teeth, banjos, tar-paper shacks….
“Nah, granddaughters. They have a few great uncles and aunts down there. Jane says their parents left as soon as they got out of high school.” Charles sighed again. “I’m the one from Jersey and Jane’s the one with a Springsteen soundtrack for her life.”
Or Loretta Lynn, mused Darcy. Fifteen years of friendship and he still couldn’t stop rolling his eyes at Charles and his melodramas. But that storytelling was what made him so good in advertising. Darcy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked his friend in the eye.
“Hey, before you strap yourselves on that street machine and roar off down Thunder Road, be sure about how you both feel. Australia is a 22-hour plane flight. You’re going to be ten thousand miles apart for two weeks. Use the time to make sure Jane is the one, Charles,” he urged.
“Says Mr. Romance Expert,” countered Charles.
“Touché,” Darcy replied, smarting just a little. He shrugged his shoulders and sat back. “If you’re still sure in March, then maybe she is the one. But be certain—you’ve been `in love’ a lot.”
Bingley looked unhappy. Then he nodded slowly. “You’re right. Though I wouldn’t say I’ve been `flighty in love.’”
Crap, did I say flighty? Darcy wondered.
Charles looked at Darcy’s raised eyebrows. “Caroline and Louisa told me I was flighty and to take it slow.”
Buzzzz….. “Mr. Darcy?” Alison’s perky voice filled the office. “Your conference call with Chicago is in 10 minutes.”
Lunch with Charles turned out to be the high point of Darcy’s workweek. Two more days of meetings and Skype conferences later, he was facing the prospect of trips to Brussels and Zurich. He scheduled a flight for late the following week, after Georgie was settled in school. He went home again that night to a quiet apartment and its sole houseguest—Elizabeth’s shoe. Tomorrow, he thought to himself. My morning is clear. I’ll go tomorrow.
***
By noon on Friday, the air was still crisp but the skies were clearer than they had been all week. The city had managed to clear most of the streets and sidewalks, and the previous day’s slightly warmer temperatures had melted a few inches off the snow mounds. As Darcy turned onto 77th Avenue and approached Haven Hospital, a memory of walking here with his mother flashed through his mind. He ran his fingers along the edge of the statue of the girl and the cat. “Peanut…” he whispered. I called it Peanut and the dog was Scout. He peered through the snow for the rabbit. Ducky. What an imagination. He smiled, remembering his mother’s gentle laugh.
The snow crested around the statuary. A few chips and scratches, but they looked the same as he remembered from 20 years earlier. One glance at the building itself made it clear that the passage of time had been less kind to Haven. Its white marble was mottled and dirty, some of the façade was missing, and it was in dire need of masonry repair.
Walking up the stairs, he glanced to his left and saw a long, sloping metal ramp. Darcy entered through the arching doors and looked around the vast rotunda. He walked up to a 1970s-era reception desk set in front of a faded mural and asked for directions to the elevators. Eighth floor.
The elevator moved slowly but efficiently and the doors opened to a circular entryway with narrow hallways branching off of it. Darcy stepped forward, then paused, unsure where to go. He felt eyes watching him.
“Hello? Can I help you?”
He turned toward the voice at the desk, where a thin young woman who appeared to be channeling the fashion sense of Amy Winehouse sat staring at him. “You lost?”
He shook his head. “I’m here to see Elizabeth Bennet.” Did she have a title? Crap. “The social worker.”
The brunette at the desk eyed him. “Okay. You have an appointment?”
“No. I’m dropping off something.”
“Oh, you can give it to me, I’ll get it to her.”
He looked at her name tag. “No thank you, Lydia. Could you point out her office to me, please?”
Disappointed, Lydia eyed him suspiciously. “Sure. To your left. Office 844. Wait, what’s your name?”
“Thank you.” Darcy walked away quickly, not liking how Lydia’s heavily made-up eyes seemed to be evaluating him. He turned the corner and saw 844 on a doorplate. Below it was a card: Elizabeth Bennet, LCSW. The door was open. He knocked and stepped inside.
It was empty. As in, Elizabeth was not there. But her presence was everywhere. There were some frames on the wall—diplomas from Penn and Columbia, photos of her with Jane and some other girls. Her sisters? The walls held some museum-store prints: Vermeer’s “Girl with a Pearl Earring,” Edward Hopper’s “Nighthawks,” Andrew Wyeth’s “Christina’s World.”
The office was a tenth the size of his, and though it contained many of the same things, the atmosphere was worlds apart. There was a desk with a laptop, a stack of file folders, and what looked like blueprints sitting on it. A chair and a filing cabinet, a well-worn leather couch, and a scarred coffee table. He glanced at an easel holding a big posterboard and names in a grid, and a scratched-up bookcase filled with brainteaser puzzles, books and games. He bent down and saw everything from Thomas Merton to Dr. Seuss, as well as Sorry!, Mousetrap and Jenga. Ha, Robin’s favorite.
As soon as he finished his inventory of Elizabeth’s office, Darcy felt like an intruder. He took a step back and turned to the doorway. He walked out into the hall and leaned against the wall. After a few minutes during which he checked his watch, and started considering whether to leave her brown-bagged shoe and a note with his phone number, Darcy heard Elizabeth’s laughter. There were other voices, all speaking in hushed urgent tones. He turned and watched, quietly, as Elizabeth, surrounded by half a dozen teenagers, slowly emerged from a small meeting room across the hall. Two boys were chafing at some directive from Elizabeth but she was gently firm. “Yes, you can.”
As the kids shuffled off, one girl turned to Elizabeth and hugged her. “See you Monday, Ms. Bennet. Have a good weekend.”
Elizabeth smiled and waved her off. He could see her face now. She looked tired. Her hair was pulled back and she was wearing glasses. He stepped forward, out of the shadows and took a deep breath.
“Elizabeth?”
She looked up, surprised and, he thought, wary. “Darcy?”
He spoke quickly, gesturing to his briefcase. “You left something, your, um, shoe, in my car the other night. I’ve been trying to get it to you all week, but it’s been a bit crazy.”
She nodded and smiled. “Snowy too. Mr. Delegator- in-Chief came all the way here?”
“Turns out `all the way’ is only eight blocks from my apartment.”
She was nodding as he spoke and her eyes glittered behind the tortoiseshell frames.
“I used to walk by here with my mother, years ago, but I’d forgotten.”
She just stood there and didn’t say anything. “Here,” he reached into his briefcase and pulled out the bag. “Here’s your shoe.”
She reached in and pulled it out. “Thank you. I hadn’t realized it was gone. I’m lucky I was in your car when it fell out of my bag. Old thing has a crappy zipper.”
She led him into her office, where they both fell quiet. “I didn’t know you wore glasses,” he said.
Her hand flew up to her face. She blushed and pulled them off. He felt the loss immediately.
“Oh these,” she said, laughing lightly. “They help me focus.”
Will tilted his head. “Smart glasses? From Saks?”
“Uh, no. The bodega around the corner from my place.” She looked at him quizzically and smiled when he explained Georgie’s glasses and her theories on studying.
It fell quiet again. Darcy could hear himself breathing and the tap-tap of footsteps walking down the hallway. He looked at Elizabeth’s feet, noticing that she was wearing black boots with her skirt and sweater. He cleared his throat and looked up quickly. His heart was thudding in his chest. He never did this. He hadn’t wanted to ask out a woman since the debacle with Judith. I have to do this.
“I feel awful that I kept your shoe hostage all week. May I make it up to you and buy you lunch?” He watched and waited as she processed his hurried request. She blinked four or five times and didn’t answer.
“Er, Elizabeth?” He swallowed. He’d leapt before he looked. He was an idiot.
“It’s—you don’t need to buy me lunch, Will. I owe you. For the ride, and for the return of my glass slipper.” She smiled at him but her eyes were serious. “I only have a little over an hour till my next group arrives. Do you mind the coffeeshop around the corner? It’s no Gramercy Tavern or Le Cirque, but they have great soup.”
“That’d be great, if you’re sure,” he replied eagerly.
Elizabeth took her coat off the door hook. She closed and locked her office door, prompting him to turn red and apologize for wandering in earlier. She assured him she wasn’t worried about a man in a cashmere coat stealing prescription pads or her laptop. “Seriously, I know you’re a rich banker, but how big is your yearly cashmere budget?”
They walked to the elevator under the watchful eyes of Lydia. Darcy glanced at Elizabeth and pushed the down button. “Pretty big if you include the dry cleaning bills from sloshing and spillage,” he said.
She smirked and they fell silent as they stepped into the empty elevator. “So while I was invading your privacy back there….” he began.
“Yes, Mr. Nosy Pants?”
Darcy coughed back a laugh. “I noticed you had games in your office.”
"Yes, sometimes games are good prompts for conversation. We have a closetful of them. Sorry! can help a kid say out loud what they’re sorry for. Mousetrap is all about frustration and cooperation, and Jenga is a great game for learning cooperation or letting out anger.”
Darcy, watching the elevator floor lights blink on and off, grinned. “Yes, I have some familiarity with the emotions that Jenga can elicit.”
“Georgie? No way.”
“No, my cousin. Georgie was a vicious competitor at Twister back when we both young and limber but thank god puberty cured her of wanting to play that with her big brother.” He suddenly realized how awkward that sounded. “I’ve been told big brothers are terribly embarrassing.”
They stepped out of the elevator and walked toward the door. “I’m sure that’s true, but I have a lot of experience with embarrassing little sisters.”
She led him to Mickey’s, a classic New York diner. He followed her menu suggestion, and while they awaited chili and grilled cheese, Darcy asked about the prints in her office.
“Art evokes emotion, and pulls out otherwise suppressed feelings,” Elizabeth replied. She reached behind her head and pulled out her barrette. “I’ve found teenagers relate well to those three in particular. If they don’t I have some art books we look at.”
Darcy stared, transfixed, at her hair as it cascaded around her shoulders. It’s like wavy dark chocolate. “Why are you a social worker?”
“Why are you a banker?” she countered.
He sat back and ran his index finger back and forth on the edge of the linoleum tabletop. “Because my father wanted me to follow in his footsteps and carry on the family name. Because it’s the Darcy legacy. Because I was always really good with numbers.”
Her eyes rose from Darcy’s hand to his eyes. “And you like it? Or did you just want to do as he did?”
Darcy shrugged. “It’s important work. We’re able to do some good things with our lending programs and foundation work.”
She nodded. “And you came out unscathed in `08, didn’t you?”
“Everybody took a hit in the crash, but we’re a lot more conservative than most, so we were okay.” He paused and ventured ahead. “Elizabeth, do you have a thing about bankers?
She crinkled her nose and smiled. “For them or about them?”
The memory of her yelling at him and his beer-soaked sweater flashed through his head. He closed his eyes briefly to refocus. “I mean, some people are just anti-big business. I saw your diploma. You have a finance degree from Penn?”
Her eyes flared but her words were cut off when their waitress arrived with their order. “Thanks, Juanita,” Elizabeth said.
They ate quietly. “The chili is very good,” he commented.
She put down her spoon and looked at him. “I tried the world of high finance. It wasn’t for me. Power, ego and money are a scary mix. Or maybe it was just too much Polo and cashmere.”
Darcy put his hand to his heart. “You wound me.”
“Sorry.” She looked like she meant it. “How’s your grilled cheese? Amazing?”
He nodded, his mouth full of creamy cheese and crispy bread.
“Great—now that I’ve got you where I want you, it’s my turn to ask questions.” Darcy’s deer-in-the- headlights expression prompted a laugh from Elizabeth. “Why are you a banker when your apartment is full of design books and handcrafted chairs?”
He swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “They, the books, were my mother’s. She was an architect.”
“Ah, so you’ve got left-brain and right-brain talents. Your mother is the reason that you like architecture?”
He nodded and reached for his glass of water. “She loved art. We spent a lot of time at the museums, and looking at buildings, and drawing together.” He took a drink. “She worked at MOMA before I was born.”
“But you followed in your father’s footsteps instead.”
He shrugged. “I maintain an interest. I read Architectural Digest.”
“You, Mr. Darcy, are a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.”*
“And you, Ms. Bennet, have read far too many history books. I bet you’ve never lost a game of Trivial Pursuit.”
“Once. Junior year at Penn. My opponent cheated. Strip Trivia Pursuit will do that to a guy.” She paused and watched Darcy’s expression as he processed this information, mid-swallow, and started choking.
Is she serious?
“Are you okay?”
He nodded and took a long drink. “Never met girls like you when I was at school.”
“Well, old man, maybe you spent too much time with the boys in your college drinking club. Was it Harvard or Yale?” She laughed. “Is that where you had your first experience with wet cashmere?”
Old man? She was teasing him on so many levels his head was spinning. He was never going to wear cashmere around her again.
“Cleaned your plate?” She glanced at his dishes and then at her watch. “We need to go. Sorry.”
Darcy signaled Juanita only to discover Elizabeth had already paid the bill.
“You got the jump on me,” he protested. “Please let me pay for lunch. I showed up unexpectedly and pulled you outside.”
“I like snow and a good walk. Don’t worry about it.” Elizabeth buttoned up her coat. “Besides, you bought me coffee. You never explained why you were at City Hall.”
Darcy bit his lip, slipped ten dollars under his soup bowl and followed Elizabeth to the door. As they walked outside, he explained that he was checking on the installation of ramps at Georgie’s school. “After she was hurt, I realized--the school realized--that even with all the ADA compliance they’d done, a girl in a wheelchair could not attend school there. So I was checking the plans and co-signing permit applications.”
“You were?” She looked at him as though considering him anew.
Yeah, I’m overprotective, he thought. A helicopter parent, brother, whatever.
“You work in a hospital,” he added quickly, “so you’re already outfitted for any circumstance.”
“But Haven needs a lot more than that, as you see. A lot of work.” Elizabeth gazed ahead at the building they were nearing.
“Is that why you were visiting the city planning department?” he asked.
“Sorta. I’m doing my part to save the building from the city.”
Talk about an enigma, Darcy thought. “So you love this building and art and history, earned a finance degree and became a social worker?”
“Life happens. That’s Georgie’s favorite game, right?”
“Fine, keep it secret. I just wondered why the transition,” he said. God, she was frustrating.
“Let’s just say that I realized that, despite my need to pay off school loans, making rich guys even richer was not what I wanted to do with my life.”
As they walked up the steps to Haven, he watched Elizabeth tap the heads of the statues. He felt the need to share with her his earlier revelation and told her the names he’d given the animals when his mother had brought him over to see the building.
“You know, I bet you’re not the only one,” she said softly. “Your mother sounds so interesting. She worked at MOMA?”
“She finished her degree and had her own firm for a few years. It shut down after she died.”
Elizabeth stared at his coat button. “You were young when she…”
“Twelve.”
She nodded. “Hence the difficulty of taking over that family firm.”
You could say that, Will thought. Dad made sure that was never a possibility.
“Oh, there’s a guy here whose father used to work with one of your parents. Do you know a George Wickham?”
“Never heard of him.”
They stood looking at each for a moment. A few bundled-up pedestrians hurried by below them on the sidewalk. Snowflakes started falling and they both swiped at their faces. Elizabeth put her hand on his arm.
“Thanks for returning my shoe, Will.” She looked up at the snowflakes swirling down. “Though it doesn’t look like I’ll be needing it soon.” She strode away and through the revolving doors.
~~*~~*~~
It had been an endless week and there was still an entire afternoon to endure until the official start of the weekend. Lydia was bored, intrigued by the handsome guy who had left with Lizzy Bennet, and annoyed that George was off working, or chatting up Mary King, or doing something that wasn’t entertaining her.
The bits of conversation she’d overheard between Lizzy and the guy weren’t all that interesting. They were too freaked out by each other to notice her standing just around the corner. He was a whole lot more awkward and dorky than his high cheekbones and gorgeous black Brioni overcoat would imply. In fact, Lizzy had seemed to be as weirded out by him as Lydia was, making it way too easy to spy on them. Lizzy was totally embarrassed when he’d handed her a brown paper bag and she’d pulled out the baddest, sexiest red stiletto Lydia had ever seen. Too bad George had missed it. She looked at her phone. He’d told her not to text him; Mary checked his phone sometimes.
Hmm. Lydia's thumbs began flying. Bring up Nov. 25 files. Checking scrips. Hopefully, he’d remember that Nov. 25 was Thanksgiving, the first time they’d hooked up. Seemed like a smart code.
They were such a clever pair. George figured it out right away and came up from the sixth floor with an empty file folder. She filled him in quickly on what she’d seen.
“You’re sure she called him Darcy?” he asked. “I think we’ve got a winner.” He leered at her and slowly ran a finger down her arm. “Later, my magnificent girl? I’ve got to make a call.”
Lumberjack? Animal wrangler? Marine biologist? Ski bum. That would do it. Days outside, no schedules, no endless meetings about which numbers don’t match up and why next week’s stock price was going to adversely affect the second quarter’s debt ratings. Darcy leaned back in his chair and looked around the conference table. Would this meeting never end? He knew he had been right to question Robin about Delteon, but even he hadn’t foreseen the upheaval he created by noting a few numbers buried in a paragraph on page 306 of a secondary due-diligence report. He picked up his pen, clenched it, and refocused on Ken Whitley’s blistering rebuttal to Chris Brandon’s presentation.
Half an hour later, Darcy shut the door to his office, rolled his neck and stretched. Helluva way to kick off the new year, he groaned, gazing through the floor-to-ceiling window. The snow was coming down hard. It was a virtual white-out. Lucky Georgie, still in Palm Beach for a few more days.
His stomach rumbled. A glance at his watch elicited another, more heartfelt groan. It was nearly two o’clock. Late for lunch. He was starving and not going anywhere in that storm. Especially all the way uptown to Haven Hospital. Until a few days ago, he hadn’t realized it was over on 77th Avenue, only a few blocks from his apartment. Darcy remembered the building from his childhood, with the animal statues in front. But he hadn’t connected the name and its proximity to his apartment until he had Googled it. He’d hoped to get over there this afternoon on his way home and drop off Elizabeth’s shoe. He knew he could messenger it, but that seemed so businesslike. So like what she would expect of him.
Maybe if he could make it out of here early. Darcy peered up at the sky. Maybe if he left now. But he couldn’t. More meetings. And he was really hungry. Another stomach rumble brought to mind all the leftovers in his refrigerator at home; Mrs. Reynolds’ beef stew sounded good right about now. He leaned over his desk and buzzed his assistant. “Alison, can you please order me soup and a sandwich?”
The door flew open and Charles Bingley bounced in, a giant Panera bag in one hand and an overcoat in the other. “Special delivery!” He paused and took an exaggerated bow. “Darce! It’s a white-out! It’s like Y2K came a decade late! The city is disappearing! It’s amazing.”
Darcy bit back a smile and sat on the edge of his desk. “But you made it through, with baked goods?” His eyes were fixed on the bag and his question held a hopeful edge. My hero.
“Nope. Lunch.” Charles set the bag on the coffee table and hung his coat over a chair. He plopped down on the leather couch and shook his head like a wet dog. A shower of watery, melted snow flew off. “I called you twice and Alison said you were stuck in meetings and likely to bite her head off because you hadn’t been fed.”
His dimples deepening, Charles looked up at his best friend. “Oh, Will, stick your eyes back in your head and sit down. She felt awful that your first day back was so hellish.”
Charles slicked back his wet blond hair. “I was down this way to meet with some guys, but they’re stuck at LaGuardia. So I figured we’d have lunch.” He frowned at Darcy and began unpacking sandwiches and soup containers. “Now, come have a seat, young man, and tell me all about your New Year’s Eve,” he said in a high-pitched voice.
“My god, you still do the worst Mrs. Reynolds impersonation I’ve ever heard.” Darcy took off his jacket, tucked his tie into his shirt, sat down across from Charles and reached for a sandwich. “Napa chicken salad?”
Darcy devoured his sandwich and most of his creamy potato soup before he answered Charles’ query about New Year’s. The details were skimpy and left Charles dissatisfied. “You dropped Liz off and went home? At 10:30? Why didn’t you come back to the party? I mean, did you hear my mix? It was awesome.”
Liz? He calls her Liz?
“You really went home? You didn’t have a secret rendezvous for a midnight kiss?” Charles sighed. “Will, you’re being so damn careful. What am I going to do with you?”
“Stop channeling Mrs. Reynolds. I was tired.” And I am sick of this conversation.
Darcy switched to the topic he knew Charles preferred. “So you and Jane skated yesterday?” He gestured at the window. “Good timing.”
Charles folded up his napkin and leaned back. He took a deep breath. “Darcy, she’s the one. Jane is the one. She is so amazing.” He smiled and rubbed his chin. “I can’t believe I’ve only known her for two months.”
Darcy shook his head. And spent every waking moment with her.
“I mean it, Will,” Charles said. He reached over into the pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a small, robin’s-egg blue bag.
Tiffany’s? Oh my god. This is too soon.
Will covered his shock by brushing the crumbs off his lap.
His blue eyes dancing merrily, Charles started laughing. “You should see your face, Darcy. You’d think I’d pulled a toad out of my pocket.”
“Okay, it’s a Tiffany’s bag. And it’s not for me. Must be Caroline’s birthday.”
Charles pulled a slim box out of the bag. He leaned forward and opened it, showing Will the elegant silver bracelet sporting an ice-skate charm.
Darcy, hiding his sigh of relief, exclaimed, “It’s beautiful. Jane will love it.” He leveled a look at his friend. “It is for Jane, right?”
An ear-to-ear grin split Charles’ face. “Yup. The one and only. Our two-month anniversary is next week. I know you’re going to think I’m nuts, Darce, but I’m gonna marry that girl.”
Wow. Tread lightly, Will thought. “Do I dare ask what you gave her for Christmas?” he ventured.
“A Kate Spade overnight bag and a long weekend at that B&B in Stowe. The one Marty and Thorpe always go on about. We can’t go till March, though. I think I might ask her then.”
Will reached for a bag of chips and ripped it open. He shoved a few chips in his mouth. “Why March?”
“Gotta go to Australia. Didn’t I tell you?” Charles’ face lit up and he started waving his hands. “It’s the Queensland Beer shoot. And there’s an account review on that canned kangaroo-meat company. KangaBurger.” He wrinkled his nose. “But Queensland owns like a dozen other companies, and I really want to score the skincare line.”
Darcy swallowed the last of the chips and reached for a water bottle. “How long will you be gone?”
“Two weeks, at least.” He sighed and furrowed his eyebrows. “It’s going to be so hard to leave Jane.”
“Hence the anniversary present?”
Charles smiled sadly. “Can’t let her forget about me.”
“Does that worry you?”
“No. I think she loves me too,” he answered plaintively. “But she is so beautiful. I mean, that red hair is gorgeous. Guys are always staring at her.” He cleared his throat. “She never notices it, but they do.”
Will looked up from the bag he had folded into a one-inch square. He’d never heard Charles sound so unsure of himself with a woman. He’s so needy. Was Jane not as demonstrative with her feelings?
“Why? Why doesn’t she notice?” he asked.
Charles smiled. “I think she’s used to it so it doesn’t mean anything to her. At least that’s what Liz says. Jane has always been beautiful. Even in her first-grade picture, when she was missing her front teeth.”
He’s like a puppy that fell in a puddle of love mush. Will coughed. “You’ve seen her school pictures? Where are she and Elizabeth from?”
“Outside Philadelphia. Mr. Bennet is a guidance counselor at Meryton High School; their youngest sister is a senior there. Another sister is in grad school. Neurobiology, I think. Their mom runs a gift shop.”
Four girls? Darcy thought. “So, sisters leave the suburbs of Philly and make good in New York?”
“Well, yeah. But Jane says they weren’t always from Philadelphia. Their parents grew up in West Virginia, in coal country. Still some family there.” Charles sighed.
“Coal miners’ daughters?” Darcy was shaking his head, trying to connect the dots between these two smart urban women and their working-class roots in coal mining. Every horrible stereotype he’d ever read or seen flashed through his mind. Blackened faces, overalls, missing teeth, banjos, tar-paper shacks….
“Nah, granddaughters. They have a few great uncles and aunts down there. Jane says their parents left as soon as they got out of high school.” Charles sighed again. “I’m the one from Jersey and Jane’s the one with a Springsteen soundtrack for her life.”
Or Loretta Lynn, mused Darcy. Fifteen years of friendship and he still couldn’t stop rolling his eyes at Charles and his melodramas. But that storytelling was what made him so good in advertising. Darcy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked his friend in the eye.
“Hey, before you strap yourselves on that street machine and roar off down Thunder Road, be sure about how you both feel. Australia is a 22-hour plane flight. You’re going to be ten thousand miles apart for two weeks. Use the time to make sure Jane is the one, Charles,” he urged.
“Says Mr. Romance Expert,” countered Charles.
“Touché,” Darcy replied, smarting just a little. He shrugged his shoulders and sat back. “If you’re still sure in March, then maybe she is the one. But be certain—you’ve been `in love’ a lot.”
Bingley looked unhappy. Then he nodded slowly. “You’re right. Though I wouldn’t say I’ve been `flighty in love.’”
Crap, did I say flighty? Darcy wondered.
Charles looked at Darcy’s raised eyebrows. “Caroline and Louisa told me I was flighty and to take it slow.”
Buzzzz….. “Mr. Darcy?” Alison’s perky voice filled the office. “Your conference call with Chicago is in 10 minutes.”
Lunch with Charles turned out to be the high point of Darcy’s workweek. Two more days of meetings and Skype conferences later, he was facing the prospect of trips to Brussels and Zurich. He scheduled a flight for late the following week, after Georgie was settled in school. He went home again that night to a quiet apartment and its sole houseguest—Elizabeth’s shoe. Tomorrow, he thought to himself. My morning is clear. I’ll go tomorrow.
***
By noon on Friday, the air was still crisp but the skies were clearer than they had been all week. The city had managed to clear most of the streets and sidewalks, and the previous day’s slightly warmer temperatures had melted a few inches off the snow mounds. As Darcy turned onto 77th Avenue and approached Haven Hospital, a memory of walking here with his mother flashed through his mind. He ran his fingers along the edge of the statue of the girl and the cat. “Peanut…” he whispered. I called it Peanut and the dog was Scout. He peered through the snow for the rabbit. Ducky. What an imagination. He smiled, remembering his mother’s gentle laugh.
The snow crested around the statuary. A few chips and scratches, but they looked the same as he remembered from 20 years earlier. One glance at the building itself made it clear that the passage of time had been less kind to Haven. Its white marble was mottled and dirty, some of the façade was missing, and it was in dire need of masonry repair.
Walking up the stairs, he glanced to his left and saw a long, sloping metal ramp. Darcy entered through the arching doors and looked around the vast rotunda. He walked up to a 1970s-era reception desk set in front of a faded mural and asked for directions to the elevators. Eighth floor.
The elevator moved slowly but efficiently and the doors opened to a circular entryway with narrow hallways branching off of it. Darcy stepped forward, then paused, unsure where to go. He felt eyes watching him.
“Hello? Can I help you?”
He turned toward the voice at the desk, where a thin young woman who appeared to be channeling the fashion sense of Amy Winehouse sat staring at him. “You lost?”
He shook his head. “I’m here to see Elizabeth Bennet.” Did she have a title? Crap. “The social worker.”
The brunette at the desk eyed him. “Okay. You have an appointment?”
“No. I’m dropping off something.”
“Oh, you can give it to me, I’ll get it to her.”
He looked at her name tag. “No thank you, Lydia. Could you point out her office to me, please?”
Disappointed, Lydia eyed him suspiciously. “Sure. To your left. Office 844. Wait, what’s your name?”
“Thank you.” Darcy walked away quickly, not liking how Lydia’s heavily made-up eyes seemed to be evaluating him. He turned the corner and saw 844 on a doorplate. Below it was a card: Elizabeth Bennet, LCSW. The door was open. He knocked and stepped inside.
It was empty. As in, Elizabeth was not there. But her presence was everywhere. There were some frames on the wall—diplomas from Penn and Columbia, photos of her with Jane and some other girls. Her sisters? The walls held some museum-store prints: Vermeer’s “Girl with a Pearl Earring,” Edward Hopper’s “Nighthawks,” Andrew Wyeth’s “Christina’s World.”
The office was a tenth the size of his, and though it contained many of the same things, the atmosphere was worlds apart. There was a desk with a laptop, a stack of file folders, and what looked like blueprints sitting on it. A chair and a filing cabinet, a well-worn leather couch, and a scarred coffee table. He glanced at an easel holding a big posterboard and names in a grid, and a scratched-up bookcase filled with brainteaser puzzles, books and games. He bent down and saw everything from Thomas Merton to Dr. Seuss, as well as Sorry!, Mousetrap and Jenga. Ha, Robin’s favorite.
As soon as he finished his inventory of Elizabeth’s office, Darcy felt like an intruder. He took a step back and turned to the doorway. He walked out into the hall and leaned against the wall. After a few minutes during which he checked his watch, and started considering whether to leave her brown-bagged shoe and a note with his phone number, Darcy heard Elizabeth’s laughter. There were other voices, all speaking in hushed urgent tones. He turned and watched, quietly, as Elizabeth, surrounded by half a dozen teenagers, slowly emerged from a small meeting room across the hall. Two boys were chafing at some directive from Elizabeth but she was gently firm. “Yes, you can.”
As the kids shuffled off, one girl turned to Elizabeth and hugged her. “See you Monday, Ms. Bennet. Have a good weekend.”
Elizabeth smiled and waved her off. He could see her face now. She looked tired. Her hair was pulled back and she was wearing glasses. He stepped forward, out of the shadows and took a deep breath.
“Elizabeth?”
She looked up, surprised and, he thought, wary. “Darcy?”
He spoke quickly, gesturing to his briefcase. “You left something, your, um, shoe, in my car the other night. I’ve been trying to get it to you all week, but it’s been a bit crazy.”
She nodded and smiled. “Snowy too. Mr. Delegator- in-Chief came all the way here?”
“Turns out `all the way’ is only eight blocks from my apartment.”
She was nodding as he spoke and her eyes glittered behind the tortoiseshell frames.
“I used to walk by here with my mother, years ago, but I’d forgotten.”
She just stood there and didn’t say anything. “Here,” he reached into his briefcase and pulled out the bag. “Here’s your shoe.”
She reached in and pulled it out. “Thank you. I hadn’t realized it was gone. I’m lucky I was in your car when it fell out of my bag. Old thing has a crappy zipper.”
She led him into her office, where they both fell quiet. “I didn’t know you wore glasses,” he said.
Her hand flew up to her face. She blushed and pulled them off. He felt the loss immediately.
“Oh these,” she said, laughing lightly. “They help me focus.”
Will tilted his head. “Smart glasses? From Saks?”
“Uh, no. The bodega around the corner from my place.” She looked at him quizzically and smiled when he explained Georgie’s glasses and her theories on studying.
It fell quiet again. Darcy could hear himself breathing and the tap-tap of footsteps walking down the hallway. He looked at Elizabeth’s feet, noticing that she was wearing black boots with her skirt and sweater. He cleared his throat and looked up quickly. His heart was thudding in his chest. He never did this. He hadn’t wanted to ask out a woman since the debacle with Judith. I have to do this.
“I feel awful that I kept your shoe hostage all week. May I make it up to you and buy you lunch?” He watched and waited as she processed his hurried request. She blinked four or five times and didn’t answer.
“Er, Elizabeth?” He swallowed. He’d leapt before he looked. He was an idiot.
“It’s—you don’t need to buy me lunch, Will. I owe you. For the ride, and for the return of my glass slipper.” She smiled at him but her eyes were serious. “I only have a little over an hour till my next group arrives. Do you mind the coffeeshop around the corner? It’s no Gramercy Tavern or Le Cirque, but they have great soup.”
“That’d be great, if you’re sure,” he replied eagerly.
Elizabeth took her coat off the door hook. She closed and locked her office door, prompting him to turn red and apologize for wandering in earlier. She assured him she wasn’t worried about a man in a cashmere coat stealing prescription pads or her laptop. “Seriously, I know you’re a rich banker, but how big is your yearly cashmere budget?”
They walked to the elevator under the watchful eyes of Lydia. Darcy glanced at Elizabeth and pushed the down button. “Pretty big if you include the dry cleaning bills from sloshing and spillage,” he said.
She smirked and they fell silent as they stepped into the empty elevator. “So while I was invading your privacy back there….” he began.
“Yes, Mr. Nosy Pants?”
Darcy coughed back a laugh. “I noticed you had games in your office.”
"Yes, sometimes games are good prompts for conversation. We have a closetful of them. Sorry! can help a kid say out loud what they’re sorry for. Mousetrap is all about frustration and cooperation, and Jenga is a great game for learning cooperation or letting out anger.”
Darcy, watching the elevator floor lights blink on and off, grinned. “Yes, I have some familiarity with the emotions that Jenga can elicit.”
“Georgie? No way.”
“No, my cousin. Georgie was a vicious competitor at Twister back when we both young and limber but thank god puberty cured her of wanting to play that with her big brother.” He suddenly realized how awkward that sounded. “I’ve been told big brothers are terribly embarrassing.”
They stepped out of the elevator and walked toward the door. “I’m sure that’s true, but I have a lot of experience with embarrassing little sisters.”
She led him to Mickey’s, a classic New York diner. He followed her menu suggestion, and while they awaited chili and grilled cheese, Darcy asked about the prints in her office.
“Art evokes emotion, and pulls out otherwise suppressed feelings,” Elizabeth replied. She reached behind her head and pulled out her barrette. “I’ve found teenagers relate well to those three in particular. If they don’t I have some art books we look at.”
Darcy stared, transfixed, at her hair as it cascaded around her shoulders. It’s like wavy dark chocolate. “Why are you a social worker?”
“Why are you a banker?” she countered.
He sat back and ran his index finger back and forth on the edge of the linoleum tabletop. “Because my father wanted me to follow in his footsteps and carry on the family name. Because it’s the Darcy legacy. Because I was always really good with numbers.”
Her eyes rose from Darcy’s hand to his eyes. “And you like it? Or did you just want to do as he did?”
Darcy shrugged. “It’s important work. We’re able to do some good things with our lending programs and foundation work.”
She nodded. “And you came out unscathed in `08, didn’t you?”
“Everybody took a hit in the crash, but we’re a lot more conservative than most, so we were okay.” He paused and ventured ahead. “Elizabeth, do you have a thing about bankers?
She crinkled her nose and smiled. “For them or about them?”
The memory of her yelling at him and his beer-soaked sweater flashed through his head. He closed his eyes briefly to refocus. “I mean, some people are just anti-big business. I saw your diploma. You have a finance degree from Penn?”
Her eyes flared but her words were cut off when their waitress arrived with their order. “Thanks, Juanita,” Elizabeth said.
They ate quietly. “The chili is very good,” he commented.
She put down her spoon and looked at him. “I tried the world of high finance. It wasn’t for me. Power, ego and money are a scary mix. Or maybe it was just too much Polo and cashmere.”
Darcy put his hand to his heart. “You wound me.”
“Sorry.” She looked like she meant it. “How’s your grilled cheese? Amazing?”
He nodded, his mouth full of creamy cheese and crispy bread.
“Great—now that I’ve got you where I want you, it’s my turn to ask questions.” Darcy’s deer-in-the- headlights expression prompted a laugh from Elizabeth. “Why are you a banker when your apartment is full of design books and handcrafted chairs?”
He swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “They, the books, were my mother’s. She was an architect.”
“Ah, so you’ve got left-brain and right-brain talents. Your mother is the reason that you like architecture?”
He nodded and reached for his glass of water. “She loved art. We spent a lot of time at the museums, and looking at buildings, and drawing together.” He took a drink. “She worked at MOMA before I was born.”
“But you followed in your father’s footsteps instead.”
He shrugged. “I maintain an interest. I read Architectural Digest.”
“You, Mr. Darcy, are a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.”*
“And you, Ms. Bennet, have read far too many history books. I bet you’ve never lost a game of Trivial Pursuit.”
“Once. Junior year at Penn. My opponent cheated. Strip Trivia Pursuit will do that to a guy.” She paused and watched Darcy’s expression as he processed this information, mid-swallow, and started choking.
Is she serious?
“Are you okay?”
He nodded and took a long drink. “Never met girls like you when I was at school.”
“Well, old man, maybe you spent too much time with the boys in your college drinking club. Was it Harvard or Yale?” She laughed. “Is that where you had your first experience with wet cashmere?”
Old man? She was teasing him on so many levels his head was spinning. He was never going to wear cashmere around her again.
“Cleaned your plate?” She glanced at his dishes and then at her watch. “We need to go. Sorry.”
Darcy signaled Juanita only to discover Elizabeth had already paid the bill.
“You got the jump on me,” he protested. “Please let me pay for lunch. I showed up unexpectedly and pulled you outside.”
“I like snow and a good walk. Don’t worry about it.” Elizabeth buttoned up her coat. “Besides, you bought me coffee. You never explained why you were at City Hall.”
Darcy bit his lip, slipped ten dollars under his soup bowl and followed Elizabeth to the door. As they walked outside, he explained that he was checking on the installation of ramps at Georgie’s school. “After she was hurt, I realized--the school realized--that even with all the ADA compliance they’d done, a girl in a wheelchair could not attend school there. So I was checking the plans and co-signing permit applications.”
“You were?” She looked at him as though considering him anew.
Yeah, I’m overprotective, he thought. A helicopter parent, brother, whatever.
“You work in a hospital,” he added quickly, “so you’re already outfitted for any circumstance.”
“But Haven needs a lot more than that, as you see. A lot of work.” Elizabeth gazed ahead at the building they were nearing.
“Is that why you were visiting the city planning department?” he asked.
“Sorta. I’m doing my part to save the building from the city.”
Talk about an enigma, Darcy thought. “So you love this building and art and history, earned a finance degree and became a social worker?”
“Life happens. That’s Georgie’s favorite game, right?”
“Fine, keep it secret. I just wondered why the transition,” he said. God, she was frustrating.
“Let’s just say that I realized that, despite my need to pay off school loans, making rich guys even richer was not what I wanted to do with my life.”
As they walked up the steps to Haven, he watched Elizabeth tap the heads of the statues. He felt the need to share with her his earlier revelation and told her the names he’d given the animals when his mother had brought him over to see the building.
“You know, I bet you’re not the only one,” she said softly. “Your mother sounds so interesting. She worked at MOMA?”
“She finished her degree and had her own firm for a few years. It shut down after she died.”
Elizabeth stared at his coat button. “You were young when she…”
“Twelve.”
She nodded. “Hence the difficulty of taking over that family firm.”
You could say that, Will thought. Dad made sure that was never a possibility.
“Oh, there’s a guy here whose father used to work with one of your parents. Do you know a George Wickham?”
“Never heard of him.”
They stood looking at each for a moment. A few bundled-up pedestrians hurried by below them on the sidewalk. Snowflakes started falling and they both swiped at their faces. Elizabeth put her hand on his arm.
“Thanks for returning my shoe, Will.” She looked up at the snowflakes swirling down. “Though it doesn’t look like I’ll be needing it soon.” She strode away and through the revolving doors.
~~*~~*~~
It had been an endless week and there was still an entire afternoon to endure until the official start of the weekend. Lydia was bored, intrigued by the handsome guy who had left with Lizzy Bennet, and annoyed that George was off working, or chatting up Mary King, or doing something that wasn’t entertaining her.
The bits of conversation she’d overheard between Lizzy and the guy weren’t all that interesting. They were too freaked out by each other to notice her standing just around the corner. He was a whole lot more awkward and dorky than his high cheekbones and gorgeous black Brioni overcoat would imply. In fact, Lizzy had seemed to be as weirded out by him as Lydia was, making it way too easy to spy on them. Lizzy was totally embarrassed when he’d handed her a brown paper bag and she’d pulled out the baddest, sexiest red stiletto Lydia had ever seen. Too bad George had missed it. She looked at her phone. He’d told her not to text him; Mary checked his phone sometimes.
Hmm. Lydia's thumbs began flying. Bring up Nov. 25 files. Checking scrips. Hopefully, he’d remember that Nov. 25 was Thanksgiving, the first time they’d hooked up. Seemed like a smart code.
They were such a clever pair. George figured it out right away and came up from the sixth floor with an empty file folder. She filled him in quickly on what she’d seen.
“You’re sure she called him Darcy?” he asked. “I think we’ve got a winner.” He leered at her and slowly ran a finger down her arm. “Later, my magnificent girl? I’ve got to make a call.”