Chapter Four
Darcy, Charlie and Caroline were alone in the library for not even a moment when Caroline began to insult Lizzie.
"Did you see her? She looked like a drowned rat! My god. I'm surprised the doorman let her in. What, did she walk all the way from the Village in the rain?"
Darcy hated when Caroline did this. And she did it often, he thought. At least when he happened to be around.
Charlie sighed and took another sip of his wine. "Caroline, her apartment has been flooded. I don't think her appearance was foremost on her mind. Anyways, I thought you liked Lizzie."
Darcy almost snorted into his wineglass. Obviously, Charlie, he thought, that is not the case.
"I only like her because she's Jane's sister. I don't know...there's just something about her that rubs me the wrong way. Perhaps it's that she calls herself an artist. You know how artists are. All bumbling and wild. Very impractical. I much prefer the company of more rational, sensible people, like Jane. Or you, Darcy.
Darcy gave Caroline an acknowledging nod while fighting an almost overwhelming urge to roll his eyes.
Caroline continued, "I mean, honestly, Darcy. I'm sure you wouldn't want Georgiana to run about that way. All over New York in the rain." She looked at him expectantly.
Darcy wanted to leave. "Certainly not," he said, and started to walk around the library looking at the books on the shelves. Caroline, annoyed at not being able to get Darcy's full attention, turned to her brother.
"Do you know their father owns several garages outside of the city somewhere? Can you believe it? Car maintenance." She shuddered.
Charlie shifted uncomfortably. "Caroline, come on now. Relax."
She grimaced. "God, Charlie, I was only kidding." She rose from her chair and went to the door, brushing past Darcy on her way. "Well, I'm off to bed. What an evening." She paused a moment then said, "Goodnight Charlie...Darcy."
Darcy breathed a sigh of relief. He thought she'd never leave.
"Isn't this excellent?" beamed Charlie. "Jane here! I mean, it's too bad about their apartment, but...well, you know what I mean. Jane is so amazing. There's definitely something there I think. A connection. Darce, don't you think this is excellent?"
Darcy expertly avoided giving Charlie a straight answer. "I think it was kind of you to offer to let them stay here." He most certainly did not think the situation was excellent.
But Charlie took his statement as an agreement and pronounced that he too was off to bed, leaving Darcy alone.
He sat back in his chair and ran his hands over his tired face. When Lizzie had confronted him at the party he had felt humbled, for the first time since his father died. She had been the only person besides his parents to ever put him soundly in his place. And for this reason, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Well, there were other reasons, but he couldn't admit them to himself until tonight. It had surprised him a great deal when Lizzie had suddenly appeared in the library. What surprised him more was how very much he was attracted to her. Sopping wet or no, she was striking.
It was unusual for him to be attracted to someone like Lizzie. Someone with whom he had nothing in common. Caroline had been right about one thing; Lizzie did seem rather wild. Almost lost. Darcy couldn't stand indecision and it seemed like Lizzie was rife with it. Letting the wind blow her to where ever it chose. Darcy preferred not to leave the choosing to the wind.
And so, Darcy decided that it was probably a good idea for him to just go to sleep. Well, he thought, it's likely that we won't see each other much while she's here."
"I'm going to take some extra shifts at the agency," declared Lizzie as she and Jane began to unpack the few things Carly had managed to throw in a duffle bag for them. The room Caroline had shown them to was huge, not that Lizzie was surprised. She had probably wanted to show off the grandeur of her apartment. Lizzie was delighted, however, to have found an adjoining bathroom with jets in the tub. She had taken a good long soak and, with the exception of one problem (Darcy's being in the same apartment), she felt much better.
"But why?" asked Jane as she put away some of her clothes.
"Well, I'm almost positive our landlord isn't going to pay for all the damage, so we're going to need the money. But mostly, I don't want to be in the apartment if Darcy's going to be here."
"Lizzie, you don't need to worry about the money. We'll all help out. It's not like this was your fault. As for Darcy, I think you should talk to him about it. I don't really know what to say, but you shouldn't have to be so upset about what he said."
"I can be as upset as I like about what he said, Jane. It was rude and mean." Lizzie viciously stuffed a pair of pants into a drawer. "Did you not see him tonight? Wouldn't say a word to me, wouldn't even look at me! What the hell is his problem anyway? It's not like I insulted him." Jane gave Lizzie an understanding look that made Lizzie relax a bit more. "But you're right. I'm not going to be upset anymore. He isn't going to make me feel bad. This is Charlie's house and Charlie wants both of us to stay, so little old Darcy can just stuff it."
Carter had met Lizzie at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The landlord had said it would be two weeks before they could move back in to their own place and after four days Lizzie needed to postpone her return to the "Flat of Imperiousness" as she had dubbed it.
"Wow, Liz," said Carter as they meandered through the halls. "You must fit in there like a glove."
"Yeah, you know me. Always the height of fashion and society. I'm throwing a ball next week. The invitations in all their calligraphied glory will arrive soon."
"But Jane must be psyched about this right? I mean, it means more time with Charlie. He's still as good as gold, isn't he?"
"I guess so. Jane's still crazy about him. And he's the only one who's nice to me. He and Jane pretty much spend their evenings snuggled up together in the living room and chatting about which Columbia professor has the hairiest back or something."
Carter laughed. "I doubt that's what they're talking about. Or that they're even talking. What about Darcy and Caroline? You don't all get together for a jolly game of whist, do you?"
"No, I'm sorry my whist skills aren't really up to snuff. Actually I either sketch or watch TV. The Daily Show or something. One good thing about Darcy, the guy's definitely not a remote hog. He spends most of his time on the phone or in the library. Caroline is basically his lap dog so she's usually with him. Unless she's trying to get me to admit I'm in love with Darcy."
Carter began to choke through his laughter. "I'm glad you find this so amusing, Carter. Someone should I guess," Lizzie grinned as she slapped Carter on the back.
"Wha-what? You in love with Darcy!"
"I know! Apparently she thinks that's the reason I wanted to stay with them until our place was fixed, even though Charlie was the one who came up with the idea. There's no one I'd rather be around less than Darcy. Except maybe my mother. Although, it's really not all bad. Jane and I have been having some nice alone time. No Lydia or Carly, you know."
"And how are they doing?"
"Great actually. They are staying with that lacrosse guy still. Carly actually seems to be back to normal. Who knew it would take a flooded apartment to do it. We had a long conversation on the phone last night. Catching up, I guess."
"Well, good then. Ooh, look!" Carter exclaimed, pointing to a sign that said "cafe." "I'm starved. Want me to get you something?"
Lizzie waved a hand. "Nah, I'm good. I'll wait for you."
"No don't," Carter grinned. "I've learned my lesson not to stand between you and Renoir. Go ahead without me, I'll catch up."
"Ok, sure." Lizzie made her way to the Renoir. She didn't recall thinking of anything very important, but she must have been very engrossed for when she turned a corner she ran straight into Darcy's chest. His very hard chest, she couldn't stop herself from thinking.
Neither person moved away so they were standing right up against each other when Darcy moved his hands to Lizzie's shoulders to stop her from falling over. She had to crane her neck all the way back to see him from this angle, he was so tall. The top of her head barely made it to his chin.
Realizing they were still pretty much on top of each other, they both took a quick step backwards.
"Forgive me," said Darcy stiffly. "I should have been looking where I was going."
"Not at all, it was my fault," Lizzie said as she flicked her hair back in a vain attempt to get a hold on the situation. What on earth was Darcy doing here? This was her sanctuary. He was invading her sanctuary! Blasphemer! she thought wildly. Ok, relax, she told herself. This isn't helping.
"Umm. Come here often?"
"Not often. I come when I can. Most of my business isn't in this area of town. I enjoy it here though. It's a relaxing space." Darcy shifted his feet.
Well, it used to be anyway, Lizzie thought. "It's a big space as well," continued Lizzie, desperate for the conversation to end. It was already the longest conversation she had ever had with Darcy. "Yep. Lot's of rooms to see." She paused, hoping he'd take that as a hint to leave. He didn't. "And, this one is probably my favorite. Renoir. I come here a lot. Quite the guy with a brush." Good. Maybe if he knew she spent most of her time there he wouldn't come back.
"Quite," was all he said. They spent another moment in awkward silence. Lizzie was about to launch into the most boring rendition of Renoir's history when she heard Carter calling her. He suddenly appeared behind her with two coffees in hand. Glancing from Darcy to Lizzie, he waited patiently for Lizzie to introduce him. When he realized that Lizzie wasn't quite up to speed just then he handed her cup to her and stuck his hand out to Darcy.
"Hey, who's this? I'm Carter."
Lizzie's brain jerked back into function. "Carter, this is Darcy. Darcy, Carter."
"Oh, right, Lizzie's staying with you, yeah?"
Darcy nodded mutely, shaking Carter's hand. Lizzie could feel anger bubbling up inside her. Why couldn't he at least say something to Carter? Why did he have to be such a jerk?
"Well, I should be off," Darcy said. "I suppose I'll see you around."
"Yeah I suppose so," said Lizzie to Darcy's retreating back. "God, I'm so sorry, Carter. He's such an ass."
"Yeah, he does seem a little cold. So, do you and Darcy have your little trysts here often then?"
"Shut up Carter. I didn't know he'd be here. I didn't even think he went to museums. Does he even like art?"
"Everybody likes art. Art is...art is life." Carter struck a mock solemn pose.
"How very eloquent of you. Thanks for the coffee by the way."
"No problem. Maybe you and he can discuss the finer points of Picasso. 'In your opinion, Elizabeth,'" Carter began in a terrible Scottish accent, "'do you prefer the post-modern works of So-And-So or the impressionist works of Whosit and can you tell me which I should purchase for my manor if the walls in my sitting room have been painted a violent shade of peach.'"
"Can you even have a violent shade of peach?"
"I imagine Darcy could if he wanted it."
"I think you're right. I can't believe he was here. If he had stayed any longer I think Renoir would have been ruined for me for the foreseeable future."
"Ah, don't let him get you into a funk Lizzie. You're ok, right?"
"I'm bursting with fruit flavor!" she grinned at Carter then looked around her. "Being here makes me want to paint!"
"So why don't you then? Painter's block?"
"No. I just can't get in the mood when I'm at Charlie's. It feels weird to be painting there."
"Come on, Liz, suck it up! There's got to be some empty little room in there where you can get down to business."
Darcy had never been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art before. He mentally chided himself for it. He had prided himself on being cultured and after six months of living in New York City he still had not gone. His visit this afternoon was entirely by accident. He hailed a cab after a surprisingly short day at work and was about to go home. As he climbed into the cab, he saw a poster for a new photography exhibit at the Met. The rapidity with which his mind flew to Lizzie took him by surprise. She seemed to be popping up everywhere now. He'd even allowed himself to indulge these feelings for a while, as long as he didn't feel himself in danger of being serious. So, having a few hours to kill, he decided to go.
How very fitting, then, that after only a half-hour of being there he should literally run into Lizzie. Feeling her against him was much more pleasant than he thought it would be. And he had thought about it. What really threw him for a loop was the unexpected jealousy he felt when Lizzie's friend Carter introduced himself. At that moment, he knew that his feelings for Lizzie were more serious than he planned on allowing. He made excuses quickly, perhaps a little rudely, and left the museum immediately. He didn't mean to be so rude and awkward around her, it was just that she so completely threw him off. And she probably didn't even know she was doing it; a quality that endeared her even more to him. It was a vicious cycle. He'd have to learn to control himself in front of her.
There had been no one in the apartment for two whole hours and Lizzie had been spending the time painting cheerfully in one of the many "parlors," as the butler called them. She had her headphones on and her wavy dark hair had been pulled back, but was coming down in places because she'd been semi-dancing as she worked. This parlor had an amazing view of Central Park and her easel was facing the window. Lizzie rarely did landscapes (she liked to think of her art as falling more or less into the large genre of "abstract") but she found the view inspiring; it made her canvas feel like an infinite space.
Smiling, she thought that this was the first time since her apartment flooded that she was really happy. Content. She relished having some time to herself just to paint and all thoughts of a surly Darcy, silly mother and depressed friend flew from her.
She pushed the pause button on her CD player and looked at her painting. It was so quiet in here. The canvas was almost covered. It wasn't her best work, but it wasn't finished yet. There was something wrong with size of it though.
She plopped down into one of the plush armchairs by the window and turned the music back on.
Earlier that day, Lizzie's father had called her. Apparently the son of his college roommate was going to be in town next week and was looking for a place to stay. While Lizzie wasn't thrilled about having someone she didn't know stay at the apartment, she didn't really have a choice. So Benjamin Collins would be staying at their place. Then her boss, Mrs. Long was throwing a party that she was invited to, along with all of her roommates. Lizzie wasn't exactly looking forward to it either, but Mrs. Long always loved throwing little soirees every now and then. What was really keeping Lizzie going was the opening of the exhibit at Luke's gallery. She couldn't wait for it. She hadn't found a date yet, but if all else failed, she could always take Carter . . . as long as he didn't find a date.
Lizzie quickly grabbed her brush and stood next to her painting. While she tried to figure out what was wrong with it, a voice behind her made her jump. "Oh, excuse me."
She dropped her brush as she fumbled to take of her headphones.
"You scared me," she said, shortly.
"Not intentionally, I assure you," said Darcy. He didn't look the least bit sorry. "There's a book in here I need.'
Lizzie motioned towards the bookshelves. As he began to look through them, Lizzie realized her canvas was still uncovered. She turned the easel around quickly.
"I'm sorry if I disturbed your painting," Darcy said, looking at her.
"It's ok," Lizzie almost whispered. What was wrong with her? She felt so vulnerable. Why wouldn't he leave? She had never wanted him to see her work.
Darcy turned back to the books. "It looks nice."
"Excuse me?"
"Your painting. It looks nice. It doesn't look like Central Park though. A little more wild."
Lizzie flushed. "I don't understand."
"I'm sorry," Darcy backpedaled. "I don't know anything about art. I shouldn't have said anything."
"Well I don't know about that, but even if you didn't know anything about art, you can still comment on it. What did you mean?" Lizzie was actually asking him for his opinion now. Well, she thought, don't get mad if he says something mean. You invited this.
"I don't know…" Darcy hesitated. "It looked like your painting wanted to be bigger and it couldn't get out. Not like you need a bigger canvas or anything, just…" he trailed off.
Lizzie silently walked around the easel to face her painting. He was right—kind of. She looked up at him again in astonishment.
He took a step forward. "May I see it again?"
Lizzie regained her composure and stepped back a bit. "Um, no. No one's allowed to see them until they're done."
Darcy nodded and continued to look for his book.
Good lord! Why couldn't he find his stupid book? Lizzie shifted uncomfortably. Why did it always feel like she was waiting for him to say something important? He always looked so serious. And why was she talking to him about her art? She turned to face the window. Lizzie hated awkward situations. She felt his eyes on her but she wouldn't turn around. She couldn't.
"Here it is." Finally.
"I'll see you later, Lizzie." She didn't turn around as he left the room.
Damn! Damn damn damn! He felt like putting his fist through a wall, he had so much pent up awkward energy. What just happened? Why did he continue to put himself in situations where he had to speak to her? He always messed it up!
You insulted her art, you idiot, he thought. What were you thinking? Why did you even think about mentioning her painting? She wouldn't even look at you. You can't do this anymore. Get it together. That's enough. This is going to stop right now. It was just that she looked so beautiful by the window…no! Stop! She's leaving in three days. Three more days and she'll be gone…
