William overslept, left late, and didn't arrive at Lizabeth's apartment until early Saturday afternoon. She jokingly said she had given up and had to eat lunch without him. But having had a late start, William had eaten on the road. The two of them had been apart for over a week and a half, and despite the blinds not keeping out the sun, and her usual embarrassment, they made love in the afternoon. The rest of their day didn't revolve around talking about Anne and bit-coins or what his aunt would do if she ran out of money. They ignored the issues that had brought him north and focused on time together.
The next morning, they went to a farmer's market after waking. The two of them shopped for food for their assorted meals that day. Initially, Lizabeth had suggested brunch at the hotel, but William said he would teach her to cook.
"It's small," he commented as they parked.
"Anything in Merton has to be small in comparison to Los Angeles," she quipped with a grin. Besides locally raised produce, some stands sold homemade bread or backyard honey or eggs. There was a similar market near his house, though William didn't often get to it on the weekends. He was lucky if he remembered his Saturday errands and wasn't back in the office come Sunday.
They took in the fresh produce and let it dictate what to cook. William lamented that it was early in the year and wished there were tomatoes. At his local market, a wizened old lady had a set-up in her basement and grew them from seeds. He realized he was spoiled in that sense.
Three men were grouped tightly together and blocked a man who sold nuts. The seller didn't look bothered but was distracted by their animated discussion; he wasn't watching passersby attempting to make a sale.
"…can't believe the news," declared a man in a blue shirt and wearing a sports cap.
"I am never surprised by the news," said another who swung a bag of produce in his hand.
"But was this Wickham fellow working on his own? I doubt it. I say there's never smoke without fire," argued a man in gray.
"But credit card fraud! Here in town!" cried the first man. "You read about that stuff in the national news, and you check your credit scores, but I can't believe it originated here. He's just a victim of circumstance!"
"He had to have had help. The blurb on the news said that they were using card skimmers to steal credit card numbers and the like from other places, not just here, but all over the state. Hired people who were down on their luck to place the devices at gas stations or ATMs, so Wickham had to have had help!" argued the third man.
"Okay," agreed produce man, "but who's in it with him? He's got these machines, and he hired people for the footwork, but where does this information go or who does he give it to?"
"Don't know," said the man in gray. He pulled out his phone and shook his head. "I doubt we'll have regular alerts from the police about their investigation."
"Yeah, but I doubt it's just going to be local police investigating. Sounds like FBI-level stuff," said the first man, looking intently at his friends.
William pulled his gaze back from the nut stand and the discussion, and looked at Lizabeth. Her eyes were even larger than usual. He held up their bag, which contained new potatoes, spring onions, lettuce, and asparagus as well as eggs and bread.
"I think we're done, and looks like we need to check out the news," he said. She nodded, apparently having no comment to make about what they had overheard.
Once seated in the car, he clicked on his phone to pull up the local news channel's app, but before the app had finished loading, she said, "got it." He looked at her.
"Local man, George Wickham, was arrested late Saturday night on charges of fraud relating to credit card skimming. Items discovered during a search of his house were taken away. The police department is not commenting at this time about its investigation and whether or not Wickham acted alone or had accomplices in stealing credit card numbers and other personal information through devices secreted in various locations. The police are also not releasing the possible locations of the credit card devices though they did say it was believed to affect just Merton. [Edit: it is now believed to potentially affect other cities in John Muir County.] Authorities encourage citizens to check their credit card statements for possible fraudulent activity."
She finished reading, then shook her head. "I can't believe it. I've met him, and it doesn't fit with my image. He was friendly, and credit card scams seem so dirty and underhanded!"
William wasn't sure how he felt about the entire situation, but he first put his phone down on the console between them; it bided him a few more seconds. She was correct, and it didn't fit with what he knew of George (and he had known the man longer).
He said, "I agree that it doesn't fit with the image of George Wickham. He's a friendly sort, almost too friendly, overly eager, you know?" She nodded her head. "I've always known about him, though I can't explain why, as it's not like we went to school together. He's younger than I am, closer in age to you than me." He stopped to look at her as the mess in his gut was given an added twist as he realized the difference in their ages. Perhaps such a gap was untenable, especially given how new to life and being on her own she was? He was too cynical and too established. She was still so innocent. Had he rushed into this merely because of beautiful eyes—and that hair?
William shook his head before he continued. "George Wickham hasn't had the best breaks in life, but it seemed like he was working hard and had his life together for once. But we can still fall in with the wrong crowd, and they can drag you down."
"You don't think he did this thing, credit card skimming, on his own?" she asked.
"No. He's not clever that way. George wouldn't think of the idea in the first place. However, I can see him improving on the idea and using his charm to get others to work with him on the scheme," he answered, trying to explain George's personality, though he wasn't sure what he was trying to elucidate.
"Eager," Lizabeth said, looking at him. "Anxious too?"
"Yes," he nodded, then frowned. "Why do you say that?"
"As I said, I met him several times." William thought she sounded aloof. Was she growing tired of the discussion? "At work." She was frowning back at him, and it came to him that George Wickham had come into the recording office in some official capacity, but that she couldn't mention how or why.
"Ah! I get it. Though now I'm curious why he came into your office. Did he register a fictitious business name?" Her face was placid, and he admired her poker face. "I guess we should get going; we only stopped for coffee this morning. When are you going to get a coffee pot at home?"
"Soon," she assured him. They drove to her apartment, rehashing the same details about this news. "You know, we both assume that he's the guilty person because he's been arrested. But what if he's not?"
William shook his head. "Hard not to consider his background. He's struggled before with having made bad choices. Hard not to think he's continued in the same vein or slipped up, even though he has made a better life for himself recently."
Both of them were hungry, so they cooked an elaborate brunch, nibbling as both couldn't wait to sit down to eat. It was so late that it was more of an early lunch. William noticed that Lizabeth continued to be introspective while they worked. "I am really curious how you know George," he asked as they sat at her small table gorging on eggs, pancakes, and fried potatoes.
"I met him socially and at the office," Lizabeth answered, spearing a small potato. She popped it into her mouth, smiling mischievously as she chewed.
"You won't tell me why he came into the office?" He was intrigued.
She frowned. "No. Before, when I shared information with you about my work, I thought I wouldn't ever see you again—or in a limited capacity. But I'm worried about his family now, how this will affect them."
"He doesn't have any family," was William's immediate response. Lizabeth didn't say anything in return.
They kept an ear out for news updates as the afternoon progressed, but finally turned their collective energy to sharing information about the RuggeCoin stock offering, which was to transpire the next day. There wasn't much new information that she hadn't uncovered.
"I'm still amazed at how organized and vast this offering is. If Anne does well, she could make ten million, probably more," William said as he read articles about other bit-coin offerings.
"She and Georgiana still have to work to get people to use their cryptocurrency in place of others or cash or credit cards. Have you seen how many have failed? I don't think it will be like your cousin gets this huge check and will be worry-free after tomorrow," she remarked.
He leaned back in his place on the couch, away from his laptop. "I still don't know what I should do, if anything." Lizabeth stared at him; she had her laptop balanced in identical fashion on her lap. "I'm convinced Aunt Catherine doesn't know anything about what Anne is up to. She's always just in her little bubble, reading magazines which detail the lifestyles of the rich and famous as if that's her reality, when it isn't."
"You're remarkable to be so concerned about her."
"If I don't somehow mitigate this or forewarn her, she'll be calling me like your mother does." They locked eyes as they shared a moment.
"So," Lizabeth looked down at her laptop and traced a finger on the touchpad. "I made a sort of stand." She paused, still playing with her computer. "Maybe you need to not worry so much about your aunt and let things work out. You said you were more worried about Anne, and it seems that Anne has things under control." She looked up again.
"You mean I need to stop being an infuriating man who assumes only he knows what's right? I know, my arrogance is showing," he said with a smile. She smiled back. "What was the point of my driving north this weekend, then?"
"Me," Lizabeth whispered. They set their laptops aside and focused on each other and not bit-coins or the news for the rest of the afternoon.
William didn't have a reason to stay in Merton. Lizabeth watched him pack up after they had eaten the dinner he had cooked. Ostensibly, they had shared the responsibilities of fixing the food that they had purchased, but it had really been him giving her instructions.
"I'll call," he said as he zipped up his bag.
"I imagine after tomorrow we'll have a lot to discuss," she said.
"I would call even without those issues. We always talk," he asserted.
Somehow having additional worries made her feel on-edge, though she didn't give voice to that sentiment. "Yes, we always talk," she agreed. Perhaps her smile was overly bright.
William frowned. "What's wrong?"
"It's just that you always call me. It's like I'm not allowed to call you in case it interrupts your work," she frowned back. It hadn't been true on Friday when she called about his cousin. But all the times before, Lizabeth had sat around and waited for William to phone her.
His face became a blank then as he stared at her. "I…I think you're right. It has been one-sided. I've only fit you in when my schedule permits, which isn't fair." They stood in her bedroom, staring at each other. "I admit I haven't been flexible."
"You said that upfront," Lizabeth stated. "I knew that given your job and responsibilities, though I think that the reality is different than my expectations. I still thought I would see you every weekend. Some nights we only talk for ten minutes."
"Because I'm busy and need to get back to work, right?"
"Right," she nodded.
"I don't know what to say," he said slowly. "I'm a busy man. I feel like I'm making as much time as I can for you. But things at work have suffered." He paused, then said, "you make me happy when we're together."
"I'm glad," she answered with slight hesitation. Lizabeth wasn't sure what the issue was or why it had been such a wonderful weekend, and it was ending, not on a sour note, but with hesitancy. Was it just that there were kinks in the machinery, and these were signs that theirs was not a relationship that would work? That no matter how compatible you are with somebody, or how happy you were together, other factors worked against the two of you.
"Well, all I can say is call; don't hesitate if you feel the need," he said. "I can't guarantee that I will be free to answer, but I don't want you to feel that I am avoiding you." She shook her head and then watched as he grabbed his duffel bag. He used his free arm to clasp her around the waist. They made it to the front door, where they spent their usual long time saying goodbye.
On her way into work the next day, Lizabeth listened to the news on the radio. There was another iteration about George Wickham's arrest with additional information about links between him and previous arrests of men who had been suspected of installing those credit card skimming devices. She hadn't paid attention to any of those news items in the past, but they all fit a particular profile: people who were down on their luck and being paid to drive around and install those tiny machines at places like gas stations or ATMs to steal credit card numbers.
Her mind, however, wasn't entirely on the news but on her relationship with William. Had they reached a point that despite being compatible in many ways, the fact that they lived so far apart meant that they weren't intended for each other? She tried to discern how she felt about him, but Lizabeth believed that when it came to feelings, it wasn't something she was good at discovering and defining.
She was often told how she should feel or told how others felt. She wasn't good at self-discovery as far as her own emotions. It might take more time to discover how strongly she felt about this relationship with William Darcy. She thought about Jane and Charles. They seemed destined to break up because distance didn't allow them to be together in the way they wanted. Lizabeth really needed to check in with her friend.
Once home, she checked on the news. The Merton Daily had a profile on Anne Deburg and Georgiana Darling, "Local Women Doing Well," which detailed their initial stock offering. They weren't so big that they got to ring the bell to open or close the stock exchange. Still, the article indicated that the IPO had taken in an estimated fourteen million dollars, with after-hours trading being voluminous. Lizabeth was impressed.
There were leftovers to eat, and she reheated dinner, played with Kitty, and waited for William to call. She knew she could call him, but didn't feel the need to and let that feeling guide her. She had no comment; it wasn't his money. She didn't think she could congratulate him on Anne's IPO, and she didn't want to discuss George Wickham. The more she thought about it, the more Lizabeth also didn't want to talk about the two of them and this new awkwardness either.
When William did call, it was after eight. He immediately asked, "did you see?" He sounded excited.
"Yes," she answered. "Very impressive." There was a pause on the phone after they finished discussing Anne's stock offering. Lizabeth finally asked after his day.
"The same, how was yours?" he said.
"The same," she replied.
"No last-minute fictitious business filings?" William asked.
"It was too late," Lizabeth remarked.
"Not that it would stop some people from trying," he quipped.
"No. The leftovers were good," she offered.
"I'm glad."
"Have you figured out what to do with the arc?" It was her turn to ask questions.
"Not really. Caroline and I have differing ideas. We haven't decided." He sounded sharp; she had the idea that he didn't want to discuss that topic.
"I'll let you go," she said then. "I hope you figure out what you need to do soon."
"Thanks. Good night." He was abrupt, and the phone went dead. Lizabeth almost felt like crying then. The call had been difficult. She thought back to their first meeting. William Darcy had been rude. Perhaps that was more the measure of him. But she also considered how warmly he discussed his work and his family; he was a complex man just like everyone was multifaceted.
Lizabeth didn't feel like reading, but she let Kitty curl up in the bed next to her, and the purring lulled her to sleep.
In the middle part of the day, Lydia Phillips (or was that Wickham now?) came in. She looked as if she hadn't slept in days. Her blonde hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, but it hadn't been tied neatly and looked like it would fall apart with only a slight shake of her head.
Lizabeth couldn't anticipate what Lydia needed but stared at her visitor from her seat at the desk. Lydia came up to the counter and looked Lizabeth in the eyes. She asked to speak to Judge Metcalfe.
"Oh! I'll see if he's here."
"My name is Lydia…Wickham." She was still getting used to her new name, apparently.
"I remembered," Lizabeth offered. "I'll check." She stepped up to knock on the judge's door. When she mentioned the visitor's name, he didn't appear confused or surprised but asked that she step in. Lizabeth escorted Lydia back to the judge's office, burning with curiosity about the reasons for her being there. Lydia stayed with the judge for quite a while. But after she left, Lizabeth got up the courage up to tackle Judge Metcalfe about the visit. He had poked his head out to say that he was going to leave early because Anthony had a doctor's appointment.
"Can I ask why Lydia came in to see you?" She looked not quite in his eyes; perhaps she was staring at his left shoulder.
He paused; Lizabeth thought he was going to tell her to mind her business. "She just married George Wickham."
"Yes," Lizabeth prompted.
"George has got himself into a little bit of trouble."
"I read about that." She nodded.
"He's like family." She wondered if this was a situation where the upper crust of Merton society looked out for one another. But Judge Metcalfe continued. "George was married to my stepdaughter."
Lizabeth blinked in shock as she had to think about his words. She didn't know that the judge had been married before. "Andrea Younge, is your stepdaughter?"
"Yes. She's Mimi's daughter." Lizabeth was sure her eyes bugged wide then. The Andrea who had come by that one day to speak to the Judge had looked older than Lizabeth, and yet Mimi had just given birth to a baby. She thought Mimi was either older than she believed or had given birth to Andrea at quite a young age, but Lizabeth didn't ask either of those questions.
"Were you able to help Lydia?"
The Judge smiled very slightly. "I think I have steered her in the right direction. As a judge, I don't practice law anymore, but I still have a lot of connections and can help her find counsel for her husband."
"That's good to hear," she replied. He said he had to go and walked back into his office.
Lizabeth wondered about calling William and sharing that information but didn't think that such a disclosure warranted calling him in the afternoon. She would wait for the evening.
But at the end of the day, as she turned the key in the recording office's door, Lizabeth thought about Jane Sweet and Mary Abel. Mary usually worked on Tuesdays, and Jane might be there.
Both of her friends were in the hotel bar. Joe handed Lizabeth his drink of the night, and she went to talk to the two women, asking, "how are you?"
Jane said, "great!" with a bright smile. Lizabeth thought she was wearing a new shade of lipstick as the color seemed to stand out. But her friend then launched into a minute account of her work over the past two weeks. She had been busy as the hotel prepared for many weddings as well as several conferences. Lizabeth heard all the plans for the first three weddings that were to be held in the hotel in May.
She finally glanced over at Mary, who had kept up her soft playing and questioned Jane's exuberance with raised eyebrows. Mary tilted her head to one side as if ignorant of the cause, but she was undoubtedly aware that their friend's behavior was a little off.
When there was a pause, Lizabeth glanced from Mary back to Jane and asked, "and Charles? Are you two still seeing each other?"
"I don't know." Jane's face was still open and engaging, but deceptive to the words that followed. "It's difficult with us being so far apart and our lives being in such different worlds." Her lips parted, and Lizabeth watched as Jane smiled before sharing that they hadn't spoken since the previous weekend. While he was all charm and contentment most of the time, Charles had been angry about having to always come up to visit her. "But I hate Los Angeles. I have my life here, my work, my friends. He has his work there. I think we're through."
Something twisted in Lizabeth's gut at this speech. She felt on the edge of tears and fully expected Jane to cry. But the event planner sat between her and Mary with her pasted smile and shrugged her shoulders. Lizabeth didn't know if she was hurting inside but not showing it or if she was over Charles. So she asked.
"I'm not over him. We're compatible in many ways, except for location," said Jane. The first crack then appeared, and Lizabeth saw pain flash in Jane's eyes. "But neither of us is willing to budge, so I need to stuff down the pain and disappointment and unhappiness and keep on working. After all, weddings are happy events, and in less than two weeks, I have the first of three to handle."
"You have that big one in June as well," Mary remarked.
"Yeah, the Jenkinson wedding. That's going to be huge. This may be my last calm week," Jane agreed.
"You're okay, though?" Lizabeth prompted. She wasn't sure what else to ask and had no advice to give.
"Yeah." Jane nodded her head. "I'm okay. We need to have that final talk that we're going our separate ways. But," her lips came together, and she bit down hard for a moment. The bright color on her lips stood out intensely. "I will come through this just fine."
"I should go home and feed the cat then," said Lizabeth.
Jane's smile faded, but something lit up in her eyes. "Thanks for stopping by."
Lizabeth smiled, waved, and walked out to her car, wondering if she and William were heading in the same direction. He said it made him happy to spend time with her; she thought she felt the same. But finding time was a different matter, and the distance between them was an issue. She wondered if she should bring it up along with the news about Lydia's visit to the judge, and that George had been married to Mimi's daughter.
But he never called her as she sat on the couch with Kitty. The awkwardness of their friend's relationship ate away at her. Lizabeth wondered again about her doubts.
She stared at her phone on Wednesday night after she had eaten, played with the cat, and read all the news reports she cared to read. (A/N: long sigh) Charlene had loaned her a book weeks ago, and it sat next to her. She used it as a place to drum her fingers, which echoed under them as she worked a rapid tattoo on top of its cover.
Despite tackling many firsts in the past year, dealing with a relationship that seemed to be going sour wasn't something she wanted to face. Lizabeth didn't want to pick up the phone and call him. If he called her, she would answer, but despite their happy weekends, it had only been less than a month that they had been seeing each other. What connection did they have, truly? Her heart sank. Was this just sex?
Her text notification sounded. She drummed her fingers even harder on the book before stopping with a last grating sound as her fingernails made contact with the cover and not the pads of her fingers. She grabbed her phone off the coffee table.
Work meeting tonight. Can't call, sorry
She wondered if such a text warranted a reply. But she was her mother's daughter after all.
Sorry too
Lizabeth clicked send then stared at the words wondering if she needed to say something more. But she didn't know what to say. Call me tomorrow? We'll talk soon? See you? None seemed appropriate, so she tucked the phone in her pocket, picked up Charlene's book, and went to bed to read.
Thursday was slow to begin with. But a woman interested in doing a voter registration drive came in to pick her brain, which helped to fill her morning—and Charlene was less self-absorbed and didn't cancel lunch. Lizabeth wondered if she and Lyle had cooled it like Jane and Charles.
"We've spent practically every minute together," Charlene began as soon as they managed to get a few bites into their meal. "I think…I think it's serious."
Bonding then, Lizabeth thought. "What does serious mean?" she prompted. Charlene was more than happy to comply and detailed how compatible she and Lyle were (sharing all the ways they found common ground and fit together) and that they were considering moving in together.
Lizabeth said what she hoped were encouraging and supportive words. Her friend indicated that it was too late for either of them to give notice at their apartments that month, but by the first of June, they could do it.
When she was making her slow way back to the office, she was struck by how easily her friend had partnered with someone. She contrasted Charlene and Lyle with Jane and Charles, who were 'compatible in many ways, except for location' according to her other friend's estimation.
Lizabeth wondered where on some relationship spectrum she and William would land or actually were, just then. Why couldn't she have dated more! She felt that if she had more experience, she would understand herself better. Though maybe self-discovery wasn't something you mastered by a certain age, it was a life-long process. You changed with time and experience. So as a person, you need to be sure to check in with yourself every once in a while. She might not be any wiser about how she felt about William Darcy if she had dated ten or fifty men in college or had ever fallen in love before.
Lizabeth stopped suddenly. She was blocking the exit from the parking garage, so she skipped forward a few feet when someone honked who wanted to pull out, but she realized that she was in love. She had never been before. None of her college dates had ever lasted long enough even to form friendships, and Edgar Stone had been an ornament for her arm, that proverbial feather in her cap, but she had never had strong feelings for him. Lizabeth had certainly never been in love with him. But there was something about William Darcy that made her insides turn to a swirling mass of goo. She felt stupid and starry-eyed and breathless when she was with him (and every other cliché about those initial pangs of love).
But what did that mean? What was she to do? Her eyes narrowed as she started walking again and rounded the corner to the front doors. No one waited for her that afternoon, not even Doug. Once back at her desk, Lizabeth lost herself in wondering how William felt about her. Perhaps she was merely a passing fancy. He had to have had many girlfriends. He was older, hadn't he said he was past thirty? Her stomach cramped up in wondering if he would be like those young men in college who never lasted.
By the time she turned out the overhead bank of lights to go home, Lizabeth had convinced herself that she and William shared few interests, that the age difference was insurmountable, and though the sex had been great, she had nothing to compare it to. The two of them were destined to break up. Her inclination was to run up to the hotel, but she feared she would drink too much as she had, once before. Instead, she stopped at a liquor store and purchased two bottles of wine. (Just who was she portraying that night?)
She did eat dinner, at least, before she cracked open the first bottle as it had to chill. But Lizabeth gave into despair. She could learn from experience, so she didn't open the second, and being at home meant she had a cat and videos to distract her from her meditations.
A/N: when the pot boils over, it doesn't just spill over on the stove, it splatters so high it hits the ceiling and falls down to cover the floor. There have been no red herrings, every little hint that I've woven in the background will come to light. Beginning Monday there will be angst. Given these interesting times, please consider waiting until Wednesday, April 29 when I will post Chapter 30 to come back if you feel you will be too anxious to carry on through the denouement of this story.
I just want to go shopping. Window shopping, like girlie window-shopping. To go to Target and browse the aisles to find some treasure I didn't know I needed-and to get out of the house. Hope all is well.
As far as location: this fictitious Merton lies somewhere north of Fresno, like Chowchilla so William can use I-5 or 99 when coming up from LA, depending on traffic.