The best of news at the worst of times
Away from it all (part 6)
To Erin, Sarah and Mindy for lighting a fire under my, er, typewriter. And to Marissa for starting up that debate on feedback. Yes, it works!
It was decided that Dr. Crane would go back to Seattle that same day to fetch some things and to make arrangements for his patients. He refused Daphne's offer to go with him, rather forcefully, as a matter of fact, although he instantly looked sorry he had taken that tone. Daphne made up her own excuse to stay behind, not just to make him feel better but because she knew if they both went there was always the possibility that one or both would change their minds. She wanted this week.
She walked him out to his car.
"If you need anything, anything at all, just phone Karen and Sook Kwin down at the bed and breakfast," Dr. Crane said. "They cook, cater, deliver groceries and can reputedly repair anything from leaky faucets to cars to computers."
"I will." They both chose to forget that she had already met the women when she stayed at First Robin last year with Donny. "Don't you worry about me, Dr. Crane. I'll be fine."
"So, everything you need is in the bag next to your door?" He seemed to be angling again to find out why Daphne would have a suitcase ready in her bedroom. She was not about to tell him.
"That's it. All packed."
"All right then." Daphne smiled as he walked around his car, looking at the tyres, making a big show of checking the Mercedes for his trip. As if they had just met yesterday. For goodness sake, between his shaky hand-eye coordination and his utter hopelessness at anything mechanical or electronic, even adjusting his mirror was a drawn-out exercise of hit and miss.
"Well, everything seems to be in order. I guess I'd better get going." He seemed reluctant to leave. She could hardly blame him; it was a long drive. They had a week ahead of them and the sooner he left the sooner he would be back, but there was an ache in her chest that just would not go away. As put his hand on the car door, the ache grew sharp.
"Dr. Crane!"
"Yes?" He turned.
"Could you bring my jewelry box?"
"What?"
"The music box. the one you gave me for Christmas?" God, she sounded a right fool. What would anyone need jewelry for, up here in the middle of nowhere? Or a music box for that matter. She was like a child wanting its fluffy toy.
"Sure." He looked understandably mystified. "Where is it?"
"Oh." Now she had to tell him. Daphne felt her face go bright red. "Next to my bed."
"No problem." If he thought her off her rocker he was too polite to say so. He opened the door.
"Dr. Crane."
"Yes?" He stopped, halfway into the car.
"Drive carefully," she said. He stared at her for the longest time, probably waiting for her next mad request. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to tell her he had changed his mind and that he preferred to spend the coming week in the company of sane people. God, she was an idiot.
He walked over and kissed her on the cheek.
"I will," he said gently. He got into the car and waved out the window as he drove off. Daphne stayed where she stood, too stunned to wave back.
Paradoxically, it was the cold that finally thawed the shock enough for her to go back indoors. The day had warmed up a bit but it was still chilly and Dr. Crane had taken the blue sweater with him. If he was aware she had borrowed it he gave no indication, unless you counted his offhand invitation for her to help herself to anything in his closet if she needed a fresh change or something to keep her warm. She intended to take full advantage of that offer. It would hold her over until the music box arrived.
The cottage seemed darker now that he was gone. It was a two hour drive each way to Seattle. He had to stop by the Montana for his things and by Elliott Bay Towers for hers. He had to call his patients. He promised to try and make it back before sunset but that was hours and hours and hours away.
Daphne wandered into the kitchen to make herself some tea. He had all her favourites, which surprised her because had never known him to be much of a tea drinker. She chose Whittards Spice Imperial and carried her cup into the living room.
It seemed forever since she had left Seattle but it was only yesterday morning that she had been prowling around the apartment, wondering how to fill time. 24 hours later and a hundred miles away she was doing exactly the same thing. Not what you would call spectacular progress.
What could she do to keep herself busy? There was the puzzle, of course, but it barely seemed worth doing now that the mystery had been solved. There was no cleaning to be done; people who kept cottages by the lake phoned First Robin in advance to have everything spic and span by their arrival. Daphne would bet anything that the fresh strawberries this morning were a welcoming gift from Sook Kwin. Daphne considered giving them a call then quickly changed her mind when it occurred to her they would almost certainly ask about Donny. They had really liked him. Everyone really liked Donny, including Daphne. Daphne loved him.
For god's sake, don't think about Donny, not now.
She debated going for a walk, but no, best save that for later. If she went now she would not want to come back and face more hours ahead with nothing to do and one less option.
She paced the corridor, going past his door three times and pretending not to notice that she paused in front of it each time. She had made her bed and knew he would have made his as well, but maybe there was something else she could tidy up for him. As everyone knew, going into a room to clean officially made it not snooping.
Right. Daphne hurried back down the stairs into the living room, creating distance between herself and temptation.
So, she was right where she started. Stop thinking about time. Stop thinking about him.
The bookshelf? She should take another look. Last night it had been difficult to concentrate on anything with Dr. Crane right there, looking so smart and refined with that thick book balanced on his knee and a glass of wine in his hand. My god he had looked good. The puzzle had been a lifesaver.
Daphne ruefully put the image out of her mind. Just thinking about him made her start tingling in the oddest of places. She started glancing through titles and to her surprise found that many of the books looked interesting. Apparently what the two Dr. Cranes considered light getaway reading was what normal people read when they were feeling ambitious. Daphne could do ambitious. She felt a rush of pride when her eyes landed on 'Perfume,' by Patrick Süskind. She had read that years ago and liked it. She would have to find a way of dropping that bit of information into a conversation this week. He would be pleased that they shared an interest; he always was. Not like his brother. That time she mentioned to Dr. Frasier Crane that she had liked a book he himself was currently enjoying her boss had barely been able to contain his horror. Later, he had -- under the ruse of discussing it with her -- gone to great lengths to imply that she might have read it but had not really understood it. Daphne grinned at the memory. Pretentious git.
The bookshelves were stocked with the obligatory collection of classics, of course, though these were handsome leatherback volumes, rather than the cheap Penguin editions Daphne had read as a girl. Tolstoy, Victor Hugo, Goethe. Daphne steered clear of the Brontë sisters - she was a short distance away from hearing voices in the wind already.
On a higher shelf she found the book her host had bought for his brother. She picked it up and leafed through. It was indeed enormous and the type was tiny. It would take her years to get through this. She replaced it.
There were quite a number books by Simon Callow. Daphne had seen the actor in a few films and once on stage in London, but she had no idea he was also an author. Next to the monstrous Orson Wells biography there were a couple of paperbacks that looked manageable: 'Becoming an Actor' and .'Love is Where it Falls.' Heart beating stupidly, Daphne reached for the latter.
"Love Is Where It Falls: An Account of a Passionate Friendship." She opened the cover. Nothing. What had she been expecting, an inscription? To whom? From whom?
She leafed through it. A passionate friendship: a non-sexual relationship between two people who cared for each other deeply. This might be just the thing.
Now that she had settled the what, she still had to solve the where. The couch? No, not downstairs. It felt too cold and lonely here. Her room then. The chair or. it had been ages since she had stayed in bed during the day for a Sunday read. That was it then. It had been stupid for her to wander around as if lost and in mourning. She would show herself that she still knew how to enjoy herself alone. And one of the first ways would be to acknowledge that on such an occasion, tea would just not do.
Daphne had been surprised to find apricot brandy at the bar. Dr. Crane -- her boss --referred to it as the kidney pie of liqueurs and his younger brother usually agreed with him on such matters. She had always quite liked it herself, though not as much as Bailey's Irish Cream, her favourite drink of all. Frasier made her keep her Bailey's in her room, just like he insisted on hiding Mr. Crane's Ballantines at the back and bottom of the fridge whenever they had company.
In simpler days she had mentioned to Dr. Niles Crane that she loved the taste so much it made her want to go and kiss someone, just to share it. Astonishingly, the cottage bar came equipped with its own new bottle.
Armed with a good read and Bailey's over ice, Daphne felt better. She might just skip lunch and hide out in her room until sunset.
On her way back to bed Daphne again paused in front of his door. He had said she was free to borrow warm clothes if she needed them. He had not specified that she had to take them from the wardrobe in her room. That was the excuse she would give him if he found out. The one she gave herself she supplemented with the thought that if her room was so luxurious and had such a lovely view, one could be rightfully curious as to the setting and view of the master bedroom.
Daphne turned the knob; almost hoping it would be locked. Of course it was not. She went inside.
It was not bigger or grander. Nor did it have a better view. It was nice enough, but it was considerably smaller and sparser and its medium-sized window looked over the side of the mountain.
No longer concerned with pretending not to snoop, Daphne set down book and drink to check the wardrobe and drawer chest. They were empty except for the few items that he must have brought up with him and confirmed what she had known the moment she opened the door.
The man who was no longer in love with her had given her his room.
Don't drive angry. Dad had been saying that years before it became an official safety slogan. Perhaps Niles should stop again, but he had already pulled over three times and if he kept this up it would be midnight before he reached the cottage.
He had finally come unhinged. He had seen Dad and Frasier exchange looks when he had stood up, too shocked to speak or even say good-bye as he left the apartment. They thought they knew him well enough to know why. They had no idea.
Pull over and breathe. Count to ten. Count to twenty. Pull back onto the road slowly. Pull over again if the shaking gets too bad. His blood was boiling. His foot was heavy on the gas pedal yet he wished the cottage were a million miles away so he would never have to reach it.
What the hell would he do when he saw her? What would he say? Would he confront her? With what? Daphne had not really done anything wrong. Of course. She never did anything to hurt him yet somehow and innocently she had managed to put him through hell a million times. In the past it was no effort to forgive her but never before had he been burned so badly.
Was it better to know or not to know? He could not even answer that. Damn it. Damn it all to hell.
Even supreme German auto engineering could not prevent his Mercedes from bouncing as he flew over a dip in the road. At this speed the road rose and coiled like a live snake. Niles slowed down. He could not get himself killed in an accident. He had too much to say to her.
He did pull over a few more times and when the cottage finally came into view it was dark and way past the time he had promised. Well, she could wait a little longer. He would sit for a while and collect himself and.
There she was, sillouetted in the doorway. Niles caught his breath. No. She came running down towards him, then as if sensing there was something wrong, stopped in the headlights, her smile hesitating then disappearing altogether. Niles' heart jumped into his throat and his being tugged towards her as stupid and eager as Eddie at his leash. Why was it he could do nothing but love her? And why, if loving her was all he could do, had she made it so impossible for him to do so. Niles switched off the car in one furious motion to remind himself to only feel what would protect him. If armour was useless then all that were left were thorns.
She still stood there, now in darkness. He wondered if she could see his face. He could see hers. Why did she have to look so vulnerable, so small against a background of mountain? Good god, it could have something to do with the fact that she was wearing neither a coat nor shoes. Her breath came out in small transparent billows. Another tug at his heart.
He got out of the car.
"Sorry I'm late. The roads." he stopped there, leaving the sentence safely ambiguous. He busied himself taking the luggage out of the car. He did not look up so he did not see her coming until she was standing next to him, helping.
"Well, you're here now." Her voice was restrained, as if taking a cue from his. They carried the things inside. Then she faced him and waited.
"I. I'm afraid I will have to do some work tonight," he said. "I have a chance to make any phone calls while I was in Seattle." That was a lie. He had made one call.
"Oh." Her eyes stayed solemn. She knew there was more. Stay angry or you will break down. It seemed simple but seeing her again. Niles forced himself to remember what she had done to him. Why he was going insane.
"I spoke to Frasier," he said. Still she waited. She needed more.
"He told me you and Donny broke off the engagement."
The change in her face was barely perceptible. "I see." Her eyes flickered invisibly then continued their level gaze. Was that it?
Niles picked up his briefcase and went into the study, closing the door behind him. There seemed nothing left for either of them to say.
Away from it all (part 6)
To Erin, Sarah and Mindy for lighting a fire under my, er, typewriter. And to Marissa for starting up that debate on feedback. Yes, it works!
It was decided that Dr. Crane would go back to Seattle that same day to fetch some things and to make arrangements for his patients. He refused Daphne's offer to go with him, rather forcefully, as a matter of fact, although he instantly looked sorry he had taken that tone. Daphne made up her own excuse to stay behind, not just to make him feel better but because she knew if they both went there was always the possibility that one or both would change their minds. She wanted this week.
She walked him out to his car.
"If you need anything, anything at all, just phone Karen and Sook Kwin down at the bed and breakfast," Dr. Crane said. "They cook, cater, deliver groceries and can reputedly repair anything from leaky faucets to cars to computers."
"I will." They both chose to forget that she had already met the women when she stayed at First Robin last year with Donny. "Don't you worry about me, Dr. Crane. I'll be fine."
"So, everything you need is in the bag next to your door?" He seemed to be angling again to find out why Daphne would have a suitcase ready in her bedroom. She was not about to tell him.
"That's it. All packed."
"All right then." Daphne smiled as he walked around his car, looking at the tyres, making a big show of checking the Mercedes for his trip. As if they had just met yesterday. For goodness sake, between his shaky hand-eye coordination and his utter hopelessness at anything mechanical or electronic, even adjusting his mirror was a drawn-out exercise of hit and miss.
"Well, everything seems to be in order. I guess I'd better get going." He seemed reluctant to leave. She could hardly blame him; it was a long drive. They had a week ahead of them and the sooner he left the sooner he would be back, but there was an ache in her chest that just would not go away. As put his hand on the car door, the ache grew sharp.
"Dr. Crane!"
"Yes?" He turned.
"Could you bring my jewelry box?"
"What?"
"The music box. the one you gave me for Christmas?" God, she sounded a right fool. What would anyone need jewelry for, up here in the middle of nowhere? Or a music box for that matter. She was like a child wanting its fluffy toy.
"Sure." He looked understandably mystified. "Where is it?"
"Oh." Now she had to tell him. Daphne felt her face go bright red. "Next to my bed."
"No problem." If he thought her off her rocker he was too polite to say so. He opened the door.
"Dr. Crane."
"Yes?" He stopped, halfway into the car.
"Drive carefully," she said. He stared at her for the longest time, probably waiting for her next mad request. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to tell her he had changed his mind and that he preferred to spend the coming week in the company of sane people. God, she was an idiot.
He walked over and kissed her on the cheek.
"I will," he said gently. He got into the car and waved out the window as he drove off. Daphne stayed where she stood, too stunned to wave back.
Paradoxically, it was the cold that finally thawed the shock enough for her to go back indoors. The day had warmed up a bit but it was still chilly and Dr. Crane had taken the blue sweater with him. If he was aware she had borrowed it he gave no indication, unless you counted his offhand invitation for her to help herself to anything in his closet if she needed a fresh change or something to keep her warm. She intended to take full advantage of that offer. It would hold her over until the music box arrived.
The cottage seemed darker now that he was gone. It was a two hour drive each way to Seattle. He had to stop by the Montana for his things and by Elliott Bay Towers for hers. He had to call his patients. He promised to try and make it back before sunset but that was hours and hours and hours away.
Daphne wandered into the kitchen to make herself some tea. He had all her favourites, which surprised her because had never known him to be much of a tea drinker. She chose Whittards Spice Imperial and carried her cup into the living room.
It seemed forever since she had left Seattle but it was only yesterday morning that she had been prowling around the apartment, wondering how to fill time. 24 hours later and a hundred miles away she was doing exactly the same thing. Not what you would call spectacular progress.
What could she do to keep herself busy? There was the puzzle, of course, but it barely seemed worth doing now that the mystery had been solved. There was no cleaning to be done; people who kept cottages by the lake phoned First Robin in advance to have everything spic and span by their arrival. Daphne would bet anything that the fresh strawberries this morning were a welcoming gift from Sook Kwin. Daphne considered giving them a call then quickly changed her mind when it occurred to her they would almost certainly ask about Donny. They had really liked him. Everyone really liked Donny, including Daphne. Daphne loved him.
For god's sake, don't think about Donny, not now.
She debated going for a walk, but no, best save that for later. If she went now she would not want to come back and face more hours ahead with nothing to do and one less option.
She paced the corridor, going past his door three times and pretending not to notice that she paused in front of it each time. She had made her bed and knew he would have made his as well, but maybe there was something else she could tidy up for him. As everyone knew, going into a room to clean officially made it not snooping.
Right. Daphne hurried back down the stairs into the living room, creating distance between herself and temptation.
So, she was right where she started. Stop thinking about time. Stop thinking about him.
The bookshelf? She should take another look. Last night it had been difficult to concentrate on anything with Dr. Crane right there, looking so smart and refined with that thick book balanced on his knee and a glass of wine in his hand. My god he had looked good. The puzzle had been a lifesaver.
Daphne ruefully put the image out of her mind. Just thinking about him made her start tingling in the oddest of places. She started glancing through titles and to her surprise found that many of the books looked interesting. Apparently what the two Dr. Cranes considered light getaway reading was what normal people read when they were feeling ambitious. Daphne could do ambitious. She felt a rush of pride when her eyes landed on 'Perfume,' by Patrick Süskind. She had read that years ago and liked it. She would have to find a way of dropping that bit of information into a conversation this week. He would be pleased that they shared an interest; he always was. Not like his brother. That time she mentioned to Dr. Frasier Crane that she had liked a book he himself was currently enjoying her boss had barely been able to contain his horror. Later, he had -- under the ruse of discussing it with her -- gone to great lengths to imply that she might have read it but had not really understood it. Daphne grinned at the memory. Pretentious git.
The bookshelves were stocked with the obligatory collection of classics, of course, though these were handsome leatherback volumes, rather than the cheap Penguin editions Daphne had read as a girl. Tolstoy, Victor Hugo, Goethe. Daphne steered clear of the Brontë sisters - she was a short distance away from hearing voices in the wind already.
On a higher shelf she found the book her host had bought for his brother. She picked it up and leafed through. It was indeed enormous and the type was tiny. It would take her years to get through this. She replaced it.
There were quite a number books by Simon Callow. Daphne had seen the actor in a few films and once on stage in London, but she had no idea he was also an author. Next to the monstrous Orson Wells biography there were a couple of paperbacks that looked manageable: 'Becoming an Actor' and .'Love is Where it Falls.' Heart beating stupidly, Daphne reached for the latter.
"Love Is Where It Falls: An Account of a Passionate Friendship." She opened the cover. Nothing. What had she been expecting, an inscription? To whom? From whom?
She leafed through it. A passionate friendship: a non-sexual relationship between two people who cared for each other deeply. This might be just the thing.
Now that she had settled the what, she still had to solve the where. The couch? No, not downstairs. It felt too cold and lonely here. Her room then. The chair or. it had been ages since she had stayed in bed during the day for a Sunday read. That was it then. It had been stupid for her to wander around as if lost and in mourning. She would show herself that she still knew how to enjoy herself alone. And one of the first ways would be to acknowledge that on such an occasion, tea would just not do.
Daphne had been surprised to find apricot brandy at the bar. Dr. Crane -- her boss --referred to it as the kidney pie of liqueurs and his younger brother usually agreed with him on such matters. She had always quite liked it herself, though not as much as Bailey's Irish Cream, her favourite drink of all. Frasier made her keep her Bailey's in her room, just like he insisted on hiding Mr. Crane's Ballantines at the back and bottom of the fridge whenever they had company.
In simpler days she had mentioned to Dr. Niles Crane that she loved the taste so much it made her want to go and kiss someone, just to share it. Astonishingly, the cottage bar came equipped with its own new bottle.
Armed with a good read and Bailey's over ice, Daphne felt better. She might just skip lunch and hide out in her room until sunset.
On her way back to bed Daphne again paused in front of his door. He had said she was free to borrow warm clothes if she needed them. He had not specified that she had to take them from the wardrobe in her room. That was the excuse she would give him if he found out. The one she gave herself she supplemented with the thought that if her room was so luxurious and had such a lovely view, one could be rightfully curious as to the setting and view of the master bedroom.
Daphne turned the knob; almost hoping it would be locked. Of course it was not. She went inside.
It was not bigger or grander. Nor did it have a better view. It was nice enough, but it was considerably smaller and sparser and its medium-sized window looked over the side of the mountain.
No longer concerned with pretending not to snoop, Daphne set down book and drink to check the wardrobe and drawer chest. They were empty except for the few items that he must have brought up with him and confirmed what she had known the moment she opened the door.
The man who was no longer in love with her had given her his room.
Don't drive angry. Dad had been saying that years before it became an official safety slogan. Perhaps Niles should stop again, but he had already pulled over three times and if he kept this up it would be midnight before he reached the cottage.
He had finally come unhinged. He had seen Dad and Frasier exchange looks when he had stood up, too shocked to speak or even say good-bye as he left the apartment. They thought they knew him well enough to know why. They had no idea.
Pull over and breathe. Count to ten. Count to twenty. Pull back onto the road slowly. Pull over again if the shaking gets too bad. His blood was boiling. His foot was heavy on the gas pedal yet he wished the cottage were a million miles away so he would never have to reach it.
What the hell would he do when he saw her? What would he say? Would he confront her? With what? Daphne had not really done anything wrong. Of course. She never did anything to hurt him yet somehow and innocently she had managed to put him through hell a million times. In the past it was no effort to forgive her but never before had he been burned so badly.
Was it better to know or not to know? He could not even answer that. Damn it. Damn it all to hell.
Even supreme German auto engineering could not prevent his Mercedes from bouncing as he flew over a dip in the road. At this speed the road rose and coiled like a live snake. Niles slowed down. He could not get himself killed in an accident. He had too much to say to her.
He did pull over a few more times and when the cottage finally came into view it was dark and way past the time he had promised. Well, she could wait a little longer. He would sit for a while and collect himself and.
There she was, sillouetted in the doorway. Niles caught his breath. No. She came running down towards him, then as if sensing there was something wrong, stopped in the headlights, her smile hesitating then disappearing altogether. Niles' heart jumped into his throat and his being tugged towards her as stupid and eager as Eddie at his leash. Why was it he could do nothing but love her? And why, if loving her was all he could do, had she made it so impossible for him to do so. Niles switched off the car in one furious motion to remind himself to only feel what would protect him. If armour was useless then all that were left were thorns.
She still stood there, now in darkness. He wondered if she could see his face. He could see hers. Why did she have to look so vulnerable, so small against a background of mountain? Good god, it could have something to do with the fact that she was wearing neither a coat nor shoes. Her breath came out in small transparent billows. Another tug at his heart.
He got out of the car.
"Sorry I'm late. The roads." he stopped there, leaving the sentence safely ambiguous. He busied himself taking the luggage out of the car. He did not look up so he did not see her coming until she was standing next to him, helping.
"Well, you're here now." Her voice was restrained, as if taking a cue from his. They carried the things inside. Then she faced him and waited.
"I. I'm afraid I will have to do some work tonight," he said. "I have a chance to make any phone calls while I was in Seattle." That was a lie. He had made one call.
"Oh." Her eyes stayed solemn. She knew there was more. Stay angry or you will break down. It seemed simple but seeing her again. Niles forced himself to remember what she had done to him. Why he was going insane.
"I spoke to Frasier," he said. Still she waited. She needed more.
"He told me you and Donny broke off the engagement."
The change in her face was barely perceptible. "I see." Her eyes flickered invisibly then continued their level gaze. Was that it?
Niles picked up his briefcase and went into the study, closing the door behind him. There seemed nothing left for either of them to say.