Heading for the Chinese Dragon

Fr: jfb at zimmerman

To: ebethbnet

Subject: Hi

Hi there. I hope you're having a good time over there. I'm very envious. I tried to phone you, but it didn't get through. I guess you haven't got much signal there or something. Anyway, could you phone me when you're not too busy? We've got some news that you'll want to hear. Nothing terrible. Just a bit…well, could you phone me?

Thanks.

Lots of love, as always.

J xxx

"Look," says George as we reach the top corridor. "I really could do with doing a bit of practice and warming up. You know. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," I say. "Is there any way to get into the gardens and avoiding Caroline?"

George grins. "Easy. Secret passage, rope bridge and riddle combination all right?"

"Oh sure. I am after all a worthy adventurer."

"Damn straight." George grins again. "Go out onto the drive at the kitchen. You can sneak down the side of the garden without being seen from the terrace."

"Thanks," I say, and run down the curving staircase, leaving George to do her work. Exiting the house opposite the old servant's quarters, and finding myself back where I had started in the garden the previous day, I take a deep breath. Since then, I bumped into Will, met his sister and housekeeper, got invited to spend today here, instead got shanghaied early by George on a dog-walk to go with her and turned up early for breakfast, had coffee thrown over me, and now am contemplating commando rolling my way down the garden just for five minutes peace. It really is a beautiful garden. I wander down the sloping gardens, in between old bent apple trees covered in honeysuckle, and roses, out of control and waving tendrils in the breeze. I think that forever, this smell of roses and lavender will make me think of this place, Will, this summer. I round the corner by the greenhouses and see down one path, through the trees, the bench where Will found me. In the other direction, the trees and bushes clear to offer a perfect view of the house, and, unfortunately, the terrace. I duck and run. Literally. Past the greenhouses and back into better cover between arches of greenery dripping with yellow flowers. The path finally leads down mossy steps and properly out of sight of the house onto a lower level and a fantastic view of the sea. I stand still at last, and breathe in the salty fragrant air. This place really is extraordinary. The lawn slopes up and away to the left. No doubt it joins the sloping lawns where George and I arrived out of the woods. Ahead of me, paths lead through rocky ground downwards, amongst pine trees towards the sea. I can't help but follow them. The sea calls me. Off to the right, Mr R stands over a couple of younger gardeners, a cup of tea in hand as he supervises the rebuilding of a dry stone wall. He grins and waves, and I wave back. This could have been my life. The thought nearly fells me. I mean, it's not like Will proposed, but surely that's where it could have gone, and then what? This would have been my house, my garden. My view. And George would have been my sister-in-law. Mr and Mrs R would have been my friends. Will would have been…well. I take a deep breath and keep on walking down the twisty path. It's not like Will suddenly becomes more attractive because of his house and garden. It's more like…like he's happier here. I understand him more here, and I like him more here. We're friends, and I have no idea when that happened. Somewhere between tea and hearing about his past. The path plateaus and a wooden staircase leads down onto the sandy cove below. The sun scatters light across the waves, and seagulls wheel overhead. I can't help it. I need to capture this. To remember it. I reach into my bag and find my camera sitting right between my cell phone and Blackberry. Both are blinking with new messages. I sigh, and resolve just until I get onto the beach and feel the therapeutic sand beneath my feet, to ignore them and live in this beautiful moment. I take photos, all round, put the camera away, walk down onto the beach, kick off my flip flops, sigh, then finally reach back into my bag.

Feeling like for the first time in twenty-four hours that he's really breathing properly, Will emerges from the bottom of the woods, over the sand dunes, and onto the beach. The dogs scamper ahead and he sighs, relieved to at last feel free. Since seeing Lizzie yesterday there hasn't been a second to take stock. Before he had really heard himself, he had invited her to tea and then to the house today, and then Caroline and Charles took focus, but not before George went and stuck her oar in. Will pauses, focussing on a tiny fish trawler, miles out to sea, and wonders exactly what they talked about. Seagulls dive bomb the boat as it moves slowly, and he sighs again, taking in a deep breath of the salty air. Knowing George, (post-Wickham-George. Talkative-monster-of-communication-George) they probably talked about everything. Every secret, every story, every embarrassing moment. Lizzie probably knows his past. Is that so bad? Maybe. He obligingly takes the old piece of driftwood that Bertie has dragged up, and hurls it into the sea. With joyous abandon, Bertie hurls himself into the cold water, ears flapping, tail wagging. Will smiles. Maybe it isn't so bad after all. Maybe Lizzie needed to know. What had she said? It's not hard to not lie if you never talk. The memory lies like a splinter in his mind, shifting and irritating. So maybe talking would have been better. He takes another deep breath. It is certainly easier to talk here. Maybe he should go and find her and talk. Maybe he should… All the maybes leave him as he sees her standing knee deep in the water a little way ahead, arms wrapped around herself, hair whipping behind her in the breeze. He should he decides. There is no maybe.

"Lizzie?" he asks, tentatively, walking along the shore line.

She turns suddenly and her stricken expression forces all thoughts of the past out of his mind.

"What's wrong?"

She takes a deep breath, and turns, looking back out to sea. "My sister got married."

"Your sister got…not Jane?"

She half laughs. "No…no." She turns again. "How could you think she would with him and…" She glances back up at the house meaningfully, then turns back out to sea. For the first time, Will feels a slight sting of guilt about levering Charlie and Jane apart. "No. Lydia."

"Your youngest sister?"

She nods.

"You didn't know she was getting married?"

"I didn't even know she was seeing anyone," she says, her voice strained.

Bertie bombs up the beach, driftwood retained and clamped firmly in his jaws. He skids to a halt, and drops the wood. Will glances at him, takes the wood and hurls it back in the other direction, all for a moment of peace. "It must be hurtful for her to have done this without you," he says slowly, "but is it all that bad?"

"Yeah," breathes Lizzie, arms still wrapped around herself, still staring out to sea.

"But maybe she'll grow up and take responsibility? And she was away at college, wasn't she? Surely you won't see less of…"

"It's Wickham," she says in a small voice.

Will doesn't answer for a second, wondering if he heard correctly. "What?" he asks eventually.

She turns. "She married George Wickham, in Vegas."

Will says nothing. There is, after all, nothing to say.

Lizzie sighs and shrugs, looking almost resigned. "We both know how he was. He won't want her to have any contact with us, and Lydia's not like Georgiana. She'll make that decision fast, and easily."

"He might have changed," Will starts to say, but stops.

"He hasn't. He dropped Mary King because her family were getting too close for comfort. He walked away and straight away tried to get with me."

Will's jaw stiffens noticeably.

"I said no," continues Lizzie. "It was just after…" She stops. "Just before Christmas, and I didn't exactly trust him."

"But they're married now," begins Will, slowly. "Maybe he'll just need time."

Lizzie shakes her head. "My father is already on his way to Vegas to try and find them and get this annulled. You know as well as I do that at the first sign of my family's disapproval, he and Lydia will disappear and never make contact again."

Will says nothing again.

"There's nothing I can do," she says, eyes filling with tears. "I've lost my sister."

Before he can even remember that he's wearing socks and trainers on his feet, Will has walked into the water, and pulled Lizzie against his chest, wrapping his arms tight around her. They stand that way for an age, rocked by the sway of the sea. Will's shirt front feels cold and damp against his skin, but he doesn't care. Eventually, she takes a shuddering breath and wipes her eyes, Will's arms still holding her close. She glances down.

"Your shoes," she says thickly through tears.

"They don't matter," he murmurs, his lips against her hair. She sighs again, and he holds her closer for a minute, before she moves out of his arms awkwardly. She rubs her own arms and begins to walk out of the water. "What are you going to do?" asks Will and she looks up at him.

"Go home," she says with a sad smile, then walks up the beach, picks up her shoes then climbs the rickety stairs and disappears out of view.

I am reliably informed that I was a little surly in my last author's note. I apologise if any of you agreed with my sister. I was going for brisk.

Thank you all, yet again, for your unbelievable support. If I thought I had interesting things to say to you all, I'd message you each, every time and thank you. I doubt, however, that it'd be very fascinating. It'd probably be along the lines of 'thanks. Again.' So. Please accept my group message of huge gratitiude.

That said, I do need to say that:

schnook: Jeepers. I have read the kind of story you just described there before. I am over the moon that you think I have written one of them.

MiToesesRTotallyRoses: I love a bulleted review. And I love someone who apologises for not having reviewed sooner. And someone who is so jazzed to be mentioned (so I did it again). And I hear you about George-I actually prefer her a bit quieter as a character (as opposed to the whackadoodleish manicly personable ones) but I also like the idea that while shy in public, she's silly and chatty and all in private. That's what I'm going for anyway. And the one-a-day thing only really stopped because I got my pants in a bunch that I'd finish posting this, be only three words into Secret Project X, and then, when I got round to posting it, you'd all have forgotten me. Also, I was jamming chapters together at such a rate of knots that I thought we might get through this at an alarming rate. However, next few cannot be jammed. They are much better shorter. Therefore, I shall endevour to post one-a-day again.

and titans123: Your reviews excite me. Every single review excites me. Each one is a dearly treasured nugget of joyous wonderment. Or something like that. So, please continue. All of you. It makes my day to see a review, even more to see several.