Chapter 10
The fundraiser is a gala event for breast cancer research, one of those perfect, non-political and safe charities that identify the Darcy Group as the safe, boring and non-scandalous commodity we want it to be. I want Georgie there because she humanises me and gives me a reason to smile at something, otherwise... well, my reputation speaks for itself. I have avoided these things like the plague, but Richard insists it is a necessary evil of our PR rehab efforts. Funnily enough, his insistence coincided with the arrival of Elizabeth in my life. So, it's Saturday night and I am dressed and waiting in the lounge of our family home in Floreat. It's not the most coveted post code in Perth, but it's the home I grew up in, it's the home I was happiest, and it's the only home I could afford not to sell to save the business.
Georgie and I are happy here, it's close to her school, where her gifts and talents are recognised and where she is almost flourishing again. But the house is pretty big, an iconic design by a young Bulgarian émigré in 1966 as his family home and architecture studio, and Georgie and I kind of rattle around in the echoes sometimes.
My mum fell in love with Iwanoff House, so Dad made the owner at the time an offer he couldn't refuse. I moved heaven and earth so I didn't have to sell it, and now things are so good I could probably move to a massive McMansion in Peppermint Grove with a gatehouse and extra security, but most people don't know who I am in this neighbourhood, and everyone else would think that I wouldn't stoop to live here. It's a suburb for families, for the upper middle class, the normal people who don't care who I am, even if they know.
"Georgie! We should have left 15 minutes ago! What are you doing?"
She walks in, talking on the phone, and saunters straight past me, clicking her fingers to hurry me up and pointing me to the faux fur wrap that will be totally unnecessary on this warm spring night. She's dressed in a custom designed high collar, long sleeve sparkly thing that covers her from head to toe but still makes her look like she's on display and nowhere near her age. She is in full on persuasion mode, teasing and cajoling whoever she is talking to and promising a fun night.
"You can't change your mind, Lizzy, the dress is perfect, no it doesn't show that much cleavage, it just accentuates your positives. I've got a wrap for you that will be perfect if you feel uncomfortable." I was in the process of placing it over her shoulders but froze at the mention of Elizabeth. Mid-sentence, my sister frowns at me and shoos me away. I grab my keys and try not to think about how my fingers tingled when my mind automatically pictured my hands placing the wrap on Elizabeth's perfect shoulders, briefly caressing her neck as I did so. After a war council with Richard, I have decided to try and repair the bridge I destroyed 6 months ago. The tiny crack in my armour has remained specifically open, inexplicably, only for her, even just the idea of her. I have no idea what will happen when I see her again.
At some point in the short journey, she stopped talking to her, and I stopped thinking about that perfect kiss on the beach. Rather than run the gauntlet of the local society media, I choose to park my own car behind Fraser's and take the back way in. I have always kept a low profile at these events, but somehow my name and picture end up in the paper anyway. This works best for Georgie too, who squeals uncharacteristically as she gets out of the car. She waves and takes off as quickly as her wedges can take her.
She is standing next to her car, silhouetted by the muted glow from the rear of the building, her petite, lean frame swathed in a full-length dress that falls from her shoulders, hugs her hips and hangs loosely around legs that I know go forever, despite her petite height. I can't quite make out the colour, but it's dark and as I get closer I can see it matches the smoky colour of her eye makeup. She's in heels tonight, though I can't see them, I know she's taller than barefoot on the sand. She's nervous, but smiling brightly at Georgie, glancing at me every few seconds as I slowly approach them, almost as I would an animal in the wild.
"Come and say hello, Wells! Lizzy won't bite."
"Not unless the situation calls for it." She blanches as she realises the unintended double entendre and I can see that Georgie is surprised by her gaffe. "Sorry, bad joke. I told you your brother brings out the worst in me, Georgiana. I am here as your friend. I will endeavour not to make any more comments that may be misconstrued as either flirtatious or insulting, however sorely I am tempted." She can't help but smile at this and it breaks my heart to see her smile freeze to polite disinterest when she glances my way.
"Oh, don't forego any pleasure of yours on my behalf. I do recall enjoying your smart mouth when we met last year, and I am still grateful for the service you rendered me on the beach." I smile at her simply because she makes me happy. She does not return the smile, but gazes at me for a heartbeat. She blinks, and I fear she has made her assessment and found me wanting. Out of the corner of my eye, Georgie looks curious, but turns to escort Elizabeth into the building and I hear Richard's voice again, ringing in my ear.
The evening is in full swing, I've had some publicity photos with various local celebs, dinner has been served and the event has reached the stage where enough alcohol has been imbibed for people to let their hair down. It is usually the point I gather up my underage sister and disappear quietly out the back door. My sister, however, has found her wings and Elizabeth appears to be the wind beneath them. It becomes clear to me that Elizabeth has allowed herself to become the focus for Georgie, allowed herself to be the one who needs to be cajoled, encouraged and made to feel comfortable by Georgie, on purpose. Georgie's inhibitions and fears melted away in the face of helping someone else overcome their discomfort. The insight fills me with bittersweet longing. We've barely spoken all night, but I've listened to every conversation she's had with anyone she spoke to, hovering on the edge of her periphery like a moth to a flame.
I've tried to start a conversation with her a few times, but she shuts me down - politely, professionally, and completely, yet somehow, winsomely. I wish I could be angry with her. I'm sitting at our table, my eyes fixed on the dance floor, following the chaotic movements she's making with a small smile on my face. Even her awkward dancing suits me. We'd make a fine pair together. Georgie got all the rhythm in our family. She says something to Lizzy and they both laugh, flicking their eyes toward me, with G crooking her fingers to get me to join them. To her surprise, and Lizzy's obvious disquiet, I do. G collapses into uncontrolled giggles at the sight of our coordinated lack of coordination. In between her laughter, she manages to mime getting a drink, just as the music starts to wind down and the lights dim to a blue-black haze, and the DJ segues to a slow dance remix of Magic by Coldplay. Lizzy tries to join her, but I grip her hand and draw her to me. This is one of Georgie's favourite songs, so I know it well, and I begin to wonder if the universe is trying to help me.
"Dance with me, Elizabeth." Her eyes flare and she shakes her head, but she doesn't pull away. While her attention is fixed on me, I start to sing the lyrics to her, off-key and entirely tongue-in-cheek. There is no possible way for the rhythmically challenged to dance well to this song, so I just keep singing, swaying and melodramatically pulling her closer to me. It is both the most awkward and yet honest moment of my life and I see the moment when she finally relaxes, and we both start to laugh.
She sings the chorus along with me, but then drops her gaze. I pull her closer and continue whisper-singing the verse in her ear. She's not looking at me, so I don't ham it up, because it's like the song was written for me.
Call it magic
Cut me into two
And with all your magic
I disappear from view
And I can't get over
Can't get over you
Still I call it magic
Such a precious jewel
She looks up at me sharply when I stop singing and simply whisper the words of the chorus over and over.
I don't want anybody else but you.
"It's been almost a year, Fitzwilliam. Do you really expect me to believe that's not a line?" She looks fierce, resigned, hurt and angry, but she hasn't moved away and maintains eye contact, even when I crush her to me and envelop her in my arms. Her arms lay passive against her sides, but her body is soft and melts into me. She turns her face up towards mine and for a moment I think she's going to kiss me. Instead, she whispers so I have to lower my head to hear her.
"I won't deny there is an attraction here, ok? We have some kind of indefinable chemistry, I feel it too, I'm not going to pretend I don't. But I have a rational mind, and we have a history - short though it may be - both of which tell me you are not stable, which should override every chemical signal telling me otherwise. My heart, our feelings, this chemistry - it is fallible, Fitz, so it can't be the only thing I rely on. You have to convince my mind and my heart that you are trustworthy, reliable. It's my job to counsel people to trust their senses but filter everything with a sharp and discerning mind. To be open and almost naïve to the opportunity of new things, but to also be shrewd. You know the whole "innocent as doves, cunning as a viper" paradox. I have rationalised what you did last summer, worked hard to overcome my overinflated feelings of betrayal, so I'm now just disappointed in how things went, as opposed to regretful. That took a lot of time, soul searching and more angst than I like to let in my life."
She pulls away to look at me and sees the sorrow and shame etched onto my face. Her eyes soften and fill with tears. "I'm not sure where it should go from here or even if it should go anywhere at all." She pulls away from me gracefully and I watch her collect her things from our table and walk out the door, her silhouette a shadow against the backdrop of floor to ceiling windows showcasing Fraser's unmistakable city views, at the top of Kings Park. Georgie comes to my side and puts her hand in mine, taking her place in front of me and swaying to whatever song is playing now.
"You gonna just let her go? She's special, Wells. I've never seen you like that with anyone. What are you afraid of?"
"Everything. Nothing. She's so different, G. She's like Mum. I've already hurt her. I don't know what to do. I want her, but I know I have to be all in with her, and I don't know if I can be."
"You have to be all in, just to get to know her? I doubt she expects that, D. I know her, she's smart, funny and just normal. She treats me like a normal person, doesn't let me get away with shit, but lets me be a normal 16-year-old. She told me she thinks your cute, I had to drag it out of her, but she wouldn't lie. Give it a chance, Wells, seriously. Give yourself a chance."
"I know she thinks I'm cute – she said it was objective truth, undeniable." I start to laugh and sway with her.
"Yep, that sounds just like her. Doesn't mean she's not affected by it. She's clearly gotten under your skin – I mean, you let her touch you, like she's family."
"I know she's attracted to me, she feels it too, but she's too smart to let her feelings get the better of her. I need to prove to her that she can trust me, trust what I say."
"She said that to you, just then?"
"Yes, right before she walked away, with tears in her eyes."
"So, she's giving you a chance, Wells! She wants you to go after her! Why did you let her go? She's probably halfway home by now! I'll text her-"
"No, don't do that, G. I need to make the next move, not have my 16-year-old sister, who is her client, for shit's sake, do the work for me. I don't want to be that fixer-upper guy who is actually just an unreliable nutjob. I mean, I am a little whacko, and she probably will need to fix me, but I'm totally reliable, right?" We both laugh, but the moment is bittersweet.
"Let's just go home."
