AN: It's been a rough few weeks in real life, folks. And there's quite a few chapters before our HEA I think. I want a nice long one so I can spend some time savouring it, but it's difficult to foreshadow it here when I haven't worked it out yet...

Chapter 18

I haven't been home for 4 weeks. I dove straight into work, scheduling every meeting I had been delaying or passing on to the executive team. I have not spoken to Georgie long enough to give her any indication of the emptiness I now live with. I blocked Elizabeth's number the minute I drove away from her house. I am at the bottom of a deep, dark well and I am refusing to do anything but dig deeper. As long as I am digging, I am alive. Saudi Arabia, Doha, Germany, Beijing, Kyoto and Jakarta. Places I visited, deals I brokered, negotiations I walked away from and still digging, digging into the yawning chasm, feeding the numbness, forcing the inhalation and exhalation. Day after day. I have touched no one and I am ignoring how much my skin burns to feel her again. To feel anything again. This life feels familiar, and no one seems to notice, so my reputation continues to protect me. Or imprison me.

I have run out of things to keep me away and have landed back in Perth this morning. I could not face going home yet so I have gone straight to one of the penthouse suites at The Ritz-Carlton that DG have a semi-permanent booking for. Our South-East Asian and Middle Eastern partners love the 6-star luxury that we now can boast of having in Perth, although a number of them do request accommodation at the Crown Towers so they can mix business with gambling. I have a feeling that the autopilot in my brain had subconsciously set the destination to Elizabeth Quay, for the obvious reason. Avoiding the familiar has been my salvation, but everything about this little city of mine reminds me of her. I am starting to feel again, and the weight of it is staggering and blinding. I stare out at the iridescent sparkles shimmering off the Swan River as it snakes its way from beneath my feet all the way to Fremantle. I see Matilda Bay, with the yacht masts gently waving and I remember long Sunday walks with her along the river. I remember private moments under the ghost gums along less frequented paths. I remember a trip to the Zoo, with Georgie, and sneaking a kiss from her in a dark corner of the Nocturnal House, feeling like a teenager when we were caught.

I am cogent enough to promote Richard to acting CEO before I turn my phone off and launch it across the room. I have no intention of finding it again when I collapse onto the bed. My body had been numb, my mind a bleak and empty landscape. No future, no past, only the present, the now, the doing. Now I am doing nothing but feeling and I wallow in it. I let the memories play over and over, the sensations washing over me and drowning me. I feel her everywhere and I revel in the pain of her absence. I cry, I hyperventilate, I breathe, I repeat.

I don't leave the suite, ordering room service and consuming the contents of the mini fridge while sitting in the bath, or lying on the bed, wearing nothing but the fluffy robe and slippers. I have told the hotel I am not to be disturbed. I don't want to feel, hear, or do anything other than live in my memories. This feels not dissimilar to being in COVID quarantine, but rather than it being a soul-destroying experience, filled with the agitation for freedom and escape, my soul was already empty, and I have no desire to leave and no interest in the outside world. My only regret is not saying a word to Georgie. I couldn't face her and tell her what Elizabeth had done. How she had betrayed her. Betrayed us. I wasn't ready then and I don't know if I am ever going to be ready. Days and nights bleed together, hotel maids come and go, the necessaries of life continue with little conscious thought of my own.

It is midnight on day five, and I am following a stray thought about how I could misjudge a person's character so badly and trying to imagine Elizabeth having the conversation with Lydia where she somehow gets around to giving her Georgie's story. I have been trying, and failing to fathom how that conversation fits into everything I know, or thought I knew, about Elizabeth. That kind of random act of betrayal belonged to the likes of George Wickham. It was the kind of thing that left a mark, a visible stain on a person's character, right? I should have been able to see that, shouldn't I? The emptiness and despair build, but I can find no relief. There are no tears, no cries, no blind panic, or breathless rage. In the silence, I fall asleep, dreaming of her. Always of her.

Wickham. I abruptly sit up in bed, muscles tensed and immediately cramping from the sudden movement, after days of inactivity. The sunlight is filtering in the gap of the poorly closed block out curtains and falls directly on my face. I don't know why I wake up thinking of him, when I know all I dreamed about was her. I can't blame this gigantic snafu on anyone but me. I feel my first weightless emotion when I consider the unintended pun that snafu is. Most people don't know that snafu is actually World War II US Army slang for "situation normal all f***ed up", which actually perfectly describes the landscape of my life.

It's time to restore order and get on with my life. Despite Elizabeth's betrayal, I will take her advice, I will ring one of her therapists. Then, I will see one of her therapists and I will try to find the man I want to be underneath all the snafus. Five days in the hole wasn't that long a time to realise I am a broken man looking for the glue that will make me whole, not a beaten man looking for an excuse to stay down and out. I don't know any more if the conclusion I jumped to was the right one five weeks ago, but I do know that I don't want to feel that blindsided ever again.

I roll out of bed, open the curtains wide and do a series of punishing high intensity exercises to wake up and burn the lethargy out of my neglected muscles. The endorphin kick doesn't hurt, and it takes me through the pain that follows when I let the good vibes take my thoughts to her. I allow myself a moment of self-indulgent pleasure in the shower before I let the waves of loss and pain wash over me, unleashing a final torrent of tears almost equal to the waterfall of heat raining down my back. I don't know if there is a future with Elizabeth, but I do know that I have a chance to be a better man, for my sister, and for myself. After that, I figure my future is wide open.

My mobile had landed underneath the hospitality cabinet and after 4 days off had still somehow managed to deplete its battery. I considered calling down for a charging cable but instead decided to check out and head straight into the office. I had awoken early, so it was still only 7am. I would have time to plug in at work and get my game face on before running the gauntlet of my CFO and COO for dropping the ball this week. Whatever they dish out, it will be completely deserved. I call down to check out and have my car brought around for the short drive to my office in the city. On my way down I grab a quick bite to eat at the buffet and within 30 minutes I am seated at my desk, dressed in my suit and favourite tie and almost feeling like myself again. I finally switch my phone on at its charging cradle on my desk. It lights up like it's New Year's Eve and I unblock Elizabeth's number. Amongst the hundreds of notifications, her name finally appears. She sent me only one text, the night I left her at her parent's house.

I know what you think. It wasn't me. We need to talk.

More fireworks explode in my stomach. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe there's hope. I shelve the feelings. I have lost 4 working days to the vagaries of my heart, and I make myself go through the rest of my messages methodically, after I send quick texts to Georgie, Rich and Laura, as well as my PA, Nina, who I know thoroughly deserves the flowers and hotel gift voucher that are sitting on her desk, organised as I left the Ritz-Carlton this morning. She would have copped a lot of flak and cleaned up a lot of collateral damage from the last 4 days, not to mention the punishing schedule I'd made for myself, and therefore for her, for the previous 4 weeks.

2 hours later, 38 conciliatory emails sent, 14 meetings rescheduled, and 3 interruptions from Nina, Rich and Laura, mostly relieved, though the look my cousin gives me tells me there is more to come when we can speak privately, and I finally check the private email I have with my security team. Daniel insists that all communications from him are kept outside the usual network traffic, so I have to use an ancient looking tablet that hides the latest in secure telecommunications gadgetry. The device pings immediately and I go through the fingerprint ID and security question drill before it loads up. I scroll through the messages detailing our security status across the various DG holdings and some background information on recent DG acquisitions, which I cleared and forwarded to the appropriate personnel. Once the routine reports were dealt with, I began reading the latest surveillance reports on Wickham.

The last report, received a few weeks ago, indicated that he was back in the country, though he was last seen in Sydney, not Perth. He'd finally been dumped by the ex-boarding house supervisor, Ophelia Younge, who had gone back home to New Jersey after she worked out that the guy who got her fired was probably not the one to pin her hopes on. I disliked having him so close to home, but perhaps I should lean into the having my friends' close and my enemies' closer principle. Easier said than done, when your life's main purpose has been to keep everyone far from you for as long as you can remember. I asked Dan to take a quick look at Wickham's known associates in Sydney to see if we could work out what he was up to and if it was anything we should be worried about. There was nothing more I could do to shake the fuzzy feeling that had stayed with me since waking this morning.

I walk out of the office to check in with Laura briefly. As I go, I stop at my PA's desk. Nina Reynolds joined the Darcy household after my mother died. She was our housekeeper and was a rare constant in our home during those difficult years. She kept her distance when Dad made some moves on her, but she stayed on for me and Georgie. She is loyal, smart and doesn't suffer fools. I asked her to be my PA a few years ago when I realised she was also an invaluable administrative force to be reckoned with. She is only 10 years older than me and has never once pushed any of my boundaries. I love her unconditionally.

"Neens, can you book the Laneway Lounge for lunch today. Rich and I will be there in an hour."

"Sure thing, Boss. Thanks again for the flowers and the hotel. It wasn't necessary, but Frank and I will love a little city vacation. Ok, if I head out at 3 today? I need to pick up the kids. I'll get the reports finalised at home and they'll be in your inbox for approval before the board meets next week. I'm still waiting on a few but Bronwyn's chasing them down."

"That'll be fine, Nina, thanks. Take the rest of the day. And don't leave that weekend away too long. Make sure Frank books in some time off today otherwise another year will go by. I know they work him to the bone over there at Treasury."

"It didn't help that you poached his best forensic accountant," she tried to look angry, "he's been working overtime to get her junior up to speed."

"Well, I just made Bronwyn an offer – it's not my fault she was looking to go private and work less hours. You have to persuade him to go in-house. You know we could use him."

"Frank is a stickler for appearances. It's bad enough I work for you, but if he was to cross over now after everything that happened – he didn't work your case, but he still doesn't like it. Maybe in a few years. He loves what he does."

I spend 40 minutes catching up with Laura. She does all the talking and by the end I am up to date on all of our operational issues and have given her the green light to implement the recommended changes associated with our logistics and materials handling division. I can tell she's concerned about me, but I have never fostered the kind of relationship with her that would make her comfortable with asking me any personal questions. I needed someone in the executive just like that, to balance Richard's entitled and unquestioning invasiveness. She is like a calm oasis compared to what is coming next.

Lunch with Richard. I chose a public place, hoping it would temper the explosion a little. He loves tapas, so I took him to his favourite place – a little hole in the wall on Murray Street that opened into a riotous medley of mismatched dining chairs, sea chests, trunks and lounges with diaphanous silk curtains dividing up the spaces across two levels. As we walk in, I see him relaxing, smiling at the wait staff who know him by name, and I know I have chosen well. When he catches my eye, the scowl appears, and I almost look for the nearest exit. I haven't even sat down before he begins.

"What the hell is going on? You take off a month ago and start scheduling meetings well in advance of our usual prep time, making decisions without consulting any of us. You are lucky your decisions seem to be panning out, though I have managed to give us some wiggle room on the most risky ones. Do you have any idea what you have put Laura through? Nina has been working overtime to keep up. And why the hell haven't you contacted Georgie? She's frantic and ended up sleeping at my place for a while. You've called her twice in the last month, and both times you told her nothing. And why have you blocked Elizabeth's calls?"

I just sat there and took it. "Are you finished?" He nods, scowling. I breathe deeply, eyes on the ceiling and just as I'm about to speak, our waitress brings the selection Richard has ordered. I wave her away with a short smile of refusal when she asks what I would like to drink, pointing to the carafe of ice water already on the table. "I'm waiting," Richard intones, while I gather my thoughts again.

"I'm sorry about everything. I've apologised to Laura, and Nina, and I will see Georgie tonight. The day I left, I was blindsided by Elizabeth and her family. Her little sister, Lydia, knew something, maybe everything about what happened at RISDe with Wickham and Georgie, she threw it all in my face in front of the whole family, she had random news clippings, and accused me of being corrupt – the whole thing. I just couldn't – I still can't deal with the fact that Elizabeth told her about it. I unblocked her number this morning and she sent me one solitary text, no phone calls, nothing – just one text telling me it wasn't her. She guessed that I knew she told her sister. But one text – nothing else? No frantic phone calls, no dozens of voice mails, no apologies, no pleas for me to come back – nothing!"

Richard responds with a disgusted laugh. "Do you even know her, like at all? She got the bounce back from her message and realised you must have blocked her, like within an hour of all that going down – and yeah, I've heard the whole thing from Elizabeth. I believe her. Lydia won't tell her where she got her info from, and she doesn't want to ask any harder questions because she's trying not to make it seem like Lydia is close to the truth. She is working her arse off trying to keep a lid on all of this and at the moment, giving a 15-year-old's lunatic ravings the time of day would seem to be counterproductive! She is keeping it together, but she is really worried about you, worried about Georgie and underneath it all, she's really pissed that you just took off without even talking to her. Forget about that bullshit you shouted at her before you left. Blah, blah, Caz was right, blah blah! As soon as those words left your mouth you should've known you were wrong!"

I have no idea what to do with this information. Can I believe it? Do I trust the judgment of my practical cousin when it comes to the vagaries of my broken heart? Logic slowly seeps in as I sit with my head in my hands, too nauseated to eat. "She still cares enough after what I said to her to help Georgie?"

"She loves Georgie enough not to have told her everything her sister said. She said you just overreacted to some things her family said and needed to go lick your wounds like the man-baby you are. She sure as hell loves you, you pig-headed colossus! She's going to tear you a new one, but she's cut up about what Lydia said, and believes, about you. She feels awful and doesn't understand how Lydia found out about any of it. There's been no breaches at the clinic, and there's no way her Aunt gave it away. None of it is even in the papers!"

"You really believe her?" His looks answers eloquently enough and makes me feel even sicker. My fuzzy feeling returns in full force. "It just feels like Wickham's got something to do with this. You know he's back in the country. The timing is strangely coincidental. Dan last tracked him landing in Sydney." Richard is sceptical. "How can he have any idea what's going on? You and Elizabeth have been in the paper once, and she wasn't even named. How can he be involved?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out." I guess I'm going to have to crawl on broken glass to beg Elizabeth for forgiveness too, but the renewed purpose and hope this conversation gives me has made my appetite return. Richard joins me as we silently devour the meal.