The music from the speakers blasted as I sat hunched over my laptop. I would occasionally glance out of the window but only to track the train of thought I was having. Other than that, I would diligently keep typing in. There were days when I got so engrossed into my work that I wouldn't even notice when the playlist looped back into starting all over again. My room would be constantly thick with the brown smell of coffee and cigarettes and the tiny ash tray sitting on my table would be constantly overworked, with her mute appeals to get emptied fulfilled only when the housekeeper would frequent my room to clean it. She tried to put on airs of disapproval for my benefit for the first couple of times she came in but after realizing that I never registered her presence she would attempt to finish her professional obligation and leave the room as soon as she can, before asking the obligatory "Can I get you anything, Miss Bennet?"
Such days of neck-breaking work were contrasted by over-long meetings I had with Dean. Some of them were regarding revisions. By the time I was satisfied of having an almost complete manuscript; my work was completely different from what it started. The autobiographical element was slowly and gradually chiseled down to being practically fiction, and when I realized this I changed the whole story completely. Other meetings with Dean were with potential Book Editors which used to happen in high-end restaurants with sterile interior design and almost universal menus. It was always the same espressos that the three of us had, coupled with the same Hors d'oeuvres of bruschettas and crabs and what-nots, the same flutes of white wine (depending upon the time of the day). The pitches made me nervous for the first few times but as I kept getting rejected it started making me more and more jaded.
Dean tried his best and started initially with the big publishing houses as he was driven with a bizarre sense of optimism. But as time and defeat marched on, he started to invoke many independent and boutique ones. It was finally after the 22nd or 23rd meeting (I stopped keeping count after the 17th rejection) when there was a glimmer of hope. It was on a rainy August day when our messiah, a stoic middle aged book editor named Philip who worked for an indie publishing house called back after reading the manuscript.
"'He says that the setting of the story is really unique" said Dean on the phone
"Unique how?" I asked sitting by the west window of my room gazing at the blazing orange sunset burning the edges of voluminous grey clouds. I hadn't turned off the playlist I listened to while working.
"During the Russian Revolution and all" he continued, "He said that it made him feel like it was 'Anna Karenina' during the Early 20th century. He especially liked the main character being a Russian Expat; I didn't know this but his grandfather was one too!"
"That is very lucky for me" I said unable to hide the small amount sarcasm.
"That doesn't take away the fact that you worked on your drafts, Lizzie"
"Yeah you're right. I am allowed to be happy for this I guess"
"You most definitely are! Now if you will excuse me I have to get ready for a Date" he concluded.
"With who?" I asked, suddenly recalling the way we first met. I was in that moment caught completely off-guard by how completely I had forgotten about our hook-up despite it being no more than a few weeks ago. Thinking about that night made me feel like I was witnessing someone else's memory.
"Some blind date my sister set up, someone who is a software engineer or something" he replied.
"Well, all the best" I said as I hung up.
I was taking in the beautiful sunset that hung over the buildings when I noticed the door of my room slowly being opened. I was spooked for a few seconds but then I recognized what was the shadow of Dad. But before I could relax completely I noticed that he was moving very slowly and was holding what seemed to me a fire-poker like a club. He moved onto the landing and slowly turned around to find me sitting by the settee looking at him with utmost puzzlement. He startled a bit on finding me and heaved a sigh of relief while lowering the poker down.
"What are you doing?" I asked as I moved towards my desk to turn off the music.
"I didn't knew you were home" he said breathing heavily while putting his hand on the left side of his chest, "I thought someone broke in. Aren't you supposed to be out at this time? I swear to god…"
"Well, I don't anymore" I said, "in fact, I should tell you this: I got a book deal"
"Really?" he said as he raised his head, the colours of his face brightening accordingly, "Oh I'm so proud of you Lizzie! I can't wait to tell your mother about it" he said as he fumbled to find his phone in any of his pockets.
"There are still a few revisions due dad" I said, "and I will tell her when we go to Italy. I want to surprise her and Jane"
"Okay, whatever you want" he said showing the palms of his hands in a gesture of mild surrender. "I am glad you are home right now" he continued, "because I was invited to dinner by Harry Darcy and now that you are free for the evening I suppose you would join me?"
I felt the way it feels when you are having a great time at a party only to remember that you left the stove on in your kitchen. The palpable grin I had on my face unscrewed itself in a mechanical motion as my face betrayed the realization of that reality.
Dad seem to notice as he said, "I think Frank is in Zurich right now, so he won't be joining us. It will only be Harry and his father there."
I stared at him for a few moments and slowly turned around to face the window again. The clouds were rapidly turning a deep purple now and I was mildly irritated by the loss of the brilliant setting sun. I didn't say anything for a few seconds. It has been almost two months now since I practically left behind whatever life I had there, including Darcy. I thought it would be easy to get rid of his spectre, but I forgot that it wasn't as easy. I can run and evade him, because I was not a believer in the superstition of the rom-com where the love interests keep running into each other in the most improbable of places- an event that serves as shorthand to convey the idea of the universe or whatever it is that runs it being in on the bland love story of two equally bland conventionally attractive people of opposite sex.
I felt angry for Dad even bringing up his whereabouts, why does he think that I am affected by that? My ego was profoundly hurt and I wanted to lash out, if not at him then at something. How can he just assume that I am still thinking about him after all this time? I was overcome with multiple waves of deep and utter regret over telling my family about my affair with Frank Darcy. I should have never done that. I should have never been such a steaming pile of mess in such a public manner, I thought. I just got a book deal, for god's sake! At least almost a book deal but still. I would be cutting an advance of no less than £3000, if Dean is to be believed. Why the fuck would I even think about Frank? I know nothing about him. He is as good as those one-night stands I had. I remember to this the day very distinctly the sheer effort my mind made in dragging his name into the list of my masculine concubine. I tried very, very hard to ignore the pain, pretended that it was not real and I was not supposed to feel it.
I hopelessly searched for some answer, something to show but it was all cold and dark outside now. The only response to my quiet turmoil was the indifferent sounds of traffic that patterned itself with horn noises and brake screeches with complete randomness.
I heard Dad sigh again, this time with disappointment as he got up to leave. "Well, if you don't want to then…"
"When are we supposed to arrive for the Dinner then?" I asked turning around rapidly.
We were ushered into a secluded corner of the large spacious lobby towards a single elevator. I realized the logistic of this elevator serving as a private one for there were only two navigable buttons on the touch-screen- one displaying "G" and the other "PH". The other analog buttons were the routine emergency buttons. Such overpowering preliminary display of opulence did much to shake up my nerves, rendering all the mental make-up I did on my way to here completely useless.
The elevator took less time to arrive at its destination than I expected it to, and before I could even begin to compose myself it dinged softly and opened its heavy doors. We were greeted by a large hallway dominated with shades of light pinks and lilacs. The door of their penthouse was simple yet elegant. It was also opened as the security detail at the entrance notified them of our arrival. We were greeted by a smiling old lady dressed in a plain dark green dress. She greeted Dad with a familiarity that indicated that Dad has been here before.
"How are you Mr. Bennet?" she asked as she took his coat while looking at me in anticipation.
"I am absolutely fine Mrs. Reynolds." he replied, "I wasn't expecting you to be here, I thought you were at Pemberley"
"I was but had to rush London to get some things done" she replied, "I was very sorry to hear about the divorce" she said gently as Dad handed her his coat.
"Thank you" he replied, "but you let me introduce you to my Lizzie" he said as he gestured towards me.
I came forward and smiled in greeting as she returned the courtesy. "Oh she looks beautiful" she exclaimed as she helped me out of my dark blue coat, "completely different from Jane though. Jane took after her mother I suppose" she said with a nervous laugh.
As I was turning towards the other wall, I noticed a large oil portrait of a woman with deep auburn hair and bright green eyes. She was not more than 30 years in age. The portrait was very obviously commissioned in the 80s because the large dress of the woman, despite being formal had poufy sleeves and raised padded shoulders, and her hair despite being tied back contained the kind of volume that is possible only by copious amounts of hairspray.
Despite all this, she was painted very beautifully, with her eyes carrying the softness of springtime clouds and her kind hands caressing each other. She had a long face and snubbed nose and the painter did the world a favor by quite meticulously adding freckles all over and around the wide bridge of her nose. I would imagine that she would have looked like a 17th-century Transylvanian Countess had her pale skin not been warmed by those delicate freckles.
"That would be Mrs. Catherine Darcy, wife of Mr. Darcy. She died two years ago, sadly" Mrs. Reynolds whispered into my ears judging by my interest in the oil, "This was her at 28."
These words made me look more intently at the large portrait. She is Frank's mother? I thought. I looked deeper to find some resemblance, a little muscle here, some feature there, something that would hint towards a genetic resemblance to a man I have known in an up-close and somewhat personal capacity. But I could gather nothing. My interest for the evening was henceforth adequately piqued.
"Mr. Bennet?" came a strong robust male voice from the other side of the hallway. All three of us turned towards the direction to find a tall man with bright red hair beckoning Dad cheerfully.
"Harry!" Dad exclaimed in response as he walked towards him with open arms. He joined him halfway to give him a nice warm bear hug.
"It is so great to see you" said Harry looking intently at him. I kept looking at his face, wondering if I was seeing a masculine version of Catherine Darcy in the face of this man because of her image still being etched onto my retina. He has the same hair and eyes and a slightly different pattern of freckles. The only thing that was different was the squareness of his jaw and his stern yet gentle mouth. I guess he took after his mother, I thought.
We walked into the dining room as dad talked to Harry. A brunette woman a few inches taller than me stood waiting by the long dining table who smiled on seeing us enter. I interpreted her identity as the wife of Harry.
"Look who's here from across the pond" Harry addressed his wife as she braced herself for her guests.
"How are you Diane?" Father greeted her warmly while giving her a gentle sideways hug.
"So good to see you… and this must be Jane?" she enquired.
"No I am Lizzie" I corrected her politely as I let my left hand out. She acknowledged my greeting.
We were seated around the dining table after a few minutes and the chatter soon composed itself as minutes turned to hours. Harry and Diane took turns to serve and consequently clear the 3 courses of dinner. I didn't talk much as this was the first time I met these people, but also because I was noticing the similarities between Harry and his mother.
By the time everyone was done with dessert, Diane asked if we would like some coffee in the parlour.
"Thanks a lot, dear" said papa, "But I should be leaving. I have some important meetings tomorrow"
"You are joining us in Pemberley though, aren't you?" Harry disguised his invite in a good-inentioned yet casual query.
"Why what for?" Papa asked, delighted but still puzzled.
"It's dad's birthday on Saturday! You forgot did you?" Harry replied playfully
"Oh no not all My boy!" said papa with his voice raised in jubilation, "I was thinking about paying him a visit in his office"
"Well how about you spend the weekend at Pemberley?" Diane said, "We are having a very small and private party for his birthday."
"Yeah it has been very long anyways, and he won't be in London for another week I think" Mrs. Reynolds added.
"I suppose it has been a while since I visited Pemberley" papa pondered, "I suppose I can drop him a visit there"
"Not just 'a visit', you and Lizzie are going to stay there for the weekend" Harry declared with unanimous support from others seated at the dining table.
"Me?" I exclaimed, "why me?"
"Well you would be coming too, I assume" Harry said.
"I would love to but I have a lot of work and…" I tried very hard to come up with a decent excuse.
"Come on Lizzie!" Diane implored to me, "It is just a weekend"
"You haven't left London in weeks dear" papa whispered gently as the rest of the table chattered on in the background of my attention, "Don't be so afraid, My love"
I looked around at the faces of the people talking to me while interspersing their arguments with small pointless details. "John is coming too, that too all the way from LA" I heard someone say. "It would be great fun he has missing you so much" I assumed was addressed to papa. My attention finally gravitated to the big vase of tulips placed in front of me. I just didn't want to live like a rat anymore. For the first time in my life I was doing something that was of my own. I was getting somewhere in life. I would be getting an advance. There is so much that has been happening in my favour, according to what I want. Can't I weather one boring weekend at some country house? Worst case scenario, it would be boring- and in that case I can just work there I suppose? I will take my computer and diary there.
But I still dreaded something. It was like I was running away from something and I was afraid that the unnamed monster would tip the balance of my life into destruction and anarchy. I knew it won't actually be like that and I can regain it again even if it did, but I needed a way to do that.
Okay, how about this, I said to myself- no matter what happens at Pemberley, you will come back to London Monday morning and the first thing you will do is look for a place of your own- how about that? Talk to papa about it on the way to Pemberley, okay?
I turned around and looked at papa who was now looking at me with a very concerned expression and his eyes quizzed me about the present situation. I smiled at him and turned to Harry and said, "I guess a weekend won't hurt much"
I was putting on my coat as I again looked at Catherine Darcy's portrait. Her green eyes followed me as I swayed around to put my arms into the sleeves. It was maybe the booze or the full stomach but her smile now at this hour of the night seemed completely different from when I saw her first, while before it conveyed a sense of formality, now it seemed like a satisfactory smile. Maybe the light was different but it now seemed like she was at peace and she could not ask for more from life.
