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Posted on Monday, 12 February 2007

Prologue

She had come to Africa to escape reality, only to discover a harsher reality, one that made her past seem carefree and peaceful. She had packed up her sorrows along with her disappointed dreams, and carted them halfway across the world, hoping all the while that the passing sands of time would allow her to irrevocably check her baggage and return home with a lighter load. And so amidst pleas and tears from those nearest and dearest, she had left everything that symbolised her old shattered existence. The locals had welcomed her with open arms and generous toothy grins plastered on their shiny ebony faces, with a gratitude that filled her heart and touched her very soul. She had been amazed that people who had so little could be so hospitable, appear so serene, as if their poverty lessened the stresses and unending desires associated with the rat race of western life. She had shared their highs, and wept through their many lows, and surprisingly, she felt the heavy burden that had caused the self-imposed exile from her life, gradually lighten. She had never expected that amidst the war battling around her, she would finally find her peace.

And so standing on the edge of the dusty plain she had called her home, and looking out at the African sunset which drew a close on her last full day on the continent, she felt a tranquillity, a contentment, she had never expected to feel again. With slow deliberation, she eased the two rings off her left ring finger, gently fingered the name inscribed within, and with a lingering kiss, placed them in the small wooden box the local children had painstakingly fashioned for her parting gift. She closed her eyes in silent remembrance.

“You, Lizzy, are an emerald in the rough”, he whispered, as he massaged her tired shoulders.

“An emerald?? Don’t you mean a diamond?” she replied saucily “And, unless I’m mistaken, isn’t that phrase a metaphor for an unpolished gem? You better watch out, after working fifteen hours straight, I might be inclined to think you’re referring to my rather frightful sleep-deprived appearance”.

“Firstly, pure emeralds are usually more expensive than common diamonds. Secondly, with your bewitching green eyes, sparkling and shining, as they are now, no other simile will do. You are an emerald in the rough. You have a much greater beauty hidden deep inside the witty outer layer that everyone sees,” he stated, gazing down at her with unmistakable adoration.

“I knew there was a reason why I spend so much time with you,” she said flippantly. “You are the king of massages and idle flattery!”

His fingers stopped their kneading, and his voice was low, hesitant.

“Every king needs a queen.”

She turned around to face him, as he reached into his breast pocket and produce a small box. As he opened it, she gave a small gasp at the simple emerald encrusted platinum ring.

“ Elizabeth,” he whispered. “I had hoped to find a jewel that would compare somewhat favourably to the twinkle in your eyes. Now, gazing at you and this mere stone, I know that I have failed miserably. I will never find your equal. Elizabeth, I’ve loved you for months. You captured my heart the first moment I laid eyes on you at Memorial. I know that some people may object, that it’s too soon, fifteen years is too great a gap, that you’re still young. God, my own mind has been telling me I’m acting irrationally. But I know my own heart, and I know that you care for me. I don’t know what life holds for us, or what bumps are on the road ahead; all I know is that I want you beside me through the passage. Please, Elizabeth, will you share that journey with me?”

With her acceptance echoing in her ears she allowed the memory to fade with the dying embers of the setting sun. With a soft smile and shining eyes, she headed towards the cottage.

He was gone. The journey had ended. She could never forget him. But she would go on.

Chapter One: Homecoming

Elizabeth breathed in deeply, as she peered out her window, her breath frosting the Perspex. ‘Out of the frying pan into the ice-bucket,’ she mused, as she took in the gloomy clouds gathered together in angry clusters over the winter sky. How different this was to the sweltering summer days and endless blue skies that, only yesterday, had stretched above her for miles and miles. ‘Lydia will be green with envy,’ she reflected, casting a brief glance over her tanned arms. She thanked God that she had the presence of mind to carry a jacket. She couldn’t recall the last time she had needed to wear anything other than the tank tops and light cotton shorts that had become her uniform. The past year had been especially dry in central Africa, creating a vicious cycle of drought, famine and disease.

She mulled over the words of the Australian National Anthem. For the years of her school education, every Monday she had stood with her fellow classmates for weekly assembly, and sung the praises of her country with the thought and appreciation of an automaton.

‘Australians all let us rejoice,
For we are young and free.
We’ve golden soil and wealth for toil
Our home is girt by sea.
Our land abounds in nature’s gifts
Of beauty rich and rare.
In history’s page let every stage
Advance Australia Fair’.

It had taken this trip to the bowels of a third world nation to make Elizabeth fully appreciate the ‘beauty’ and ‘gifts’ the anthem extolled. She remembered the small bathroom in the student flat she had shared with her two roommates in her final year at Sydney University; the chipped tile, ugly brown laminate, and ear-deafening fan. How they had complained at the lack of shelf space, and argued over the occasional wet towel left on the floor, lamenting daily how impossible it was to expect that the primping and preening necessary to attract the attentions of the male student body could be achieved by three girls in such a tiny room.

How petty that had seemed when she first visited the Kibera slum of Kenya! She never forgot the shock she felt when she learnt that the 750,000 residents squashed within a four-kilometre pocket of land shared 600 dilapidated toilets*. Her disgust had been great when her hosts had delicately warned her to beware of ‘flying toilets’; plastic bags used as makeshift commodes and then flung as far as possible with reckless abandon. She could never hear the rustling of plastic in the same way again.

The moment she had stepped out of Jomo Kenyatta International, the material difference between the Kenya that existed outside the airport’s perimeter, and the Kenya represented within the terminal was as obvious to Elizabeth as day and night. The sophisticated polish of the stewardesses, the scent of promised gastronomic delights wafting from the cafeteria, and the cleanliness of the toilets; all were far removed from the reality of the sprawling slums where she had spent the majority of her time.

And now she was home. The flight had passed with excruciating slowness. She had relished the opportunity to reflect and plan. It was not to be. The sweaty middle-aged man initially seated next to her had eagerly sacrificed his window seat for her. Accepting with circumspection, Elizabeth soon learnt that the offer was by no means an act of benevolence. The oily creature had taken the liberty of chatting constantly from the moment the plane was airborne; his pompous string of four-syllable words broken only by stealthy glances directed squarely at her breasts. Although lucid in appearance, Elizabeth caught the faint stench of alcohol escape his lips with every word he uttered. His bright eyes and flushed face suggested the man had imbibed a significant quantity before boarding the plane.

“These trips can be quite tedious, especially if one is unfortunate enough not to have pleasant diversions to occupy him during the flight,” her neighbour proclaimed, eyeing her appreciatively.

“It’s lucky then that each seat is fitted with its own entertainment system. A person could watch television, play games or listen to the radio without disturbing the solitude of other passengers,” Elizabeth replied curtly. She reached into the pocket in front of her seat and produced the in-flight magazine, hoping the obvious hints to leave her alone would register. She scanned the pages slowly.

“You make a very valid point. But what is such entertainment compared to the company of a beautiful woman”, continued the oily creature, with a lecherous smile pasted on his greasy face.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes in silent suffering.

“Did business bring you to Africa?” wheedled the man, as he licked his lips, “or pleasure?” Elizabeth shivered.

“Neither. I spent the last year working with Médecins Sans Frontières,” she said hesitantly. The last thing she wanted to do was give this leech too much information. Her neighbour gave her a blank stare. “That’s Doctors Without Borders,” she continued.

“Ahhhhh, a doctor.” The man peered at her curiously. “In that case perhaps you could provide me with some medical counsel. For the past year, I have noticed quite a large lump on my…”

Elizabeth released a small groan. Since graduating, she learnt there were two types of reactions she could expect from people upon learning her profession. The first was the scepticism. When she had first completed her medical degree at the age of eighteen, her professors had warned her that she would experience distrust from patients desiring age and expertise over youth and exuberance. What they had failed to warn her about was the raised eyebrows and pointed looks from those within the medical fraternity, those peers who viewed her as an immature teenager, an academic anomaly. Over the years, as she had gotten older, this response had waned. The second reaction, like that played out by her neighbour, was almost predatory. So many people laboured under the misapprehension that her medical degree gave them free license to harass her for free medical advice, regardless of time or place. She was always guaranteed to find at least one hypochondriac to keep her hostage at most social gatherings.

“….and, surprisingly, it disappeared. Do you think it’s serious?”

Elizabeth blinked. ‘What the heck did he say’, she thought, as she gave her customary recommendation. “You should discuss the issue with your GP. I’m sure that with a detailed physical examination, they can draw a better conclusion for you than I can at the moment.”

“I can show you were it was, if need be,” he started eagerly, as his greasy fingers moved to his belt buckle.

“NO,” Elizabeth cried in alarm. She lowered her voice and smiled tightly. “That won’t be necessary, sir. In such close quarters as these I could scarcely examine you with any thoroughness, and I haven’t got my bag with me…and umm….”

‘Damn it,’ she thought darkly. ‘of all the seats, on all the flights, of all the airlines, I get the privilege of being seated next to a drunken, pompous pervert.

“Your thoughtfulness does you credit, Doctor,” he responded, with sudden seriousness. “And, like you, I too share the same desire to relieve suffering and help my fellow man. Indeed, it is this very important business that brought me to the continent.”

Elizabeth could see his chest swell with self-importance. “That’s nice,” she offered with great disinterest. Oblivious, he continued on.

“For many years I have laboured as a mechanical engineer, striving to optimise costs while increasing productivity, durability and safety. I must confess that I have experienced considerable success in this profession, and have enjoyed the respect of colleagues and clients alike. However, recently, I found, despite all the success, that there has been an emptiness existing within me. Although my Sydney firm, De Bourghs, is one of the most illustrious in the country, although I have helped design planes, trains and automobiles, I have been unable to fill that void.”

‘What do I look like, Dr Phil,’ thought Elizabeth in despair.

“I prayed constantly to the patron saint of mechanics, sweet St Catherine**, for guidance in my profession, to help me find that self-fulfilment which had so eluded me. I have been fortunate to commission a painting of the likeness of St Catherine, which is placed, most fittingly, above the magnificent fireplace in my living room. She has always served as my inspirational muse, and I knew, that should I call upon her in my hour of need, I should indeed be guided towards the proper course of action. Then,” he paused dramatically, casting bright eyes upon Elizabeth, “One night, after many days of fervent veneration, it finally occurred.”

“As I was preparing to climb the staircase of my home, Rosings,’ he continued excitedly “a staircase, which I am proud to confess, I designed with the greatest of consideration to style and ergonomics…suddenly I experienced a great vision. There, on the staircase, not three meters away, St Catherine appeared to me, as regal and as splendid as her likeness. As you can imagine, I was greatly astounded by the miracle, and for a brief moment, I doubted my sanity. But then, the vision, my St Catherine, spoke.”

“She spoke?” repeated Elizabeth. She kicked herself mentally. She shouldn’t encourage the man with his delusions. ‘He’s a drunken, lecherous, perverted lunatic. He could be a homicidal maniac into the bargain!’ she chastised herself.

“Yes!” he replied, pleased with what he perceived to be growing interest. “She opened her sweet lips and said to me in such authoritative tones, ‘Bill Collins,’ for that is my name, ‘you have been created for a higher purpose. You have been destined for the clergy’. Naturally, I was quite surprised with this declaration, as I have never entertained any thoughts of this profession before, but the vision continued. ‘Go to Africa. Establish a mission. Name it Hunsford. And when you are done, I, St Catherine, will call upon you once more.”

Elizabeth was sure that had there been flies on the flight they all would have been drawn to her gaping mouth.

“And so, after great contemplation, and much soul searching, I discovered it would be prudent of me to travel to Africa in order to research the logistics of such a mission. I feel that if I was to ignore the commandments of my noble patroness, she should become seriously displeased.” Bill Collins’ eyes were wide with solemnity.

Fortunately, before Elizabeth could formulate a response, a reprieve came courtesy of the drinks trolley. Bill Collins’ adulation of St Catherine was soon set aside, for his mouth was required for drinking. His scotch and coke was soon joined by three shots of whiskey from the bottle in his duty-free bag, and, blissfully, Elizabeth sighed in relief as he slipped into sleep, her first instinct to make her escape.

‘Perhaps I should slip him the number of the Cheapside Clinic in Sydney?’ Elizabeth contemplated, as she chewed her lower lip. The poor man obviously needed psychiatric help, and her job did call upon her to preserve, whenever she had the power, both the mind and body of the infirm. After some deliberation, she rummaged in her purse, and scribbled down the number. ‘Ring to receive the help you need regarding St Catherine. Ask for Dr Gardiner’ she wrote, tucking the card with bated breath into his shirt pocket. She would contact her uncle once she had settled at Longbourne. Good deed done, self-preservation finally won out. She gingerly eased herself out of her chair, past the snoring Bill. She approached the handsome steward flirting furiously with his co-worker in the small galley, and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she began, “I’m in seat 42A. The passenger sitting next to me is drunk. I’d like to be moved to another seat, please.”

The steward looked at her appreciatively, a smile flitting over his lips. ‘Don’t be sorry honey. You can disturb me any time. Petite, curvy, hmmm…nice assets….’ he mused inwardly.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, there is nothing I can do. There are no other seats available.”

Elizabeth smiled sweetly, her tone authoritative, as 'he' had taught her.

“Could you please inform the captain…’ she scanned his shirt for his nametag, “…George… that I am a doctor travelling on this flight. It is my medical opinion that the passenger in 42A is drunk and experiencing delusional episodes. I do not want to cause a scene, but I cannot remain seated next to him. I trust that you can help me”

George disappeared into the nose of the plane with her boarding pass. The stewardess eyed her intently. She obviously resented the interruption to her flirtation, and Elizabeth sensed it deeply. After weeks of planned seduction, the last thing Mary King needed was this young slip of a girl turning her Wickie’s eye. Returning moments later, George ushered Elizabeth into first class, before disappearing behind the curtain that signalled the divide between the classes. With a sigh of relief, she reclined into her seat and closed her eyes. She hated utilising what her mother termed ‘feminine charms’ to achieve her objective. “It’s not flirting, It’s not flirting,” she chanted to herself, drowning under the sudden guilt which overwhelmed her. “It’s just friendly persuasion.”

“So…” She opened her eyes to see George, smiling flirtatiously down at her. He held out a flute of champagne. “I thought you might like a drink. To celebrate your liberation.”

“Thank you for your kindness but I don’t drink.”

“So…” he lingered hopefully. “You’re a doctor. Perhaps you can help me with something…”

Elizabeth groaned.

Fortunately, George was at the beck and call of the other 200 passengers in economy, and before long, reluctantly crossed the curtain back to economy. Once he had gone, sleep had mercifully overcome her, her last thoughts being of how 'he', with his sense of humour, would have responded to Bill Collins had, 'he' been in her place.

She had called Jane at the departure lounge at Jomo Kenyatta, relaying flight details. The short notice had been deliberate. It would be enough time for Jane to fly over from Perth, but not enough time for her mother to organise an unwanted welcome home party. Jane had scolded her, but her excitement at being reunited with her favourite sister quickly overcame the chastisement. Now, as the plane slowly rolled towards the gates, Elizabeth felt relief. ‘Soon, she thought, 'soon, I will be at Longbourne, riding Hill through the west paddock…’

“I would like to thank you for a most enjoyable voyage.” Elizabeth jumped physically as the slick tones of Bill Collins broke through her reverie. He stood over her seat, vainly attempting to ignore the stewardess who was physically attempting to usher him back into his seat. “Rarely does one find such engaging company, and scintillating conversation during such a trying flight. It is my experience…”

Twenty minutes later she wheeled her luggage through the custom gates, to hear her name being called excitedly. As she stepped into the embrace of Jane and Mary, she allowed her tears to mingle with her smile. It reminded her of the day, one year ago, when she had stood in the same terminal, hugging the same sisters, and the events that had driven her to leave. Jane wiped her Elizabeth’s face tenderly with a Kleenex. ‘Its good to have you back Lizzy.’

“Its good to be back, Jane.” Elizabeth sniffed, linking arms with her eldest sister, as Mary expertly steered the trolley towards the exit. “I’ve missed you guys so much. I’ve missed being called Lizzy. Nobody has called me that for an entire year. Elizabeth, yes, Liz, always, Beth, sometimes, but Lizzy, never!”

“Serves you right.” Jane scolded, a smile softening her words. “I swear if you ever think about leaving us for that long, to cope with Mum, Lydia and Kit by ourselves, we’ll hunt you down and throttle you.”

Elizabeth smiled. Jane couldn’t hurt a fly. Literally. As a child, she cried for three hours straight when she had involuntarily sucked up a fly while manoeuvring the vacuum cleaner. She had the sweetest disposition of anyone Elizabeth had ever known, and, as Elizabeth cast an envious glance over her, was more beautiful than ever. Tall, wispy blond and willowy, where Elizabeth was petite, curly brown and curvy, strangers rarely took them for sisters. As teenagers, Elizabeth often teased Jane that it was impossible to hate her for being so beautiful when she was so unpretentious and friendly.

“I think I’m done with the travels for now. I’m looking forward to a few weeks of R&R before starting work in Melbourne.”

“I don’t know how much rest and relaxation you’ll get with Mum and the girls. I’ve been going crazy.” Mary gave her a reproachful look.

“How are they,” Elizabeth asked, with an arched brow.

“Well, Kit and Lydia came with us. You know how they can’t resist men in uniform. Kit is driving now, so they came in Mum’s car. They disappeared towards the lounge the minute the stewards and pilots came out. I doubt you will get to see them until we get home.” Jane rolled her eyes dramatically, as they stepped into the car park.

“Lizzzzzzzzzy” screeched a voice, which instantly belied Jane’s prediction. Turning, Elizabeth could see her sisters Kit and Lydia scrambling towards them. Despite the cold, Elizabeth could see they were adorned in tight mini skirts and long boots that obviously did little to provide warmth. They held onto each other to prevent themselves from falling as they rushed over in a fit of giggles. ‘Lizzy, your sisters will grow to become two of the silliest women in Australia,’ her father once told her. The memory made her smile. She had been only fourteen at the time, and had defended her sisters with feminist zeal. ‘Dad, if only you could have lived to see how right you were,’ she mused as they approached and flung themselves into her arms.

“God, you’ve changed,” gushed Lydia with an appraising glance. “You’re so thin, and so dark! Man, I’m so jealous. Why can’t I ever go somewhere nice and work on my tan?”

“I hardly think you would be suited to Africa. Come to think of it, I don’t think Africa would be ready for you,” Elizabeth replied. “How would you survive without the O.C?”

“Firstly, that’s, like, sooooo yesterday. Secondly, I said somewhere nice. Unlike you, the idea of starving and sweltering in the middle of nowhere for an entire year isn’t my idea of somewhere nice!”

Elizabeth sighed. Sensitivity was never one of Lydia’s strong suits. Gazing at her sister, she had to admit that Lydia had definitely matured since she last saw her. Squeezed into a top two sizes too small, wearing more makeup than appropriate, and sporting bleach-blonde hair, Elizabeth noted with concern that Lydia succeeded in looking older than her sixteen years. ‘Mum’s got her work cut out for her,’ she thought, sympathetically.

“Lucky you haven’t lost your boobs though. I’d kill to have boobs like yours. Mary, if you ever want to lose the jelly belly looks like Africa is where you should go for a holiday.”

“So I can look as skanky as you, dear sis? No thanks.” Mary answered smoothly. At twenty, Mary had long resigned herself to the fact that she would never be as pretty as her elder sisters, but she wouldn’t tolerate featherbrained comments from her youngest, and, she firmly believed, dumbest sibling

“Did you bring me anything?” Kit demanded. “Or me?” Lydia added eagerly.

Jane stepped forward and extracted Elizabeth from their clutches “Guys, stop acting like vultures. Give the girl some breathing space. How was your flight?”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes in exasperation. “ Don’t ask. I know people always complain that they have a horror flight, but Jane, I truly did. I’m looking forward to a hot shower, one of Mums home-cooked meals and a nap.”

“Hate to be the one to tell you, Lizzy, but chances are slim you’ll be getting any rest at Longbourne.” Kitty giggled, as though enjoying a private joke. Elizabeth arched her brow in silent inquiry.

Jane looked at her sister apologetically, before scanning the car park. “Mum’s invited the Longs and the Philips over for a homecoming dinner. She’s been running around like a chook with its head chopped off since the moment I called to let her know you were arriving. There we are,” she declared, waving her hand towards their two vehicles.

Elizabeth grimaced. “Damn it. I wanted this to be a low-key return. You know why.”

Mary patted her hand as they loaded her bags into the Prado. As Lydia and Kit disappeared into the small Barina, she whispered. “You know Mum. Lydia didn’t get her stubbornness out of a cornflakes packet. Its purely genetic, carried on the maternal X chromosome. There is no peace around the house if they do not get their way.”

“If you’re tempted you can come back to Perth with me next week.” offered Jane, climbing behind the wheel “I’ll take another week off work, we can go out, have brunch, go to the movies, stay up late watching dvds. It can be like old times back in Melbourne before…”

The words died off her lips, as she turned beet red. Mary coughed uncomfortably. Elizabeth busied herself adjusting the passenger seat.

“I’m sorry Lizzy,” whispered Jane, apologetically, staring into the rear-view mirror. “It seems I’ve contracted a case of foot-in-mouth disease.”

Elizabeth turned to her flushed sister, placing a hand on her arm. “Jane, please don’t make yourself uneasy. Things have changed; it took a long time but I’ve accepted that now.” She paused briefly. “Come,” she added with a bright smile, “Wait until you hear about Bill Collins!”

Elizabeth soon had Jane and Mary in hysterics, her wit flowing long as they sped towards Longbourne and their waiting mother.

* The slum actually exists. The figures quoted are fact.
** St Catherine is the actual patron saint of mechanics and wheelwrights.

Posted on Wednesday, 21 February 2007

Chapter Two: Longbourne

The apple orchard was still standing, despite her mother’s vengeful threats a year ago that they would be the first plants destroyed should Elizabeth abandon her family for Africa. The dam appeared smaller, the soil and grass, drier. Gazing to the skies, Elizabeth realised that despite the frosty air and gathering clouds, no rain appeared forthcoming. Nothing could touch the devastation she had seen as a result of the Kenyan droughts, but she realised even her own land Down Under was not untouched by the devastating effects of climate change.

Despite the few minutes of bliss she had experienced when her mother had rushed out of the homestead to envelope her in a fierce embrace, Elizabeth was slowly coming down off the euphoria of homecoming. Although absence had made Elizabeth’s heart fonder towards her obsessive mother and immature sisters, the combination of travel, climate change, and incessant questioning was making Elizabeth’s head pound.

To make things worse, her mother had invited the Longs and Philips to a welcome home dinner that wasn’t particularly welcoming, and as they all sat around the long oak table, Elizabeth eyed her mother’s friends with circumspection. Despite the smiles and honeyed words, Anne Long and Helen Philips were two of the biggest gossips Elizabeth had ever encountered. She knew that all her words and responses throughout the evening would be catalogued away for future contemplation and repetition, and the last thing she had desired was to be on her guard on her first night back. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep. Thank God Lydia was doing her bit, albeit unconsciously, to detract attention from her.

‘It’s not fair! H’s parents are allowing her to go. Why can’t I?’ wailed Lydia.

The thin veneer of maturity that Lydia had taken great pains to exhibit at the airport was slowly peeling away. Childish, immature Lydia was firmly in control.

‘Because you’re only 16. She’s 18. End of story.’ Fran stated firmly.

‘Whose H?’ whispered Elizabeth to Jane, as she helped herself to another slice of roast beef.

‘Harriet Foster, Lydia’s latest best friend. Apparently, Mum doesn’t like the fact she’s older than Lydia. She thinks she’s a bad influence,’ returned Jane.

‘It’s not like I’m going to Schoolies on the Gold Coast*’ Lydia implored. ‘It’s Brighton, for crying out loud. In Melbourne! Lizzy will be practically around the corner.’

‘No, I need you here. I can’t spare you. How can you expect me to run this entire place without you girls to help me?’ Fran queried, as Lydia stared darkly into her mashed potatoes. Turning to Mrs Long and Mrs Philips, she barely lowered her voice before adding in a loud whisper. ‘Why is it that all of them are so determined to leave? Their father had no choice, God rest his soul, but Jane and Lizzy! I spend hours and hours going through Hell, squeezing out something the size of a watermelon from a space the size of a lemon, and what thanks do I get in the end? Nothing but abandonment. One up in Perth, the other traipsing around Africa….’

‘Pass the potatoes to Mr Philips, Kit,’ interrupted Jane hastily. ‘Lizzy, how many countries did you end up visiting?’

‘Well, I was stationed most of the time in Kenya. I had to do some emergency relief work in North Sudan for a couple of months, and after I was finished there I ended up visiting Cairo for a week.’

‘Cairo!’ screeched Lydia, eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Hey, I thought you were in Africa, not the Middle East!’

Mr Long coughed discreetly to cover the smile tugging at his lips. ‘Lydia, Egypt is in Africa. In fact, Cairo is the largest city in Africa.’ Turning to Elizabeth, he smiled ‘and did you drink from the waters of the Nile, Lizzy? They say one drink of the Nile and you have to return to Egypt again.’

‘You really think I would drink untreated water from a river?’ Elizabeth asked, with an arched brow. ‘I know I’m impulsive, but I’m not stupid.’

‘Impulsive? Impulsive, you say!’ snorted Fran, as Anne and Helen looked on with gleeful anticipation. ‘I can think of several other words to use, namely, inconsid…’

‘Did you see any mummies,’ asked Kit, her mouth full.

‘Have you heard this joke, Lizzy?’ asked Mr Philips, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Why was the Pharaoh confused? Because his daddy was a mummy!’

Elizabeth smiled briefly, and shook her head in resignation at the lameness of his pun. Fran, Anne and Helen tittered loudly. ‘Actually Kit, I did see a few mummies at the Cairo museum. Everything there was so surreal, it’s like being caught in a 4000-year-old time capsule. The museum brochure stated that if you were to spend 5 minutes at each piece, it would take a couple of years to see everything the museum has to offer. I don’t know how true that statement was, but one week definitely wasn’t enough. I’d like to go back one day.’

‘Home for 5 minutes and already chomping on the bit to leave again, Dr Lizzy,’ Fran sighed, as Anne and Helen patted her hand comfortingly. ‘Unfortunately, not everyone has the luxury of just dropping everything and ‘finding themselves’ in God-forsaken places. Why, when my poor Thomas passed away….’

‘Lizzy, do you have any photos to show us? I’d love to see some of what you described in your emails,’ interrupted Mary, smoothly, winking at Jane.

Elizabeth smiled, as she nodded. It was obvious that Jane and Mary were conspiring to stop what they knew to would be their mother’s eventual tirade. Elizabeth knew it would come, sooner or later, but she wanted no audience in attendance when it did.

‘As soon as dinner is over, I’ll show you. I took quite a few of Amani for you, Jane.’

‘Who is Amani? Did you meet some guy over in the sticks? Way to go, Lizzy!’ Lydia added with a waggle of her eyebrows. Elizabeth could swear she saw Anne wet her lips in anticipation. She gave her sister a patronising, cold glare.

‘Amani is infected with HIV, one of the lucky ones receiving treatment.’ Fran and her cronies gasped, as Lydia dropped her eyes. To her mother’s generation, HIV was a disease of divine retribution sent to blight the promiscuous and depraved.

Elizabeth fixed her gaze upon Fran. ‘Amani is only five years old, Mum. She’s never had sex, never taken drugs. She was born with the disease. She’s just one of the over one million Kenyan orphans that have lost their parents to AIDS.’

‘She’s a really special little girl.’ Jane added. ‘She’s taught Lizzy so much.’

Mr Philips coughed nervously. Mr Long asked for some more roast beef. Elizabeth and Fran continued to stare at one another across the table. ‘So if there are over one million orphans, what’s so special about this one, Lizzy?’ Kit demanded.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ replied Elizabeth with sarcastic impatience. ‘Maybe it’s despite the fact that she has lost everything and everyone dear to her, she still finds a reason, holds on to a hope, which makes her get up every morning and continue existing, instead of wallowing in self-pity.’

‘What hope do you speak of, Lizzy?’ Mr Long smiled at her fondly.

‘She’s lived in Nairobi her entire life, and has never seen the sea; despite the fact Kenya is bordered by the Indian Ocean.’ Elizabeth’s emerald eyes shone brightly. ‘The first time I met her she asked me if I had ever swum in the ocean. You should have seen the longing in her eyes when I told her how mum and dad used to take us to Bondi Beach, and we would build sand castles and jump over the waves as they came to shore. That’s her goal in life, that’s her hope, that’s what keeps her going day after day. All she wants is to build a sand castle and swim in the sea.’

The entire table was silent, and Elizabeth returned to her focus to her plate, her heart too full for words. After a few moments contemplation, Lydia sighed in self-pity.

‘I know exactly how she feels, Lizzy,’ she moaned, with melodramatic flair. ‘It’s so not fair. I want to go to the ocean too. I want to go to Brighton!’

Trust Lydia to break the mood.

‘This one is the Mathare slum in Kenya. Its one of the largest in Africa. Over 25% of the people who live there have HIV’

Elizabeth, Jane and Mary were huddled around the computer. Elizabeth clicked over the images, providing a running commentary. Fran and her friends were huddled on the couch, their whispers too loud to afford confidentiality. Mr Long and Mr Philips had long retired to the porch with their cigarettes, patiently awaiting the final summons from their wives. Kit and Lydia had disappeared amidst shrieks of delight, moments after Elizabeth had handed all four sisters the delicate gold necklaces with matching cartouche etched with their names in hieroglyphics. She had ordered them in Cairo, knowing Lydia and Kit would never appreciate the beautiful African artwork she had purchased as gifts for Jane and Mary. At the final moment, she had ordered one for Jane and Mary as well as an extra sign of appreciation for the support they had provided her the past year. She was glad she had done so, for their exclamations of delight warmed her soul.

‘This one is Lake Victoria. It borders Kenya and is the largest lake in Africa. There are over 3,000 islands scattered on the lake, many of them inhabited.’

With a click, Elizabeth drew up the image of a tiny mud brick building. A young boy in ragged clothing, face dark and sweet as chocolate, smiled into the camera. Elizabeth stood to his right, arm draped over his tiny shoulders. On his left stood a Sudanese woman.

‘That’s the Kebkabiya hospital in North Dafur, Sudan. I was sent here due to a large cholera outbreak. That little boy was Mustafa. Would you believe that this photo was taken after his mother and baby sister died in the outbreak? He was in awe of my camera, just look at that smile.’

‘I guess he was too young to understand their death,’ Jane mused, her eyes fixed upon the screen.

‘But that’s just it, Jane.’ Elizabeth sighed softly, running her hands through her curly mane. ‘He did understand it. The people I met in Africa were amazing. They had seen so much death and suffering around them that they know that their own deaths are an inevitable part of what they call the Circle of Life. They have such a greater understanding of their own mortality. When Mustafa’s mother and sister died, they were buried within the hour, draped in nothing but a simple white shroud. No pomp, no ceremony; no storing the body in a fridge for a week, no morticians applying makeup and arranging the hair of a corpse for funeral parlour show-and-tell. Just quick and simple closure. They strip death of so much of the sorrow that way.’

‘I would personally prefer more time to say goodbye.’ Jane added, wistfully. ‘When Dad died, one of the hardest parts was not having his body to bury, not having a funeral to plan.’

‘Take it from someone who knows, Jane,’ Elizabeth said softly, ‘having the body doesn’t make the process any easier.’

In the silence that followed, Fran’s loud whispers drifted across the room.

‘If only Thomas could see what has become of her. He always indulged her, spoiled her, and was so proud of her ‘genius’. Spent all those days locked up in the study fixated on her schooling, her languages, her potential. Yet I always knew that her wilful stubborn streak would bring her no end of grief! Ups and marries without even a word. You don’t know what I suffered when I learnt about it. A registry! Depriving her own mother of the joy of planning a wedding. And now look at her. Married less than a year, widowed by 22…’’

‘Who is the woman?’ asked Jane with rushed eagerness, pointing to the screen hastily.

‘That was Hodan, the translator liasing with Médecins Sans Frontières.’ Elizabeth’s eyes darted towards her mother, her tanned face flushed.

Mary chuckled. ‘I would have loved to see you needing a translator, Lizzy. What, nobody in Africa speaks French, Italian, German or Greek? I’m half-surprised you haven’t returned fluent in Swahili?’

‘I picked up a little.’ Elizabeth returned with a small grin.

‘Yeah, probably all the swear words,’ replied Mary sarcastically. ‘Come on, might as well teach them to me. I like to find new and interesting ways to keep Lydia confused.’

Fran’s voice drifted forward again.

‘Yes, Anne dear, very true…at least there were no children. For that I can be eternally grateful. Why, when my Thomas died, you don’t know how I suffered raising the girls alone. If this was to be, at least it happened while she was still young and pretty enough to find someone else…’

Elizabeth stood up. Jane and Mary hastily followed suit. When Elizabeth was angry, it was never a pretty sight. She walked briskly to her mother, and to the astonishment of her sisters, bent down and pecked her mother on the cheek.

‘I’m off to bed, but before I go, I wanted to give you this,’ she said, placing the small gift box into Fran’s hands. Opening the lid, the ladies gasped audibly. Inside, nestled on black velvet, was a gold bracelet inlaid with mother of pearl. Fran delicately lifted the bracelet and held it to the light.

‘Lizzy, my darling child! It’s exquisite. So beautiful! It must have cost you a fortune.’

‘Its nothing less than you deserve Mum,’ Elizabeth replied, smiling at Mary and Jane’s obvious amazement. ‘Perhaps we can catch up tomorrow and have a long mother-daughter chat?’

Leaving Fran to her raptures, Elizabeth, Jane and Mary bade their guests’ goodnight, and slowly climbed the stairs, Fran’s raptures echoing through the hallway.

‘Such a generous girl…I guess it is a comfort to her have so well taken care of, financially. What a darling child! I always knew that…’

‘Two questions,’ whistled Mary, when they were out of earshot. ‘Where is my sister, and what the hell was that?’

Elizabeth smiled. ‘My new mantra for dealing with Mum.’

‘And that would be?’ Jane probed

‘Maafuu hapatilizwi.’ Replied Elizabeth, in perfect Swahili. ‘You dont take vengeance on silliness.’

*Brighton is an affluent seaside suburb in Melbourne

Chapter Three: Sisterly Consultation

Posted on Sunday, 25 February 2007

Elizabeth sat on the swing under the old oak tree, slowly rocking herself backwards and forwards. Her initial delight at the winter cold had quickly waned, and as she shivered from the icy wind as it slapped her cheeks, she thought back longingly on the blistering summer she had just experienced. ‘Nothing fills the mouth of man but dust’ she mused, amazed at her fickleness. It was a favourite proverb in Sudan: the only thing that caused man to cease desiring that which he did not possess was death.

The past week had passed quickly, a week made bearable only by the company of Jane and Mary. She had tried to fill her days with activity, jogging early in the morning, and taking her horse to the Meryton Reserve near Longbourne for a leisurely canter across the nature trail. She even found the patience to tutor Kit, who, having severely neglected her studies throughout the semester, was suddenly gripped with cold fear at the prospect of failing her approaching examinations. At night, with Jane and Mary spread out atop Elizabeth’s four-poster bed, Elizabeth regaled them with stories of her travels long after the rest of the household had retired to sleep, even as they filled her in on the status quo of friends and family.

And now Jane was returning to Perth to resume her life, and was leaving her to endure one more week of squabbles between Fran and Lydia, culminating in the now expected petulant nightly outbursts over the dinner table. As she swung gently, Jane silently approached her from the back of the house, a smile lighting her face. In her hands she clutched a small bunch of tulips and a thick scarf. Tossing the scarf to Elizabeth, who appreciatively wrapped its length around her neck, Jane stopped beneath the oak tree and gently placed the tulips next to the small plaque nestled at the base of the great tree.

Thomas Anthony Bennet

Beloved Husband and Father

11/7/1954 – 7/4/2002
We shed our tears into an ocean of sorrow
Only once they are found amongst the swells

Will we stop loving you.

Elizabeth slowed to a standstill, the sound of the creaking ropes chaffing against the branch the only noise disrupting the stillness of the moment.

‘He loved it here,’ Jane stated softly, at length, brushing the leaves off the dull glinting surface of the plaque. ‘My earliest memories of Dad involve this tree. I remember how he used to swing us to and fro while we sat in the old tyre that used to be here before the swing was installed. I swear he got as much as a kick out of it as we did.’

‘I remember how devastated he was when we told him we were too old to be swung about like monkeys. It’s funny how quickly we wanted to grow up when we were kids.’ Elizabeth added wistfully, warming her hands with her breath, as she rubbed them together. ‘Remember how we used to wear Mum’s shoes, and stuff our crop tops with tissues? We craved adulthood and responsibility; we couldn’t wait to grow up. Then life deals you the greatest irony: its only after those days are over that you truly appreciate how special, how innocent, those days really were.’

Jane stood, and moving behind her sister, gently pushed the swing. ‘I knew I would find you here. This was always your refuge, the place you went to gather your thoughts.’

‘Now that you’re leaving, I guess I’ll be spending all my time freezing out here with Mary, as far away as possible from the Bennet Inquisition.’ Elizabeth replied with a grim expression.

‘Mum’s really being unbearable,’ Jane clucked sympathetically.

‘She still can’t understand why I had to leave, why I couldn’t turn to her.’ Elizabeth shook her head in frustration. ‘She thinks that just because she lost Dad that our pain is the same. But it’s not, Jane. Grief is as personal as a fingerprint; no two are the same. I needed the distance to get my thoughts in perspective, and she’ll never forgive me for it.’

‘You’ve been so patient with her.’ Jane insisted. ‘I would have cracked ages ago.’

‘I guess you can only hear how wilful, stubborn, inconsiderate and selfish you are for so long before the words just roll over you like water off a duck’s back,’ Elizabeth smirked. ‘Since giving her the bracelet, her latest preoccupation is with finding out exactly how much money I’ve inherited, so she’s kept the character assassination to a minimum. Let me tell you, she’s as tenacious as Wile E. Coyote.’

Jane laughed, ‘And that would make you Roadrunner. Poor Mum, if only she could realise that she’s never going to get her way when it comes to you, she would save herself the effort.’

Elizabeth smiled in response and turned briefly to face her sister.

‘So all packed and ready to go?’

‘All done,’ replied Jane, distractedly. ‘You’re sure you don’t want to reconsider a week in Perth with your big sister?’

Elizabeth shook her head slowly in resignation.

‘Believe me, it’s better for me to remain here for the next week,’ she sighed. ‘If I was to decamp to Perth, I’d never hear the end of it, and you’ll fare little better for encouraging me to neglect my family obligations.’

Jane remained silent, lost in thought. Elizabeth glanced at her sister. Elizabeth knew Jane well enough to know that something was weighing on her mind.

‘I’ll miss our nightly talks,’ Elizabeth prompted slyly. ‘You, even more than Mary, are the only one I feel I could really express myself to, the only one who can love me without judging me.’

‘You know I feel the same way,’ Jane replied. A slight blush crept into her porcelain cheeks. ‘Lizzy, before I go today, there is something I need your opinion on.’

Elizabeth smiled inwardly.

‘And I don’t want you to think that I have deliberately kept this from you,’ she added hastily. ‘It’s not something I felt comfortable writing about in an email. You’re the only one who might help me understand what I’m feeling.’

‘For Charles Bingley?’ Elizabeth asked softly. She laughed as she caught a glimpse of the astonishment sweeping Jane’s face.

‘That Mary has developed a big mouth,’ muttered Jane, as realisation dawned.

‘And I have an even greater curiosity.’ Elizabeth replied saucily. ‘So you see it’s quite a hopeless case, Jane. When one sister likes to talk and the other sister likes to pry, there are bound to be few secrets hidden in this family. And besides, Mary knows I’m the soul of discretion. It’s not like I’m Lydia!’

Jane remained silent. She continued to push the swing absentmindedly.

‘What I find more interesting,’ continued Elizabeth analytically. ‘Is that despite being home for a week, you haven’t wanted to discuss this with me until I practically had to coax it out of you. Yet you’ve had no trouble confiding in Mary. Why?’

Jane knotted her forehead in consternation.

‘I guess that once I discuss him with you, he becomes more than just a guy I’ve been seeing casually. He becomes…’ Jane trailed off in futility.

‘He becomes more than a fairytale? More of a reality than a fantasy?’ offered Elizabeth speculatively. Jane nodded quickly in acquiescence. ‘Yes, that’s it.’

‘Smooth, Janey, very smooth.’ Elizabeth twisted the swing around to face her sister. Jane avoided her eyes, focusing on the plaque at the base of the tree. ‘Now, how about you tell me the truth this time?’

Jane looked at Elizabeth with guilty eyes.

‘This is me, Jane,’ Elizabeth continued quietly. ‘God knows how much I love you, and I don’t mean to be harsh, but I know you better than you know yourself. You’ve had months to even mention Charles Bingley to me. You’ve had all week at Longbourne to fill me in. And yet you’ve had no difficulty mentioning him to Mary, so I can’t accept your reason. You’ve waited until the last possible moment to speak to me about him. Why?’

Elizabeth gazed at Jane. As realisation dawned, she gripped the ropes of the swing until she could feel them burning in the palms of her clenched fists.

‘No, Jane,’ she said softly, gazing at her sister with sadness in her eyes. ‘Look at me.’ As Jane raised her eyes, Elizabeth paused, struggling with emotion. ‘I know what you thought and that’s not me. You should never believe that I would begrudge you, envy you, your share of happiness. I’m not so damaged as to ever resent the people around me finding what I have lost. Please tell me you believe that!’

Her voice hitched, the words coming out as a desperate plea.

‘I believe it,’ replied Jane, tears welling in her eyes. ‘I’m ashamed I ever entertained the thought. I know it’s not in your nature to be bitter and resentful. You are the most generous person I know. I guess I didn’t want to raise a subject that could open wounds that were still so raw. I didn’t think you could handle it.’

Elizabeth was silent, her eyes narrowed. ‘And now?’ she asked, at length.

‘I can see that the Lizzy that has come back from Africa has a very different frame of mind to the Lizzy that left for Africa,’ Jane said, reaching out her hand to capture her sister’s. ‘I couldn’t determine that through email. I needed to see it for myself before I saddled you with my issues.’

Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand gently. Scooting off the swing, she sat under the oak, patting the ground with her hand in a silent gesture for Jane to sit beside her.

‘Mary just gave me very vague details,’ she began with forced cheer, as Jane joined her. ‘Just a name, the fact you’ve been seeing each other for a while. Only you can tell me the things I most want to hear. Who exactly is this Charles Bingley? When and how did you meet?’

Jane sighed, raising her hands to cool her flushed cheeks.

‘Little over five months now,’ she began tentatively. ‘Of course you recall in my emails, a couple of months after you left, I mentioned that Pi Designs had recently won a contract to design a new apartment tower complex in Perth for a British corporation specialising in residential complexes?’

Elizabeth nodded in remembrance. ‘One of the benefits of a photographic memory. I remember your design portfolio really impressed the clients. You basically won that contract for Pi.’

‘I was on cloud nine,’ confessed Jane. ‘The client, Netherfield Incorporated really loved my designs. The partners at Pi hinted that my work for Netherfield Inc could really boost my career, that in time I could be promoted to partner.’

‘How does Charles Bingley fit into all this?’ Elizabeth asked patiently.

‘Netherfield Incorporated is owned by Charles Bingley,’ she replied. ‘We were told that Mr Bingley would be coming down from England in order to personally oversee the development of the complexes, and that he wanted to liase with me through the design and development stages of Netherfield Towers.’

Elizabeth raised her brow in concern. An Englishman, a rich one at that, who was basically Jane’s employer, was not the type of man she could see her sister forming an attachment to.

‘I googled Charles Bingley and Netherfield Inc,’ continued Jane. ‘I admit I wanted some more information about the person who basically had the ability to make or break my career at Pi. By all accounts, Charles Bingley was sixty-five years of age, a self-made multi-millionaire who clawed his way into the property business from humble beginning as a real estate agent trainee. In a nutshell, Charles Bingley was a man with a ruthless reputation. He knew what he wanted from life, would brook no opposition to his goals, and fought tooth and nail to achieve them.’

Elizabeth cast her sister a look of incredulousness. ‘Sixty-five! Jane, what on earth….’

‘Before you lecture me on the perils of finding myself a sugar daddy, let me finish,’ Jane interrupted with a withering look. Elizabeth nodded, gently picking at the grass with thinly veiled impatience.

‘After researching Charles Bingley, my boss Jason informed me that Mr Bingley would be relocating to Perth in a month. I was assured that his six-month stay would include a lot of travel between Perth and his office in London, and that during whatever little time he spent in Perth, I would be basically joined at the hip with Charles Bingley working on Netherfield Towers.’

Jane paused as the sound of Lydia engaged in a screaming match with Fran drifted out from the direction of the house. Elizabeth and Jane rolled their eyes simultaneously. ‘Brighton!’ guessed Elizabeth, with a wry grin.

They chuckled, releasing the tension that had been palpable at the beginning of the conversation. As the yelling slowly waned, Jane continued.

‘After a month of coming up with preliminary designs to show Mr Bingley, the great man arrived in Perth. Jason organised a meeting in the boardroom at Pi for us to meet. On the day of the meeting I wore my best skirt-suit, the one that screamed out professionalism, but inside I was a quivering mess feeling sick to my stomach with fear that I’d make a horrible first impression. I was rushing out of my office heading towards the boardroom, arms laden with scrolls and plans, when this blurry hurricane comes out of the elevator near my office and literally collides into me.’

‘What’s this got to do with Charles Bingley?’ Elizabeth sighed with frustration.

‘Everything,’ replied Jane cryptically. ‘I fell to the ground, papers flying everywhere. As I bent down to pick up my papers, out of the corner of my eyes I could see that blurry hurricane was a young man. Lizzy, not just any man. The guy was an absolute Adonis! Blonde, green-eyed, and tall. He was wearing a suit that looked like it cost enough to sustain the economy of a small nation. He definitely didn’t belong sprawled out on the floor of Pi; he should have been gracing the cover of some magazine. He immediately bent down to help me, apologising profusely in the most irresistible James Bond accent. He finally looked up at me as he handed me the papers and I swear Lizzy, he just stopped speaking, and stared at me in a way that no man has ever looked at me before.’

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow sceptically. ‘I find that hard to believe. Men always react that way around you, Jane.’

Jane shook her head. ‘It wasn’t so much the stare; it was more the emotion behind it. I was already running late for Mr Bingley, so I quickly rushed down the hall. All the time I was lamenting that I didn’t even know the name of this man who had turned me into jelly with one glance.’

Elizabeth sighed. Her sister was an incurable sop. As much as Elizabeth had loved her husband with her entire heart, his glances alone had never turned her into a simpering mess. Their love had been steady, dependable and deep; never desperate and needy. She always believed the analogy was the product of Mills and Boon authors’ intent on planting the seeds of dissatisfaction and unrealistic expectation in real relationships.

‘I was setting up in the conference room when I noticed one of the lights was flickering on and off,’ continued Jane, oblivious to her sister’s reflections. ‘You know how I get around flicking lights: first the nausea, then the migraine sets in. I couldn’t afford to be anything less than one hundred percent alert for Mr Bingley, so I positioned my chair underneath it. I was balancing atop the seat in my heels, trying to prise the light out, when I could hear Jason coming in through the door, speaking with who I assumed would be Charles Bingley. I jumped down, turned around, and who do I see entering with Jason but the blonde, blue-eyed Adonis from the hallway.’

‘Jason turned to me and introduced him as THE Charles Bingley! And do you know what the first thing that came out of my mouth was? “But you’re supposed to be old!” Jane’s face was flushed with embarrassment. She threw Elizabeth a reproachful look as her sister threw back her head and laughed loudly. ’Lizzy, believe me if I could somehow command the ground at the moment to open up and swallow me whole, I would have done it. I was completely mortified. Even now I can’t remember it without squirming.’

‘What was the reaction?’ Elizabeth asked with an expressive smile, smothering her instinct to laugh anew at the sight of Jane’s increasingly flushed face.

‘Jason was shocked. I thought he would fire me on the spot. Charles Bingley looked at me, stunned. I stood there for what seemed to be an eternity before he said, “My plastic surgeon is a miracle worker.” Jane smiled ruefully in remembrance. ‘That broke the ice. He seemed equally surprised that I was the Jane Bennet who would be his right-hand man, so to speak, on the Netherfield Towers project.’

‘So, the Charles Bingley you researched on Google was…’ Elizabeth began.

‘Charles Bingley Snr’ added Jane. ‘His son, Charles Bingley Jnr, is Vice-President of Netherfield Inc. It was the son that I was expected to work with all along.’

‘And let me guess,’ Elizabeth probed dryly. ‘Late nights at the office led to dinner dates discussing business, which turned into dinner date that didn’t discuss business, leading to dates where discussion wasn’t necessary at all…’

‘You make it sound so sordid,’ Jane protested angrily, running her hand through her hair. ‘Yes, we had late nights. And sure, some nights we had to continue working over dinner, and we spoke about things other than work. And yes, we’ve gone beyond that. But I’m not doing what you are insinuating Elizabeth. My principles haven’t changed since you’ve been gone.’

Elizabeth eyed her sister. Jane seldom called her by her full name. ‘I’m sorry Jane,’ she replied repentantly. ‘I know you’ve always planned…’

‘And that is still the way its going to be,’ interrupted Jane vehemently. ‘We both swore that only the deepest love and commitment would ever induce us to gift that part of ourselves to any man. I still hold onto that vision, and I dream that one day I’ll have what you were able to fulfil.’

Elizabeth leaned against the trunk of the oak and closed her eyes. Forgotten memories flooded her, reminding her of words, kisses and caresses that she had desperately relegated to the dark recesses of her mind. How tender, how gentle, was his touch. She sighed, opened her eyes and started picking at the grass with exaggerated concentration.

‘What do you know about him, Jane?’ she asked quietly.

‘He’s wonderful,’ whispered Jane shyly. ‘He is the most amazing man I have ever met. He is so kind, loving and gentle. Can I say he’s an incredible kisser?’ She blushed as she sighed deeply. ‘He’s been incredibly open with me. He’s let me into his world without any barriers. He’s told me all about the pressure of being the heir-apparent of Netherfield Inc, and I’ve shared my struggles to be taken seriously as an architect. He’s told me about his sisters, and I’ve spoken about my family. God, I was even able to talk to him about Dad.’

The happiness spread on Jane’s face brought a gentle smile to Elizabeth’s lips. She remembered how it had felt when the first waves of love had washed over her, bringing joy and peace to her life.

‘So,’ she mused, almost to herself. ‘It’s serious.’

Jane nodded. ‘It could be.’

Elizabeth breathed deeply. ‘Jane, I’ve been where you are. I know what it’s like to have every rational thought overridden by emotion. And it’s only for that reason that I’m telling you what I need to tell you, because you won’t listen to your mind when you’re heart has taken control of the reins. I want you to be careful. Charles Bingley is basically your boss. If you mix business and pleasure you could get burnt.’

Jane raised her brow. ‘How can you honestly caution me on that? Wasn’t Adam your consulting resident when you started at Memorial?’

‘That was different,’ Elizabeth said defensively. ‘He wasn’t signing my pay checks, Jane. I never felt that there were any strings attached to our relationship, and he was always very open with the hospital administration while we were dating. Is Charles as forthcoming? How do you know that he’s not looking for a pleasant diversion from business while he’s in Australia.’

Jane gazed at her sister with, and sighed deeply. ‘He’s not that kind of man. I can’t describe it, but I know in my heart that he’s not a Pom out for an Aussie fling. The past five months have been incredible. The thought that he’ll return to England in another month is tearing me apart. Everything about him is screaming to me that he could be….’

Jane’s voice trailed off.

‘The One?’ Elizabeth speculated gently.

Jane nodded. ‘I’m silly aren’t I?

‘We are all fools in love, Janey,’ Elizabeth whispered softly.

The two sisters sat in silence, as the winter breeze whipped the branches of the trees. Elizabeth watched with absentmindedness as the lawn slowly rippled under the caressing force of the wind like a Mexican wave.

‘Lizzy?’ Jane interrupted, ran her fingers over the memorial plaque.

‘Hmmm?’

‘The ancient Greeks believed that man was originally created with two heads and four arms, and that the gods feared their power and so split them all in half, condemning each half to spending their lives searching for the other half to complete them.’ Jane mused tentatively.

‘I thought Mary was the philosopher of the family.’ Elizabeth replied with an arched brow.

‘Please, Lizzy, do be serious.’ Jane pleaded. ‘Do you think that there is ever only one true love for any one of us? That we each have a soul mate roaming the earth searching for us, as we search for them?’

Elizabeth knitted her brows in contemplation.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied softly. ‘The romantic in me wants to say yes, that there can only ever be one true love, that there is only one missing piece that can slot perfectly into your own jigsaw puzzle of life.’

She paused.

‘But if I’m honest, that idea scares me; because if it’s true, I already completed my puzzle.’ She glanced up at the sky, as grey as her mood, and sighed. ‘And now that my puzzle has been scrambled again, and I’ve lost that piece, the thought of never experiencing that kind of completion again…. it saddens me’

Jane moved closer to her sister and grasped her hand within her own. Rubbing her thumbs gently over the back of Elizabeth’s hands, she probed gently. ‘Would you want it again?’

‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’ Elizabeth tilted her head back against the truck. ‘I’m only twenty-three years old. Twenty-three year old women aren’t supposed to be widows, Jane. I miss the feeling of being loved and cherished in the way that only comes from a meaningful, mutually satisfying relationship. I know that I’ve always been headstrong and independent, but that doesn’t mean that I want to be alone.’

Elizabeth struggled to find the words that her mind had long acknowledged despite the denial of her heart.

‘I want more than a microwave dinner in front of the television when I get home from hospital. God, I used to hate it when Adam shaved and all the brown fuzz coated the bathroom sink. It drove me crazy. But I miss that too. I want someone to fight with over the remote control. And I felt guilty for the longest time because I realise that one day there will come a time when I’ll want to wake up in the arms of someone who could love and cherish me, someone I can start a family with.’

‘How will I ever know that Charles is truly The One, Lizzy?’ implored Jane. ‘How did you know that Adam was the man for you?’

‘You’ll never truly know until he’s gone.’ Tears filled Elizabeth’s beautiful green eyes. ‘When Charles goes back to England, and one day you find yourself breaking down in tears at the sound of the doorbell, the ringing of the telephone, at the sight of a couple walking hand in hand. That’s when you’ll know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was The One.’

Jane kissed her Elizabeth’s hand with sisterly affection. ‘It makes me wonder why we do it. Why we fall in love, only to suffer the eventual pain of separation, break-ups and death. It’s hopeless!’

Elizabeth shook her head vehemently. ‘No, love is not hopeless. How can it be, when it causes every sense to be heightened, every emotion to be magnified? It may only last a moment, a month or a year. But that doesn't diminish its value, because we are left with memories that we treasure for the rest of our lives.’

Jane’s eyes shined with pride. ‘You’ve always been mature for your age. You’re intelligence tossed you into an adult’s world when you were still a child. But I can see that you’ve really grown up, Lizzy. Dad would be so proud of you.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’ Elizabeth sniffed, with an impertinent toss of her head. ‘Dad always said that the key to unhappiness was seeing the past as being better than it was, the present worse than it is, and the future less resolved than it will be. If he was here, he’d be rehashing every argument Adam and I ever had, and telling me to stop glorifying our past.’

‘He could be pretty pessimistic at times.’ Jane acknowledged.

‘He preferred to call himself a realist. Thankfully, I didn’t inherit that from him. I still prefer to think only of the past only as its remembrance brings me joy.’ Elizabeth mumbled distractedly.

The sisters sat in companionable silence. Jane cast a look at her sister, and hesitantly broached the subject she had wanted to discuss the moment she had seen Elizabeth at Sydney International.

‘Your rings?’

Elizabeth looked down at her bare ring finger.

‘I’ll always love Adam,’ she said softly. ‘I owe so much of who I am to him. His support, and his love, came at a time when I needed it the most. In many ways, he was the lifeline that kept me afloat when I was drowning. When he died, I’d go to bed each night not knowing how I survived the day, and wishing for the morning to never come so I wouldn’t have repeat the struggle another day. But I had to stop feeling guilty because I lived and he didn’t. He wouldn’t have wanted me to live that way.’

Elizabeth brushed the tears that spilt down her cheeks, with an impatient hand.

‘And so when I could look at my rings and no longer feel guilty for living, nor blame myself because of his absence, that’s when I knew it was time to take them off.’

They were interrupted by the sound of Mary jogging across the yard, looking decidedly cross. Elizabeth wiped her cheeks with her scarf as she approached and threw herself next to Jane. ‘Here you both are,’ she chided. ‘How could you guys leave me alone with the wolves? You’ll be gone soon enough, so please show some mercy towards the unfortunate ones who have to stay behind.’

‘Jane was filling me in about Charles,’ Elizabeth replied. ‘I’m afraid I’ve probably depressed her more than I’ve helped her.’

Mary cast Jane a guilty glance. Jane gave her middle sister a reassuring, if not reproachful, smile.

‘Well, how are we going to spend these last hours before we drive to the airport?’ Mary asked. ‘As much as I love Longbourne, I need to get out of here while Mum is in her foul my-daughters-are-abandoning-me-again mood and Lydia is begging for an uppercut with her whingeing about Brighton. What are you down for, Einstein?’

‘Some ice cream and a walk around Circular Quay?’ suggested Elizabeth hopefully.

‘Ice cream! It’s the middle of winter,’ exclaimed Jane in amazement. ‘You’ve been complaining about the cold for days. For God’s sake, you’re wearing a scarf!’

‘Hey, you go live for a year in a boiling hot country that doesn’t have Heavens* and you’ll be craving them too,’ she retorted with a melodramatic sigh. ‘Please? My treat!’

Four hours later, following Fran’s farewell tirade to Jane and Lydia and Kit’s unsuccessful bid to accompany them, the sisters walked leisurely around Circular Quay enjoying their ice cream. Now that the floodgates had been prised open, Jane found little else to discuss other than Charles Bingley, his perfection, and her eagerness to see him again. Mary and Elizabeth rolled their eyes in mock annoyance when they finally pulled into the domestic terminal of Sydney airport.

As Elizabeth drew Jane into a tender embrace outside the departure gate, she whispered her final advice.

‘Don’t rush. Learn to know all about Charles before you allow him to lay claim to your heart. He isn’t perfect. Love is not gained by finding a perfect person. It’s by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly. Don’t forget that, and the flaws you’ll see once those rose-coloured glasses of infatuation have been taken off will never disappoint you.’

Jane smiled. ‘Now I know what it feels like to have a big sister,’ she said teasingly, placing a kiss on her sister’s cheek. She grabbed her carry-on bag and ambled through the gates.

Elizabeth and Mary waved as she turned to give them one last smile. Mary turned to her sister.

‘You’re turn next week,’ she stated with sadness.

Elizabeth nodded, chewing on her lower lip. She was a week away from coming full circle, back to where it all began. She didn’t know exactly what lay ahead, but for the first time in months she felt.

*Heaven is an ice cream on a stick, coated in thick chocolate.

Chapter Four: Decisions

Posted on Wednesday, 28 February 2007

There was no doubt about it. Fitzwilliam Darcy was miserable.

If good looks and impeccable pedigree were the passports to happiness, Fitzwilliam Darcy should have been the happiest of men, for none had greater claims to beauty or wealth than that which he possessed. Yet, evidently, happiness was not an automatic privilege to be enjoyed by the ultra rich, for Fitzwilliam was at an impasse; miserable, desolate and remorseful. Each passing day found him growing increasingly dissatisfied with the state of his life, the even bleaker prospects for the future. It didn’t help that everyone normally entrusted with keeping him grounded had suddenly deserted him.

Georgiana had absconded to Scotland, and nothing, absolutely nothing, could induce her to return from boarding school. Although Fitzwilliam didn’t doubt her love for him, she had departed Pemberley with an eagerness that was painfully evident. Not that he blamed her. The family situation had been particularly bad of late. The otherwise faithful friend who had shared his highs and lows since attending Cambridge had relocated to Australia five months previously, and was proving himself an extremely unreliable correspondent. Only his cousin Richard remained, yet he was ill equipped to provide the type of companionship that Fitzwilliam craved. An avid womaniser, Richard was neither physically or emotionally available during the evening hours when Fitzwilliam’s demons came out in force. Richard’s company was strictly limited to the daylight hours, at board meetings, work lunches, or rare golfing weekends. Increasingly unsocial and taciturn, all that remained to occupy Fitzwilliam’s mind was the deep foreboding remorse that never seemed to wane. Remorse for bad decisions made, foolish choices entered into willingly that were coming back to haunt him with a vengeance.

He sighed as he reclined into his soft leather chair. With eyes closed tight, he could almost envision that he was anywhere but the dull monotonous surroundings of his office at Darcy Pharmaceuticals. The more time he spent in the impressive suite, the more Fitzwilliam could feel all his optimism, energy, his zest for life being slowly extinguished. He sighed as he reflected. His life was never supposed to play out in the fashion it had, yet Fate had swept in unannounced to uproot his best-laid plans with ironic cruelty. He thought of his childhood, now a distant memory of carefree summer days, the presence of both loving parents, the promise of a bright future full of prospects. As a child, Fitzwilliam, or William as he had been commonly known, had displayed all the enthusiasm, all the promise, of fashioning the world into a better place. He had always been intelligent. He liked to believe that he had displayed thoughtfulness and consideration. And he had been unpretentious, humble. Well, as humble as the son of the third richest man in Britain could have ever been. He had mapped his life out with careful precision and embarked on a career he had been eager to pursue, one that strayed from the family business in application but was connected nonetheless through theory. Dr William Darcy. It had a nice ring to it.

So a doctor William Darcy became. Deep in his adolescent mind, his initial motivation had been crystal clear. He had planned to achieve nothing less than single-handedly eradicating disease and the suffering associated with it. The memory of his mother’s painful death at the impressionable age of sixteen, the hushed whispers in sterile hospital rooms, had struck a deep chord within him, and he had vowed with grim determination to prevent others from experiencing similar misery. How naive he had been! How soon the other perks of his job had made themselves apparent, he scarcely knew. The open adoration of flirty nurses, the hero-worship of his patients following successful diagnosis and treatment, had all been pleasant indeed and entirely welcome. He had cut a handsome figure in his white coat, his stethoscope dangling around his neck, a towering doctor with smouldering bedroom eyes surrounded by an adoring throng of very willing nurses. If William could save mankind with superhuman skill while clandestinely playing doctors and nurses outside of hours, it was all the better. He should have understood that such notions, equally quixotic and egotistical in nature, would be horribly unrealised.

Tragedy and Fate conspired to derail his plans in spectacular fashion, when deep into his twenty-seventh year his father had suffered a massive cardiac arrest. Neither son nor daughter had witnessed the desperate pleas of their father, as he lay dying alone on his study floor. The guilt that William had felt had been extreme. That he was a doctor, unable to help the father who had supported, nay indulged, his chosen career path when he had most needed him, was an irony that tortured William. He had suffered acutely as a result. The tears coursing down Georgiana’s pale face at the funeral as they had laid his father next to their mother lacerated his heart deeper than any scalpel ever could. Although no stranger to the sudden finality of death, William tortured himself with constant speculation, an unending sequence of ‘what if’. If only he had stopped by before going to the hospital, if only he had called him during the day. In his suffering William found a strange redemption. Suffer he must, and so suffer he did. William’s self-imposed punishment was to turn his back on the profession that had failed his father, and assume his father’s position as CEO of Darcy Pharmaceuticals, the company that had been Geoff Darcy’s life. So instead of prescribing medications, Dr Fitzwilliam Darcy found himself at the helm of an organisation presiding over their development and manufacture instead.

And now, three years down the track he had paved for himself in great bitterness of spirit, he could finally admit his folly. He missed his life as a doctor, all of it. He missed the thrill of proving a differential diagnosis. He missed the satisfaction of cheating Death out of another victim. And most of all, he missed the anonymity of being Dr William Darcy. As Fitzwilliam Darcy, CEO and youngest billionaire in England, his father’s death had caused him to relinquish his claims to privacy. No longer did he feel comfortable on the London streets. No longer did he feel relaxed venturing in public to enjoy the mundane pleasures of life. His face had graced too many Forbes lists, too many articles extolling his physical attributes, that the unwelcome interest of the paparazzi was becoming increasingly dangerous. And annoying. A casual lunch meeting with a female acquaintance, and suddenly the papers would print allegations of an illicit affair. Everything from his favourite foods to favourite cologne had been analysed in excruciating detail. Even his shoe size had attracted close scrutiny, and the speculation that had resulted as a consequence still bought deep blushes to his cheeks. Yes, he definitely missed the simple pleasure of living his life outside of the public eye. And that was only the beginning of his remorse.

The gnawing regret was slowly reaching breaking point. The seemingly endless monotony of hospital acquisitions, pharmaceutical marketing and patenting problems was wearing him down. He delegated more and more of his responsibilities to senior management in an attempt to ease the burden. His survival had depended upon finding a vent for his frustrations, and quickly. And find one he did. For the previous three months, William had ventured to spend part of each day at the Darcy Laboratories, quietly following the progress of pharmaceutical research and development. The amazement of the research staff upon William’s first sheepish appearance into their domain had been extreme. As time progressed and William’s appearance became a daily occurrence, the fraternal bonds of science overrode the surprise, and slowly they welcomed his intelligent queries and medical expertise. For three months, discussing the data coming in from the clinical trials of their products and checking on the progress of the latest miracle drugs had been the only beacon in William’s dark life. But even that was no longer enough.

William stood abruptly, and gazed out the window. It was a month since he had welcomed in his fourth decade, and with it came the true realisation of the extent of his unhappiness. Everything displeased him. London, endless board-meetings at Darcy Pharmaceuticals, the desperate attempts of Caroline. At thirty years of age he felt old. He rarely smiled. He hated the socialising that his position forced him to endure, time wasted in the company of insipid women and mercenary men. He had limited such gatherings to those strictly business in nature, or the familial obligations that required him to don the social mask that efficiently concealed the deep cracks penetrating his core. Even the enticing delicacies arranged by his housekeeper Mrs Reynolds tasted suspiciously like sand paper in his mouth. The pressure was wearing him down like salt on limestone. Resting his head against the pane of glass, watching the bug-sized cars weave their way through the bustling London streets, he realised the possible ramifications of his stress. If things did not change for the better, and soon, there was every chance that he would end up dead at fifty-seven like his father.

The ringing of the phone startled him out of his reverie. With a sigh, he eased himself into the chair behind his imposing desk. His breakdown would have to wait for another time. Fitzwilliam Darcy, CEO of Darcy Pharmaceuticals, was required back in command.

He lifted the receiver as he began shuffling papers absently. ‘Yes?’ William inquired curtly.

‘Mr Bingley on line one for you, sir’ replied his secretary, Sandra, promptly. ‘I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, but you’ve been awaiting his call for a while now….’

‘Senior or Junior?’ William probed, rubbing his temple tiredly. He didn’t have the mental strength to deal with the ramblings of Charles Snr at present.

‘Junior Sir,’ she replied. William released a sigh of relief. ‘Put him through, Sandra.’

After a slight pause, the cheerful voice of his absent friend drifted down the line.

‘Darce,’ Charles greeted warmly. ‘It’s been an age!’

‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’ replied William with deliberate vagueness. ‘Only my closest friends are entitled to call me that. You know, the ones who phone me once in a while, send me emails….’

‘I know. I know the drill,’ replied Charles guiltily. ‘I’ve got no excuse. I’ve been missing in action for a while, and I’m sorry. I should have called earlier, but I did send you a gift for your birthday. Now you can either abuse me for my tardiness, or you can build a bridge and ask me about my trip. Your call.’

William leant back into his chair, a smile tugging at his lips. Charles Bingley was one of the few people who could drag him out of his depression. He had a natural exuberance that William found contagious, and having been deprived of his company long enough he relished the boost to his spirits.

‘How have you been, Charles?’ he asked. ‘How’s the Netherfield Towers project coming along?’

Charles sighed audibly.

‘I’ve been wonderful,’ he gushed. ‘Work’s been wonderful. Better than wonderful.’

William raised an eyebrow in surprise. Work for Charles was never wonderful. It was a burdensome obligation necessarily endured on the road to accessing his inheritance. Charles and work went together like chalk and cheese, so much so that William had often joked that had Charles not had the luxury of falling back onto the family business he would have become a vagabond. Charles wasn’t lazy, but his aversion to work was legendary. ‘You’re enjoying work? Now I’m really worried. What drugs have those Aussies got you on down there, and can you get me the formula?’

Charles laughed briefly, his mirth fading into silence.

‘It’s called love, Darce,’ he murmured dreamily, at length. ‘I think I’m in love.’

‘Again?’ William rolled his eyes in exasperation. Although nowhere near the womaniser his cousin Richard was, Charles was prone to falling in love on a weekly basis. ‘Goodness Charles! You’ve gone through half of England’s socialites; don’t tell me you’ve started philandering your way through Australia. Richard will be impressed.’

‘Firstly, you make me sound like the Don Juan of London, when I know for a fact that in your heyday you were known around your hospital as Dr Hotloins.’ Charles protested defensively. William grinned in remembrance. ‘Secondly, nothing I ever do will make me to come remotely close to Richard in that department. That man is slicker than Exxon Valdez oil on Bligh Reef!’

He paused. ‘I’m serious Darce. I’ve finally found her. I’ve found the woman of my dreams.’

‘Let me guess,’ William replied sarcastically ‘An Aussie version of Barbie. Did she cast her boomerang upon you?’

‘No boomerang,’ he chuckled. ‘Her pet kangaroo took off with it. She’s been devastated ever since!’

Despite himself, William smiled. ‘So the Barbie part’s right?’

Charles sighed deeply. ‘Yes, she’s blonde, blue-eyed. But she’s different to all the others, Darce. For one, she’s a lot smarter than the other girls I’ve dated. She’s an absolute angel!’

‘That’s what you always say, Charles.’ William reminded him. ‘It’s what you said about Lucy, and Melanie, don’t forget Brittany, and of course Taylor…’

‘No, seriously Darce, she’s absolutely amazing,’ protested Charles emphatically.

William knew it would be futile talking sense into Charles Bingley. When Charles fell in love, he fell hard and fast. He would advise him when asked, caution him when necessary, and when it was all over he would help pick up the pieces. That was the way it had always been, since Cambridge. Yet, there was something in Charles’ voice that niggled at William. Hearing the contentment his friend projected filled him with painful longing. If he could admit it to himself, he envied Charles his carefree happiness.

‘Does the angel have a name?’ William asked, swivelling his chair to stare out the window.

The lovesick sigh was audible across the chasm of thousands of miles. ‘It’s Jane. Darce, she’s been gone for an entire week visiting her sisters and I’ve been going crazy. I can’t work, can’t think, and can’t function. I just dream about her all day. It’s love, man!’

‘I could argue that you find it hard to work regardless.’ William grunted. ‘How did you meet this celestial being?’

Instant regret flooded him. It was the last thing he wanted to hear when his own love life was a shambles. Charles complied with considerable zeal, extolling the virtues of his angelic Jane, whom he fervently believed epitomized all that was lovely and virtuous in womankind.

‘…. And so what started off as a few late night work dinners slowly developed into us spending more time together outside the office. I’ve never been around a woman who makes me feel this way. I can honestly see her having my babies one day.’

‘I’m sure she that’s exactly what she has in mind too,’ grunted William sarcastically. ‘I’ll wager she knows precisely how much your family is worth, Charles. You’ll have to be vigilant in the bedroom. She’s probably trying everything in her power to get herself pregnant so that she can saddle herself to you forever.’

A deathly silence met William. He instantly felt he had crossed the fine line between friendly teasing and malice. He swallowed nervously.

‘I resent your implication, William,’ replied Charles, with bitterness. ‘I resent the fact you think the woman I love is a mercenary whore. I know you’re going through a rough patch, but why are you so determined to have such a low opinion of everyone? Not that it’s any of your business, but Jane hasn’t slept around with me or anyone else for that matter.’

‘You’re not trying to tell me she’s a…’ started William, incredulously.

‘Yes,’ hissed Charles fiercely. ‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Whether or not you believe it is up to you. I don’t care whether you do. I know the truth. I know who Jane really is, and that’s all that matters. Good God, what has happened to you these past five months? The William Darcy I know would have teased me, but never resorted to hurtful remarks. I didn’t ring so that I could hear your negativity.’

William stared pensively at his reflection in the window, face flushed with shame. Charles rarely rebuked him, rarely called him William. Charles had been nothing but supportive in the past few years, and he was repaying his kindness with bitterness and pessimism. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

‘I’m sorry Charles,’ William floundered apologetically. ‘I haven’t been myself lately. I’m afraid I’ve morphed into a bitter resentful man with a propensity to hate everybody. What I said was inexcusable. I love you like a brother, and I just don’t want to see you get hurt.’

‘Darce, I’m a big boy,’ Charles’ voice softened. ‘Back to Darce!’ William sighed in relief. ‘And even if you think that my relationship with Jane is a mistake, it’s a mistake I’m willing to make. What was that thing you always used to quote to me at Cambridge to make me feel better whenever I did something stupid, Darce?’

William paused in reflection. ‘A life spent making mistakes is not only more honourable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing,’ he said softly. ‘George Bernard Shaw.’

‘That’s the one,’ Charles replied with a sigh. ‘We were different then.’

‘I was naïve, idealistic,’ mumbled William clumsily. ‘It was easy to be so sanctimonious when I wasn’t making the mistakes. God, I don’t know how you didn’t punch my portentous head in.’

Charles’ laughter rang loudly. William grinned wryly.

‘So, when are you due back?’ he asked lightly.

‘I could honestly live my life contently in Australia forever.’ Charles confessed with a sigh. ‘If it wasn’t for the fact my father would probably disown me, I would happily stay here after the project is completed. The people here are so laid back. Food’s wonderful. Weather was wonderful…. it’s a little colder now, but nothing I can’t handle after suffering through English winters. Best part, nobody recognises me. I’m not Charles Bingley, the Most Eligible Bachelor of the Year. For all they care, I could be Charles Bingley, the son of a shoe polisher.’

‘Lucky you.’ William replied enviously, gazing into the sky.

‘You have to come down here, one time,’ Charles continued enthusiastically. ‘You’ll never want to leave.’

‘I wish.’ William replied glumly, running a frustrated hand through his wavy brown hair. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t think the Darcy board would approve of their CEO rushing off to the ends of the earth for a pleasure trip.’

‘Darce, I thought you were the board,’ Charles reminded him. ‘You own eighty percent of the company. The board has to answer to you, not the other way around. You can do whatever you want!’

William released a deep sigh. Charles may be Vice-President of Netherfield Incorporated, but he was still a little wet behind the ears when it came to business acumen.

‘If only it was that simple, Charles,’ he replied. ‘The other shareholders depend upon me to make Darcy Pharmaceuticals successful and profitable. Their livelihood depends on it. No matter how much I struggle with it, I’ve had to face up to the fact that my life is not my own anymore. That’s not likely to change.’

‘That’s rubbish and you know it, Darce.’ Charles replied emphatically. ‘You don’t want to do it. You don’t want to do anything that will give you joy. It’s all part of your self-inflicted punishment for failing at something that wasn’t in your control in the first place.’

The words cut William to the quick. His first instinct, to lash out in denial, was overridden by the reality of his words. William flung his head back in resignation and closed his eyes. Charles continued.

‘What’s the point in having billions of dollars under your disposal if you don’t get to enjoy it? You want to change the world, go out and do it. There is more to life than Darcy Pharmaceuticals. Your father would never have wanted you to live this way. Haven’t you suffered enough?’

William sat silently, cradling the phone to his ear.

‘How’s Georgiana? How are Caroline and Lousia?’ Charles sighed, changing topic abruptly. ‘ I haven’t really had the time to keep in contact with my superior sisters lately. I’ve just been getting snippets from Mother.’

‘Yes, well we both know why you’ve been so busy,’ William replied sarcastically. ‘Georgie’s at school in Scotland. I saw Louisa last month at the Cure for Cancer charity benefit. She had James cornered in the foyer, arguing over how much he was drinking. He’s definitely developing a problem.’

‘I’ve tried talking to him about it, Darce,’ Charles replied worriedly. ‘You know Hurst. He lives in constant denial, believing everything is ok. Lousia isn’t much better. So long as he isn’t embarrassing her in front of her friends she’s perfectly content to turn a blind eye. Believe me, they’re headed for bigger problems. How’s Caro?’

William rolled his eyes in frustration. ‘You’re her brother. Do you really need to ask?’

‘That bad, hey.’ Charles returned.

‘Let me just say this. She’s as tenacious as ever.’

‘Poor Darce.’ Charles clucked sympathetically. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. Jane is coming back tonight from Sydney, and I want to surprise her with dinner.’

‘You, cook!’ scoffed William in disbelief. ‘You can’t make two minute noodles without burning the house down.’

‘I never said I was going to cook the food myself,’ Charles replied sheepishly. ‘But don’t I get points for ordering it in? Speak to you later!’

William hung up feeling slightly mollified. Charles had sounded content, relaxed. His friend’s words rung over and over in William’s ears. ‘You can do what you want!’ Charles was one of those people who sought simple solutions to life’s complexities, and it obviously worked for him. William reflected on his growing dissatisfaction. That he needed to get away from the oppressive pressure in London was abundantly clear. The question was, if he could get away what would he do? He got up and started pacing the office floor, mind in overdrive. Perhaps time away would enable him to return to Darcy Pharmaceuticals refreshed and energized. Perhaps a sabbatical was the cure to his depression. He strode over to the wall mounted world map upon which small tacks pinpointed the holdings of Darcy Pharmaceuticals. He owned several companies on every continent, save Antarctica. If appeasing the Darcy board was the issue, he could easily transfer to one of his foreign holdings on the pretext of work-related business that only he could address. The more he contemplated, the better it sounded. It could work. But where would he go?

William regarded the map with a critical eye. He owned an apartment in New York, but the last thing he desired was the hustle and bustle of the Big Apple. The American people’s butchery of the English language was another disincentive; he didn’t want to order jelly and biscuits in order to get jam and scones. Europe was too close to home, and positively teeming with vacationers during the summer months. Africa was hot, too primitive. He looked towards Australia, and reflected on Charles’ words. ‘I could live contently in Australia forever!’ More than twenty hours travel away, Australia was certainly a considerable distance from England. That was bonus in itself. If Charles could move around with surprising anonymity, it was possible that he too could spend the duration of his trip relatively unknown. Therein was bonus number two. William quickly strode to the door, and marched out. Sandra looked up expectantly.

‘Sandra, do you have a list of Darcy Acquisitions in Australia?’ William asked with curbed impatience.

Sandra deftly thumbed through the filing cabinet behind her. At length, she passed William a thin manila folder. He took it eagerly and walked back into his office. Perching himself on the chesterfield sofa, he browsed through the list eagerly. The company had no holdings in Perth where Charles was stationed. William was filled with disappointment. The lure of spending some time with Charles had been a strong incentive. He turned his eye half-heartedly to the other capital cities. Sydney: the headquarters for the Australian branch of Darcy Pharmaceuticals. He grimaced. Brisbane: the warehouses that produced Darcy Pharmaceutical’s dermatological products.

And then he saw it. Melbourne: Melbourne Memorial Hospital. William’s pulse quickened. A hospital. His hospital? He eagerly perused the summary report. Darcy Pharmaceuticals had obtained a forty nine percent share in Melbourne Memorial in his first year as CEO. He knotted his brow in contemplation. He couldn’t recall that particular acquisition. Had it been one of those things he had delegated to Richard as he had eased himself into the position? He dropped the folder onto his lap, his mind humming with the many possibilities working back in a medical environment could bestow. He could supervise the planned trials of the new ACE inhibitor drugs Darcy Pharmaceuticals had recently developed. His excitement increased. He could even practice medicine again. The paperwork involved in getting registered as a doctor in Australia would be a pain, but his money could move mountains. He would need a place to stay, of course….

William paced the office floor. He hadn’t felt this excited about something in years. He sent a silent thank you to Charles for setting the wheels of his mind in motion. He quickly sat at his desk and pressed the intercom. ‘Sandra, please inform Richard I’d like to see him as soon as possible.’

William ran both hands through his hair, breathing deeply. There was one bridge that needed to be crossed before he would allow himself to plan his departure.

Moments later, Richard Fitzwilliam walked briskly into William’s office, and looked at his cousin expectantly. William gazed at him with a critical eye. At thirty-five, Richard had all the ease and grace of a young man in the peak of his youth. His good looks and engaging smile belied the ruthlessness of his no-nonsense attitude to business. Despite his notorious reputation as an incorrigible lady’s man, Richard was one of the few people William could trust with his father’s legacy. It was one of the reasons why he had promoted him to President of Operations soon after starting at Darcy Pharmaceuticals.

‘What’s up, Fitz?’ Richard inquired curiously, reclining his tall frame into a leather chair.

William took a deep breath.

‘What can you tell me about Melbourne Memorial?’ he asked casually.

Richard frowned in contemplation.

‘Melbourne Memorial?’ he wavered. His eyes filled with recognition. ‘Our hospital acquisition down in Australia? I believe it was one of the holdings acquired during your first months here. Why do you ask?’

William eyed him warily. ‘I was reacquainting myself with our holdings, Richard. I was surprised to find a hospital down in Australia as one of our acquisitions. Why did we only purchase forty nine percent?’

Richard narrowed his eyes in suspicion. ‘If my memory serves me correctly, the Australian government doesn’t approve of foreign companies being majority shareholders in certain public sector industries. Where is all this leading?’

William tapped his long fingers on the mahogany desk briskly, the sound reverberating throughout the office. He stopped the beat suddenly, and casually shrugged his shoulders.

‘I’ve decided I need to go away for a while,’ he announced simply.

Richard smirked knowingly. ‘I’ve been nagging you to take a holiday for months. It’s great that you’ve finally agreed. So, do you want me to organise a bit of fun in Monaco? How about Ibiza?’

‘I’m not sure I would enjoy the type of holidays you would organise, Richard.’ William rolled his eyes knowingly. ‘Thank you, but your holidays are not my cup of tea. I’ll either get arrested for indecent exposure or find myself handcuffed to a bed while some girl runs off with my wallet and passport. I had something different in mind. Someplace even you haven’t polluted.’

‘Where?’ asked Richard, brow knotted in confusion. Understanding dawned. ‘Do you mean…?’

‘Yes,’ William replied, leaning back into his chair. ‘Australia.’

Richard smiled.

‘Got the idea when you were studying our Australian acquisitions, hey?’’ he chuckled. ‘Good for you, Fitz. Go, follow Bing, and have a ball. I hear those Aussie girls are pretty passionate, if you get my drift.‘

‘Don’t you ever think of anything other than sex?’ William asked in exasperation. ‘I never said I planned to go for a vacation, Richard.’

‘Then why the blazes are you going?’ he asked, perplexed. ‘Something wrong with one of the subsidiary companies?’

‘Before I tell you anything, there’s something I need to know.’ William leaned forward, his eyes boring into Richard’s face. ‘I’m not going to plan anything until I know that my concerns are well taken care of.’

‘What do you need to know? What concerns?’

William paused as Richard waited expectantly.

‘Darcy Pharmaceuticals. I want to know whether you’re willing to step into my shoes while I’m gone,’ he replied at length.

‘Excuse me!’ Richard shot up in his chair. ‘You aren’t asking me what I think you’re asking me?’

‘I am,’ replied William firmly. ‘I need you to step up as caretaker CEO of Darcy Pharmaceuticals.’

‘CEO!’ Richard shook his head in disbelief. ‘The work has finally gotten to you, Fitz. You are absolutely delusional.’

‘On the contrary, for the first time in three years I’m seeing things with clarity.’ William returned with a wry smile.

Richard observed him with amazement.

‘Its only temporary,’ William continued. ‘I know I’m asking a lot but I feel if I don’t get away from here I’m going to have a breakdown. Thing have been impossible. And I can’t get away without ensuring the company is in good hands. There is nobody else I trust other than you, Richard’

Richard eyed him warily.

‘How long for?’

‘Six months,’ William replied. ‘Maybe more.’

‘Six months!’ Richard whistled low. ‘What are you going to do for six months?’

‘I want to help establish the trials of the new heart drug at our hospital in Melbourne, Melbourne Memorial, possibly expanding the clinical trials to include other hospitals in the Asia Pacific region,’ he replied.

‘That’s why you’re so interested in Melbourne Memorial. And why do you need to go to the ends of the earth for that? You can establish the trial from here.’ Richard knotted his brow in confusion.

‘You don’t understand.’ William shook his head impatiently. ‘I don’t want to sit in the office and receive the final reports. I want to be hands on with this one. I want to supervise the trials personally.’

‘I see.’ Richard narrowed his eyes. ‘This isn’t about the company, or the trials. This is about you going off to a far away country where nobody recognises you, to a hospital that you partially own, donning on your white coat and becoming Dr Darcy again.’

William’s silence provided the confirmation Richard seeked.

‘That’s ridiculous! How about your responsibilities here? How about Georgiana?’

‘I am not asking for your permission, Richard, nor do I need a lecture.’ William said coldly. ‘It’s June, and Georgiana has made it abundantly clear she won’t be returning until Christmas. As to my other responsibilities, I’ll handle them before I go. All I want to know right now is whether you are able to handle the responsibility of CEO.’

Richard gave him a hard look. ‘Of course I could handle it. The question is will I. I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces when you have to come back as CEO, depressed again after reliving your dream.’

‘I’ll handle that when it comes,’ William replied bluntly. ‘As for now, all I see is the prospect of both of us to getting something beneficial. You’ll have the incredible opportunity to run one of the most profitable organizations in the world, and I’ll get to go back to my roots while still doing work for Darcy Pharmaceuticals. Are you up to it?’

Richard nodded. ‘And what’s more I’ll relish it.’

‘Good,’ answered William brusquely. ‘As soon as I have organised the particulars, I’ll schedule a board meeting to announce the corporate reshuffling. I would like to leave as soon as possible, so please advise Winston from the legal department that I need him to file the appropriate forms for visa and residency licenses….’

Richard raised his hand to halt his cousin’s enthusiastic ramblings.

‘Look, if you’re determined to do this, then allow me to organise the establishment of the trials with the Director at Melbourne Memorial,’ Richard remarked. ‘It would appear entirely too suspicious if the current CEO of Darcy Industries and the new trial supervisor shared the same name. You’ll probably have to work there under an assumed name, if you could arrange it…’

‘Thank you Richard.’ William flashed his cousin a brief smile. ‘Now get out of here. I have a lot of things to organise.’

Richard turned to his cousin, his hand on the door handle.

‘Look, I just want you to take care. I don’t want you to set yourself up for a huge disappointment.’

William gave him a tight smile. ‘I won’t.’

As Richard exited the office, William sighed in relief. He was stunned at the relative ease with which things had progressed. When he had awoken in the morning, the day had held little promise. Now, it was filled with possibilities, the joy of planning. He eased himself away from the desk and ambled towards the wall-mounted map. He gazed at the sprawling southern continent. Australia. A small smile graced his lips.

‘Melbourne Memorial.’ he whispered aloud. For the first time in years, the sun threatened to break through the clouds. Dr William Darcy couldn’t wait.

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