Page 73 of Stuck

“I am, and will always be, on the side of reason, which precludes everybody involved in this particular scenario.”

Jane blushed slightly at the criticism but, to my surprise, also tried to defend Darcy. “Bingley says Darcy has always been extremely protective of him. He shielded him from some horrific bullying at school, and he’s looked out for him ever since.”

I couldn’t deny that I’d seen that protective streak in Darcy. He’d shown it to me on multiple occasions. He’d shown it to his sister, when he effectively stepped in to be her parent after their dad died. He’d even shown it to Wickham, in keeping his name clear. It was one of the things I’d grown to admire most about him. And yet…

“If only there was such a reasonable excuse for everything he said.”

The one accusation I couldn’t find any excuse for, the one that cut the deepest, was that I’d tried to manipulate him, first with my knowledge of agriculture and second with my dad’s addiction. The two things that were most personal to me, one all passion, the other all pain, and he’d thrown both back in my face. I wasn’t ready to forgive him for that.

Before either of my sisters could reply, Tam announced that dinner was ready. We didn’t bother moving to the table, instead eating where we were and watching TV with bowls of chilli on our laps. None of them tried to talk about my horrible day again until Jane stopped me at my bedroom door as I went to bed.

“Bingley texted. He asked me to assure you that your job is one hundred percent secure.”

I raised my eyebrows, incredulous. “I should hope it is, since he knows full well that I haven’t done anything wrong and am only in this mess because of him!”

“Well, he didn’t want there to be any doubt. He and Darcy are flying to Copenhagen in the morning, and he was worried he hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to you himself first. Oh, and he said to tell you that Darcy never spoke to William Lucas.”

That, I had to admit, was a relief. I thanked her and said goodnight and closed my door. My eyes fell immediately on my phone, which had been charging on my bedside table. Curiosity had my feet moving before I’d even considered what might be awaiting me on it.

A lot, it turned out. Missed call notifications and increasingly concerned texts from Jane, Mary, and Tam, asking where I was. Still more messages from colleagues at work, who’d heard that I’d been sent home and wanted to know why. And two others, each of a very different nature. The first, from George, had been sent less than ten minutes after I got out of the lift and had me grinding my teeth.

Did you talk to Darcy yet? I’m serious, I can’t go to jail, I wouldn’t last five minutes. You have to tell him I didn’t do it. Text me as soon as you’ve spoken to him, I’m losing my mind here!

The second had come through about five minutes ago and left me breathless.

I’m so sorry

I stared at Darcy’s words for a long time, their sincerity resonating deeply, dislodging a whorl of other feelings—confusing, confronting ones, like clemency and regret. Ultimately, I turned my phone off, too exhausted, and perhaps a little too cowardly, to know how to respond to either man.

I didn’t hear from Darcy again. Either he was too busy with work to spare time thinking about me, or he considered his apology an end to the matter; whatever the explanation, there were no more texts. I didn’t message him either. My feelings were a jumbled mess, but I could admit to myself that his silence both disappointed and confused me; thus, our impasse persisted.

I did, however, wake up on Tuesday morning to a barrage of messages from George, all repeating the same appeal for me to plead his case with Darcy. I’d taken a day’s leave to take stock and let the dust settle at work, but by lunchtime, George’s perseverance had almost completely eviscerated my peace of mind.

He’d have done better not to push the matter, because his selfishness forced me to make a decision. Whilst I had fond memories of our early friendship, and I did, perhaps naïvely, believe that he was trying to improve himself, my faith in his success was minimal and far outweighed by my disgust at what he’d done to Darcy.

Moreover, I suspected that a friendship with either man would be mutually exclusive, and whilst I didn’t know what the future held for Darcy and me, there was no question who I’d pick if forced to choose between them. So, as I ate my lunch at the little table by the sunny window in Jane’s flat, I typed out my reply.

I haven’t spoken to him, he’s out of the country. If and when I do see him, I will tell him the truth. That’s all I can do, and all I will ever do from now on. Take care, George. Please keep trying to be better. Elizabeth. x

Then I blocked his number.

32

DARCY

Copenhagen was spectacular. Our hotel overlooked the inner harbour; the view from my window was of passing boats and a sea of commuters on bikes, and everywhere impossibly intricate spires twisted like giant gilded stalagmites above the city roof line. It ought to have been exciting. I barely took any of it in, other than to reflect with glum certainty that Elizabeth would love it here.

Concentrating on work was next to impossible—our initial meeting that afternoon had been a blur. I couldn’t stop thinking about her and how spectacularly I’d messed up. She hadn’t wanted to talk to me after she got out of the lift; she hadn’t replied to my text message. Since the moment Bingley and I set foot off the plane, I’d been about three seconds away from telling him he could deal with the Danish investors himself and hightailing it straight back to London to beg her to hear me out. Not that I had any idea what I could possibly say to her that would make a difference.

“Do you want to leave this and go for a beer?” Bingley asked.

I looked up from my laptop. We were in the middle of finalising our approach to the next stage of talks tomorrow, and it needed doing. It annoyed the hell out of me that he should be the one to suggest slacking off when the only reason I was here working on it instead of at home trying to win back the woman I couldn’t contemplate being without was to rescue his bloody company.

“We don’t have time,” I replied in a clipped tone, but the bastard just smirked at me.

“Come off it! We’d have finished hours ago if you weren’t so distracted. You’re worse than I was in Edinburgh, and Jane was there with me!”

Judging by the way his eyes widened and his mouth snapped closed, he realised what he’d admitted as soon as the words left his mouth. Unfortunately for him, so did I.