Broken Hearts Keep Beating ~ Section I

By Sara M

Beginning, Next Section

Posted on Monday, 12 February 2007

Prologue

A year had come and gone, and it was finally time to return home.

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

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Sydney International Airport, Australia. It's currently 3pm and the temperature today is 15 degrees Celsius. Please remain seated until the plane has come to a stop. We thank you for flying with us, and wish you a pleasant journey.”

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 Frontičres,” 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

They say that time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself. Elizabeth had always loved the wisdom of Andy Warhols' simple words. Manoeuvring up the long drive to the homestead, Elizabeth was relieved to find that both time and Fran Bennet had not conspired to adversely affect her childhood home. Longbourne appeared as it always had, a charming rural haven in an increasingly urban landscape. When Thomas Bennet had first purchased Longbourne, the entire area had been farmland. He had fallen in love with the lush green hills, and his Italian blood, although diluted through the generations, had stirred with the promise of his own rural wonderland. Now, the increasing property prices of metropolitan Sydney was resulting in urban spread. As a result, the suburb of Hertfordshire had undergone re-zoning, and many of the homestead owners had gleefully sold their properties to rich developers who churned out carbon copy homes on carbon copy residential estates. Longbourne was one of a handful of rural properties that remained in Hertfordshire, despite numerous offers from developers. Although Fran Bennet had not always preferred the sprawling country life to the buzz of the city, the 15 years worth of happy memories of Thomas at Longbourne were invaluable. He had always joked that he would haunt her forever if she ever sold the place in the event of his death, and in her superstitious heart she had no doubt he would.

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 Frontičres.' 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 naďve, 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.

Broken Hearts Keep Beating ~ Section II

By Sara M

Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter Five: First Impressions

Posted on Sunday, 4 March 2007

Despite the excitement she had felt all week at the thought of her impending return to Melbourne, from the moment she opened her eyes on Friday morning, Elizabeth instinctively knew she was in for a rough day.

The zipper on her largest suitcase had split open the night before as she attempted to cram the contents back in, forcing her to resort to her mother's wheel-less carpetbag monstrosity. The previously reliable alarm clock, entrusted with waking her at sunrise for her daily jog, had chosen that particular morning to malfunction, with an overnight power surge resetting the times. As a consequence, she had awoken later than was her norm, something that was always guaranteed to produce a headache. Running late for her ten o'clock flight, her ire was further raised in the shower. It was only once her head had been submerged under the steady stream gushing out of the shower nozzle that Elizabeth made her discovery; her sisters had used the last of the shampoo and conditioner. In desperation, she resorted to massaging a generous dollop of strawberry-scented body wash into her long hair. With no time to dry her curls, she twisted her hair back in a severe-looking bun, a desperate attempt to hold the inevitable frizzing at bay.

As she pulled on her jeans, she was dismayed to find that the new turtleneck cashmere jumper she had purchased in Sydney had been mysteriously placed in the drier overnight, despite her strong recollection of hanging it on the clotheshorse to dry before going to bed the night before. As a consequence the jumper had shrunk to half its size, and Elizabeth had eyed Lydia suspiciously as her youngest sister eagerly grabbed the midriff baring knit with barely suppressed satisfaction. With bags packed and locked, and the time ticking, one of Mary's rather bohemian jumpers was accepted as a substitute against the chilly morning air, amidst Elizabeth's growing consternation. She was running late, and yet Fran insisted on her motherly prerogative to scold her, before she was finally rushed her out into the waiting car with Mary. The traffic was horrendous, and Elizabeth's fingers tapped on the dashboard with barely veiled impatience.

'Eager to go, hey?' Mary cast her a quick, reproachful glance, as she weaved the car maniacally through the lanes of the busy freeway.

'As much as I'll miss you, I'm not going to deny that I'm happy to be going home,' she replied anxiously, eyes fixed on the road. 'If I get to the airport in time, that is.'

'I can't say I blame you,' Mary stated meaningfully. 'Unfortunately, I'm stuck there until I finish university, and probably longer. We poor struggling artists can't afford to live where we wish.'

'Mary, you're welcome to come and stay with me during mid semester break in three months time,' Elizabeth offered with sincerity. 'I'll take you to the National Gallery and the Arts Centre. I'll show you the reason why Melbourne is the world's most liveable city. We are the cultural capital of Australia, you know.'

'My Sydney pride will never admit to that, but I'd love to come*,' she replied with a look that bespoke her gratitude. They pulled into the drop-off zone of the domestic terminal with twenty minutes to spare. Elizabeth leaped out of the car and wrestled her bag onto the trolley Mary produced.

'Okay, do you have all of your luggage?' Mary peered at the bags.

'I'm hardly going to misplace that monstrosity. Check." replied Elizabeth, counting the bags quickly.

'Passport'

'Its only a domestic flight, Mary, but, yes. Check'

'Newspaper, crossword and mobile?'

'Check, check and check.'

'You sure you don't want me to sit with you until your flight?' Mary offered. 'I know I told you yesterday that I was planning to go into the studio this morning, but there is nothing so pressing that I can't keep you company before you board.'

Elizabeth shook her head emphatically. 'No Mary, that's alright,' she replied. 'Don't procrastinate on my account. It's only twenty minutes before take-off. I'll call you when I settle in. Take care of yourself.'

The sisters embraced quickly. Mary rummaged in the back seat, producing a square package that she gently placed into Elizabeth's hand.

'A parting gift,' she said with a tentative smile. 'A little thank you for everything; the jewellery, artwork, keeping me sane….'

At the approach of an airport parking officer looking eager to book unattended vehicles in the drop-off zone, Mary hugged Elizabeth quickly before jumping into her car and speeding away. Elizabeth quickly turned to wheel her trolley through the mirrored doors. The sight that met her eyes was pure pandemonium. The terminal was overflowing with passengers occupying every seat, leaning against walls, and squatting on the ground. Long lines snaked from the check-in desk, the entire terminal buzzing with the sound of disgruntled, angry passengers. Elizabeth's jaw dropped. She looked to the departure board. Every flight was branded with a red delayed sign, including her own. She groaned audibly.

She approached the nearest security guard. 'What's going on?' she asked with growing apprehension.

The security guard shook his head reflectively, before holding out his hands in helplessness. 'Industrial action. The baggage handlers and plane refuelers have called a snap strike.'

'What?' she groaned incredulously. After the horror start to her day, this was the last thing Elizabeth had anticipated. 'How long will it go on for?'

'Anyone's guess,' he shrugged, casting her a sympathetic glance. 'Anyhow, please don't get narky like the other passengers and shoot the messenger. I've copped a verbal bashing by a lot of ticked-off people around here today.'

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly and rubbed her forehead. She instantly regretted that she had not accepted Mary's offer to wait with her until she had boarded the plane. 'This cannot be happening to me' she muttered to herself.

'I'm sorry, love,' the security guard continued kindly, 'but the unions have been pulling these sort of stunts ever since I was knee-high to a grasshopper**. Best to just get in line and see where you stand.'

With a deep sigh, she took her place in the queue, growing increasingly irritable as the line moved at snail's pace towards the check-in counter. Everywhere she turned she saw faces with expressions that mirrored her own irritation and frustration. She felt pity for the young mother in front of her, balancing a baby in her arms as she hissed loudly at her younger children to keep still. Elizabeth shifted from one foot to the other, cursing her luck, cursing the union, and cursing the democratic process that tolerated protests into the bargain.

'At times like this, there is one thing to be said about dictatorships' she mused silently. 'No self-respecting despot would tolerate any such democratic protest from his people.'

The clock ticked by slowly. The time for her scheduled flight came and went, and still the departure board remained unchanged. She finally approached the flustered clerk trapped behind the desk, with trepidation.

'I was scheduled to be in Melbourne at eleven-thirty',' she began. 'I have someone waiting for me at Tullamarine...***'

'I'm sorry,' the clerk shook her head impatiently, obviously frazzled. 'There is little chance that any passengers on scheduled departure flights will be going anywhere. The few baggage handlers we do have today are busily clearing up the incoming flights. I recommend you ring your friend in Melbourne and inform them that you can't predict when you'll be there.'

Elizabeth scratched her head in frustration. The departure lounge was growing louder, the anger and resentment of the other passengers becoming less restrained.

'Are all flights to Melbourne affected?' Elizabeth asked desperately.

'All flights originating from this terminal, to all destinations, are affected by the strike,' the clerk responded wearily, taking a quick gulp from a water bottle resting near the console. 'It's an absolute nightmare. We don't know how long the industrial action will last this time round. Even if it was to end now, it will take hours to clear up the backlog of flights.'

Elizabeth mulled over her words.

'Is the international terminal unaffected by the strike?' she asked, barely hopeful.

The clerk nodded. 'The Industrial Relations commission ruled against the union taking industrial action which would affect the airport's international flight scheduling,' she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. 'Unfortunately, the domestic passengers are the ones who have to suffer.'

'Is it possible to find a seat on the international flights? Elizabeth asked, shifting from leg to leg. 'There has to be some international flights going onto Melbourne via Sydney.'

The clerk shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

'I couldn't say. The best chance you have would be to run over to the international terminal and check with the individual airlines. I'm sorry, but there's nothing more I can do. Next please.'

'Thanks,' muttered Elizabeth, rolling her trolley around. Finding a semi-isolated corner, she fished out her mobile and punched in Charlotte's number. She strained to hear the ringing down the line.

'Lizzy!' answered Charlotte at length, her voice panicked. 'I thought you said you were due to arrive at eleven-thirty! Did you take an earlier flight?'

'No, Char' Elizabeth replied loudly. 'I'm not in Melbourne. I'm still stuck in Sydney. I'm caught up in a strike at the airport.'

'What? Poor thing,' Charlotte clucked sympathetically. 'So, what time do you want me to pick you up then?'

Elizabeth sighed in frustration. 'I can't say, because I don't know. I appreciate the offer, but under the circumstances, I think it'll be best for both of us if I just take a taxi home.'

'No way, Elizabeth Bennet,' Charlotte retorted fiercely. 'I haven't seen my best friend for over year. There is no way you're entering the state without a welcoming party to greet you. I can go to the shopping centre in Airport West and do some shopping while I wait for your call to meet you at the airport. That's not negotiable, okay?'

Elizabeth smiled weakly. 'What did I do to deserve a friend like you?'

'I take it that's a yes,' Charlotte returned. 'Call me the minute you know something.'

Elizabeth snapped her phone shut and sighed. If the international terminal was unaffected by the strike, it was worth a shot to check it out. She knew enough about Sydney's Airport to know that the domestic and international terminals were housed in completely separate complexes. She cursed the inconsiderate airport designers as she wheeled her trolley back through the throng, stopping dejectedly before the same security guard from before. He looked at her with sympathetic eyes.

'I need to get to the international terminal,' she stated tiredly. 'Could you please tell me the quickest way to get there?'

'Well, you've got three options,' he began leisurely, 'the bus, taxi or the airport link. Bus generally takes ten minutes and runs every half hour. Departure point is bus bay three, near baggage carousel six. You've got little chance of catching one though,' he stated as she moved towards the direction he was pointing. 'The drivers are on strike with the baggage handlers.'

Elizabeth rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers. A strong recollection of Tom Hanks' character in the film 'The Terminal', of a man forced to live in the confines of an international terminal, swept through her mind. She had watched the movie with Adam on one of their rare nights off from hospital. She was growing more empathetic with every passing moment for the character's real life inspiration, Merhan Karimi Nasseri, a man who for the past 18 years had been stuck in international limbo at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Elizabeth remembered an interview given by the Paris airport's medical director revealing that Nasseri's incarceration had robbed him of the ability to make rational decisions. With the frustration simmering around her, Elizabeth could understand how rationality could be lost in times of stress.

She snapped back to reality, to see the guard watching her with a raised brow. 'Taxi, airport link?' she asked with a politeness she didn't feel.

'You could take a taxi, but apparently there is a large throng of people out there waiting for one. I just heard that one of my mates had to intervene when two passengers came to blows trying to claim the same taxi.'

He sighed, as Elizabeth gritted her teeth.

'Your best bet would be the Airport Link. Transfers passengers between T1 International and T2/T3 Domestic Terminals, via a train line linking all the terminals. The trip only takes a couple of minutes. Just follow the signs to the lifts to take you to the station beneath the terminal.'

With quick thanks, Elizabeth rushed towards the nearest lift. Her anticipated relief was not to be. Upon arriving at the station, it seemed that the entire population of domestic travellers was of a similar mind to hers. By the time she forced herself and her bags into the crowded train carriage, she was well and truly exhausted.

At the international terminal, the turmoil caused by the domestic carrier had rippled through. She manoeuvred her way to the nearest desk. British Airways. Elizabeth swallowed her ire and pasted on her best smile.

'Please,' she started with a confidence she didn't feel. 'I need to get to Melbourne. Are there any seats available in the next half-hour?'

The clerk shook his head. 'I'm sorry madam; all domestic transfers on international flights in the next four hours have been sold. There is little likelihood we'll be able to accommodate you until late afternoon.'

She closed her eyes briefly and inwardly cursed Murphy and his Laws.

'There's no chance whatsoever of any seats?' she asked, eyes downcast.

He tapped away at the console and shook his head. 'Not at all, I'm afraid. The computer indicates no seats are available. Your best bet would be check out the other carriers, or wait until boarding time and hope that a vacancy comes up from a last minute cancellation.'

The news at the other carrier desks was equally discouraging. Exhausted emotionally and physically, she dragged her feet and luggage to the coffee lounge, ordered a latte and sat in dejected silence. She checked her watch. Twelve o'clock. She had been at the airport for over two hours. As she sipped her drink tentatively, her phone vibrated in her bag.

'Hello' she answered wearily, stirring her coffee absentmindedly.

'Is that anyway to greet your favourite uncle, Lizzy?' a voice chastised on the other end.

'Uncle Edward,' she said weakly. 'You'll have to excuse me; I'm not in the best of moods. I'm at the airport.'

'What, today?' he asked incredulously. 'Your flight was today? I assumed you would reschedule for tomorrow. Didn't you hear about the probable strike on the news last night?'

She sighed in frustration. 'Evidently not.' She could have throttled Lydia. Her youngest sister had sat the entire night with the remote control firmly clenched in her hand, avoiding news and current affairs programming like the plague. Relinquishing the remote control or the telephone from Lydia's grasp was a virtual battle at Longbourne, and with the exception of Kit, none of her sisters were willing to go to war.

'Look, I'm not going to keep you long, sweetheart,' her uncle continued. 'I just thought I let you know that the gentleman you met on the plane booked an appointment yesterday,'

'Ah, Mr Collins,' Elizabeth replied in recollection. 'I know better than to ask you to breach patient-doctor confidentiality, but was your general impression?'

'Actually, Lizzy, my secretary said he seemed very lucid and coherent on the phone. He was most surprised to learn the number you had provided him was for a psychiatrist. Based on what you told me when you first arrived back, it's possible his words on the plane were entirely alcohol and exhaustion induced. He definitely wasn't lying when he told you about his company. According to my research assistant, his firm, De Bourghs', is an incredibly prestigious one.'

'If he was under the influence of alcohol or exhaustion, why would he make an appointment to see you in his present state on the sole incentive that you can help him with his St Catherine?' she probed, alluding to the note she had left Collins.

'You make a valid point, and one that I plan on exploring. I still haven't assessed him, but I thought you would want to know. Anyway, I don 't want to keep you too long.'

Elizabeth grunted. 'Believe me, Uncle Edward. You're not keeping me from anything important.'

'Sorry, Lizzy, I wish I had time for a longer chat but I promised your aunt I would take her shopping for a dress to wear to the recital at the Opera House tonight, and then…' he started apologetically.

Elizabeth quickly cut in. 'I had better let you go then. Give my love to Aunt Maddy for me'

'Will do, sweetheart,' her uncle returned, affectionately. 'Take care and keep in touch, okay.'

Tucking her phone into her pocket, Elizabeth drained the remainder of her lukewarm coffee, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the concentrated strength of the murky contents. She rose wearily, and propelled her way back across to the British Airways check-in desk. She sat down with a sigh, brushing away the frizzy tendrils of her hair that had escaped her bun. She skimmed through her newspaper, pausing for a half-hearted attempt at the crossword before tossing it down in impatience. Her eye rested upon the package that Mary had given her, and she reached for it with curiosity. With great care, she gently peeled away the embossed paper. As it fell away, a small smile played upon her lips as she gazed fondly at the miniature painting her sister had painstakingly created. It was Longbourne in summer; specifically the house, framed by plants in full bloom and an azure sky. As Elizabeth took in the exquisite detail and fine brush strokes, she marvelled at her sister's growing talent. As the middle child, Mary had struggled her entire childhood to assert herself under the shadow of Elizabeth's celebrated intelligence, and Elizabeth was immensely pleased that Mary had found her niche in life.

Elizabeth carefully rewrapped her gift, and checked her watch again. Two o'clock. She hesitantly approached the clerk.

'Please, is there any change?' she asked tentatively. At his vacant look, she elaborated. 'A seat to Melbourne?'

'No.' The clerk shook his head apologetically. 'Short of you purchasing a business class fare, you'll just have to keep waiting.'

Elizabeth clenched her jaw tightly.

'Are you telling me there are business class fares available?' she asked quietly, her anger rising.

The clerk nodded. 'Of course! Nobody has been willing to pay the business class fares, though, as they cost significantly more than the economy fare. I presumed you wouldn't want anything other than an economy seat.'

Elizabeth gritted her teeth in annoyance at the realisation that the nightmare could have ended hours ago had it not been for the incompetence surrounding her. She looked down at herself and sighed in sudden understanding at the clerk's error. With her mopish hair, tired face, and bohemian jumper, she wouldn't be surprised if the clerk doubted her ability to afford a meal. Food. Her stomach grumbled loudly. Elizabeth became conscious that with the exception of the latte, nothing had passed her lips since dinner the night before.

'I'll take the next business class flight' she stated, opening her purse and drawing out her credit card and relinquishing her passport.

The clerk typed away furiously on his console.

'The next flight is British Airways, coming from London via Singapore. Departure to Melbourne is in twenty minutes time. You'll need to make your way to Gate 8 quickly,' he replied, handing her the boarding pass and passport. 'I'm sorry for the misunderstanding.'

Collecting her documents with a cold thanks, she dragged her bags up to the counter and checked them in. She rang Charlotte and informed her of the new arrival time, before making her way quickly to the departure gate. As she jogged, the first faint poundings of a headache brought on by hunger and stress started to reverberate in her head.

It was a tired, flushed, hungry and self-conscious Elizabeth that boarded the British Airways flight BA7445 to Melbourne. As she stood in line with the immaculately attired passengers of business class, for the umpteenth time she wished that she looked a little bit more presentable.

*There is a strong rivalry between Sydneysiders and Melburnians. Unfortunately, Sydneysiders are extremely jealous of Melbourne's reputation as the sports and cultural capital of Australia *ducks from any lurking Sydneysiders*

**Knee high to a grasshopper is the Aussie way of saying 'since I was a young child'

***The Melbourne airport is affectionately called the Tullamarine Airport due to its location in the suburb.

Chapter Five: First Impressions (continued)

Posted on Wednesday, 7 March 2007

William sighed in frustration, stretching his arms leisurely. He hadn't realised how slowly the hours could drag when one was confined to a chair. The flights he usually took on his private jet had always, quite literally flown by; due mostly to the comforts of his own king-sized bed and ample floor space for stretching his long legs. The British Airways flight, William's first as a commercial passenger, had been a necessary sacrifice towards his well-laid plans for anonymity. And he hated it, passionately. He hated the reclining seats that were no substitute for the comfort afforded by a decent bed, hated the tiny bathrooms that proved smaller than the smallest of closets at Pemberley. He hated the lack of privacy, and the fact that other passengers could gaze upon him whilst he was at his most vulnerable, whilst he was sleeping. And most of all, he hated the fact that he had not possessed the foresight to accept Sandra's offer to make arrangements for a small stop over in Singapore, to break up the monotony of the trip. He had been too eager to arrive in Australia, too eager to set the wheels of his plan in motion, the consequence of which he had endured almost thirty hours of continuous travel. One benefit, however, had been the level of service he had received since boarding the plane. The stewardesses had been extremely attentive to his needs, frequently enquiring into his comfort and whether they could improve it any way. He had grinned inwardly at their fussing and fawning. Dr Hotloins obviously still had it.

Richard had been a godsend, organising his placement, accommodation and paperwork within days of William's decision. William could scarcely believe that merely a week had passed since that fateful day in his office at Darcy Pharmaceuticals. It had been a difficult task discharging all of his responsibilities and informing the family of his decision, but it was done, and done for the best. For the first few hours of his flight, he had taken the opportunity to read more about the hospital and study the arrangements Richard had put in place. Professor Walter Lucas, a celebrated academic and world-renowned neurosurgeon, was the current Melbourne Memorial chief of staff. Richard had warned him that Professor Lucas had been initially displeased over subjecting the hospital's clinical resources to the whims of their minor shareholder, but had been appeased by the promise of additional hospital funding.

Richard had procured him a serviced apartment in Port Melbourne, less than ten kilometres from the hospital's Parkville base, with his reassurance that the beachside Beacon Cove address was fitting accommodation for a medical professional. A chauffeured car had been organised for the first days of his visit, until William familiarised himself with the Australian roads. He had been relieved to learn that the Australian road rules were similar to those of England, with drivers sitting on the right side of the car, and driving on the left side of the road. He never forgot the mortification he had experienced at eighteen, when on a trip to New York during his gap year, he had crashed his father's BMW into a crowded intersection in his confusion at the foreign road rules. He had never heard so many choice four-letter words in his life as those that were hurled at him that day, for creating a traffic jam in downtown New York during peak hour. His father had been none too happy about it either, and it had cost him a pretty penny in compensation. That was another thing about New York that annoyed him; New Yorkers certainly seemed to have a penchant for suing.

Choosing an alias for the duration of the stay was left to William. Deception was not a natural part of his character, and he passionately abhorred disguise of any sort. Not surprisingly, the alias was the only aspect of his trip with which William was decidedly uncomfortable. After some contemplation, he had settled on William Crady as his assumed name, reasoning that William was a common enough name to avoid the suspicion of Memorial's administration, and that Crady was a mere rearrangement of the letters that spelt out Darcy.

He had started watching a movie, Man on Fire, only to switch the channel in disgust. Having previously enjoyed watching Denzel Washington's performances, he was looking forward to watching his first movie in years. His disappointment at the film's gratuitous violence and coarse language was extreme, and it inadvertently tarnished the actor's esteem in William's eyes. If he could admit it, the movie had struck a nerve, hitting a little too close to home. The chronicling of the kidnapping of a young girl by a group of ransom-seeking mercenaries, brought back bitter memories of how close he had come to losing Georgiana a year ago. He pushed the memory away, unwilling to dwell upon it.

He had slept a little, reclining as far back as his seat would allow him. Upon awakening, a request made to the hovering stewardess produced a newspaper, accompanied by a suggestive brush of her leg against his. He had steered his attention towards the crossword, a luxury he had forgone years ago. The time had ticked by slowly, punctuated by constant offers of food, drinks and pillows. William desperately looked forward to a fresh meal, a proper bed and an invigorating shower, his patience wearing thin. The plane had finally landed at their first Australian destination, Sydney. In little more than an hour and a half, he would be in Melbourne. He peered out the tiny Perspex window, as passengers departed and boarded, baggage was unloaded and loaded, and the plane was refuelled. It was gloomy and overcast, nothing suggestive of the spectacularly irresistible country that Charles had proclaimed Australia to be. The flighty stewardess had just handed him a copy of the day's Sydney Morning Herald, a phone number inserted discreetly on page three. He eyed it temptingly, watching her as she sashayed away, hips swinging in rhythm with her swaying blonde ponytail, before flipping the page and studying the editorial industriously. William was evidence that, despite popular opinion, not all gentlemen preferred blondes.

Caught up in his reading, William barely noticed the stewardess return once again to usher someone to the vacant seat in front of him. He sniffed the air, as a sudden vision of a mountain of ripe strawberries flashed briefly through his mind, before he returned his attention to the newspaper pages.

With a soft sigh, Elizabeth collapsed into the plush leather seat and looked around her guardedly. She was conscious that she stuck out like a sore thumb, but was thankfully free of the vanity that would allow her to believe that the other occupants of business class had nothing better to do than eye her in disgust. None of the seated passengers had acknowledged her entrance, none had raise an eyebrow in silent enquiry as to her right to be there, and the Barbie-like stewardess had merely cast her a disinterested look as she had studied her boarding pass and ushered her to her seat. Elizabeth rubbed her aching eyes with the tips of her fingers. The lack of food and the pent-up stress was producing a headache of migraine proportions.

'Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.' The captain's chirpy voice grated on Elizabeth's frazzled nerves. 'Unfortunately, there will be a slight delay on the runway. We should be off in twenty minutes time. We thank you for your patience, and hope you have a pleasant flight.'

Elizabeth rolled her eyes heavenward. 'Damn it,' she cursed in a low voice. Behind her, William voiced the same sentiment.

Her eyes smarting, she pressed for the stewardess. She appeared quickly, primly strutting down the aisle, coming to a stop before Elizabeth.

'Yes?' she asked, with fake enthusiasm

Elizabeth eyed her cautiously. 'I was hoping you would have some paracetamol or aspirin on board. I've been delayed at the airport for over five hours and, surprisingly, I seem to have developed quite a headache.'

The stewardess shook her head, blonde ponytail bobbing.

'Unfortunately, it's not airline policy to hand out medications on board, ma'am' she recited with the precision of an automaton.

Elizabeth gritted her teeth, filled with the primal urge to wipe the plastic smile off her insincere face. 'I understand it's not company policy, but I would appreciate it if you could make an exception just this once, please.'

The stewardess clucked sympathetically.

'Unfortunately, my hands are tied,' she simpered in honeyed tones. 'All staff are under clear instructions not to hand medication to passengers on board. I'm sorry.'

Before Elizabeth could argue her case, the stewardess strode purposely away.

Elizabeth groaned at the irony of her situation. As a doctor, she had the authority to prescribe the most addictive of drugs, and yet, at this point, she couldn't even secure basic non-prescription medication like aspirin.

Sitting in his seat, William heard the exchange. Despite his renowned aloofness, he was not an unfeeling man. Over the past few years, he had found that a cool and reserved demeanour was the only defence mechanism against those who, attracted to his wealth and prestige, wished to exploit his vulnerability for business and personal gain. Perhaps it was the beseeching tone, or the plaintive way in which the words were spoken; his medical training kicked in, and despite his fatigue and his reserve around strangers, he found himself drawn to help the woman seated directly ahead of him. This could be your first benevolent act as Dr William Crady. He folded his paper away precisely, and stood, stretching out his long frame. Peering casually over the seat in front of him, he was greeted by the sight of a curly head bowed down, nestled between two hands. He picked up his briefcase and opened it, deftly producing a small package. Replacing his case, he manoeuvred his way up the aisle to face the woman. With her petite figure dwarfed by her seat, and face obscured, she seemed both young and vulnerable.

'Excuse me, madam.' Deep British tones resonated in Elizabeth's ear. She lowered her hands from before her eyes, blinking in confusion. She turned her smarting eyes upwards, a pair of expensive leather shoes filling her vision. As her eyes ascended further, she took in the strong legs clad in designer denim, and the trim waist and broad shoulders decked in navy v-neck sweater, of the man who loomed before her. Her eyes skimmed past his cleft chin, full lips, aristocratic nose, and came to rest at the deepest, darkest pools of chocolate brown she had ever seen. The man was looking at her with an indecipherable expression on his handsome face, and she was drawn into his piercing Medusa gaze. She snapped out of her daze with the realisation the man had indeed been addressing her. 'I believe I could be of assistance.'

Elizabeth arched her brow in confusion as he handed her a small package. As he leaned towards her, the scent of his cologne wafted towards her. 'Azzaro,' she thought automatically. The scent was masculine, earthy and warm, accented with cedar, musk and sandalwood. Adam had always said she had a nose for men's cologne, and he had indulged her choices, trusted her talent. He had been an Issey Miyake man, exhilaratingly light and fresh. For the second time in the space of a minute, she shook off her reverie and looked at William with questioning eyes. 'It's paracetamol. For your headache,' he elaborated.

Elizabeth was overwhelmed with competing feelings of gratitude and caution. His designer clothing was definitely not the uniform of a flight attendant. 'He must be a fellow passenger who has overheard my conversation with the stewardess,' she concluded. She looked at the box briefly, filled with trepidation. Had she not been a member of the medical profession, Elizabeth was wise enough to know the danger involved in accepting medications from a stranger. Two years previously, the nightly news had been filled with reports of a serial rapist who frequented Melbourne's nightclubs, spiking women's drinks with Rohypnol before sexually assaulting them. She had flown to Longbourne with the express intent to lecture her sisters on the dangers of accepting beverages from strangers, or leaving drinks unattended where unsavoury types may tamper with them. It was advice that she had no intention of neglecting herself.

She held out the box towards him. 'Thank you, but my mother always taught me not to take lollies or drugs from strange men,' she attempted jokingly, trying to take the sting out of her rejection.

William threw her a forced smile, as he studied her now visible features. Pale and drawn despite her obvious tan, and dressed eccentrically for a business class passenger, she was certainly different to the polished women of his acquaintance. She was in violation of several of the codes governing feminine style and deportment, and Caroline would have had a field day assessing them. He could almost hear her indignant condemnation; 'Her hair, Louisa, did you see her hair? So frizzy, so blowsy!' As his critical eye swept over her, he concluded that her brilliant green eyes, framed by thick lashes, were the only redeeming feature in a generally tolerable face.

'Your mother is a smart woman,' he responded, at length. 'And although I am rather ill qualified at recommending myself to strangers, I guess under these circumstances an introduction is necessary. My name is William. As I am therefore technically no longer a stranger, now you have no excuse to reject my paracetamol.'

She looked him with uncertainty. 'What's the likelihood that a business class passenger would carry tampered paracetamol on the off chance that an unaccompanied female passenger would have a headache and need them?' she mused.

'The packet is sealed,' he added further, nodding his head towards the box, answering her unspoken question. 'Any tampering to the contents would be clearly evident. Even if they were tampered with, which they certainly are not, you aren't alone and vulnerable with some strange man at a bar. You're surrounded by passengers in a very confined space.'

Elizabeth gave William a weak smile and returned the box to her lap, her pain overriding all her rational objections. 'I'm afraid I am in too much pain to refuse. Thank you.'

Good deed done, William returned to his seat as Elizabeth eagerly examined the package in her hand. The tamper-proof safety tabs and plastic wrap were still intact, a testament that the contents inside were untouched. Her smile of relief slowly turned to a frown as she studied the blue and white label. DarcyPharm Paracetamol, manufactured by Darcy Pharmaceuticals London. Biting on her lower lip, she breathed deeply before rotating to face William, as he sat quietly perusing his newspaper.

'Thank you' she said, handing him the package.

William frowned as he examined the unopened package. As a medical student, one of the less politically correct professors had taught him that female patients were more likely than men to demand a prescription following a consultation, regardless of how valid their ailments were. Common epidemiology studies confirmed the professor's statement, and during his residency, William had discovered first-hand the truth in his words. He was extremely puzzled that, despite the woman's obvious pain, she had once again refused his intervention.

'That's amazing. Either you've taken the pills out with Houdini-like skill, or you must have had the quickest spontaneous recovery from a headache I've ever seen,' he deadpanned dryly. 'Either way, I'm impressed.'

Elizabeth sighed audibly. Following everything that had happened earlier in the day, the last thing she wanted was to insult the one person who had been thoughtfully considerate of her plight.

'You've caught me out,' she admitted sheepishly. 'Obviously, the pack is unopened, and I still have my headache.'

'You do?' he asked with mock incredulity. 'Well, can't say I didn't try to help. It's your head after all. I'll try not to take it personally.' He instantly regretted his generosity in the face of such ungratefulness. Elizabeth couldn't miss the coldness of his manner as he opened his briefcase and placed the packet inside.

The seatbelt sign flashing prevented Elizabeth from responding. The pilot announced the impending take-off, and Elizabeth fixed her eyes on the front of the cabin as the stewardess ambled up the aisle. She paused coyly in front of William's seat.

'Do you need any help, sir?' she cooed. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the woman's obvious overtures, as William politely declined her assistance. Within minutes, the plane ascended gracefully into the sky and Elizabeth released a deep sigh. The increased pressure bore heavily on her head, her ears popping painfully with the increased pressure, but her relief at finally leaving Sydney was palpable. The moment the seatbelt symbol blinked off, Elizabeth turned awkwardly to face William, who sat at ease with his eyes fixed on the window.

'I didn't mean to appear ungrateful,' she began apologetically. At her voice, his head snapped towards her, his gaze penetrating hers. 'I truly appreciate your generosity and apologise if I have offended you. Please believe me when I say it's nothing to do with you. It's the paracetamol.'

William's forehead creased in confusion. 'I'm sorry, but I don't follow your meaning. You have nothing against me, but something against paracetamol?'

For the first time in her life, Elizabeth felt inarticulate. It was a strange experience, one that she quickly put down to exhaustion, hunger and pain. 'Soon I will be sounding like the female equivalent of Mr Collins,' she thought to herself, 'and this man will be slipping me a card with a psychiatrists number plastered on it.'

'I seem to be making a mess of things. I don't have a personal vendetta against paracetamol,' she replied with growing embarrassment. 'It's more the manufacturer of this particular paracetamol that I have an objection to.'

A pause greeted her revelation.

'Darcy Pharmaceuticals?' William asked slowly, gazing at her with heightened interest

'Yes, so I hope you don't take it personally' she replied. She turned her back to recline deep into the seat, closing her eyes as her fingers massaged her temples.

William eyed her carefully as she deftly disengaged. As CEO of Darcy Pharmaceuticals, both his curiosity and indignation were raised at her revelation. Although he may have baulked from running the company, he couldn't help but take her statement personally. After all, Darcy Pharmaceuticals had been his father's baby, his pride and joy. Despite his misgivings as CEO, William firmly believed that the personal sacrifices he had made in order to continue his father's legacy had resulted in the continued growth and success of Darcy Pharmaceuticals. He was filled with a sudden desire to know exactly what objections this woman could have against his company.

'Do you mind if I ask why?' he asked suddenly, leaning forward to fill the space between them. Elizabeth slowly turned to face him, breathing laboured. At her silence, he continued, 'Darcy Pharmaceuticals is one of the leading pharmaceutical companies in the world, and their product is considered far superior to many….'

She raised her hand to silence him, as she breathed deeply to overcome the growing nausea she was experiencing. Throwing up at thirty thousand feet, surrounded by business class passengers, would be the ultimate mortification, and she struggled against the churnings of her empty stomach. William, oblivious to her struggles, sat stunned. Never before had a woman dismissed him so curtly, especially not some ungrateful Australian girl at that.

'What you're saying is true. I don't deny it,' she replied, her nausea under good regulation, unaware of his growing indignation. 'Their products are considered the gold standard of the pharmaceuticals industry. But I haven't used Darcy Pharmaceutical products in over a year. Having a headache is not going to force me into lowering my resolve.'

William looked at her with an indecipherable expression etched on his face. The intensity in his cold gaze was frightening.

'So,' he began with slow deliberation, crossing his arms subconsciously. 'Do you mind telling me why you haven't used their products in over a year? Did you have a bad reaction to one of their other drugs?'

Elizabeth released a frustrated titter that faded into a pained groan. The conversation was dragging on longer than she felt it should have, and she craved a moment of quiet solitude following the chaotic hours she had spend at the airport.

'No, it's nothing like that,' she stated tersely. 'It's more a matter of conscience.'

William blinked in confusion. 'Excuse me?'

Elizabeth sighed. 'A matter of conscience,' she repeated slowly, with thinly veiled impatience. 'A boycott, if you prefer.'

William digested her words slowly. A boycott! He would have been amused, had he not been so confused.

'But why?' William asked, brow knotted in bewilderment.

Elizabeth's head ached acutely; she was hungry and she was tired. She instinctively knew she should politely turn back into her own seat and end the conversation, but the man was opening up a can of worms she couldn't resist.

'If you must know, it's because I don't approve of their company policies,' she replied with finality, watching various emotions flit across his face. She dropped her head to the side, and raised her brow, challengingly. 'Are you done with the twenty questions?'

'Matter of conscience', 'boycott', 'didn't approve of company policy'. William's head spun with every inflammatory remark coming out of her mouth. Company policies? He engaged the services of the best legal teams in Britain to ensure the legal soundness of all Darcy Pharmaceutical's business transactions. He followed governmental guidelines down to the letter. His company delivered the most attractive salary packages in the industry, with provisions for health cover and childcare. It was no surprise that her insinuation, that his company's policies were objectionable, raised his ire.

'Which policies?' he demanded abruptly, his tone blunt.

Elizabeth breathed deeply in response to his tenacity.

'Well, their patenting policies, for one,' she revealed, face stern. 'I find it despicable that a company such as Darcy Pharmaceuticals believes that it has the right to patent life-saving drugs, inflate their prices so that they are unaffordable to those who need them the most, and then sues the pants off any company that attempts to produce cheaper generic versions. It's completely mercenary.'

William peered at her coldly, his face an impenetrable mask that belied his growing indignation.

'I find it hard to believe that a person who doesn't carry around their own supply of paracetamol could work for a pharmaceutical company,' he stated wryly, probingly.

'I don't….' Elizabeth began, rubbing her temples.

'Well then, that explains your naiveté.' William interrupted, smoothly. 'You are a consumer. Unfortunately, consumers rarely develop a true appreciation for the intricacies of the manufacturing process. They simply get to enjoy the end product without being privy to the difficulties and limitations associated with the creation of that end product. The fact of the matter is that drug development takes considerable time, and costs large amounts of money. The period between drug research and clinical trials can be lengthy. It's unfair to expect companies, that invest millions of dollars into drug development, to share their intellectual creativity with other companies, particularly those whose chief aim is to undercut them in price.'

'Unfair!' Elizabeth echoed, dropping her hands as her anger rose. She was nettled by his tone, at once patronising and chiding. 'Patenting intellectual creativity that has the potential to profoundly effect the human race, with the sole desire of being financially rewarded for that creativity, does not justify depriving mankind of the immediate benefits that sharing of that intellectual creativity can provide. Companies such as Darcy Pharmaceuticals exist merely to profit out of people's suffering, and are less interested in actually saving human lives. That is truly unfair.'

'That is simply not true,' William replied with a dismissive air. 'I take it you're not a businesswoman either. If you were, you would realise that the success of any company lies not only in its ability to provide a product or service that the consumer needs, but also a product or service that works. If the drugs that Darcy Pharmaceuticals develops weren't saving human lives, then it would not be the successful, and profitable, company that it is today. I… work for Darcy Pharmaceuticals, and so perhaps I'm a little more informed on their policies than you are.'

Elizabeth laughed low, her soft peals increasing in intensity. William watched her, growing increasingly affronted with the realisation that she was laughing at him.

'Well, that's precious. So that's why you're so defensive of Darcy Pharmaceuticals,' she retorted scornfully. 'Well well, if nothing else, your bosses can at least be proud of their ability to buy the loyalty of their employees.'

'At least be proud?' William echoed in amazement, sitting up straight as his hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly. 'If you Australians were a little less obsessed about your sport and little more attentive to news and current affairs, I think you would quickly realise that Darcy Pharmaceuticals has achieved many things of which to be proud of.'

Elizabeth's brow creased with mock contemplation.

'Oh dear, I guess I've been too busy focusing on all the other important news coming out of mother England,' she slapped her forehead sarcastically, her headache forgotten in her passion. 'You know, the state of Posh and Beck's marriage, who Prince William is dating and what Kate Moss was seen not eating at the Ivy. It's so hard to keep up sometimes with all the riveting news.'

She curled her lip, his eyes momentarily widening at her ridicule.

'Many things to be proud of, you say?' she continued, eyes narrowed. 'Well, Darcy Pharmaceuticals should be sooooo proud that millions of people in Africa are dying of AIDS, just because they insist on dragging rival companies through the courts to prevent them from providing generic brand life-saving drugs at a fraction of the Darcy cost. How pleased the board of directors must be! That's definitely a statistic worthy of some serious back-slapping.'

Even after thirty hours of mind-numbing travel, William couldn't miss the thick sarcasm lacing her words. She had openly laughed at him, and had graduated to mocking him with surprising alacrity. William eyed her steadily, lips pursed in displeasure.

'Excuse me, would you like a hot towel?' The stewardess materialised in the aisle, brandishing her tongs at Elizabeth with cold hostility. As both William and Elizabeth refused her offer, she threw Elizabeth a haughty glare as she moved down the aisle. As she disappeared, William spoke again, coldly, and deliberately.

'Despite claims to the contrary, ignorance is not bliss. Blaming Darcy Pharmaceuticals for the current AIDS crisis is ignorant and naďve.' Elizabeth's eyes flashed with fire, momentarily distracting him with their brilliance. 'There are bigger problems to consider. People in Africa are contracting AIDS because of a lack of educational programs in place regarding safe sex practices and transmission. There's a lack of educational programs because there is no funding available for them. There is no funding available for educational programs because the African governments are up to their necks in debt paying off the interest from World Bank loans and burgeoning foreign debt. The true cause of the AIDS crisis is the state of the African economy, not Darcy Pharmaceuticals. As I said, bigger problems.'

Elizabeth glared at him, face flushed with fury. 'Well, maybe if companies like Darcy Pharmaceuticals invested more in the African economy, and profited less from the misery of its people, we could go along way towards getting those 'bigger problems' eliminated. But that will never happen, will it? Such charity would hardly be beneficial to Darcy Pharmaceuticals in any way. In the words of a wise Englishman, 'human benevolence is mingled with vanity, interest or some other motive.' As it stands, the 'bigger problem' is that twenty-five million African children have been orphaned by the AIDS crisis. As long as everyone is shirking accountability, the problem is only going to get worse.'

As her voice rose, the other passengers cast curious glances at the young lady leaning over her seat, glaring at the scowling, albeit handsome, man seated behind her.

'Your solutions to the problems of the world are too idealistic. You would benefit a lot more by being a little realistic.' William retorted with a smirk.

Elizabeth raised her index finger and pointed it emphatically at her chest. 'Idealistic, immature, ignorant, naďve; when you presume to know my character, you should really make up your mind about it. I've been to Africa, and I've experienced the 'reality' there. I've seen the suffering that companies, like the one you work for, cause with their greed and selfishness. If you have no qualms about working for a corporation with blood on its hands, that's your prerogative, just don't look down your nose at those of us who have a little something called a conscience.'

William looked at her coldly, his lips pressed in a thin line. Never, in all his thirty years had he endured such impertinence and open disrespect. The fact it was coming from a woman, no less, was equally shocking. Women loved William Darcy; they smiled, flirted and tittered around him. Men envied him, wanted to be him. As a doctor, his patients had treated him with reverence; as CEO of Darcy Pharmaceuticals, his staff idolised him. The obvious contempt etched on Elizabeth's face did not sit well with him. It was souring what was supposed to be an otherwise sweet experience.

'How old are you?' he asked suddenly, eyes narrowed as he studied her features.

She blinked at the unexpected question. 'That's not really any of your business, is it? Most women would consider that question extremely rude.'

'You can't be older than 21, so there's no reason to avoid the question,' he wheedled purposely.

'I'm 23,' she puffed in annoyance. 'What's your point?'

'Excuse me, would you like some peanuts?' the stewardess's voice smoothly interrupted. Elizabeth returned her cold glare, hunger forgotten in her growing irritation. After handing William several packets, she trotted off with obvious unwillingness. Elizabeth was struck by the sudden thought that the stewardess's territorial behaviour towards William and open hostility towards herself was stemming from a misapprehension that she was interested in him. 'As if I would ever, in a million years, entertain the notion of a relationship with anyone with such an arrogant, patronising, selfish...' William prised open a packet of peanuts, wrinkled his nose at the contents, and placed them aside.

'My point is, that I doubt that a person as young and naďve as you, no matter how articulate and passionate they are, would know anything about suffering,' he stated deliberately, watching her as she lifted her chin defiantly. 'Despite waxing lyrical on the issue, the most traumatic thing you have probably ever experienced in your life is finding out that the last pair of shoes you wanted in your size just got purchased by the lady standing in the line in front of you.'

Elizabeth flinched, anger coursing through her at his presumptuousness. With Adam's loss painfully fresh, and the death of her father still a defining event in her life, her rage grew with his next words.

'Don't get me wrong, I'm sure your trip to Africa was filled with suffering. Running out of bottled water, for instance, while visiting the local villages can be very distressing,' he mocked, cold eyes fixed squarely on hers. 'And, oh, God forbid you should ever endure the tragedy of your camera batteries running flat when you're going out on safari.'

William surprised himself at his own pettiness. He couldn't remember the last time he had verbally sparred with anyone. Richard often engaged him in light-hearted cousinly banter, but generally, people around him had always bowed down in deference. Had that been because of his wealth, his position in society? He couldn't say. All he knew was that the nameless woman with the flashing green eyes had riled him to a point whereby his normally calm, cool and collected demeanour had long spiralled into resentful meanness.

And he wasn't finished.

'What's more, I find it hypocritical that a young woman complaining about the woes of the third world and the injustices done against it by big bad Darcy Pharmaceuticals, can sit here so calmly in business class and judge others,' he concluded, waving his hands to indicate their surroundings. 'Haven't you heard that people in glass houses really shouldn't throw stones? How have you helped the situation in any way?'

Elizabeth's face grew warm, head pounding. She wanted to scream out, to boast of exactly what she had done for the past year to help the situation. She checked herself forcibly. Her journey, and the motivation behind it, was deeply personal. In that moment she felt that any attempt to justify herself, to glory in her benevolence, to this mere stranger whom she would likely never see again, would cheapen the significance of her actions.

'I don't have to justify myself to you,' she said calmly, eyes locked on his. 'And, unfortunately, I don't have the time nor the energy to invest in explaining concepts to someone who is obviously too narrow-minded to understand or appreciate them.'

'Excuse me, would you like…', began the stewardess, wheeling a trolley down the aisle.

'No, no, no!' Elizabeth snapped, turning on the stewardess in frustration. 'I don't want a hot towel. I don't want peanuts. And I don't want a drink.' The stewardess stared at her, mouth agape before quickly directing her trolley down the aisle. Elizabeth breathed deeply, struggling with composure before she turned to William and offered him a glacial smirk. 'And most of all, I don't want your drugs. I wouldn't take them if they were the last ones on earth.'

William took in Elizabeth's flushed cheeks and cold glittering eyes. 'Australian women are pretty passionate…' Richard had joked. If looks could kill, the venom in her face would have sent him long ago to an early grave.

'Suit yourself' he replied coldly. 'Shrew!' he added silently. He gave her one last penetrating stare before he opened up his paper, and buried his face behind it, mind buzzing.

'Jerk', Elizabeth muttered to herself, sliding into her seat. She knew tomorrow she would probably reflect on her behaviour with embarrassment, but for now, she had no desire to do anything other than wallow in self-pity. She was running six hours behind schedule, suffering a mammoth headache, had instigated an argument with a total stranger and terrorised an innocent stewardess. She groaned as she cradled her face in her hands. Her instincts had definitely been spot on when she awoke that morning. It had been a rough day indeed.

Chapter Six: Melbourne

Posted on Sunday, 25 March 2007

'Feeling better?'

Elizabeth nodded at Charlotte, sighing in content. The events that passed between landing at Melbourne and arriving to her Williamstown home were a blur. She vaguely recalled rushing out of the plane, brushing silently past the self-centred Darcy employee who had raised her ire. She remembered impatiently queuing through customs, and tugging her luggage off the carousel, passing through the frosted glass of the arrival lounge to find Charlotte waiting for her, a huge grin lighting her face. Despite the haze of pain, exhaustion and irritation, Elizabeth had never been so glad to see her friend, and her oversized handbag, in her life. Although the size of Charlotte's handbag had long been a running joke between the girls, with Elizabeth teasingly declaring that it contained everything, including the kitchen sink, the bag proved to be a goldmine, and upon discovery of her friends' discomfort, Charlotte was able to provide the relief that Elizabeth desperately craved.

The thirty-minute drive from Tullamarine to the exclusive seaside suburb where she resided passed quickly, with Charlotte providing detailed commentary on a years' worth of local gossip and news as Elizabeth sat back in companionable silence, randomly inserting exclamations of surprise, interest or disbelief. When she laid her eyes on her sweeping home she felt the same familiar pang, a sensation that had first emerged the night that Adam had died. Then, she had been too overwhelmed with grief to define the precise nature of her feelings. Now, as Charlotte manoeuvred her zippy little Ford up the driveway, Elizabeth finally understood what she had been feeling since that fateful night, what she still felt over a year later, though diminished in intensity. It was desolation and loneliness, springing from the bitter realisation that the house where they had laughed, fought and loved, was no longer their home. Now it was her house, and he would never again greet her as she came through the door after an excruciating day at the hospital. Elizabeth sighed deeply. Even after a year had passed, even after the sunset vow to live anew and the removal of her rings, the hurt remained, and all it took to surface was returning to their haven of wedded bliss.

Finally entering into the house, she had been bombarded with memories that she had little time to dwell over, for Charlotte had ushered her into the shower with almost motherly fuss. The hot shower went a long way towards washing away the frustrations she had suffered during the day, and she emerged relaxed and refreshed. She vigorously rubbed a towel through her newly conditioned hair, luxuriating in the softness of her white terry towel robe. Locating Charlotte in the kitchen, she perched herself atop one of the stools lined against the granite kitchen bench, watching her friend as she diligently chopped up cucumbers and tomatoes into a large salad bowl. Upon her entrance, Charlotte looked up at her with a grin of satisfaction. Elizabeth threw her a grateful smile. 'Thanks Char, I really, really needed that.'

'And I'm sure you need this, too,' Charlotte announced speculatively, dropping the knife gently. Moving to open the oven door, she produced a foil-covered dish with gloved hands and placed it onto the granite bench. 'I could hear your stomach grumbling non-stop the entire drive home.'

'I'm sorry about that, but I guess I was too busy focusing on the thumping in my head to pay attention to the grumbling of my stomach,' Elizabeth replied, eyeing the dish hungrily as the scent of spicy tomatoes and beef wafted through the air. 'Now that I have attended to my head, it's only right that I pay attention to the rest of my body. I'm positively starving.'

Charlotte whipped off the foil with a flourish, revealing a steaming dish of lasagne. A second trip to the oven produced a large roll of garlic bread. Quickly dressing the salad, she spooned a generous amount of everything on two plates and passed one to Elizabeth, who eagerly picked up her fork.

'Wow, this is really, really good,' Elizabeth murmured enthusiastically between mouthfuls. 'This sauce is amazing. It's like manna from heaven!'

'Well, that's the first piece of evidence proving that I had absolutely nothing to do with its preparation.' Charlotte replied with an impish grin, raising her fork to her lips. 'If I had, you would be eating a lump of coal. There is a reason I'm nicknamed Char, you know! Mum made it for you! She's thrilled that her pet is finally home.'

'Hey, just because I've always enjoyed your mother's food, and bothered to tell her so, does not make me her pet.' Elizabeth replied, spearing a cucumber. 'You're obviously immune to the fact your mum is an excellent cook, so I guess she gets a thrill from being complimented for her efforts, instead of hearing your usual bitching and moaning about how fattening her food is.'

'Well, when I have your metabolism, I'll rave on about her food too.' Charlotte replied, casting an appraising glance over Elizabeth. 'As it is, all I have to do is smell a TimTam, and it suddenly materialises on my thighs.'

'You sound like Lydia, and you know what a queen of exaggeration she is.' Elizabeth replied with a smile, ducking to avoid the tea towel Charlotte playfully flung towards her. 'This is absolutely delicious. Thank your Mum for me.'

'You can thank her yourself.' Charlotte returned, covering her mouth with her hand as she chewed. 'I've been issued with strict instructions to invite you to dinner tomorrow night, and to accept nothing but a yes, on pain of being disowned.'

'Your mother is such a sweetheart.' Elizabeth looked around the spotless room, noticing for the first time the colourful flowers scattered in crystal vases. 'As are you. You really outdid yourself Charlotte. You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble.'

'It's the least I could do,' Charlotte said, as she produced two glasses from the overhead cabinet. She opened the fridge and poured Elizabeth a glass of apple juice. 'How many people would allow their friend to live rent-free in their home, for an entire year?'

'On the contrary, you did me a favour by staying here and scaring away the thieves with your singing in the shower,' Elizabeth grinned, as Charlotte pouted in mock offence.

'And it would be pretty lousy if I charged you rent considering I didn't pay one cent for this house,' Elizabeth confessed lightly, mopping the last of the rich sauce with her garlic bread.

'Well, it's a beautiful home, and I've had a wonderful time staying here. But now that you're back, it's time to move back home with the folks.' Charlotte scowled playfully. 'Actually Lizzy, why am I thanking you? Damn you for showing me how great independence tastes.'

Elizabeth watched her friend fondly. They had befriended one another five years earlier, during her first year at Melbourne Memorial. Charlotte had been one of the nurses in the cardiology wards when Elizabeth had first embarked upon her gruelling internship, and they had clicked together almost instantly. Charlotte had welcomed the eighteen-year-old Elizabeth's vivacity and total unpretentiousness in a place where most doctors seemed afflicted with a superiority complex, and Elizabeth felt completely at ease with Charlotte, noticing that her dry wit masked a deeply compassionate nature. It was little wonder that patients felt so at ease whenever Nurse Lucas was in charge. It had come as a surprise to Elizabeth that Charlotte was the daughter of the formidable Professor Lucas, the Melbourne Memorial chief of staff. Elizabeth had been shocked when she had first visited her friend at home, in preparation for a trip to the movies, to find her boss looking totally at ease, sitting comfortably on the couch with feet propped up on the ottoman, balancing a newspaper in his lap. Always independent, it had come as a surprise to Elizabeth that her then twenty-four year old friend still chose to live at home instead of branching out. Charlotte explained that she was one of the growing 'boomerang generation'; adult children who moved out of home only to find it financially impossible to maintain their independence, and hence returned to the family nest for cheap board, home-cooked meals, and free laundry thrown in.

Since that first unexpected and uncomfortable encounter with Professor Lucas, Elizabeth had learnt to relax in his presence, and she considered his wife, Lily, almost like a second mother. They had been pleased to encourage the friendship between their daughter and Memorial's brightest new doctor. Charlotte was kind and funny, and what she lacked in looks, she more than made up with natural charm, but she had fallen in with the wrong crowd of friends during her university years, and her parents welcomed Elizabeth's calming influence in her life. Charlotte had been the only person who represented Elizabeth at the registry office in Spring Street for her low-key marriage to Adam. She had also become her light during the darkness that enveloped her after his death, taking on the role of both friend and sister in the absence of Jane and Mary.

'So, how does it feel to be back?' Charlotte prompted.

'It might sound strange to you, but despite the hunger, poverty and disease, I really felt at peace. It feels so strange being back here,' Elizabeth mused, looking around. 'It's like the past year was some fleeting dream. Now that I'm back, it feels like I never left.'

'Well, I'll be out of your hair soon,' Charlotte said, as she gathered the empty plates and cutlery, rinsing them before placing them into the dishwasher. 'Come Monday, I'll be officially back with the folks.'

'After everything you've done for me today, I don't want you doing the dishes too,' Elizabeth pressed, standing up and moving to the sink. 'And I especially don't want you to move, either. It's a big house. I can honestly use the company.'

'Come on, after two weeks of living in a household with five other women, I'm sure you're just dying to have some peace and quiet.' Charlotte speculated.

'Don't even remind me of Longbourne,' Elizabeth winced, rolling her eyes. 'I'm sure that I could still get some peace and quiet, even with you staying here?'

'You say that now, but it would be a different story once I have all my drunken mates over for a slosh-fest,' Charlotte quipped.

'Oh, I don't think your imaginary pals would cause too much damage.' Elizabeth replied with a grin.

'That hurts,' cried Charlotte, clutching her chest mockingly. 'Okay, I admit it. Without you I'm a Nigel Nomates, a Scott Nofriends*. But I still think I should leave before I get too attached to the place and decide to chain myself to the furniture.'

'Hey, I wouldn't mind,' Elizabeth replied with a smile. 'I want you to stay, remember.'

Charlotte looked at her with narrowed eyes, as Elizabeth busied herself with the cutlery.

'I'm honoured you would want me around, really I am,' she began tentatively. 'But, honestly Lizzy, it's time for me to go. You and Adam built a life here, and since the day he died you haven't spent one night alone in the place you both called home.'

Elizabeth paused, cutlery in hand. Casting Charlotte a conscious look, she gently placed the silverware onto the bench and slowly walked towards the lounge room. Charlotte followed her quietly, as she looked around. Once upon a time, the house had been a home. That had been when there were photographs gracing the mantelpiece, well-worn books lying haphazardly on tabletops, mugs with 'World's Best Surgeon' drying next to the sink. Before leaving for Africa, she had packed up all mementos of their life into boxes, and stored them in the study. It had been part of the coping mechanism that kicked in the day Adam was laid into the earth. As she took into the fashionable sterile surroundings that could have come straight off the pages of an architectural magazine, devoid of any of the personal clutter that transformed a house into a home, she sighed and sat down onto the plush white leather couch.

'It's great that you were able to find some peace in Kenya,' Charlotte continued, eyes studying Elizabeth's face. 'But your back here now, and I really think this is what you really need to finally feel closure. You need this time, alone in this house.'

'Why, Char? I know that Adam is not coming back,' Elizabeth replied, passing a hand over her eyes. 'I don't need to be alone in this house to realise that! I've had over a year to become accustomed to that reality, and believe me, I am.'

'Then why do you want me to stay?' Charlotte challenged.

Elizabeth breathed deeply. 'Please Charlotte. I can't stay here alone. Not right now.'

'Elizabeth, you need this,' Charlotte's tone softened.

'He proposed right here, you know,' Elizabeth said softly, biting down on her lip. 'I can almost hear his voice.'

'You are an emerald in the rough.'

She looked up at Charlotte.

'I can't explain what it is, but I'm feeling all these sensations as I look around this room, emotions that I was able to block out of my mind for the past year because I wasn't here to face them.' Elizabeth's voice was barely a whisper. 'It feels like the floodgates to my memory are opening. Charlotte, I need you to stay, just until I become used to the idea of being alone with those memories. Please.'

Charlotte sat next to her and placed her arm around her friend. 'I'll stay. I promised that I would be here for you, and I am, for however long you need me.'

Elizabeth smiled tightly in gratitude. 'Thank you.'

'But hey, no sad stuff tonight Lizzy,' Charlotte brightened, jumping up from the couch and dragging Elizabeth by the hand. 'Come on, lazy bones. Wait until you see the chocolate mousse Mum made you. It's to die for!'

Seated once again at the kitchen bench, each scooping decadent chocolate into waiting mouths, Charlotte continued to apprise Elizabeth of the Memorial gossip.

'…and you'll never guess! Dr Wentworth and Anne are engaged.' Charlotte announced.

'Anne? Sweet, shy Anne from radiology? Wow, I never would have seen that one coming.' Elizabeth replied. 'Wasn't he involved with that orthopaedic surgeon, Louisa Musgrove?'

'Was, Lizzy, was.' Charlotte replied, licking her spoon. 'Apparently, Rick Wentworth and Anne go way back. They were involved back at university, eight years ago. They were quite serious about each other too, until Rick won that Rhodes scholarship and moved to London for a couple of years. He wanted to marry her and take her with him, but she insisted that it wasn't the right time for them to enter into a marriage being students as such.'

'Well, that was very prudent of her.' Elizabeth replied.

'Prudent, schmudent!' Charlotte puffed. 'She could have saved herself eight years of pining, and the misery of seeing the love of her life become involved with another woman. Oh, did I tell you Cathy, up in pathology, had a baby girl?'

'No you didn't but I'm really pleased for her.' Elizabeth replied with a smile. 'It took a lot out of her and Henry, having to go through IVF. I'm so happy that it all paid off in the end.'

'Last one is a bombshell.' Charlotte announced. 'Marianne and John broke up.'

'No!' Elizabeth exclaimed in shock. 'I never thought that would ever happen. They seemed so in love!'

'The bastard cheated on her. Didn't even have the decency to hire a motel.' Charlotte stated grimly. 'She came home early from the nightshift and found another woman sleeping in their bed. She was devastated for months.'

'Maybe now she'll notice Brandon's got a thing for her,' Elizabeth suggested.

'I don't know, Lizzy.' Charlotte began doubtfully. 'He's quite a lot older than her!'

'As was Adam.' Elizabeth replied defensively. 'But that didn't make a difference. You're forgetting that women mature faster than men, anyway.'

'Why is it that relationships between older men and younger women appear more successful?' Charlotte wondered out loud.

'I wouldn't say that.' Elizabeth replied nonchalantly. 'Any relationship that isn't founded on love and respect is doomed to fail eventually, no matter the age of the partners.'

'Come on, you know what I mean,' Charlotte wheedled. 'I'm not talking about the sugar daddies getting involved with money grabbing bimbos younger than their children. At the hospital, I've seen heaps of pretty twenty-something year old women involved with average thirty or forty-something year old men who aren't millionaires or look like Fabio. What's the appeal?'

'Well maybe women aren't as shallow as you think. Ever heard of love?' Elizabeth replied, rolling her eyes. 'Maybe women prefer older men because they have more confidence, or experience in the bedroom. Or perhaps we are a wily sex after all, purposely ensnaring such men because we know that they'll treat us like goddesses because they can't believe how lucky they were to become involved with us in the first place.'

'That's funny!' Charlotte giggled.

'Enough of the hypotheticals! How about you?' Elizabeth turned a critical eye to her friend. 'Normally, by this stage in the conversation, you're lamenting your own lack of a love life. Who is he?'

'There is someone I'm interested in,' Charlotte replied coyly. 'But it's still in that awkward beginning stage and I don't want to jinx it. I'll keep my cards to my chest until I decide whether he is worthy fodder for the girlfriend gossip mill.'

'Is there something in the water?' Elizabeth wondered. 'First Jane, and now you!'

'Well, I strongly doubt that whatever 'it' is, that it's in the water.' Charlotte replied flippantly. 'We're in the midst of the worst drought in centuries. Everyone in Melbourne is about to be slapped with level four water restrictions. That means five-minute showers, and no watering of gardens, period. Please keep that in mind when you see the shrivelled up flower beds in the back yard.'**

Elizabeth nodded, thoughtfully. 'I noticed at Longbourne everything seemed drier. It's amazing how different groups could have different perspectives of the same thing.'

'Please, I beg you, no nerdy philosophical mumbo-jumbo,' Charlotte pleaded.

'Ask the environmentalists and they say it's due to global warming.' Elizabeth pointedly ignored Charlotte's groan. 'Ask the Muslims, and they say it's due to the followers of their faith not paying their compulsory charity to the poor.'

'Fascinating,' Charlotte responded sarcastically.

'You know, Char, the tribal clans in Kenya often gather together to perform rain-dances in times of drought. It's their age-old way of supplicating for rain. Do you think we could start a petition to get the Prime Minister and his federal ministers to line up in toga's and do one for the sake of Australia?'

As they pictured such a spectacle, both girls erupted into laughter. The image of the stocky knobbly-kneed John Howard prancing half-naked with face paint dotted over his prominent bushy eyebrows was just too hilarious.*** The laughter quickly became hysterical, as they clutched their sides, tears streaming down their faces.

'It's great to have you back, Lizzy,' Charlotte gasped, wiping her eyes. 'So, can we expect you to be gracing the corridors of Memorial come Monday?'

'That's the plan. Believe it or not, I'm actually eager to throw myself back into work.' Elizabeth replied, drying her nose on a tissue. 'I need to get some winter clothes though. Nothing in my closet will fit me.'

'Yeah, because you lost even more weight, damn you!' Charlotte eyed her enviably. 'With your tan, you look like some surfer chick.'

'Well, I looked like some feral beast on my flight. You saw how horrible I looked coming off that plane.' Elizabeth grimaced. 'Well, are you free to go shopping on Sunday?'

'Wait a minute, while I think about that one! Hmmm, me, spending your money? I'm definitely there!' Charlotte grinned. 'But why not tomorrow?'

'I've got an appointment with my lawyer over some of Adam's estate business,' she replied tightly.

'No problems,' Charlotte replied enthusiastically. 'All I ask in return for my services is that you take a solemn oath, that, for the next ten years, you won't not dump me to go gallivanting around the world!'

'I have definitely had enough travel for now. After the delays and the run-ins I've had on my way back here, I have absolutely no desire to set foot on any plane.' Elizabeth replied, carrying her plate to the sink.

'Ah, the infamous Mr Collins!' breathed Charlotte.

'And the jerk I met today on my flight!' Elizabeth shook her head in remembrance.

'Another confrontation?' Charlotte clapped gleefully. 'I wish I was there. I love seeing you in your element, with your eyes all fired up and your tongue ready to lash out. What did this 'jerk' do to get your cylinders firing?'

As Elizabeth replayed the scene from the plane in detail, an incredulous expression swept over Charlotte's features.

'He sounds so arrogant,' she fumed. 'And that thing he said about the type of suffering you experienced in Africa! How presumptuous was he? I'm glad you gave it to him.'

'I just wish I could have done it without losing my temper.' Elizabeth mused. ' I remember my father used to always say 'Lizzy, anger is one letter short of danger.'

'Don't feel too bad, it sounds like he deserved it,' Charlotte insisted.

'I doubt the poor stewardess deserved being yelled at for doing her job. I swear she actually flinched when I walked past her to exit the plane. She obviously thought I was crazy.' Elizabeth shook her head ruefully.

'There is one thing that you haven't explained.' Charlotte added after a moment's contemplation. 'How did this boycott of Darcy Pharmaceutical's products come about? I've never heard you mention it before.'

'It's something relatively new. Started during my first month in Africa.' Elizabeth sighed in recollection. 'News broke out that two pharmaceutical giants, Darcy and Novartis****, had taken the Indian and South African governments to court for allowing breach of pharmaceutical patents by state-owned companies producing generic copies of their drugs.'

'I guess that didn't go to well with the medical teams out there trying to battle the AIDS crisis with a limited budget?' Charlotte guessed.

'No, it didn't.' Elizabeth replied, face dark. 'Unfortunately, the South African government lost their case, and as a result the production of the generic brands was brought to a halt. As a result, the medical relief organizations working in Africa were faced with the problem of finding more funding to afford the more expensive Darcy and Novartis brands of anti-retroviral drugs.'

'That must have been pretty difficult for the organizations.' Charlotte sympathised.

'You have no idea, Char.' Elizabeth raked her hand through her curly mane in frustration. 'Funding is pretty tight as it is, you know, and suddenly, we were faced with the heartbreaking task of choosing which patients would continue to receive treatment, and which ones would not. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to make a decision as to who lives and who dies?'

'I can only imagine,' Charlotte replied sombrely.

'Well, for every extra cent we had to fork out to Darcy and Novartis, that was one less cent spent on immunisations and other preventative medicines.' Elizabeth shook her head in disgust. 'The scary thing is, that if the Indian government also loses its court case, there will be even less people receiving treatment, because India is the main producer of the generic brand of retro-viral drugs we need. Eighty percent of the drugs the MSF uses to treat AIDS come from India The MSF started a worldwide petition calling for the companies to withdraw their legal action in India. Until that happens, the medical staff in my team took a vow to boycott their products.'

'So now you're on a vendetta against a multinational conglomerate?' Charlotte asked with a small smile. 'Can I expect to be fielding Hollywood offers for your story?'

Elizabeth threw the towel playfully at her friend. 'No, nothing so dramatic, I assure you. The reasoning behind the boycott is sensible. The fact of the matter is that drug companies like Darcy Pharmaceuticals need doctors to prescribe their medications, in order for their companies to become profitable. Why else do you think the pharmaceutical companies always host lavish two-hundred-dollars-a-head lunches for doctors? They are trying to win our favour so that we can prescribe their brands!'

'And so you believe that a boycott of Darcy's products will persuade them to drop their lawsuit? That's a pretty ambitious idea.' Charlotte replied tentatively.

'Believe me, companies like Darcy understand only one language, the language of money,' Elizabeth stated confidently. 'Why else do you think they have filed all these lawsuits? Hit them in the hip pocket, affect their profitability, and suddenly they move into action. By getting doctors to boycott their products, hopefully this will make them a little more receptive of the message we're trying to send them: that when it comes to averting a huge humanitarian disaster such as the one that is unfolding in Africa, profits need to take a backseat.'

'I agree with your rationale, but there are millions of doctors, Lizzy,' Charlotte emphasised. 'You, and your colleagues at the MSF, are only small fish in a big medical pond. How can you effect a change large enough for Darcy Pharmaceuticals to take notice?'

'Well, that's why we need to spread this message. The more doctors on board, the greater the pressure on Darcy Pharmaceuticals and the like,' Elizabeth returned passionately. 'My aim is to ensure that as many of the doctors at Memorial are aware of these facts. I'm going to encourage as many of them to boycott prescribing their medications.'

'Steady on, Lizzy,' Charlotte sighed deeply. 'I would tread very carefully if I were you.'

'Whatever for, Char?' Elizabeth retorted indignantly. 'These mercenary lawsuits aren't a figment of my imagination. I'm not defaming them if I'm quoting the facts.'

'I'm not worried about you being sued by Darcy Pharmaceuticals for libel,' Charlotte replied, folding her arms across her chest. 'I'm worried about you getting the knickers of Memorial's administration in a twist.'

Elizabeth's brow creased in confusion. 'Why would they care?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Charlotte began, sarcastically, scratching the side of her head in mock contemplation. 'Perhaps the fact that Darcy Pharmaceuticals is one of Memorial's main shareholders may have something to do with it.'

Elizabeth gazed at Charlotte, stunned. 'Shareholder. You're joking, right?'

Charlotte shook her head regretfully. 'Sorry, Lizzy, but it's true. I found out that little fact from my dad, only a couple of days ago. Mum said he had been silently fuming over something hospital-related, and charged me with finding out what it was. Turns out he's really upset that Darcy Pharmaceuticals has used its position as shareholder to start clinical trials of a new heart drug at Memorial. Dad has no say in the matter. They are sending the trial supervisor down from England. He starts at Memorial in one weeks' time.'

'I don't believe it.' Elizabeth fumed. 'That is just typical. This proves my point that pharmaceutical companies are just interested in their own profits. What other reason would they have for buying into a hospital, other than to take advantage of patients for their clinical trials and create a setting where they can enjoy a monopoly on the prescriptions and treatments given?'

'I don't know about that, Lizzy,' Charlotte speculated thoughtfully. 'The acquisition of Memorial is not exactly new. Apparently, they purchased a forty-nine percent share back in your first year at Memorial. Even if their aim was to hold a monopoly on Memorial's pharmaceuticals, the government, as majority shareholder, couldn't allow it. It goes against all those fair-trading acts they've got in place.'

'Well, I don't recall ever being ordered during orientation to prescribe Darcy medications exclusively,' Elizabeth muttered begrudgingly. 'My first year! How did I not hear about that?'

'Well, I never knew either, and my dad is the chief of staff. It must have been a pretty low-key acquisition.' Charlotte reassured her. Smiling cheekily, she added, 'I strongly doubt you can recall anything from that year; you were too smitten with a certain surgeon to pay attention to much else going on.'

Elizabeth placed her hands over her face, sighing deeply, as she rubbed her eyebrows.

'Ugggh!' she exclaimed at length in frustration. 'After all those things I said to that jerk, about him working for a company that had blood on its hands, you're now telling me that I'm one of the denizens of hell?'

'Come on, Lizzy, stop being dramatic.' Charlotte soothed. 'If it makes you feel better, I work for the devil too. And you know what they say: better the devil you know!'

'For goodness sake, Char, I struggled for over two hours with a splitting migraine so I wouldn't have to use their paracetamol, and now I realise that they pay my wages.' Elizabeth muttered.

'Lizzy, if you're so worried, you could always live off Adam's trust fund and donate your wage to the 'Buy Charlotte a House' fund,' her friend joked. 'I'll even name the guest room the 'Elizabeth Bennet' suite.'

'That's just fantastic.' Elizabeth returned, seemingly oblivious to Charlotte's joke. 'How can I reconcile getting my money from these mercenaries?'

'Relax, Lizzy.' Charlotte soothed. 'Despite what you and I know, there are some people in the world who might think that doctors are also making money out of peoples pain and suffering. You're in an honest profession, providing an important service to humanity, and how Darcy Pharmaceuticals earns the money in order to pay you is not your problem.'

'Come on, Char, that's morally irresponsible.' Elizabeth exclaimed. 'It is not sound logic, you know it is not.'

'Let me put it another way. Do you believe that a taxi driver, hired to drive a known prostitute home from a long day turning tricks at the local brothel, should refuse the fare she gives him just because she probably earned the money in a less than scrupulous way?' Charlotte wheedled.

Elizabeth contemplated the question. 'Of course not.'

'There you go, I prove my point.' Charlotte replied with satisfaction. 'The taxi driver provided an independent service and he is getting paid for that service. The source of her money is not relevant. Now, if she had decided to pay him with sex that would be morally irresponsible.'

'That's a completely different situation, Charlotte!' Elizabeth exclaimed.

'I'm just drawing an analogy similar to your own circumstances.' Charlotte insisted. 'The moral police could probably find fault with every single organisation out there. Should we stop buying our groceries at supermarket chains that sell alcohol because they are profiting from someone's alcoholism? Should we stop putting our money in banks because the majority of their profits are from slapping high interest rates on mortgages and personal loans? You have to remember that Darcy Pharmaceuticals, although morally contemptible in your eyes, is a law-abiding, tax-paying corporation. They do their job, and you are doing yours.'

'As much as I hate it, you do sound like you're making some sense. Or maybe it's just my sleep deprivation.' Elizabeth shrugged. 'Well, just because they own part of Memorial, that doesn't mean that I have to agree with their policies. Nothing is going to make me change my views on that!'

'Good for you!' Charlotte responded enthusiastically. 'But if you're going to create waves, make sure you don't get swept away in them yourself, okay!'

Elizabeth sat petulantly, drumming her fingers on the bench top, and snorted.

'Thank God I'll never see that Darcy employee again,' she exclaimed, frowning. 'How would I face him, knowing what I do now?'

'That's not something you'll ever have to worry about.' Charlotte reminded her. As Elizabeth stifled a yawn, Charlotte jumped off the stool. 'It's past ten. After the day you've had, it's to bed with you.'

'Yes, Mummy,' Elizabeth grinned. Stifling another yawn, she looked at Charlotte sheepishly. 'Actually, I am pretty exhausted.'

'Well, that's the only reason I'm not demanding to see all of your photos and hear all about your travels in detail,' Charlotte retorted, as she placed the empty mousse bowls into the sink. 'Tomorrow, I wont be so forgiving.'

Elizabeth hopped off her stool and gave Charlotte a friendly hug, before she was shooed down the hall towards the master suite. She turned into her bedroom, looking around at the sea of chocolate brown and polished walnut that provided a striking contrast to the soft billowing whiteness of the comforter set. Moving into the ensuite, she quickly brushed her hair and teeth. Returning to the bedroom, she rolled opened the closet door and grabbed a pair of yoga pants and top, a sock tumbling out from amongst the folded items she did so. She slowly bent to the ground, and picked it up, gazing at it in wistful recognition. Before leaving for Africa, she had removed all of Adam's clothing and packed them into boxes. She had stored them in the study, with the intention of donating them to the Salvation Army, but found that as the time came closer to her departure, she could not bring herself to do so. The sock must have escaped her frenzied purging. As her fingers caressed the soft cotton, she held it to her nose and smelt nothing but the lavender that seeped from the lavender-scented cedar balls that lined her drawers.

Elizabeth fell onto the bed, clutching the sock to her chest, and closed her eyes momentarily in reflection. When she next opened them, the clock read one am. Disoriented and bleary eyed, she rose up, removing her robe to wriggle into her yoga pants and top. Gently grabbing the sock that lay upon her bed, she slowly ambled into to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. Sipping it distractedly, she placed the glass in the sink, as her feet slowly dragged her down the hall, towards the study. She stood before the door, heart beating wildly. Opening the door gingerly, so as not to alarm the sleeping Charlotte, she flicked on the light and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She peered at the mountain of cardboard boxes that loomed before her through light sensitive eyes, boxes of clothing, boxes of memories. Moving speedily to the largest and nearest of the boxes, she tugged it open to reveal a neatly folded stack of clothing. Folding the sock, she kissed it softly and placed it atop the pile, before replacing the lid firmly.

Looking around the room, she was flooded with a sense of overwhelming loss tinged with anger, comparable to that which she had experienced in the first days after Adam had died. He had been a loving, living individual, and the only reminder of his existence, spent saving countless lives, was contained in twenty cardboard boxes. Swept away in a pain she believed she had overcome, she moved to the door with alacrity, wanting to be as far away as possible. As she did, she felt an invisible pull towards a smaller box that lay solitarily atop the desk, seemingly calling to her. She slowly changed course, and moved to stand behind the desk. Tentatively easing herself into the leather chair, she lightly ran her fingers over the inscription written upon the top of the box. She couldn't recall writing it, but deep in the recesses of her mind, she knew that she had done so when she had last entered the room, the day she left for Africa. 'Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future'. What bitterness of spirit had induced her to write that?

Slowly, with trembling fingers she prised open the box, the scent of Issey Miyake pervading her senses as pulled out a leather album. Tucking her legs beneath her, she smiled gently as she turned the pages and read the captions next to each photo. 'Memorial Ball, 2003'. Adam had been so nervous when he had asked her to accompany him, knowing that such a bold step would make them fair game for Memorial's grapevine. He had gone to so much effort that night, dressed in his dark grey suit. He was not a classically handsome man; a Grecian profile he possessed not, his nose a little large, his build was a little thin, but his charisma and confidence had compensated for that. The expression on his face had been one of awe, when her first lay eyes on her in her flowing black gown. Charlotte had snapped the picture at the ballroom, as he had stretched out his hand to lead her to the dance floor. Elizabeth sighed deeply, as her fingertips gently traced his outstretched hand. Like most surgeons, he had had beautiful hands, soft, gentle and smooth. Next to the photo, a small dried flower was pressed into the pages. He had presented it to her at the conclusion of that night, after he had driven her home.

She turned the page. 'The Cardiology Conference, Lorne 2003'. On the heel of 6 months of dating, it had been their first trip away together. 'Our Wedding, 2004.' They had been so happy as they stood hand in hand at the registry, she looking resplendent in simple flowing white dress, he so suave in a black suit. Tears coursed down her face, as she bit on her hand to prevent the light sleeping Charlotte from hearing her cries. Page after page, memory after memory flooded her mind. She kissed her fingertip and passed it gently over the image of his smiling face, and closed the album, clutching it possessively to her chest before placing it on the desk. She rummaged further into the box, past Adam's framed university degrees and various scholarly awards. The contents got increasingly more personal as she dug through: his beeper, his favourite Thai silk tie, his set of keys, and his wedding ring. She breathed deeply as she held the simple band of platinum in her hand, and saw her own name etched on the inside. She dug further, like an archaeologist discovering a long forgotten treasure. Her hand wrapped around a rectangular velvet case, her heart beating faster; her breath growing more ragged, as she lifted it out. She placed it gingerly on the desk as though it burnt her flesh to touch it, and sat staring at, transfixed.

It was 'The Case'. A thin oblong box, deceptively innocent to the eye, yet inside it was the reason she had become a widow. Suddenly, she was transported back to that day; a surprise, a kiss, a plea, then pain and guilt. Breathing shakily, she replaced 'The Case' into the cardboard box, unopened. Roused out of her reverie, she quickly returned the rest of the contents, closed the box and hurried out of the room haunted by ghostly memories. She knew not how she made it to her room through the darkness and her own blinding tears, but mercifully, sleep came quickly to an exhausted body and emotionally exhausted mind.

It was one am, and despite over thirty hours of continuous travel, William was wide-awake. He had crossed so many time zones on his flight from London that it was wreaking havoc with his circadian rhythm. With his body and his brain at loggerheads with one another, he had long abandoned his futile attempts to sleep. He remembered his mother's remedy for insomnia, a steaming mug of warm milk. As a doctor, he knew that the remedy was one popularised by old wives tales and held little scientific merit, but suddenly, he had a strong craving for it. It was something familiar in an unfamiliar place. He padded into the kitchen, and searched the fully stocked refrigerator for a carton of milk. Pouring some into a mug, he inserted it into the microwave, struggling briefly with the multitude of buttons before turning the appliance on. As he watched the mug spinning around like a carousel, he cursed loudly as the frothy contents foamed over. He sighed as he searched the cupboards for something to sop up the mess. Dr Hotloins he may be, domesticated he certainly was not.

Half-heartedly cleaning his mess, he grabbed the mug and moved to the lounge room, standing before the sprawling floor to ceiling windows leading to the balcony. When he had arrived earlier in the afternoon, he had been pleasantly surprised with the location of the apartment Richard had secured. The penthouse of a high-rise complex situated on Beacon Cove's shorefront, he had stood on the balcony, gazing out with awe at the sparkling sea spread before him, embraced in the golden glow of a setting sun. Although the icy sea breezes had quickly driven him indoors to enjoy the view behind the glass window, William could imagine that in the summer it would be a perfectly wonderful place to have his breakfast. Now, in the darkness of the night, all he could see was the flashing light of a faraway vessel bobbing on the waves.

Sipping the milk contentedly, he sat down on the suede couch. Clutching the remote control, he clicked through the local channels, and quickly came to the conclusion that Australian late night television was greatly lacking in substance. He refused to subject himself to the pay-per-call quiz show asking viewers to guess the right suffix for the word 'sun', nor did he desire the evangelistic preaching of a laidback coffee-swilling priest. Switching the television off, William reached for the phone. It would be a little after one pm in London, and he needed to touch base with Richard. Following the detailed instructions printed on the manual next to it, he finally succeeding in dialling Richard's mobile number, and sat back, scratching his head as the phone rang and rang.

'Richard speaking.' His cousin's smooth tones stretched across the distance.

'Richard, it's me,' William replied.

'Ah, the prodigal CEO makes contact,' Richard exclaimed warmly.

'I arrived a few hours ago and thought I should make sure the company is still operational.' William returned.

'Just give me a moment while I send home all the strippers dancing around the office, Fitz, then I'll be free to answer all your questions.' Richard replied jokingly.

'So I take it everything's okay, then?' William asked, sipping his milk.

'Last time I checked, Fitz, your absence has not caused the world to spin off its axis.' Richard replied, smoothly. 'You're going to get absolutely no work done in Australia if you're going to worry about the company the entire time.'

'If I didn't trust your ability to do a great job, I wouldn't have put you in charge.' William reminded him.

'Thanks for the vote of confidence,' Richard replied. 'So, has everything proved to be up to your rigorous standards?'

'The apartment is beautiful,' William admitted. 'The chauffeured car was reliable, waiting outside the terminal as arranged. If only the flight itself wasn't such a pain in the behind, everything would have been perfect.'

'Hey, if you want to associate with the masses, you have to travel like the masses.' Richard reminded him. 'You have to remember that Dr William Crady, humble physician and pharmaceutical researcher, can't afford the private jets of Fitzwilliam Darcy.'

'And yet I'm staying in a multimillion dollar penthouse on the beach,' William mused.

'Well, that's because your employer, Darcy Pharmaceuticals, has generously offered to provide you with accommodation during your tenure at Memorial, remember?' Richard reminded him.

'Well, the flight was a necessary sacrifice.' William sighed. 'I only wish the company on board was a little more bearable.'

'God, you sound like a snob.' Richard laughed. 'What, did they seat you next to someone who didn't measure up to your high standards?'

'Don't put words in my mouth, Richard,' William replied, tiredly. 'I had a minor altercation with one of the women on the Sydney to Melbourne leg. She was terribly rude.'

Richard chuckled.

'Wow, are you telling me there is a woman out there, older than ten and younger than seventy, who hasn't swooned at your feet and come to worship at the altar of Darcy?' he asked, incredulously.

'Believe me, she definitely wasn't my type.' William replied nonchalantly. 'She looked and sounded like a woman who had been raised by a band of socialist gypsies.'

'I think you've lost your charm, Fitz.' Richard taunted.

'For your information Richard, I had the stewardesses eating out of the palm of my hand the entire flight, and I wasn't even trying.' William bragged.

'So, did you get inducted into the Mile High Club?' Richard teased.

'Firstly, I own a jet, remember? I'm a member from way back!' William retorted. 'Secondly, I'm not seeking an Australian affair. I'm here purely for business. I'm not available for anything more.'

'Yes, well, I can see my duties as CEO will require extensive air travel in the very near future,' Richard replied. 'I might fly down to the Spanish coast for a few days of research and development.'

'I swear, Richard, pollute my jet and I'll fire your sorry behind,' William started menacingly.

'Well, you've left me with enough work here so I won't have time to do anything else.' Richard huffed. 'I can't even spare the time to talk to you at the moment. I've got products to develop, and patents to file.'

'Well, I don't want to stand in the way of you selfishly patenting intellectual creativity that has the potential to profoundly effect the human race' he paraphrased sarcastically, recalling the angry words thrown at him by the fiery eyed woman on the flight.

'Huh?'

'Don't worry about it. I just remembered something stupid.'

'Okay, I'll leave you to your sleep-deprived ramblings' Richard replied, slightly puzzled. 'Keep in touch, and let me know if you need anything from this end.'

William replaced the receiver, and stretched his arms over his head. Placing his mug into the sink, he walked into the bedroom and climbed onto the bed, plumping the pillows fussily. Sinking his head into the downy depths, he planned his strategy for the following week. Tomorrow he would unpack and rest, perhaps persuade Charles to fly down from Perth for a catchup. On Monday he would contact Professor Lucas and smooth the path for his start at Memorial the following week. His mind abuzz with activity, it was near dawn before William finally drifted to the land of Nod.

* In Aussie slang, a Nigel No Mate or a Scott No Friends is the name given to someone with no friends.

** We expect to be slapped with these restrictions soon, our lawns are dustbowls and our cars are dusty, and yet the Victorian government could still justify pumping 6 million litres of fresh drinking water into a temporary pool at Rod Laver arena (the home of the Aussie Open Tennis) for the FINA World Championships. Go figure!

*** John Howard, PM of Australia is always mocked in Australian newspaper cartoons because he is a stocky, short politician with impossibly bushy eyebrows and a distinctive Aussie drawl.

****Novartis is currently suing the Indian government, and the MSF has circulated a petition demanding this action be terminated.

Broken Hearts Keep Beating ~ Section III

By Sara M

Beginning, Previous Section, Section III, Next Section

Chapter Seven: Paging Professor Lucas

Posted on Wednesday, 28 March 2007

For Elizabeth, dinner with the Lucases had always been a pleasant affair. She had approached such evenings with happy anticipation of the flowing conversation, witty anecdotes and enjoyable company. Before her marriage to Adam, dinner with the Lucases had been a twice-weekly occurrence. Since relinquishing her single status that frequency had, understandably, been whittled down, yet, by that time Elizabeth had already formed a strong bond with the family. In many ways, Lily Lucas was the kind of mother that Elizabeth often wished Fran could have been. She was as methodical as a Stepford wife, yet was excessively warm and thoughtful. She was a woman who always seemed to have her finger on the family pulse, and was fiercely loyal and protective of her flock. Unlike Fran, Lily's interference in her children's life was minimal, for she firmly believed that making mistakes was one of life's important learning tools. There was no greater contrast to Fran Bennet, who never failed to criticise and put-down when the opportunity arose. From the very first days following her father's death, Elizabeth quickly learnt that the only comfort and support she and her sisters could expect would only be found in each other, and not their emotionally unsupportive mother.

In addition to the other delights of the evening, the promise of a table piled high with scrumptious delicacies was another strong incentive to attend. In Elizabeth's mind, nobody could compare with Lily's culinary prowess. A chef by profession, she had happily walked away from the long hours spent standing on sore feet upon first learning of her pregnancy. With a world-renowned neurologist for a husband, Lily had no real need for paid employment, and she happily presided over her kitchen with dictatorial zeal. Her passion for food was expressed in the day-to-day meal menus and the frequent dinner parties she encouraged her husband to throw for colleagues and friends. It was this passion that made dinner with the Lucases all the more enjoyable, and the Sunday following her arrival in Melbourne found Elizabeth spoilt for choice from the mouth-watering array of culinary delights spread before her.

`Please, sweetheart, have some more sweet potato torte,' Lily pressed Elizabeth, passing her a platter. `You've lost so much weight since you left, I hardly recognised you.'

`Well, you are definitely doing your best to fix that,' Elizabeth replied, raising her eyebrow pointedly as she surveyed the various dishes spread before her. `You must have been cooking all week, Mrs Lucas.'

`Mum, easy on with the forced feeding,' Charlotte quipped, reaching for the sautéed vegetables. `Lizzy and I spent half the day buying her a new winter wardrobe. It would be such a shame if she couldn't fit into any of the items after tonight.'

The five hours spent at Chadstone Shopping Centre had passed quickly, a blur of dressing rooms, shopping assistants and clothing racks. Needless to say, the adventure had given them, and her credit card, a serious workout. Not that her finances would suffer the worst for it. The appointment with her lawyers the previous day had revealed the precise extent of her inheritance, and the figure had blown her away. Seven million dollars in cash, bonds and life insurance, with another three tied up in properties. She had known that as one of the most talented cardiothoracic surgeons in Australia, Adam earned enough to ensure a comfortable lifestyle, but the knowledge of his financial worth had literally rendered her speechless. From the very onset of their relationship, Elizabeth had been fully aware that he owned an impressive beachside home in exclusive Williamstown, and drove around in the latest model BMW Roadster. Being Elizabeth, these material considerations had had absolutely no weight in her assessment of the man himself. Upon Adam's death she had been astonished to learn that her husband had been the sole benefactor of a dormant trust left to him by his parents. Throughout their relationship, he had rarely dwelt on the painful circumstances surrounding the death of his parents and elder brother, beyond the initial revelation early in their relationship that he understood Elizabeth's pain at losing her father. Why he had not mentioned the existence of the trust, and why its funds had remained untouched for so long, she would never know.

She had been stumped when the lawyer had asked her what she intended to do with the money. What did one do with nearly ten million dollars? It was with this newfound knowledge, that Elizabeth had been a little more extravagant with her purchases than was the norm. From her previous shopping expeditions with Jane she knew that she wasn't the easiest person to shop with, and Charlotte had lamented loudly as Elizabeth rejected the majority of the suggestions she made for her friend. Elizabeth had finally decided on enough trousers, shirts, jackets and skirts to mix and match her way through the winter months, and they had both been pleased with the final result.

`That woollen wrap dress you're wearing, Lizzy, is like, the bomb,' confirmed Maria, Charlotte's younger sister, eying Elizabeth's form appreciatively. `If you do outgrow it, I'll gladly take it off your hands.'

`Yeah, like you'll ever squeeze into it,' Charlotte scoffed, piling caramelised carrots onto her plate. `It would be too tight around your thighs and too loose around your boobs.'

`Charlotte!' Elizabeth reprimanded, face flushed. It was hardly appropriate dinner conversation given her boss was sitting at the head of the table.

`Elizabeth, my dear, being the only male in a family of three women, I've learnt to block out ninety-five percent of mealtime conversations in order to preserve my sanity,' Professor Lucas boomed kindly. `Don't make yourself uncomfortable on my account.'

Elizabeth smiled into her plate. It was a survival mechanism her father had employed too. As the only man in a family of six women, it was little wonder that her father would disappear into his study at every opportunity rather than listen, and deal with, the moodiness, cattiness and silliness of five oestrogen-charged pubescent daughters.

`Yeah, it's true, Lizzy,' Maria concurred, mouth full. `Just last week, Dad didn't bat an eyelid when Char and I were chatting about the best cream to use for vaginal thrush.'

`Maria, stop trying to shock Elizabeth.' Lily scolded sharply, slapping her daughter's thigh indignantly. Turning to Elizabeth, she held up a steaming platter. `Sweetheart, how about some more lamb?'

The easy banter continued throughout the meal. Lily fussed and pressed everyone gathered around the table to polish their plates, as Maria, Charlotte and Elizabeth chatted easily. During a lull in the conversation, Professor Lucas turned to Elizabeth.

`Elizabeth, I was hoping I could have a word with you after dinner,' he said casually. `Lily, could Elizabeth and I please have our tea sent to the sunroom?'

`Walter, darling, stop distracting Elizabeth from her meal,' Lily rebuked sharply, brandishing her service tongs at her husband menacingly. `I'll serve you whatever you want, wherever you want it, but absolutely nobody is moving off this table until I'm satisfied, is that clear?'

Only once Lily was convinced that not another bite could be consumed did the meal draw to a happy conclusion. The promise of a decadent dessert brought groans to the lips of all, as they subconsciously patted their distended bellies. Lily rose, and immediately sought the presence of her daughters in the kitchen. Elizabeth's attempts to clear the plates off the dining table were immediately thwarted by Lily.

`Okay, sweetheart, please don't trouble yourself. I want you to go and sit inside with Walter while the girls and I clear up in here,' Lily fussed, quickly ushering Elizabeth out of the dining room.

`Hey, why does Lizzy get the royal treatment while we slave away with the washing up?' Maria complained loudly, as she started clearing the table.

`Because Elizabeth is our guest, and this dinner is in honour of her return,' Lily replied emphatically. Turning to Charlotte, she frowned. `Now make sure you scrape those plates before putting them in the dishwasher, do you hear?'

`I'm a guest too, or have you conveniently forgotten that?' muttered Charlotte darkly, as she loaded the dishwasher. `Talk about anti-nepotism!'

Professor Lucas and Elizabeth sat peacefully, breathing deeply as they lightly contemplated the feast they had just consumed. Despite the less than favourable impression that Elizabeth had first formed of her boss during her hospital orientation, she genuinely liked Professor Lucas. He had graduated in the same year as her uncle Edward, and although they were only casual acquaintances, her uncle had been singing his praises for months before she first set foot at Memorial. Walter Lucas had always been a perfectionist, and her uncle had warned her that men like Professor Lucas achieved success by demanding only the best from those around them. Like Charlotte, he was kind and compassionate in nature, and over the years Elizabeth had come to learn that both father and daughter were more alike than either one would wish to admit. The success of Memorial as a hospital could be traced back to the beginning of his tenure as chief of staff. Embodying all the great qualities necessary for a successful physician, Professor Lucas had succeeded in building Memorial into a hospital with a world-renowned reputation for excellence, wisely applying persuasion where intimidation would have been the norm.

Although he lacked the dry sarcasm and wit that she had adored so in her father, Elizabeth often felt that due to the closeness of her relationship with Charlotte that Professor Lucas had almost come to regard her as a surrogate daughter. Indeed, in the first year of her residency, following a yearlong friendship with Charlotte, jealousy of her burgeoning closeness with the family of Memorial's chief of staff had been widespread amongst other residents. Although she had been dating Adam for months, the more catty of the gossipers had spread allegations of an illicit affair between Professor Lucas and the young protégé. Although all the innuendo had irritated her no end at the time, the pettiness had died down when they perpetrators perceived that her friendship did not result in preferential treatment from the head honcho.

`So are you looking forward to starting back at Memorial?' Professor Lucas asked, leaning back in his chair and eyeing her steadily.

`Very much so, Prof,' Elizabeth replied, nodding emphatically. Despite his constant requests early in their acquaintance to call him Walter, Elizabeth insisted upon using a shortened version of his title. `I don't think I will ever complain about the patient load, or the facilities, at Memorial ever again. Compared to the standard of care available in Africa, it will feel like I'm working out of a seven star hotel.'

Professor Lucas smiled, his eyes creased in amusement.

`If that's the cure for whingeing, maybe I should make it compulsory for all of Memorial's doctors to spend a year over there as part of their training,' he grinned. `You wouldn't believe the complaints I've heard from our neurologists in the past few months about the waiting lists for the MRI machine.'

`Oh, what else can you expect from neurologists?' Elizabeth replied mischievously. Professor Lucas's smile widened at her teasing dig aimed towards his own chosen specialization. `Send those neurologists to Kenya, Prof. I promise you, once they experience trying to practise medicine in a country that has only two MRI machines in total, our single MRI machine will be as revered as the Holy Grail.'

Professor Lucas tossed back his head and laughed heartily. Elizabeth smiled as she observed his mirth.

`You were sorely missed Elizabeth,' he stated, once the laughter subsided. `I think I speak for all the staff at Memorial when I say that we're glad to have you back.'

`And I'm glad to be back,' she confessed. `I'm really looking forward to catching up with the staff. All jokes aside, they are a fantastic lot of professionals.'

With the energy of a small cyclone, Lily breezed through the room, carrying a tray laden with tea paraphernalia. As she busied herself, adding sugar and milk to each cup, Elizabeth complimented her once more on the delicious dinner. With a face flushed with pleasure, she left them to their conversation as she disappeared back into the kitchen to supervise her daughters.

Professor Lucas sipped tentatively at his tea, amused eyes watching Elizabeth as she blew gingerly into the cup to cool the hot liquid.

`Elizabeth, I must admit I've dragged you here with an ulterior motive,' he began.

Elizabeth turned her eyes towards him, eyebrow raised in silent inquiry.

`And here I thought you were just craving my scintillating company and witty conversation,' she replied with a smile.

`My dear, I may be old enough to be your father, but I still possess enough sense to know that you would much rather be sitting with the girls talking about girly things than sitting here with your crusty old boss,' he returned, with a knowing look.

Elizabeth smiled. `So what exactly is your ulterior motive?'

`Motives, actually. I know it's extremely short notice, but I was hoping you could be the speaker for the Departmental Seminar next Monday,' Professor Lucas replied.

Elizabeth knotted her brows in confusion.

`The schedule of speakers is normally planned months in advance…' she began.

`That's true. Dr Bertram, up in Gastroenterology, was scheduled to present the new data from his study into intestinal microbes, but unfortunately he has needed to take emergency leave to deal with a personal issue that has arisen.' Professor Lucas explained.

`I hope everything is alright,' Elizabeth replied, a look of concern crossing her face. `Edmund is a great guy, and an exceptional doctor.'

Professor Lucas hesitated briefly, contemplating his words carefully.

`His brother is dying, Elizabeth. He was diagnosed with an aggressive hepatocellular carcinoma a few months ago.' Professor Lucas stated with sympathy. `Unfortunately he has not responded to treatment, and his chances of receiving a matching donor liver are almost non-existent. Edmund left for the West Indies on Thursday. His brother doesn't have much time, and he wanted to be with him until the end.'

Professor Lucas sipped his drink as Elizabeth sat in silent contemplation. Her heart ached at the thought of all the pain Edmund would experience when the time came. As a doctor, she had looked death in the face more times than she could count, but her experience had taught her that it was a completely different experience when forced to watch a loved and cherished family member slip away.

`You can understand that I don't want to cancel the seminar altogether,' he continued at length, breaking her reverie. `The monthly departmental seminars are an institution at Memorial. In my twenty-five years, I can only recall one cancellation, and that was because the speaker, Dr Malone, went into premature labour the night before.'

Elizabeth nodded her head in understanding. The Departmental Seminar was an integral part of Memorial. It provided an opportunity for residents and registrars, clinicians and consultants, to intermingle, exchange ideas, and discuss possible promotions. More fellowships had been decided over the complimentary afternoon tea provided after the talk than via the more conventional interview process. It was rare for a resident to be invited to present, and she couldn't help but feel a little flattered. Were it not for the tragic circumstances surrounding Dr Bertram, she would have been thrilled with the honour of being invited to present.

`I haven't even started back,' she replied with a prudent hesitation quite unlike her. `I haven't finished my residency. I would feel awkward speaking with all those seasoned professionals eyeing me.'

`I know how modest you are, Elizabeth. I'm not going to be coy about it; I know the amazing extent of your capabilities, and that's why you are the only resident that I would ever contemplate inviting to speak,' Professor Lucas stated simply. `I have every faith in your ability to outperform any other speaker we have invited to present. It would be a fantastic opportunity to show your few remaining critics that you are not just an academic anomaly. Unless, of course, you really don't feel you can handle it.'

Elizabeth's eyes flashed. `I think that you're deliberately trying to provoke me into presenting, Professor Lucas,' she said, raising her brow as she crossed her arms and relaxed further into her chair. `And I think you know me well enough to realise that my courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me.'

`Dr Bennet, I'm sure I have no idea what you are referring to.'

Elizabeth steadily fixed her gaze on Professor Lucas, as he met her gaze innocently. She sighed and rolled her eyes. `If I agreed, and I'm not saying I will, what would you like me to present?'

`I want you to share your experiences in Africa with your colleagues.' Professor Lucas replied, his lips twitching as he smothered his triumphant smile. `I think it would be extremely beneficial for the staff to learn more about the medical practices in Africa, and the quality of care provided by the relief organizations. I honestly believe that we can benefit from their on-field practices, particularly in our emergency department.'

Elizabeth chewed her lip as another consideration crossed her mind. Although more than a year had passed since she had left Memorial, the memory of her time spent there in the aftermath of Adam's death was remarkably fresh in her mind. The discreet looks, the hushed whispers, it had all stemmed from crushing pity that, at the time, overwhelmed her. She was stronger now, but deep down she dreaded seeing that same pity etched on the face of her colleagues as she stood before them on the podium.

`Elizabeth, you'll do fine,' Professor Lucas reassured her, misinterpreting the source of her evident reluctance. `Charlotte told me that you showed her a rather impressive slideshow of the hospitals you worked in and the people you met in Africa. She said it was inspiring. I believe your presentation may encourage other doctors to follow in your footsteps, and prompt them to share their skills with those less privileged.'

`I'm sure it could, if they paid attention to my actual words and speculated less on the circumstances behind my trip,' Elizabeth muttered, eyes downcast.

Professor Lucas was immediately enlightened as to the cause of her hesitation. `Elizabeth,' he entreated. `Look at me.'

As she raised her eyes to meet his, he leaned forward and spoke with the authoritative firmness of Memorial's chief of staff.

`When I was younger, I was always getting into scrapes because of my impatience. I was the kind of child that had absolutely no concept of patience, the kind that needed instant gratification of all my desires. I guess you could say that I was a selfish boy.'

Elizabeth listened in silence as Professor Lucas continued.

`My mother and father worked hard all their lives to make ends meet. I didn't know it at the time, but my father was working two shifts at the local car manufacturer so that I could have the best of everything. When I was fourteen years old, a new craze swept through my school. I remember the first time I laid eyes on the Schwinn Varsity. She was the most beautiful bicycle a teenaged boy had ever seen; sleek, shiny and fast. All the boys were pestering their parents to get them one, and I decided that I would be the foremost amongst them to own that bike. I nagged and nagged, and after many months my parents finally folded. I got my bike, and it felt like I had died and gone to heaven.'

He smiled ruefully in remembrance.

`That feeling didn't last Elizabeth,' he sighed, nodding sadly. `Within months, the Sea Monkey craze began, followed by the Ouija board craze, then the Lava lamp craze. My bike no longer gave me happiness, because there was always something else, something new, that I wanted. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

`That you were spoilt? I thought that was a prerequisite for any neurologist,' Elizabeth replied with unease. Her poorly attempted humour did not dissuade Professor Lucas.

`What I am saying, Elizabeth, is that human beings get bored,' he declared emphatically. `They are always searching for something new to keep them interested. Whether it's materialistic or spiritual, it's a never-ending search. Things that were hot today become stone cold over time. It's the law of life.'

As she averted her eyes, Professor Lucas placed a kindly hand on her arm.

`A year is a long time, and the Memorial grapevine moved on, Elizabeth. I'm sure Charlotte has already informed you of the latest news circulating about the staff. To my knowledge, nobody speaks of your circumstances any longer. You can either accept that and stand at the podium Monday week and show them exactly how strong Elizabeth Bennet is, or you can hide away. The fact that you're here now, and not still in Africa, tells me that hiding time is over. So the question becomes: are you strong enough?'

The Professor's reassuring words melted the remaining hesitation. She gave him a tight smile and nodded. `I'd love to share my experiences in Africa.'

Professor Lucas smiled in approval.

`Excellent, excellent,' he replied. `I knew I could count on you.'

Giving her arm one final squeeze, he rubbed his hands together in triumph.

`The only reason I'm doing this is because I'm afraid that if you are forced to cancel the seminar for only the second time in history, the hospital might suddenly implode, or something' she added with an impertinent toss of her head, raising her teacup to her lips.

Professor Lucas laughed, as Elizabeth finished off her tea. As she placed the cup onto the tray before her, Professor Lucas cleared his throat nervously.

`Elizabeth, I did say motives, didn't I? That's plural. There is something else, of a rather sensitive nature, I needed to talk to you about.'

`That sounds ominous,' she replied worriedly. `It's nothing serious, I hope?'

`No, no,' he reassured her hurriedly. `I'm sorry; I seem to be giving you the impression that my news is bad news. Hopefully, you'll take what I'm going to tell you as quite the opposite.'

Elizabeth was intrigued. `I'm all ears, Prof.'

`Do you remember, before you left last year, that there was some construction that had started in the east wing of the south building?' he asked hesitantly.

She scratched the back of her neck, her eyes squinting as she searched her memory. She nodded in remembrance as the image of entered her mind.

`The new operating theatres?' she asked.

`Yes, the new theatres,' Professor Lucas nodded, pleased. `Construction was in the early stages when you left, so I'm glad that you remember.'

`How could I not?' Elizabeth's eyes took on a faraway look, recalling the fragments of a long forgotten conversation. `I remember Adam was really looking forward to their completion. He very much wanted to be amongst the first surgeons scheduled to use the new facility.'

Professor Lucas smiled as he sighed softly.

`Yes, well, Adam would have loved the new theatres,' he stated matter-of-factly. `Actually, Elizabeth, that's my second `motive' for dragging you here.'

`I don't understand. What do the new theatres have to do with me?' Elizabeth forehead creased in confusion.

`I hope that this is something which brings you joy, Elizabeth,' he began, bright eyes studying her face earnestly. `Although the theatres have been in use since January, only theatre South East one was named, in honour of our celebrated prize-winning Professor Emeritus William Boyle. Up until last week, theatre South East two was known as just that.'

He paused, as Elizabeth's eyes slowly widened in dawning realisation.

`Last week, the hospital board of directors decided to honour Adam's memory by naming the theatre after him.' Professor Lucas announced. `Tomorrow, a plaque will officially herald that theatre South East two shall forever more be known as the Adam Newgreen Memorial Theatre.'

The news touched Elizabeth deeply, rendering her speechless. It was the perfect answer to the pain that had gnawed at her on her first night back, when she had looked into the study and lamented the fact that a man of Adam's calibre would, over the natural progression of time, become a forgotten memory. Her heart soared, for Professor Lucas had effectively ensured that Adam's name and contribution to Memorial would live on forever.

`I don't know what to say. That's wonderful news,' she whispered, her heart too full for words. `Adam would have been honoured.'

`He was a gifted surgeon, and we shouldn't have lost him the way we did,' Professor Lucas replied gently. `Although he never got to use the theatres, by naming the theatre after him, his name will remain on the lips of Memorial's staff for generations to come. And that is something few doctors will ever achieve.'

`Thank you, Prof. This is the best news you could have told me,' she stated quietly. She sighed deeply. `Wow, I don't know what else to say. This weekend has certainly proven to be full of unexpected surprises.'

`How so?' Professor Lucas probed.

`Yesterday, my lawyer informed me that Adam left me an estate in excess of ten million dollars.'

Elizabeth delivered the news so calmly, and without fanfare, that it caught Professor Lucas unaware. He blinked rapidly, leaned back into his seat with a stunned expression fixed on his face, before emitting a long, low whistle.

`Ten million dollars!' he repeated incredulously. `That's a hell of a lot of money Elizabeth!'

`You're telling me,' she replied, shrugging her shoulders. `You should have seen my face when he first informed me. Although I was prepared for the fact that Adam had left me our home, some cash and stocks, I was stunned when I learned the full extent of the inheritance. I couldn't speak for a full ten minutes afterwards.'

`What are you planning to do?' Professor Lucas asked, scratching his head in amazement.

`I have absolutely no idea,' she shrugged, running her hand through her hair. `What does one do with ten million dollars? I'm not the type of person that's going to quit her job so that I can sail around the world whilst drinking martinis. I was never interested in becoming a doctor for the money.'

Professor Lucas nodded his head in understanding. Although the financial perks of a successful medical career was a strong incentive to many would-be doctors, he knew that Elizabeth was a different breed of doctor. From her very first days as an intern at Memorial, he had been impressed and pleased with her very human approach to practising medicine. She had an honest regard for her patients and their well being, taking time to listen to their fears as she spoke with them, and not at them. Her relationship with her patients was a mutually symbiotic one; she helped them physically, and they assisted her emotional maturation.

`I'm thinking of establishing a surgical cardiothoracic fellowship at Memorial in Adam's memory,' Elizabeth declared suddenly.

Professor Lucas blinked.

`That's a very generous commitment,' he observed, taken aback. `You really need to think it over for longer than five minutes before you take such a huge step.'

`It's one I can afford to make,' she replied with a wry grin. `I may not know what else to do with my inheritance, but this fellowship is a start. The more I think about it, the more determined I'll become to establish it.'

`For what it's worth, if you do decide on funding a fellowship, I don't envision any opposition to such a plan from Memorial's board of directors.' Professor Lucas added. `How could they, when such a fellowship would allow us to attract the most promising junior cardiothoracic surgeons to Memorial?'

They sat quietly, each lost in thought. At the sound of a light cough, they both looked up to find Charlotte leaning against the door. In her hands were two plates of decadent mini pavlova.

`I come bearing dessert on the condition that you have to let Elizabeth come out and play' she whined childishly

Professor Lucas smiled, welcoming the opportunity to lighten the mood. Charlotte handed out the plates and sat down beside Elizabeth, yawning lazily as her father and friend spooned portions of the fluffy mounds into their eager mouths.

`Mmmmm,' Elizabeth murmured blissfully, eyes rolling heavenward. Turning to Charlotte, she frowned. `Aren't you going to have some?'

`As if Maria and I could have waited this long to attack those desserts,' Charlotte snorted sarcastically. `You've been here for ages. You're lucky we left you two any dessert at all.'

Professor Lucas responded with a grunt, as he attacked his dessert with relish. Charlotte's presence reminded Elizabeth of the night of her arrival home, when they had talked whilst partaking from Lily's delicious chocolate mousse. In turn, the topic of their conversation, Darcy Pharmaceuticals, came to mind. Elizabeth licked away the cream from her spoon and turned her gaze towards Professor Lucas.

`Char tells me there is a new drug trial starting,' she stated casually

Professor Lucas nodded absentmindedly as he fidgeted with his spoon.

`Yes, a new trial of an ACE inhibitor that Darcy Pharmaceuticals has been developing for the past couple of years,' he replied. Peering at her over his spoon, he raised one brow. `Are you interested in participating?'

`Good God, no' she exclaimed, a little too emphatically, shuddering at the prospect. `That's definitely the last thing that I would want'

Professor Lucas gazed at her with heightened curiosity.

`Why, you surprise me, Elizabeth. For an ambitious cardiology resident like yourself, that emphatic denial seems a little peculiar,' he questioned probingly. `Experience in drug trailing would look good on any doctor's curriculum vitae.'

Elizabeth curled her lip.

`Believe me, Prof, if it was any other company other than Darcy Pharmaceuticals running the trial, I would be the first in line with my hand up,' she stressed dryly.

At Professor Lucas' puzzled expression, she explained the reasons behind the moral objections to Darcy Pharmaceuticals.

`I'm personally not too thrilled about the trials myself, as I have no doubt Char has informed you,' he sighed, casting a chastising look towards his increasingly uncomfortable daughter. `However, my objections are quite different to yours. I would have preferred a bit of time to study the parameters of such a trial, but my authority as chief of staff in this instance has been vetoed. Somehow, Darcy Pharmaceuticals has pushed their agenda through with alarming speed, no doubt wielding their considerable clout as a major shareholder at Memorial.'

`I'll admit I was quite shocked when Char told me that Darcy Pharmaceuticals had such a vested interest in Memorial,' she replied openly.

Professor Lucas sighed deeply.

`It's never been an issue until now,' he said. `However, despite my own personal reservations at the way in which the trial has been pushed forward, I have no other objections to the trial itself. In my position, where a considerable amount of our funding comes from Darcy Pharmaceuticals, I can't afford to take the moral high ground. I must remain impartial in my management of Memorial. This trial could ultimately prove to be a good thing for the hospital.'

Elizabeth pondered his words carefully. Catching the warning in Charlotte's eye, she resisted the temptation to argue her view further with Professor Lucas. She knew that his latter words held some truth in them, for if the trials were successful, Memorial would be amongst the first hospital in the world with access to the new drugs. It would certainly raise Memorial's international standing, and attract more funding for Memorial's clinical research teams.

`So you expect the trail supervisor next week?' Elizabeth asked, finishing off the last of her dessert.

`He's not due to start until then, but I expect a visit from him tomorrow. Apparently he is extremely eager to begin the trial.' Professor Lucas replied putting his empty plate down.

`I bet he is,' she muttered. Sensing her disdain, he frowned slightly.

`Elizabeth, I trust that you'll be able to put aside your own personal feelings regarding Darcy Pharmaceuticals,' Professor Lucas remarked with gravity, meeting her flashing eyes. `I know you have very passionate objections towards them, but the last thing we need is tension and infighting amongst the staff of our cardiology department, because it will affect the patients.'

Elizabeth sighed in resignation. `Prof, the well-being of our patients will always be my number one priority.'

`Okay, that's it, dessert's finished.' Charlotte declared joyfully, moving to gather the empty dishes with alacrity. `Is Lizzy free to go now?'

Professor Lucas chuckled at his daughters' thinly veiled impatience.

`Yes, yes, go,' he replied, waving them away with his hand.

Charlotte gathered the cups and plates onto the tray and turned towards the kitchen. Elizabeth stood and made to follow her friend. As she reached the door of the sunroom, Professor Lucas called her name. Turning to face him, he smiled.

`Welcome back, Elizabeth.'

Smiling back, she silently turned to follow her retreating friend. Professor Lucas sighed, sat back into his chair and closed his eyes, his face a picture of contentment.

Despite their individual expectations, Professor Lucas and William did not meet on Monday. In spite of being a seasoned traveller, the long trip from London had wreaked havoc with William's body, triggering a severe bout of jet lag that kept him lethargic for the duration of the weekend. All thoughts of venturing out into the city, and organising a catch-up with Charles, flew out the window as fatigue and disorientation gripped him. By the time the symptoms had abated, reviving his concentration and motivation, it was too late to schedule a Monday meeting. It wasn't until Tuesday afternoon that William was finally presented with the opportunity to meet Professor Lucas and inspect the Memorial's facilities firsthand.

Purposely arriving early for the first critical examination of his new workplace, on first impressions alone, Melbourne Memorial Hospital failed to impress. Nestled by parklands, the hospital façade itself was unremarkably droll and dreary. It was only once William had passed through the automated doors that he found himself transported to back to a world that he loved. Walking briskly down the halls, he felt the buzzing energy filling the place course all over his body, igniting his very soul. His feet automatically dragged him towards the emergency department, the pulse of the hospital, taking in the soothing yellow walls that seemed to placate the throng of waiting patients lining up to see the triage nurse. Standing discreetly near the lifts that would take him to the tenth floor offices of the chief of staff, William watched the interaction between doctors and nurses at the central workstation with envious impatience. There was another, stronger feeling, deep within him, that infused his heart with warmth. Although Pemberley and London were thousands of miles away, he felt all the relief and tranquillity of a traveller approaching the end of his journey, drawing nearer to the familiarity of home. The old adage, `home is where the heart is', had never rung more true for William. Straightening his tie, William entered the elevators, and minutes later her found himself sitting comfortably in Professor Lucas's office.

Within minutes of their introduction, William was thankful for Richard's insightful warnings regarding Professor Lucas. Despite his attempts to appear as accommodating and welcoming as possible, it was clear to William that the man was clearly less than enthusiastic about the arrangements that has been thrust upon him and his hospital. Since the moment he had sat down, William could feel the intensity of Professor Lucas' gaze on his face. William sat back, his apprehension hidden behind an impenetrable mask of forced calm. As CEO of Darcy Pharmaceuticals, it had been an eternity since he had answered to a higher authority. William found it slightly unsettling to relinquish his control to a man who was essentially his employee.

`You're a medical doctor, not a pharmacologist' Professor Lucas remarked matter-of-factly, studying the file that Darcy Pharmaceuticals had couriered from London with a critical eye.

William voiced his affirmation. `I completed my internship at St Mary's and my residency at University College Hospital, London.'

`As I can see,' Professor Lucas remarked evenly.

William remained silent throughout the ensuing pause.

`In my experience, it's quite rare for physicians to turn to commercial research,' Professor Lucas added at length, leaning back into his chair, stroking his chin with his hand.

`Rare, but not unheard of,' William replied smoothly. `We often see scientists turning towards new careers in medicine. I don't see that there is anything unusual about the reverse situation.'

`Science is fraught with failure, Dr Crady, as I am sure you know.' Professor Lucas remarked. `The scientists that turn to medicine as a career do so for two main reasons. Firstly, because of the frustrations involved in research, and secondly, because they believe that all their effort could be better served towards helping people directly and achieving immediate results for their efforts. I am curious as to what fuelled your motivation to leave off practising medicine to embark on a career in research?'

William paused as he deliberated over his answer.

`Darcy Pharmaceuticals had an opening which I literally could not refuse,' he replied with hidden meaning. `Professor Lucas, although my commitments with Darcy Pharmaceuticals may have limited my practising of medicine in recent years, I have continued to study the latest medical literature, and I very much consider myself still a physician. Please remember that my employment here is not going to be limited to trial supervisor.'

`Yes, well I must confess that I am surprised that Darcy Pharmaceuticals would think it necessary to send one of their own doctors to establish this particular clinical trial.' Professor Lucas added. `Our hospital has successfully participated in a few trials, Dr Crady. We have never needed the presence of an out of hospital trial supervisor previously.'

`I am sure this decision is not meant to be construed as Darcy Pharmaceuticals holding a negative view of the capabilities of Memorial's staff,' William replied briskly. `The company believes that the doctors on staff here at Memorial are more than competent.'

`Dr Crady, with all due respect, your very presence indicates otherwise.' Professor Lucas retorted, eyebrow raised challengingly.

`Quite the contrary, Professor Lucas,' William responded, stifling his rising indignation. `My presence here is a testament to Darcy Pharmaceutical's commitment to the success of these particular trials by sending someone intimately familiar with the drug and the trial protocols. If the company had no faith in Memorial's staff, I would be here for the entire duration of the trial, and not the six months I expect to be here.'

Professor Lucas tapped his fingers against the desk as he examined the cool demeanour of the man seated across from him.

`Dr Crady, I have always been a stickler for honesty. It is a principle that is particularly indispensable in a doctor, because our positions are ultimately positions of trust. Without the trust of the patient, the doctor cannot connect with his patient. The best way to obtain this trust is to be as open and honest as possible. I am sure you concur.'

William cringed internally, his deception niggling at his conscience. Professor Lucas continued, obvious to his struggles.

`I am uncomfortable with subterfuge, Dr Crady. Even though your employer owns a significant share in this hospital, I cannot pretend that I am enthusiastic with what they have thrust upon me.' Professor Lucas leaned forward. `It can be no secret to you, that I am displeased with the way this trial has been initiated.'

`I am fully aware of that, Professor.' William replied coldly. `If only you were fully aware of whom you are talking to' he added silently.

`However, Dr Crady, I am neither resentful nor petty,' Professor Lucas stressed. `I prefer to reserve my final judgement into this whole affair until after the trial has concluded.'

`Professor, I don't think you will have any cause for disappointment.' William replied confidently. `Darcy Pharmaceuticals believes that the new ACE inhibitors will produce revolutionary results in the treatment of heart disease.'

`And I am sure that you are in no way impartial' Professor Lucas remarked dryly. `So, despite the fact you have not practised for the past three years, you wish to offer us your medical services?'

`That is correct. As you see, I have kept up all my medical accreditations,' William replied, nodding towards the file. `My residency was in cardiology, and as it will take a while before data from the trial filters in, I would like to take the opportunity to assist the cardiology department here at Memorial.'

Professor Lucas sat silently. As the pause lingered, William's heart pounded lightly at the prospect that he would be denied the one thing that he had orchestrated the entire trial for.

`I don't envision having any trouble placing you on our rounds, Dr Crady.' Professor Lucas replied finally. `You've graduated from an extremely prestigious medical college, and your paperwork seems to be in order. Like most hospitals in Australia, we suffer from a shortage of doctors. No doubt we could use your services in our emergency department.'

`I passed by the ER on my way up. It certainly seemed busy,' William conceded.

`Yes, well, you begin next Monday.' Professor Lucas announced brusquely. `I invite you to attend the Memorial Departmental Seminar that afternoon, and I will take the opportunity to introduce you to your new colleagues. I strongly suggest you come in a gregarious mood, Dr Crady. The success of your trial depends on your ability to liase with the other doctors. You will, after all, be acting upon their recommendation of suitable candidates. The Departmental seminar is the best place to begin your networking.'

`I am fully aware of the importance of teamwork, and I am looking forward to the opportunity,' William replied firmly.

`Until then, I've organised a lunch meeting with Dr Wentworth, the Head of Cardiology, for this coming Friday. Dr Wentworth will need to be kept informed of all the procedures, protocols and parameters you intend to implement for the trial. I hope that is convenient for you.'

To William, Professor Lucas' words were more of a statement than a question.

`I have no fixed engagements, Professor Lucas,' he replied easily.

`Excellent.' Standing, he stretched out his hand and pumped William's with authoritative firmness. `My secretary, Mandy, will give you the particulars for Friday. You will have to forgive me, but I have an important phone call that I cannot delay. Good afternoon, Dr Crady.'

With those parting words, William was ushered into the foyer office of Professor Lucas' secretary. Mandy reached for Professor Lucas' schedule.

`Dr Crady, Professor Lucas has organised for Dr Wentworth to give you a tour of the cardiology and emergency department at midday, followed by lunch at one,' she began, smiling brightly. `Due to a departmental meeting later in the afternoon, Professor Lucas will be unable to leave the hospital and has arranged for the lunch to be in Memorial's cafeteria, Meryton's. I hope you find everything up to your expectations.'

William replied in the affirmative, as he expertly entered the details of his lunchtime appointment into his PDA. As he exited the Professor's suite, he gallantly held the door open for the short nurse bounding energetically towards the office, accepting her thank you with a charming smile. Within seconds, he stepped into the elevator and disappeared behind the closing doors, sighing in satisfaction.

`Mandy, who the hell was that?' Charlotte demanded. She sighed appreciatively, releasing the breath she had inadvertently held on to as she had watched the handsome stranger disappear into the elevator.

`That was Dr William Crady, here to see your father,' Mandy sighed, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. `He's gorgeous, isn't he? No wedding band, either.'

`You sneaky thing!' Charlotte exclaimed. `I'm surprised you made a point of checking out his ring finger. I wonder what Paul would think about that?'

`Charlotte, I'm married, not dead. Checking the ring finger of a gorgeous guy is an involuntary reflex, and it doesn't just disappear once you're married.' Mandy sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. `And surely you wouldn't begrudge me my share of the eye candy?'

`Eye candy is an understatement,' Charlotte replied dreamily. `What did he want with my father?'

`Evidently, Dr Crady is the supervisor that Darcy Pharmaceuticals has sent over from England for the new clinical trials.'

`That's the new trial supervisor?' Charlotte repeated, incredulously.

`Yes. Exactly what were you expecting?' Mandy asked, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

`Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't that.' Charlotte replied. `But now that I've seen our newest member of staff, I think we can honestly expect pandemonium.'

Charlotte could guess at the interest that Dr Crady would generate once the nurses caught a glimpse of him. She doubted that any of the female staff would be immune to his physical charms. `With the exception of Lizzy, of course,' she mused, silently. Adam aside, she didn't think that anything could tempt her into dropping her animosity towards Darcy Pharmaceuticals and its employees.

As Elizabeth strode into the cafeteria, she sighed in happy exhaustion. She could scarcely believe that it was already Friday, that the week was drawing to a close. Prior to her trip to Africa, she would have thought the week had been an incredibly busy one. With her new knowledge, Elizabeth had a greater appreciative of everything that had previously annoyed her at Memorial. The number of patients she had examined since starting on Monday was a mere drop in the ocean compared to the staggering number she saw daily in Kenya. She couldn't help feeling guilty with each expensive diagnostic test that she had ordered, or every expensive procedure she had performed, remembering the days when gauze and syringes were considered a precious resource. As the week wore on, the guilt had slowly disappeared, replaced with a deep sense of gratitude. It was wonderful to know that her ability to help people was not held back by a lack of resources.

Equal important to Elizabeth, the staff had enthusiastically welcomed her back with little fanfare. Professor Lucas had been right; the sympathetic looks and hushed whispers that had driven her crazy had finally disappeared, directed towards another. Elizabeth privately sympathized with Marianne, the new source of their whispers. The break-up of any relationship was hard in any circumstance, but to have the unfaithful partner working alongside you every day was another matter all together. She was in awe of the strength the young nurse displayed in the face of Dr Willoughby's presence, knowing she could never approach the same situation with Marianne's dignity.

Scanning the cafeteria, she found Charlotte and a few of the nurses huddled closely together around one of the tables. Elizabeth smiled to herself. Since her internship, she had enjoyed the lunchtime company of Charlotte and her friends whenever her shifts allowed. Closer to her in age than her fellow residents, Elizabeth felt at ease in their company. Lining up patiently, she ordered her salad sandwich, and made her way over to her friends. They hardly acknowledged her arrival, and sat whispering furiously as they directed their gaze towards the other end of Meryton's.

`What are we all watching?' Elizabeth mused loudly.

`Lizzy!' The nurses collectively offered her a belated welcome, and promptly directed their gazes back to the object in question.

`English muffin at ten o'clock,' murmured Melissa, dreamily. `Sitting with Dr Wentworth and Professor Lucas.'

`Forget McDreamy and McSteamy, I'll have that English McMuffin to go, any day,' concurred Sophie, with a deep sigh.

Elizabeth peered towards the table where Professor Lucas and Dr Wentworth sat, eating lunch. They were talking animatedly with another man, holding a folder of papers. With his back towards her, she couldn't make out any thing beyond the dark brown hair that kissed the nape of his neck. She shrugged, and unwrapped her salad sandwich.

`Have you heard him speak?' Marianne whispered. `God, his voice is like warm molten chocolate. I would love to hear a sonnet roll of his tongue, with that gorgeous accent.'

Elizabeth smiled into her sandwich. Marianne was an incurable romantic, with an unhealthy addiction to Shakespeare.

`Well, he can take my vitals any day,' replied Melissa, with a wicked grin. `Or any night.'

All four nurses sighed in unison.

`Who exactly are you girls all fawning over?' Elizabeth asked.

`Where have you been?' Charlotte responded incredulously. `You missed the new resident cardiologist touring the department.'

`I was in the ER all morning, working' she replied, defensively. `What's this about a new cardiologist? Who is he?'

`Dr William Crady,' sighed Sophie and Melissa in unison. `Charlotte told us he was hot, but if he was any hotter, he'd be steaming!'

Elizabeth cast a reproachful glance at her friend.

`Char, I live with you and you never told me anything about a new cardiologist,' Elizabeth replied, rolling her eyes.

`I haven't seen you since Tuesday, Lizzy,' Charlotte responded, exasperated. `You worked the night shift the past three days, so was I supposed to send you telepathic messages?'

`Oh, look, they're getting up. Lizzy, quick, take a look!' Marianne whispered excitedly.

Elizabeth drew her eyes towards the table in interest. She wondered why Professor Lucas had not informed her during last Sunday's tęte-ŕ-tęte that a new doctor would be joining her department. She watched as the man in question rose gracefully to shake the hands offered by Professor Lucas and Dr Wentworth. As he turned around to prop his briefcase on a neighbouring table, in order to place his papers, her eyes widened in surprise.

`I don't believe it' she breathed in shock.

`We told you!' Sophie grinned. Gazing at her watch, her face fell. `I'd love to stay and get your feedback, but Dr Tilney will kill us if we're late. They don't call him the General for nothing.'

As Sophie, Melissa and Marianne begrudgingly headed to their wards, Elizabeth sat motionless, watching the new doctor head out the cafeteria, leaving flustered doctors, nurses and patients in his wake.

`You don't believe what, Lizzy?' Charlotte pressed, as she watched the colour drain out of Elizabeth's face.

`Char, who did you say he was?' she asked, turning her gaze to her friend.

`Dr William Crady,' Charlotte replied, puzzled.

`From England?' Elizabeth probed.

`Yes, I believe so.' Charlotte responded. `Elizabeth, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

Elizabeth sighed, appetite forgotten as she rubbed her temples.

`Remember the jerk from my flight last week?' Elizabeth groaned.

Charlotte's eyes widened as realisation dawned.

`No! Are you serious?'

Elizabeth threw her friend a withering look. Charlotte covered her mouth as she recalled her conversation with Mandy on Tuesday.

`You're right, Lizzy' she returned apologetically. `Mandy told me that he has been sent by Darcy Pharmaceuticals to establish the new clinical trials for the heart drug. I guess it makes sense they would send a cardiologist.'

`That's just damn wonderful,' Elizabeth muttered angrily. `I'm going to have to work alongside that jerk? How long is he here for?'

`Six months,' Charlotte responded sympathetically. `Dad's planning to introduce him to the faculty after your talk at the Departmental Seminar.'

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. The mere memory of his words infuriated her, and she could imagine the smug expression that would spread across his features once he discovered that she, inadvertently, was also an employee of Darcy Pharmaceuticals. Unless….

Elizabeth smiled suddenly, the turn in her countenance stunning Charlotte.

`Lizzy,' she wheedled purposefully. `What are you thinking?'

`Nothing,' she replied innocently. She stood quickly, brushing down her shirt. `I need to get my presentation organised. I'll see you later.'

Charlotte watched as Elizabeth walked briskly out of the cafeteria, a deep sense of dread settling in the pit of her stomach.

Chapter Eight: Departmental Seminar

Posted on Tuesday, 17 April 2007

Elizabeth tiptoed quietly through the silent house, guided solely by the light of the breaking dawn. Passing the family room on her way through to the kitchen, she was suddenly startled by the sound of her name being uttered softly in the darkness.

`Elizabeth!'

She jumped visibly, her hand automatically rising to her chest as she eyed the reclining shadow on the plush chaise reproachfully.

`It's lucky that you're a cardiologist, because you almost gave me a heart attack,' she scolded, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm her nerves. `Adam, what are you doing?'

Her husband arose from his position, and shuffled towards her, arms outstretched and hair adorably tousled. Elizabeth melted into his embrace, the warmth of his body seeping into her chilled form. She rested her head against his neck, feeling the tremors of his steady heart as he breathed in the scent of her hair.

`I missed you,' he whispered affectionately, pressing his lips onto her forehead. `I can't sleep without you by my side.'

Elizabeth looked up with raised brow, meeting his tender gaze.

`And yet you managed quite well without me for the first thirty-five years of your life,' she teased, running a hand through his tousled head.

`Darling, before you came into my life I wasn't living,' he murmured, tightening his arms around her waist. `I was merely existing. My life began the day I met you.'

Deeply touched by his sentimentality, Elizabeth smiled as she gently caressed his cheek with the palm of her hand.

`Adam, you can't do this every time I'm scheduled for the night shift,' she insisted softly.

`Do what, sweetheart?' Adam replied absentmindedly, twirling one of Elizabeth's curls around his forefinger.

`Worry about me.' Elizabeth replied gently.

`It's a husband's right to worry about the woman he loves,' he replied indignantly, hugging her possessively. `There are a lot of thugs and louts roaming the streets at night, getting into all sorts of trouble. A gorgeous woman like you could easily become a target of harassment. How could I not worry?'

`Not to this excess, darling,' Elizabeth whispered into his neck

`I can't help it,' Adam replied, burying his head into her curls. `I've never experienced the type of happiness I have found with you, and if I live to be one hundred, I could never find anyone who makes me feel the way I feel when I'm with you. I can't bear the thought of ever losing you, Elizabeth.'

Elizabeth raised her head and gently lifted Adam's chin with her hand. She gazed deeply into his eyes, taking in the raw vulnerability she saw within.

`Sweetheart, stop being morbid. You're not going to lose me,' she reassured with gentle firmness, moving to lock her hands behind his neck. `You're a surgeon who has become too accustomed to a daytime schedule, and just forgotten how crazy residents hours are.'

`I wouldn't mind having more surgery scheduled at night, if it meant I could steal a few of these,' Adam replied softly, kissing her gently.

`A happy thought indeed,' Elizabeth replied after a delicious silence, her lips tingling. `But until the day that happens, I want you to relax a bit. These crazy hours will pass soon enough, I promise you. You'll see enough of me here and at the hospital that you'll soon get sick and tired at the sight of me.'

`I will never get tired of you,' Adam growled deeply, swinging her effortlessly into his arms. `I'll be ninety years old, immobile, incontinent, bald and toothless, and I will still love and want you as much as I do now.'

`Is that a promise?' Elizabeth whispered, as her husband carried her slowly towards their bedroom.

His dark blue eyes gazed solemnly into hers, windows of tenderness.

`I promise.'

The sound of approaching footsteps resonating on the polished floors shattered the silence, startling Elizabeth out of her reverie. She sat up straight, furtively brushing away her tears as she hastily gathered her patient files and organised them into a neat pile. She tucked an errant curl behind her ear and opened the top most files, making a concerted effort to appear busy. As the footsteps halted before her, she nonchalantly gazed up into the kindly face of one of the security staff. He flashed her a smile, and crossed his arms across his chest.

`Still on duty Dr Bennet?' he inquired, relishing the opportunity for conversation.

Elizabeth smiled with forced cheerfulness.

`Thirty more minutes before my shift officially ends, Stuart,' she sighed. Holding up the stack of files, she grimaced. `Just catching up on some light reading.'

Stuart nodded in acknowledgement, digging his hand into his pocket to produce a packet of mints. Popping one into his mouth, he offered the packet to Elizabeth, who politely refused. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking around the deserted hallway.

`You've chosen a pretty good place for that,' he remarked, chewing slowly. `It looks pretty comfortable for a waiting area. Padded seats too.'

Elizabeth nodded absentmindedly. `Given the amount of time anxious family members will wait here while their loved ones are in surgery, the last thing they need is to be confined to those horrid plastic chairs.'

`Well, it's a pretty smart idea to make use of this waiting area.' Stuart gazed at the sealed double doors leading to the surgical theatres. `You're unlikely to be disturbed here. Unless they start scheduling more night time surgeries.'

Elizabeth's head turned sharply towards him, eyes widening briefly before they glazed over with indescribable emotion. `A happy thought indeed,' she whispered inaudibly, touching her lips with her fingertips.

The guard fixed his gaze at the shiny silver plaque fixed above the sealed doors.

`They finally named it,' he remarked at length, nodding his head towards the plaque.

Elizabeth blinked, and raised her eyes to gaze fixedly at the object in question. Her reply was soft, touched with melancholy. `Yes, they did.'

`Adam Newgreen Memorial Theatre,' he read the inscription aloud. `Adam Newgreen. I've only been here six months, so the name doesn't ring a bell. Who was he?'

`One of Memorial's best cardiothoracic surgeons,' she replied quietly

`And for us without a medical degree, that would be…?' Stuart prompted.

`A heart doctor.'

`Ah,' he replied, with dawning realisation. `And what's your specialty, Dr Bennet?'

Elizabeth tore her gaze away from the plaque and started fidgeting with her files, her answer curt, dismissive. `The same.'

She was saved from further questioning by the static cackle emitted from Stuart's radio. Grasping the device, he exchanged a few words with the voice on the other side. Hooking the radio into his belt, he turned to Elizabeth with an apologetic smile.

`Duty calls,' he announced, dryly. `I'll leave you to finish your reading, Dr Bennet. Have a good night, or what remains of it.'

With a slight nod of his head, he turned on his heel and strode quickly down the corridor.

Elizabeth watched the retreating figure disappear around the corner, and leaned back into her chair. She sighed deeply, rubbing her eyes tiredly before fixing them one more to the plaque that bore her husbands name. When Professor Lucas had first informed her of the hospital's decision to create the Adam Newgreen Memorial Theatre, she had not envisioned that the small waiting area overlooking the surgical theatre would become an unlikely place of solace for her. She was inexplicably drawn there, more so during the night shifts when there was little chance of being seen or disturbed. With the exception of the staff changing room, where they had shared neighbouring lockers and secret kisses, she felt closer to Adam at this place than any other section of the hospital. She couldn't explain why, for he had never worked there, but sitting quietly before the theatre, gazing at Adam's beloved name, she allowed herself to be swept away by memories tinged with equal portions of joy and pain.

As her beeper bleeped loudly, Elizabeth sighed. Casting a cursory glance at the screen, she gathered up her files hastily. With one last longing look at her husband's name, she quickly retreated down the hall.

The light of the dawning sun was streaked across the night sky, producing a cornucopia of warm colours that belied the frigidity of the morning. Elizabeth yawned sleepily as she quietly opened the front door to her home. Kicking off her shoes with a relieved sigh, she welcomed the warmth and the softness of the plush woollen pile under her toes. The smell of freshly brewed coffee assaulted her senses, and placing her satchel onto the glass sideboard, she moved towards the kitchen with curiousity. Charlotte sat serenely at the kitchen bench, flicking through a magazine as she nestled her coffee mug in her hand. She looked up expectantly as Elizabeth entered, registering the surprise on her friends' face.

`Hey, Char,' Elizabeth greeted her, eyebrow raised questioningly. `What are you doing up?'

`Isn't it obvious?' Charlotte replied pertly, holding up her mug.

`Please, Char, no games,' Elizabeth replied, as she stifled a deep yawn. `I don't have the brainpower at six in the morning, especially not after a horrendous twenty hour shift. I'm exhausted.'

Charlotte clucked sympathetically. `Do you want me to pour you a cup of coffee?'

Elizabeth shook her head emphatically.

`I'm dead tired and you want to give me coffee?' she replied reproachfully. `The only thing I need is a pillow. I'm so tired I could probably sleep right here on the kitchen floor.'

`You poor thing!' Charlotte said soothingly. `Tough night?'

`Just the usual Sunday night workload in the ER,' Elizabeth mumbled sarcastically, opening the refrigerator and taking out a bottle of juice. `You know, a stabbed gang member, a drunk driver who wrapped his car around a pole, a heroin overdose. Oh, and the burns patient who fell asleep while smoking. That was in addition to the normal patients who had to wait while we dealt with the aforementioned idiots.'

Charlotte chuckled as Elizabeth shook her head in disgust.

`It was nice of you to take Dr Ferrars' shift on such short notice, in addition to your own earlier in the afternoon.' Charlotte swirled the contents of her mug mindlessly.

`Well, it's not like I had plans for the night, and he was rather desperate,' Elizabeth replied, sipping her juice.

Charlotte's ears pricked up. `Desperate?'

`He's going through a hard time with his fiancée Lucy,' Elizabeth replied indifferently, rubbing her eyes tiredly. `I understand she issued him with an ultimatum regarding last nights' shift.'

Charlotte's eyes shone with curiosity. `What kind of ultimatum?'

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at her friend's blatant nosiness. `Charlotte, in the words of the Kenyan elders: the news you are willing to pay money for today, you can obtain for free tomorrow. Would it kill you not to know right now?'

`Hey, killjoy, we're not in Kenya. Spill it!' Charlotte pouted petulantly.

`According to Edward, Lucy is a little upset that his family hasn't warmed toward her yet,' Elizabeth explained, smothering a smile as Charlotte crestfallen expression instantly transformed to rapturous expectation. `She heard, from mutual friends, that his sister and brother-in-law were planning to attend `Miss Saigon' last night, and so she purchased tickets for the same session, hoping to accidentally `bump' into them. Unfortunately, she didn't bother to check whether Edward was free for the night, and was furious when he told her he couldn't go. To cut a long story short, she told him that the future of their relationship hinged on his availability last night.'

`And so he caved,' Charlotte remarked, with a shake of her head. `Why would Lucy marry a doctor if she doesn't like the fact Edward's bound to work long hours?'

Elizabeth shrugged dismissively.

`In some ways I feel sorry for Lucy,' Charlotte mused. `I've heard that her future sister-in-law is a real piece of work! Marianne can't stand her!'

`Marianne?' Elizabeth's brow was creased in confusion. `How would Marianne even know Edward's sister?'

`Don't you know?' Charlotte exclaimed. `Edward's bitchy sister Fiona is married to Marianne's brother James.'

`I never knew that,' Elizabeth replied, surprised.

`Well, its not exactly something that Marianne discusses at work, because she doesn't want it to get back to Edward, but she doesn't think too highly of her brother or his pretentious wife,' Charlotte elaborated. After a moments pause, her face softened. `Poor Edward. He really is a sweet guy.'

Elizabeth's eyebrow shot upwards. Charlotte laughed as she caught the inquiring look on her face.

`No, Lizzy, even if Edward wasn't engaged, he's just not my type. Too introverted for my liking,' she remarked reflectively. `My men need to be a little more outgoing.'

`Like your new mystery man?' Elizabeth asked stealthily.

Charlotte smiled cheekily at her friend.

`Time will tell, Lizzy,' was her cryptic reply. `As for Edward, he needs someone as quiet and introverted as himself, otherwise he'll be a henpecked husband throughout his married life.'

`Exactly how did we get onto the topic of Edward Ferrars' love life?' Elizabeth sighed. `And you still haven't answered my question. What are you doing up so early? I usually have to use a crowbar to prise you out of bed when you aren't rostered for the morning shift.'

Charlotte drained her mug before meeting Elizabeth's gaze.

`I'm rostered on this morning.' she replied casually.

`Since when?' Elizabeth retorted, leaning against the bench top. `I distinctly remember you telling me that you are rostered on for this afternoon.'

`If you must know, I swapped shifts with Melissa.' Charlotte replied, calmly.

Elizabeth eyed her friend suspiciously.

`Whatever for?'

Charlotte threw Elizabeth a quick look, before rising off her stool and ambling to the sink.

`Two reasons really.' Charlotte painstakingly rinsed her cup, eyes lowered. `Dr Crady is starting work today.'

Elizabeth snorted in response. `And you want to be amongst the adoring masses as they pay homage to their precious McCrumpet?'

`It's McMuffin.'

`Whatever! What's the second reason?'

Charlotte smiled to herself before schooling her features into one of calm nonchalance.

`I want to make sure I can attend the seminar.'

`You've been at Memorial for years and not once have you shown any interest in attending the Seminar previously,' Elizabeth replied, eyes narrowed.

`Well, that's because my best friend has never been invited to be the speaker,' she returned reasonably.

`And?' Elizabeth prompted, brow arched.

Charlotte spun around to face her, arms defensively crossed across her chest.

`And if you think that I'm going to miss out on whatever it is you have planned for that seminar of yours then you obviously know nothing about me,' she added.

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders, as she turned away from her friend's piercing gaze. `I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about!'

`Oh really?' Charlotte retorted, challengingly. `I didn't miss that look in your eye at lunch on Friday. You've been so secretive about the details of your presentation. You've got something planned.'

`Of course I have something planned! It's called a presentation, Char.' Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

`Don't play innocent with me, Elizabeth Bennet!' Charlotte waved her finger scoldingly towards her friend. `I'm talking about Dr Crady.'

`Funny, I thought you were talking about my presentation.' Elizabeth quipped.

Charlotte rolled her eyes in frustration. `You know what I mean.'

The two women locked gazes. Elizabeth sighed deeply, dropping her head tiredly.

`Were you, or were you not in the room when your father warned me about the importance of keeping the peace amongst staff members at Memorial?' Elizabeth tilted her head questioningly.

`I was,' Charlotte admitted. `But I also know you well enough to know you have something up your sleeve. I'm not going to miss the show.'

Elizabeth shook her head slowly, smiling slightly to herself as she ran her hands through her curly hair. Charlotte grinned triumphantly.

`There! I knew it!'

`You are far too stubborn for your own good,' Elizabeth replied, yawning sleepily.

`Just promise me you're not going to do anything stupid, like get yourself fired for slandering Darcy Pharmaceuticals.' Charlotte entreated.

`Char, I can faithfully promise you that the words `Darcy Pharmaceuticals' won't even pass my lips.' Elizabeth pointedly ignored Charlotte's expression of incredulousness. `You had better get dressed if you want to get to Memorial before the peak hour. I'm going off to bed.'

Elizabeth placed her glass in the sink and moved towards the hallway, rubbing her neck as she did so. Charlotte's voice arrested her movement.

`Jane called here last night.'

Elizabeth spun round, instantly concerned.

`Jane? Is she alright? There's nothing wrong….' Elizabeth bombarded Charlotte.

`Steady pardner!' Charlotte laughed, standing back with her hands placed defensively before her. `Knowing how much you worry, she made a point of telling me to tell you that everything is fine, both in Perth and at Longbourne. No need to panic.'

Elizabeth relaxed visibly. `So did she tell you what she wanted?'

`Since when did I become your secretary?' Charlotte snorted. `She just asked me to get you to call her back.'

Elizabeth turned towards her room, examining her watch as she did so. `It's too early in Perth. I'll call her after the seminar. Later, Char.'

Charlotte watched her friend as she disappeared into her room. She sighed deeply before a quick glance at the clock sent her scurrying for the shower.

William could barely contain his excitement. It had been years since he had experienced anything akin to the feelings of exhilaration and anticipation that the coming day promised him. The impossible dream was finally becoming a reality, and the three years spent begrudgingly as Darcy Pharmaceuticals' CEO melted away. He had spent the night in a state of restlessness, his over stimulated mind keeping him wide-eyed for the majority of the night. Even so, he had no trouble arising early at the break of dawn, showering quickly before spending half an hour agonising over which suit to wear on his first day. Chewing his lip, he decided against his obscenely expensive Armani suits, settling for a charcoal Hugo Boss with simple black and grey silk tie. He stood admiring his impeccable reflection, fiddling with his tie until the phone rang heralding the arrival of the chauffeur.

He arrived at Memorial an hour early for his scheduled meeting and orientation with Dr Wentworth, and took the opportunity to purchase a steaming cup of coffee and morning paper from Meryton's. Sitting down in the café, oblivious to the pointed stares of a few of the nurses seated at the table opposite him, he turned to the business section as he sipped his coffee. Ten minutes passed before his solitude was disturbed.

`I see great minds think alike, Dr Crady.'

William looked up into the smiling visage of Dr Wentworth, as he towered above him, carrying a coffee and newspaper. Arising to shake his hand, he instantly invited his departmental head to share his table. Accepting his offer, Dr Wentworth settled himself opposite William, oblivious to the frustrated groans of the nurses in response to the change in view.

`You're rather early for our meeting this morning, Dr Crady.' Dr Wentworth observed, pouring sugar into his coffee.

`Please, call me William,' William replied smoothly. `I must admit that's the effect of being rather excited by the prospect of starting a new job in a new country.'

`A month of gruelling shifts will cure you of future eagerness, I assure you' Dr Wentworth replied, his faint smile softening the seriousness of his words. `And it's Fred, or Rick, whichever you prefer.'

William nodded in understanding. He knew the hours of a resident were less than glamorous; rather, they were downright scary. He had once worked a twenty-eight hour shift with nothing more than a muesli bar and seven cups of coffee constituting his breakfast, lunch and dinner.

`I've heard that the ethics approval for your trial may come in as early as next month,' Dr Wentworth stated, leaning back easily. `I guess a large company like Darcy Pharmaceuticals can afford to throw around a bit of cash to fast-track their applications.'

William frowned slightly. `The company is very eager to begin the clinical trials.'

`Evidently,' Dr Wentworth replied, fixing his gaze upon William briefly before shifting his eyes back to his coffee cup. `Well, in the meantime, we'll certainly keep you busy.'

`Given it's my first day, what can I realistically expect today?' William inquired.

`The usual for any new resident,' Dr Wentworth replied, sipping his beverage carefully. `All your paperwork is in order, so you'll be issued with a beeper and a locker. I've assigned Dr Edward Ferrars the task of showing you our procedures and introducing you to some of the staff. I understand Professor Lucas is planning on introducing you to the rest of the department after the seminar. Dr Bennet is presenting, so we expect a full house.'

Dr Wentworth cast a quick glance at William's suit.

`You'll notice that our doctors find they are tremendously more comfortable being less formally dressed,' he continued, gesturing towards his own dress pants and simple white shirt for emphasis. `I'm sure that you will find that ties are quite dispensable in our profession.'

Despite his ability to school his features into a mask of imperturbable calm, Dr Wentworth caught the brief expression of indignation that crossed William's face.

`William, unlike many countries, we don't stand upon ceremony here. Dr Ferrars will fill you in, no doubt. We don't even wear white coats!' Dr Wentworth chuckled at William's open incredulousness. A wide smile graced his features as he caught sight of the young man approaching William's chair.

`Edward!' Dr Wentworth called in greeting. `Speak of the devil. You remember William don't you?'

Edward shook William's hand, smiling with ease and friendliness.

`Of course, we met on Friday,' he replied, sitting down. `Rick informs me that I'll be showing you the ropes today.'

`How was the theatre?' Dr Wentworth inquired, sipping his coffee.

`Don't ask. Does the word disaster mean anything to you?' Edward shook his head with a sigh. Turning to William he smiled apologetically. `Women!'

William nodded with instant understanding as he finished off his coffee.

`Edward, I'm going to leave William to your capable hands this morning,' Dr Wentworth announced upon spying a short, yet slender woman entering the cafeteria. `If you have any problems, William, don't hesitate in coming to see me.'

With a quick wave, he rushed off toward the cafeteria entrance. Both men rolled their eyes as he stooped down to embrace the woman with obvious ardour.

William folded his paper and turned to Dr Ferrars. `I'm ready when you are.'

`I'll grab a coffee to go, then we can get on our way,' Edward replied, quickly heading towards the growing line waiting for the barista.

Ten minutes later, as they stood awaiting the elevator, they were startled by a breathless voice shouting desperately across the silent corridor.

`Hold the lift!'

Within seconds, a young woman joined them, face flushed from exertion as she clutched her side and panted laboriously.

`Charlotte, early as usual, I see,' Edward deadpanned, as she began rifling through her large bag.

Charlotte cast him a quick scowl before continuing her search. `You should really go sign up to perform in the Melbourne Comedy Festival. I hear their looking for someone to make all the other comedians look good. Where the hell did I put my keys?'

`You probably locked them in the car,' Edward replied, his prediction proving unfounded seconds later as Charlotte drew out a large key ring with a triumphant smile. `Umm, Charlotte, have you been introduced to Dr Crady?'

Looking up suddenly towards Edward's hitherto unnoticed companion, Charlotte was arrested by the sight of the best specimen of manliness she had ever witnessed. `Damn it if the McMuffin isn't more beautiful up close,' she mused. She averted her eyes before her staring became apparent. `No, Edward. I haven't.'

`William, Charlotte is one of our best nurses here at Memorial.' Edward stated admiringly, as Charlotte blushed with pleasure at the compliment. `I'd try and stay on her good side if I was you.'

`That's a double-sided compliment if ever I heard one,' Charlotte frowned, casting a quick glance towards William. `Welcome to Memorial, Dr Crady. Hopefully you enjoy your time here in Australia.'

William nodded briefly in acknowledgment. `Thank you.'

`Did Liz get home okay?' Edward turned to Charlotte.

Charlotte nodded her head distractedly, glancing surreptiously at William. He seemed less gallant than the last time she had encountered him, when he had smiled so charmingly outside her father's office. `Lizzy was absolutely exhausted. What were you thinking asking her to take your shift? You know she's too soft hearted to say no.'

As Edward hung his head, William raised his eyebrow at what he perceived to be unacceptable impertinence. Best nurse or not, he knew he would never tolerate similar attitude from any of his subordinates.

`I feel horrible, but nobody else was available at such short notice,' Edward responded repentantly.

`Well, hopefully she wakes up in time for the seminar,' Charlotte replied. `She was dead to the world by the time I left the house.'

`Liz is the most reliable person I know. She understands we're all counting on her being here,' Edward added warmly. Turning to William he elaborated further. `Dr Bennet is presenting at the seminar today. It should be packed.'

`Dr Wentworth seems to think so, too. What is the attraction?' William asked, wondering at the exact nature of the relationship between Dr Bennet and the nurse standing before him. Edward was prevented from immediately answering by the opening of the elevator doors. Filing into the lift, William stood back awkwardly as Charlotte and Edward punched their respective floor numbers into the console.

`Dr Bennet is one of our cardiology residents, and is quite popular amongst the staff,' Edward explained as the elevator glided upwards. `She recently returned from a year abroad volunteering with Médecins Sans Frontičres. She's an exceptional doctor.'

Charlotte smiled warmly in agreement. `She's an exceptional woman.' As the lift ground to a halt, she turned to acknowledge William before stepping off. `It was nice to meet you, Dr Crady.'

As the doors slid shut, Edward leaned towards William. `You'll find the nurses are fantastic around here, but a word of warning. If you have any problems with the boss, be careful not to voice them to the nurses. Charlotte's last name is Lucas.'

William raised his brow. `Lucas? As in Professor Lucas?'

`One and the same,' Edward affirmed. `She's his daughter.'

William pondered over the valuable snippet of information. Within seconds, the lift lurched to a stop and William followed Edward down the corridor to an electronically sealed door. Slotting a small plastic key into the sensor fixed next to the handle, Edward invited William to enter as he held the door open. William took in the small kitchenette, round tables and assortment of comfortable chairs with a critical eye. It was a far cry from the luxurious staff facilities at Darcy Pharmaceutical's headquarters, but he conceded the room was quite acceptable given the little time he would probably find to spend in there.

`William, welcome to our humble staff room,' Edward announced, leading him through. `It doesn't look like much, but it serves its purpose. A word of warning, though: the coffee here tastes terrible. It's ok in an emergency, but you'll find yourself gravitating towards Meryton's when you actually want something decent to drink.'

He ushered William to a smaller door, signalling for quiet with his forefinger placed across his lips as he gingerly prised it open and peered inside. Upon finding it empty, he swung the door open and flipped on the lights. Two single beds with matching bedside tables were the only furnishings in the windowless room.

`This is what we affectionately call the `power nap' room,' Edward stated, as William pressed his hand into the mattress. `It'll be indispensable to your sanity when you start pulling double shifts with little less than an hour off in between.'

`That good hey?' William grinned, wryly.

Edward sighed deeply. `They are an absolute killer. Did you come here with any family, William?'

`No.' William replied tersely.

`Perhaps that's for the best,' Edward responded, brow furrowed. Coughing in embarrassment, he cast a quick look towards William. `Sometimes this job robs you of any chance to have a proper personal life.'

Turning on his heel, he led William towards another door across the opposite wall, pushing it open to reveal a maze of metal lockers.

`Staff locker room,' Edward stated matter-of-factly. `Administration doesn't recommend you leave any valuables in your locker. All the lockers with a white sticker dot are currently available, so it's as good a time as any if you want to choose one.'

William examined the wall of lockers, frowning slightly as he noticed a decided lack of white stickers on the upper row. At over six foot three, he didn't particularly relish the idea of stooping down for access to his personal effects. As he was about to lay claim to one of the lockers in the lower rows, his eye rested on a solitary white sticker stuck on a central locker in the upper row. Walking over, he opened the door and examined the empty interior. He turned to Edward. `I'll take this one.'

Edward frowned in consternation. Opening his mouth, he hesitated briefly before snapping it shut. `It's been over a year,' he debated internally. William, seeking affirmation, didn't fail to notice his colleague's disconcerted visage.

`Is there something wrong?' William frowned slightly.

Edward paused.

`No….no. It's the logical choice, given your height. No problem,' he replied slowly, more to himself than to William. Rousing himself, he gave William a tight smile. `If you're ready, we can go and collect your access pass and locker key from Human Resources before I take you through our patient procedures. We've got a lot to do before the seminar.'

As the two men departed the locker room, one was filled with smug satisfaction at the ease with which things were unfolding, the other troubled by a niggling feeling that Dr Bennet would be less than happy to learn she had a new neighbour.

Broken Hearts Keep Beating ~ Section IV

By Sara M

Beginning, Previous Section, Section IV, Next Section

Chapter Nine: Hell Hath No Fury

Posted on Thursday, 23 August 2007

Elizabeth sighed as she wearily opened her locker, massaging her neck with her free hand in a futile attempt to relax her tense muscles. Despite the lateness of the hour, and the knots of tension seizing her body, any feelings of fatigue that came from working consecutive shifts had been chased away by a more primal need: hunger. The grumbling sounds emanating from her abdomen were becoming embarrassingly louder, an acute reminder that her last proper meal had been the lunch she'd hastily consumed the previous day. With four hours remaining on her second shift, Elizabeth had finally succumbed to the pangs of hunger. Deciding that a fifteen-minute break was not entirely unwarranted, she had fled to the locker room with one objective in mind: finding food.

Glancing briefly at her watch, she uttered a small prayer as she rummaged through her locker. Beggars were definitely not choosers, and despite her cravings for a steaming bowl of lasagne and a relaxing shoulder rub, anything remotely edible would suffice. As her hope diminished, she was finally rewarded for her efforts with a long forgotten breakfast bar. Briefly contemplating the likelihood of finding something a little more appetising in Adam's locker, her stomach protested loudly, overriding all deliberations. Ripping open the package, she contented herself with allowing her all too vivid imagination to conjure up the image of the hot meal she craved. She sniffed the air hesitantly as the tangy scent of tomatoes and mozzarella that suddenly seemed to linger in the air. Shaking her head, Elizabeth concluded that delusions brought on by extreme hunger and fatigue were the only explanations for her overactive senses.

Lost in deep contemplation of her mental decline, she was startled as a pair of hands carrying a sealed container suddenly materialised from behind her to wrap themselves around her waist. She recognised the smooth tapered fingers long before the familiar voice whispered in her ear. `I think you'll enjoy this a lot more. That breakfast bar seems to have seen better days.'

She twirled around in confrontation. `Adam! What are you doing here?'

Adam frowned, the hint of a teasing twinkle in his eye. Straightening his tie with one hand, he brushed imaginary lint off his jacket as his chest swelled with mock pride. `Elizabeth Newgreen, the last time I checked I was an invaluable employee of this hospital.'

`And the last time I checked, it was still Elizabeth Bennet,' she responded, rolling her eyes. `Are you planning on making a habit of creeping up on me? Honestly, what are you doing here?''

`And that's the way to thank your husband for rushing halfway across the city to get his beautiful wife her favourite meal?' Adam replied petulantly, a frown creasing his brow. `Well, seeing I'm so unappreciated, maybe I'll keep this for myself. Come to think of it, I am feeling rather peckish now, you know!'

`Adam Joseph Newgreen, don't even think about it,' Elizabeth retorted, attempting to wrestle the container out of his hands, as he moved to unfasten the lid. Adam held the container out of her grasping reach, smiling teasingly. `Well?'

Elizabeth huffed. `Okay, I'm sorry! I'm just surprised. I thought you had surgery scheduled for this afternoon,' she pouted, eyeing the container hungrily.

`Cancelled,' he responded, lowering her arms. He watched her tenderly as she took the lasagne gratefully, and, sitting down, attacked the contents with gusto. `Some patients just don't know the meaning of the instruction `No food or water before surgery'.'

`Don't blame them. Starvation is a horrible thing,' she murmured, scooping generous spoonfuls of pasta into her mouth. Adam chuckled, leaning his back against her open locker, gazing at her with a bemused expression. `So I can see.'

They sat in companionable silence, as Elizabeth quickly finished her meal.

`That was wonderful,' Elizabeth sighed appreciatively, closing the empty container and wiping her mouth on the paper napkin. Standing, she turned to her husband, tilting her face upright towards him. `Do I have any sauce on my mouth?'

`Let me check,' Adam replied in a low voice, as he gently cradled her face in his hands and studied her face intently. Dipping his face, he captured her lips with his own, moving slowly, languidly. At length, he pulled back, brushing a stray lock of hair off her flushed face as his hands settled upon her waist. `No, I can't say that you do.'

`Adam!' Elizabeth admonished, casting a quick glance around the locker room. `I'm supposed to be working here, not making out with my husband in the locker room like a hormonally charged teenager!'

`Just collecting my payment,' Adam growled softly, his pupils dilating as his intense gaze lingered on her lips. `I have to say that I prefer this currency a lot better than dollars and cents! Especially when you are looking as sexy as you are now.'

Elizabeth laughed, her green eyes creased with amusement. `You're the only man in the world who would think that scrubs on a tired dishevelled woman are sexy.'

`It's not the scrubs,' Adam growled, bringing his face closer for more `payment'.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Elizabeth sighed in frustration as her beeper rung out. `Back to reality!' she groaned, attempting to wriggle her way out of her husbands' embrace. She frowned as she examined the small screen. `It's the ER. I should have known the department would implode the minute I took a break. I've got to go.'

`Just one more minute,' Adam implored gently, nuzzling at her neck.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

`Adam, it's probably an emergency!' Elizabeth insisted, slapping away his roaming hands from her waist. `I'll catch up with you at home.'

Adam groaned, as he ran his hand through his hair with barely concealed frustration. `Go, then. Break my heart,' he pouted, grabbing at his chest mockingly.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Pressing her soft lips onto the corner of his lips, Elizabeth smiled teasingly. Dropping her voice, she slowly ran her finger across his chest. `Its lucky for you then that even broken hearts keep beating.'

`Cruel woman!' he responded, a tender smile gracing his lips as he watched her walk briskly across the room and out the door.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Elizabeth's hand deftly shot out from under the covers, searching blindly for the offending alarm clock. Slapping the snooze button, she snuggled deeper into her bed, eyes closed tightly, desperately clinging to the dying vestiges of a hazy dream that had allowed her to once again hear a beloved voice and feel a beloved's caress. As the minutes ticked, and the details faded back into the inaccessible abyss of her subconscious, Elizabeth finally gave up all attempts to sleep, and tossing the covers off her body, lay pensively staring at the ceiling.

The dreams, always sketchy, had almost disappeared in Africa. The gruelling workload and the distraction of beautiful scenery had helped. Being in Melbourne, in their home, the dreams returned and had been increasing in frequency. As much as she cherished reliving the precious sensations of being loved and protected once more, she dreaded the deep ache that was sure to linger in her chest when the reality of consciousness rudely intervened. Sighing shakily, Elizabeth examined the clock. One pm. In four hours, the eyes of two hundred colleagues would be sharply focused upon her; every ear listening to her every word. It was a sobering thought, but one that kept the threatening tears at bay.

Forcing her tired body off the bed, she quickly showered and dressed, gazing wistfully at the woman who peered back at her in the mirror. The charcoal pencil skirt accentuated her curves, while the fitted burgundy shirt offered a mere glimpse of cleavage. With her curly locks tamed into a French twist, and a light application of mascara and lip-gloss, she looked both professional and collected. Elizabeth smiled faintly in satisfaction. She knew she would never be as giddily beautiful like Jane, but today, she felt she had scrubbed up rather prettily. Stepping into shoes with just enough heel to boost her height without sacrificing comfort, she grabbed her coat and bag and headed for Memorial.

`Lizzy, wow!' Charlotte breathed. `You look great!'

`You should wear mascara more often, Lizzy,' Marianne added approvingly. `It really shows off how gorgeous your eyes are.'

Elizabeth raised her hands to cool her flaming cheeks. `You two are very good for my ego,' she replied, brushing aside their compliments. `Don't get too used to this though. I'm not giving up my trousers and flats in a hurry. It's just that I think presenting at the Departmental Seminar requires a bit of formality.'

Elizabeth had barely shrugged off her coat and scarf in the hospital foyer, before Charlotte and Marianne, returning from their lunch hour, had pounced upon her, showering her with compliments. Together, the three friends headed for the elevator.

`You're a bit early though Lizzy,' Charlotte remarked, glancing at her watch. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. `Three hours early to be precise.'

`There's a couple of patients that I wanted to check on before the seminar,' Elizabeth replied coolly, eyes riveted on the elevator's floor indicator.

`Oh, before I forget, Dr Ferrars wanted you to page him the moment you came in,' Marianne interjected. `He said it was really important that he speak to you.'

`I hope nothing's wrong,' Elizabeth mused, chewing her lower lip in concern.

`He probably just wants to thank you again for saving his behind last night.' Charlotte snorted, as the lift doors opened to admit the trio. `I may have made him feel a little bit guilty for burdening you last night.'

`Char!' Elizabeth sighed, rolling her eyes skywards. `I can handle my own working schedule without your help, thanks Mum!'

`Don't get your knickers in a twist, it was all tongue-in-cheek' Charlotte retorted, slapping her arm lightly. `Besides, Ferrars had little time today for self-recrimination. He's been saddled with Dr Crady all day.'

Elizabeth faced her friend, brow arched. `And how did your precious Dr Crady fare on his first day at Memorial?' she probed.

`Lizzy, I can't speak for anyone else, but I personally don't think he's going to have any trouble getting prompt assistance from us nurses,' Marianne replied, her eyes clouding over as she sighed dreamily.

`Actually, I found him a little aloof myself,' Charlotte replied nonchalantly. `He hardly spoke two words when Ferrars introduced us this morning.'

Elizabeth smiled tightly. `So I take it you're no longer his number one fan?'

`Don't be ridiculous, Lizzy!' Charlotte exclaimed. `The guy may be a little on the quiet side, but it's nothing that a tight set of buns can't compensate for. It doesn't change the fact that he is one gorgeous male specimen.'

`Maybe he's just shy,' Marianne offered hopefully, as the elevator doors slid open at their designated floor and they stepped out into the cardiology ward. The conversation was abandoned as Charlotte and Marianne hurried to their stations, and Elizabeth stopped to check the patients' board. Recalling Marianne's request to page Dr Ferrars, she had barely picked up the phone when Dr Wentworth came rushing up towards her.

`Bennet, it's your lucky day today,' he spoke hastily, pausing briefly to glance at her. `You look very nice.'

Elizabeth coloured, as she replaced the receiver. `Thanks, Rick. Exactly how is today my lucky day?

Dr Wentworth glanced at the clock. `I know you pulled a double shift overnight, but how soon do you think can you scrub in for theatre?'

`Theatre?' Elizabeth repeated, perplexed.

`A thirty-four year old woman was presented to the ER this morning with symptoms of pulmonary venous congestion.' Dr Wentworth explained hurriedly. `The findings from the echocardiogram are consistent with a large myxoma occluding the left atrium. We're going in now to resect the tumour for biopsy. It's invaluable to your training that you're exposed to as many of these cardiac abnormalities as possible.'

`But my presentation…' Elizabeth began, bewildered.

`Your presentation is hours away, Elizabeth,' Dr Wentworth replied, waving away her objections. `Cardiac tumours, especially primary ones, are extremely rare. It may be a long while before you have the same opportunity arise. Technically, you're not obliged to attend, as hospital policy does give residents the right to a full day off following double shifts. However, as your attending, I really believe it is in your best interests to at least observe the procedure. It's your call.'

Elizabeth chewed her lip, mind racing. She was aware of the great honour that Dr Wentworth was paying her in insisting she scrub in for the surgery, and knew that her fellow residents would be clamouring to fill the position if the opportunity should arise. She nodded to herself, her mind made up in an instant.

`Do I have time to page Dr Ferrars? He specifically requested….'

`Dr Ferrars has already scrubbed in. I'm sure you can catch up with him after the surgery.' Dr Wentworth interrupted smoothly, moving away from the central station. `Fifteen minutes, Bennet, and make your way to the Newgreen theatre.'

As Dr Wentworth retreated down the hallway, Elizabeth sighed deeply as she gathered her things. Thoughts of the presentation were temporarily pushed aside, replaced with excitement at the prospect of observing a rare cardiothoracic procedure. Nothing made her appreciate the wonder of anatomy more than the sight of a beating heart being stopped, manipulated and then restarted. She quickly penned a note for Charlotte explaining her whereabouts before running off towards the locker room. With her carefully selected clothing hastily removed, and replaced with her green surgical scrubs, Elizabeth had little time to notice that the tiny white sticker that had previously graced Adam's locker was no longer there.

Life was unfair, William concluded bitterly. The exhilaration that had fuelled him in the morning had quickly dissipated when reality had seen fit to interrupt his fantasies. Expectations of examining patients and making deferential diagnoses lay tattered, buried under the enormous mountain of paperwork and clinical procedure training he had been subjected to. He knew that he had approached the day with the same naiveté with which he had begun his internship in London; automatically assuming he would be thrown headlong into actively practising medicine on real patients. The disappointment then had been as palpable as it was now, and he couldn't erase the annoying voice of his pessimistic subconscious, that reminded him that had he wanted to be inundated with paperwork he could have saved himself the jetlag and remained as CEO of Darcy Pharmaceuticals. Sitting now, in the locker room, looking in despair at Memorial's occupational health and safety charter, William attempted to reassure himself that interaction with patients would not be long in coming.

`But, if only you had come to Memorial a week earlier!' his pessimistic voice lamented. `Then you could have assisted with the tumour woman.' Recollecting the events that unfolded earlier in the day, William snapped the charter shut in frustration. Just that morning, as Dr Ferrars had patiently guided him through the necessary protocols, Dr Wentworth had approached Dr Ferrars for a consult regarding a suspected cardiac tumour in a female patient. His excitement at being allowed to observed the echocardiogram with his mentor, and possibly observing the surgery, was quickly deflated when Dr Ferrars had handled him a pile of paperwork before walking away with Dr Wentworth. Naturally, William's mood had turned sour from then on, and not even the open friendliness of the extremely pretty Nurse Crawford could restore his optimistic good humour.

With an hour remaining before the Departmental Seminar, William's coffee addiction reared its ugly head, demanding to be satisfied. He knew he would have to answer its call, for seminar rooms were enticingly dark and the speaker's droll voices had the potential to lull even the most alert listener into sleep. Raising his nose at the tiny kitchenette with well-worn cups and instant coffee, he had retreated to the locker room, arm laden with manuals, to collect his jacket and mobile phone for a short sojourn to Meryton's. He was in the process of carefully shrugging on his jacket, when his mobile phone erupted in loud peals. He examined the screen with a raised brow. Richard. He sat down on the island bench that ran in front of the lockers, his annoyance at the day projecting itself through the curt greeting.

`What do you want now?'

`Hello to you too, Fitz,' Richard responded sarcastically. `I'm fine, thank you for asking.'

William breathed deeply in an attempt to bring his temper under regulation.

`I'm sorry, Richard,' he replied. `Today hasn't been a good day.'

`No need to take it out on one of only three people who know that William Crady is actually Fitzwilliam Darcy!' Richard threatened mockingly. `Perhaps I should have some words with Professor Lucas?'

William rolled his eyes in annoyance. `I'm not in the mood, Richard, for your petty, empty threats. Why have you risen so early in the morning, and why are you annoying me?'

`You're assuming I went to bed since last night,' Richard chuckled suggestively. `Maybe the woman of my dreams kept me up for a night of absolutely mind-blowing sex.'

William groaned loudly. `Richard, the woman of your dreams can't be found anywhere but in your dreams. Why the hell are you calling me at 4am?'

`Well, at least you're not denying my studly ability to engage in an all-night sex romp,' Richard chuckled again in amusement, before swallowing his mirth. `But you're right. There is another reason for me being up at this ungodly hour. Do you recall the Japanese pharmaceuticals company that we were interested in acquiring a year ago?'

`The company with the patent for the new arthritis drug?' William responded immediately. `Shoji Technologies? What about them?'

`Yes, Shoji Technologies.' Richard affirmed briskly. `The executive assistant to the CEO contacted me yesterday, requesting a video-conference between you and the CEO, Mr Sawa, for today. Naturally, he was surprised when he I informed him that you would be unavailable for the next six month and had installed me as caretaker CEO.'

`What did he want?' William frowned, as he rose to pace the room.

`I just finished the call ten minutes ago,' Richard replied. `The short story is that Shoji Technologies is interested in re-negotiating.'

`Why? They refused our last offer.' William knotted his brow in confusion. His attempted acquisition of Shoji Technologies the previous year had left a bitter taste in his mouth. They had negotiated for months, scheduling late night meeting, tying up the legal departments resources, only to have the final offer rejected by the majority stockholder. The frustration that he had experienced over the whole affair had planted the first seeds of his acknowledged discontent at being Darcy Pharmaceutical's CEO. `What has happened to bring about a re-negotiation?'

`This should please you. Their major shareholder is two weeks away from filing for bankruptcy.' Richard replied, his voice laden with irony.

William snorted, as he strode to the window that overlooked the park. `Then I don't think Shoji Technologies are in the position to negotiate anything if their financial future is in such a shambles.'

`Exactly. I know in this instance a hostile takeover seems an attractive proposition, but until I meet with the entire board, and ascertain exactly what shape the company is in, I don't think its wise.' Richard paused reflectively. `If we do decide that acquiring Shoji is a viable investment, then we are looking at obtaining stock at a much cheaper price than that which they rejected a year ago.'

`If it was up to me, I would watch the company collapse with no little ill feeling,' William responded curtly. `However, business is business, and if I can obtain their research and patents with little financial inconvenience, I am going to do it for my company.'

Richard laughed. `I guess the great Fitzwilliam Darcy doesn't allow his notorious resentment to come between him and a great business opportunity.'

`It's called business acumen,' William replied coolly. He paused hesitantly. `It's going to be a lot of work. Do you feel you can handle something of this magnitude?'

`I believe so,' Richard replied nonchalantly. `I knew you would want to be informed; that's why I'm keeping you in the loop. There is absolutely no need for you to concern yourself.'

`Just be thorough in your dealings with Shoji's CEO,' William pressed, watching the sun cloaked by thick grey clouds. `Mr Sawa is as slippery as he is conniving. I would hate to be dragged back to deal with any potential fallout when I have only just put my foot in the door here at Memorial.'

`Duly noted,' Richard replied seriously. His tone turned playful a second later. `So why exactly hasn't today been a good day?'

It was four o'clock before Elizabeth emerged from the Newgreen theatre, eyes glittering and face flushed. Although she had observed many a cardiothoracic procedure throughout her residency, Dr Wentworth had been accurate in his assertion that such surgery as the one she had just witnessed was incredibly rare. Despite the thrill of her observations, watching the tumour being carefully excised from deep within the atrial wall, Elizabeth could not eliminate the sympathy that she felt towards the patient, as she lay oblivious to her surrounds under carefully monitored anaesthesia. Histology had confirmed that the sample sent for analysis had been malignant, and Elizabeth knew that the patient would be subjected to debilitating bouts of chemotherapy and radiation in order to survive.

Jogging towards the elevator, her stomach clenched nervously with the realisation that in barely an hour she would be addressing the entire medical staff. And hour and she was undressed and her presentation was yet to be loaded onto the seminar rooms' computerised projector. As she swiped her access key for entrance into the staff lounge and pushed open the door to the locker room, her mind was so busily engaged in practising her prepared speech that it took a moment before her eyes open wide as she finally registered the scene in front of her.

Adam's locker was open.

Adam's locker was filled with books and an elegant suit jacket.

Adam's locker was evidently Adam's locker no more.

When she had returned to Memorial the week before, she had been touched that her colleagues had kept Adam's locker free, deftly steering new doctors into accepting the empty ones situated on the lower rows. For Elizabeth, it was as though they were paying silent homage to the amazing doctor he had been, the amazing man that had been snatched away in tragic circumstances. Now, with the establishment of a worthy memorial, the naming of the Adam Newgreen Memorial Theatre, she knew that it would be a matter of time before the locker was occupied once more. She had not anticipated that it would be so soon. Without warning, a strong familiar memory of Adam, their neighbouring lockers, and a container of cheesy lasagne suddenly flashed through her mind. Her breathing grew laboured, her eyes misty, as once again the finality of Adam's death swept over her again and again. She tried to admonish herself for her unreasonable reaction to something she had known, had accepted, for over a year. As she stood silently, struggling with the pain coursing through her, she became aware of a deep voice, with an unmistakable accent, drifting from the opposite side of the room. Closing her eyes briefly, she steeled herself before turning to see the person she knew had taken Adam's place.

William was oblivious to Elizabeth's penetrating stare as he gazed out the window, deep in conversation with Richard. His first indication of another's presence came from the almost inaudible gasp he heard behind him. He slowly turned his head in time to see a short woman, dressed in scrubs, turning away from where she had obviously been facing him, to open the locker neighbouring his with an almost angry determination. For a brief moment, he was filled with apprehension at the thought that the woman, whoever she was, had heard enough of his conversation with Richard to determine that Dr William Crady was more than just a mere resident cardiologist. With the amount of noise the woman was making, he quickly abandoned the notion that she could have been privy to his earlier conversation without gaining his attention. Her presence now, however, was a reminder that he would need to be more discrete when accepting calls at Memorial. He examined her flushed face for barely a few seconds before her profile was hidden from his gaze behind her open locker door, and silence was restored to the room.

`and she rang the office trying to find a forwarding number,' Richard continued, his voice snapping William to attention. `I take it Caroline has no idea that you're in Australia.'

`No.' William responded curtly.

`Afraid she'll try and follow you down there, hey?' Richard smirked

`Yes'

`What's going on, Fitz?' Richard responded with humour. `From since when does Fitzwilliam Darcy resort to monosyllables?'

Acutely aware of the woman's presence, and the silence that carried his voice easily throughout the room, William slipped easily into French.

`I can't speak freely at the moment Richard,' he replied, with the fluency of his French D'Arcy ancestors. `I'm in the process of preparing myself for a departmental seminar, and a woman has just entered the locker room.'

Richard whistled long and low. `You get to share a locker room with women? You lucky dog! Who is she? Is she beautiful?'

`I don't know or particularly care who she is, Richard.' William replied coolly. `She's in scrubs. Unlike some people who'll chase after anything female, I actually have some standards.'

`And they are way too high!' Richard snorted.

`On the contrary, Richard, it's not my standards that are too high. Your standards are way too low.' William retorted, distracted by the sound of a coughing fit emanating from the direction of the open locker. `I don't know how many Australian women you have met in your life, but so far I haven't found any of the women here to be anything but tolerable at best. And besides, I've told you before, I'm not here to have a love affair.'

`You keep convincing yourself of that, Darcy-boy!' Richard snorted sceptically. `I recommend you drop the French, unless you want them practically swooning at your feet.'

`You're wasting your time and mine.' William replied in English, with palpable coldness. `I need to go. Call me if you have any news.'

As William switched his phone off and approached his open locker, Elizabeth could barely suppress her growing anger. Despite his attempts to mask the meaning of his words, Elizabeth had easily understood the uttered French, and they impressed her with the fullest belief of his arrogance and conceit. Grabbing her clothes and her USB, she slammed the door shut and, with a quick glance in his direction, turned on her heel, leaving behind, in her mind, a pretentious usurper rummaging through the locker of a doctor who had been ten times the man that Dr Crady could ever hope to be.

William observed Elizabeth as she marched out. For a brief moment, he had caught a glimpse of her fine green eyes, glittering with indescribable emotion. For a nanosecond, the expression seemed hauntingly familiar. Rejecting the notion quickly, he grabbed his own jacket and made his way to Meryton's for an afternoon appointment with an espresso and the infamous Dr Bennet.

Twenty minutes later, Elizabeth was not surprised to find that she was the first person to arrive at the Bolte Seminar Room, home of the Memorial Departmental Seminar. Her heart thumped loudly as she turned on the lights, and examined the view of theatre from the stage lectern. As she busied herself loading up her presentation, staff from the hospital catering service slowly filed in, bearing covered platters of sandwiches, pastries and cold appetisers for the customary afternoon tea that would take place after her presentation. As the minutes slowly ticked by, and the room began to fill, Elizabeth's nervousness increased.

`Nervous?'

Elizabeth looked up into the smiling face of Professor Lucas.

`A little,' she replied flippantly.

`Ah, well, you wouldn't be human if the thought of addressing your colleagues for the first time didn't affect you in some small way,' Professor Lucas responded knowingly. `I'll give you a tip to help with the stress….'

`Imagine the crowd naked?' came a familiar voice.

Elizabeth and Professor Lucas snapped their heads towards Charlotte as she ambled leisurely down the aisle.

`Ah, I see the support group has arrived.' Professor Lucas replied dryly. `Elizabeth, don't listen to my daughter. Such reflections could create more trouble than ease I'm afraid.'

`Is that the voice of experience, Dad?' Charlotte enquired teasingly. Her father pointedly ignored her.

`Just speak from the heart, Elizabeth. Believe in yourself and the audience will believe in you.' Professor Lucas patted her arm in his usual fatherly manner. `Oh, and please try and avoid eye contact with that clown of a daughter of mine.'

Professor Lucas grinned in response to Charlotte's declarations of familial oppression. 'As much as I would like to stay, I must speak with Dr Willoughby on a pressing issue. If you would excuse me, ladies.'

`Yes, probably the pressing issue of seducing all available nurses in sight,' Charlotte hissed, as Professor Lucas wandered off towards the tall young man who stood chatting comfortably with one of the new nurses.

`Charlotte! Someone will hear you!' Elizabeth exclaimed.

`As if I care,' Charlotte muttered darkly, sending lethal glares towards the couple.

`Well, if you care about getting a decent seat you had better get moving,' Elizabeth reminded her, as she examined the small laser pointer in her hand.

Forcing her eyes back to her friend, Charlotte smiled encouragingly, and enveloped her in a supporting embrace before quickly departing the stage for a suitable seat. Elizabeth breathed deeply, examining the faces scattered before her with apprehension. She was unperturbed by the fact that he was yet to arrive. He would be there; his planned introduction to the department by Professor Lucas guaranteed his presence. The presentation would be a success in every single way.

It was five minutes before the seminar was scheduled to appear that William finally entered the Bolte Seminar Room, Dr Ferrars and Dr Wentworth in tow. He had espied the two comfortably ensconced at the best table at Meryton's, and they had invited him to join them for coffee. He had readily accepted, only to suffer through a detailed description of the amazing cardiothoracic surgery they had performed. His annoyance had increased at the knowledge that another resident cardiologist had been invited to observe the procedure. He schooled his features lest they betray is irritation, and when both men had politely inquired about the rest of his day, and it took every ounce of his civility to respond cordially.

Their appearance had immediately garnered considerable attention, and William found it amusing that a large proportion of the female staff suddenly found a pressing need to approach Dr Wentworth. William was subsequently introduced to so many new interns, doctors and nurses that he knew that he would never possibly remember their names. Slowly, the three men had made their way to the fifth row of seats. Having finally settled themselves into their preferred seats, Dr Ferrars quickly excused himself, and rushed down towards the stage where a young woman stood examining the lectern. At his approach, she smiled briefly, leaving her position on the stage to descend the steps and join him in the front aisle.

`Elizabeth, you left the theatre before I could speak to you.' Dr Ferrars admonished, wringing his hands nervously. `Didn't any of the nurses tell you to page me?'

`Of course they did, Edward,' Elizabeth replied with a faint smile. `I intended to approach you after the surgery, but I guess I got preoccupied with last minute preparations for the seminar. There is nothing too serious, I hope?'

Dr Ferrars waved away her concern quickly. `No, not at all. There is something that I want to speak to you about, but it can wait until after your presentation. I know your stressed.'

`If it's the fact that Adam's locker has been taken by another doctor, then, I already know.' Elizabeth responded with forced calmness, dropping her eyes briefly. `I saw Dr Crady in the locker room earlier in the afternoon.'

Dr Ferrars sighed loudly, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. `I'm sorry, Lizzy. I wanted to prepare you in advance.'

`I appreciate your sensitivity, Edward.' Elizabeth responded with warmth, touching his arm briefly. `Please, don't make yourself uneasy over it. What's done is done.'

`If I could have convinced him to take a lower locker, I would have,' Dr Ferrars continued earnestly. `But the man is over six foot at least, and Adam's was the only one in the upper rows….'

`Look, it was bound to happen sooner or later,' she interrupted, toying with the pendant around her neck. `I never expected Adam's locker to have been kept vacant for so long. I'll admit I was pleasantly surprised to find it so when I returned, but it wasn't going to remain so forever. Adam left very big shoes to fill, and it's going to take more than his locker being taken by another doctor for us to forget everything he did here at Memorial.'

She smiled to lighten the mood. `Besides, we have the Adam Newgreen Theatre now. Which reminds me, today's surgery was absolutely unbelievable…'

William observed the Dr Ferrars' companion with interest. Her tanned face seemed to possess a coppery glow under the dim lights of the theatre, setting off the delicate features becomingly. She seemed familiar, but he knew that he would have remembered her had they been introduced, as his eyes swept over her curvy form shown to best advantage in a well fitting skirt. He could sense that she spoke energetically, although he could not detect the sound of her muted tones over the buzz of the audience, and he watched he as she frowned momentarily, and toyed with the chain that encircled her slender neck. As if aware of his attentions, she turned, scanning the audience before catching his interested gaze. Upon catching sight of her eyes, William instantly recognised her as the woman in scrubs from the locker room. Arching her brow slightly in response to his stare, she broke away from him gaze, and turned once more to face Dr Ferrars.

`Who is that woman speaking with Dr Ferrars?' William turned to Dr Wentworth.

Dr Wentworth turned his head towards the couple. `That, William, is the lady of the hour,' he replied, nodding in her direction. `Dr Elizabeth Bennet.'

`Dr Elizabeth Bennet,' William repeated the name slowly. He had expected the much-praised Dr Bennet to be a lot older and experienced than the young woman standing before him. The prospect of having his attention engaged by this pretty woman for the remainder of the afternoon suddenly seemed like an interesting prospect. His contemplations were interrupted as Professor Lucas took to the stage. Playing with the lighting, he dimmed the room even further, and coughed hesitantly into the microphone. A lull descended on the audience, and Dr Ferrars, with a parting handshake, quickly made his way to occupy his seat to William's right. Elizabeth sank down into the seat closest to the stage, breathing deeply.

`Ladies and gentlemen, respected colleagues,' Professor Lucas boomed. `It is my great pleasure to welcome you to the Memorial Departmental Seminar, and institution here at Melbourne Memorial. We regret the short notice of Dr Bertram's unavailability this afternoon, and hope that you enjoy the alternate program that we have arranged for you. Today, I have great honour in introducing two members to the Memorial family. As many of you know, Memorial has recently been selected as a testing base for a new clinical trial testing the efficiency of a new ace-inhibitor. The developer of the drug, Darcy Pharmaceuticals, has sent Dr William Crady to supervise the trials for the next six months. He is a resident cardiologist that hails from Derbyshire in England. He obtained his medical degree from Cambridge and for the past three years has been involved in research and development at the Darcy Pharmaceuticals headquarters.'

Professor Lucas peered out into the audience, until he locked his gaze upon William. `I would like everyone to give Dr Crady a warm Memorial welcome. William, could you please stand up?'

William stood briefly, his features tinged with a rosy hue of embarrassment. He accepted the smattering of applause nonchalantly, before hastily sitting down.

`Thank you, Dr Crady. I hope that your time at Memorial is both productive and enjoyable.' Professor Lucas continued. `Secondly, I would like to welcome back our respected colleague and seminar presenter for today, Dr Elizabeth Bennet. For those of us who are unfamiliar with her history, Dr Bennet started at Memorial five years ago to begin her internship as the youngest doctor to have graduated medical school in Australia, aged eighteen. She is a gifted physician who has spent the past year in Africa volunteering for Sans Médecins Frontičres, and has returned to finish her residency in cardiology. Please join me in welcoming Dr Elizabeth Bennet back to Memorial.' At the thunderous applause, Elizabeth rose from the front row, her cheeks pink. She nimbly climbed onto the stage and occupied the now-vacated lectern. She clipped the portable microphone onto the front of her shirt. She breathed deeply.

`Thank you Professor Lucas.' Elizabeth's clear voice rang clearly throughout the auditorium. `It's great to be welcomed back here at Memorial, and a great honour to be sharing my experiences over the past year with you here today. The previous year in Africa has been one of both professional and personal enlightenment. The daily struggles that I personally witnessed on the continent in my role as medical volunteer for the MSF has given me a new appreciation of the amazing medical system existing here in Australia. Before I begin, I would like you, the audience, to check aside all your preconceived expectations of how this seminar will proceed. I want this to be an interactive discussion, and will encourage the sharing of ideas and the posing of questions as the presentation proceeds.'

Low murmurs of surprise swept over the audience at the unconventional approach. William fixed his gaze upon the stage, brow furrowed. Dr Bennets' voice, clear and strong, seemed hauntingly familiar. Elizabeth paused momentarily to allow the noise to dissipate, before clicking on the lectern computer. The image of two women flashed on the giant projector screen above the stage.

`Doctors, your expert opinion is required.' Elizabeth gestured to the screen with the small laser pointer, as she moved to the front of the stage. `Here we have a photo of two Caucasian women, both in their mid thirties. Both live in Melbourne, and both are in desperate need of a lung transplant. A donor lung has become available. Which of the two deserves the donor lung?'

A hand shot up. `Yes, Dr Fischer?'

`The one who is the most compatible should receive the organ.' Dr Fischer replied confidently.

Murmurs of approval echoed out from the audience.

Elizabeth smiled. `As an Immunologist, Dr Fischer, I would expect no other answer from you. But what if both the patients were compatible?'

Another hand was raised. `Dr Kalitsis?'

`You haven't given us enough personal information about each patient.' Dr Kalitsis responded.

`And how would that influence the decision?' Elizabeth prompted.

`Only that the woman whose family and society are impacted the most by her passing should receive the organ,' offered Dr Kalitsis. `One of these woman may be a mother of four, who also happens to be the sole caregiver of her sick mother, whereas the other could be a single woman with no family.'

`Interesting thought,' Elizabeth nodded encouragingly. `But what would you say if I told you that the mother of four was a heavy smoker, and the single woman was not?'

Dr Kalitsis needed little time to give his answer. `Obviously, the woman who is going to adhere to the doctor's post-operative requirements will be given the lung. If the mother of four insists she cannot quit her habit, then it would be pointless to provide her with a set of fresh lungs that will just be abused over time. The single woman should receive the organ.'

`Very insightful, Dr Kalitsis,' Elizabeth agreed, turning to the audience. `As doctors, there are so many decisions that need to be made in deciding to whom precious donor organs are given. Such decisions are made easier by the fact that there will always be one person who is more compatible for an organ than someone else. Let me then change this scenario a little. These two women are both infected with HIV. Which one deserves to be given anti-retroviral treatment?'

Elizabeth nodded at the raised hand before her. `Yes, Dr Elliot?'

`Both women should receive the treatment, if neither woman shows hypersensitivity to the drugs,' Dr Elliot added softly.

`I see,' Elizabeth responded. `What other impediments could possibly exist, apart from hypersensitivity, that could affect both these women receiving treatment.'

After a brief contemplative pause, Dr Ferrars raised his hand.

`There should be no other impediment,' he responded. `The drugs are easily available and are affordable. There is no decision to be made in that regard.'

Elizabeth smiled, cocking her head to the side, as her eyes moved past Dr Ferrars and skimmed over William's face.

`That is a very astute observation, Dr Ferrars,' Elizabeth remarked, moving back to the lectern. `But what if, instead of discussing two Caucasian women living in Melbourne, with access to the best medical services, we changed our setting a little?'

With a tap on the console, the images of four ebony faces replaced the two white ones. Elizabeth slowly moved to the side of the stage.

`I would like to introduce you to four of my patients from Kenya.' Elizabeth declared. She pointed the laser at the first photograph depicting a middle-aged man with downcast eyes and gaunt cheeks. `Patient number one is a 34-year-old Kenyan male, Lahema, who contracted HIV while in heterosexual relationship with his sex-worker wife. She has since died of the disease, leaving him with three children, two of whom are HIV positive. He is the sole breadwinner of the family, and lives with in the Kibera slums of Nairobi.'

She aimed the laser beam at the neighbouring photo of an emaciated scarfed woman, her striking black eyes lowered in shyness.

`Patient number two is Mbeke, a 27-year-old woman who caught the virus from her husband. As is the practise in her remote village, she was `inherited' by her husbands' brother upon her husbands' death. Her brother-in-law regularly engages her in intercourse despite his knowledge of her HIV-positive status. She suspects that he too has the disease and is freely engaging in unprotected sex with other women in the village.'

Elizabeth paused before moving the laser beam onto the third photo, prompting hushed whispers as she focused on the small infants face.

`Patient number three is Thabisa, the three-month-old baby daughter of a drug-addicted mother, who contracted the disease from infected syringes and did not discover she was HIV-positive until after she had passed on the disease to Thabisa and her husband. Thabisa is severely malnourished, and once her father dies, she will be one of the over one million AIDS orphans currently in Kenya.'

The laser beam was moved to the final photo, a young man whose face was marred by a deeply mournful expression.

`Patient number four is Takalani. He is one of nine siblings, all of whom have perished from the AIDS epidemic. He lives with his elderly mother and blind father, alongside his thirty-two orphaned nephews and nieces. He is the sole breadwinner of this extended family, but was diagnosed with HIV a few months after the death of his last brother. He is unable to find work as the local community feels the entire family has been cursed.'

Elizabeth turned to face the audience once more.

`I ask you again, as doctors, to make a decision,' she repeated. `Who would you save? But before you answer that question, keep in mind. Only one of them will be given the opportunity to survive. You are not only choosing who will live. You are also choosing which three are to die.'

At the lengthy pause that ensued, Elizabeth looked straight towards William. Meeting his eye squarely, her next words were slow and deliberate.

`These are the decisions that doctors are making everyday when it comes to the distribution of limited medical aid in Africa,' she said, refusing to break her penetrating stare. `This is the reality. Contrary to popular opinion, there is more going on in Africa than merely visiting quaint little villages and going on safari.'

William blinked hard, dropping his gaze in confusion, as Elizabeth moved back to the lectern with satisfaction. Overwhelming disbelief simmered beneath his mask of impenetrable calm, battling for domination. His recognised his own words spoken back to him. The familiar eyes, the familiar voice, it all suddenly made sense, leading to one impossible conclusion. As much as he loathed admitting it, the girl who had raised his ire from the flight over was none other than his new colleague Dr Elizabeth Bennet. As he gazed at her with new eyes, he searched for any sign that could have betrayed her identity earlier. There were none. Her hair was perfected coiffed, and her clothes accentuated a body that had apparently been swamped in mismatched clothing. When he had asked her for her age, she had retorted that she was twenty-three. William mentally did the maths. Dr Elizabeth graduated medical school five years ago aged eighteen, hence she was twenty-three. William groaned imperceptibly, clenching his fist as he recalled his accusations that day. Naďve, idealistic, ignorant. That was what he had called her. Her voice rang out again, disrupting his reverie.

`Unfortunately, for each of these four people there are a million more facing the same fate. For them there is no Medicare, no Pharmaceuticals Benefit Scheme, no welfare system to provide assistance.' Elizabeth continued, waving her hand about emphatically, as she faced William's direction. `A man I met recently suggested that poverty and foreign debt was to blame for the AIDS crisis in Africa. I ask, how is it possible to create a sustainable economy when the manpower necessary to build that economy itself is unavailable?'

William flinched as she clicked on the console, producing an image of tightly packed mud brick shanties stretching out into the horizon. A young girl, dressed provocatively, peered out from a dusty alleyway.

`Meet the new generation of breadwinners. AIDS has driven a large percentage of Kenya's children into the labour market. It is estimated that there are 3.5 million working children in Kenya today, forced to head their households to take care of their orphaned siblings. They are vulnerable to exploitation and the worst forms of child labour.' Elizabeth focused the laser beam on the young girl. `This is Luul, aged ten. When her parents died, she because the sole provider for her younger siblings. The only work available to her was prostitution. The level of prostitution in Kenya is high, even among girls as young as nine. It has been reported that the rate of HIV infection in girls and young women from fifteen to nineteen years old is about six times as high as that of their male counterparts in the most heavily affected regions.'

Elizabeth paused for dramatic effect. `Not surprisingly, one out of every five Kenyan girls reports that her first sexual experience is coerced or forced. Try convincing her that the state of the economy is to blame for her plight.'

Moving back to the lectern, she clicked the console again. An image of dusty children, with grimy torn clothes and no shoes, filled the screen, each clamouring for prime position in front of the camera, their little hands extended beseechingly towards the unseen photographer.

`These are the orphaned street children that roam the streets of Nairobi, Kenya's capital. They are known as the “chokora” or “scavengers”. Given that many AIDS orphans are out of school, and possess no other means for supporting themselves, the phenomenon of AIDS orphans roaming the streets has become yet another epidemic. The children forage the city's garbage dumps for food and withstand traumatizing abuse from the police and public alike. Many, simply to escape their pain, engage in sniffing glue or other hallucinogenic solvents, which impair judgment and yet again, make them more vulnerable.' Elizabeth paused again, a wry smile tugging at her lips. `Once again, try telling them that the economy is to blame for their plight.'

Elizabeth clicked again. A close-up black and white image of a young teenager staring pensively into the camera covered the screen.

`Adding to the daily battles that sufferers of AIDS and their orphaned offspring face, is the stigmatisation. Many of the uneducated and highly superstitious Kenyans believe that HIV is the result of black magic.' Elizabeth flashed her beam at the young boy, her hand quivering slightly.

`This is Isaiah Gakuyo. He was one of the first patients I met in Kenya. Not two months later, Isaiah was dead.' Elizabeth's voice broke, and, coughing lightly in an attempt to regain her composure, she continued. `Isaiah's uncle stabbed him to death with a pitchfork once the disease had claimed his mother and grandmother and Isaiah's diagnosis was confirmed. His uncle claimed at the trial that his nephew was possessed by evil spirits that needed to be exorcised only through death.'

Elizabeth paused as the audience absorbed her words under Isaiah's watchful gaze.

`Isaiah is the human face of suffering. His is the face of lost hope.' Elizabeth's words, softly spoken, were laced with compassion. `Isaiah is only one of 25 million African AIDS orphans. It's easy to forget the problem, and label it an economic one, when you are studying statistics in a paper. But when you humanize it, that's when it really drives home the urgency of the problem.'

William felt his face flush, and was relieved that the darkness of the auditorium kept his features hidden from view. The horror of the situation, visualised by Elizabeth's clear photos was providing him with a different dimension to a problem he had only ever viewed with the analytical approach of an indifferent bystander. As a top executive, William had spent the past three years travelling extensively through Europe, Asia and the America's to advance his professional agenda. Even his journey to Australia had been orchestrated to feed some personal need. Yet he had never even thought about travelling to Africa, never seriously considered living outside his comfort zone to mingle with the `uncivilised natives' of the harsh continent. And yet he had offered his opinions on the situation so decidedly, so passionately, so…. ignorantly. His offensive had been the best form of defending his company.

'HIV runs a predictable course.' Elizabeth continued, drawing up a flow diagram. `Victims die of opportunistic infections, such as tuberculosis, long before the onset of full-blown AIDS. Tragically, the life expectancy in Kenya is merely forty-six. Only fifty percent of the population will reach the age of forty.'

`That is a shocking statistic, is it not?' Elizabeth queried. `How about this: only seventy thousand of Kenya's estimated 2.2 million people living with HIV are able to afford treatment with anti-retroviral treatments. That is less than 3%. It' s hardly surprising, given that in the past years, thirty-nine foreign drug companies went to court to challenge the African law that allowed the country to buy cheap, generic substitutes for patented AIDS drugs.'

William's discomfort increased, as Elizabeth clicked the console to draw up an image of numerous pill bottles and scattered pills. He breathed deeply as a thorough examination of the photograph failed to reveal the distinctive packaging that characterised Darcy Pharmaceuticals products.

`Many pharmaceutical companies unconditionally dropped the case under pressure from intense governmental and humanitarian lobbying. Many actually slashed the prices of AIDS drug cocktails.' Elizabeth walked across the stage, keeping her eyes fixed on the crowd. `However, despite these price cuts, they remain too expensive for many African countries. In Kenya the minimum wage is less than one dollar a day, and the only solution lies in producing affordable generic versions of the required drugs. Research shows that when there is a generic alternative, there is an 82% drop in price for the drug, compared to the mere 9% drop for drugs with no generic counterpart.'

As a hand was waved in the audience, Elizabeth smiled. `I see someone has remembered that this is an interactive presentation. Yes, Dr Anderson?'

`Dr Bennet, as a researcher in the Alzheimer's laboratories here at the hospital, I know that the time and money spent on research and development is quite substantial. Don't you think that companies have the right to protect the intellectual property through patents?'

`On the contrary, I believe patents are generally necessary to stimulate research and development for new drugs.' Elizabeth replied emphatically. `However, given the extent of the humanitarian crisis, I believe that protecting human life must take precedence over protecting intellectual property.'

`But Dr Bennet, you yourself claim that strong patent protection necessary to stimulate research and development for new drugs.' Dr Anderson persisted eagerly. ' How can this be achieved if you strip companies that have spent hundreds of millions of dollars, of their rights? What inducement do they have to continue research?'

`Excuse my naiveté, but I always thought saving lives was a pretty big inducement.' Elizabeth replied smilingly, as the audience tittered in response. `But in all seriousness, the patent system is only successful in the case of diseases that have a lucrative potential market in the industrialised world. Although pharmaceutical companies argue that their patents must be sacrosanct in developing countries for the sake of research and development the facts are that private sector research and development has long neglected the major killers of the developmental world. This is proven by the fact that there are no paediatric formulations of HIV drugs, because generally, children in the West do not suffer from this disease.'

William listened intently as the debate raged, his rising indignation reminding him that it had been her unfair generalisations regarding the pharmaceutical industry that had resulted in their in-flight altercation. Her words were a contradiction of everything his father had stood for. Raising his hand high, he waited as Elizabeth moved her eyes towards him, a small smirk gracing her lips.

`Dr Crady, you have something to add?'

William nodded slightly. `Dr Bennet, in your estimation the entire pharmaceutical industry is either mercenary or deliberately neglecting the epidemics of the third world. That's a pretty dangerous generalisation, don't you think?'

William was disarmed by her radiance of her sudden smile directed at him.

`Like lamb to a slaughter, Dr Crady.'

`Well, Dr Crady, as Professor Lucas had informed us, you do come to Memorial with an extensive background in pharmaceutical research. Perhaps, with your intimate knowledge of the pharmaceuticals industry, you could provide us with the best answer to that question by answering a few of my own.' Tucking an errant curl behind her ears, she posed her question with feigned ignorance. `Could you inform us, Dr Crady, as to how many drugs your employer has specifically developed in the last thirty years?'

William arched his brow questioningly. `I have only been with Darcy Pharmaceuticals for the last three years, Dr Bennet. Surely, you could not name how many bypasses the cardiology department at Memorial has performed over that same period?'

Elizabeth bowed her head in acknowledgement as the crowd laughed in amusement. As their mirth subsided, she raised her eyes to his once more.

`Dr Crady, surely when a physician decides to follow a career in research and development, he puts a little time into researching his prospective employer.' Elizabeth smiled with feigned sweetness. `At least that is how I know that over three thousand six hundred by-passes have been performed at Memorial since the procedure was established.'

The audience murmured again.

William met her gaze, chin held high. `Over four hundred new drugs have received ethics approval for distribution and production,' he replied with concealed pride.

`Four hundred,' Elizabeth repeated slowly. `That is a large number is it not, Dr Crady?'

`Darcy Pharmaceuticals is one of the largest drug development companies in the world.' William affirmed smugly.

`I see.' Elizabeth's smile was replaced with confused bewilderment. `Dr Crady, could you inform us as to how many of those four hundred drugs were developed specifically to deal with the tropical diseases that are the main killers of the developing world?'

William furrowed his brow, a deep sense of foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach. `I couldn't specifically say.'

`Half perhaps?' Elizabeth prompted. At his silence, she continued. `A quarter perhaps?' William remained silent. `How about ten percent, Dr Crady?'

`I don't have those figures committed to memory, Dr Bennet.' William replied coldly.

`Well, allow me to refresh your memory. Of the more than thirteen hundred drugs developed between 1975-1999 by the world's major drug companies, only thirteen were for the treatment of tropical diseases. That's 1%, Dr Crady. In fact, it has been over 30 years since the last significant tuberculosis drug was developed. The simple truth is, it's not from lack of need, it's due to lack of a lucrative market.'

As his silence stretched out, Elizabeth stoically continued.

`So theoretically, out of your 400 approved drugs, the likelihood is that only 4 have been produced for diseases limited to developed nations.' Elizabeth shook her head in mock sympathy. `It is fortunate for them that an independent, not-for-profit Drugs for Neglected Diseases Initiative aims to develop new, improved and field-relevant drugs for neglected diseases, such as malaria, leishmaniasis, human African trypanosomiasis, and chagas disease. Hopefully such gaping holes in research can be plugged before long.'

William sat silently defeated. He found an unlikely champion in the persistent Dr Anderson, who once again raised his hands.

`Just for the record, from my own personal experience in the industry, I don't believe that all pharmaceutical companies have that mentality, Dr Bennet,' he insisted. `It's only logical that researchers tackle the diseases that are prevalent in their own backyard before they try and save the rest of the world.'

William nodded approvingly. Elizabeth caught his motion and turned to him once again.

`I see Dr Crady and Dr Anderson are in agreement. Well, Dr Crady, I am yet to answer the question you posed earlier. I'm prepared to do that now by sharing a little story with you. Malaria and African sleeping sickness remain the leading causes of morbidity and mortality in Africa. Once upon a time, Novartis Pharmaceuticals discontinued the production of Elfornithine, an effective and safe treatment for malaria and sleeping sickness because it was not considered profitable. Doctors continued to prescribe the drug Melarsoprol instead, despite the fact that it killed one in every twenty patients, and despite the fact it was a derivative of arsenic. Then, two years later, Elfornithine reappeared, remarketed under the new brand name Vaniqa. And do you know why?'

At the ensuing pause, Elizabeth folded her arms over her ample chest.

`Research indicated that it eliminated women's facial hair!' Elizabeth announced dramatically, smiling condescendingly. 'The new cosmetic use triggered re-production, Dr Crady, and not the death of millions of the worlds' poorest people. If that isn't the definition of mercenary and neglectful, then what is?'

She turned pointedly away, as Professor Lucas coughed slightly, but not before delivering her parting barb. `I guess Pharmaceutical companies would rather treat a bald American than a dying African.'

A buzz of voices and laughter erupted throughout the lecture theatre, as Elizabeth returned to the lectern.

Dr Wentworth waved his hand. `Dr Bennet, what solutions are necessary to the African dilemma?'

Elizabeth smiled `Well, there are several…'

For the remainder of the seminar, William sat motionless, his mind in turmoil and his indignation rising. She was clever. She had not once mentioned Darcy Pharmaceuticals but her meaning had been clear. He was barely aware of the concluding comments and the violent bursts of applause that ensued. In the fog surrounding his senses, he could see the many colleagues who approached her with congratulations and hearty handshakes. He was faintly aware of a glass of juice being thrust in his hand as Professor Lucas paraded him around the room, introducing him to several colleagues. His lips moved but his mind wandered over to the accusations, to the statistics that he himself could not deny. If Darcy Pharmaceuticals had produced four drugs to combat tropical diseases, he could not even recall their names. The hypertension meds, chemotherapy drugs and autoimmune steroids he could recall with ease, but just four drugs that had the potential to save millions a year, no.

William was so swept away in his thoughts that he was unaware that Professor Lucas had deftly steered him towards Elizabeth Bennet. The triumph swimming in her green eyes as they locked gazes jolted him. He looked at her grimly.

`Elizabeth, I don't believe you have been properly introduced to Dr Crady.' Professor Lucas said lightly, noticing the rising tension existing between the two doctors.

`Actually, Dr Crady and I have already met, Prof', she responded, her gaze unflinching. `We shared a flight a couple of weeks ago.'

`That's quite a co-incidence!' Professor Lucas mused. `I hope it was a pleasant flight.'

William finally found his voice. `On the contrary, I found the last leg to be quite tiresome.'

Elizabeth's lip curled in smile that did not reach her eyes. `Yes, quite.'

William clenched his jaw. `That was a very poignant speech, Dr Bennet,' he muttered. Turning to Professor Lucas, he raised his brow haughtily. ` Professor Lucas, its quite ironic that a person in such passionate opposition to the pharmaceutical industry could bear to receive her wages from a hospital partly-owned by one. Some might think that is rather hypocritical.'

Elizabeth dropped her gaze as Professor Lucas frowned slightly.

`Actually, Dr Crady, Dr Bennet has instructed our accountants to deposit her wages into the Drugs for Neglected Diseases Initiative,' he answered coolly. `We are proud to have a doctor who is so ready to practise what she preaches. It's a wonderful quality is it not, Dr Crady?'

William remained silent, his face heightened with colour, his hands gripping his glass so tightly. Elizabeth looked past his face, and could see Charlotte gesturing for her attention. She directed a smile towards both men.

`If you excuse me, Professor Lucas, I must speak to Charlotte. Thank you once more for this opportunity, and for your faith in me.' Elizabeth kissed his wrinkled cheek quickly. Turning to William, her smile was decidedly cold. `Dr Crady.'

William breathed deeply, his senses suddenly filled with the sweet scent of vanilla and honeysuckle that emanated from her body. He looked at her, his face blank, as she moved towards the young nurse he had met that morning. She stopped suddenly and swivelled slowly to face him once more. `Dr Crady?'

Her next words, uttered in perfect French, drained his face of all colour.

`I am fully aware that you are a man with high standards. I hope that during the remainder of your stay, you will find everything to be a little more tolerable.'

She turned on her heel and rushed to Charlotte, smiling in satisfaction, as she left a confused Professor Lucas and a stricken Dr William Crady.

Broken Hearts Keep Beating ~ Section V

By Sara M

Beginning, Previous Section, Section V

Jump to new as of April 26, 2007
Jump to new as of August 23, 2007
Jump to new as of September 20, 2007

Chapter Ten: Prescribing Advice

Posted on Thursday, 20 September 2007

`Just try one.' Adam implored, waving the oyster shell beneath her nose.

Elizabeth swiped his hand away, her nose wrinkled in disgust. `I don't care how delicious you say they are. I am not putting one of those disgusting creatures into my mouth'

`Disgusting creatures!' Adam retorted indignantly. `Need I remind you that you were the one who went out and purchased them?'

`But that's because I know how much you like them,' she replied archly. `I couldn't exactly throw you a celebratory dinner without making sure that at least something on the table was one of your favourites.'

Adam smiled his appreciation as he placed the shell to his lips, pointedly ignoring Elizabeth's slight grimace as he slid the oyster into his eager mouth.

`Wrinkle your nose now, but you'll appreciate these little `creatures' later, Lizzy,' Adam fixed his gaze upon her, eyebrow raised suggestively as he placed the empty shell onto the platter in front of him. `You know what they say about oysters!'

`I don't know how a man of sense and education, a man of science no less, can believe such old wives tales.' Elizabeth exclaimed amusedly, rolling her eyes. `Scientifically, you do know that oysters are nothing more than the bottom-dwelling filters of the ocean, don't you? I may as well drink water out of a toilet.'

'Thank you for ruining my appetite,' Adam groaned melodramatically. Elizabeth laughed and his expression instantly transformed to one of pure adoration. Reaching over the table he entwined his fingers with hers. `I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you planned tonight, Lizzy. It means the world to me.'

Elizabeth smiled in response, squeezing his hand lightly. Both sat back contentedly, soaking up the ambiance created by the candles shimmering brightly against the dusky night. Elizabeth had painstakingly threaded tiny fairy lights around the columns surrounding their backyard gazebo, and the gourmet meal spread on the ornately decorated table had been the work of several harassed calls to Lily and Fran. Blessed with a perfect balmy summer night, the overall effect was everything Elizabeth had hoped it to be, intimate, inviting, and memorable.

`I'm just sorry that it's taken us two weeks since your promotion was announced to finally find the time to celebrate,' Elizabeth replied with a sigh.

`It's times like this that I'm so thankful that I married a doctor,' Adam mused, stroking her fingers gently. `Only another doctor could ever appreciate, or accept, the personal sacrifices that come with the job. I'm extremely blessed.'
Elizabeth gazed wistfully at their entwined hands, as the garden crickets burst into chorus.

`I believe that at times like this it's necessary to propose a toast,' she said, raising her flute filled with orange juice delicately towards her husband. `To you, my unbelievably talented husband, on your very well deserved promotion to Chief of Surgery.'

They clinked glasses gently before raising the flute to their lips.

`And I propose a toast to you, my beautiful wife,' Adam added, raising his glass again. At her look of confusion he smiled. `For assisting on your first heart-lung transplant. That's something to celebrate, don't you think?'

Elizabeth waved away his praise nonchalantly, but her shining eyes betrayed her excitement.

`I must admit that it was quite an adrenalin rush.' Elizabeth smiled in recollection. `Although I'm pretty sure that the other residents believe that the only reason I got to assist with the surgery was because I'm married to the boss.'

`A bit of healthy competitiveness in medicine is quite normal, Lizzy. Just look at Wentworth and I. Unfortunately some doctors are spiteful, and will clutch at anything which justifies their feelings of envy,' Adam replied, sipping his drink. `If the other residents put as much effort into their work as they did with their gossip, they might find they receive more opportunities to assist with complex surgeries too.'

`Oh, I'm not worried. Ever since I entered medical school, I've become accustomed to whispers and speculation wherever I go.' Elizabeth replied, arching her brow as she sipped her juice. Placing the flute down, she flashed a brilliant smile towards her husband. 'Besides, this dinner is supposed to be all about you and your accomplishments. How about we discuss your celebratory gift?'

`Discuss?' Adam responded, mystified. `Aren't gifts supposed to be a surprise up until the moment they're given?'

`Ordinary, yes,' Elizabeth nodded in agreement. `But I can't exactly organise this gift without consulting you about it!'

`What exactly is the gift that you have in mind?' Adam asked, his curiosity peaking.

Elizabeth paused to build the anticipation.

`How about we take a break and go somewhere together?' Elizabeth suggested tentatively.

Adam grinned widely.

`I can see why this gift would require some consultation,' he remarked. `Well, as you know I've got quite a bit of leave owing. What exactly were you thinking of? Lorne?'

`Lorne?' Elizabeth echoed indignantly, brow furrowed. `Adam, we can go there anytime. I was thinking of something a little different.'

`Like what? Queensland? Perth?' he suggested.

At her silence, his eyes widened. `Sweetheart, please, tell me you're not thinking of Longbourne.' Adam implored, his eyes pleading. `I'll go anywhere for you, but not Longbourne. You don't know how much your mother terrifies me. I don't think she'll ever forgive me for encouraging you to elope.'

Elizabeth laughed as he sighed helplessly. `I said we need a break, not a punishment,' she giggled. `No, not Longbourne.'

Adam's brow knit in confusion. `Well then?'

`I was thinking something a little more adventurous.' Elizabeth began tentatively, leaning forward in her chair. `Adam, why don't we go overseas? Somewhere far away and exotic? We can take that long delayed honeymoon we promised each other.'

Adam sighed, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. `Honey, I hate to deny you anything, but that's just not possible,' he replied gently. `I've just been promoted to a position with added responsibilities. I just can't take off on an extended break overseas.'

`I'm not saying our trip has to be immediate.' Elizabeth insisted, her face falling. `This is something which we can take our time planning together, maybe for the middle of the year. Imagine, we could escape to the northern summer, avoid winter all together.'

`Lizzy…'

Elizabeth held up her hand to silence his beginning protests. `Adam, you yourself said that you're owed leave. You've taken less than four weeks off in the four years I've known you. That's twelve weeks not counting the long service leave loading,' she calculated nimbly. `As a doctor I perfectly understand how committed you are to your patients, and you know that I share your commitment. But the hospital isn't going to collapse if you take your entitlements.'

`I'm not saying it will,' Adam replied. `Lizzy, as long as we spend time together, it doesn't matter where we are. Look, how about we go to Lorne for a couple of days?'

Elizabeth shrugged in exasperation.

Adam reached for her hand again. `Darling, please, I can't bear the thought of disappointing you,' he whispered gently. `I promise you when the time is right for both of us, I'll take you somewhere extravagant.'

Elizabeth snorted her disbelief, even as she suppressed the small smile that threatened her lips at his penitent expression. `And you'll be kicking and screaming the entire way, I suspect.'

`That's not true!' Adam replied indignantly. `I went to the Australasian Conference in Singapore last year, did I not?'

`Yes, you did,' Elizabeth agreed good-naturedly. `And only because Professor Lucas forced you to go. And you complained the entire time. I have to resign myself to the fact that by the time you finally overcome your fear of travelling we'll be going on our honeymoon as geriatrics.'

`I am not afraid of travelling,' Adam grinned wryly.

`If you say so, darling,' Elizabeth soothed sweetly.

`Lizzy, I've always planned to travel some day.' Adam insisted earnestly. `If you must know, several years ago I had every intention of joining Médecins Sans Frontičres and volunteering my services as a surgeon on the African sub-continent. It was something I had always dreamed of doing, after completing my surgical qualifications.'

`Really? You never told me that!' Elizabeth exclaimed in surprise. `You would have been a wonderful asset to them. What stopped you from fulfilling that dream?'

`I fell in love,' Adam smiled tenderly, his eyes fixed on hers. 'She was a beautiful young intern fresh out of medical school, with bewitching eyes and an amazing spirit. And by some miraculous stroke of luck, she somehow reciprocated the feeling.'

Elizabeth's face was flushed, her eyes shining.

`She was so precious to me that I knew that I couldn't leave the country without her firmly by my side.' Adam continued, voice low, the candlelight dancing on his face. `Even if she consented to join me, I knew that the MSF couldn't guarantee that we would end up on the same assignment, let alone the same continent.'

`So you gave up your dream?' Elizabeth whispered softly, deeply touched. `For me?'

`Don't you understand, Lizzy?' Adam moved closer, touching her face with his slender fingers. `Dreams come. Dreams fade. Dreams change. But love, our love? I know without a shadow of a doubt that our love is going to lasts forever.'

At that moment, as his face inched closer towards hers, eyes darkened in passion, Elizabeth knew there was no greater truth than the love that enveloped them in their own private cocoon.

Although the Departmental Seminars' official proceedings had ended late in the afternoon, it was late evening by the time Elizabeth finally returned home. She felt lighter than she had for a long time, cruising on a wave of adrenalin, buoyed by the unanimous admiration of her peers, basking in the success of her well-delivered presentation. Charlotte had insisted upon taking Elizabeth to dinner in celebration of her successful debut on the Seminar circuit, and she had happily obliged, especially when her favourite Thai food was on offer. With leisurely speed, the dishes piled high with spring rolls, satay sticks and samosa were stripped of their contents, as Charlotte relayed the many comments and snippets of praise that she had heard from the audience throughout the presentation.

`I'm impressed with the way you interacted with Dr Crady during the presentation,' Charlotte said. `I'm glad to admit that I was wrong in my earlier assumptions.'

`And what would they have been?' Elizabeth asked smilingly.

`It doesn't matter what they were because you certainly didn't fulfil them,' Charlotte teased. `You were very masterful, Lizzy. With the exception of Crady, yourself and I, no one else in that theatre would have had a clue that there was another meaning to your presentation.'

`Well, Crady left me in no doubt that he definitely understood what I was saying.' Elizabeth replied, arching her brow in emphasis.

`It was pretty audacious of him to say what he did to Dad,' Charlotte replied in agreement.

`Char, I don't want to waste my time thinking of Crady any longer,' Elizabeth sighed, leaning contentedly into her seat. `I just wanted to teach him that there are two sides to a pancake, no matter how thinly you spread the batter. Crady is entitled to his opinion. It's true that I would much rather those opinions were based on well-informed facts, but that is his right, as long as he doesn't disparage those who hold an alternate view.'

`Speaking of pancakes, are you down for a double at Il Ciccio's?' Charlotte suggested.

Elizabeth rubbed her stomach as she entered the darkness of her bedroom. Throwing herself on the bed, she closed her eyes briefly, absorbing the silence surrounding her. She felt slightly unsettled by the realisation that there would be no Charlotte snoring in the room down the hall, and that for the first time she would spend the night alone in their house. Charlotte had headed straight to her parents' house after dinner; Lily was hosting a morning tea for her Tuesday morning tennis team, and had pleaded with Charlotte for assistance. Mumbling her unhappiness at how co-incidental it was that her mother's morning tea was planned on her rostered day off, Charlotte had begrudgingly agreed to spend the night in her old bedroom in preparation for an early rise in the morning.

Elizabeth sighed deeply, as she grabbed one of the pillows and hugged it to her chest, eyes glassy and unfocused. Dinner with Charlotte had been wonderful, but it didn't compare to the comfort of a strong pair of familiar arms enveloping her in a congratulatory hug, or an encouraging smile fixed on a masculine face filled with pride. Today had been a milestone in her career, and even now, despite the passing sands of time and the gulf between the living and the dead, she found herself wanting to share her moment of glory with Adam, to bask in his praise, to share his opinions, which for so long had helped shape her own.

Examining the clock on her bedside table, Elizabeth heaved herself off the bed and slowly began undressing. She pulled the pins from her hair, and shook her head to release the curly mane, sighing as she ran her hand through her scalp to the tips of the curls cascading down her back. Pulling on her Bugs Bunny flannelette pyjamas she peered at herself pensively in the mirror, thankful that the image peering back reflected only the youthful physical outer shell and not the troubled inner spirit touched by melancholy, tragedy and premature adulthood. But today, the eyes shined a little bit brighter, the brow was a little less furrowed. She turned her face to the left, then the right, and the shallow words of Dr Crady voicing his obnoxious opinions about Australian women suddenly echoing in her head, filling her with anger. The arrogant, presumptuous…. She shook her head slightly to dispel the angry thoughts, determined not to waste one moment reflecting on anything the man had to say. Striding to the kitchen, she busied herself making a mug of warm cocoa before settling back onto her bed, cordless phone in hand.

At eleven pm, when she had deemed it sufficiently late enough to presume that Jane had returned home from work, Elizabeth punched in her sisters' number, chewing her lip impatiently as the phone rang and rang. Her anxiety increasing exponentially with every unanswered peal, and she was ready to assume the worst when her sister's breathless voice answered in hasty greeting.

`You had me worried half to death,' scolded Elizabeth, relief coursing through her body.

`I'm sorry, I just got in!' Jane replied apologetically. `Traffic was horrible, and I needed to get some things from the supermarket. Did Charlotte tell you I called yesterday?'

Elizabeth eased herself into her pillows. `Of course she did! Sorry I couldn't call you back until now. It would have been too late to return the call when my shift ended this morning, and I was busy with the Seminar this afternoon.'

`Oh Lizzy, did your presentation go well?' Jane asked, with an excitement stemming from sisterly affection.

`Jane, it went really well.' Elizabeth replied happily. `I think I managed to convince the few remaining critics out at Memorial that I'm not a mutated double-headed impostor in their midst.'

Jane giggled. `I had absolutely no doubt that you would blow them away, especially if you included some of those heart-wrenching photos you took in Kenya. They truly do paint a thousand words, you know.'

Elizabeth took a sip of her cocoa. `They do. But enough talk about me. How are things with you? I was initially worried that something was wrong when Charlotte told me you rang last night, and when you didn't answer straight away I was about the presume the worst. Is everything alright?'

`No, no everything is fine,' Jane reassured quickly, pausing briefly. `It wasn't anything serious anyway.'

Elizabeth placed her mug on the bedside table. `Are you sure about that? You sound like you have something on your mind.'

A long pause ensued before Jane released a shaky breath.

`Lizzy, how is it that you could always read me like a book?' she whispered softly. `Am I only that transparent to you?'

`Jane, what's happened?' Elizabeth demanded, gripping the phone tightly.

A second long pause had Elizabeth on the verge of fear.

`It's…. it's Charles.' Jane replied, sniffing suspiciously.

`You're crying!' Elizabeth exclaimed, slamming down the mug hastily. `What did he do? Did he hurt you? I swear….'

`No, no,' Jane interrupted, sniffling repeatedly. `Lizzy, it's nothing like that. Don't presume the worst.'

`Then please explain it to me Jane. What has Charles done to make you cry?' Elizabeth muttered through clenched teeth.

Jane sighed deeply. `These aren't sad tears, Lizzy. I'm emotional because I'm just so happy!'

`Happy?' Elizabeth replied impatiently. `Start right at the beginning.'

`Lizzy, ever since our talk at Longbourne I've tried to be rational and objective in my relationship with Charles.' Jane began tentatively. `I want you to know that I truly treasure the advice that you gave me that day. The day I left, I promised myself that I would take things slowly, so that I wouldn't rush into something that I would regret later. And Lizzy, it's so hard. Some days its easier to keep my resolve, other days I just want to throw caution to the wind, come what may.'

She paused again, evidently struggling to find the right words.

`Lizzy, I want to be with him. Of that I am certain. But then I remember that he's leaving in a couple of weeks….' Jane's voice trailed off into a whisper. `I feel like I'm stuck on the edge of a precipice. I want to protect my heart, but at the same time I don't want to live with the regret of allowing something wonderful to pass me by just because I was too reticent with my feelings.'

`What is this about, Jane? Is he pressuring you to sleep with him?' Elizabeth asked gently.

`No! Lizzy, he knows and respects my views of that subject.' Jane retorted emphatically. `I'm not naive enough to think that he hasn't been sexually active in previous relationships. But since that night when he first learned I was a virgin, and despite the frustration I know he is feeling, Charles has been nothing less than a perfect gentleman.'

`Then what is the problem?' Elizabeth probed.

`Yesterday, we had dinner and then we came back to my place and watched some Seinfeld repeats.' Jane continued, sighing deeply. `Lizzy, it was such a wonderful night. I made some good old-fashioned popcorn, and we spent the whole time laughing and recalling our own favourite Seinfeld moments. Then Charles started telling me all these lame blonde jokes. For some reason there was just something too funny about two blondes spending their evening comparing their repertoire of blonde jokes.'

Jane chuckled to herself in remembrance. Elizabeth rolled her eyes, a slight smile playing on her lips. `And?'

`Well, we were both laughing so hard at the ridiculousness of it all, when he suddenly grabbed me and started tickling me on the sofa,' Jane continued. `You know how ticklish I am, and how I start to hiccup when I laugh too much. Somehow, I found myself lying beneath him, and he was gazing at me with this gorgeous smile on his face. He stopped tickling me, looked down on me and said that I had a beautiful laugh. That it was one of the things that had made him fall in love with me.'

Elizabeth sucked in her breath. `He said he was in love with you?'

`Lizzy, I was in shock.' Jane replied, her words rushed. `I knew how I felt about him in my heart, but I was a little unsure as to how he truly felt for me. I knew he cared a lot, but to actually say that he loved me….'

Jane paused and Elizabeth remained silent, remembering a time long ago when a similar declaration had been made and shared.

`I was speechless, Lizzy. I don't know why I didn't immediately reciprocate, but I was so caught in the shock of his words, and before I knew it he was kissing me.' Jane sighed audibly. `Lizzy, the kiss… it that was so sweet and tender. I don't know how I found the strength to leave his arms on that sofa, but somehow I found the way to do so before things escalated out of control. It felt so right, so beautiful, being with him like that. Like I was moulded to fit into his arms.'

`I don't know what to say.' Elizabeth responded quietly.

`I know how I feel about him, but I couldn't put it into words yet. I couldn't say that I loved him too. I don't know why I am allowing this fear to consume me.'

Elizabeth knotted her brows. `What fear, Janey?'

`The fear of breaking my heart.' Jane responded, voice trembling. `The fear of allowing myself to be happy only to have it snatched away from me.'

`I encouraged you to be cautious, not pessimistic.' Elizabeth remarked. `Why are you so afraid?'.

`Well, you must admit that the Bennet women haven't exactly been lucky in love,' Jane retorted, and then gasped in mortification. `I'm so sorry, Lizzy, I didn't mean it like that.'

`I understand what you mean.' Elizabeth replied quietly. `And I wish I could guarantee that you'll never have to experience what Mum and I have had to, but I can't. Life doesn't come with any guarantees.'

`I know,' Jane whispered shakily.

`Then don't allow what happened with Adam and Dad affect the decisions you make in your life,' Elizabeth replied. It's enough that they haunt mine.

`I'm not,' Jane blurted, and then burst into tears. `I don't know why I'm being so hesitant. Why I can't show more of what I'm feeling? I'm afraid that this hesitancy is already giving him doubts'

`Why do you say that?'

`After he kissed me, he just help both my hands in his. It was exquisite the way he rubbed his thumbs over the palms of my hands, and we were both relishing the moment.' Jane sighed audibly. `But I'm afraid that my hesitancy has given him reason to doubt the way I feel about him. The entire time he was holding my hands, he looked like something was troubling him, like he had something on his mind. Several times he looked as though he wanted to ask me something, but something would stop him.'

Don't you think that maybe you're over-exaggerating Jane?' Elizabeth asked.

`I don't know. I'm so confused at the moment.' Jane retorted in exasperation. `He told me that he might need to go interstate later in the week. I mean, he only has two weeks left here in Australia, and he's decided to spend some of that time away from me. How am I supposed to interpret that? How can he tell me he loves me, and then chose to spend time away from me when our time together is so precious at the moment?'

`Jane, I think you both need to sit down and discuss where this relationship is going.' Elizabeth stressed. `There are some very deep feelings involved and a lot of potential for misunderstandings. Both of you could end up hurt.'

`But I don't want him to think that I'm pressuring him into something that he isn't ready for.' Jane said hesitantly. `Did you know that he was named the UK's Bachelor of the Year last year? Do you have any idea as to the number of beautiful and confident women that have thrown themselves at him? He's gone through life being hunted by women and I don't want him to feel like that with me.'

`Well what are you going to do? Are you going to drive him to the airport in two weeks time, kiss him on the cheek and wave goodbye to him forever? I know you don't want that.' Elizabeth retorted emphatically. `Talk to him, a serious talk, on where he sees this relationship going. Believe me, it will be much better that imagining the worst and living with uncertainty.'

`I know,' Jane replied softly. `I know you're right.'

`Of course I'm right,' Elizabeth echoed. `And by serious discussion, I mean nothing pre-empted with `Two blondes walk into a bar'.'

Jane giggled in remembrance. `They really were the lamest jokes I've ever heard.'

`Worse than the golden standard of lameness `what's brown and sticky?' Elizabeth enquired laughingly, settling deeper into the pillows.

`Not quite, but close to it,' Jane laughed, her good humour restored. `This one was particularly bad: there's a blonde, a brunette and a redhead….'

Charles Bingley was temporarily put aside in the mind of at least one Bennet sister, as the remainder of Elizabeth's night was filled with such humour, cringing and laughter that it became easy to conveniently forget that she was home alone.

There was no such mirth across the bay in Beacons Cove, no lightness of spirit to chase away the darkness that had descended upon the sole occupant of the spacious beachfront apartment. William sat silently, the room illuminated by the radiance of the silvery moon, unobstructed by clouds, and the glowing light of the laptop monitor that rested upon the pristine dining room table. Semi-reclined into the plush sofa, his eyes were fixed in an unfocused stare, his jaw clenched as tightly as the fist that encircled the tumbler of scotch that rested on his lap. Were it not for the occasional raising of the tumbler to his lips, William could have easily been mistaken for the wax double on display at Madame Tussade's.

Despite the calm exterior, William's mind was still buzzing with the events of the day, specifically the scenes that had played out during and after the Departmental Seminar. His mind had played back the events like a slideshow on continuous loop, souring his mood with every minute of reflection, and robbing him of his already weak appetite for the sushi he had half-heartedly purchased on the way home. He had fled the hospital as soon as humanly possible, preferring the solitude of the apartment to the empty pleasantries of colleagues who were, after all, mere strangers. The sushi sat unopened on the living room table, failing to entice him in the same way that the stocked bar seemed able to do. A couple of drinks later, and he had sat down at the dining room table, laptop opened, typing away furiously, searching for the evidence that would exonerate Darcy Pharmaceuticals from the accusations levelled at it's doors. Denial, often recognised as the first stage of emotional shock, had set in, and William allowed himself to ride on its wave like a seasoned surfer.

Logging into the Darcy Pharmaceuticals intranet had been easy enough, his codes delivering instant access with the highest levels of security clearance. Finding the information he was seeking presented a harder challenge; a comprehensive list of all the drugs that Darcy Pharmaceuticals had produced since his fathers' tenure as CEO. He had searched through file after file of research patents, ethics applications and trial data before firing off an urgent email to his personal assistant Sandra, requesting immediate information. A second email, to the head of the Legal division, followed the first, and the wait began. As the time ticked by with excruciating slowness, William transitioned into the second stage of emotional shock: anger. Anger that he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, had been made to feel the fool by a woman barely through the first stages of adulthood, and she had done it in such a way that, had he not borne the brunt of it, would have impressed him with her eloquence and cunning. Anger that she continued to unjustly label his company as a mercenary profit-seeking conglomerate with no regard for human life. Most of all he was angry with himself, because he, in an uncharacteristic act of charity, had deigned to offer her paracetamol for her bloody headache.

Twenty minutes later, the chiming of his inbox heralded the long-awaited arrival of the answers that he sought to exonerate both Darcy Pharmaceuticals and his father from Dr Bennets' unjust generalisations. Greedily perusing the list of drugs, his expression, initially hopeful, had transformed into one that indicated his growing moroseness as he found himself inwardly praying for the letters appearing on his screen to morph into a more pleasing arrangement of words, pledging to reduce the price of any drug Darcy Pharmaceuticals had developed for the Third Word if only he could determine their existence. Welcome stage three: bargaining. The words he craved to see upon his screen did not materialise, and the second email, received shortly after the second, delivered worse news. Darcy Pharmaceuticals was suing two Indian companies producing generic HIV drugs, for breach of patent law. Rising to generously refill his tumbler, he threw himself onto the sofa, an undeniable truth nagging at his conscience. Dr Elizabeth Bennet had been generous in her assumption that Darcy Pharmaceuticals had likely produced only four drugs out of four hundred, over the period of his fathers' reign, for diseases specifically affecting the developed world. Indeed, his painstaking examination of the list revealed evidence of only one such drug, an attempted anti-malarial vaccine that had failed the Phase I testing, resulting in the discontinuation of further research, some twenty years previously. By this time, William was deep into stage four: depression.

The majority of the drugs developed during his father's reign were directed at cancers and autoimmune diseases. He couldn't fault his fathers' motivation. He knew that deep down, George Darcy's passionate crusade against these diseases had stemmed from the grief he had suffered at the hands of the cancer that had claimed his beloved wife and left his children motherless. Indeed, had not he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, done exactly the same thing? Since taking control of Darcy Pharmaceuticals he had waged a similar battle, steering the company into the development of cardiac drugs. Regardless of the profitability such drugs presented to the company, had it not been more infinitely satisfying knowing that under his direction other sons and daughters might be prevented from experiencing the pain that he and Georgiana had felt when their father had died? No, William concluded, moving into the final stage of emotional shock: acceptance. George Darcy, the philanthropic businessman and loving father, would never have deliberately neglected producing drugs that specifically treated developing world diseases, any more than he, a doctor, would. With neither a scientific or medical background, his father would have relied upon Darcy Pharmaceuticals' advisors when it came to research and development. But the lawsuits! As CEO, how could he himself possibly be ignorant of those proceedings…

The ringing of his phone interrupted his reverie. Glancing down, a slight distracted smile tugged at his lips as his eye alighted upon the name that flashed impatiently across the screen.

`Charles Bingley.' William greeted warmly.

`Darce, mate.' Charles responded lightly. `Or should I be calling you Crady now?'

William chuckled half-heartedly. Within days of his arrival in Melbourne, William had contacted Charles to inform him of his plans in Australia, with strict instructions not to divulge the information to anyone, especially Caroline. Charles' first reaction was delighted incredulousness that his dearest friend was but a small flight away, and smug satisfaction that the great Fitzwilliam Darcy had finally taken his impulsive advice. Although he initially contemplated not divulging the true nature of his visit to his friend, William quickly decided that Charles would keep his secret. Indeed, William reasoned, if anyone could understand the driving force behind his decision, it was Charles Bingley. Charles himself had eagerly jumped at the opportunity to run the Netherfield Tower projects in Perth, motivated primarily by his desire to escape his overbearing mother and tyrannical father. Since those first initial phone conversations with Charles, an opportunity to properly catch up had been temporarily shelved due to Charles' deadline on the Netherfield Towers project, and Williams' own preparations for Memorial.

`I guess the more people calling me Crady the sooner I will become accustomed to it.' William replied, swishing the amber fluid within the tumbler in a circular motion. `I'm afraid that someone will call my name and I'll just walk straight by.'

`Well, I'm not surprised that you would chose an anagram of your surname,' Charles added. `Even your attempts at deception are tinged by principle.'

William frowned, and shifted slightly in his seat. `I'm not proud that I had to resort to that deception, Charles.'

`I know you aren't Darce….I mean, Crady' Charles soothed. `But I wonder if you've given any thought to how your colleagues are going to feel once your real identity becomes known.'

`That, Charles, is not going to happen,' William responded confidently. `I'm in Australia to do a job, and then I'm out of here. I'm not intending to form social relationships, or lasting friendships. This is all business for me. Believe me, when I leave, there will be nobody to lament my departure. On the contrary, some may even rejoice.'

William's mind flashed back to a pair of flashing green eyes and a well-timed French barb, his face burning in shameful remembrance.

`I'm sure the male staff will be glad to see Dr Hotloins go,' Charles surmised, laughing. `So do they have you on a tight schedule?'

`Actually, I'm pretty useless at the moment. All new personnel have to go through a mountain of occupational health and safety standard protocols.' William replied, his frustration evident. `I feel like a bloody intern on his first day at the hospital, except that the interns had more patient contact today than I did. So much for residents outranking interns.'

`So your not on nights yet?' Charles probed. `Not working the weekend?'

William sighed. `No. I'm pretty much waiting for ethics approval to begin the bulk of my work, and I'll be in training the entire week before they allow me to touch the patients.'

`Great.' Charles boomed. `I hope I'm not going to inconvenience you Darce, but I desperately need to see to you. I'm coming down Saturday morning.'

`That's great Charles.' William replied in surprise. `Dare I ask to what do I owe this expected pleasure?'

`We haven't seen each other for almost 6 months Darce,' Charles replied evasively. `I'm leaving in a fortnight and you are staying here for another 6 months. I think it would be a good opportunity while we are on the same continent to have a proper catch-up.'

`Believe me, I'm not complaining Charles,' William assured his friend. `I look forward to seeing you again. How long will you be down for?'

`Perhaps a couple of days, I'm not sure yet,' Charles replied. `Maybe you can show me around the place, now that you're a seasoned Melburnian.'

William laughed. `Hardly! I've been at the mercy of my chauffer the past week, so haven't had much opportunity to explore. I collect my lease car on Wednesday, so I'll finally have greater freedom of movement.'

`Fantastic, so you can pick me up from the airport then?' Charles replied cheerfully. `It'll be just like old times, before my sister set her sights on you.'

`Do you think you can do me a favour and not mention the c-word while you're here?' William retorted, a scowl marring his handsome features.

`No problems, Dr Crady.' Charles replied compliantly. Promising to contact him later in the week with an estimated arrival time, the call ended.

William smiled to himself, as he stretched himself up off the couch and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the bay. It would be good to see Charles again, to renew a friendship that had inadvertently suffered as a result of circumstances that had arisen since his father's death. His father. Sighing deeply, William moved slowly to the laptop. Casting a cursory glance at the document fixed on the screen, William set his jaw, leaned forward and deliberately pressed the off button. He fervently hoped that the morrow would not throw him into the presence of Dr Elizabeth Bennet.

Having used the Departmental Seminar as the means through which she hoped she could humble the new doctor over his presumptuous opinions and indifferent attitude, Elizabeth shared a similar desire to spend as little time in his company as possible. It was abundantly clear that Dr Crady disapproved of her and resented the means through which she had attempted to enlighten him; his attempt to paint her the hypocrite in the eyes of Professor Lucas was evidence of that. Elizabeth, happily, was spared the necessity of interacting with the new resident throughout the remainder of the week, for his first week coincided with the beginning of her paediatric cardiology rotation. With the children's wing housed in the east wing of the hospital, Elizabeth only had to dread the likelihood of bumping into Dr Crady at the staff locker room or the cafeteria. Providence seemed to be smiling upon her, for these potentially tense meetings were pleasantly avoided, and Elizabeth was free to approach her week in the children's wing with optimism unhindered by distractions.

In her early years of medical school, Elizabeth had been uncertain as to which specialty she should pursue: cardiology or paediatrics. One of her less politically correct professors had suggested that female doctors were drawn to paediatrics or obstetrics because it suited their maternal natures. She had reflected on his words after the first time she had entered into a neonatal intensive care unit and found herself oohhing and aahhing at the sight of the helpless tiny newborns. Although fascinated by the workings of the human heart, she had enjoyed her the time spent in the paediatric wards during her intern rotations. It amazed her how these children could maintain their optimism and cheerfulness in the face of serious disease and suffering. The tremulous smiles on pale faces had tugged at her heart, even as the lure of cardiology had stimulated her professionally. The decision was made in her fifth year, when she learnt that the young cancer patient she had been monitoring throughout her rotation had passed away overnight. Although she understood that life and death was a natural cycle, she knew that witnessing the death of children, and the accompanying loss of youth and innocence, would be more than she could bear. Cardiology would always be her forte, but spending time in the paediatric cardiology ward was an easy way to combine her two professional passions.

She was in the Clown Doctor's room, smiling as the clowns, decked in scrubs and brightly coloured wigs, made animals out of balloons and painted little faces. For an hour they danced and entertained, and for an hour the children were not defined by their diseases, or the nature of their symptoms, but were united in fun and laughter. The Clown Doctors had been an institution at Memorial almost as old as the Departmental Seminar, proving that although laughter was not the best medicine, it did go a long way towards healing the emotional and psychological wounds that often remained untreated in the war against their physical ailments. Elizabeth picked a long strand of silly string from her hair, and glancing at her clock as the rehearsed routine of the clowns came to its conclusion, she signalled the nurses to return the children back to their respective wards. As the clowns gaily ushered them out with the hypnotic power of the piped piper, Elizabeth sighed as she looked around at the disarray that remained, a smile playing upon her lips.

Slowly, shuffling through the balloons and confetti that littered the floor, she moved towards the grand piano nestled in the corner of the room. The clowns often entertained the children with silly songs, and the polished instrument had witnessed the laughter of hundreds of children singing along to its tune. Sitting down silently at the piano bench, she stared at the black and white keys, her mind occupied. Gingerly she reached out and touched the surface of the ivory keys, softly, hesitantly, her eyes fluttering shut.

`So this is where you hide?'

Eyes flying open, Elizabeth whirled round to face Dr Wentworth as he stood casually against the doorframe. She grinned awkwardly.

`You do realise that now I have to kill you?' Elizabeth responded lightly. `I can't have this quiet space invaded by doctors.'

Dr Wentworth slowly ambled into the room, taking in the mess with raised eyebrows.

`It looks like I just missed the next World War,' he deadpanned. Moving towards Elizabeth, he nodded at the piano. `Do you play?'

Elizabeth shrugged nonchalantly. `I used to, a long time ago. I'm afraid I've forgotten the essentials.'

Dr Wentworth made to sit down next to her on the piano bench, and she charitably scooted across the accommodate him.

`It's a shame. Playing the piano is a wonderful accomplishment.' Rick said distractedly as he pressed down on one of the keys. The rich sound of the note reverberated across the room, and a small grin graced his lips. `This is a beautiful instrument.'

He pressed the key again. He stared ahead, absorbing the sound, his eyes slightly glazed.

`The first time I met Anne was over eight years ago, the last medical soiree before graduation.' Elizabeth's eyes widened, as the suddenness of the words as they left the lips of the notoriously private cardiologist. He seemed unaware of her surprise. ` She was sitting at the piano, dressed in blue velvet, accompanying the choral. She was so beautiful, a little slip of a woman with large eyes, even back then. Her fingers flew over the keyboard with such mastery that I was instantly mesmerised, both with her and her music.'

Reality intruded in on his reverie, and Rick blinked in awareness. Coughing lightly, he darted a quick glance towards Elizabeth before studiously focusing his gaze upon the keys. `You know, Elizabeth, the ability of human beings to associate memories with sights, smells and sounds is extraordinary. In the years that we were apart, I could never hear anything played on the piano without being transported back to that time. And at the time, I never experienced anything else that gave me equal measure of pleasure and pain.'

Elizabeth gazed at him in understanding. `And now you're engaged to be married. There is a happily ever after for the both of you, after all.'

`It can't happen soon enough, Lizzy. Eight years is a very long time.' Rick replied, a smile gracing his lips before being replace with a slight scowl. `Unfortunately, her father wants a big wedding, an opportunity to walk his daughter down the aisle, he says. I swear to God the pompous narcissist thinks this is his opportunity to be in the limelight. He doesn't give a damn about his daughter.'

`You could always elope,' Elizabeth suggested lightly, pressing a key distractedly.

`God knows, that would be the best solution to our problems.' Rick sighed deeply. `I don't care about the expense of throwing a fancy wedding, but I do care about the waste of time.'

Elizabeth nodded in understanding, her memory triggered. She turned to face him, a smile schooled onto her face.

`Your time must be pretty precious at the moment,' she said with meaning. `Please forgive me, Rick. Although I heard the news when I first returned, I never got the opportunity to congratulate you over your appointment to Chief of Surgery. Congratulations.'

A blush crept across Rick's neck, and he cleared his throat in a hasty cough.

`Ah, yes, well…'

Elizabeth placed her hand on his arm in reassurance. `It's okay, Rick.'

Wentworth glanced at her briefly, and nodded his head slowly.

`I'm not sure how much Adam told you about our rivalry,' he said suddenly. Elizabeth nodded in understanding. Even if he hadn't, she would have learnt of it from their competitive interaction. `As residents our rivalry was legendary. We competed for everything professionally, the most difficult procedures, authorship on papers, and the best cases. It was intense, but it was a healthy rivalry between two men that above everything respected one another. You know what I mean?'

Elizabeth nodded silently.

`Although I was disappointed to miss out on Chief of Surgery two years ago, deep down I knew that Professor Lucas had made the right decision when he promoted Adam to the position.' Wentworth continued. `In addition to his skills, Adam just had this amazing fire in him….'

Rick paused and cast her a quick look before he pressed another of the ivory keys.

`Knowing that my promotion to Chief of Surgery was only made possible by his death brings me little joy Elizabeth,' he concluded lightly, shifting in his seat. `I'm sure you agree with me in that regard, but I thank you anyway for your gracious congratulations.'

Rick got up nimbly and strode to the window. His back towards her, he cleared his throat.

`You remember Monday's patient, the one with the tumour? All tests confirm that the tumour was a primary carcinoma. Do you have any idea how extremely rare that is?' Wentworth queried, his tone professional. `In all my years as a surgeon, any cardiac tumours I've witnessed have all been secondary.'

`She has a long road to recovery ahead of her.' Elizabeth noted from her position on the piano.

Wentworth nodded briefly. `She does. She's young, and we caught it relatively early. I'm optimistic that the tumour hasn't metastasised, but it's still going to be a difficult time for her.'

At her silence, Wentworth turned to face her.

`Elizabeth, how would you feel about co-authoring a paper with me on this case?'

Elizabeth's eyes, and she was momentarily struck dumb with surprise. `You want me to co-author a journal article?'

Wentworth nodded. `I do. I think it's a wonderful opportunity for you to get published in one of the cardiology periodicals.'

`But I didn't do anything, other than observe.' Elizabeth exclaimed. `I'm sure Edward Ferrars has more right to co-author on this case than I do. He assisted, I watched.'

`Dr Ferrars has numerous papers to his name, Elizabeth, some of them in very prestigious journals.' Wentworth replied smoothly. `And, unfortunately, the last thing his family would appreciate right now is him spending more time on work commitments.'

Elizabeth knew that `family' was limited primarily to `fiancée'. Evidently, she hadn't been the only colleague to whom Dr Ferrars had unburdened his personal woes.

`It's not that I wouldn't love to co-author a paper with the Chief of Surgery,' Elizabeth replied hesitantly. `I just don't want the other residents thinking that I'm getting preferential treatment. First the Departmental Seminar, now this…'

Wentworth waved away her concerns brusquely.

`Elizabeth, don't you think that the other residents have had ample opportunity to submit papers in the year you were away?' he assured her. `They have. It's hospital policy to encourage residents to publish during their residency.'

Elizabeth chewed her lip nervously.

`Believe me, Elizabeth, there is nothing preferential about this offer.' Wentworth stressed firmly. `The only difference is that this case comes at a particularly good time, with the Lorne Cardiology conference coming up early next month.'

`How so?'

`Well, naturally, as is the norm with our most novel cases, the Department would want one of the authors to present the case as a poster during the conference.' Wentworth explained. `Obviously, due to my increased personal and professional commitments, I will be unable to attend this year, and will rely upon you to be there on my behalf.'

`I hadn't intended on attending this year.' Elizabeth replied, brow furrowed in consternation. `I mean, I've only just come back from Africa. I don't think the hospital would look too kindly on its wayward resident taking more time off.'

`I've already taken the liberty of speaking with Professor Lucas, Elizabeth, and if you were to accept he'll have no hesitation in granting you leave,' came the reply. `After all, it's not as though you took the last year off to spend time tanning on some tropical island.'

Elizabeth stared mutely ahead.

`Why don't you take some time and think about it?' Wentworth added. `Go to the conference website, and look up the schedule of speakers. Who knows, maybe you'll find something that attracts you, and motivates you to attend. Just don't take too long coming to a decision.'

Wentworth's beeper sounded loudly. Quickly glancing at the screen, he apologised for the interruption before striding out the room, leaving Elizabeth staring pensively in the space he had occupied.

William expertly manoeuvred his sleek black Holden into the short-term parking lot at Melbourne Airport, thankful for the GPS that had made a potentially long journey shorter. Standing outside the domestic terminal, it wasn't long before Charles Bingley had bounded in with the energy of a small tornado, his megawatt smile in full throttle. Approaching his friend, the two men shook hands, slapping each other's shoulders with all the awkwardness of close male friends reunited after a long separation. Clutching only a small carry-on bag, William directed his friend out to the car.

`It's freezing down here,' Charles declared, warming his hands on the dashboard heater the moment they had bundled into the car.

`When I first arrived, I remembered everything you had said about the weather being warmer than England and I just wanted to kill you.' William remembered with a reproachful look.

`Hey, Perth is warmer than here. Must be because we are closer to the equator or something,' Charles chirped, holding up his hands in innocence. `Instead of killing me, do you think you could feed me instead? I'm starving. The airplane food was revolting.'

William punched in the directions on his GPS, and they departed in obedience to the vocal instructions relayed. Charles kept William amused with tales of his time in Perth, most of them strongly featuring the Jane that he had previously spoken of, and twenty minutes later they pulled into a rare free parking spot outside the restaurant in Lygon Street.

`What an utterly charming little place!' Charles exclaimed, as they entered La Cuccina and awaited the maitre de. The aromas of an authentic Italian kitchen lingered in the air, the red and white checked tablecloths beckoning the hungry patrons waiting to be seated. It wasn't long before the two men were ushered to a quiet corner. Taking their seats and opening their menus, the maitre de left them in the capable hands of the waitress, who expertly rattled off the specials before scurrying away to bring their drinks.

`So what is good here?' Charles asked, surveying the menu with knotted brows.

`Well, I haven't been here long enough to discover the best places to dine, but this entire precinct is quite famous for it's Italian cuisine.' William responded, studying the pages thoughtfully. `I came earlier in the week with a colleague and the tagliatelle was quite nice. My colleague ordered a tiramisu that I admit looked particularly tempting.'

`So your hospital is right around the corner from here?' Charles queried as he turned the pages studiously. `That must be convenient for you.'

`On the contrary, once I begin my proper work load it's going to be agony knowing that this strip is so near and yet so damned out of reach.' William replied. `I'm going to be at the mercy of the Memorial cafeteria I am afraid.'

`So, now that you're here, what are your immediate plans?' Charles asked curiously.

`Well, being allowed access to patients is obviously the first,' William replied dryly. `Finalising ethics approval so that the trial of our new ACE inhibitor drug can start is second. Third will be trying to convince more clinics in the region to trial it.'

`Well being the medical ignoramus that I am, how are you going to manage to do that without blowing your cover?'

William shrugged nonchalantly.

`There's a Cardiology conference in someplace called Lorne next month. I'm hoping that it will provide me with an opportunity to find other groups willing to collaborate with Darcy Pharmaceuticals and participate in the trials.'

`Lorne?' Charles queried, squinting his eyes as he searched his memory. `All the Australian guidebooks I've looked through insist that a trip to Lorne is a must for any traveller. Apparently it's a small town on the ocean, reached by a scenic drive on some famous winding road.'

`Never heard of it before yesterday, when one of my colleagues first mentioned the conference.' William replied, snapping his menu shut. `It's hardly the European Cardiology Congress, but apparently it does attract some decent researchers from Australasia. Ready to order?'

Beckoning to the waitress, they placed their order, and the two men chatted amicably as they awaited their meals. News of friends and family was exchanged, although Charles was true to his promise not to drop the C-bomb, although he did profess his surprise at Richards' temporary elevation to CEO. Before long, their food arrived, and soon their mouths were agreeably engaged in demolishing the mountain of steaming pasta that rose before each of them.

`So,' said William at length, applying a liberal sprinkling of Parmesan over his remaining gnocchi. `Not that I don't appreciate the visit, but don't you think its time you came clean as to the real reason why you flew hours to come here?'

Charles shrugged nonchalantly, twirling his pasta around his fork with exaggerated concentration. `Can't a man have lunch with his closest mate without raising suspicion?'

`Charles, ever since you arrived here, you've called me twice in total, and sent me three single line emails,' William replied, lowering his fork. `And suddenly, you've evidently cleared your entire schedule to fly thousands of kilometres to see me. So I repeat, what is the real reason behind this?'

Charles shifted in his seat uncomfortably. `Am I really that transparent?'

`You've just forgotten how good I am at reading you,' William grinned. `Does this have something to do with that woman you've been dallying with up in Perth? Jane wasn't it?'

`Dallying?' Charles retorted indignantly, dropping his cutlery hastily onto the table. Wiping his mouth on the napkin, he reached into his pocket, producing a small velvet box. Opening it deftly, he thrust the enormous diamond solitaire nestled within under William's eyes. `Does this look like I'm a man who is dallying?'

William looked at the ring, his eyes widening briefly. Taking a small sip of his mineral water, he fixed his gaze upon his friend, struggling to remain composed. `You plan to propose to this woman?'

`I do,' Charles replied, his eyes scrutinising Williams face. `I love her William. I want her with me forever.'

`I see,' William stated, leaning back in his chair. He paused. `It's a big commitment.'

`And one that I'm ready to make,' Charles retorted smoothly, his eyes bright.

`Well, I must admit that of all the reasons I could think of for your visit, this comes as quite the surprise,' William responded, wiping his mouth on his napkin. `Can I ask what the rush is?'

`I'm not rushing anything. I just simply do not need any more time to know my heart.' Charles replied, gazing at the sparking jewel, face besotted. `I've had enough of the bachelor tag, and the invasion of privacy that comes with those paparazzi thinking I'm fair game for harassment. I've met a wonderful woman, who is both beautiful and smart, and I'll be a fool to pass that up.'

`I see,' William repeated, jaw set.

`Is that all you're going to say?' Charles retorted in exasperation, running a hand through his hair.

`Well, what else would you like me to say, Charles?' William snapped, throwing his hands in the air. `Congratulations? That I'm happy for you? Or would you prefer the truth, that I think you `re making a decision you'll live to regret?'

Charles snapped the ring box shut and clenched his jaw. `If that's what you truly feel, then sure. Anything is better than `I see', however misguided those feelings are. At least it shows that you give a damn.'

`Of course I give a damn. Charles, you're like a brother to me.' William softened his tone. `And because I look upon you like a brother I am not going to sugarcoat this. I'm going to give it to you straight. I've known you for all of your adult life. And though it pains me to say this, and it will pain you to hear it, you don't exactly have the best track record for commitment.'

`I'm not listening to this rubbish again,' Charles retorted angrily, his voice rising.

`Because you know it's the truth,' William retorted hotly. `How long have each of your previous relationships lasted? A week, a month, maybe two?'

`I've been with Jane for over five months, William,' Charles muttered angrily.

`And that's most likely due to the fact that she hasn't given you the one thing that every other woman has been quick to offer you,' William replied, raising his eyebrow knowingly. `Sexual frustration is hardly a healthy basis for a long and lasting marriage.'

`I told you it's not just about sex.' Charles retorted, his voice carrying throughout the restaurant. At the startled looks from fellow patrons, he leaned over the table, his voice low and angry. `I'm not your cousin, and this is not a game. I love her, all of her. Of course I desire her. But there's so much more that I love about her than her body: the way she laughs when she's happy, the shyness is her eyes when I compliment her, the gentleness of her nature. It's not just about sex.'

William studied Charles silently, his face grave. He had seen Charles in love before, but he had never seen him fall so completely and utterly, so dangerously.

`And no doubt she's encouraged the development of your affections with profuse declarations of her own.' William stated slowly.

Charles sat back, breathing deeply. `Everything about our interaction together shows me, more than words could, how much she loves me,' he replied, his voice slightly tentative.

`More than words could?' William echoed, his brow furrowed in confusion.

`You have to understand that Jane is very shy,' Charles responded hesitantly. `She grew up with only four sisters, and the only man in the house, her father, died a few years ago. She doesn't have a lot of experience with men. She didn't date a lot, probably because her beauty intimidated a lot of men. She is naturally guarded with her feelings.'

William pondered over the statement with dawning incredulity.

`You mean you've purchased an engagement ring to propose to a woman who hasn't even verbally expressed her feelings for you?'

Charles opened his mouth briefly before clamping his lips shut, eyes fixed on the neglected pasta cooling on his plate.

`What's wrong with you?' William growled in a low voice. `Are you insane?'

`It's not what you think.' Charles replied defensively. `You don't know Jane like I do, so don't you dare judge her. Who the hell are you to judge anyone?'

An image of Dr Elizabeth Bennet, parading confidently on stage during the Departmental Seminar, flashed briefly through William's mind.

`There are more ways to say `I love you' than words.' Charles spat. `Surely you of all people should know just how cheap words can be.'

`And it's because of that that I don't want to see you make the same mistakes and have the same regrets in life that I've had to shoulder.' William retorted sharply.

`Loving Jane would not be a mistake,' Charles replied passionately.

`But marrying her without even being assured of her feelings towards you, would be.' William stated emphatically.

They were interrupted by the waitress nervously enquiring about the meal that lay uneaten in front of them. William reassured her, as Charles sat sullenly, staring at his lap. As she flitted off, William edged his seat closer to his friend.

`Look, Charles.' William began in a conciliatory tone. `You've obviously come this way because you value my opinion, and that's not a trust that I take lightly. It's obvious that you have deep feelings for this woman.'

`I do,' Charles interrupted fervently. `I have no doubt you would love her almost as much as I do, if only you knew her.'

William thought back to all of the plastic blonde socialites Charles had favoured previously with his attentions and fought to suppress his grimace.

`If you truly love her, and you have confidence in her feelings for you, then you'll be willing to wait to propose,' he stated..

`Wait?' Charles growled, his expression incredulous. `I'm leaving the bloody country in a bloody week.'

`You know what I mean.' William sighed, rasing his brow pointedly.

`So, what are you suggesting? That I just walk away from this amazing woman?' Charles spluttered aghast. `And for what purpose?'

`It's the only way to determine that your feelings and hers are truly sincere,' William reasoned.

`So you think going through the agony of separation is the only way to prove that I truly love her?' Charles exclaimed.

`Excuse me, but it's not your feelings that I doubt.'

Charles sat flabbergasted, shaking his head slightly, as he stared at William as though he hardly recognised him.

`Have you given any thought to your parents and how they will react if you were to come home engaged to a woman they've never met?' William pressed.

`It's my life, William,' Charles hissed vehemently. `Mine. Not theirs.'

`True, it's your life,' William assented. `And it's a life which has been financially supported by your fathers' wealth. He's made no secret of the fact that he has rather ambitious plans for you that don't include marrying an unknown Australian woman. How do you propose to deal with his anger in that event?'

`Oh please, cut the crap,' Charles snorted sarcastically. `We both know that those plans revolve around me marrying any bloody woman from any bloody aristocratic family, my own feelings be damned. He'll do anything to remove the taint of the new money label, even if it means prostituting his own son. I'm not willing to sacrifice my personal happiness for his stupid quest for acceptance.'

William stared at his friend.

`And don't even mention Mother,' Charles continued angrily. `Why the hell would I even consider giving Jane up for the sake of a woman who abandoned her own children to the care of nannies and boarding schools, just so she could devote her time to worming herself into the highest social circles?

`You're angry…'

`Damn right,' Charles seethed. `Don't bring my parents into this, in the hopes of emotionally blackmailing me, and not expect me to be angry. If I lived my life the way they wanted me to, then I'd be engaged to your under-age sister just so they could boast about having an earl's niece as their daughter-in-law.'

`Look, I'm sorry I mentioned them, but I wanted you to be aware of the consequences of your actions. Your parents disapproval aside, tell me what harm is there in waiting?' William insisted. `Go back to England and get some perspective. Give it a few months, and if your feelings and hers are constant then you can take things further.'

Charles picked up his glass and gulped his wine morosely.

`If you do this, I promise you that when the time comes and you do offer your hand, I'll support you in any way humanely possible, with or without your fathers approval.' William continued, pained to see Charles' discomposure. `Just don't marry in haste and repent at leisure.'

`She'll be so far away…' Charles muttered, obviously inattentive.

`Surely love can overcome any obstacle that time and distance can throw at it?' William stated. `What other way to test the strength of a relationship?'

Charles remained in stony-faced silence.

`Deep down you know that what I'm saying makes sense.' William continued, running his hand through his hair. `Why else would you have you come all this way to seek my advice, after you have already purchased an obviously expensive engagement ring, if you didn't have doubts in your own mind?

`That's ridiculous,' Charles retorted.

`Is it? I've known you my entire adult life, and when the Charles Bingley I know firmly decides upon doing something, he jumps into it with little warning and with no consultation.'

`I didn't come here to seek justification to act on my feelings.' Charles repeated soberly, eyes downcast. `I came here because I wanted my closest friend in the world to be the first to know, and the first to congratulate me. But I guess I know the true Fitzwilliam Darcy as little as he knows the real me.'

`Charles,' William felt his chest tightening. `This is the first time we've seen each other in months, and I don't want things between us to turn sour. You must know that I never intended to hurt you.'

`I know that you're concerned. I guess I should appreciate that at least,' Charles replied slowly, casting a glance at his watch. `Look, I hope you don't mind, but I think I'll cut my trip shorter than I anticipated. Can you drive me to the airport, or will I need to call a taxi?'

William looked affronted. `You're just going to leave.'

`I have only one week left with Jane before I leave for home. You might think me the lovesick fool, but I want to spend every possible minute with her,' Charles responded quietly.

William nodded. `And so you're….'

`Going to wait?' Charles interrupted. `I am only resolved to act in that manner which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness. Don't ask for more than that.'

`Okay,' said William quietly. His gaze fell on the congealed pasta resting on Charles plate, and he felt a pang of remorse upon remembering his friends' earlier hunger. `You didn't finish your pasta, Charles. Can I entice you to have some tiramisu instead?'

Charles shook his head.

`I seem to have lost my appetite, William,' Charles explained, as he stared absentmindedly over William's head.

The atmosphere of the trip back to Tullamarine was vastly different from the one they had enjoyed earlier in the day. Charles remained pensive, answering any question directed at him with monosyllables spoken in a dejected monotone. A gnawing sense of regret was eating away at William at the thought of hurting his dearest friend, but deep down William knew that his intentions had been noble and just: deep concern for his friend's future happiness. As they pulled into the terminal, Charles tersely turned to William and halted his attempt to accompany him into the building. Sticking out his hand, Charles stared at it distractedly for a nanosecond longer than was polite before he finally reached out to shake it. Before turning to leave, Charles finally spoke.

`One day, if you ever overcome the past and your own mistrust, you'll find a woman that will capture your heart completely with her love, beauty and goodness, in the same way that Jane has captured mine,' Charles spoke wearily, eyes filled with sadness. `She'll complete you, and fill your world with her presence, so much so that you'll feel like your life is empty in her absence.'

He paused.

`I only hope that when that day comes, you never experience the pain of having your family and friends try to separate you from her. And if I live to see the day, I hope that I'll be kinder to you, than you have been towards me.'

With these words, Charles turned hastily and strode into the terminal, leaving William, for the second time that week, standing alone and thoroughly humbled.

© 2007 Copyright held by the author.

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