Blind Date.

Eliza had never thought she would find herself in such an unseemly situation. Indeed, had she had the slightest notion that she would make the ridicule, she would have never agreed to a date in the present circumstances in the first place.

It all stemmed from her lack of self confidence. She knew she was not a gorgeous blond like her elder sister Jane, yet her charms lay in her uncommon witty mind. If not a reputed beauty, Eliza was, at least hollowly intelligent, which was more than one could say of both her younger sisters put together. Still, in the face of a blind date, Eliza wished she could swap all her wit for at least half of Jane's attractiveness.

As she glanced at the wall clock in the café, she sent a cursory look at herself in the mirror in front of her, and was rather pleased at the image it reflected. Indeed, she looked surprisingly well.

Alone, in her apartment, she had tried on every single item of clothing in her possession, and in her sister's for that matter. In the end, she had favoured a low-cut blouse with a pair of luscious silky trousers that accentuated her womanly curves. She was dressed to kill, yet she reckoned she did not look half as handsome as Jane.

Unfortunately, as she cast her own reflection, she also spied the knowing look of the waiter, who not surprisingly,in catching her eye, immediately set for her table to insist on refilling her teacup, ensuring Eliza to leave the shop, if not enamoured, at least in debt.

“Blast! There he comes again,” she hissed to herself as she discerned the man moving towards her table. Quick like a fish, she covered her cup with her hand, risking scalding it, as she shook her head in frantic rejection of a refilling. “No, I thank you,” she hurried to say.

“Then off you go. I have regulars waiting for this table,” the man barked.

Reluctantly, she retrieved her hand, thus allowing the greedy waiter to help her to her fourth cup of tea. She made a mental note to call Jane and ask her to come and fetch her in case the Romeo failed to appear and she would be compelled to pay the already expensive bill.

When he had satisfactorily done his duty, the waiter sent her yet another knowing look. “He ain't coming,” he announced with a sneer.

Eliza glared at him. Sucker! When the meddlesome waiter turned round, she poked her tongue at him in mockery.

Of course he was coming! Why would he not come? Most probably his car got stuck in the rush hour. But then again she was not sure he had a car, and neither was this the rush hour. Of course he has a car , she berated herself. What kind of looser does not have a car these days? Why doesn't he text me at least! Does he not know I must be worrying?

At length an insisting beep coming from her mobile phone apprised her that a new message had just arrived, making her almost jump from her chair.

It was not him. It was Charlotte.

Her friend, posted in the park outside the café, was surveying the coming and going of potential suitors in the surrounding. Should she spot a man in a black suit, pathetically sporting a red rose on his lapel and carrying an absurd book in his left hand, Charlotte would text her immediately. If the man in question was worth her waiting for him, Eliza would drink yet another cup of tea. If not, it was a mad rush for the back door. The text read as follows: “Suspect spotted. Looks yummy.”

Then, all of a sudden the ring-tone played Michael Jackson's “Bad.”

“Jesus!” Eliza cried. With a shaky hand, after two failed attempts to turn the mobile phone into speaking mode, she finally answered it.

“What! What is it?” she demanded almost hysteric.

“You won't believe this! There are two guys going your way, Liz,” said a creaky voice from the other end. “One of them is gorgeous. God, you will cream your knickers if he is the guy!"

"Great. I must ..."

"Hang on! The other man is ... thickly built and paunchy," Eliza flinched. Struggling to find the correct words to break the rather undesirable appearance of the other possible suitor to her friend, Charlotte resorted to verbosity. "...with a glistening, meaty face that is cast in an expression of abject despair.”
Oh, damned Charlotte. Can't she speak vernacular? “What?”

"I'm sorry. I got carried away. I must be quoting from "Le Carre". In other words: he sucks!"

Goodness! What to do? What with one thing and the other, Eliza had wasted precious seconds. By the time she had made up her mind to dart towards the back door, her would -be-suitors had reached the first steps of the entrance.

Belatedly, she rose to her feet, only to watch as the door of the café flipped open to reveal the strikingly different figures of the two men, both book in hand, striding decidedly towards her table.

Chapter 2

As in small motion, Eliza watched the tall, magnificent man, smug smile on his face take long steps in her direction and she felt a lump in her throat. Holly Smoke! It is him! Goodness, she had never expected that much. This man was Heaven! Just looking at him was making her mouth water! All sorts of images passed through her much excited mind. Mmm. Imagine that! Lizzy parading such a stud in front of those idiotic girls from the club! Lizzy making out with a heavenly handsome guy in a cosy car parked in front of her apartment. Even better, Lizzy introducing Mr Perfect to her disbelieving mother, sporting a dazzling ring in her forefinger. No, no, better still was Lizzy making out with a heavenly handsome guy in a cosy car parked in front of her apartment. Wait! I have I already said that, haven't I?

But then again the insecure girl in her poked her head out and she immediately recoiled. What will he think of me? Will I disappoint him? He's indeed handsome. Is he too much for me? No, no, no. Why should it be like this? You can do this, Lizzy. You might not be Jane, but you certainly look fine today. There is more to you that meets the eye! But scarcely had she readied herself for the introduction when the dazzling man brushed her by as he headed for the table behind her, whose occupants were just leaving. Lizzy could have kicked herself.

Too good to be true.

As she raised her gaze, however, Eliza noticed the chubby guy, the other potential date, talking to the good-for-nothing waiter. Just as she averted her eyes, the twosome turned to look in her direction which, much to her dismay, seemed to indicate that the tubby man was certainly her date.

This is not happening, she thought to herself. Think, Lizzy, think! There must be something you can do!
Out of the corner of her eye, Eliza spied the man of her dreams, comfortably sitting at the table on her left, quite distractedly perusing the list of sandwiches.

Even in the throes of desperation, Lizzy's witty mind and quick thinking had always proved the best of her attributes. Turning around she made out Mr Perfect putting down the menu and stretching his head looking for the waiter… Again, she cast a cursory look at the fatso who was decidedly walking her way and realised it was a matter of extreme force.

Sink or swim: that was the question. She chose to make a splash, so to speak.

Without thinking it twice, she grabbed her handbag and huffing and puffing as if she had run a mile to get there, flopped herself on the empty chair under which the gorgeous guy had placidly stretched his feet, and from where he hastily retrieved them with an expression of absolute bewilderment.

“D'you mind if I take this chair?” she said out of breath.

“N..o,” he managed to say a bit dumbfounded. “Not at all. It's not taken,” he finally replied hardly recovering from the surprise.

“You're not expecting anyone, are you?”

The man frowned. “No ...” he drawled emphatically as he slowly shook his head.

“Great,” she sighed relieved.

“Great?”

“I'm sorry. I'm Lizzy. And you are…”

“Darcy.”

“Is that your name?” enquired Eliza. She kind of suspected it was not. Not expecting such a formal answer she felt a bit taken aback.

“My surname.”

“Huh. And you don't happen to have a first name?” she asked cheekily.

“Mark.”

“Ha!”

“Pardon?”

“Pay no mind. Listen, eeer… Mark. There is this guy behind you, he fancies he has a date with me. But you see, I just don't want to make him feel bad. You know, a friend of mine, well I should say an ex friend of mine, arranged this date. But as soon as I saw him stepping into the shop, I knew I wanted to be miles away from here. Still, it is not like this is his fault. If he thinks I am with you, he will probably believe his date, that is me, has stood him up, which judging by his looks it must happen quite often, so he probably is sort of used to it already.”

“I am sorry. I don't quite catch you. Is this guy bothering you?” he asked as he turned around to spot the man in question.

“Don't look!” Darcy shrunk lowering his head and averting his eyes in obedience.

"I'm sorry." he said apologetically.

“It's just that... He is not bothering me, though he is a bother. To cut a long story short, he's my blind date, only I'm not that blind.”

“I see,” though he was a bit unsure whether he had indeed grasped the situation.

“I promise I`ll leave as soon as he takes his leave.”

He nodded in agreement, still too much puzzled to think coherently.

“By the way…why are you wearing that rose on your lapel?” she asked a bit mystified. After all, had he not be wearing the ridiculous flower, she would not have mistaken him with her date, and she would have had enough time to run away.

“Oh, this? I haven't noticed I was still wearing it. My sister gave to me.

Lizzy nodded as she registered his words. So your sister, huh? Not your girlfriend?
A pause in which both coughed at intervals. Darcy was beginning to feel uncomfortable. What will she do next? he wondered.

At lenght she broke the silence. “What are you reading? Not Jane Austen?” she snorted peeking at the book laying conspicuously on the table.

“No. Not Austen. Shakespeare,” he answered mirthless.

“Ha!”

“Have you any idea how many times I have heard that joke?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Same as…is it cold up there?”

“What?”

“I am tall,” he explained. “So, up there…you know.”

“Ah, yes. I see.”

Again a new pause.

“And you are not Lizzy Bennet, I suppose?” he said trying to make light conversation.

“Quayle. Eliza Quayle. Though, my sister is called Jane.”

“Mmm”

There was an awkward silence once more. In truth both of them would have killed to find a topic of mutual interest, but each was equally clueless as regards each other's preferences. At length the waiter came over to take Darcy's order and the ever so meddlesome man did not fail to send a disapproving look at Lizzy. When he was gone Darcy addressed Eliza again.

“Listen. I think he is gone,” he announced nodding towards the bar.

“Who?”

“Your date. I believe I saw him leaving a few minutes ago.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.”

“You don't need to go.”

“Oh, but I must, mmm.” Fishing for her purse in her handbag she complained, “Fine. Now, I must pay the bill.”

“Please, allow me.”

“No, no, no. There's no need.”

“I insist.”

“I insist more.”

“I will not let you.”

“Fine,” she grunted.

He nodded satisfied.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Darcy,” she said with a smile as she rose from the table.

“My pleasure, Miss Quayle. Glad to be of service.”

Chapter 3

Scarcely had Eliza left his table, when Mark Darcy berated himself for his lack of finesse. The impertinent girl was not what one would call a classical beauty, yet there was something about her that had caught his eye. Why hadn't he asked her mobile phone number? Or asked her out? Why had he told her that her date had left in the first place? He might have just as well sent her off. Though, he had not meant that. No. He had only made a thoughtless remark.

He watched her figure as she fumbled with her handbag and coat. Unlike the women he usually dated, Lizzy was short and chubby, but to her advantage she had the fresh air of her youthful age around her and the saucy seduction of her hips when walking as she waggled her bottom like an unsophisticated swan, though that was probably the effect of the exceedingly high heel shoes she was wearing.

Anyway, she's too young for you, man. She's what, eighteen, twenty?

Even if she were twenty-something she was definitely out of his hunting area. Mark belonged to the rare species in grave danger of extinction of heterosexual bachelors well past their thirtieth birthday, though he looked much younger, mind you. Tall, handsome, even though he was no master of Pemberley, he had a bank account of considerable seize, a two story detached house in Holland Park, and a car, which he rarely used.

Notwithstanding Mark was not what one might call a sparkling conversationalist, yet he many a time wished he had someone to talk to. He was definitely weary of his bachelor life. Unfortunately, his personal experience in connubial alliances had left him quite reluctant to persevere in a second marriage. Moreover, used as he had grown to being on his own, depending on no one except himself, spending his time on his own personal affairs and pursues and no one else's, Mark would find it unlikely that any woman could ever persuade him to change. Still, something was missing in his life and he knew it. Suffice it to say that he usually spent his holidays in Corfu, in a beautiful villa that belonged to his aunt, but despite the beauty of the location he got terribly bored there, even when he took an occasional conquest with him.

Mark Darcy was not a barrister as many of you, dear readers, might have fancied. No. He had a PhD in the Arts and Humanities, money galore from his family business to which he and his sister had been the sole heirs and which his cousin Richard managed and by way of keeping himself busy he occasionally did tutelage at his former university. His job was sort of a hobby, but unsurprisingly, he no longer enjoyed it.
Otherwise a reserved man, he used to be very communicative with his students and feel completely at ease among the younger generation who, not so long ago, used to call him “Sir”, as if he belonged to an aristocratic caste. But those days were gone. Youngsters of this present generation really scared him.

To add to his already dull life, Mark lived on his own; with a twelve-year-old Alsatian whose hips no longer permitted it to go jogging with his master (this was yet another exertion he had got used to doing on his own). He had divorced his first wife after he had found her hocking shamelessly with a stranger (whose hips, unlike his dog's, did work properly) in their own bedroom. From then on, his love life decayed strikingly.

Darcy became the eternal bachelor, last in a dying breed, always polite, perfect manners, sexual life unknown. More than anything he avoided commitments in general, preferring occasional sex to a regular partner, but this intelligence he kept to himself throwing a veil of secretiveness over his sexual conquests, so much so that people in general suspected he was gay, with the exception of the better looking wives who would be quite unwilling to reveal how they had been apprised of his heterosexuality.

Yet he found no great satisfaction in those relationships, other than the fleeting pleasure a man could eventually derive from sexual intercourse in general. Truth be told, Mark Darcy was bored to the core of the women of his circle.

Eliza Quayle was nothing like them.

Indeed, she was not. At first, one would say she was self-confident and bold. But on closer inspection, Darcy had rapidly detected the great confusion his evident rejection had occasioned on her. He noticed it in the expression of her intelligent eyes, downcast and solemn as she gathered her coat, which she had laid over a chair, her handbag on top.

As Eliza slipped into her coat, she raised her arms which caused her blouse to go up, thus exposing her waist and her round bottom which was wrapped in a pair of white silky trousers that revealed the colour of her knickers. None of those details escaped the inspection of Darcy's eyes.

My, my. Eliza Quayle had a gorgeous figure; that stood to reason. Yet, she looked flushed and uncomfortable, as if she had experienced some embarrassing situation, which as a matter of fact, she had.

Is she feeling rejected? Of course, she is, you idiot! Although Darcy had a blind spot where feminine sensibilities were concerned, Eliza's face spoke volumes.

He drained his coffee and set up the cup. There goes what could have been a good… date.
As he watched Eliza fling the door of the café open to take her leave, Darcy's eyes danced around each of her movements and the Etonian gentleman in him felt the dire need to rush to push the door for her, while the womanizer in him urged him to steer clear from her.

He just had to spring to his feet, and with two of his athletic strides he would be by her side.

What the heck. It is much better this way. What if she is not of age? You are no cradle robber, Darcy.Suppose she falls for you, which will not be a surprise... How will you ever get out of it?

Chapter 4


Eliza was a brand new graduate of embarrassment. Never in a hundred years would she have dreamt of feeling so humiliated in her life. Not only had she spent half her Friday in dressing up for a fruitless date with a fellow she had never seen before, but she had also been slighted by the cutest man she had ever set eyes on!

Durr! He not even asked me my bloody telephone number! Am I so unattractive? Curse Jane's trousers! I can hardly walk in them, and all for nothing!

She was just about to cross the street when her mobile phone began to peep frantically. But, to her surprise, she could not get it because she was holding something in her hand.

Ugh! It was Mark Darcy's book.

Oh no! I can't face the thought to go back to him. He'll think I'm throwing myself back into his path again!
She finally put the book under her arm and fumbled with the handbag until she found the elusive mobile phone not before she had stored half the contents of her bag under her arm together with Mark's book. By the time she managed to answer it, the phone was dead.

Eventually, she turned round, determined to return the stupid book to his owner. While she was waddling back to the café, she thought how perfectly ridiculous was that they should be called respectively Mr Darcy and Miss Eliza (at least she was not Miss Elizabeth) and that she had been slighted by him. Was he a pompous jerk like the hero of Austen's novel? She let out a snort.

As she arrived at the coordonnée of the café, she stopped in midstride and spied his figure bowed over his table, reading what she suspected might be her copy of “The Bible of Diets ”

“Great! Now his opinion of me can't be worse.”

A woman walking up the pavement overheard her talking to herself and sent her a quizzical look. Oh, this is rich! Now I'm a loony. With her low self esteem beyond recovering, Eliza took a look at her own reflection in the clean windowpane of the café and quite intuitively she checked her hair. In the background, Darcy was still bent over her book. First impressions counted enormously with Eliza and Darcy had struck her as a fine person, let alone gorgeous. And because they counted so much, she stood a moment observing his good looks and perfect silhouette. He's wearing a tie, so probably he's nearer to thirty than twenty, but she could guess that only from the way he dressed. A man passing by turned his head to take a better look at her bottom and muttered something she could not make out. Far from thinking he was paying her a compliment, she thought he had insulted her.

Great! I'm looking like a ham on high shoes. My hair is a mess, and I have a book to return to a man who is reading mine, thinking what a damn fool I am. Oh I almost forgot. I also talk to myself.

She thought, maybe she could give the book to the waiter, and save herself from further embarrassment. But then again, how would she recover hers? Not that she thought much of it, but she imagined that should she let him keep it, he might read even more and would eventually determine that not only was she a fat cow but she was either irremediably stupid or completely deranged, for who would read a book that stated that a diet based on peanuts, bananas and bacon could ever help one lose weight?

I must go for it! Come what may.

* * * * * * * *


Both to his surprise and alarm, Darcy saw the door of the café flung open again and Eliza was in once more, face redder than ever, lips muttering something to herself, feet taking quick, unsure steps in the direction of his table.

With a huff and a puff she said between gasps:

“I am sorry.”(*gasp*) “I took your book by mistake,” she explained as she handed him his shabby copy of Twelfth Night.

He stared back but did not react as expected. Eliza noticed some silver tips in his trimmed black hair.

“My book…”she mumbled pointing at hers in his hands.

Bang! She was back into his life as if she were the answer to his prayers, as if he had made a wish on a shooting star.

This time, Darcy could not resist the impulse to keep her for him. How could he? She was barely balancing on her modish high shoes, which she was obviously not used to wearing, looking as waif and stray as he felt protective. Surely her embarrassment was his fault. Had he not dismissed her? She probably thought he did not like her.

“Yes. Of course.”

She handled him his copy and collected hers in turn. Then she loosened the strap of her bag to ease it over her shoulder and said a reluctant goodbye again.

“Listen,” he heard himself saying, “I'm done here. How would you like a walk in the park?”

She would like it very much. Eliza, hardly believing her luck, quickly fished for her mobile phone in her handbag and busily tapped a short message for her friend while Darcy hailed the waiter to come over and give him the bill. A couple of minutes later, they were walking along the narrow path of the park and as Darcy told her about himself, his house, his car and his holidays in Greece, Eliza held his arm for balance, her frail ankles at the sure risk of spraining in the instability of her shoes. He could feel her body bobbing against him and hear her shooting short questions that showed him that she was listening with unseemly attentiveness to his prattle. As they walked, hip to hip, occasionally stopping to watch a squirrel or feed a goose to some crumbles of bread, he thought time had stopped.

She seemed fascinated with the details of his boring life. Questions went: “And why did you do that? And where do you leave your dog while you are away? Do you not take him with you?” which kept him strangely talking about himself, a topic nobody was overly keen to explore.

When the conversation jumped into their pastimes and hobbies, she was thrilled to hear he made bonsais.
“Actually, I am a student of botany. Though I particularly like flowers,” she confessed.

“Do you? That explains the roses,” he said in relation to the mark of identification she had used to recognize her date.

“Oh, that was utter stupidity. Should have used more sophisticated flowers. But I just love simple things.”

“Actually, roses are my favourite.”

She nodded demurely. “So I've noticed,” she sighed. “So by now you must have guessed, at first, I thought you were my date.”

“Did you?”

She nodded again. “I just couldn't go out with the fatso with the greasy hair. I am glad you've agreed to be my date.”

Tell me something I don't know.

“So am I,” he said.

“Even if I am not tall and slender?”

“Why should you be?” he asked as he allowed her to walk ahead while he took a leisurely look at her bottom.

She blushed and stiffened a laugh. “What are you looking at?”

“Your lower back has a most beautiful form I find myself particularly fond of.”

“Cheeky,” she exclaimed as she prodded him lightly with her elbow.

“Backs like yours make the world go round, I grant you,” he said teasingly.

“What do you mean?” she inquired feigning offence.

“I mean girls with something in their mind other than diets and fashion,” he said politely.

“You mean I'm fat and don't look trendy? Is that what you mean?”

“No, I don't mean that. You look great,” he grinned wolfishly.

“But you've just said I've no regards for diets or fashion.”

“What I mean is that I'm sick of bony women with no conversation. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you.”
She laughed heartily.

“So you like me, huh?”

“Absolutely”

“You don't think I'm a fat cow?”

“A fat…No, I don't. I like you.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I like you very much.”

“I fancied you immediately,” she confessed unembarrassed.

He raised his brows and laughed richly.

They spent the whole afternoon together without realizing their entire relationship consisted in just that afternoon, both of them equally resisting the idea that they would not end up having sex at the end of the day which was nothing short of bizarre since they hardly knew each other.

Chapter 5


“It's getting late,” she announced, and Darcy thought their date had come to a sudden end. In all probabilities he had bored her to death with his prattle about his every day activity. But to his amazement he heard her saying, “Let's go to my place and have something to eat.”

He stared at her incredulously. “Your place?”

She said yes, it was only a short walk from the park.

An hour later they were like newlyweds, languorously making love on the sofa in her small living room in her apartment. In vain he had struggled. He had been hit by an express train. In the madness that had seized him, he forgot she was so young and a bit of a little devil. In vain had his mind sent out desperate signals of a most emphatic nature: Abort, she is just a girl. She is completely unaware of how this game is played.

He had certainly done his best to avoid the situation, mind you. Suggested going to an Italian restaurant; maybe fish and chips? No? Then politely excusing himself saying he had forgotten his car, but to no avail. She simply took him by the hand and led him in as if she was letting a stray dog in for some bones.
Undoubtedly, he was in a different element, and found himself defenceless against an unknown enemy he could find no way to defeat. She had completely drawn him in and he was no longer in control of his body or his thoughts. Captivated, he made love to her as if he were a young man of scarcely twenty-three.

When their passion had subsided he went courteous and English again.

“Thank you.”

She frowned. “For what?”

Darcy felt embarrassed. Indeed, what was he thinking of? How could he have thanked her? “For this gift,” he murmured.

She prodded him with her toes “Gift my foot! Take this!” and then hurled a pillow on his head. He laughed, in vain fending her off with his own pillow as she kept kicking his ankles and tossing cushions or whatever was handy on his head, and lastly joining her in her playful battling. He hardly knew him. Once the game was over, they kissed and caressed each other as if they were truly in love. Or were they?

“Will you use the bathroom?” she asked him.

“Ladies first.”

“Well, then.” With extreme modesty she made her way to the bathroom, swathed in one of the covers.

“What are you doing?” he asked diverted.

“I don't want you to watch my fluffy bottom.”

“Your bottom's not fluffy. You've got a bottom of a twenty-year-old.”

“I am a twenty-year-old,” she said and disappeared behind the door of the toilet.
“Precisely.”

“I turn twenty-one next week,” she said in mitigation.

Mmmm. He suspected he was in dangerous waters again. Next thing she would ask him his age.
“How old are you? He heard the question waft through the corridor.

Argh! Old enough to be your fucking literature teacher.

He watched her coming over him with an inquisitive face, a toothbrush in her mouth and another one in her hand. She offered this one to him.

“It's new,” she explained.

Darcy took it; not bothering to conceal his manliness, he left the bed and went to the bathroom brushing his teeth in imitation of his hostess.

“Wear this,” she asked him handing him a robe that was decidedly feminine. He accepted it and slid into it. He looked ridiculous, but did not mind it in the least.

“Well?” she asked again as she leant against the toilet's door.

“D'you mind?” he smirked, justifiably claiming some privacy. She turned around and went to the kitchen leaving him alone for his “toilette”.

While he attended to his privates privately, Lizzy made some coffee and buttered some toasts. Then she put everything on a tray and waited for him in bed. When he reappeared he had a frown on his visage. He had found some blood in his privates and was at a loss for its provenance. Was she in her days?

“You're not going to tell me your age? Is it a secret?” she asked teasingly.

Darcy smirked. He was not at all ashamed of his age, but he feared she might. “How old do you think I am?” he asked tentatively.

“Mmm.” Let me see. “Twenty-eight.” she ventured with a grin, in truth thinking he would say thirty.
He chuckled.

“No?”

He shook his head. “I wish.”

“Am I too far?”

He nodded.

“How far?”

“Eight years.”

“So you are…”

“I'm thirty-six.”

She just shrugged and handed him his coffee, “You look twenty-eight.”

“Thank you,” he said not sure whether he was thanking her for the warm beverage or her naivety. He sipped his coffee and sat on the edge of the bed. And that was the only thing he could do, for she began to pepper him with kisses which felt so good, and tickle him so much that he almost spilt his coffee on his lap. He had not expected these attentions. Usually his bed partners became detached or went back home to heir husbands after a quick shag. But not Lizzy. Of course, she was not married, and this was her place, which again put Darcy in dangerously slippery territory. But not only was she in no rush to get rid of him, but she was also very affectionate. He was sure he had heard her say even “I love you” while he was enthralled between her thighs. Dangerous indeed, for he did not find the words offensive at all. On the contrary, he would swear he had heard himself reciprocate with a meek “me too”. Quickly forgetting his previous worry about his tinted member, they ended up making love again on the floor while their coffee cooled on the tray on the bed.

Chapter 6


Back home, Mark wished he had stayed the night at Eliza's apartment. The next day was Sunday and neither of them were church goers so they could have stayed in bed until late that morning.

But an overwhelming necessity to flee had taken a fierce hold of him. Call it cowardice. Whatever it was, the minute she went into the toilet, he started gathering his clothes. He could hear her turning on the tap, and then the shower sprinkling warm water on her body. He heard her singing and moving around, making a great mess of her wash.

Distracted by all the commotion coming from the bathroom, it took him several minutes before he could resume the task of collecting every piece of clothing that had been sprawled about in the throws of passion. He pulled back the covers to find his boxers tucked between the mattress and the sheets at the foot of the bed. As he moved the quilt a whiff emanating from their sex rose from the covers and Mark had a brief hazy recollection of their heady lovemaking a few minutes before. As he retrieved the twisted boxers, he noticed several ruddy blotches on the white linen, the issue of the tinted privates suddenly back to his mind. Is it her time of the month?

He sat on the edge of the bed, momentarily dumfounded, raking his hair with his fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his own reflection on a mirror where he had surreptitiously been following their mating movements a few minutes ago. Where were his shoes? He went down on all-fours and, straining his eyes, peeked into the gloomy confinements under the bed to find his socks instead.

As the door of the bathroom pushed open, Eliza emerged from the cloud of steam scrubbing her damp hair with a towel and noticed Mark, butt naked, protruding from behind the tangle of covers on the mattress. “Mark?”

Mark tilted his head, looking like a dubious Alsatian.

“You lost something?”

“My shoes.” He looked around and spotted the eluding items under the sofa where a most playful foreplay had taken him completely by surprise. Mark had sincerely thought he had come for a bite; never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that they would end up making out on the couch before she could open the fridge.

“You're not leaving?”

“I must,” he said as he hopped about the room trying to slide into his trousers.

“But tomorrow's Sunday.”

“I know,” he quickly scanned his mind for a feasible excuse. “It's the dog. I told you a have a pet, didn't I? I must take him out or else…”

“Oh.”

“I'd really love to stay,” he hastily said as he did up his shirt. Where was his tie?

She handed him the tie looking thoroughly disappointed. “Here.”

“Ah, thank you.” Distractedly he pushed it into one of the pockets of his trousers. “Have you seen my coat?” She pointed a weary finger towards a wayward chair where his coat swung over its back. It was then that Mark noticed Eliza's wretchedness and he felt thoroughly guilty. He sighed and chucked her chin. “Look. I'll call you. Ok?”

She nodded.


* * * * * * * * * * *

Back in his house, Mark groped the wall in the dark for the switch. This was an unseemly hour to arrive. Solo growled from his corner.

“It's me, stupid,” he scolded the dog. Solo whimpered lightly and went back to sleep. Mark chuckled and immediately wished he had stayed with Eliza, pondering how she would take it if he were to go back to her place. At least she'd be happy to see me back. He went over to the kitchen and helped himself to a glass of milk. When he turned around he noticed the dog's pee on the floor.

"Sod it! Solo! You could've waited!" Solo, head hidden between his paws, raised only his eyes but did not let out a sound.

Mark covered the dog's 'niceties' with a sodden cloth and mopped the floor by means of prodding it with the tip of his toes.

Before going to bed, he checked his phone messages and emails: A former student wanted a letter of recommendation for a job, his sister reminded him they were having lunch with their cousin at her place, the dog trainer cancelled Solo's walk, his sister checked if he was back and reminded him of their lunch for a second time, then a third time his sister, now really mystified he were not at home, sounded rather alarmed and begged him to gave her a ring when he arrived.

He prodded his sister's number and left a message into her answer machine. As he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, he imagined what Eliza could be doing in her apartment. Sleeping of course, what else? Or maybe she was thinking of him? Perhaps she was a bit mystified by his hasty retire? He considered calling her. Another date? More sex? Without giving the matter another thought, he dipped his hand into the pocket of his coat and produced his mobile phone. He looked up her name in the list of contacts and finding it, he tapped the send key with his thumb. To his surprise she was still awake. Watching a late show, she said. No, no bother, not at all. Yes, tomorrow would be lovely. And yes, (her voice turning sultry and tender) she missed him too. She wished he were there. She sent him her love.

With a feeling of satisfaction, Mark now turned off the mobile. It was then that he realised he was no longer in the staircase, but sprawled on the sofa, with a smug smile on his face and a crisp feeling in his loins. How long had he been there? He had no clue. Rising to his feet, he looked for a socket to plug in the charger of his mobile. Then he went into his bedroom and, not bothering to turn on the lights, he dropped his body on to the bed. He was ruminating about the downsides and upsides of a seeing Eliza again, when sleep won over him and he passed out, half undressed.

It was almost midday when he woke up, an enticing smell coming from downstairs waking him up. Someone was cooking in his kitchen. But who? He looked around and saw his trousers had been neatly folded and his coat was hanging from a hook. He could not remember when he had finished undressing, yet he was wearing only his boxes, and he was definitely under the covers. He heard the noise of the crockery being piled in the sink and Solo wagging his tale at someone. It couldn't be Marjorie, she seldom drove and her chauffer had Sundays free. Richard must be at Marjorie's, waiting for him, so that discarded him too. Besides, Richard could hardly prepare edible toasts, and that smell came from an appetising full English breakfast.

He sprang to his feet, felt for his slippers and slid into a robe, determined to face whoever was that had invaded his privacy, his mind scanning the possibilities, but the sight of the person staring back at him left him speechless.

Chapter 7


When Mark left her apartment, Eliza had the unmitigated feeling she would never see him again. All her efforts persuading him to stay the night did not seem to have had an effect on him. Never mind dinner or breakfast in bed and all the window dressing she could've added to the promising sexy morning, he simply would not stay. Not wishing to sound overbearing, Eliza chose not to press him. But there was nothing she could do to avoid the feeling of abandonment that his hasty leaving had left in her heart.

When the telephone rang a few minutes later, she was already in bed, envisioning a dreary Sunday at home pondering whether to spend it ferreting her wardrobe for warm clothes for the oncoming cold weather (although there were still three good months until winter, but what with this changes in global weather, one never knows…Was it not snowing in Buenos Aires last week?) or cleaning the kitchen cupboard to get rid of unwanted jars and tins, both tasks quite drudgery in themselves. Thinking it was Charlotte, she first had the impulse to let it ring. But then again it occurred to her it could be her sister, so, since the telephone was in the living-room, she shuffled across the room and picked up the phone to hear Mark's voice at the other end. Her heart gave such a jolt that she could hardly find words to answer him.

He asked her out. No, not lunch, he had already fixed lunch with Marjorie. Marjorie was his sister. Yes, she lived in the outskirts. Yes, she was very fond of him. No, she was older. Ten years. No, she wasn't ten (laughs) she was forty-six. His sister wasn't Georgiana Darcy (laughs). Had never eloped. (sneer) No, Marjorie was single. Yes, she was very fond of roses. Same as she (deep voice) No, he was not restless. He was very tired, in fact. (chuckle) He was alone, yes. No he had not let the dog out yet. The name was Solo. An Alsatian. Solo, like the man from U.N.K.L.E. No, not his uncle, Napoleon Sol...never mind. (embarrassed) It was a show in the 70s. He must've been five by then. No, of course not. She was not born yet. Yes, he remembered. No, not Bond, Solo…

Curled up on the sofa, all snug and warm, Eliza must have been talking like that for half an hour, from time to time a meek endearment slipping from her lips. Mark's voice was husky and seductive, which was the fountainhead of Eliza's thawing with his warm endearments. When she finally hung off, her neck hurt because she had been holding the speaker between her cheek and her shoulder for longer than she could remember. But, despite a ruddy blotch on her cheek, and the speaker of the phone moistened with her own breath, she had a beautiful smile on her face. Everything had run smoothly in the end.

However, during the scarce twenty minutes that had passed between Mark leaving her place to Mark giving her a call, Eliza had had time to do a lot of worry. While he was in her apartment, and all through the aftermath of their lovemaking, she had succeeded in looking as cool as a cucumber, but truth be told, she was trembling inside. And not for nothing.

She was experiencing what one could call the effects of the unexpected course her actions had taken. Mark was an interesting man to experience her first incursions in sex with …mm…well let's face it: he was terribly handsome, a veritable treat for the eyes, especially wearing nothing but his boxers…ahem…most importantly, he looked decent enough and reliable, but that did not diminish the fact that he was a complete stranger.

To make matters worse, she had not taken one single precaution, and nor had he. She knew she should have hinted that she was inexperienced, that she wasn't on the pill, so now the responsibility lay foursquare with her. But despite the risks she had unwisely run, Eliza reckoned she had enjoyed every bit of it. Mark knew how to please a woman, and had pleased her even when he had had to overcome her obvious nervousness.

The foreplay on the sofa had been something out of this world. She reckoned it was she who had started it off. Until she threw herself into his arms and kissed him decidedly on the lips, he had been the perfect gentleman. But then in the throbs of passion, when her hand, unsophisticatedly and unexpectedly landed between his legs, something quickened within his trousers. Her eyes flashed to his face and they knew it.

From then on it had been a landslide. Used to snogging with quite naïve boys of her age who would be fairly content to grope her boobs and press themselves against her, Mark's hand sliding into her knickers had taken her completely by surprise. She had never meant to turn him on like that. Yet turned on he was, and there was only one way in which Mark knew how to extinguish such a fire.

She had meant to stop him during the first innings, while they were still on the sofa, but then, he did something she had not anticipated; though an action that pre-dated the first amorous expressions in the history of intercourse, it took her completely unawares.
He stripped in front of her.

Now that was quite a spectacle.

He began to peel his clothes little by little while he kissed her and caressed her with his free hand, rubbing himself against her in the process. Obviously, he was a man used to getting his oats. Before she could protest, he was doing away with her clothes with amazing mastery. He did not hesitate for the briefest moment, not waiting for her to give him the nod, simply digging in as if she were his to take.

And take her he did.

When Mark, ever so decidedly `invaded' her, Eliza gasped, half of surprise half of pleasure. Not that it hurt, not at all. But the sheer notion of having abandoned the safe concourse of girlhood to plunge into the road of womanhood, with all the uncertainties and unparalleled thrills that such leap entailed, also invaded her. She purred with satisfaction. There was a man in her apartment, just as the good God had made him, and she was entwined with him in such a way, that she hardly had time to notice the moment when he had slid into her. She merely gasped in recognition that something substantially big had trespassed on the limits of her innocence.

Inhibiting an absurd impulse to gape at the event, Eliza gave in to venting her emotions with little whimpering sounds that seemed to enervate his rhythm even more. Grabbing a bunch of hair from his head, Eliza monitored his movements from the mirror. He was a beautiful view, diving into her as it were, with such an ease and grace that she could not help the words that escaped her lips.

“Oh, God! I love you, I do.”

“Me too,” came his husky, drowsy voice into her ear. And guess what… she believed him.

* * * * * * * * *

Elizabeth was in the bathroom when the door bell rang. She left the water running, rushed to the living room and opened the door a little. It was Charlotte.

“Hi, Sweety. Come on in!” she said as she backed a little to let her in.

“Hi. Everything ok?” Charlotte asked as she poked her face in to kiss her friend hello.

“Oh, don't kiss me. I've got to take this off!” Eliza was talking about the green cream that masked her face. Charlotte shrugged and came in. While she was making herself at home, Eliza rushed back to the bathroom and turned off the tab. Then she washed her face with some hot water, put on her bathrobe and came over to the living room.

“How are you?”

“Fine.

“What've you been doing?”

“The usual.”

“Not the usual.” Charlotte pointed out. The usual would have been parroting over the phone with her the whole night, especially after the occurrence of the blind date. To Charlotte amazement, Eliza had neither phoned nor answered her phone calls. As if that was not weird enough, Charlotte had found her friend still surprisingly undressed, possibly with no breakfast in her stomach, nonetheless notably relaxed and suspiciously happy.

“Yeah. Just out there sunning meself.”

“You didn't ring me,” protested Charlotte meekly.

“Oh, sorry `bout that. I completely forgot to phone you.”

“You forgot?”

Eliza nodded, biting her lower lip.

“Yeah…” Charlotte eyed her friend suspiciously. “What's up?”

“Nothing,” Eliza shrugged.

“How was your date?”

“It was ok.”

“You're lying, you fat cow. You didn't meet the guy.”

“Sorry?”

“Yesterday. You texted me saying you were going out with this guy, but I saw him on his own later on.”

“Oh, that guy. Nope. Actually, I picked the other one.”

“You're kidding!”

“Nope”

“God! You mean the tall, dark, handsome fellow with the red rose in his lapel? You, lucky bastard!”
They both burst into naughty, conspiratorial laughter. Eliza was delighted. At long last she had some story to tell.

“I did something really bad,” Eliza said in between laughs, and then paused to see Charlotte's reaction. Charlotte spied her suspiciously from behind her hands.

“You didn't bring him here, did you?”

Eliza nodded, sputtering with contained laughter. She took both her hands to her face.
“Holly confessions!”

Eliza laughed hysterically and wiggled her toes. She was relishing the moment. Charlotte would be green with envy.

“Honest, Eli!” said Charlotte shaking her head. “This is too much. I can't deal with it!”

“Oh, please Charlotte! Cleanse my soul! I need to tell someone!”

Charlotte didn't know whether she actually wanted to hear what Eliza had to say. She suspected she wouldn't like it at all. Ever so tactfully she asked: “You did it?”

Eliza nodded demurely. Then she voiced it emphatically, “I did.”

“Oh, Lard!”

“Twice!”

Charlotte stared at her friend in complete befuddlement, eyes wide like saucers.

“You did the deed with a complete stranger?”

“Did it!” she giggled

“Jesus, Eli!” wined Charlotte. “Mad as a hatter, you are!”

“I am, aren't I?”

Charlotte could not contain herself. She was thoroughly amazed. Never in a hundred years would she have expected Eliza to give her cherry away as if it were nothing at all. When she had agreed to go with her to this crazy blind date she had never imagined things would turn out this way. What could have possibly happened to Eliza that had made her act so thoughtlessly? Had she been doped? Perhaps they guy put something in her tea?

“Well. What was it like?” she asked nonchalantly.

“I can't describe it, Charlotte! He's too much. You can't even begin to understand what he did to me. He's just…beautiful!”

“Oh, my God!” cried Charlotte as she buried her face in her arm. They both laughed and gave little euphoric cries until Charlotte, with a very serious voice, asked: “Did you use a condom?”

Chapter 8


“Vernon. For God's sake, how did you get in?”

“Good morning to you,” Vernon said unflappable as he served Mark an indulging quantity of egg and bacon on a saucer. Vernon was tall and slim, and always had slinky clothes on. Today he was wearing a silky shirt that hung becomingly to his body and a pair of luscious leather trousers that rustled as he moved. His watery blue eyes and perfect profile gave him a boyish look that lingered on despite he was not getting any younger. Ever a swish, he wore his long wavy hair in a pony tail. Polished nails shone in his bony fingers adorned with several rings as he moved his hands to emphasize every single word he uttered. When he sat down across from Mark in the kitchen, Vernon did not betray the great nervousness that gripped him deep inside.

“Come, handsome. You must be starving. What were you doing out so late last night? Did you have dinner somewhere?”

It took some time for Mark to come to terms that it was Vernon that had invaded his kitchen. At length, he took a seat at the kitchen table in front of a freshly cooked full English breakfast. If there was one thing he missed from Vernon that was his cooking. Delighted despite himself, Mark took a forkful of egg and bacon to his mouth and listened to Vernon's prattle.

“Is there not a word of welcome for Vernon?”

Mark nodded unconvinced. He knew his old friend. If Vernon had come to his place it was because either he was in debt or he had nowhere else to go. Without saying a word to welcome him, Mark grunted. “So what's it this time?”

Vernon sneered. “I've missed you.”

“Whatever,” Mark said waving his fork in the air as he washed the bacon down with freshly squashed orange juice.

“Nothing's been the same since you dumped me.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You left me for whores.”

“Oh, stop that, Vernon. One day someone might hear you and get the wrong impression,” he said as he stuffed more food in his mouth. “Besides, we weren't compatible, and you know it,” he said with a chuckle.

“Oh, I would've put up with you as long as you stayed clear from the kitchen.”

“Vernon, I wouldn't have put up with you for anything,” Mark pointed out.

“You put up with that slag.”

“Oh yes! But then again people took pity on me. Thought I was a cuckoo, not a queen.”

Indeed, Vernon moving in with Mark after his divorce would have not helped much clean his already tinged reputation. Anyway, Vernon visited Mark with great regularity when Mark's marriage came apart, bringing CDs, video games, books and champagne to cheer him up. His hands always full with groceries, he would appear at unseemly hours to cook or merely fill up his fridge. All through Mark's trying moments, Vernon had been a loyal friend, too loyal for Mark's taste. Many times Vernon had been seen in his tight jeans coming and going, doing the cooking for Mark or disposing of the garbage. Soon, Blokes started to pass rather disturbing stories about Mark's real reasons to get a divorce.

Mark took a better look at Vernon's clothes and chuckled again. “You could dress decently from time to time.”

“What can I say? I have always had a thing for silk.”

“People think you're gay. In fact, I thought you were gay when I saw you last year in those tights!”

“Don't be daft, Mark! I could've dressed like Clark Kent and people'd still have something to say.”

“Still. You, coming home dressed like a …”

“Like what! Silk's the latest tendency! So you're afraid for your reputation? It's not my fault if people think you're queer, Chuck. It's simply that you…divorced, looking bereft and lonely, living with an overweight dog, never a woman again... you give the impression…”

“The pot calling the kettle black.”

“Oh I've my reasons to avoid girls. Women do funny things.”

“Yes, that's true.”

“Like whooping your friends.”

“He was no friend of mine.”

“Oh, no. Not him!”

This time Mark changed the subject, “How did you get in?”

“The dog let me in.”

“How did you get in?” Mark chanted, losing patience with Vernon.

“You left your keys in the keyhole.”

“Sod it!”

“I could've raped you and you wouldn't 've noticed.”

“You tugged me in?”

“I know. I'm sorry. I've no morals. By the way, your buttocks are glorious! How d'you do it?” Vernon asked sounded mystified.

“I jog.”

“Then you must take me with you. I can't reduce the fat around my…” a long description of Vernon's ideas about the benefits of exercise followed. Mark paid no mind to his prattle. He set his mind to finish his breakfast. It was really good.

“Well anyway. How have you been?” asked Vernon when he realised Mark wasn't paying attention.
Mark shrugged. “I'm ok. And you? You're looking well yourself.”

“Thank you,” he said gaily. “Mm. I've been away lately.”

“France?”

“Amsterdam, Las Vegas.”

“Well! I'll be blown! And what were you doing down there?”

“Losing money, actually.”

“Tell me something I don't know. Lost much?”

“I'm broke. As a matter of fact, I've come to have a talk, actually,” he started tentatively. “I've been thinking. Perhaps we should have a go at getting back together, like in the old days. What d'you say?”

“I'd say poverty has ruined your brain.”

“I've nowhere to go.”

“You can't stay here.”

“I'm ill.”

“I don't believe you.”

“It'll be for a short time. We could have separate living arrangements in the house. Separate bedrooms, of course,” he said smugly, “See how it goes.”

“I'm afraid it's impossible, Vernon. I'm in no need of room partners. We're no longer at college.”

Vernon looked dismayed. He had been a lodger at Mark's house during a long time, before Mark had got married. A great fondness attached him to the spacious rooms in fact. Memories of hilarious nights with friends, good music and drinks were edged for ever in his mind. In truth he had thought Mark wouldn't object to his staying. For the good old days.

“Is it a woman? You're dating someone? Are you getting married again?”

“No…what does it have to do with anything anyway? You're not staying. End of story.”

“Who were you talking to last night?” he asked feigning annoyance.

“Vernon, you're not my wife. Do me a favour. Bugger off. Get your butt out of here. If it's money what you need, I can make you a deposit just for this once. Ok? But don't get into the house any more. And next time you see the keys in the keyhole, ring the bell…” he cried exasperated.

“Let me stay tonight.” Vernon pleaded, eyes like those of Puss in Boots. “I'll sleep with Solo. I promise I'll leave tomorrow.”

“No! You cannot stay! And this is my last word!”

Just then the telephone rang. It was Marjorie. Mark had completely forgotten about the lunch. Mark left Vernon and went into his bedroom to get changed. When he came back downstairs, Vernon was moping the countertop with a moisten cloth. Mark watched him moving around and took a few seconds to ponder on his friend's manners. Clearly he was nervous. He must be in some sort of problem. Mark began to feel embarrassed by his ungenerous response. His embarrassment was beginning to turn into remorse when Vernon spotted him in the doorway.

“Who does the cleaning? This place sucks!”

“Listen, Vernon. I must go now. Do you need anything? Mm…errr…I don't want to see you here when I'm back. Got that?”

“Got the message.”

“Here's some cash…Mm…”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, well …I must go now.”

“Will you be back for dinner?”

“No, I've got…Vernon, I warn you…”

“All right, all right. I know when I'm not wanted,” then looking bereft at Mark. “Can I go with you? I'd love to see Marjorie.”

Blind Date

Chapter 9

It was almost one pm when Mark arrived at his sister's. It was a sunny Sunday which meant that his sister would be devoting the bulk of the day to weeding. Accordingly, he found Marjorie in the garden, pruning the roses, her cheeks glowing with sweat under the scorching sun, her straw hat perched right on the back of her head.

“I think you will have to put more mulch on these trees, Richard!” she called out not noticing Mark and Vernon coming towards her across the lawn. Richard was in the vegetable garden, a few steps from the rose arbour. His movements were causing a strong whiff of mint to come from behind the luxuriant creeps that grew fencing the garden where he was pulling out unwanted weeds and watering the herbs.

“There's no need to mow the lawn today, Rick. I'll call the Fetchers' boy to do it sometime in the week.”

“I can do it now,” said Mark with a smile.

“Mark! I was about to call you again. Vernon! How good to see you!”

“Hi, Marjorie,” said Mark warmly as he kissed her sweaty cheek.

“Sweetheart!” cried Vernon. “You look fantastic!”

“So do you, Vernon!”

They talked for a little while, exchanging the usual pleasantries. Then Vernon asked to use the loo.

“Are you two ok, dearest?” asked Marjorie as she watch Vernon going out of ear shot. “I've thought you two had fallen out.”

“Yes, we have. But no one can be angry with Vernon for long. He stayed last night at home but he's leaving today. Where's the lawnmower?”

“Oh, not now, Mark. You must have lunch first.”

“No, thanks I'm not hungry. Vernon's stuffed me with bacon. You two already had something to eat?”

“Oh, you know Richard. Lunch's served at twelve.”

“Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I did remember. But something came up.”

“Oh yes. I can imagine.”

“Look out. That stem has some buds.”

She stopped pruning and looked at the stem Mark was pointing at. She discarded it and went on pruning lower. “Do me a favour. There's some burlap on the countertop in the shed. Will you get it for me? Then please ask Richard for some rope and tie these for me, and swath them in burlap.”
“Of course.”

“But get changed first! You will ruin those trousers!”

Mark went into the house and came back a few minutes later wearing old denim jeans his sister kept for him to wear when they did the garden together.

“Why are you pruning those now?”

“Oh, it was last week's wretched rain. The damp weather was perfect for slugs, and they ate it up during the night. I want to preserve the stems for the spring.”

Mark nodded.

“Here,” she said passing Mark a pair of scissors. “Take off the thorns to swath the stems later.”

“Hey, Mark! Isn't it a bit late for lunch?” said his cousin as he came from the garden, hands full of weeds and sprouts. He had a handkerchief on his head as way of a hat and his face was shiny with sweat, his torso was drenched in perspiration, leaving a smear on his shirt. Richard was well into his forties, addicted to beer and allergic to all sort of exercise that was not on TV. Well, except gardening.

“Hello, Rick. That's some hat!” remarked Mark.

“Thank you,” he answered merrily. “Who is that little Mary?” he asked gesturing towards Vernon.

“That'll be Vernon. Whitman's son, remember?”

Rick shook his head and pursed his lips.

“Vernon's not gay if that what you're thinking.”

“Mhm.”

“He's not.”

“Dear. Just ignore him.”

“Oh, I've nothing against gays,” exclaimed Richard. “It's just I wouldn't like Mark to join them.”

“Vernon's not gay,” Mark insisted.

“Richard, Vernon's a friend of the family, and you know it. His father worked for dad, and they were the best of friends. When Mr Whitman died, dad looked after his wife and Vernon. Mark and Vernon have always been good friends,” Mark nodded emphatically from behind during his sister's discourse. “You know they've been together since infancy,” she went on. “I remember well when Mark and Vernon used to play naked in the paddling pool when they were babies.” Richard raised a brow and a lopsided smiled blossomed. Mark went red in the face.

“It's a pity he turned wild in the end,” Marjorie continued. “But he's always been good to us, hasn't he, dear?”
“To tell you the truth Vernon's sexual life doesn't bother me at all. He could be a crazy queen and I wouldn't give a damn. But as it is, I know he's not gay. A cool-cat, maybe, but nothing beyond that. The trouble is, he's always in debt. He's a compulsive gambler.”

“Hanky-panky?”

“A black sheep,” corrected Marjorie. Then, addressing Mark. “How long is he staying with you?”

“He's not staying. I told him he's got to leave before we get home tonight.”

“We?” asked Richard again. The use of the collective amused him.

“You're staying with us that long?”

“No. I've got a date in town.” Marked blurted distractedly and he immediately regretted it.

“Oh!” his sister said approvingly.

“Is it an unmarried specimen of the weaker sex?” asked Richard.

“Mhm,”

“Oh, Mark! Why didn't you bring her to have lunch with us?”

“Hey, I've just met her.”

“Tell us more.” Richard said suddenly interested. It was the first time Mark admitted having a date with an unmarried woman.

“Where did you meet her?”

Now Mark was dumbfounded. He could not possible tell his sister and Richard where or how he had met Eliza. As a matter of fact, he could not believe he had told them anything about her at all.

“She's just a fleeting acquaintance.”

“You mean an easy shag.”

“Oh, stop that you, daft idiot.” Marjorie said slapping Richard slightly on his shoulder. “Let Mark speak.”

“There's precious little to say. We've just met. I'll tell you if there's anything more to say later on. Ok?”

Mark nodded in Vernon's direction, who was beginning to feel the effect of walking in leather trousers on a boiling day like that, grimacing with each step. Vernon waved his hand at Rick. Rick frowned.

“How old is she?” shot Marjorie not forgetting for an instant the momentous event.

Now that was the one question Mark dreaded most.

“She's rather young,” he admitted lightly.

“She's not one of your students?” Marjorie ventured a bit apprehensive.

“No.”

“She's not married?” asked Vernon positively astounding, catching up with the conversation immediately.

“No.”

“Whoopy!” clapped Marjory cheerfully.

“You, old Bean, didn't tell me anything! Mark, you must marry this one,” said Vernon, merrily.

“Oh, yes Mark,” pleaded Marjorie. “I'm not getting any younger, you know. I want to be a young aunty. Not a granny to your children.”

“I knew you'd say something like this. Listen I've just met her… I…”

“Have you two…mm?” Richard winked at him as he prodded him lightly with an elbow.

“I won't answer that!”

“So you have!” Richard said conclusively.

“When are you planning to bring her here?” interjected Marjorie.

“I'm not planning to…”

“Next Sunday will be excellent. Don't you think next Sunday will be just fine Richard?

Richard nodded. “I can cook something special,” he said smiling broadly.

“Does she like meat? Did you say she's a foreigner? I hope she's not Latin. Latin people are so lousy. She's not Latin, is she sweetheart?”

“Marjorie. I won't bring Eliza next Sunday. I…”

“Eliza! Goodness Mark! She's not one of those Bennet girls from the north, is she?” asked Vernon with a grin on his face.

“Oh, what a perfectly beautiful name! Isn't it, Rick? Why not? Why can't you bring her next week?”

Mark sighed. If you cannot beat them, then join them. “Fact is, we're planning a weekend on our own. You know. To get to know each other. See how it goes.”

“Oh! I see. That's why Vernon's staying at your place, isn't that sugar? To take care of the house.” Vernon jigged delightedly in triumph. “And where are you two going?”

“Don't know, yet.” Mark hissed while eyeing Vernon with scorn.

“You must take her to Pemberley!” cried Vernon almost in hysterics.

“Ha!” Richard chuckled.

“Oh, stop that Rick,” cried Marjorie beginning to lose patience. “You two! You're just envious!

Just then they heard a car's brakes screeching to a halt.

“Bless my soul! What was that!” asked Marjorie.

Chapter 10

Mark's mobile phone rang. Backing away a little into the kitchen, he answered it. Meantime, Marjorie went out to see to the door. Judging from the noise of the brakes, it could be nothing else but Charles Benson's mad driving. Marjorie could only hope he had not brought his sister along with him.

At the other end of the telephone, one of Mark's students sounded very anxious.

“I'm sorry to bother you, Mr Darcy.”

Mark recognised the student's voice instantly. It was that sweet blonde that he had been tutoring for the last semester. “No, no bother at all. What's up?” He made an effort to relax and sound comfortable. He generally avoided private calls from students, especially if they were gorgeous blondes he was in position to fancy. After all, he could not afford getting involved with a student. He had a reputation to keep.

“I'm not sure,” the student said timidly.

“Listen. I'm at my sister's and...”

“I've been going about all this data and…how…I'm really… no, I'm not sure.”

“I'm afraid I can't help you. You see, it's Sunday and I'm…”

“I don't know, professor. I'm stuck.”

“Can we not talk this over on Monday?”

“I have to finish this by Friday. Oh, oh, oh (a crash was heard at the other end followed by the student's voice swearing) Bugger it! Sorry, not to you! I've smashed a dish.”

“It's ok. Listen, I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you…”

“Can I come over to your place and show you?”

“Actually, I'm not at home,” (haven't I told you?).

“Sod it!”

“Yes, well…I'll call you …”

“Where are you?”

“Pardon?”

“Listen, I've got a car. I can be anywhere within a radius of thirty miles in a flash.”
“No way.”

“It'll be only a few minutes…”

“Listen. I've got to go. I'm in the middle of a....”

Just then, Marjorie came back from answering the door bell. But she wasn't alone. A couple was with her. To Mark's dismay, out of the corner of his eye, he spied Charles and Rebecca Benson. Somehow, working on Sunday suddenly became quite appealing after all. Mark had studied all sorts of misfortunes at university: wars, revolutions, famines, pestilences, and could spend the whole evening discussing hundreds of papers on those topics. In fact, he could stand anything but Rebecca Benson's unbridled flirting.

“Please… I promise it won't take long. I promise,” the student went on. “I've been trying to fill in the gaps but I'm always stuck in the same place. I'm so embarrassed to have to talk to you on a Sunday. I stayed on campus to work on this the whole weekend and all for nothing! Hate this draft! It'll never be a complete thesis at this pace, I'm afraid.”

“Well, yes, all right,” he said. Mark decided that agreeing to work the rest of the afternoon was better than fencing the aggressive advances of Rebecca. “Have you got the files in your computer? Or is it printed material?”

“No, it's printed.”

“Well then, come over for a sec, and send me anything you've got in your files. Can you take down the address? Yes, I'll wait.” He waited a few seconds for the student to grab a pen. “The address is 565 Ashley Road SW. Got that?”

“565…Ashley Road SW. Got that.”

“See you in…ehm…”

“Twenty minutes. Thank you!”

He hung up and went directly into Marjorie's office, at all times deliberately avoiding eye contact with everyone in the house, feigning great annoyance and concern over the phone call, lest he should be confronted with the undesirable Rebecca. After efficiently hiding from her for a while, he relaxed a little and flopped himself onto a sofa. It was a good thing he had brought old Vernon with him after all. He would offer great entertainment while he hid in the office.

Without bothering to knock at the door (after all it was her office, wasn't it?), Marjorie came in to the study, and gave her brother a knowing look. “I've got a book for you. It's called `How to do PhD Supervising and Keep a Social Life at the Same Time'. Can't you just say no for a change?”

“I could. But she's … She's not really on a solid path, you know. I mean, to complete it this year. Actually, she's worried about my criticism of her work. I'm also genuinely worried. She might not be up to doing a PhD after all. Besides, this way I'll be safe from Rebecca.”

“I know. So you have the perfect alibi to stay away from her claws. Why don't you tell her you just aren't interested?”

“Believe me, I've tried. She's simply mad. Same as my student. Once she lost her mind completely after I told her I was not satisfied with her and would rather not go on after all. I didn't want her to waste her time. Ripped up a whole month's work furiously at my face.”

“Ms Benson or your student?”

“Well, actually, my student.”

“A bit temperamental.”

“These kids are mad.”

“Kid? How old is she?

“Dunno. Twenty something.”

“She's an adult for God's sake!”

“I know. But she needs my help.”

“Yes but, Sunday?”

“I'm sorry, Marge. Would you rather have me gone?”

“No, of course not. Stay. Use my study. D'you need my …” she nodded towards the computer.

“No. Only the printer. She's sending her files, and I like to have them in my hand rather than reading them on the screen.”

“Of course, sweetie. Do I send your regards to the Bensons? ”

“Please, apologise to Charles.”

“I'll show your student in when she arrives.”

Once alone, Mark went over to his sister's computer, put on his glasses and prodded her password with a pencil on the keyboard. A twinkling sound announced he had been granted access to the computer and Mark looked for the icons he knew well. But strangely enough, they weren't on the desktop. He clicked on the window icon and nothing on the screen was familiar to him. “Sod it. What's wrong here?” he wondered. He was just about to call for his sister when the door opened and he heard Marjorie approached from behind.
Only it wasn't Marjorie.

* * * *

The beautiful blonde got into her car, her laptop securely placed on the passenger seat, and she set out for the road. Her teacher was a great guy. She must remember to buy a token for him. But what could he like? Not a tie. He didn't wear those. He only wore those ridiculous bow ties that made him look ten years older. Maybe some wine. No. He must be very touchy with spirits. Gay guys were always touchy about those things. She had heard he was definitely gay, though perhaps he thought no one knew. He must be. He was the only guy on campus of her acquaintance who had not made a pass at her. And God! If he were straight, he would be the only guy on campus with whom she would be willing to have something. But these days, all handsome men seemed to have passed to the other side. After she pulled over in front of the Victorian house at the address she had been given, she reached for her handbag and fished into it for her mobile.

She quickly found her sister's number among the list of quick contacts and texted her she would probably be a bit late home for dinner.

* * * * *

At home in her apartment, Eliza received Mark's text message saying he would be late for their date and suggested dinner at her place.

Now what to do? Her sister Jane would be at home tired from working to the point of exhaustion, probably expecting to have late dinner with her. Maybe she could leave her some Chinese takeaway. Mark could take her out, couldn't he? After all this would be their first real date. She picked up the phone and dialled his number. But he wasn't at home. So she took her mobile and tapped his contact. A few seconds later she heard a metallic voice asking her to leave a message.

“Bugger it. Where are you, Mr Darcy?”

* * * * *

“Where's your sweet brother, Marjorie?” Rebecca asked impatiently as she hammered her nails against the garden table. “I saw his car parked outside.”

“Yes. Where's he?” seconded Charles.

“He received an urgent phone call from a student. He's working on some tuition and only God knows what else,” Marjorie explained with a matter-of-fact tone as she distributed the tea saucers and cups.

“What! He's working? Has he become workaholic or something?”

“I imagine he could've gotten away had he not been so willing to avoid a certain person.”

“You mean he's avoiding me?” Rebecca asked indignantly.

Marjorie merely pursed her lips.

“You're cruel, Marjorie. Spinsterhood's turning you into a wicked witch. You'd better find some proper job. I think I've had enough of your cruel jokes. ”

“Oh, darling. It was nothing but the truth,” she answered saucily.

Charles and George jerked their heads away to avoid showing their mirth. Even as she stared in surprise, still open-mouthed, Rebecca would not avert her eyes. Jumping to her feet, she rushed across the lawn towards the house, where she imagined Mark could be hiding away.

Marjorie laughed. It was a wicked laugh.

“Why did you do that?” asked Richard quite intrigued.

“I pity her. She has to come to terms with Mark's indifference.”

“You sound as if you were enjoying the whole thing,” Richard remarked.

“Only a little,” she conceded. “On the other hand she's so stubborn.”

* * * * *

It didn't take Rebecca long to find Mark's hiding place. She went into the study with a quick, nervous step that proved her spectacular tantrum. As she came closer, it was clear to Mark that she had not come to inquire after his health. She was flushed and plainly furious. “Oh, hi Rebecca,” he mumbled as he continued fumbling with the mouse, still unable to find the hang of it. The computer blinked in protestation.

“Is it true?”

Mark raised his eyes from behind his glasses. “What?”

“That you're bloody hiding away from me? Is it true?”

With a swaggering motion of his hand, he yanked his glasses off and asked. “Why should I hide from you, may I ask?”

“Marjorie said so,” she snapped, sending a piercing look at him. “Tell me. Is there anything wrong with me?”

“There's nothing wrong with you, Rebecca. I'm just busy here.”

“Then why don't you like me?”

He stared at her in bewilderment. Could this be happening to him? And why didn't he like her? Ah yes. She was single and desperate to get married. But he couldn't say so, could he?

“Why don't you like me? I'll go crazy, Mark. I don't know what else to do to show you I…I want to be with you. Mark. Look at me. Tell me what's wrong with me.”

“As I've told you before. There's nothing wrong with you. It's only that I'm…” he hesitated. What could he say? ` I'm sorry, Reb. I only date married women. You see, I'm not prepared for a commitment?'

“Yes…You can tell me, Mark,” she said encouragingly.

No. Mark couldn't say what was no longer true. For his feelings for the nearly complete stranger that was waiting for him to have dinner at her place were indeed scaring. He had been contemplating not only sex with her, but also marriage, and family, and even a daughter. Perhaps it was a refutable proof that he had matured. That he had left his failed marriage behind. That he was, in fact, ready for a commitment. “Actually, I'm …”

In turn, Rebecca was too scared to hear from Mark that he was not interested in her. She would rather hear he was unable to feel anything from women in general. As he hesitated to give a convincing reason for his flat refusal to have something with her, the most preposterous idea trickled into Rebecca's mind. “You're gay?”

Mark was momentarily dumbfounded.

“Is it true, Mark?” she whispered.

Mark shook his head still unable to find words to answer her.

“Is it Vernon?” she ventured. “Because if it is true, I can handle it. I know of many couples …”

“I'm not gay,” he interrupted her, exasperated. Was it possible that everyone believed him gay? This was beginning to bother him. “I'm just…I happen to be already…involved… with someone else.”

“Oh.”

“Are you ok?”

Admittedly, Rebecca was relieved. It was comforting to know that he was not rejecting her. The notion that he didn't find her remotely likeable would be insupportable. “Yes.”

“I'm sorry.”

“So involved, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Not in love.”

“Listen, I …”

“I know, I know. I'm sorry.” Getting closer to him, she sat on his lap, boldly putting her arms around his neck and purring into his ear. “Will you let me know when it's over?”

Mark went red in the face. He wasn't at all shy. The last time he had let himself been carried away by the moment, he ended up completely hooked. Indeed, Mark was certain his feelings, his warm emotions resulting from the vertigo of his unexpected encounter with Eliza were something beyond lust. Yes. At first he had thought Eliza could have been someone who was just willing to go all the way with him. But she was more. There was this comfort about her, this warmness, this kindness and trust he had never felt before. And yet, Rebecca on his lap, eyes holding his gaze expectantly was altogether unsettling. “Sure,” he answered, feeling just the opposite.

“Promise?”

What could a man say in such a situation, for God's sake? `No. I'm not interested? I'll never phone you? Or email you?' Actually, they could. But no. In reality they just don't. No. That is not simply how it is done. A man would say yes, and never phone after all. And Mark was no less man than the regular guy. But Rebecca was quite content with the promise she exacted, and didn't give much consideration to how reluctantly it had been granted. For the first time, her efforts to attract Mark's attention had resulted in a definable physical, if fleeting, response. Accordingly, she gave him a rewarding peck on his lips. Mark knew that they had gone way too far already and he tried to slid from under her when the door opened to reveal his student, laptop and folder in hands, with Marjory and Vernon at her heels.

Just then, Mark's mobile phone rang.

Chapter 11

So in the end Mark Darcy was not gay. The discovery had left Jane completely astonished. To that day, she had accepted the general view that people had of him, the one everybody had heard about, which was that Mark Darcy was an eccentric, detached kind of guy, probably a genius, but nonetheless decidedly gay. Surprisingly enough, she felt thoroughly embarrassed to be in his presence now that she was aware she was in front of a gorgeous heterosexual specimen.

Had Jane ever imagined him to be straight she would have never agreed to the tutoring. The last thing she wished was to become romantically involved with a teacher. Truth be told, judging from Mark Darcy's good looks, that could have easily happened had she not believed him queer. Until that day, Jane had felt safe since he had been ... how to put it, a peer.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jane spied Mark as he attentively read the draft of her thesis. Why was he not wearing his glasses, she wondered? She strained her eyes and noticed he was wearing contacts. So, he was vain. Nothing wrong with that! Obviously he did not try to impress his female students at college, since he never wore contacts there. On the contrary, he probably was determined to avoid getting involved with anyone from the college. That must be why he always looked so perfectly English there. But in his personal life and with his girlfriend that was a different story, Jane had noticed.

Mark's mobile rang and they were both startled by it. He mumbled excuses to Jane and answered. Jane saw his features changed if not softened a little. At the other end she thought she perceived a female voice. To Jane's amazement Mark Darcy talked sweetly to her. It was quite a sight. He really seemed quite smitten with her. Jane could almost swear the woman who was now speaking with him was not the same one who had been on his lap a few minutes before. Did he have another girlfriend? Mark seemed to notice Jane spying him while he talked so he turned his back and continued talking. Jane tried to look uninterested and began to scan her papers as if she was not listening. He turned around again, looked at her and moved a distance away. He was definitely talking to a special girl, for Jane could see two previously unknown dimples appearing at both sides of his face. Ha! What a discovery!

God he was handsome when he smiled! Jane felt herself blushing furiously. She wondered how she could have not noticed before! Out of his line of sight, she examined him from behind. He had quite broad shoulders and she was certain firm buttocks beneath those jeans. His tone was lighthearted and mocking on the phone and at times almost velvety as he obviously whispered endearments.

"Listen. I'd better go. You've plans...I dunno..." she said apologetically when he had finished his conversation.

"Well, yes. But, mm, she ... I mean ...my plans will wait."

Jane nodded, flattered that he wanted to finish with her instead of going on with his plans, but she made a mental promise to concentrate harder on her paper and less on her interlocutor.

But it was in vain. He simply drove her to distraction. She could see now that Mark Darcy was quite the stud. After the woman she had found cuddled on his lap had left them alone in Miss Darcy's study, Jane had sent him a cursory look and her judgement of his appearance left her more than pensive. He was not wearing his ever present tie and black trousers. Instead, his clothes were casual and quite becoming. He had a T-shirt on and from the opening at the front she could spy a generous amount of chest hair. A pair of jeans gave him a boyish look. His hair, also, was strikingly different, tousled curls on his high forehead that took a good ten years from him. His face, unusually young, his dark eyebrows widely arched and the stillness of his gaze as he roamed across the papers and settled on her to point something out.

Jane could hardly come to terms with the idea that she had spent so much time in comfortable companionship with such a delicious man, all the time with the wrong notion that no matter what she wore or how she smiled he would not be interested. Unconsciously, she began to worry about the way she looked that day, tugging a straight lock of hair behind her ear, wishing she had changed at least her blouse. She had not dressed for Mark Darcy, but for her gay teacher who had never taken notice of her. The truth is that when it came to straight men that hardly ever happened no matter what she had on. Every time Jane spent the minimum amount of time with a heterosexual guy, she would arouse his attention. But that simply did not seem to happen with her teacher.

Unfortunately, Jane now found him quite distracting. Rebecca must have sensed the danger for every now and then, she would quite unexpectedly poke her head into the study to see if they had finished. In the end, Mark begged her not to interrupt them any longer and she obediently ceased her pursuit. She was obviously keeping an eye on her cattle.

Darcy had always taken his tutoring with great care. Granted, he was the severest critic of Jane's writing style. This time, however, Jane abandoned her usual attitude, and did not argue with his judgement of her work. All of a sudden, her teacher made her feel vulnerable, her boldness almost gone. When Mark pointed out the flaws in her writing not once did she try to argue his reasoning. Being alone with him had suddenly turned strange, almost compromising. Without meaning to, their hands had grazed each other as it had happened countless times in the past, while they looked at the papers, yet this time Jane had felt her face colour with absurd embarrassment. Her first reaction was to freeze and her eyes darted to his. She felt a strange tightening at her stomach. Mark noticed her discomfort too and he was a bit taken aback. What was wrong with her?

Hard as Mark tried to finish in time for his date with Eliza, they ended up working on Jane's urgent paper until quite late. When they finally poked their heads out of the study, they found the house utterly silent. Ever so charming, Mark took the enchanted Jane to the door and saw her drive away. When he went into the house again, he found Vernon sprawled on a sofa, watching old movies with Marjorie and Richard, Charles and Rebecca long gone, thank goodness.

He took a quick glance to his wristwatch, and went into the study again. There he picked up his mobile phone and prodded Eliza's number with a pencil. Her recorded voice answered first, then her dreamy voice came in as in slow motion.

"I'll be there in no time," he just said.

"Ok. I'll do my best not to fall asleep."

"I'm sorry. Has your sister arrived?"

"Not yet. I'll leave her a note."

"You're sure you don't want to cancel?"

"No, no. It's all right. I was waiting for you."

"Good. Coming in no time at all."

As Jane drove away, flashes of Mark Darcy's mortified look in spotting her spying on him while talking on the phone with his girl made Jane giggle. Afterwards it had taken him quite a time to recover his wits. He had stammered and blushed all through the following part of their meeting. Jane had felt almost sorry for him for he was clearly looking forward to finishing with her to see this woman.

But then it had been her time to blush. It is shameful how one's body refuses to conceal one's emotions. Incredible as it may seem, this time Jane had failed to keep her heart under regulation. Even when she had schooled her thoughts to steer clear from Mark Darcy's fine looks, certain parts of her body will not lie. At first she denied it, then she doubted it and at last she accepted it. It was embarrassing enough but ...God, she had been fancying her teacher!

A flash of headlights from an oncoming vehicle caught Jane's attention. To her amazement, in looking at her rear mirror, she thought she could see Mark driving his car right behind her. She screwed her eyes up squinting because of the glare and yes, it was him! What did he mean following her? Soon she saw he was not, for Mark pulled ahead without even looking at her. Jane sighed. For a moment she had imagined what would she do if her teacher was making a pass at her.

She caught up with him at the traffic lights. This time she pulled out beside him and he spotted her. With a bewildered look on his face, he nodded in acknowledgment but could do nothing else since the green light forced them to advance.

Mark's uneasiness in seeing Jane was not greater than his excitement of the prospect of seeing Eliza again. His unruly member jumped and fluttered like a mouse trapped beneath his trousers, the journey to her place already a foreplay, even though he knew perfectly well they would have to go somewhere else. He had his place in mind, that was why he had asked Vernon to stay at Marjorie's, since Eliza's sister was coming to stay at her flat. After Jane's car reached the same ring road that led to Eliza's place, however, Mark began to be seriously worried; a certain film, starring Michael Douglas coming to his mind.

He reached the block of apartments first, and prodded the bell of her apartment. Eliza let him in and he was about to call the lift when he saw his student getting into the building, a bewildered look upon her face, sporting her own set of keys and walking, head first, in his direction They held each other's eyes but none knew what to say or how to explain their presence in the same building and about to climb on the same elevator.

At length he asked shyly. "D'you live here?"

"Yes," she said, then added cheekily. "Do you?"

"No. I've got a date with ..." he gestured upstairs.

"Ah."

"The world's a napkin," he observed.

"Yes."

He backed a little to let her get into the lift and then very gentlemanly asked her, "which floor? I'm going four."

"Me too."

Unconsciously, Mark touched number two.

She quickly, yet decidedly intrigued, corrected him, "No. Four. I'm going four, as well."


Chapter 12

Releasing his hand from under her head, Mark eased Eliza across the couch as they toppled over it in slow motion. With his free hand, he urgently removed her knickers, in which she eagerly helped, abandoning all hesitation and gingerly lifting her buttocks from the couch to allow the intimate garment to pass her knees and ultimately her ankles. At this, the springs squeaked a little as they moved, and Mark immediately regretted not having gone straight to bed. Yet, far from disturbing him, the rhythmic squeaking of the couch as their lovemaking acquired tempo only spurred him on. He felt her naked buttocks with his hands. They were so firm, tangible evidence that she was very young; he almost felt ashamed. But she was so compliant in his arms, so experienced apparently, that judging by his intense excitement, Mark would have imagined he was the pubescent lover.

His impatience for fulfilment wasn't a good sign. What was there about this girl of a woman that excited in him such painful cravings to have her? His need to possess her, to be joined with her had begun building up inside of him while he was driving to her place. It was savage, unnatural, and utterly pubertal.

Now that they were both naked on the couch, he lay beside her, propped on one elbow, gazing at her supine form with all the restraint he was capable of, holding back his desire to plunge into her without further ceremony. Her eyes almost hidden by her thick lashes, Eliza observed him with adoration. Never in his life had a woman looked at him that way. He felt like a god condescending in sexual intercourse with an inferior being. But she was no lesser creature. She was all curves and subtle flesh, firm and lush at the same time, and she was his for the taking.

Unfortunately, they didn't have the whole night. Eliza's sister (now he knew his student was also Eliza's sister) had realised she had left her laptop at Marjorie's house. Mark had offered to phone Marjorie and ask Vernon to bring it to her place first thing in the morning, but she said she had planned to go on working at her paper that night and preferred to go for it immediately. Mark did call Marjorie anyway to inform her that Jane was heading for her place to retrieve the forgotten laptop.

When Mark had first seen Jane on the same lift with him going to the same floor, he was more than surprised that she should be his lover's neighbour. It had never occurred to him that Jane could be so closely related to Eliza. So when he spotted her face beaming at him from a photo frame, Mark almost collapsed with surprise.

"Is this your sister?"

"Yes."

"Amazing."

"What?"

"I mean...I've just seen her on the lift."

"Oh. How odd. Why hasn't she come in then?"

"Oh, she was...she said she'd left something behind...her laptop..."

"She said that to you?"

"Actually...yes. We were on the same lift."

"So you've met my sister?"

"So it seems."

"And what d'you think of her?"

"What?"

"Most men fall in love with Jane the moment they set eyes on her."

"Not me. I've got eyes only for you. Besides, I've known your sister for a long time."

"Really?"

"Aha."

"Tell me about it."

"Not now. If I'm not mistaken, your sister won't be back for a good hour. I'd be loath to waste so much precious time talking about her when ..." he took her left hand and sucked the ends of her fingers, one by one, and then put his tongue briefly on her palm and licked and kissed the back of her wrist "... I could be making love to you. Come." He pulled her toward the couch that looked inviting enough for them to make out comfortably there, though Mark decidedly had something more in mind. Before he slid to her side, he trod on the backs of his shoes to remove them, hastily snatched off his socks, and before she could count to two, was naked but for his wristwatch. She laughed hysterically during the whole strip show, understandably unaccustomed to such a spectacle. "You're crazy," she cackled.

Beaming at her, he said. "I'm glad you've noticed." With a confident swaggering motion, he returned to her side and began to undress her, a job she was too blissful to help him to perform.

When they were both sans clothes, he lay beside her, caressing her body and kissing her neck and breast and then, in one athletic move, he rolled on top of her, pinning her down on the couch. He lowered his head and kissed her repeatedly, his tongue grazing her lips and teasing her mouth to allow him in. Amazingly, they professed several convincing I-love-yous to each other while sublimely engaged in frenzied sex.

But if Mark had ever made one big mistake in his life, it was to awake curiosity in Eliza. He had left her in suspense as to how he and her sister had known each other before she serendipitously made his acquaintance. While her body and heart were relishing in Mark's embrace, Eliza's brain was reeling to find the answer to that question. Suddenly she seemed to put two and two together.

"Mark?" Mark's breathing was coming with difficulty. He was ferociously sucking her breast attempting to propel her into passion, and he prayed he could do it quickly. He wanted to pleasure her before he...well...before he burst.

"Mark..." Mark's hands were travelling the length of her body, his head pressed to her breasts, his tongue licking the taut nipples, when her voice came floating like a dream into his ears. "Mark..."

"Mmm"

"Mark...where have you met my sister?"

"Mmm..."

"Mark..." Losing her patience, she pulled lightly on his hair. "Mark, you're not listening..." At last, his head rose from her bosom, a look of frustration in his eyes. Mark propped on his elbows and looked at her in utter bewilderment. Still, he cautiously chose his words, a bit annoyed and at the same time surprised by his apparent inability to engage her whole attention in their present activity, afraid all this conversation would spoil the moment he was almost savouring.

"Eli, I'll tell you all about it later, ok?"

"Ok." He smiled at her sweetly and she seemed to understand his meaning since she kissed him on the lips with great abandon. Good Lord, this...this...girl, woman, knocked him senseless. He felt his blood flooding his groins... No, no, not yet... Hold on, hold on...

"Oh God, Eli. I think I..."

"Mark..."

"Mmm..."

"Do you teach at Jane's college?"

He stopped short and looked at her in frank confusion. Was she doing it on purpose?

"Eli. Please, I'm busy here."

"Oh, well."

"Well."

"But you do? I mean, you teach at Jane's college?"

"Do you speak as a rule while you make love?"

She shrugged. "What is wrong with a little conversation?"

"Oh no. Nothing is wrong. It's only that I can't talk about college while I...while I'm trying to focus here." He pronounced the last words with a little exasperation, which Eliza didn't fail to notice.

"Oh, all right. Do you usually get so easily annoyed?"

"Listen, Eli. I'm in a sad state. Can we just proceed?"

"Ok. I just wanted to know whether you knew her gay tutor."

"Huh?"


Chapter 13


Aargh! The phone rang frenetically in the living room. Marjorie jumped out of bed at the edge of a mayor nervous crisis, still unsure what the heck had woken her so suddenly. She staggered blindly downstairs, half asleep, hoping not to tread on either cat or dog in the dark. Had she not stubbornly refused to have an extension installed in her bedroom, she would have now been able to answer the call from bed. Bumping over the small coffee table where the telephone lay buzzing like mad, she almost dropped the receiver when she answered frantically, "Yes!"

"Marge?"

"Yes."

"Are you ok? You sound a bit freaked out."

"Mark. I was sleeping," she bellowed icily.

"I'm sorry. But my student's forgotten something in your study."

"Pardon?"

"She left her laptop at your place and she's going back there to pick it up."

"Humph. Can't she wait till morning?"

Apparently she could not. Faith, Marjorie loved her younger brother more than anything in the world. He had never been a bother to her. On the contrary, it had been a consolation for her to have someone to nurse when her mother and father had so tragically died in that accident, leaving her an orphan and in charge of a child of ten. So despite the fact that Marjorie hated being awakened in the middle of a night by bizarre telephone calls and hated having to wait on someone she barely knew even more, she did not complain to Mark. When Marjorie hung up the telephone, however, she cursed in a most unladylike manner. Just as she did so, she spied Richard's head rising from the couch.

"What's going on?" he asked mystified. He hardly ever heard his perfectly mannered cousin curse. Vernon also poked his head up on hearing Richard's inquiry. Their hostess looked at them with a tinge of shocking surprise on her face. From the way they looked, she quickly conjectured they had dozed off while watching a video.

"Oh. So you're still there. Don't you ever bother to answer the bloody phone when you hear it?"

"Sorry, old girl. I swear I didn't hear it," said Richard apologetically.

"Oh shut up," she bristled crossly.

"Who was it anyway?

"It was Mark."

"Mark? Anything wrong?"

"No. Only his student's coming back."

"Huh?"

"You know, the girl with the long legs?" Richard almost jumped from the coach. Yes, he remembered those legs well enough.

"What's the matter?"

"She's coming for her laptop which she very absentmindedly left behind."

"At this very moment?"

"Yes."

Hurray! The moment he had set eyes on the gorgeous blonde, Richard knew she was intended for him. Of course, she didn't know it yet. The truth was she was just the kind of woman he liked. Beautiful. Unfortunately, he was suddenly reminded that he had not been on particularly good terms with Cupid of late. In other words, his love life was quite a mess, if not bluntly dull. His last girlfriend had chucked him again (Yes, she did it several times) and gone back with her former boyfriend. Typical.

"What is it that she wants?" Vernon asked dreamily for confirmation as he stood up, brushing away the wrinkles on his trousers.

"She left her laptop behind in my study and she's coming back to pick it up." Marjorie explained again.

"Right now?"

Marjorie nodded. "Isn't she cheeky?"

"I can wait on her if you want," offered Vernon adjusting his ponytail. Richard eyed him suspiciously if not a little panicky. If Vernon was not gay as Mark declared, then he posed a real challenge. Vernon was...metrosexual? Yes. That was it, whatever that meant.

"Will you, honey?" asked Marjorie with enthusiasm. "I'd really appreciate it. I'm exhausted." Then she turned round to go to her bedroom but stopped in midstride. "You don't think she's the girl Mark was talking about this afternoon, do you?"

Shit. She's right. What if she is? But then again, it wasn't like Mark to attempt such a subterfuge to date someone, thought Richard.

Vernon shook his head with a slightly patronizing air. "Nope. Darcy would never meddle with someone from work, I grant you."

Marjorie's face fell. She had fancied the girl. Imagine nieces and nephews with dark hair and those beautiful azure eyes!

"Honestly, Marjorie. D'you really think Mark will ever get married again?" bellowed Richard.

To be honest she did not. But the idea simply enchanted her. She wanted Mark married with children yesterday.

"No. I was just kidding. Of course Mark would never get involved with someone from college."

"Of course not."

Vernon started to make for Marjorie's study.

"Where are you going, Vernon?"

"I'm going for the girl's laptop. She'll be here in a couple of minutes."

"NO. I'll get it," proclaimed Richard, prodding Vernon on his shoulder with his index finger.

"Hey, hey, hey! What's wrong with him?"

"Ahahaha. I smell testosterone here," laughed Marjorie.

"Why don't you ninnies go back to bed?" asked Rich scornfully.

Marjorie lowered her head and looked at him disdainfully. "Mmm. Definitely testosterone of the worst class," she snapped.

Richard, paying no mind to Marjorie's mock went directly into the study and returned, laptop in hand and a satisfied grin on his face.

"I suppose I can go to bed, now. You will get the door when she comes, won't you Rick?"

"You can rest assured I will."

"Good. Night-night, then."

"Good night."

"Aren't you going too?" asked Richard to Vernon hopefully.

"No. I'd like to have another look at those legs again. Wouldn't you?"

"Actually, I was thinking of inviting her for a drink."

"A drink? Here?"

"Yes. This is my home as well as Marjorie's, and she won't mind. Do you?"

"No. Not in the least."

"I'm glad to hear that. Now, if you will excuse me..."

"Oh, well. I guess I'll be in your way if I stay."

"You definitely will."

"In that case, I think I'll take myself to bed. Good night."

"Bye." When Vernon disappeared, Richard went over to a huge mirror that hung from the wall in the living room and took a look at himself in it. He had had a shower and changed into a clean shirt, but he thought the beautiful blonde was worthy of another change of clothes. He went in a hurry to his bedroom and put on his favourite shirt. He thought he looked better now. His skin had acquired a nice tan after he had spent the whole day pruning and shovelling in the garden. He felt his chin. It was a bit sandy, but then again the nascent bear gave him a casual look that added to his charm. He applied a drop of Givengy Gentleman au de toilette on his neck. Just in case. One never knows.

The web was prepared; he just had to wait for his victim to arrive. When he heard her car pulling up outside, he rose and went directly to the door without letting her ring the bell.


Chapter 14


Richard was walking towards Jane with no idea of what he would say. Yet, in the matter of opening lines, he was definitely reliable.

"Hi," he said when he was near enough. "You must be Mark's student." He stared at her in a way that was unmistakable to Jane. She glanced at him with her coldest look.

"And you are..."

"Mark's cousin..."

"Hello, Mark's cousin. I just came for my..."

"I know. Your laptop."

"Yeah, I'm sorry to bother, but..."

"No bother at all. I was waiting for you..."

"So I see," she said full of sarcasm.

He drew closer. "Mark phoned," he explained. Extending his hand, he made a proper introduction of himself. One that would render him more than someone else's cousin. "I'm Rick. Richard, in fact. Richard Darcy. But please, call me Rick."

Despite herself, Jane smiled. "Please to meet you, Rick. I'm Jane Evans."

"Please, come in, Jane. The others are gone to bed already, but I think I can manage some entertainment. Let me offer you something to drink."

The invitation instantly put her on guard again. She was in no mood for that, as tired as she was. "Oh, no, thanks. I'm here only for my laptop." She was standing with her arms akimbo, a defiant look in her eyes.

"Oh come on. Don't break my heart. I already have your laptop, but you must accept a drink. That's my price for having waited up for you."

That certainly went bang on target. Jane suddenly realised the stranger in front of her had been very nice to have stayed up to wait for her until very late, and she was in exchange being universally rude to him. She felt a flush of embarrassment invading her face. "Oh, I'm so sorry. You're right. I apologise. This is no hour to..."

"I'm only joking," he said with a lighthearted tone. "Don't torture yourself. I hardly go to bed before midnight," he lied. "Come. Let me offer you something to drink and then we're all off to bed."

"Ok. One quick drink." She followed him inside and into the sitting room. The room was slightly dim and there was slow music in the background.

What's all this? she thought to herself. Okay, one drink and then I say goodbye to this Don Juan.

With great enthusiasm, Richard went triumphantly over to a small bar and behind a varnished counter where there were a great variety of bottles displayed on a large mirrored shelf. "What d'you want?"

"Whatever you're having," she answered. Richard smiled scintillatingly. Ok. You asked for it.

"So, you're Mark's student," he said as he poured some transparent beverage into the tumblers.

"Aha. Actually, he's my tutor," she said while taking a seat on the large and only sofa.

"And your field is..." he said as he handed her, her drink.

"Philosophy. Thanks."

"Interesting." Rick sat by her side of course, but not close to her, his arm stretched on the back of the sofa.

"Are you interested in philosophy?" she asked in between sips.

"Well, not particularly. Actually, not my cup of tea. But I do find it interesting anyway. What is it you're writing with Mark?"

"My thesis."

He raised his eyebrows in an invitation for her to explain all about it. Bingo! That was it. There was precious little Jane liked more than talking about her thesis.

"Well. It's about human rights and how these were disregarded so often by so called democracies."

"Mmm..."

"Have you ever heard of the mothers from Plaza de Mayo?

"Nope."

"Well, they are a group of ladies from South America who are fighting for their right to recover their children."

"They lost them?" he asked stupidly.

Jane didn't take the hint of the joke and she went on seriously, "Well, sort of. They disappeared without a trace during the dictatorship in the 70's. Some of them were young pregnant women. The mothers of Plaza de Mayo want to find those children. They're actually their grandchildren but were given away in adoption when their parents were killed during the revolution."

"I see."

"My paper revolves about that..."

Raising the bottle again, he signalled her to fill her glass again. "What will we toast to, then?"

Jane shrugged.

"Human rights?"

She smiled, and the smiled was unmistakably for him this time. "Human rights," she said delighted.

Their glasses clinked and they both sipped the drinks while holding each other's gazes.

"So, mothers of Plaza de Mayo. First time in my life I've ever heard about them."

"My paper is about their struggle to get heard and the impact of the press on their quest."

"Interesting indeed."

"What is this?" she asked referring to the drinks.

"Nothing much. Vodka."

"Mmm.

"You like it?"

"Oh yes."

"So you were saying..."

"I was saying...human rights are quite an issue these days. Did you know about Che Guevara?"

"What about him?

And so Jane began a thorough explanation of the issue of the revolution in Latin America in the 70's, which Richard seemed to be following while every now and then he filled Jane's glass. In between, Jane made a quick phone call home to tell Eliza she would be a little late. Her sister's voice sounded hoarse at the other end.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, you daft cow. Who else? Listen. Something came up. I will be getting home a little late."

"Great. I mean, ok."

"Are you ill, Eli?"

Eliza cleared her throat. "No. I'm fine. What time are you coming?"

She glanced over to Richard, who was following their conversation with a smug smile on his face. Jane blushed uncontrollably under his scrutiny and had to look away. "I don't know," she hissed on the phone. Richard smiled again and averted his gaze. He was holding his tumbler near his face, cooling his cheek with it. He congratulated himself that he had her where he wanted. Everything had gone smoothly. Chances were he had won a ticket to ride tonight. "You go to bed," suggested Jane to her sister. "I've got my keys."

"So, where were we?" she asked as she put her mobile back into her bag.

"He went to Central America on his bike..."

"Oh, yes. Can you believe it?"

By the time Jane had finished her exposition, Richard had recharged her glass well over a healthy measure and had come perilously close to her. The alcohol had combusted into a liberating elixir that rendered her stupidly joyous and vulnerable to Richard's advances. An hour later, they were already comfortably snogging on the same sofa, the issue of human rights long forgotten and quickly replaced by a promise of sex. Definitely a more sensual concept.

When she felt his hands on her bottom, Jane discovered in amazement that she liked it. That could only mean one of two things. Either she was in love with this man, or she was really drunk. Suspecting it was the second, she took his wandering hand with hers and redirected it to her back. "I think I must go now," she said reluctantly almost into his mouth. He drew her closer; his face had gone dark having already decided she would be willing to go all the way with him tonight, but still not decided whether to do it right there or to take her to his bedroom.

"Must you?" He had been fumbling with the zipper of her skirt and she felt the summer breeze coming from outside through the open window in her back. She nodded as she gingerly pulled up her zipper, but took no offence. "I don't shag a man at first sight, Mr Darcy. Not even when pissed like this. Rule number one." Her tone seemed flippant and mocking, but she was being serious about it.

To his surprise, Richard smiled. So she was tough. Well. Perhaps she would be willing some other time. "Good girl," he said, and he kissed her again, not deeply, but teasingly. "Are you sure? After all, rules are meant to be broken."

"Not this one. Besides, tomorrow's Monday."

"You get up early?"

"I must. And you?" she said as she tried to untangle herself from his arms.

"Not me. I'm on holidays."

"So am I. Starting today. But I must wake up very early to finish with this." She pointed at her laptop and rose to her feet but instantly sat again, swaying absurdly. "Gosh I can't stand!"

"Let me drive you home," he said leering.

She dismissed the offer with a shake of her head. "No. I'll call a taxi."

"No way. Give me your car keys. I'll drive you home."

"But you also drank."

"Oh, but vodka doesn't have an effect on me. Believe me. I could drive to Scotland right now."

"I don't want to be a bother."

"No bother. My pleasure."

"But if you drive my car...how are you going to come back?"

"Don't you have a spare bed?"

"Yes. But my little sister sleeps in it," she said grinning.

"Mmm. Then your bed will have to do for us both."

"I'll phone for a taxi."

"I was joking. I'll get a taxi back."

"Well, then."


Chapter 15

"What does that bloody mean?" Mark asked furiously. Yet he was more embarrassed than angry.

"What? What did I say?" Eliza gabbled out a bit confused.

"About your sister's tutor?"

"Mr Bum Bandit?"

"What?" he bellyached. He could hardly believe his seemingly respectful student could have abused him so roundly behind his back. In fact, Mark looked completely crushed and agitated by the notion. He had never felt so humiliated in his life.

"Oh, that is what Jane calls him."

Mark, who had been sort of ...mmm...holding Eliza, immediately let go of her and she plopped onto the couch. Visibly disturbed, he blushed scarlet with anguish, "Oh bloody hell," he blurted out, then frantically ran his fingers through his hair.

Realising she had made a major mistake, Eliza could not find words to apologise. Still she was confused about what had caused Mark to feel so ill at ease with her comment. Perhaps Mark and Jane's tutor were close...mmm...better not dwell on the implications of such an acquaintance. "Oh, sod it! Did I put my finger in it?" she asked with genuine regret. Honestly, she had not expected him to react like that over a silly remark made over a silly teacher. All that she had meant was to satisfy her curiosity as to how Jane and Mark had gotten to know each other. "Mark...I'm sorry. Please, don't be upset."

"I'm not angry with you. It's just that..."

"Are you mad at Jane because she nicknamed her tutor?" she asked in disbelief. "What can be so wrong about it?"

"I am her tutor!"

"What do you mean you're her tutor?!" she asked, baffled.

He sat up on the couch and sent her an indignant look. "Just that. I am Jane's tutor, and don't you dare stare at me that way, you of all people!"

"Oh, but you can't be him. He's a pouffe!"

"Well, I am," he stated. Then quickly corrected, "Her tutor, I mean."

"You're Mr Bill No Mates?" exclaimed Eliza still bewildered with the news.

"Huh," he said between clenched teeth.

"Oh, my God. I'm sorry. Mark, I'm sooooo sorry. How embarrassing. I'm a complete berk. I had no idea. I... How on earth did Jane...?"

"And I'm not a pouffe," he declared still in a fit.

But Eliza, found the situation very amusing. There he was, stark naked, sporting the most enormous erection a girl would have been blessed to gaze at ? a material point against Jane's doubts regarding his sexual inclinations ? defending his virility.

Cocking her head childishly, she took an amused look at his protruding member.

"I know that," she supplied saucily.

He saw the direction of her gaze and smirked. "Right," he said. Then getting closer to her again, "But I fear this misunderstanding might have afforded me a bad reputation anyway. Must redeem myself." And he proceeded to do all manner of things in order to sustain his good name.

Needless to say, she was thoroughly convinced.


~ * ~
"I can't have you do that for me," Jane protested one last time, inwardly thinking Richard was the freakish pretender. First, he drowned her with vodka, faking the interested conversationalist, then he almost jumped over her, and now he pretended he was the perfect gentleman. Huh! "I'd better take a cab."

"No. If you're not fit to drive, it is my own fault. I'll drive you home. You can't hang around the street looking for cabs at this time of night. Not to mention I can't trust any driver with you in this sad state."

"Humph. I'm just fine. Only a little dizzy." Truth be told, it was the sexiest drunkenness of her life, not that she had been with Brahms and Liszt so very often, mind you. She had been close to surrendering to him ? her mind commanding her to abort the situation while her body was clearly begging her to have a go at shagging him right there on the couch. She was furious with herself. It was not like her to act or even think in this manner. She was the most self-composed girl in her family; a hard-working student of philosophy, she had had no boyfriend for longer than she could remember, which was both intelligent and dangerous at the same time. It was intelligent because all her sexual power was redirected to the service of her mind, thus allowing her to be in complete control of her life and focus her undivided attention on her career. But on the other hand, it was immensely dangerous, for when one's libido has been unattended for so long, one either falls into a most miserable foul mood or simply bursts quite unexpectedly.

"Listen. Why don't you stay the night?"

"No, no, no. I won't hear of it."

"Why not?"

"Do you fancy I'm some kind of bimbo ready to bunk up?"

Richard arched an eyebrow very sexily. "Well, I was only suggesting that you should stay in Mark's bedroom. However, if you're willing, I have no objections to sex." He stared at her very seriously, but then laughed out loud. "My God, Jane, I'm afraid you got totally blotto tonight. You'd better stay here."

Jane stared blankly at him, and hiccupped wildly. Next, she blinked twice so as to allow his words acquire meaning and then blushed uncontrollably. He was beaming at her with a boyish air that was so appealing. Stupid, stupid Jane! He's only being bastardly nice, and you keep thinking him an arrogant prat.

"I can't stay here."

Richard insisted. "My cousin's sleeping in her bedroom and...blast! You're right! Mark's friend has stayed and he's taken Mark's room. I'd almost forgotten. But you can still sleep in my room," he ventured.

Ha! Here we go again. There he was shamelessly suggesting she stay with him, obviously trying to have sex without any niceness or commitment. She was about to yell at him to sod off when he finished the phrase... "I can sleep comfortably enough here," he argued while patting the couch and smiling lovingly.

Oh blimey! I did it again. Why must he be so bloody nice?

"You're being lovely, but I simply must go," she said, gently fighting the strange tickling all over her skin from his proximity. She knew she was completely bladdered, and it would be unwise to stay the night with her hormones creaming her knickers over a stranger.

"Okay," he finally shrugged. "If you're not comfortable staying here, I'll drive you home."

That agreed, Richard helped her walk to the car. Evidently, she was surprisingly susceptible to the effect of spirits, for she would have never made it without his arm assuring her step.

However, as soon as she got into the passenger seat of her car, she dozed off like a heavy sack of potatoes.

Richard looked at her in disbelief. "Super. Now what am I going to do with you?"

Of course, Jane could not answer, which was good. She would have been terribly embarrassed since, not long after Richard had driven off, she had her face unceremoniously buried in Richard's lap. For hardly had he driven three minutes when Jane's head literally plopped on him, and now, each time he moved his legs to press the clutch or the brakes, her face rolled placidly on his lap, smearing his pants with saliva.

"Sod it! I hope she doesn't throw up!" he hissed to himself.

Far from it, Jane's face got perilously close to that part of his lap that contained his most precious and sensitive limb, and in her slumber, she circled Richard's waist as if he was a pillow and pressed her nose to his loins. It was ironic, really that she finally had her mouth so close to his...mmm...innermost desires and still she was completely unaware of it. Feeling a mixture of regret about his ruined plans and pleasure at having those gorgeous lips pressed so adoringly to his thighs, Richard drove miserably on, in perfect admission that the evening couldn't have ended worse, until he realised he had no idea where he was going, which definitely made it the worst evening of his life. Indeed, Jane had fallen asleep before he had been able to ask her for her address. He pulled over, close to the curb, and tried to wake her up.

"Jane." He called out her name as he shook her shoulder lightly.

No answer.

"Jane..."

Still no answer.

Richard sighed heavily.

It was better that way. If Jane had woken up, she would have wished she was dead, for the pillow in which her face had found such a pleasurable place to rest was getting uncomfortably harder. The unbelievable amount of vodka Richard had consumed was now affecting his emotions and making him feel as green as a lad. He took a look at her. She was oh so beautiful, though decidedly drunk, with her mouth half open as if she were about to swallow his shaft. Richard had to think even harder of something really dull to avoid falling into what would be unseemly behaviour in a member of the Darcy family.

It was getting unreasonably hot in the car, as if a heat wave had hit him. To his dismay, Richard couldn't fathom which button to press on the dashboard to turn on the air conditioner of Jane's car. By the time he got the hang of it, they were back at his home. He was wet with perspiration, his pants in a sad state.

Thankfully, the local Council's efforts notwithstanding, the streetlight was not working properly, thus enveloping his rather suspicious movements in jet darkness but for the headlights of the car. Struggling with Jane, who would not let go of her homemade pillow, he got out of the car and, going around to the other side, opened the passenger's door and pulled out Jane's unconscious body, whispering to himself a prayer that Marjorie would not spy him dragging a girl's body into the house. Ever so clumsily, he laboured Jane out and then swept her into his arms, kicked the door of the car close, the keys in his hands jiggling uncontrollably, threatening to awake the sleeping dwellers in the house.

He was battling with the lock when Jane sort of came around from her slumber and, eyes half opened, stared at him. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, not knowing what to say or how to explain his actions.

But Jane did not seem to be upset. On the contrary, she smiled lovingly. Then, putting her head on his shoulder, she clung to his neck to help him hold her and closed her eyes with a sigh.

Despite himself, Richard's heart lurched in his chest and he was transported into the strangest feeling ? an absolutely foreign emotion. It occurred to him that to the eye of a stranger they would look like a pair of newlyweds coming back from their honeymoon in the act of trespassing over the doorstep of their home for good luck.

To seal the bizarre fantasy, he looked down at his sleeping beauty and imagined her in her going away clothes, her blond hair peppered with grains of rice from well wishers, and not knowing why, he felt an absurd necessity to kiss her.

Just as he was scrutinizing her face, Jane opened her eyes again and held his gaze. Ever so slowly, she raised her hand and lightly brushed a hair from his forehead with great tenderness. Eyes searching, they looked at each other for the longest time until his eyes rested on her lips. Then she took his cheek in her hand and kissed him with such abandon, that Richard could not but respond in kind. Tenderly, sweetly, the kiss blossomed into a fully open flower as they melted in a passionate, urgent exchange, while he held her hard against him.


Chapter 16


Eliza woke up in the middle of the night to find Mark still in bed with her. He was pleasantly snoring, his chest rising and falling in perfect unison with the sounds that escaped from his quivering lips. Far from annoying her, the intimacy almost thrilled her. Fancy him moving in with her! Or she with him! They would be doing quite different things than those that kept them busy presently, mind you. Things that would require them working together, like doing shopping lists or gardening.

But the homely Mark did not elicit her fancy as much as the one who had been making love to her a few minutes earlier. Her mind was immediately flooded with all sorts of fantasies about Mark. Mostly related to the various non-missionary positions they had tried on the couch.

Feeling marvellous, Eliza observed Mark as if he were the last specimen of the male species and belonged only to her. What could the future bring but happiness? Ever so quietly, she abandoned her bed where they had being hockling a few moments before and went over to the kitchen for some milk.

Throwing her head back, she swigged from the plastic bottle. With a white, milk moustache, she leaned against the kitchen wall and looked at the clock. Almost three. It was time to wake up Mark. He must go before Jane returned.

Jane! Just as she was opening the door of the refrigerator to put the milk back, she realised she knew nothing of Jane. Careful not to make a sound, she went over to Jane's bedroom and found it mercifully empty. That was a relief. Jane was a serious girl, and she would not like the idea that Eliza was no longer a virgin. Not to mention that she had surrendered to the charms of a complete stranger and that said stranger was sharing her single bed at this very moment. Jane would hit the roof if she found out.

Where could her sister be at this unseemly hour? Of course, she was not terribly worried because when she had talked to her, Jane seemed to be with someone. Maybe she went to Charlotte's place for a drink. She only hoped she would not drink alcohol. Jane simply could not drink. Got drunk with the first sip. Anyway, it was not like Jane to stay anywhere else but home when she was on holidays. There was no telling, so she took her mobile phone and prodded Jane's number with her index finger.

But just then her home phone rang. She ran to it like mad and unhooked it frantically.

It was Charlotte, speaking in a weird voice.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Don't what me, you frigid cow. Did he come?"

"He's here," she whispered into the speaker.

"I can't hear you!"

"I said...he's here."

Background noise, cheering and clapping, possibly a bunch of idiotic females, a fact that alerted Eliza that Charlotte was not alone on the phone, which also meant that Jane was definitely not with her. "Who's there?" she hissed in a low voice.

"Madge and Wend. We're sooo happy for you. Is he naked?"

"Are you pissed?"

"Mmm...maybe." (lots of giggles, and a sudden thud) "Ooops. Madge fell. Well, that settles it. We're definitely pissed. So?"

"So? What?"

"Is he?"

"What?"

"Naked."

Eliza tiptoed back to her room with the phone in her hand and leaned against her bedroom door, taking a fond look at him. "Yes," she sighed.

"Yeeeessss! Is he looking at you now?"

Turning around protectively, she scurried to the living room, whispering on the phone. "No, no...he's asleep."

"Oh! Oh my God! I have to have a look at him. Turn on the web cam."

"No way!"

"Oh, you cow! You're getting the hell of a shag, aren't you?" Wend's voice came muffled through the phone.

Eli laughed. She couldn't help it. Mark heard her and stirred.

"Oh, I gotta go. Big guy waking up."

"Oh, do tell us more! How big is his dick?"

"That's none of your business," she said faking disgust. The others giggled wildly.

But far from taking offence, Eliza felt an overwhelming rush of smug pride that her friends at the other end of the line would be fancying her boyfriend. When she hung up the phone, she was still giggling stupidly and almost forgot to call Jane.


Chapter 17


With his heavenly package in his arms, Richard toiled up the stairs to his room, and placed Jane on his bed. The minute Jane felt the smooth linen under her, she opened her eyes and looked inquiringly at him, but closed them again, not before putting her arms up, wordlessly asking him to help her get undressed.

Richard chuckled. Obviously, she was half-asleep, but to what degree there was no telling. Of course, he helped her out of her blouse, then her skirt and sandals but when, still in slumber, she tried to get rid of her bra, Richard held his breath. Jane quickly unhooked the intimate garment with such ease that it left him wondering why he had always found the task so difficult. Two perfectly round breasts, pert as a pair of proud doves, were instantly on display, liberating at the same time an enticing womanly scent that excited every inch of Richard's body.

The next second he fell upon her, abandoning his ultimate decision to restrain himself from making love that night, making a mental search of the contraceptives he had momentarily forgotten he had placed in the back pocket of his trousers. Jane pressed her body, naked but for her knickers, against him and purred something he could not make out before she shrugged herself deeper into his embrace, close against his chest, inhaling his scent deeply.

"Oh, I love you so," she whispered making Richard cringe a little. Then she kissed him, coaxing him into following her in her desire to mate with him, which he did, I mean, followed her desires, but not fully, for he still doubted she was aware of what she was up to.

Contrary to all expectations, Richard panicked to hear her endearments. She was speaking of love and affection, not mere seduction. It seemed to him she thought she was with someone else...

Did he care? In all honesty he did. The idea that she was not really in body and soul lying with him was unsettling, even distracting.

What if she was trying to press him into something? This was supposed to be just a bit of fun. He would not dream of getting really involved with her; he had just met her, for God's sake! "Jane, are you sure you want this?" he said as he backed away a little.

Yet, she was so seductive and sexy that Richard felt his heart thud at the base of his throat in pure pleasure. She was now all over him, her hair in a tangle on his neck, her hands unbuttoning the front of his shirt, her light touch thrilling him to the point of unfamiliar ecstasy, both lying on his bed.

Amazingly, Richard, far from reacting as any male would, that is, like a lust-crazed beast, painfully tried to detach himself from her. "Jane. Are you sure?"

Her mouth soon found his again and she kissed and sucked his lips with adoration while her hands travelled the length of his body, one of them obsessed with unzipping his trousers.

"Nooooo. No, no, no. Nooo," he wailed while fighting her scurrying hand. This was going too quickly, and he had the feeling it would be best to stop it before things escalated more. (Could things escalate more he wondered?) "Jane. No, Jane. Stop this." But Jane was all hands, giggling uncontrollably since she had successfully slid her hand through his zipper and was unsophisticatedly stroking his erection.

Giddy with lust and pride, Richard fought the wild instincts that were hammering him to forget all niceties and plug her once and for all. He wanted to shake her awake so she would be fully aware of what they were doing, but somehow he knew too well that, had Jane been in all her senses, he would not have found himself in such a crazy situation.

Why he was so resolved to avoid taking advantage of the moment when a few hours before he would have shagged her at the first sign, he could not completely fathom yet. Perhaps, in the little interval of their last conversation, she had inspired respect in him. Principles you might call them. Yes, she had made it very clear that she was not willing to precipitate into casual sex. She was not that kind of girl. No, she was a formidably intelligent woman, not the stupid type that usually let him shag them. To take advantage of her sad state now would be unthinkable, if not impolite, and perhaps even equivalent to rape, for she would hate him the morning after.

He did not know why, but he did not want her to hate him.

So he cast a longing glance over her breasts, and then looking frantically around, spotted one of his T-shirts and quickly grabbed it in a daunting effort to pull it over her head, thus avoiding temptation. With amazing self-control he tried one last time to put her to bed.

"Now, be a good girl," he said as he pulled her hand off his trousers for the third time in a row. "I must go to my... No, Jane."

Just then, her mobile phone rang. They froze. Richard let go of her but found that instead of raising to answer it, she plopped herself on the mattress and closed her eyes. A bit unsettled, Richard quickly fished for the damnable mobile in her handbag and answered, still gasping for air, hoping against all odds that it would not be her boyfriend or her father.

He opened the mobile and coughed into it instead of saying the usual salutation.

A bewildered voice at the other end asked for Jane.


Chapter 18


"Jane?" Richard heard a girl's voice at the other end of Jane's mobile.

"No," he drawled tentatively, taking a lingering glance at Jane's lovely form now peacefully dozing on his bed at last. "Jane's momentarily unavailable," he sighed. "Who's speaking?"

"Who are you?" barked the girl, obviously puzzled to hear a man answering Jane's phone. Richard immediately conjectured that his interlocutor must be Jane's younger sister, whose name Richard had heard when Jane had made her phone call. What was it...Elizabeth? Eliza?

"My name's Rick. You must be Jane's sister, err...Eli?"

The person at the other end seemed to freak. Who was it that was in possession of Jane's mobile in the middle of the night? "Yes. Where's Jane?"

"She was too...tired and...err...fell asleep before I...before I could take her ...mmm...back home. She's staying the night and..." This wasn't strictly untrue, yet Richard found the whole explanation must sound completely deceitful to the girl.

"Can't you just shake her awake and bring her over the phone so she can tell me all this herself?" she asked suspiciously.

"Actually, I can't," he stated frankly. "She's asleep. Believe me, I've done everything in my power to wake her up in vain," he sighed as he observed that Jane was indeed fast asleep.

Eliza sighed too. Although this behaviour was not like Jane's, she knew perfectly well that Jane slept like a stone, especially after a drink or two...maybe she had been drinking... She knew Jane was the worst drinker ever. But all the same, Eliza did not know what to do. She could not merely believe this stranger and go back to sleep. She made up her mind to subject the guy to a thorough interrogation. If he could not answer her questions properly, she would call the police. "Ok. What was your name again?"

"Richard. I'm a...a friend of Jane's."

"From?"

"Mmm...College."

"Which is..."

"UCL."

"And Jane studies..."

"Philosophy. She's finishing her thesis now."

"Humph. Why haven't I heard of you before, Richard?"

"We...just met through Mark Darcy. Have you heard of him?"

Decidedly shocked, Eliza looked at Mark, pleasantly asleep, or pretending to be so, lying on her bed, his lovely bum visible amidst a tangle of sheets.

"Mark? You know Mark?" she asked astonished. For God's sake! What was it with Mark's ubiquitous presence?

"He's my cousin," Richard explained. "Actually, Jane's staying at Mark's sister's now. So don't worry. She'll phone you first thing in the morning. Okay?"

Ok, she thought but could not answer for the stranger had cut off the conversation. So good old Jane was sleeping at Mark's with Mark's cousin, probably had just had a shag in style at Mark's cousin's expense and now could not even answer her own mobile. Well. Eliza admitted that, given Jane's personality, the whole thing was really amazing, but good anyway. Now Jane would not be able to tell her off.

Turning her thoughts back to the man in her bed, Eliza had to repress an impulse to wake up Mark and ask him if he did have a cousin by the name of Richard. But she thought better than that since Mark had already told her he had known Jane for quite some time, so the tale this Richard had rendered must be the truth. All in all, if Jane had started dating a friend of Mark's, or his cousin for that matter, without telling her, so much the better. Now that Eliza was dating Mark, they could hang out on double dates! But best of all, Mark would be staying tonight. She tiptoed back to bed and did not resist applying a gentle kiss on his naked back.

"Eliza?" he moaned half asleep.

"Hush," she whispered gently.

"What time is it?"

"Never mind. Jane's not coming home tonight. You can stay."

"Good," he said and went back to sleep.

Oh, joy! Eliza could hardly contain herself. She would have Mark for breakfast again and would play the geisha part in attending his every whim, though truth be told, she failed to understand where this absurd necessity to keep him in her bed and feed him like a pet stemmed from. Maybe she was falling in love with him?

But was he? After all...what were they? Was she his girlfriend or merely his lover? Unfortunately, only time would tell because there was no way that she would ask him. That would be pathetic. Okay, Mark. What are we? Argh! What if he said they were just good friends? No, no, she could not run that risk.

Anyway, one way or the other, he was now in her bed and the odds seemed to dictate that he would remain there until the next day. There was no need to waste precious time mulling over what she had no way to know. Mmm...and perhaps if she was a good girl, he might stay yet another night...though she could not fathom how to get rid of her sister.

Switching into the worried housewife once again, Eliza made a mental note to go to the grocer's and prepare a lovely breakfast early that morning. Was the baker's open on Mondays? Sod it, it was not! So that left croissants out of her breakfast plans. Did she still have that recipe her mum had given her to make waffles? Oh, did he like coffee or tea? She must remember to ask him first thing in the morning. Did he have to go to work? Oh God! She had completely forgotten it was a working day! Blast! She had a test in a fortnight and had planned to study with the group while on holidays! How could she ever concentrate on botany now when she had a big pistil of her own in bed and boundless sexual freedom with it?

Oh well. She could always skip the test and leave it for the next term.

Decisions made, she eased her head onto the pillow with perfect happiness, head to head with him, held up her mobile phone and took a picture of them together. Then she switched the mobile off and watched him sleep.


~ * ~
Marjorie looked at the obviously uncomfortable yet still sleeping form of her cousin on the couch with an inquiring look on her face. The last time he had seen him, he was setting his plans to seduce Mark's student. To end up curled up on the sofa in the living room did not look seductive at all. But Marjorie knew her men. Unlike Mark, Richard had always been quite unpredictable. Had he been drinking? She bent over to sniff him.

Richard opened one eye, his cousin's inquiring face filling his view. Marjorie opened her mouth to say something, but Richard stopped her halfway. "Don't ask," he warned.

So Marjorie simply shrugged and went over to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Upstairs in Richard's room, Jane stirred. When she finally woke up, she was arrested by a distinctive manly scent. She opened her eyes and looked at her chest. What the heck was she wearing? Turning her gaze around, she discovered that she had no idea where she was. Assaulted by the notion that she might suffer from short-term memory loss like Drew Barrymore in 50 First Dates, she sat up in bed and surveyed her surroundings. Panic-stricken, her eyes darted to the shelves to see whether there were pictures of herself sporting an advanced pregnancy in any of them. But no. All she saw were pictures of a man whose name she later remembered was Richard, and with whom she seemed to have been quite intimately acquainted the previous night. He was smiling down at her from various frames in different settings: university, club and the like. She rose from bed and walked towards one picture frame in particular that had caught her attention. Yes, that was Mark Darcy with Richard.

She had not walked more than two steps when a throbbing headache threatened her. Very slowly, she returned to the bed and sat at the edge of it, her left hand on her forehead. From that position, she spied her bra dangling unceremoniously from the back of a chair, and she cringed with the idea that Richard might have disposed of it in the throes of passion. On the floor next to her foot, she spotted her skirt and, rolled in a tangle with the covers, her blouse cried bloody murder for ironing. Her sandals were nowhere to be seen.

Blimey! Completely weird evening, she thought to herself. Shit! How did I end up here?

Seriously speaking, and setting aside all material proof to the contrary, she did not think she had had sex last night. She would remember if she had, would she not? After all, drunkenness notwithstanding, blind dates did not happen to her every day.

But why was she in a perfect stranger's room, wearing what she waged was his T-shirt after having spent the night in hisbed and sans bra to boot and no recollection whatsoever as to how she ended up without it?

Oy! She was startled by a light knock at her...mmm...at Richard's door. A rush of panic ran through her back. Who could it be? It could not be Richard, for that was his own room so he would not knock, would he? Unless he was a real gentleman and wanted to make sure she was decent, which would be nice since it might mean that they had not been that intimate after all.

"Miss Evans, can I come in?" Marjorie's voice called from the other side.

"Yes, yes," she answered. She remembered Mark Darcy's sister and was admittedly relieved to hear her voice instead of Richard's.

"Rick told me about your car," Mark's sister wailed miserably, poking her head in. "Never trust the French, that's what I always say. Would you like some tea?"

She nodded demurely. "Tea would be lovely, thanks."

"And I'll get you an aspirin for that headache," she added with a smile. How the hell did she know? "Come downstairs into the garden. We're all gathered there."

Wondering what sort of lie Richard had made up to explain her presence in the house and in his bedroom that particular morning, she dreaded the truth even more. Was it possible that she had spent the night with a complete stranger?

She used the bathroom and quickly changed into her clothes, purposely avoiding taking a look at herself in the mirror for fear that she might discover further proof of a man's passion around her neck. When she went into the garden, Marjorie was pouring tea into a mug.

"Oh, What happened to your blouse? Would you like to iron it a bit?"

Aargh! That stung. Jane suspected the woman was subtly stating that she knew what had happened between Richard and her last night, which was more than Jane could say. Obviously, Marjorie was not swallowing the explanation that easily.

"Oh no. I'll drive home directly. I'll change at home."

"That is if Rick manages to repair your car. He's been working on it since he woke up."

"Oh." That was all she could say not to sound completely bewildered. "In that case I shall take a cab."

Marjorie stared at her blankly, then blinked twice, then said, "Oh, no. I was joking. Rick's an expert with motors," she laughed heartily. Jane ventured a forced smile and sipped her tea, looking like a fish out of water.

"So, tell me. How's your paper going?" Marjorie asked trying to make small conversation.

Jane was about to open her mouth to answer when Vernon made a spectacular entrance looking at her as if she just emerged from Heaven.

"Oh. What do we have here? Hello," he said to Jane.

"Good morning to you," said Marjorie.

Without even looking at Marjorie, Vernon directed his full attention at the gorgeous blond. "I'm Vernon. And you must be the famous Jane."

"Jane Evans," she corrected him.

"Directly from heaven," he said undeniably flirtatiously. "So you're Rick's guest I guess. I'm Mark's. Only that he chucked me here last night. Got a date with someone else..." he sighed. Jane's eyes went round. "Oh well. I guess I should be used to it by now."

"Oh stop that crap, Vernon! He's only joking, my dear. Vernon is an old friend of the family."

"She is in the denial stage," he whispered.

"I heard you, Vernon."

Vernon laughed. "So, how did you end up staying the night?" he asked cheekily.

"My car broke down," she said quite seriously in unison with Marjorie who said exactly the same.

"Oh, I see. That's why good old Richard is bent into your bonnet now."

"I think I'll have a look at it," Jane said placing her mug on the table. "Excuse me."

When she was gone, Vernon and Marjorie looked at each other.

"He shagged her," Vernon stated.

"He didn't," said Marjorie.

"Wanna bet on it?"

"You'll lose."

"I'm used to losing."

"You're on."


~ * ~
"What seems to be the problem?" Arms akimbo, Jane looked as if she were ready to stab Richard in the back.

"It's just a pipe. It was disconnected," Richard answered pointing randomly at the motor.

"You mean, it really broke down?"

"You don't remember?" Richard asked, raising an inquiring brow.

"Of course I remember," she huffed tremulously. "It's just I ... I wanted to know if it was what we...thought it was..."

"Yes, it was." Richard went on with his charade. If she remembered nothing, so much the better. "Just as I suspected. From now on, you should take your foot off the clutch while you press the accelerator, ok?"

"Ok," she nodded, biting her lip.

"Had any breakfast yet?"

"Yes. Actually your cousin gave me a cup of tea."

"Good."

"Why didn't I take a cab?" she blurted out abruptly, and rather crossly, looking him right in the eye.

He stopped and stared at her. "The minicab office closed after midnight. Anyway, I wouldn't let you take a cab at that hour."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Stop that crap, and tell me the truth."

"What truth?"

"What happened last night?"

Richard sighed. He leaned against the car and rubbed his greasy fingers one by one with a wet cloth dirtier than his hands. "So you don't remember?" he asked tentatively once more. "That doesn't speak very well of me," he stated with a wicked smile.

"You mean you and I..."

"I..." he paused, turned around, closed the bonnet of the car and walked a few steps in her direction, dropping the wet cloth on the floor.

"Oh my God. That explains everything."

"Nothing happened, really."

"Oh no. Of course not." she spit. "Only I wake up half-naked but for what I guess must be your T-shirt, braless, my clothes all over the place in a mess, your smell all over me..."

"You smell of me?" he asked in amazement. God, that was arousing.

"Well, it isn't Chanel No. 5."

"Givenchy," he supplied, rather pleased by the idea.

"Huh?"

"You can't deny it's a sexy way of waking up."

Blinking fast, she inquired with consternation, "Did you put me to bed?"

Richard nodded.

"You undressed me?"

"Eyes closed."

"Oh my God."

"I didn't touch you, I promise." Jane threw him a murderous look. "Well, not much," he conceded.

"Did you remove my..."

"No. That was your doing. You flung it loose in no time. By the way, you must teach me your technique."

"Oh, sod off," and she rushed past him in a fit of rage.

"No. Don't go," he pleaded, taking her by an elbow as she dodged by him. "Can't you stay for a while?"

"Huh?"

"I think we should talk after last night. Really. We must."

"So bad?"

"Aha."

She sighed. "I have a very busy week. Must meet Mr Darcy this afternoon, and I haven't even looked at my paper yet."

"Then will you maybe have dinner with me?"

She stopped again and stared at him with suspicious eyes. "You aren't making this up, are you?" she told him off.

He shook his head.

"Because if this isn't the truth, I really don't think we should see each other again. I've got a very busy life," she went on haughtily, "and I don't want to get involved with anyone at this moment, I ..."

Before she could say another word, he took her by her shoulders and turned her round to face him; Jane instantly thought he would kiss her squarely on the lips. Yet letting go of her shoulders, he cupped her chin and touched the tip of her nose with his point finger. "I think I can't agree with you more. I don't think we should start getting involved either," he said almost in a whisper. "However, I had a lot of fun yesterday. There's nothing wrong with a little fun, is there?" Unbelievably, Jane found herself agreeing with him. No, of course there was nothing wrong with a little fun. "So...I would really love to see you again after you have finished your thesis. No compromise, of course. Let's say...dinner in town. Friday night?" he offered. Despite herself, she nodded again. "Good," he said. "Let's go inside now and have a proper breakfast."


Chapter 19

Eliza stared at the pancake recipe carelessly scribbled on a slip of paper. Then she frantically searched the kitchen cabinets for the ingredients she had not expected to need. Dry buttermilk powder…whatever was that for? Was it the same if she put baking powder instead? Her instincts told her she had better not. After all, pancakes are not baked, are they? Why would she need baking powder for something she did not intend to put into the oven?

No luck with the buttermilk powder. It seemed there was none in sight. She might have found it among the many little jars and packets in the cabinet if her sister had bothered to label them or if she had the remotest idea of what said powder looked like. She ended up with almost all the contents of the cabinet on the table, but she still had not figured out which of those damnable containers might hide the precious ingredient. She had meant to get up earlier and go out to do some shopping; she was not expecting to have Mark in the morning still dozing in her bed and did not wish to feed him on buttered toast again. Unbelievably, she felt an overwhelming desire to cook for him, which was extremely unusual, for Eliza was the laziest girl ever when it came to household chores.
Taking several short peeks at Mark to make sure he was still sleeping, Eliza rattled her brain to find a suitable replacement for the ingredient she did not have. After several tries, she admitted defeat and picked up the phone to call her mother.

"Oh hello, Mum. I was just ringing to ask a favour. Can you tell me if this recipe to make pancakes is okay?"

"Read the recipe to me, darling."

"Dry buttermilk powder, flour, sugar, 4 teaspoons of baking soda..."

"Yes, yes. That is alright."

"Sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"What if I don't have dry buttermilk powder?"

"Use regular milk instead."

Eliza sighed.

"Darling, it's eight-thirty in the morning. You never cook breakfast. Why are you suddenly making pancakes?" Feeling unexpectedly caught, she winced as she quickly searched her brain for a convincing argument to be calling her mum at such an early hour over a stupid recipe. "Just a whim." It was all she could think of.

"But it's summer. It's boiling hot to cook. What are you up to?" her mum asked, decidedly intrigued.

"Nothing, Mum," she said, struggling to sound innocent. "Are you sure I can use regular milk?"

"Yes. Some salt too, of course."

"Fine, Mum. Thanks."

But before she could cut off the conversation, her mother assaulted her with what she had almost forgotten. "What are you planning for your birthday?"

Now that was a problem. Surely, her mum would insist on her coming to celebrate with the family. "Nothing," she ventured, knowing too well she should have said she had already planned something with friends, like taking a mini-break to an island in the Pacific.

"Well, it's next week. Would you like a surprise party? We could have a family reunion."

"But then it wouldn't be a surprise," she reasoned in vain, for Mrs Quayle did not find anything odd in warning her daughter about a surprise and succeeding in surprising her anyway.

"Ask Jane if she can come, too. Doesn't she have a boyfriend already?"

"I don't know. But Mum, I don't want a surp..."

"Nonsense. I will call your sister and tell her to come over. Wish she would get married one of these days. She is no longer nineteen, you know. But you, young lady, you'd better stay away from men, you hear me? You must concentrate on your course of study. Okay?"

Despite herself, Eliza found herself blushing with embarrassment. "Okay, Mum. But I don't..."

"I wonder if you would like a pair of skis for your birthday."

"No!" she bellowed. "I don't want a pair of skis and I don't want a ..."

"You know my friend Helga? She gave her daughter, the one that recently married that super gorgeous man, a nice pair of skis last Christmas. Well, she took lessons with this Swedish instructor, and guess what?"

"Mum…"

"You'll never guess so I'd better tell you..." At this Eliza held the phone away from her ear. When she put it back, her mother had already decided they would celebrate Eliza's birthday at a nice restaurant near her hometown and that she would be taking her holiday in South America where it was winter, so she could put her new skis to the test.

"Mum? I'm not sure I can go on holiday this year…"

"Oh, nonsense. Of course you can. South America is the cheapest place. You'll have a great time, you'll see. What else do you have to do?"

"Ah. Actually, I..."

"Of course you're going to need some money. I'll ask dad if…"

Exhausted, Eliza held the phone away again. A few minutes later, she heard the monotonous sound the telephone makes when it is disengaged. She replaced the receiver on the hook, and then turned her attention back to breakfast.

With the greatest joy, she set herself to the task of preparing pancakes, only to find the whole experience more difficult than it seemed. When she finally succeeded in combining the ingredients into one homogeneous mound of dough, she had flour all over herself, not to mention fingers that were sticky enough to rival a kindergarten kid left alone with the same task.

"Please, tell me that that isn't breakfast." Mark's words startled her. He was grinning broadly, leaning against the kitchen door only in his boxers. Eliza glared at him once she succeeded in taking her eyes off his fine figure. She shrugged, pretending to be hurt.

"You must take care, Mr Darcy. I might take offence and you might end up not having any," she said, turning to the sad mixture again. But Mark was ready to show her he was only teasing her. In fact, he was deeply touched to see her trying to cook breakfast for him. Circling his arms around her waist and pressing her to him from behind, he kissed one sensitive earlobe with great tenderness. She gave a little shriek of pleasure and, turning around, tinged the tip of his nose with flour.

"What is it?" he asked focusing on the would-be breakfast, a concerned look on his face.

"What does it look like?" she snapped, offended.

"Plasticine?" he asked mischievously. Eliza gave him a murderous look, and Mark chuckled. "Let me see. Not plasticine…pancakes?" he offered.

"Aha."

"Don't you need milk instead of water?" he boomed.

Elizabeth gasped. Her mother's prattling about breakfast had vanished all other conversation. "Milk?" she asked panicking wildly.

He nodded. "Definitely. Have any?" To Eliza's relief, she remembered she had bought a bottle of milk on her way back from college on Tuesday. Surely, it was still in the fridge.

"Yes," she said as she held a sticky finger to point at the fridge. Mark immediately set himself to the task of helping her cook breakfast.

"What do you have to put in them?"

"Whadda you mean?"

"You know…pancakes are great with stuff in them."

"Apples?"

"I like banana best. Have any?"

"Mmm. Dunno. I think it will be terribly fattening. How many calories in a banana?"

"Are you on a diet?" he asked, casting a furtive look at her lovely bottom.

"I am forever on a diet."

"How many calories are you supposed to eat?"

"Mmm. About a thousand."

"At breakfast?"

"No! A day!"

"You must be kidding!"

"No, I'm not. So, how many calories in a banana?"

"What's the point of worrying about the calories in a banana when you are going to eat pancakes?"

His logic was devastating. "You're right. It's just that I'm used to avoiding bananas."

"You sound like a borderline anorexic."

"Anorexic? I wish!"

Smug look on his face, he hugged her tenderly and kissed her on her chin. "If you're going to feed me the rest of my life, Miss Quayle, you must be aware I disapprove of diet food. I wouldn't have set eyes on you if you looked remotely skinny, you know," he said patting her rear.

Wow! Feed him the rest of his life? That was nice. It was the nicest thing Eliza had heard, especially coming from a man who had already met her exceedingly slim and beautiful sister, in whose shadow Eliza had gotten so used to feeling inevitably ignored and to whom she had always been invariably compared. Eliza almost purred with happiness. Could she ever find someone more…perfect than this man?

The whole cooking business proved a delightful activity when shared with someone you liked. They laughed a lot when it came to flipping the pancakes in the air. Eliza was frankly astonished to see Mark's amazing ability with a pan. They ended up quite satisfied with their interaction in the tiny kitchen. It was as if they had been doing it for ages.

"What happened to your sister?" Mark asked as he wiped the kitchen counter with a wet cloth when breakfast was over.

"Oh, mmm…it seems she stayed the night at your place," she blurted out quickly.

Mark abandoned the wet cloth, turning round to give Eliza his full attention, and asked in disbelief. "What do you mean my place?"

Eliza stared at him. What could she say? She was more surprised than Mark at Jane's unseemly behaviour. "You see, I was worried last night about Jane not coming back. The thing is, it's not like her to stay the night with a…mmm… Actually, she never spends the night anywhere but home when she's on holiday. So I phoned her."

"So?"

"Yeah, well… It was really, really late. And you were sleeping so soundly, and began to…mmm…you snored."

Mark raised his eyebrows in surprise, a little embarrassed. "Anyway, I couldn't go back to sleep. Besides, I knew I would have to wake you up by then, for Jane would be at home any minute. And then something quite unexpected happened."

"What?"

"Someone else answered her mobile."

Mark only stared at her. He was trying to comprehend all that Eliza was saying.

She went on. "It was a man's voice...someone who claimed to be your cousin Richard."

"Rick? Rick answered Jane's phone?"

"Yes, that's the name."

"What was he doing with Jane's mobile, for God's sake? Where was Jane?" Undoubtedly, both Mark and Eliza had a slight idea where Jane could have been when Richard answered her mobile. Only Eliza found the notion in itself a bit disturbing. (Unlike herself, Jane was all that was good and sensible) Mark did not want to dwell on the shocking fact that Richard most surely had had it off with his student.

"Well. Here's the curious…mmm…detail. He said Jane was already asleep."

Mark closed his eyes and covered them with his hand in a gesture that Eliza was beginning to recognize. "Oh my."

"Richard is your cousin, isn't he?" she asked a bit worried.

"Yes! But, did you talk to Jane at all?"

"No. Not yet. Your cousin Richard said Jane was going to phone when she woke up in the morning."

"Perfect. Now he's made it."

"What? What has who made?"

"Oh bugger it! I'm going to kill him if......"

"What? You're going to kill him if what?"

Going frantically to the bedroom, he began to get dressed. Eliza followed him. "I must talk to him," he said, halfway into his trousers.

"Listen. You don't need to tell Jane about…" she took a big breath and gathered courage. "I'd like to tell Jane personally that you and I…but not now…at least not yet."

"Oh, yes. I understand. You tell her whenever you think it is convenient. Anyway, I…must talk to my… I must go now."

"Must you?"

"Yes. Solo will burst if I stay a minute longer. Must have already, damn it."

"Oh." She gave him a bereft look that shrunk his heart. Was it possible that he could not bear to leave her?

"I hate to go," he said with a guilty face.

"Do you?"

He nodded. Then he took her hand and pulled her close to him. "You have bewitched me. I spent the whole day yesterday thinking of you."

"Oh," she said, blushing.

"I suppose Jane will be here tonight."

"Yes."

"I don't… I was thinking perhaps you… Why don't you come over to have dinner at my place, then?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes. I warn you…I'm not a great cook, but I can manage something."

"I'd love to."

"Right." He made as if he was already leaving but hesitated, looking a bit pensive. "I wonder if… Do you think you can stay the night?"

Delighted, Eliza ran to him and hugged him. "I'll bring my toothbrush."

He gave her a sweet peck on the lips. "Don't. I'll buy a new one for you."

Chapter 20

Now, as soon as Jane opened her eyes again she was greeted by a major headache throbbing relentlessly in her forehead, leaving her incapable of the slightest movement. Huddling in bed, hoping her hangover would eventually clear if she did not move, she fought the nauseous feeling that kept coming and going down her throat. And that was how her sister found her when Eliza poked her head into Jane's room to greet her good evening.

"Awright, gal?"

"Mmmm?" Jane answered painfully.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?"

"I'm not myself today."

"So I see. Did you get faced last night?"

Jane moaned affirmatively.

"What did you get dahn yer greg?" Eliza chuckled.

"I wish I knew," Jane hissed as she abandoned her bed. She floundered about for a few seconds, her feet somehow finding the floor an inch or two deeper down than usual.

"You got a new bloke?" Eliza pressed on.

"A bloke?" Jane panicked. "Um. I ... Ah...No, no, no," she answered desperately.

"You mean you got pissed on your own? 'Cuz you weren't at Charlotte's, I know," Eliza pointed out, trying to encourage some confession.

"Can we talk about it later?" answered Jane while going all pink and breathless. "I've a chronic headache right and now I think I gonna be sick."

"Would you like a cup 'a char?" Eliza offered with affected solicitude.

"I don't think so," she mumbled as she darted across the room to the bathroom, stooping over the toilet.

Eliza left Jane on her own to empty her stomach while she readied the offered tea. After awhile, Jane, looking much better and already sporting her shoulder bag, made her appearance in the kitchen, where Eliza was lazily stirring her cup.

"Better?"

Jane nodded.

"Now, where did you spend your night, sis?" she asked with an arched brow as she handed a cup over to Jane.

"At Mr Darcy's," Jane answered quickly.

"Huh?"

"Yeah. He helped me out with my paper all night," she blurted out and then hid her face behind her cup.

"Rev up! The man's totally committed to his work!" Eliza exclaimed in feigned astonishment.

"He is, he is. Beyond all sense."

Yuk! Elisa could hardly control her exasperation. It was obvious Jane was making all this up, unless Mark had a cloned copy of himself around. Cunning as a fox, Eliza pretended to believe Jane's story and inquired cheerfully on the particulars of her late night lesson.

"Goodness, Jane!" she boomed. "Have you got any folding left on you? I imagine the man must be charging you. How much did you pay for this late hour lesson?"

"Oh, no," Jane bellowed and she immediately resented doing it. Her headache hammered every time she opened her mouth to say something. Using her indoor voice again she went on. "He's not. He's a darling diamond guy. Even had a drink or two with me afterwards, you know, to celebrate that we finished the whole thing once and for all, only I had a little too much and got totally arseholed."

"You did all that with Mark Darcy... last night."

Not being a natural liar, Jane's face went red. "Yes. I couldn't drive back in that pitiful state so he put me up in a spare room."

"I see."

"I could have asked him to bring me back in his car but I knew I'd be completely safe with him, you know," and then she added in a confidential tone, "he's a bit of a geek plus he does not like girls much."

"Yeah, you told me."

"Only that last night he wasn't that queer," Jane added absentmindedly as she stared at the amber liquid in her cup, sounding a little mystified. "You know, I saw him with a girl."

"A girl?" Oh God.

"Actually, a bimbo I should say. They were in a mayor lip-lock when I opened the door of the office. Well, it wasn't me who opened the door, mind you. It was his sister. Did I mention that he has a sister? I guess she didn't expect to catch him unawares with the girl. But there she was, gagging for it on his lap."

Eliza was not certain what length her sister was ready to go to cover her little escapade with Mark's cousin. Did she seriously believe her that na�ve so as to swallow that pill? Obviously Jane was really concerned about whatever happened with Rick, which could only mean that something big had happened---something really, really huge--- otherwise Jane would have never invented all that crap about her beloved teacher. Anyway, to throw doubts over Mark's manliness was something Eliza could easily deal with since nothing Jane could say against him would be emasculating enough given Mark's stork in bed the previous night. But to blatantly assert that Mark had a girl other than her when Eliza had imagined she was on a permanent date basis with him...that would be some disquieting piece of information. But of course, this was all Jane's doing since she was evidently suffering from long term fuckwittageness and Eliza was on the verge of losing her patience.

Eliza racked her brain frantically thinking what to do. Should she take all this seriously, or should she dismiss the idea and simply go on with her life? She chose to do the sensible thing and think light of it without discarding it completely.

"She didn't stay, of course," Jane kept gabbing. "She left as soon as I got into the room. Marjorie didn't seem to like her..."

"Marjorie?"

"Mark's sister. We had tea this morning. Or rather she offered me some but I just couldn't swallow it."

"What a load of old cack you talk sometimes, Jane!"

"No, no. It's all true!"

Looking at her sister straight in the eye, Eliza protested out loud. "You mean you really expect me to believe that you stayed the whole night with your gay teacher only that you found out he was not so very gay when you caught him with a girl, and then, out of pure professionalism, the man dropped his date only to help you out with your paper for nothing, and then you...you...ended up steaming drunk and sleeping over at his place and getting acquainted with his family?"

Jane nodded. "It does sound a bit out of this world, doesn't it?"

"Out of this world?" Eliza fumed, "What's next? That you two are an item?"

"An item? What are you talking about? I don't even like the man, silly!"

"Oh, shut your gob! I know your Mr Darcy's no gay!"

"How do you know that?"

"I just know."

"For what it's worth" Jane interposed, "I must say Mark looked very different last night. Nothing like his usual self. It must be the clothes he was wearing."

"Clothes?"

"He usually wears this ... this stupid suit that puts a load of years on him. But yesterday he had these jeans on and a blue shirt and no bow tie..."

"Bow tie?"

"Yes. He usually wears a bow tie at college. And reading glasses. He wasn't wearing his glasses yesterday."

"Maybe he wears contact at home."

Jane shrugged. "Whatever. I think he was kind of cute. I wonder what else is there behind the mild man. I bet there's a lot more about him than meets the eye."

Meditating moonily about Mark in boxers, Eliza ventured that perhaps he was in fact leading a double life. "So you think he's some kind of Clark Kent?"

Jane blinked at her. "Oh, you know, one man at the office, another at home?" Eliza offered.

Jane nodded. "Precisely. That would be his type!"

The possibility of her date's leading a life of duality suddenly loomed over Eliza like a ghost. Certainly it would not be the first time a girl was fooled in this manner. After all she had heard of countless cases of alleged straight fellows, with families and all, suddenly declaring themselves gays. Could Mark be one of those? Ever so timidly Eliza voiced her fear, "So you really think he's got something in the closet?"

"Absobloodylutedly. He's so typical! I'm sure he's trying to hide it from his family. That would explain the bimbo girlfriend...what I'm not certain about is..."

"What?

"Well...in those clothes... he looked damn well fit."

"You liked him that much?" Eliza asked looking at her sister with some alarm.

"Yeah. The full monty. The clothes made a big difference. He was a complete new person. I confess I found it difficult to concentrate on the paper. At first I couldn't believe it, I was totally gobsmacked, but yes... he exuded male."

Well, that sounded most certainly like her Mark. "Jane. You're not arching for it, are you?"

"With Darcy? Oh no, am not...I don't think so... No, no. I'm definitely out of his league. I mean, even if he wasn't a puff... I'm his student."

"Right. 'Cuz there's something I have to tell you..." but she trailed off, still uncertain whether to tell her sister or not.

"Hey! I hope it's nothing serious... that you got knocked up or something." Jane said with a broad smile, not expecting anything of the sort from her little innocent sister. Just when Eliza had gathered courage to answer, Jane took a quick glance at her watch. "Oh! Sod it! Look at the time! I've gotta chip, catch you later." Without allowing Eliza the minimal comment, she waved her a kiss and was gone to Mark's place.

Eliza sighed. She had a date to get ready for too. Or didn't she?

---