Meeting My Neighbors

By Jill Tarah

Posted on Friday, 6 May 2005

My mother used to tell me that my "decided" opinions were going to get me in trouble some day.

Boy, was she wrong.

Corporations all over the country actually pay me to give them my opinions as the one and only employee of Elizabeth Bennet Consulting. It's a great job, and over the years I've built up a fair reputation for helping corporations streamline their overhead and increase their profits. I admit that I was a bit of challenge as a teenager, but even my mom admits now that being opinionated has been a good thing for me.

There is one bad thing about being a business consultant: moving. You're constantly moving; Pittsburgh for one month, Dallas for two. It's always the same. The key is to find a flexible company specializing in corporate housing and take out a lease for a small apartment that they are willing to transfer when you have to relocate to another city. At least, that is what I do.

The other problem is making friends. I meet people, plenty of them, but I never get to know them real well before I have to leave for another city. And relationships? Never! I just don't have the time, and really, what modern woman of the 21st century needs to have some guy tying her down to that home with the white picket fence, 2.4 kids and mini-van?. The last thing I need is for a man to barge into my life and take away everything I have worked for!

Anyway, I have officially moved into my thirteenth city: Boston. A week before I was to start my latest assignment, I moved into a lovely little studio apartment in Wellesley. A Boston novice, I decided to take advantage of my free time by exploring the city and doing a little grocery shopping. As I walked out to my little car, a late model black sports car pulled into the parking lot and nearly took me out! Too angry for words, I just stared as a man wearing an expensive Italian suit emerged from the car with a briefcase in hand. Indignant, I just stared at him walking away, when he looked at me and haughtily said, "Next time, watch out!"

I was so angry I couldn't even concentrate. I quickly ran into the grocery, grabbed a few necessities (frozen shoestring fries and some hamburger) and went home. I boiled in my anger for awhile before finally deciding to make dinner. I had been craving garlic hamburgers and fries recently, and couldn't wait to taste the delicious treat I planned for myself.

Having never cooked in this apartment before, I assumed that everything worked properly. I seasoned and formed the hamburger and proceeded to make them on my inside grill. I set the oven to 400 degrees, emptied the fries onto a baking sheet, and popped them in and waited. Still upset at the unbelievable arrogance of my new neighbor, I failed to notice that my kitchen was quickly filling with smoke until it set the fire alarms and sprinklers off in the entire building.

I shut off the oven and threw open my windows, but by this time, the apartment complex manager and the fire department had already been notified of the supposed "fire." My embarrassment complete, I walk outside to greet my neighbors, whom I have never met, and explain the situation. The firemen went in to check the apartment, while I apologized for the mess I created.

Most of those who lived around me were very good-natured about the situation. There was Jane, who lived next door and told me sweetly she was sorry that I had to meet everyone this way. Charlotte lived across from me, and had me laughing about the situation. I found out from them that upstairs apartment was a single penthouse of a gentleman, and that is when I met him, the man who had almost ran me over earlier in the day.

Fitzwilliam Darcy -of the flashy sports cars and expensive custom suits as well as stunningly piercing eyes--lived above me. Evidently, according to Charlotte, the penthouse was one of his many homes and he only used it when he was in Boston on business. Jane said that he was a trust-fund baby, who came from extremely old money. She said she thought he was very nice, but from where I stood, he seemed to think himself better than everyone else. He did not find the situation as amusing as the rest of us were. Still, it was my fault we were evacuated and I felt the need to apologize to him. I sure had his conceit pegged. He was not as receptive as the others, and he stared hard at me, "You should be sorry. Who doesn't know how to work a stove? I can't understand what the problem was."

Shocked, I moved away from him and towards the building that was once again ready to be inhabited. Luckily, nothing had been damaged, just a little smoke in my apartment.

Over that week, Jane, Charlotte, and I met several times and made plans together for the weekend. On Sunday, we celebrated the fact that I was to begin my new consulting job on Monday. I was to evaluate human resource problems for FD-Technologies. This was by far my largest job ever. The president of the company had recently discovered some evidence of illegal activities taking place within the Boston office, so I was hired to come in and investigate who was responsible.

Monday morning, I dressed in my best outfit, a black tailored suit with a bright pink collar and cuffs, and set out for my debriefing meeting with the president of FD-Technologies. Eager to make a good first impression, I arrived ten minutes early and was escorted into the company's boardroom. I gingerly took a seat in one of the heavy cherry chairs and waited for my meeting to start.

Hearing the door open, I looked up and to my utter surprise saw none other than Mr. Upstairs, Fitzwilliam Darcy, enter the room. "You!" was the only word that escaped my mouth, before I remembered myself. Not sure from the look on his face whether he was surprised, angry--or both--he took a seat. What was I going to do? What kind of credibility would I have with a man who didn't think I was smart enough to operate an oven? Could I work with a man that I found arrogant and unsympathetic?

Perhaps he sensed my discomfort, because he brusquely replied, "Our personal lives are personal, Ms. Bennet. Let's get down to business." We spent the rest of the morning reviewing the case and preparing for the employee interviews that were to follow in the next weeks.

I continued to work closely with Mr. Darcy during the day, but avoided him at all costs when we were at home. I was professional and courteous to him in the office, but I saved my smiles for the friendships I was cultivating with Jane and Charlotte outside the office. It was as he had told me at the beginning of our business relationship, "Our personal lives are personal," and that is how I wanted to leave it. Apparently, this was his approach to all the employees. Although I would never allow him to think I might be intimidated, he seemed to be very formal and aloof with everyone in the office. However, at the oddest times both in and out of the office, I would find him looking at me. At first I thought that maybe I had dressed incorrectly, or had something on my face. Then I thought maybe he was trying not to picture me as the girl downstairs who couldn't use the oven. I worried that he looking to find fault with my investigation, as he would never seem happy with my progress updates. Perhaps the fact that I was able to trace the source of embezzlement and misappropriation of funds within his company upset him. I just couldn't figure that man out.

Finally, three months later, my job at FD-Technologies was complete. I cleaned out my desk and pulled out all the necessary documents to do my final evaluation with Mr. Darcy. At the end of the day, I walked into his office to hand over all of my files. He was seated behind his desk, but moved quickly out from it when I entered the room. I could tell something was agitating him by the way he paced around the room and twisted the Harvard class ring on his right hand.

"Mr. Darcy, here is my final report and all the files of the employees we let go. Is there anything else you need before I leave?"

"No, I don't think so, Thank you."

With that, I turned to leave the room, relieved that I was no longer going to be in the presence of someone who clearly disapproved of me. "Elizabeth!" I turned around to face him.

"I was wondering. As far as I'm concerned this is completely unethical and goes against all the principles that I stand for. While there will be talk that I only gave you this assignment because we are dating and I'm not looking forward to seeing the society columns talking about the president of the company dating his assistant-it really is a tacky stereotype-and I'm sure we'll be the subject of much discussion at the next board meeting. Nevertheless, as you probably know, I have been attracted to you for some time and I would like to get to know you better. So, why don't I take you home tonight and we'll spend the evening together?"

I felt as though the floor had given out beneath me. How dare this man say such things! I didn't know what to say to him. I was hurt by his dismissal of me professionally, but most of all, I was angry, that he would presume that I was interested in someone who had been so cold and judgmental of me. I took a very long, hard look at him, "Mr. Darcy, I would never go out with a man like you if my life depended on it!" With that, I turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

The next day I packed up my apartment and said goodbye to Jane and Charlotte, promising to keep in touch with my newest friends by email. What I didn't know, was the day I left, watching me from his penthouse window, was Mr. Darcy. Then I headed home to New Orleans and visited with my family before heading to Europe for a well-earned vacation.

That summer I visited several cities all over the continent, which were lovely. I decided to end my vacation with an estate home tour in the northern counties of England. I was reminded of my time in Boston when the tour guide announced that the last home on our tour belonged to the family Darcy. I quaked a little at the thought of running into some distant cousin of the man who had me very disconcerted-or worse, the man himself! As I explored the gardens, my distracted thoughts caused me to run head first into a very tall rock. Confused, I looked up and quickly realized that it wasn't a rock at all, but a man.

"Mr. Darcy!"

"Elizabeth!"

We stood in silence for several minutes. I could not believe that the very man I was thinking of stood in front of me, far from our Boston apartments. I realized that he still had wrapped his arms around me to prevent me from falling; more startlingly, it wasn't an unpleasurable sensation. He must have realized it to at the same time because he quickly released me and took a step back.

"How have you been?"

"Well, well ... I've been well," I struggled to think of something to say, but I was still to stunned by his presence.

"Have you enjoyed your tour?"

"Yes, it's been very nice. The library was amazing."

"It has been the work of many generations. I come back as often as I can. It is the site of many happy childhood memories."

"I can't believe that this is your family home, what a coincidence!" I was amazed that they were able to financially afford to do so when so many other families had elected to bequeath their estate homes to foundations.

"Would you like a more in-depth tour of the estate?"

A little self-conscious, but eager to learn more, I allowed him to lead me on a lengthy tour of his home. It was during this time that I saw another side of the man that had been so cold and rude back in Boston. Here, he seemed at ease and much more relaxed. Dressed in casual jeans and a shirt, he seemed equally comfortable with any of the workers on the estate.

That night we dined together for the first time, and I realized how much I had misjudged him. At his invitation, we spent the next few days together as we explored the countryside. He took me to all his favorite haunts and regaled me with wonderful stories of his childhood. I found myself drawn to this man of depth and sensitivity more than I could have imagined. Finally, it was time for me to fly back to the States and William took me to the airport. As we stood together near the security check point, he asked me if he could see me again. I told him yes--I had hoped that we could continue to see each other-and it pleased me to know that he wanted to further our relationship as much as I. I told him my next assignment would be in Canton, Ohio, but I archly suggested that maybe I could make it to Boston one weekend. He simply smiled and nodded.

The day I started my new job, a large bouquet of spring flowers was waiting to greet me on my desk. Wondering where they came from, I picked up the card: "Thanks for London, Good luck in Canton. Love, Will." I felt my cheeks flame and my heart start racing. Maybe, just maybe, I had some time for a relationship that might survive all of the traveling.

As my time in Canton progressed, Will and I would often speak over long, late night telephone calls. Our conversations were as warm and as interesting as they had been in London, and I grew to look forward to them more and more.

One Friday afternoon, as I was about to head home, Will called me at my office.

"Where are you?"

"At work, I'm just wrapping up to leave," I answered, curious at the odd question since he knew very well where he was calling.

"Good, why don't you come out of your office?"

With that, he hung up and I cautiously walked outside. A long black limousine was parked near the front doors, and William, dressed in trousers and a polo shirt that enhanced the form of his body, was leaning against the opened door.

"I thought I would surprise you." He handed me a single deep red rose.

"You definitely succeeded in doing so."

"You don't have any plans tonight, do you?"

Shyly, I smiled and met his eyes, "I do now."

That night William swept me off my feet. He arranged for an incredible gourmet dinner in a private dining room and then took me dancing. We ended the evening wrapped in each other's arms talking on the couch. It was the best night of my life.

We spent the rest of the weekend together and got to know each other in many ways. I didn't know it was possible to feel so deeply and intimately for another person. It was that weekend I realized that Will was not only my best friend, but he was the love of my life. I couldn't tell him that though, I had spent too many years alone. I had no experience being in love. I ached to tell him, but not yet, I needed to know his feelings first.

The next several months found me in Atlanta, San Diego and finally back in Boston. Each time I moved, Will was there to help me. We spoke every evening on the phone, and visited each other as often as we could. One night in San Diego, we went to the beach for an evening picnic. Lying under the stars, Will whispered in my ear that he loved me. I turned to look him in the eyes, and I knew it was true. Not only did Will love me, but I realized that it was safe to give him my heart. For the first time in my life, I uttered those three little words to someone who was not related to me.

Back together in Boston, Will took me to New Hampshire for an extended weekend vacation. He told me the house had been in his family for several generations, and I pictured something as impressive and formal as their English estate, Pemberley. To my surprise, it was a large but unpretentious cabin, set on acres of wooded and wild land. The large picture windows brought the outdoors inside so that we could enjoy it from our comfortable place in front of the fire.

We spent our time in each other's company. One evening, after I had convinced Will to venture outside, I made him give me a tour of the small garden that surrounded the house. Completely content, I leaned into William's strong embrace. "You have a beautiful home, Will."

I felt a heavy sigh go though Will's body, as he gently took my hand and led me to a secluded nook covered with honeysuckle vines. As I let my eyes adjust to the dim light, I felt Will grasp both of my hands.

"Elizabeth, I told you both my parents died when I was very young. I have such fond memories of a very happy home life with my parents and sister. Then when they were taken from me, I felt as though I had nothing left. You mentioned that I have a beautiful home, but the truth is Elizabeth, it is a beautiful house. I have beautiful houses, but for over 10 years, I have not had a beautiful home. That is, until recently."

William paused, and I looked up and saw tears in his eyes. He smiled at me tentatively.

"I realized that I found my home in England."

I was flabbergasted. He was moving ... As close as we had become, all the time we spent together, he was going back to Europe. I felt my heart sinking. Then I realized he was still talking.

"Then I found my home in Canton, and then it was in Atlanta, San Diego, Boston, and now it's in New Hampshire. Home is where you feel loved and happy and surrounded by those who mean the most to you. I've realized that wherever you are, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, is home."

By this time, tears were freely flowing down my cheeks. It was true, when I was young; home was with my family in New Orleans. Now Will was my home. During my reverie, I realized that Will had dropped to one knee and was searching for something in his pant pocket. Slowly, his hand emerged and produced the most perfect diamond ring I had ever seen.

"Elizabeth, will you forever allow me to come home and consent to be my wife?"

The answer to this question required no time to consider. I nodded and said yes, as I jumped into his arms.

We agreed to a quick, intimate wedding, which took place six months later in a small chapel outside New Orleans. Will even flew Jane and Charlotte in from Boston to be my bridesmaids. We honeymooned on a private island. William never told me to quit my job, but I knew that I wanted to be with him. I wanted to be home with our future family and to be able to travel with him, not with a job. So, I closed the doors on Elizabeth Bennet Consulting right after our engagement. I stopped moving and we purchased our home together right outside of Boston.

Will and I traveled every summer. His expertise broadened my worldly horizons and I taught him how to slow down and simply enjoy life. Four years after we were first married, we had our first child: Fitzwilliam, named for his father. Little Will was the eldest of our four children, followed by Emma, Katherine, and Richard.

To say that we lived happily ever after would be a fairy tale. We still had our disagreements and arguments, but we always agreed to never go to bed angry. As our children grew, we determined that to keep the family close, we would always have dinner together at least once a week. On the nights I decided to make hamburgers and fries, I admit I still burn the fries and set the smoke alarms off. The children find it incredibly annoying and have asked me repeated to stop making fries. Only Will and I know the true significance behind the burnt potatoes.

The End

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