Depression in the Dutch Department

Lise

Jump to new as of March 24, 2001
Jump to new as of April 10, 2001
Jump to new as of April 18, 2001

Chapter 1

Posted on Friday, 2 March 2001, at 6 : 32 p.m.

More than one person was made very depressed by the advent of the Crocus break. The department, devoted to all things Dutch, had even adopted their holidays -- although with their fascination for the letter D they would have preferred it if the Dutch had called this the Daffodil break.

Holidays or not, it was a very depressing period and many people were depri, as slightly outdated Dutch turbospeak would have it. The exams were on everyone's doorstep, the exams rooms were damp and dark, the material was daunting and what was worse, the exam questions were also depressing, because how could one expect Professor Bingley to come up with a cheerful exam? She was not Jane Bennet.

Jane Bennet had not only brightened her Dutch Grammar exams up with pictures, but she had also printed all 37 of them on a colour printer.

This in itself would have been enough to depress Professor Bingley, but there was more. She was capable of seeing all the possible outcomes of a situation at just one glance and so she could see an overwhelming choice of possible directions her life could take. If other people were not in any position to influence her life, it would be very easy, but the more unpredictable those people were, the more difficult it was to reduce life to a simple theoretical model. Not all variables were under control. In fact, some of them were very good at pretending they were under control. Just when you thought you had figured Dr Fitzwilliam out, he changed his style.

He had tried to impress Caroline by showing her how good he was at being kind, smooth, intellectual, fatherly, sporty, sexy, but she only kept seeing him as a walking sperm bank. He was flattered, but thought there was more to him than just that, if she only allowed him to compete with seventeenth-century Dutch poetry.

The Professor's view on the matter was: you could enjoy poetry in public transport, but you could not enjoy Dr Fitzwilliam there.

Dr Fitzwilliam's view on the same subject was understandably different.

But that was all because he did not see himself as a mere reservoir of that which was needed to fertilise an egg.

Darcy, who would never even be nominated for the Most Cheerful Bloke award, was also gloomy. He wondered if he was a nerd -- for reasons unknown to anyone but himself.

Elizabeth did not think he was -- he looked too well. However, that was exactly why a little caution was required.

Jane and Charles were cheerful, but depressingly so. They had adopted a puppy and could not stop talking about it. The rest of the department were irritated out of their minds, especially when meetings were cut short because the puppy had to be picked up from the dog creche.

Some people began to make a list of wishes, which almost all of them involved Jane, Charles or the puppy. The list circulated on email -- Jane or Charles not being included on the recipient list, naturally.

The List Editor edited the list everyday, because the many emails branched out on to too many topics. On February 28, the list was as follows:

I wish that...
1. Charles had never seen that puppy
2. Charles had never seen Jane
3. The puppy died young
4. They would extend the opening hours of the creche
5. Someone stole the puppy
6. Charles got a job offer elsewhere (joke!)
7. Jane became allergic to dogs
8. I became allergic to Bingleys so I could refuse them entrance
9. Bingleys of the male kind only!!
10. We had 10 ways to make the puppy disappear
11. Poor puppy!
12. Louisa shut her mouth!
13. You'd all stop spamming me
14. OK
15. Me too
16. And me
17. Richard would finally finish that paper
18. Too.
19. Prof B would...mmm...ya know
20. What???
21. N.o.y.b
22. What???
23. What I said.

Professor Bingley did not read spam and she ignored about forty emails with the subject Re: I wish that... before she read the last one. It even deserved a reply.

Please take this online IQ test. Anyone scoring below 150 shall be invited for an evaluation of their performance and their contract:

Professor Doctor Caroline Bingley

This put an end to the spamming practices of the department, although the Professor was still bothered by staff members who offered all kinds of excuses for scoring 126, 133 and 144. She had taken the test herself and scored 157.

Baby, I got 157, Dr Fitzwilliam wrote, And you ain't getting any of it.

The Professor was in tears.

She went to Darcy, who guiltily clicked away an online hotness test. "Would Richard score 157 on an IQ test?"

Darcy was only interested in whether he scored over 90% on the hotness test. Richard's IQ could be 200, for all he cared. "Why not?"

"He says I'm not getting any of it."

"Would you want a brain transplant?" Darcy asked. "I thought you were proud of what you had."

"I am. Did you take that test?"

"I don't do online tests," Darcy lied. "They're silly."

"I say we make an IQ test part of our entrance exams," Professor Bingley suggested. "120 minimum for boys and 130 for girls." She thought she was being very generous.

"Why the difference?" Darcy exclaimed.

"We need more boys and we won't be drawing them if we have such high standards. The boys here are...oh, come on, Darcy. You know."

"What about them?"

"Don't you dare refer any of them to me to supervise their thesis," she warned him.

"Yet you want more of them?"

"Not more! Others. Different ones."

"Ones like me." Darcy did not really believe that -- he was still concerned about perhaps being a nerd. He wanted her to say he was not. 90% hotness was what he was after, but hopefully more.

"For example."

"It's over between us, Caroline," he said, just in case she regretted their decision. And he was not a nerd! He might dare to click the submit button then, after all. But then, Caroline was quite a female nerd herself. Only she was good-looking, so people frequently did not notice.

"I know. I want Richard." Professor Bingley was shocked by her own words.

"Tell him so," he offered very intelligently.

"I don't run after the opposite sex." This came out quite haughtily.

"You needn't run. You can walk." Or walk backwards, even, as in his own case.

Chapter 2

Posted on Friday, 9 March 2001, at 3 : 17 p.m.

Darcy, to his great relief, scored 93% on the online hotness test he had taken. He was aware of his strong points, that was not the problem, but he did not know whether females of a certain age also considered them strong points. However, this test seemed to have been made by females of exactly the age he was interested in, so that was good.

He was in the kitchen that evening, preparing dinner and reviewing his situation. Twice they had tried to switch roles, Elizabeth and he, but they had agreed that perhaps it was best to stick to this division of him cooking and her doing the dishes. It was hard to tell what she did wrong, but she tended to lose interest in her pots and pans at the wrong moments, which did not produce a terrific dinner. She was the first to admit she had very little patience for cooking and she had not minded his awkward suggestion that she stick to washing up.

So there he was, cooking and contemplating his fate. He was 93% hot -- what had happened to the other 7%?

Darcy ventured a glance at Elizabeth, diligently studying Dutch Grammar at the kitchen table. Or not. The Dutch Grammar Book was open on page 1, but she was reading the newspaper. "Are you studying?" he asked.

"What? Grammar? Of course not."

"Oh. Er...why not?"

"Grammar?" She looked puzzled. "You can't."

He had to ask. "Then why have you got the book there?"

"So I won't feel guilty."

That made no sense whatsoever. "Oh. Does that mean you have time to cut the mushrooms?" he asked.

"Yes. Sure." Elizabeth cut the mushrooms in far too big parts. "Ooooh...?"

Darcy supposed she wanted to ask him something. "Yes?" He was eager to answer any question she had, hoping that it might lead to a conversation.

"I heard some gossip in the halls. You might want to know what people are saying."

"I'm not sure I do." He could imagine what sort of rumours were going around.

"Even if it concerns you?"

"Alright. Tell me."

"There's a rumour that you, the Prof and Fitzwilliam are in some triangular love relationship."

Darcy frowned. That was not what he had been expecting. He had thought people would be talking about these living arrangements. "We used to be. I'm out now. That woman is completely ins--...not my type."

"Who's the father of the baby, then?"

"Which baby?"

"The Prof's."

"I don't believe for a minute there is going to be a baby," Darcy commented immediately. "No man is ever good enough and no man could ever live with that woman."

"Yes, there is," Elizabeth smiled triumphantly. "She asked me to baby-sit it after it's born."

Darcy was baffled. "She's pregnant?" He seemed to have missed that crucial bit of gossip. And Caroline had not told him anything.

"I doubt that she'd ask me if she weren't! I'm just curious whose child it's going to be, all things considered. She wouldn't tell me. Said it wasn't important, because men were useless anyway after the conception." Elizabeth looked at him shrewdly.

"It's not mine!" Darcy cried. "I don't want a child." He was faintly aware of a slightly fault in his argumentation here, but he did not stop to correct or think about it.

"I don't think that's the issue here, with all due respect, Sir."

"Don't call me Sir. It's Fitzwilliam."

"You'd agree that with all due respect, Fitzwilliam is an oxymoron?" Elizabeth giggled at his astonished look. He was not used to being teased much, was he? That would have to change if he wanted her to keep living here. She could not suppress the urge. "Fitzwilliam sounds very respectable, naturally," she said angelically.

"Er..."

"Or should I call you Darcy? Or not at all?"

"Er..."

She got up and studied him gravely with her head to one side. "We kissed once, you know. I think I should be calling you Fitzwilliam."

"Why was it only once?" he asked.

"Maybe you thought once was enough?"

"Maybe you did."

"You never tried to find out."

That was the first time Darcy did not produce a terrific dinner either. He got distracted. However, not so much as to actually kiss Elizabeth. Just when he was considering the idea and trying to gauge how welcome such an action would be, the pan behind him boiled over and action was needed.

If that was not all, the phone rang and it kept Elizabeth out of the kitchen until dinner was ready.

The next day, F. Darcy, blessed with all the positive qualities one could think of, but unlucky in love, questioned his fate. This naturally involved lots of pacing and since his own office was too small to do any sort of decent pacing, he did the civil servant thing and made a few excursions to the coffee machine, thinking about why he seemed unable to seduce a girl already living in his house.

However, it was not his intention to be bouncing through the hallways of such a respectable institution as a university on a caffeine high and so he repeatedly walked towards the coffee machine without actually getting coffee.

It must be said in his defence that getting coffee was a complex undertaking. It required a mug, a chip card and last but not least, a firm idea of what one wanted from the machine -- combined. One might be 93% hot and still lack one or all three of these things, in which case it might be argued that hot is a relative qualification, unless it applied to coffee. Coffee was hot, Darcy was not.

Darcy was puzzled by the ease with which a simple workman managed to elicit two black, two sugar, two milk, a milk and sugar, and one tea from the machine. He was furthermore strengthened in his beliefs that workmen were permanently on a coffee break, because if they had been hard-working people, they would never have been able to figure out the coffee machine. That thing was difficult! Darcy had always been too busy to devote any of his precious time to mundane matters at work and of course now that he needed the experience, he lacked it and he regretted his habitual tunnel-vision.

He now cruised the hallways and corridors with a more open eye and noticed that students quickly moved aside when he approached, staring at him in awe. It was a bit disconcerting and he sought refuge in the secretary's office.

"Zoek je iets?" asked the secretary, whose name was Anne like all the other administrative staff in the department, but contrary to them, she was a Dutch Anne.

"Ja, liefde," Darcy muttered under his breath.

Anne did not hear that. She only knew that it had been an awfully long time since Darcy had first begun looking at his pigeon hole. Did he not see it was still as empty as when he had come in? "Op die van jou staat F. Darcy," she supplied helpfully, being used to fuzzy-headed scholars and especially Bingleys who regularly emptied each other's pigeon holes.

"Hij is leeg," Darcy spoke, as if he noticed for the first time that it was empty.

Anne nodded. She was glad there was nothing wrong with his eyes. It was never the secretary's favourite task to search everyone's desks after dark to find the guilty party who had not been wearing his glasses and taken the wrong person's mail. Not that she had ever found Darcy to be guilty of that, but he was an exception, so he might as well conform to the rest of his colleagues. "Nogal wiedes. Je hebt hem vanmorgen nog geleegd!" He had emptied it earlier that morning. How popular did he think he was?

"Ja maar..."

"Nee, nee! Zo populair ben je niet," Anne told him. "Lach nou maar eens wat vaker naar die meisjes, dan krijg je vanzelf wel meer post."

Darcy looked stunned. Would it really fill his pigeon hole if he smiled at girls? Was he after more mail, anyway?

"Kijk maar naar Charles," Anne said meaningfully.

Charles had not been in here for three days or so -- that was obvious. "Die leegt hem nooit!" Darcy protested. "En hoezo moet ik dan naar meisjes lachen?" He drew a paper from Charles' pigeon hole. They all seemed to be regular assignments, not fan mail.

Anne was hiccuping. "Mannen!" She was very pleased that Darcy had proved to be silly enough to believe her.

Chapter 3

Posted on Sunday, 11 March 2001, at 5 : 04 p.m.

Elizabeth was doing a group assignment all by herself. Or rather, she was trying to get started on this group assignment all by herself, because the rest of her group had not yet appeared a full hour after the time they had agreed on. She frowned at the clock. Not all of them could be coming from the same direction and so it was not likely that delayed trains were the reason. It was more likely that once again she had joined up with a bunch of parasites who would let her do the work and still insist on having their names at the top of the paper. It happened so often to people who had a reputation for being reliable.

"Damn!" she exclaimed in annoyance when she figured out the reason for their absence. They had got away with it once, but not this time. She would do her assignment alone and sign only her own name to it, but she would not do it here, in the cafeteria. It would be too easy to find her in case any of them showed up more than an hour late. "You've lost your chance," she told her stuff and gathered it all up.

Darcy had been near the coffee machine numerous times, she had seen, but he was not there now that she passed it. She carried her things towards the stairs, only to meet him coming down.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I'm trying to find a quiet place where I won't be disturbed. I have to do a group assignment."

"Oh." Darcy peered around the corner, but saw no group. "They went to the toilet?"

"No, they never showed up," Elizabeth said in barely concealed irritation.

"So it's just you."

"Yes, it's just me."

"Oh well, in that case..." Darcy glanced down the corridor towards his own office, which had an extra chair that was just waiting to be occupied by someone who had to work on an assignment in peace. "And they're not going to show up either?" Her tone had seemed to say that they would not. The solution was so obvious that it was nearly forcing him to say it out loud.

"Doubt that."

"You can work in my office." He tried very hard not to look smug, but it was very tough not to be pleased with yourself if you had just come up with a great solution like this.

"Really?" Elizabeth brightened up. She would not be found there by parasitic group members.

"Yes. Come. I was just on my way there." He led the way to his office, attentively helping her to take off her coat. Charles was not there -- that was a very good thing.

But Charles had just a minute before that seen that Darcy was not there and he had also thought that to be a very good thing. He came back with Jane. "Sorry, old chap," Charles said cheerfully. "I'm going to have to pull rank on you. I'm older."

Elizabeth did not know what kind of odd arrangements people had here, but being older obviously gave you some advantages and allowed you to send your roommate out of the room. She followed Darcy out.

He stood indecisively outside the door. "Maybe...yes...that might work. Would it be empty? I think it might be. Do you think you could sit there? I suppose so. And two? Yes, it would hold two. Yes, I think we'll do just that. If you don't object?"

Elizabeth was about to say she did not know what to object to, actually, because he had not told her.

But Darcy continued speaking and turned around to look at her. "Are you still there?"

"I am."

"Because you didn't say anything, I thought you might have walked away."

Elizabeth looked at him as if he was slightly crazy for saying that. "You're answering your own questions! What am I supposed to say?"

"I was?" Darcy did not know what to think of that. It could not be a good thing, because it made him sound like Charles and everyone knew Charles was a scatterbrain. Nobody would like to have the structure of Charles' mind, provided there was one. Darcy was not entirely sure about that. Charles was wholly unacquainted with the concept of structure. That did not make him any less likeable, however, but only less enviable to the organised and structured among his friends. "I never talk to myself."

"You did it now."

"It's your fault," Darcy said automatically.

"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth cried.

Well, he could not explain that. He could not say she had a very strange effect on him, that everything seemed to go wrong, but at the same time also so right when she was around. He could not say that when she seemed oblivious of it all. "Only joking."

"I saw some really bad humour on a hidden camera video that was called 'Only joking,'" Elizabeth said pensively. "I got to see the same video four times. They only have one video on Swissair planes."

"Aahh," said Darcy. "And my jokes," which were not jokes at all, but the plain truth, "are just as bad?"

"I didn't say that. I didn't know you ever joked."

Ouch. Darcy took that comment silently. Maybe he did not. He could not recall any conversation with Elizabeth in which he had openly joked.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I haven't offended you, have I?"

He looked down into her eyes, which looked genuinely worried. "I can't be offended." He would have been offended had anyone else said the same thing, but she could say anything and he would only be glad that she spoke to him at all. His words seemed to reassure her, because the look of concern was immediately replaced by the habitual sparkle.

"You shouldn't take me too seriously," she mumbled with a smile. "I appreciate jokes, you know. Don't feel inhibited. You can always laugh at something as long as you've got your imagination with you, even if you're alone. Where are we going?"

"We're going to the Professor's office." She would be away anyway.

"Mighty cool," Elizabeth commented. "She's got very comfortable chairs -- once you remove a year or two of scraps of paper from them." She laughed again.

"She's tidied up." Darcy figured it was a hormonal thing, pregnancy and all that. Why else would Caroline have started to clear out her office? He still had not asked her anything about it, because Caroline was away in Italy doing something necessary.

Surprisingly, Fitzwilliam was lying back in one of the comfortable chairs. He was chewing on a pencil and reading a book, his feet up on the desk. "Is she pregnant?" he asked when he saw Darcy. "The minx won't tell."

"Elizabeth says so," Darcy replied, looking at Elizabeth who had followed him.

Fitzwilliam looked expectantly at her as well and she cleared her throat. "Well...I heard it from Dolly the coffee lady."

Fitzwilliam guffawed and swung his feet off the table. "The one who told me yesterday that she had seen an alien spaceship in her back yard? If this is true and if it was me, I feel used." He stood up. "And I'm too much of a fool to do anything about it as long as she doesn't tell me it was me."

Chapter 5

Posted on Friday, 23 March 2001, at 4 : 43 p.m.

Elizabeth had been a bit reserved towards Darcy on account of the whole baby issue, but when she got home she put things into perspective. However, her perspective did not change all that much when she came to think of it.

One: the rumour about the pregnancy had originated from Dolly the coffee lady, so it was as reliable as an early morning weather report. This meant that Professor Bingley might not be pregnant at all, although both Darcy and Fitzwilliam had believed the idea to be plausible.

Two: if the rumour was true, this meant that both Darcy and Fitzwilliam had had dealings with the Professor. Elizabeth was shocked, for she was brought up in a small town where such things did not happen. A: there were no professors. B: there were no handsome men like Darcy and Fitzwilliam. C: people did not have dealings with people they were not married to. D: and if they did, they would not tell the coffee lady.

Three: if Darcy had had dealings with the Professor, when had he stopped if he was still afraid to be named as the father of the possible baby? Assuming that the Professor was not so stupid as to discover her pregnancy somewhere towards the end of it, the conception would have been relatively recent.

Four: Darcy had kissed her relatively recently.

This meant that Elizabeth was a bit wary of Dr Fitzwilliam Darcy and the amorous attentions that he seemed to bestow upon just anyone that crossed his path.

Consequently, when Darcy arrived home and did not waste any time saying "I love you," she was not very receptive to his advances, but just stared back at him. He loved her? Did he seriously believe that himself? What else was on his agenda?

Darcy was baffled. He had not expected this reaction. He was not sure what it was that he had expected, but certainly nothing like this. What was he to do now? Did this silence mean that she did not love him? But she had kissed him and Charles had said that....

It was true that Charles had encouraged Darcy to approach Elizabeth, but he had no idea that Elizabeth was so different from Jane. That was silly of him, really, because he knew he was nothing like Caroline himself. Still, he could not suggest to Darcy that Elizabeth might turn him down. Darcy was pessimistic enough to think of that himself, so he had only needed the positive things he could not imagine on his own.

Charles, ever the optimist, assumed everything would go alright after his little encouragement and he went out to dinner with Jane.

Professor Bingley never encouraged anyone to approach her and they usually stayed away from her because of her expression and the awe she inspired in her colleagues by being so beautiful, so clever and so young -- although her age was a mystery, she had not been around the academic scene long enough for her to be over fifty. But this conference was different. While she preferred to stay in her hotel room at night to work, she kept being asked out for a drink by just about any single man attending the conference and almost as many men she knew to be married.

It was so bad that she called Richard on the third night.

"Caroline?" Fitzwilliam was amazed. He had not heard from her since she had left and now she suddenly called him late at night. It was not like Caroline to call home from her trips. She never needed to tell anybody anything, nor were there ever any problems she needed to ask anyone's advice on.

"I've had enough of it."

"You're coming home tomorrow." He was not aware of her itinerary at all; it just looked that way. "The conference is over. Isn't it?" he asked as if he was not a hundred percent sure of that.

"I've had enough of men."

"So you call one." He sounded as if he perfectly understood, but in fact it was a complete mystery to him. Women always were and the more clever they were, the worse it was.

"You're not a man," Professor Bingley whined in a most un-professor-like voice. What she meant was that he was not a man like the others.

Fitzwilliam considered telling her that would have been enough of an insult for him to hang up, had he been childish, but he did not think she would find it funny. "So what am I?"

"Don't ask...just talk to me...can't you go with me next time?"

That sounded really pathetic and he had to soothe her, but she was asking the impossible. "Darling, our respective fields aren't likely to be covered on a single conference..."

There was a small irritated sigh on the other side of the line, the sigh that usually escaped Caroline in the presence of lesser minds who could not follow her train of thought straight away. "I know that. I've been to lots of conferences. I meant with me, not with me."

"With you?" Fitzwilliam asked. "Yes, of course," he added hastily, before he could get another sigh. The sighs were a bad sign. "But don't you think I should associate with you at home as well? Because people might think it strange if I only accompanied you abroad." He might as well strike the iron while it was hot.

"I hadn't considered that yet."

This meant she was truly desperate, Fitzwilliam noted. Not only had Caroline never not considered anything, but to admit that she had not considered something was completely impossible. She must be out of sorts. "You must. The rumour goes that you're pregnant. Take me, or people will think it happened at a conference."

"It did," she said, rather too brightly for his tastes.

"What?" Fitzwilliam cried.

Chapter 6

Posted on Sunday, 8 April 2001, at 4:54 p.m.

Depressions were difficult to dispel and perhaps it was not so much a depression as dreadful despair that was troubling Darcy. After typing his name a few times as Drayc, he gave up on it and went to take a shower, because he did not even manage to type it correctly in the Auto Correction option and that was a sign that should not be ignored.

After his shower, he walked through the hall with his towel around his waist, since it was only a few paces from the bathroom to his bedroom and his lodger was -- he assumed -- being a good girl and doing her homework or watching television in the living room. The phone was on a table in the hall and when he passed it, it rang.

"Hello," said Darcy. Despite wearing a pink towel, he did not mind picking it up, as he never had conversations that lasted over five minutes. In fact, it even cost the phone company more to send him a bill because of the paper, envelopes and labour than they would receive from him.

It was Fitzwilliam. "I just hung up on Caroline!" he said agitatedly.

"Big achievement," Darcy commented. "Doesn't everyone want to sometimes? Listen, Richard. I'm standing in my hall wearing only a pink towel and I only picked up the phone in case it was important, but if you only --"

"But you don't know why!" Fitzwilliam cried.

"Do people need a reason to hang up on Caroline?" Darcy pulled the towel a little tighter when it was in danger of slipping.

"She said she was pregnant and that it happened at a conference!"

The towel slipped and Darcy bent to pick it up and readjust it, one eye anxiously on the closed door to the living room. Fortunately it remained closed. "With one hand! Now that is an achievement."

"I beg your pardon?" Fitzwilliam asked in confusion.

"Never mind. Who did it?"

"I don't know! I hung up!"

"Why?" Darcy cried down the line. Did this man work at a prestigious university? He was bloody stupid! He had been about to get the answer to the question of the year and he had hung up before he had got it!

"I was too...too...shocked. I hung up," Fitzwilliam explained helplessly.

"Fool!"

"Sorry."

"Why are you calling me? Call her again!"

"Er...I don't have her number. I don't even have the name of the hotel. I thought you might, that's why I'm calling you."

"Fool!" Darcy rested his head against the wall as he was thinking. "So, what did she say before you hung up?" He wanted to know.

Fitzwilliam related it to him. "So, it can't have been me! Did you ever go to a conference with her?"

"Yes, but --"

"You did it!" Fitzwilliam said accusingly.

"Listen, Richard," Darcy tried reasonably. "Never at a conference. Caroline might be trying to call you and you're keeping the line busy."

"Do you have her number?" Fitzwilliam insisted.

Darcy suddenly realised that he had. "Oh! I do."

"Give it to me."

That was going to be difficult, because it was in the living room and Elizabeth was in there. Darcy stared at the closed door and hesitated. "I can't get at it right now."

"Why not?"

"Because...I'm wearing a towel and it's in the living room."

This meant very little to Fitzwilliam. "What's in the living room? The towel?"

Darcy shook his head at the phone. "No, the address."

"Er...well...I don't see why you can't walk into your living room with a towel around your waist. This is your house, man!"

Darcy knew it was his house and if there was no one home he would certainly walk through all of it wearing towels, but he was not home alone at this moment. "Elizabeth is home."

"What a chance to display yourself, dammit!" Fitzwilliam cried. "Don't miss it. Just...get...the...address...and soon...before Caroline goes to bed."

Darcy closed his eyes and said a little prayer for courage. "Hang on," he said to Fitzwilliam and then opened the door to the living room. "Er...I need something," he stuttered to Elizabeth and began searching his desk with a coloured face. He did not want to check if she was staring.

"Yes, you need a bigger towel," Elizabeth said in amusement.

Darcy gripped the towel tighter with one hand, searching through his diary with the other. It kept falling shut and yet he could not let go of the towel. His face burned after Elizabeth's casual remark.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked. "You seem to need a hand...."

"Er...no, that's not necessary." The diary fell shut again before he had found the page on which he had written Caroline's address.

"...you need an extra hand either on the diary or on the towel," Elizabeth said perceptively.

"Can you just...look the other way?" Darcy begged.

"If I need help, just say so. I'll look through that diary for you." She got up and walked towards him. "Hehe!"

Darcy did not trust that sound. She was laughing at him. He struggled with the diary some more. "Well, alright. You look through it. I need the phone number of a hotel. It's somewhere in a small corner in September, October or November."

Elizabeth turned the pages. They were all full. It would be hard to spot something in a small corner. "Can you be more specific?"

"No, I can't."

"I'll hold the towel," she said after studying two weeks in September and seeing that it would be an impossible task to find a phone number.

"What?" Darcy cried.

"I'll hold the towel. Are you afraid I'll drop it? I promise I won't drop it."

"No!"

"Then the phone number's got to wait," Elizabeth shrugged.

"But Fitzwilliam's on the phone!" Darcy tried to leaf through the diary with one hand again.

"Shall I tell him you're looking? So you can drop the towel as you do so?" she suggested. "I promise I won't look."

"Yes, you do that." It did not occur to either of them to fetch a larger towel to solve the problem.

"You do look rather nice in pink," Elizabeth commented and skipped out into the hall, closing the door behind her. She picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello? Where's Darcy?"

"He's got some trouble keeping his things together, but he'll be with you as soon as possible. He's looking for a phone number right now."

"Why is this taking so long?" Fitzwilliam complained.

"Because --" Elizabeth said, but she was interrupted by Darcy opening the door and taking the phone from her.

"I got it!" Darcy said triumphantly. He had the same problem again, needing three hands to hold the receiver, the diary and the towel.

Elizabeth did not wait for him to ask her anything -- she saw assistance was needed and she lent a hand without hesitation.

Chapter 7

Posted on Wednesday, 11 April 2001, at 7:50 p.m.

Elizabeth pulled up a chair and let Darcy sit on it.

The towel was safe. Men were so incredibly stupid at times. They just did not see those practical solutions. Or did he want the towel to slip or something?

Darcy squeezed the receiver between his head and his shoulder so he had both of his hands free to look in the diary. Now that he knew which date to look for, it all went very quickly. He gave Fitzwilliam the number and then hung up. Elizabeth had gone into the living room again and he went after her, first changing his towel for a bigger one. "I'm sorry to have appeared before you like this," he said.

"I think you're still appearing before me like that," she answered dryly. Only the towel was bigger now.

"Yes, but you're used to it now," Darcy said stupidly.

"I won't hold your appearance against you. Personality is what matters. As long as you're nice, I won't care how strange you look in a towel," Elizabeth said cheerfully.

I look strange? Darcy wondered. He had always thought he would look well in a towel.

"Yes, well...compared how to you look in class. You wear suits there. This is different. Don't you agree? If you were constantly wearing towels in class, I'd say you looked strange if you wore a towel. Don't you agree? For instance, I can't imagine Fitzwilliam in a towel."

"You can't? Everyone wants to."

"I don't want to."

"Why not? Everyone is always wild about him."

"Yes, they are, but because of that it's a waste of time trying to imagine him. Too much competition and why should I win? Besides, I'm not going to marry someone just because he looks good in a towel. What would I do after thirty years?"

"Well, if you had the choice between two equally nice men, one ugly and one handsome...?" Darcy asked. He was fairly sure what she would say, since everyone would say that.

"I'd take the ugly one."

He looked surprised. "Why?"

"Because everyone wants the handsome one and the ugly one is up for grabs, so to speak. I don't have the time to compete with everyone else. What do I have anyway that could interest him?" Elizabeth shrugged. It was not as if she was ever going to be in a situation where she could choose. People simply were not equally nice.

Well, Darcy could name a few things, but he did not when she did not seem to want an answer. He stood staring for a while as she resumed her reading, but then he realised he needed to get dressed and he left the room.

In the hall, he called Fitzwilliam. "Don't occupy my line, Darcy," said Fitzwilliam. "What if Caroline calls me?"

"Then she'll call again. And I thought you were calling Caroline and not the other way around? Listen. I have a far more important thing." He told his cousin the entire story. "What do I do?" he concluded.

"You kiss her," Fitzwilliam said promptly.

"Serious advice, please."

"I am serious."

The rotten thing was that it was probably true too, Darcy thought. Richard Fitzwilliam lived in a different reality from most other men where women were concerned. He would seriously do such a thing and get away with it, whereas the rest of mankind would be slapped, hated or kicked in the balls. Darcy groaned.

"Try it, it works," Fitzwilliam said encouragingly.

"Did you try it on Caroline?" Darcy asked suspiciously. Caroline was not the type to accept that kind of behaviour.

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

"Not now, Richard. I'm reading somebody's thesis," Fitzwilliam imitated Caroline's slightly irritated tone.

"So it didn't work."

"It works on the ordinary kind of woman, though. Caroline isn't an ordinary kind of woman, of course. I would never be trying to phone her if it had worked on her," Fitzwilliam said logically. "Now Darcy, can you get off the line?"

Darcy hung up. He sat on the chair for a while, thinking about Fitzwilliam's advice. The more he though about it, the more it appealed to him. He pulled the towel a little tighter around his waist and went back to the living room. First he typed a little aimlessly, attempting to get his name right at last, but this time it only came out as Farcy, so he gave up and hesitated about whether he should go ahead with the kiss. "Elizabeth?" he said to make her look up.

Elizabeth looked up. He was still in the towel, how strange.

With a swift movement Darcy bent down and kissed her.

Chapter 8

Posted on Sunday, 15 April 2001, at 1:18 p.m.

Elizabeth, having made it to university and being therefore in possession of considerable abilities, but also being considerably confused by the current situation, analysed the ongoing activity. She used her own judgement and consulted her own memory in the process. She even did what was required in all the more advanced and sophisticated essays: she consulted secondary sources, albeit mostly from memory -- because her mouth was naturally otherwise engaged and could not be employed in asking questions verbally.

It was always best to have logical reasoning sort out what was happening -- even if this might induce pals to tell her she was of the over-analysing kind -- and it drove her to distraction and frustration if she did not know what was going on at some point or what something meant, her theoretical inclination having prevented her from acquiring valuable experience in some practical matters -- Elizabeth was never an empiricist.

Her short mental essay looked as follows:

Scene Setting. When we are surprised by members of the opposite sex, it is not always very clear what is going on.

Thesis Statement: A kiss is going on.

Topic Sentence 1: Personal experience. The previous time was a kiss and this feels exactly the same way.

Topic Sentence 2: Secondary Source One. According to the dictionary: "If you kiss someone, you touch them lightly with your lips to show affection or sexual desire, or to greet them or say goodbye."

Topic Sentence 3: Secondary Source Two. It fits the more juicy description found numerous times in instructional teen magazines. [Add quote here.]

Topic Sentence 4: Secondary Source Three. It appears to occur between any young female and any young male that happen to meet. [Add Harlequin quote here.]

Conclusion: All arguments point in the same direction and it is unmistakably a kiss that is happening.

Thus reassured about the exact nature of the activity and now able to define it, she continued with it.

Empiricism did have its good points, she mused, but did it not imply that one had to kiss a great many people without being able to label this activity before one could finally define this -- by comparison and theorising -- as kissing? Kissing a great many people merely for the sake of labelling the common experience was a bit, well, icky. However, cave dwellers or whoever had first coined the word must have done exactly that.

Although cave men might have worn garments that resembled Darcy's towel, the comparison ended there. Elizabeth could not imagine herself being a cave woman kissing a gorilla-like homo hirsutus.

Fitzwilliam had managed to get through to Professor Bingley.

"Why did you hang up on me, you fool?" she fumed. "Do you have a commitment problem already?"

"Actually, I thought I was just getting over it..." he protested cautiously. "I'm calling you, aren't I?"

"I called you first."

"But I hung up on you and therefore had the choice between calling you back and not calling you back," said Fitzwilliam. "Commitment is an American talk show term, but if you insist on using it, it seems to me that the first option is a definite sign of --"

"-- mere politeness! And something that seems is unfit to base conclusions on," the Professor explained. "Things must be and not seem. I need hard evidence."

"So do I. Are you pregnant? Is there any evidence for it?"

"Yes."

"I had hoped it wasn't so," Fitzwilliam sighed. Now he had to reckon with the possibility that she might be pregnant by a Japanese professor, since she had been to Osaka for a conference not all that long ago. "Now I'll have to wait nine months to see which one of my vile colleagues the baby resembles, unless you choose to tell me."

It was silent at the other end of the line for a few moments. "Richard, I thought I was doing this baby a favour by giving him you for a father, but you're displaying a frightening lack of intelligence here!" the Professor said in frustration.

"I don't want to be a father to someone else's child," Fitzwilliam said immediately. "Darling, I function badly if you're away, don't you know that?" he said with the characteristic Fitzwilliam charm. Still, he wondered about his lack of intelligence, but it would not do to ask seriously.

There were some exasperated sighs at the other end. "You will be the father. And it's not nine months from now, but five." Surely he could do a little arithmetic?

"Me? Five?" Fitzwilliam was amazed and excited by this news.

"Yes."

"Caroline...why didn't you tell me?"

"Need I explain?" Caroline said with the academic's dislike of simple explanations. "You know why."

"Yes, I know why."

"I do like that."

"What?"

"Not that."

"Oh, the other thing."

"Yes. I don't have to explain things to you."

"No. I can think for myself."

"Sometimes. Remember that you are a man."

"I don't want to be anything else, actually," he answered.

Chapter 9

Posted on Tuesday, 17 April 2001, at 1:42 p.m.

An Academic Approach to Romance was the title that was printed in big letters on announcements pinned up throughout the Dutch Department.

An Academic Approach to Romance
Those irrational intuitions should by all means be ignored. On no account pursue people if you cannot support this choice with logical arguments. Before you know it, you might find yourself in love and no amount of logical reasoning will be able to get you out of it.

April 21, 2001
09:30 Reception and Coffee
09:45 Introduction by Prof. Dr. C.M. Bingley
10:00 Lecture by Dr. R.J.N. Fitzwilliam: Appealing to the Intellect
11:00 Lecture by Prof. Dr. C.M. Bingley: The Negative Aspects of Intelligence-Based Sperm Donor Selection
12:00 Lunch
13:00 Lecture by Dr. F. Darcy: Taking off the blindfold before taking on the hurdles. Self-knowledge as a Prerequisite for Romantic Success
14:00 Lecture by Students: Appointing Hunks, Necessity or Distraction?
15:00 Break
15:15 Forum Discussion led by Prof. Dr. C.M. Bingley: Evaluation and Conclusions

Each speaker shall deliver a 45-minute paper in which the subject matter shall be related to Dutch literature or aspects of Dutch society. After each speaker there will be an opportunity for asking questions. For more information contact Prof. Dr. C.M. Bingley, extension 5555.

FREE LUNCH!

Een Academische Benadering van Romantiek
Die irrationele intuďties moeten vooral genegeerd worden. Ga zeker niet achter mensen aan als deze keuze niet gesteund kan worden door logische argumenten. Voor je het weet, ben je verliefd en logisch redeneren kan je dan niet meer helpen.

21 April 2001
09:30 Ontvangst en Koffie
09:45 Inleiding door Prof. Dr. C.M. Bingley
10:00 Lezing door Dr. R.J.N. Fitzwilliam: Appelleren aan het Intellect
11:00 Lezing door Prof. Dr. C.M. Bingley: De Negatieve Aspecten van Spermadonorselectie Gebaseerd op Intelligentie
12:00 Lunch
13:00 Lezing door Dr. F. Darcy: Voor de horden de blinddoek af. Zelfkennis als Voorwaarde voor Romantisch Succes
14:00 Lezing door Studenten: Lekkere Mannen Aanstellen, Noodzaak of Afleiding?
15:00 Pauze
15:15 Forum Discussie geleid door Prof. Dr. C.M. Bingley: Evaluatie en Conclusies

Iedere spreker zal een voordracht houden van 45 minuten, waarvan het onderwerp gerelateerd zal worden aan Nederlandse literatuur of aspecten van de Nederlandse maatschappij. Na iedere spreker bestaat er de mogelijkheid tot het stellen van vragen. Neem voor meer informatie contact op met Prof. Dr. C.M. Bingley, toestel 5555.

GRATIS LUNCH!

Darcy, vividly remembering his own approach to romance the night before, coloured at the sight of the poster. He averted his eyes and walked on. Someone knew! Already! I was 13:15, but still.

Elizabeth, following close behind because they had come to university at the same time for once, gasped at seeing the list of speakers. She pulled Darcy's coat. "You're going to talk about it?" He was going to talk to audience about how he had kissed her? But had he known beforehand that he was going to kiss her?

"What?" Darcy scrutinised the poster and turned a lovely purple.

"Look," Elizabeth pointed at his name.

"Who did that?" he blurted out.

"Well, if for further information you have to contact Professor Bingley..."

"She hasn't even returned yet! This is a sick joke."

"I think it's kind of funny."

"You're right," Darcy conceded, unable to disagree with her on anything. "But that doesn't mean I won't kill whoever is responsible for this!" He looked as if he meant it.

Bingley appeared, wearing s soft pink tie. He noticed they were standing in front of the poster. "I'd love to hear you speak," he said enthusiastically. "Was this Caroline's idea? It's going to draw a huge crowd."

Darcy disliked huge crowds and speaking to them even more. "This is not going to take place, Charles."

"But you're going to disappoint so many people! You're not suggesting that I take over your lecture? How could I ever speak about self-knowledge if I can't even dress myself?" he grinned disarmingly and pulled at his tie. "This was Jane's idea."

"Where's Richard?" Darcy asked. Richard was the only person disrespectful enough to subject both Caroline and him to this sort of thing.

"Teaching."

A breathless Professor Bingley came up the stairs, dragging a suitcase with her. "Where's Richard?"

"Teaching," Charles said again.

"I've come straight from the airport. What's this?" Her eye fell on the poster. "Really. Couldn't I have been informed?" She marched on.

"She doesn't mind?" asked a baffled Darcy.

"Now you have to do it," Bingley snickered. "Caroline?" he called after his sister. "Can we kick Richard out yet?" Richard, having sold his house in the expectation that he would move in with Caroline, was still living with them.

"Send him my way."

It was past two o'clock when Fitzwilliam managed to disengage himself from his students. Surprisingly enough, he found Caroline in the secretaries' office, apparently showing off her stomach. She had acquired a bulge, contrary to most women who showed off their stomachs.

"Dr Fitzwilliam was so kind to oblige," she said.

Dr Fitzwilliam beamed at seeing this hard evidence. "He always is." He had the sudden urge to talk to the bulge, but suppressed this, seeing as he was in the company of only women.

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