Chapter 11
Charles rested his head back on the first class seat. His head ached, his heart ached. As his body recovered from the excesses of the previous night, the memories of all what happened during and after the party slowly came back into his head. He did it, he screwed it up. He got Jane drunk, took her to his bed, shagged her senseless and left. And now, he was all guilt and remorse.
That morning he woke up with a loud banging at his door. He was feeling so ill that he couldn't remember where he was or even who he was. His head ached so much, he was so sick that he just wanted to sleep forever. He growled a grumpy 'I'm coming!' and heard Darcy saying 'hurry up or we'll miss the plane' from behind the door. He fell back on the pillows and only then he noticed the warmth of a woman lying next to him. Memory came and he realized what was going on, what had happened: his angel, his beautiful and lovely Jane was there with him.
Seeing her there, sleeping like a rock only made him feel even worse than he already felt. He didn't feel proud or even happy of what he did. He felt awful, nauseous and ashamed. Jane deserved something better, they deserved something better than a shag during a spree.
As gently as he could, placing loving kisses on her face and shoulder, praying that she would forgive him, Charles tried to wake her up, but it was impossible. She smelled of liquor, she was so deeply asleep that she seemed unconscious. He needed to apologize before having to leave, he needed to make her understand that this was not what she predicted, what he accused him of trying to do.
Feeling ill and defeated, he recalled her words, how she unmasked his intentions: 'you are trying to get me drunk so you can shag me' she said on the previous night. And she was right, that was exactly what he was trying to do, what he finally did. Last night he was all selfishness and thoughtlessness, he allowed his loins to rule his will and materialized that capricious whim he had formed the day he first met her. He wanted, he schemed and he obtained. He drank until he lost consciousness of his acts and he got her drunk until he could take advantage of her.
It was then, there, at that precise instant that realized that he truly loved her. Such was the pain he felt in his heart when he acknowledged the truth that he barely contained his tears. He tried to wake her up, to tell her his true feelings, that he loved her, but there was no way that she would open her eyes.
The door banged again and he dismissed the intruder with a growl. He rose from bed and stumbled to the bathroom, where sickness overcame him again. He washed his face, his mouth and returned to the bed. If only there was more time, he could show her he was being sincere.
The only thing he could come up with was to leave her a note. He didn't want to do it this way, he wanted to talk to her, beg for forgiveness, but he had to leave. He took a paper, and wrote:
'Angel,
I'm sorry I had to leave without saying good-bye. I know I should say this personally, that I should have stayed, but I can't, I must be on that plane today. I want you to know that I love you and that last night was not just a night of lust as I'm sure you think it was. You may think that I took advantage of you, getting you drunk, making love to you and leaving without saying good-bye but I didn't. I'm ashamed of what I did though I don't regret. I love you, utterly and completely, and I can't think of my life without you.
Please believe that my words are sincere, that I love you as I never loved anyone before. I'll be home in LA and then leave for Canada in one week. If you believe me, if you think you can forgive me for what I did to you, that you can love me back, call me, send me a note, anything, just to let me know that you are not mad at me and I'll come to you. My e-mail is xxxx@xxx.com and my private number is 555-xxxx. I'll be waiting.
Please don't hate me. With love,
Charles.'
Charles sighed heavily. That was the most stupid and unconnected letter he had written in his life, though his state this morning didn't allow him to do it better. He only hoped it didn't make things worse.
"Excuse me, sir, we are serving dinner in half an hour, would you prefer fish or chicken?" The flight attendant asked the two gentlemen.
"Neither." Darcy and Charles growled at unison.
"Sodas and aspirins?" She smiled on seeing their faces. They were green.
Darcy opened his eyes and smiled faintly. "Thank you, that would be great."
The flight attendant left to see after the other first class passengers and the director turned to the actor. "If I catch the imbecile that mixed that kerosene with my orange juice last night, I'll kill him."
Charles groaned. "Please don't remind me of last night will you? I've been throwing up since this plane departed."
A loud noise came out from Darcy's stomach. "Are you staying in LA for the week?"
"Maybe. You?"
"I'll stay home for a couple of days to see Georgiana. She didn't sound well in her last e-mail. She always has some trouble in adapting when she first changes her environment."
"Yeah, right." The actor replied and then turned his eyes towards the window. He wasn't in the mood for talking.
Darcy wasn't in his best humor to converse either. His head ached so much and this unusual silence in his otherwise very talkative friend was more like a blessing. Now he needed to think about what to do with his staff during the Canadian section. Who will he take with him? The top designing and executive crew were going, obviously; cameramen, light designers would go too; sound operators, he could hire the locals but, what to do with the assisting crew? Luis, had to go. Charlotte? Maybe not. If she and Collins were together, they would surely be messing around during work. She wasn't a big deal, she wasn't so necessary in this phase and he had another production where to place her.
Now, what was he going to do with Jane? A quick glance was thrown in Charles' direction. The actor was sleeping. Snoring, actually. What had happened between his friend and Jane last night? Who knows. The only conclusion he could arrive at now was that Charles was too quiet -and by the amount of alcohol he had on the previous night it was quite understandable- to have achieved his goal with Jane. He remembered seeing them drinking together, dancing, and bumping into him. And the stairs, yes, sitting on the stairs, but nothing else, nothing was very clear after that, only that he was dancing with Elizabeth and arguing about something he couldn't remember very well. Had something happened with her last night, Charles would have acknowledged it to him, or at least he would have boasted a little about his last conquest. Yes, probably Charles passed out before anything happened.
The best thing he could do was to keep them as far away of each other as possible. He knew Charles well enough to be sure that his friend would forget about Jane as soon as he stepped in L.A. In only a couple of days, Charles would be back to his celebrity routine of parties and starlets and a roll in bed with the first blonde with fake breasts who crossed his way. Jane would be safer in England.
And Elizabeth? She was Lucas' problem, not his. No, it was his too. He couldn't take her to Canada with him. She could act as a nexus between Jane and Charles and ... he sighed, knowing that that was not the reason. He knew perfectly well why he wanted to stay away from her. He was feeling too much attraction, he liked her too much to have her so close to him. It was dangerous. He was reaching the point where he didn't care about Lucas, where he would do something he shouldn't, like declaring his love and ruin a friendship and a partnership of years. He was aware of how much she loved this job and working with him, that he would be hurting her if he didn't take her with him, but he had no other choice. He would see if he could relocate her too, and, if not, John would take care of her.
A wave of nausea grew in his stomach with that thought of his friend taking care of the woman he loved. He rose and went to the toilet.
"Good morning." Elizabeth joined her mates at the breakfast table with a finger pressing her temple.
A series 'hmmmms' were her reply. Everyone seemed to be having a hell of a hangover so she couldn't expect a more cheerful greeting than this one. She looked around the room and noticed that the director and the actors weren't there.
"Where are the rest?" She asked Jane. Charlotte wasn't there either and as Billy was missing too, she preferred not to ask about them specifically.
"The cast was leaving early this morning, don't you remember?" The make up artist replied quietly.
"I forgot. Oh, Christ, my head aches." Elizabeth rubbed her forehead.
Jane didn't answer.
"You rose early, I didn't hear you getting up."
"No, you didn't." When Jane returned to her room that morning, Elizabeth was still asleep in the bathroom.
"I can't believe I fell asleep on the floor." Elizabeth served herself a mug of black coffee. She frowned on seeing the bread and pastries.
Jane finished her coffee and rose from the table. "I'll go upstairs to pack my things. The van leaves at six."
In slow motion, the other members of the crew began to leave their seats and headed towards the trucks to load all the equipment they were taking back to England. This was going to be a long day.
Once in the privacy of their room, tears started falling from Jane's eyes. Why did he leave without saying good-bye? Why did he have to disappear like that? She wasn't expecting him to promise undying love or even to call her again, but at least a good-bye, something, anything that would show her that at least he cared about her, if only a little. Nothing, not even a note. With great sorrow, she acknowledged the fact that she was now another number in his one hundred list, a face without a name, just another blonde this rakish celebrity shagged to pass time. A hooker, that's how he made her feel like. He treated like a bloody hooker.
How could she be such a fool? It was her fault, only hers. She surrendered, she fell in love with him when she said she wouldn't, she allowed this to happen. She was so stupid that she even believed him when he said that he loved her though she knew now that it was only a line, a lie to obtain what he wanted. She saw it coming, she knew she was drinking too much and she knew this would end like this.
Damn Charles Bingley, why did she have to love him so much?
The ride back home was long and silent. Everyone was too sick to say a word, too tired to keep their eyes open. Three hours in trucks, more than six in a plane and the crew and technicians were back home. At the airport, Ed Ferrars, the assistant producer and Sam's right hand, told everyone that they would be contacted by people from Darcy's office about their continuity in this movie and their paychecks. He thanked everyone, transmitted the boss' salutations and compliments about the great job they did this past month and climbed on the bus that would take the Northern people back to Derbyshire. The rest went to their respective homes from there.
Elizabeth couldn't feel any worse about this cold and distant farewell to her job. She had this strange feeling that she was not going to Canada and that this would be the last time she would see most of her work-mates. She exchanged phone numbers with Charlotte, and promised to contact her and Jane soon for lunch. She phoned her mum and headed towards Meryton, wishing rather than believing that her confirmation in the Canadian crew would happen soon. Optimism had never been one of Elizabeth Bennet's traits.
Her first days at home were dedicated to acquaint her mother and her sister about everything that happened in Africa. Juicy anecdotes about the actors, descriptions of the locations, of her job, of her boss, of her mates and even a very interesting chat about this handsome cameraman she met when she attended the press. Lydia didn't pay her much attention, listening only to those tales about super sexy Charles Bingley -though she did asked specifically about the sex scene, demanding a fully detailed description. Amanda couldn't be happier for her elder daughter. To be able to hear her speaking with such enthusiasm was heart lifting and she only hoped that this rush of 'good luck' she was having would last forever. Pity it didn't.
Four days after her return from Africa, Elizabeth received a call from Darcy's office. Someone named Mary, a simple secretary, had called her to tell her that she had not been included in the Canadian crew. That and that her paycheck was ready. Elizabeth was so sad about the news that she didn't even ask the amount, just to make the deposit in her bank account so she would not need to travel North to retrieve it. At least, when she checked it, she was happily surprised, as the amount she received doubled what she expected, doubling the fee she had established with Darcy when he hired her.
Her life soon returned to what it was before 'The Secret of the Mountain' came into her life. Reading job adds, going to interviews, waiting for the phone to ring. Nothing was happening. Not even the so desired 'romance' with George. He never wrote or phoned again and that was something she was starting to forget too. Her only contact with that brief part of her life was her friendship with Jane, with whom she met at least twice a week for lunch or drinks.
"They started shooting two days ago. That's what Charlotte told me." Jane said as they walked down the noisy market of Petticoat Lane.
"I thought they would start on Monday. Darcy said there was a ten day gap between sections." Replied Elizabeth.
Jane shrugged. "Billy told her that they were only doing simple takes, without actors, close ups of objects and those kinds of things. William only arrived there yesterday."
Elizabeth stopped to observe a leather handbag that was hanging from one of the kiosks. "So those two are still in touch?"
"Who would think it possible?" Jane laughed. "Charlotte is absolutely crazy about him. She says Billy is the most fabulous man that exists and absolutely the best lover she ever had."
The ex assistant director made a face. "Ugh, I don't want to even think about him in that way. He's nice, but sexy? I don't know."
Jane smiled suddenly and bit her lower lip. "I have something to tell you."
Elizabeth turned around to see her friend's face glowing. "Don't tell me they confirmed you for the 'Once Upon a Time' series."
The make up artist nodded enthusiastically. "Yesterday. Isn't it great? A series! It's a fabulous project. Full time job, one year contract and I'll work in Twickenham London studios. They are sending me the sketches to work on. They'll start pre-production in two weeks time. It's that fable about the stork and the fox. I'll work with masks and silicon and jelly, the latest in make up technology. Can you believe it? I'll create a fox on the actor's face!"
"That is incredible, Jane," Elizabeth smiled too. "I'm so happy for you."
"And you, how did your interview go?"
"The one for the newspaper? I don't know, though I'm not optimistic." Elizabeth shrugged.
"Don't worry." Jane rubbed her friend's arm. "They'll call you soon."
"Lizzy?" A man's voice coming from behind made the two girls turn around.
"George!" Elizabeth gasped.
His warm, handsome smile cheered her up. "What a coincidence, I was going to call you! I arrived from Bali two days ago."
"Bali? What were you doing there?" She smiled.
"Shooting a commercial video for bathing suits."
"I see." She raised a suggestive eyebrow.
George smiled flirtatiously. "Just hard work and skinny models. Very boring, actually."
"This is my friend Jane," Elizabeth remembered her friend standing there with them.
The cameraman shook hands with her. "Nice to meet you, Jane. Listen, girls, why don't we have some coffee? I've been walking this market for hours and I would love to take a rest."
Jane exchanged glances with her friend and they agreed. They found a nice café not far away and they sat and conversed for more than an hour. When they parted, George promised to call Elizabeth on the following day so they would see each other soon. That uplifted her spirits, but the news she would receive at home would make her feel even better.
"Lizzy!" Amanda trotted enthusiastically towards the door when she heard her daughter entering the apartment.
"Hi, mom. Lydia." She frowned at the sight of her sister spread on the couch, in that disgusting way Lydia liked to lie.
"Liz." Her teenaged sister didn't raise her eyes from the TV.
"Lizzy, Lizzy." Her mother followed her towards the kitchen. "A man called you, I think it's about a job."
"Mum, it's Sunday." Replied Elizabeth, always skeptical to good news.
"I know, I know. But he said it's urgent, he said something about his assistant, she's getting married, and she's leaving and he is in desperate need of help. I didn't understand clearly but he said he has something to do with that movie you worked on."
Elizabeth's heart started racing. "Did he say his name?"
"Lydia ... Lydia!" Amanda yelled when her youngest daughter didn't reply. Lydia didn't answer to the screaming either so she tried to recall the name of the man's name. "It's, it's ... Richard Fitzsomething."
"Fitzwilliam?" Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up. Richard Fitzwilliam was the film's editor. She heard he was Darcy's cousin.
"Yes!" Amanda grinned. "That one. I told him you were out, with a friend, a girl friend just in case it wasn't about a job ..."
"Mum!" Elizabeth stopped her. She couldn't believe that she thought of that possibility and transmitted it to an unknown person. "What did he say?"
"Oh, yes, that he would call you about seven. He sounded so nice, very educated, lovely Scottish accent. Who is he?"
"He edits the movie. All my notes during the filming went to him."
Amanda put the kettle on the stove. "Maybe he couldn't understand your handwriting and he needs your help."
Elizabeth smiled, her mother was so naive sometimes. "Yes, maybe."
The elder woman smiled and squeezed her daughter's cheek. "I have a very good feeling about his call, Lizzy, I feel that this job will change your life forever."
She sighed heavily as her mother served two teas for them. "Let's see, mum, let's see."
Elizabeth wasn't so nervous about this interview. In fact, she wasn't even sure it was an interview for a job. This Richard Fitzwilliam called her on the previous day only asking her if she could come Monday morning to Rosings Post-Production Studios, the editing and sound recording studios in Kent, for a chat without giving her any other kind of detail. This time she dressed casually, trousers and a blouse and looked a lot more confident than she was in her interview with Darcy. A month in the battlefield dealing with lions had done great things for her ego.
"Hi, I'm Richard Fitzwilliam, forgive my delay, but my life is a mess right now." A man suddenly showed up from behind her. She had been waiting in what seemed to be a small conference room for nearly an hour.
Elizabeth stood and extended her hand to shake his. Richard was a handsome man, in his late thirties she would guess, with gray eyes and almond colored hair. She would never say he could be Darcy's cousin as they were completely different in looks and attitude. Opposites. Richard wasn't so tall, maybe slightly more solid, and he was all charm and smiles. She liked him instantly. They sat down in two of the chairs in the same side of the table and he started talking.
"I'm in the middle of a crisis here. My assistant is getting married in a few months and, all of the sudden, she decided she couldn't do both things at the same time. I'm editing two movies now and William will start sending me the Canadian material in only a few days. What I need, basically, is someone to hold the fort, help me with the notes, assist me and save my life. You won't have any technical work to do, more like a secretary or a second assistant, doing what we don't like to do: numbering ... logging ... storing, putting some order in the material so we can find it quickly when we need it. We are working with over 600 shots per movie, so you can imagine that organization is very important for us. We are also running against the clock with one of them so maybe you'll have to stay long hours. Phyllis is leaving on the following Monday, do you think you could find a place to live and start by then?"
Now she was able to see the resemblance between cousins. In the middle of his speech, Richard sat in this way Darcy always sat when explaining something to her. Legs slightly open in that manly way, elbows on his knees and fingertips together. And that confident verbosity, saying everything in one shot, expecting her to understand, process and accept it right there, without even considering her opinion or if she was available or not. She was back into the ring. She just loved it.
"So this is a job interview." She said archly.
Richard chuckled and sat back, crossing his legs in a very relaxed position. "I'm sorry, I think I was carried away. Yes, this is for a job, I thought you already knew about it."
"Don't you want to know about my experience, if I qualify?"
"That's not necessary. You were highly recommended. Jules from Oakham sent me your resume and you worked with Will in Africa. I'm sure you know this movie better than I." He laughed.
Elizabeth smiled, but she felt somehow disappointed by this intelligence. She was expecting that the recommendation would have come from Darcy's office. Now she wasn't sure if it came from Lucas, Darcy or both.
"Now, can I count with you?"
"Yes, you can." She grinned.
"Do not raise your expectations about this, Lizzy, it's not even a date." Elizabeth checked her appearance in the mirror. There was something wrong with the image she was seeing. She pursed her lips and recalled what Charlotte's and Luis's recommendations were back in Africa. That she should show off her breasts and ass. This outfit wasn't accomplishing it.
"Let's start with the breasts, we don't want George to jump on us, do we?" She smiled.
The blouse was removed and she went for a sweater. It wasn't so tight, but very enticing. Now satisfied, she went to the cafeteria where George asked her to meet him.
Since she started the 'dating' game in her late teens, Elizabeth had established certain rules, certain parameters when going out with men. First, no sleeping with them right away, she liked to know them well before trying intimacy. The second, that maybe should be the first one, no deep tongue kisses on first dates. Men that did that weren't interested in romance, just in sex. What type would George be?
"I don't know why I'm making such a fuss about this," she spoke to her reflection. "It's only lunch."
She arrived at the cafeteria at the appointed time and was pleasantly surprised when she found George already waiting for her there. He was dressed casually, looking as handsome as ever and he complimented her warmly on her appearance. This only made her feel more proud about her choice of outfit as George's eyes traveled the route from her face to her chest with a certain frequency since the moment she arrived until they finally ordered their food.
For the first minutes, they conversed about his work. George told her about his recent trips to the continent and to Asia and this connection he had with this new modeling agency he was working with that was sending him all around the world to shoot their commercials.
"Maybe I can talk with them about you," he stirred his coffee, "you have some experience in publicity."
"That's not necessary," Elizabeth smiled. "I already found a job."
"This quickly? You were whining about your unemployed status only three days ago."
"I received a call on Sunday. They hired me to work in the editing of the movie. In Rosings Studios, in Kent."
"With Lady C?" George raised his eyebrows.
"Who's she?" Elizabeth did the same.
"Catherine de Bourgh, the owner of Rosings, mother of Ann de Bourgh, distant cousin of Will Darcy's mother. The 'iceberg' as she is known. I heard that they acquired the best technology for sound recording not too long ago."
"No," she frowned, "I'll work with Richard Fitzwilliam, actually, he was the one that hired me."
George seemed pensive for a moment. "So they finally merged the studios. I thought Richard was still independent."
"He said his assistant is getting married and he needs help."
"I'm glad you found this job. He's very good in post production, great editor." George smiled. "And is a very nice person, William's opposite, in fact."
Elizabeth smiled too. "That's exactly what I thought when I met him. I found him very nice."
"He is. I thought you would be in Canada by now. Had I known you were in England, I would have called you sooner."
"Really?"
"Yes." His smile made her heart flutter, then he continued in a teasing manner. "So I must thank William for that. You forgave him pretty fast. You don't look upset with him for not taking you to Canada."
Her face betrayed her resentment for not joining the Canadian crew. "No, he finally decided not to. He only took with him the people whose absence would affect the movie artistically. I think that the reason I'm so angry is because he didn't say it himself. He just went away and left someone else to do the dirty part of his job. He didn't even said goodbye or 'thank you' when he left."
"That's quite rude of him."
"Yes, it was." She sighed.
"I don't want to sympathize with his decision, as it affected you," George took her hand over the table. "But I understand his position. It's a lot cheaper this way."
"Yeah, maybe it is." She shrugged, pouting.
"Come on," he squeezed her cheek. "Forget about that, you have this new job now. It's not the same thing, but it's a good experience for you."
"Thank you."
"And it's good that you are not so close to William. He always succeeds in hurting people."
"Yeah, maybe."
George chuckled when she bit her lip nervously. He could tell that she was still angry with the director for not taking her to Canada. "Stop that, will you? If you go on thinking of him, you'll make me jealous."
Her heart stopped suddenly and started beating again. "Don't tease."
"I am not." He held her stare.
She wasn't sure of what to reply, so she just chose to say the first thing that came to her mind. "You are the one that forgave him too easily. I can't believe you even shook his hand after what he did to you."
George's expression suddenly turned hard and in certain way, resentful. "That's history, sweetheart, and I won, do you understand? I won. I received my money in the end." Elizabeth was about to protest but he went on, softening his tone. "In one way it's understandable. I wasn't related to him in any way, I didn't do anything to obtain that money other that being my ex-step father's favorite. But what makes me feel really angry is what he did to his sister, locking her in that 'place' so he could keep her inheritance ... ugh!" George flinched. "You need to have a very cold heart to do that."
"His sister?"
"Georgiana."
She heard that name before. Darcy mentioned her a couple of times and then that day in his office. 'Call the Institute, I'm going for her', that's what he asked his secretary. She also heard him once conversing with Charles about her, commenting something about the 'place' she was staying.
"He mentioned his sister a couple of times, though he never spoke much about her."
"She's a lovely, sweet girl, but she has some 'problems' that made her a little 'unstable' emotionally. I think that she would be doing better with some therapy and special education, though Will had always been of a different mind. He prefers to hide her because of her 'limitations' and he sent her to this institution after his father's death."
Now Elizabeth was dying to know what this girl's problem was. She probably was retarded or maybe psychotic. "But he can't keep her inheritance just because of that. No matter how ill she is the money belongs to her."
"That's true, but he can administrate it, which is exactly the same that keeping it."
"Yes, but ..." Something wasn't right in this picture.
George smiled again, in that way that always made her forget about everything. "Please Lizzy, let's forget about that. It's history. Now, tell me, when are you leaving for Kent?"
She smiled too. "I'll see an apartment tomorrow. A friend of mine told me that her aunt is renting a very nice, very small and very cheap flat in Hunsford Gate, not far away from Rosings."
He pouted instantly. "So I won't be able to see you again?"
"Yes, of course you will!" She laughed. "I'm coming back on the same day! And I'll be back every weekend."
"Then you're available for dinner Friday night?"
Her smile broadened. "Yes I am."
"Good." He grinned.
They finished their coffee and George walked her to the door. "So it's Friday, then." He walked closer and touched her hair.
"Yes."
"Is seven all right?"
"Fine."
"Right. See you on Friday."
George leaned down and gave her a very soft, very tender kiss on her lips. He raised her head and saw her smiling at him. He kissed her a second time, though this time a lot deeper, burying his tongue down her throat as soon as she parted her lips under his. She allowed him to go on, but she didn't like it that much.
"Bye." He smiled.
"Bye."
They parted in opposite directions and Elizabeth was not three steps away from him when she noticed that all those butterflies that had been twirling inside her stomach when she met him at the cafeteria had been killed by that last kiss.
That night she went to bed early. She was not willing to hear Lydia's stupid tales about her school mates while she watched Friends on TV. She pitied her mother for having to face that alone. Lydia had turned very wild lately, and extremely silly and her patience was running short with her sister. Tonight, she would not in the mood to endure her presence.
Lying in bed, she thought about today's date with George. At the beginning, everything seemed right, almost perfect, but then, he ruined everything with that parting kiss. Maybe she was the one that ruined it all, being such a prudish idiot. Men always kissed like that and perhaps she was expecting too much from this relationship, from him. To be honest, she wanted to have something with him. Name it biological clock, maturity, loneliness, but she was going through this phase where she wanted a man close to her, someone to rely on, someone with whom she could dream and plan her future. She wasn't sure if George was that person or not, but he was the only one around at the moment and she was willing to give it a try. She didn't like the way he invaded her mouth right away though she liked to converse with him and she found him charming and handsome. That was only lunch, and she shouldn't be jumping into conclusions with only one date. She would try, at her pace, delaying intimacy until she felt more comfortable with him.
She closed her eyes and slept. She dreamed that she was walking in the woods and the light fog that preceded the dawn was surrounding her. It was autumn. A blanket of red and gold leaves crunched under her feet and a woody scent of leaves being burnt reached her. She knew that smell, that smoke, spicy, sweet, like fine tobacco. Strong arms embraced her, his arms embraced her. Words of love she heard before were whispered in her ear, hands caressed her skin and the man, tall and dark, was now over her. Was he the one burning the leaves? A moan escaped her throat when his lips touched hers, when he began his sensuous dance, when they became one. Tension grew, her body arched and suddenly, she bolted up in bed.
Panting, sweating, Elizabeth looked around her bedroom. It was only a dream. She was so acutely aware of her body that it seemed real. She could hear her heart beating madly, her lips and skin were still tingling, her sex was still pulsing. She ran her hand through her hair and fell back on the pillows. Who was that man?
What a long day this had been. He was so satisfied with the results, everything was coming out so well. If they continued like this, the shooting would be over in only ten days.
He lit up a cigar and puffed it repeatedly until a halo of smoke surrounded him. Lounging in the armchair, he closed his eyes, indulging his senses in this pleasurable habit he had not savored in weeks. Since Netherfield. He sucked some smoke into his mouth and released it slowly, blowing it into the bright red end of his cigar, seeing how it changed from red to yellow to glistering white, almost igniting the leaves. So Richard hired her. Good. He would see her soon.
He closed his eyes again and allowed his mind to dream. This time, with no restrain.