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Chapter 13

Three months later

"Bildungsroman. It means a novel about the moral, psychological, and intellectual development of a character, the typical 'coming-of-age' story in one really long word. I didn't make the word up, the Germans did, I think."

Edward smiled, and he noticed the camera focusing in on his face. It always made him nervous when the camera did that on live television interviews. Everyone was watching his face. At readings and book signings he would see the flash of cameras and see how nervous he looked in the papers the next day.

Edward had been surprised when he saw the cover of his novel on the front page of the New York Times books section. The review had been more than favorable; it had been stellar. Everyone who read the article wanted the book, and they were willing to go to the little independent bookstores to find it. Then it was featured in the Washington Post, causing a greater demand for his book. Then the New York Review of Books, the New Yorker, the Boston Globe...

Every day brought news of another sighting of a book review. His agent said that they didn't send out copies of his book to all the places where reviews were turning up. No other book published by Waechter, Talvela, and Waechter had been even glanced at by the New York Times book reviewers. Edward's publisher, editors, and agent were puzzled but delighted.

Edward supposed he was, too, but he had a nagging suspicion that his new-found popularity wasn't based solely on his book's "revelations into the post-postmodern artistic psyche", as one review put it. He didn't see himself as "revolutionizing the bildungsroman for a new generation of writers." He certainly didn't think he had "captured and bottled the zeitgeist." How does one bottle zeitgeist?

No, he wasn't good enough to be an incredibly successful author based on his merits alone. If there was one person who could achieve the impossible, it was Vito Corleone. Sonny had been welcomed back into the fold of the family, thanks to dear Eduardo's enthusiastic support when the Don asked him about it. Everyone loved Candles, the great friend of the family (and still saved for Don Corleone's favorite Special Project).

Somehow the Corleones had gotten his book reviewed in the New York Times, and from there the other papers must have picked it up. He was more and more in debt to the Corleones, but he did his best to keep it quiet. No one knew the mayor's associations with the Corleones, either, and Edward thought that perhaps he, too, would be able to get away with it. The Corleones hadn't even directly said that they were the ones who had arranged it, but they had a way of implying it, the way they were so enthusiastic and supportive of him.

The interviewer said, "You have said in previous interviews that the biggest influence in the completion of your phenomenal - do you mind if I call it that? - novel was Elinor Dashwood of the Dashwood financial empire."

The mere mention of Elinor's name made Edward smile more naturally. He knew his current relationship with Elinor wasn't as good as it used to be, but once people started asking him questions about his book he couldn't avoid talking about her. She had called him briefly to say that she had gotten her things and to give him her new address and phone number. She didn't mention the book. Since then, she hadn't called him, so he didn't call her. But that didn't mean that he stopped thinking about her.

"She's not a part of a financial empire. That makes her sound like a branch office. She's a medical student," Edward said. "And she's a wonderful person - kind, thoughtful, considerate, and absolutely brilliant - and I'm honored to have her as my friend. She was my beta reader, and she helped me decide a lot of things about Edgar. You'd like Elinor, I'm sure."

At least if Elinor paid any attention to his interviews, she would know that he still thought very highly of her. Besides, Edward couldn't lie to reporters. He could only tell them the truth, and the truth about Elinor Dashwood was that she was the greatest woman in the world.

"And Lucy?"

"Our cat? She was very influential in the ending, as you can easily imagine."

When not talking, the easiest thing to do is smile, so Edward smiled. But he could tell that the interviewer was not satisfied with that answer, and was waiting for Edward to elaborate. What else did he really want to know about Edward's kitten?

"No, I meant your wife, Lucy Ferrars."

"My wife?" Edward repeated. What on earth was the interviewer talking about? What was Lucy up to? Why on earth would the interviewer think that he was married to Lucy?

Rather than immediately asking one or all of the questions running through his head, Edward luckily remembered that he was being interviewed on a segment of a perky morning show broadcast live on national television. He tried to smile again and said, "I'm sorry, but I would prefer not to talk about my personal life."

So that wasn't the smoothest thing he could have said; he had just been going on and on about the wonders and virtues of Elinor Dashwood, a woman with whom he was barely on speaking terms. But until he found out about this new rumor, he may cause more damage by trying to deny it.

Immediately after the interview, he called his agent on his sleek new cell phone. It was actually his fourth phone that month; cell phones were far too small these days. Maybe Edward needed better pockets in all his new suits. He fumbled with the little buttons and went through all the special menus and options until he managed to find his agent's number on the tiny screen. A few minutes later, he had finally gotten the phone to dial that number.

"What's going on?" he asked. "I just got asked about my wife Lucy."

"I saw the interview. It went well, you did well, don't worry about it."

"But Lucy..."

"Look in the Herald. It's an exclusive interview with Mrs. Lucy Steele Ferrars. I was going to ask you about it."

"Lucy said that we're married?" Edward asked. He was still in the backstage area of the television studio and he noticed a few heads turning in his direction, but he didn't care. What was Lucy doing? He hung up, grabbed his coat from dressing room they had made him wait it, ignored the well-meaning TV people thanking him for appearing on the show, and went out of the building to the nearest newsstand. Sure enough, there was the interview with a picture of Lucy in her restaurant back in Sussex.

"'We've always been together,' Mrs. Ferrars said. 'He had a book to finish, I let him go finish it. Later I found out that he had been living with Miss Dashwood, and I was shocked, naturally. Elinor is a nice girl, but I've always suspected she was after Edward. But the book is finished, Elinor is gone, and I can look forward to things returning back to normal. Edward is very moody when he writes, you see.'"

Where was she getting this? And how dare she say that about Elinor? What is she implying? And how could he possibly make her be quiet? He took a cab back to his apartment and started making phone calls, trying to figure out what Lucy was trying to do. Shouldn't she be supporting his book?

Well, perhaps she was in her own twisted way. Now he had money, fame, and, to top it off, controversy. Edward Ferrars had his literary career made.

Henry Tilney looked up and down the street, making certain his father and none of his father's friends were around, then he hurried into the nondescript sandwich shop for his lunch-time rendezvous. Catherine was seated in the back of the shop in a booth not visible from the street. She was very good at finding discreet places for them to meet that were close enough to where they both worked that they could meet for lunch.

She smiled widely when she saw him coming towards her, and Henry automatically returned the smile. How could seeing her so delighted to see him not make him be happy, too?

"You're early," Catherine said as Henry sat down across from her.

"No, I'm just not late," Henry said, looking at his watch. They always met at 1:00 pm, but Henry always was very careful to vary the route he took to meeting her in case his father wanted to know where he went for lunch. Some routes are too creative for his own good, but this day he had gone directly to the sandwich shop for variety.

The waitress came and took their order. While Catherine was carefully specifying the desired and undesired toppings of her sandwich, Henry sat back and watched. He vaguely noticed that she was dressing nicer than she had when she first started working for Northanger Pianos. That was probably the influence of actually having a steady income for the first time in her life. She actually had become rather good-looking, now that he looked at her. In fact, some people might consider to be downright pretty.

When the waitress left their orders, the two friends sat across from each other, atypically silent. Each was waiting for the other to start talking. They were never at a loss for something to say; they only had a problem of finding a stopping point after 45 minutes so they could return to their respective places of employment.

But today was different. For the first time, Henry Tilney was aware that he was sitting across the table from a very pretty girl. He could see other young men in the shop occasionally looking at Catherine. She was no longer a kid, if she ever really was during the time Henry had known her.

After a nearly awkwardly long silence, Henry finally asked, "How do you like Uppercross Pianos?"

This topic of conversation apparently wasn't what Catherine had been hoping they would discuss. She looked a bit disappointed and said, "They're very nice people, but a bit dull. Mary complains all the time, Charles complains about Mary, Louisa won't take any instructions from anyone else, Henrietta only wants to gossip with Louisa..."

"So no Corleones and no emerging literary celebrities," Henry said with a grin.

"And no Henry," Catherine added in a quiet voice.

Henry hadn't expected her to say that. Of course they were very good friends and he missed having her around the shop, too, but there was something in the way she said it. It was like she didn't want to admit it, like it was something to be embarrassed or ashamed of. It wasn't like she was madly in love with him or anything.

Wait. What if... No, he was being absurd.

But she did miss him. Henry said, "I missed having you around the shop, too. The General is going through secretaries like tissues. We're on number five since you left."

Catherine didn't look all that thrilled by that show of loyalty from Henry. He was trying to compliment her for being a good secretary. He rarely complimented women, so he decided to try again, maybe this time he would fare better. "John Thorpe said that none of them were as cute as you."

"Really?" she asked, looking a bit more interested. "What did you say?"

"Oh, something about how he was an idiot," Henry said, "but what else is a guy to say to John? He really is an idiot."

That wasn't the response Catherine was looking for. Henry then realized that he should have told her that he had heartily agreed. Now that he thought about it, she was cuter than the recent secretaries. Well, there had been a blonde that was pretty cute, but she already had a boyfriend, thus making her not all that popular with John Thorpe.

Henry was still determined to compliment Catherine somehow. "Is that blouse new?"

"No."

"Oh." There went the subtle compliment about the clothes she was wearing. Her hair was also looking just as it always did. She was always very pretty. But Henry had grown so accustomed to her that he had never really noticed, and he couldn't think of any way to show Catherine that he finally did notice now.

"How's Edward?" Catherine asked. "I saw that he's married to Lucy Steele now. When did he do that?"

Henry shook his head and said, "He had the day off, but he called the shop this morning to complain to me about this Lucy mess. He thinks Lucy's trying to pull some publicity stunt, but he's not sure. She won't talk to him."

"To think that Edward is a big celebrity with a scandalous love life," Catherine said with a hint of a wistful sigh. If Henry had heard that sigh yesterday he would have described it as a very girlish sigh, but now it was simple feminine. Everything about Catherine screamed 'Pretty Under-Appreciated Young Woman'.

Then Henry had an unexpected idea: "What about you? You never talk about your scandalous love life."

Catherine looked at him as if he had sprouted an extra body part. "My love life?" she repeated. "I don't have one. I work."

"Edward had two women, a full-time job, and a novel," Henry said. It was meant to be a joke at Edward's expense, but somehow it came out as a rebuke to Catherine not having a boyfriend.

Catherine shook her head. "We're not all like Edward. Besides, he's cute in a crazy sort of way. He's a real sweetheart."

"He's also a complete basket case. Have you read what Lucy's saying about him in today's paper? If he still thinks he's going to marry her, he'd have to be crazy."

"How very strange," Catherine said. "Lucy seemed so supportive of Edward, and now she's trying to get people to think he's a very bad husband."

"Are you really certain that blouse isn't new?" Henry asked. It was now annoying him. He always was one to appreciate a pretty blouse, and he couldn't imagine that Catherine could have worn it and he could have missed it.

"It's old, really," Catherine said.

"Maybe you haven't worn it when I've seen you, because I like it. Really."

She actually blushed, and said, "Thanks. Maybe it is new. I don't know."

The waitress came with their order and their conversation was interrupted to allow them to eat. On their way out, Catherine and Henry weaved through the other tables in the shop to get to the door, and Henry noticed again that men were looking at his pretty friend. It was strange; he really had never noticed that Catherine was pretty before. Maybe it was the blouse.

"I'll call you tonight, OK?" Henry asked before opening the door for Catherine. They usually talked in the evenings.

Catherine smiled and nodded. "I'll talk to you then."

Now it was time for them to make their good-byes before anyone in the street saw them lingering together, but Henry felt reluctant to actually say the words "Good-bye." He enjoyed his lunches with Catherine, and he never wanted them to end.

Actually, in a way, it was sort of like a date, now that he thought of it. They were two young, attractive working people eating lunch together and talking. If they were going out, now would be the moment when he would kiss her good-bye.

Oddly enough, he did want to kiss her, now that he thought about it. He wanted to kiss little Cathy Morland, the old secretary. He shook his head and said, "Bye," and quickly left the shop. How very, very strange. Why on earth would he want to kiss her? It wasn't like he was in love with her or had any romantic intentions towards her. But he had most definitely wanted to kiss her. Odd.

After a half dozen phone calls, Edward called home. "Mom?"

"Wrong again, Ed. It's Fanny. Mom's out."

Fanny was good enough. She wouldn't be as nice as his mother in this situation, but she would still be glad to tell him all the details so long as they were embarrassing to him.

"Fine. Can you tell me how I can get in touch with Lucy?"

"The million dollar question. She left for New York today."

"She what?"

"Robert's going, too. I don't think he's all that happy that Lucy's telling everyone you two are married. I heard yesterday and I laughed and laughed. I went up to her and said, 'You can't say that, people are going to find out. And Edward's famous now.' And do you know what she said? She said, 'That's the point.' Can you believe that? Lucy's trying to steal your spotlight away. I say you should file for divorce at once."

"She's coming to New York with Robert and she says we're married," Edward repeated. This was getting complicated. Why was she coming to New York when she knew he would just contradict her and tell everyone that they weren't married?

Then there was the problem of his vindictive little sister, ready and eager to say nasty things about her older brother when the mood struck her. He asked, "What have you been saying? Have you talked to people?"

"Mom won't let me," Fanny grumbled. At least that was something to be thankful for.

"Thanks. I really was hoping that I wouldn't have to talk about my personal life."

"Then why can't you shut up about Elinor Dashwood?"

Edward wouldn't concede that Fanny had brought up a good point. Talking about Elinor was OK because he wasn't ashamed about the truth about her. Talking about Lucy Steele/"Mrs. Lucy Ferrars" was not OK because he didn't want to tell the truth about her, that she is his fianc‚e that he is now desperate to find a way to jilt.

Of course he did not try to explain all that to Fanny. He said, "That's not the same. Elinor helped me write the book."

"You tell that to Lucy."

"Thanks for the support. Anyway, tell Mom I called."

Lucy and Robert were coming to New York City, probably to spread more lies. Why was Robert going along? Edward had always thought his brother was a very decent sort of guy, and surely he'd know that it was all a lie. Besides, everyone knew that Robert was crazy about Lucy. Why would he support Lucy claiming to be married to Edward?

And why wouldn't Edward's mother just tell everyone that it was a lie? Why would it all just fall back to Edward's word against Lucy's? He was going to look like a real jerk in all of this, wasn't he?

Most importantly, what will Elinor think when she hears about all this?

Edward smiled awkwardly at the other people in the Corleones' drawing room. Much like the other times he had been invited to dinner, they were respectable-looking young and middle-aged people who were expressly forbidden to discuss "business" when Edward was around.

"I read your book, Edward, and thought it was-"

"Marvelous."

"Innovative."

"Funny."

"Heart-breaking."

"Insightful."

"Brilliant."

Everyone had his own opinion on the merits of his book. Over the past few weeks Edward had been getting used to having compliments flung at him from all sides about his book, but he hadn't expected to be treated with the same reverence by the Mafia. There was not a single person in the room did have something to say about his book. Edward would have to tell Henry this new fact about the Corleones: Everyone in their organization was well-read.

"Eduardo, I haven't scolded you yet," Mrs. Corleone said across the room, silencing all other conversations around Edward. "I see in the papers that you are married. You never told us."

Edward wanted to immediately contradict the news, but then he remembered where he was. Did he really want to discuss his personal affairs with the Corleones? They were very nice people who were very committed to him, but he was afraid of what they might think is an appropriate reaction. What if they went off and bumped off Lucy Steele for making Edward's life difficult? She was a real nuisance some times, but Edward still thought that she was a nice girl. He didn't want Lucy dead. He would prefer if she wasn't being interviewed in the New York Herald, but she didn't want her "sleeping with the fishes" or "getting fitted for concrete shoes", or any of the other Mafia-movie clich‚s that Henry Tilney liked to quote.

But Mrs. Corleone and the others in the room were waiting for his response. He couldn't lie to them because, well, he was a terrible liar and he really was not married to Lucy Steele. Besides, he wouldn't want them to think he had been lying to them for the past few months.

"That's really a strange situation right now," he said ambivalently. "I had no idea that Lucy would be talking to the newspapers, but she wasn't exactly telling the truth. We're actually not married."

There was a murmur of surprise from the attentive audience. Mrs. Corleone was still the main spokesman. "She lied to the Herald and you just say 'she wasn't exactly telling the truth.' Have you spoken with your lawyers? What are you doing about it?"

"She is a good friend of mine and of my family's," Edward said. "In fact, we've been engaged for the last four years. But we're not married. I don't really know if we ever will be. Then I hear that she's in the papers and she's on her way to the city."

"Have you officially talked to the press yet?" the Don asked in a low, authoritative voice.

Vito Corleone had been aloof from the general conversation, sitting near enough to Edward to hear people talk about his book without offering his own opinions. Since Edward strongly suspected that it was the Don himself who had gotten Edward all his literary fame, Edward now treated him with even more reverence than previously, if that was possible.

Edward shook his head. "I want to talk to Lucy first to see what she's doing," he said. "She knows we're not married, I know we're not married, anyone who does any minimal research should be able to figure out that there's no marriage certificate or any official records because there has been no marriage ceremony, so she must be trying to do something."

"But what about your Elinor Dashwood?" Mrs. Corleone asked. Nearly every time Edward saw her, she always asked about 'his Elinor Dashwood.'

"Lucy knows Elinor, too," Edward said. "Lucy is even friends with Elinor. She never told me she had any problem with my living with Elinor. That's all there is."

"No, there isn't, but we will wait for the official word," Don Corleone said. "Would you be offended if something were to be published in the Times in a strictly non-official manner alluding to your unmarried state?"

"Could you really do that?" Edward asked. He noticed a few people in the room snickering; of course the Don could do that. Edward hadn't imagined that the New York Times would be the sort of paper that would have Mafia connections, but if Northanger Pianos was connected to the Corleones, why not the Times? Maybe Carmella Corleone had an old boyfriend working there.

"Consider it done, Candles," the Don said. "We will see that it is done tastefully. I do not want to make my wife unhappy, and she is unhappy when people say false, hurtful things about people she likes. There are plenty of people now working on tomorrow's edition who owe the Corleone family a favor."

He motioned to one of the younger men in the room, and the young man disappeared from the room, presumably to take care of that task. Edward wanted to protest, but he knew it was out of his power. The Corleones would handle debunking gossip about him just as competently as they handled promoting his book.

With that issue adequately dealt with, pre-dinner conversation drifted back to everyone raving about Edward's book. While he was making adequate responses to everyone's questions and comments, Edward hardly noticed more people coming into the room. They were all summoned to the dining room, and only then did Edward notice that Carlos was there. Edward sat across from the couple at dinner, and once he had heard the opinions of the gruff Italian man on his left and the young businesswoman on his right about the direction of the modern American novel, he asked across the table, "When did you meet the Don, Carlos?"

Connie giggled and Carlos leaned over to give her a kiss before answering. "No one told you? And Mrs. Corleone always says that you are like family here. And it's thanks to you that Mr. Corleone was even willing to meet me. I'm now even working for him part-time, when I have time from my studies, of course."

He said this as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if the Corleones ran a grocery store or a restaurant. Can one work for the Mafia part-time? Henry Tilney had obviously not told Edward enough about the inner workings of the Mob.

"You're working for Don Corleone?" Edward asked. He still didn't think that Carlos had the look of a true gangster. Could gangsters be cutely in love, like Carlos and Connie so obviously were?

"It's not exactly my field of expertise, but Constanzia's father has a gift for finding ways to make use of everyone."

Edward nodded and hoped that he didn't show just how scared this revelation made him. The Don had sucked in Constanzia's clean-cut medical student boyfriend, and he still sometimes referred to the "Special Project" for Candles. Apparently Edward's literary success somehow made him even more ideal for the mysterious project.

Carmella Corleone stood up at the foot of the table and the conversation around the table immediately stopped. Once she had everyone's attention, she smiled and said, "I cannot let the opportunity pass to propose a toast to our honored guest, Edward Ferrars. He came to us a poorly dressed piano tuner with bad hair, and now he comes to us as a handsome, fashionable, and successful author. Best of luck with your future career, Eduardo. To Eduardo!"

The others raised their glasses and echoed, "To Eduardo!"

Edward smiled and thanked them for the support, the hair-cut, the clothes, and the fees for tuning their pianos. They all thought he was charming, and Mrs. Corleone begged permission to have that fact about him also discreetly reported in the New York Times.

There was a message on the answering machine when Edward got back.

"Hi, it's Elinor. I'm going to be in New York City this weekend with Marianne and Chris, and I was hoping we could stop by and see you. I'm sure best-selling authors are much too busy for the likes of us, but call me."

Elinor was coming back! Just for a weekend, but still! She would be back! He would see her! He wondered if she had heard about his supposed marriage to Lucy Steele. Well, she would certainly know him well enough to know that that was all a complete lie.

But why was Brandon there? The last time Edward had seen him, Brandon had said he was done obsessing with Marianne Dashwood. At least Marianne must be better now. Did he fall back into the trap of being in love with her during her convalescence? Or, terrible thought, what if he really did mean it when he agreed that Elinor was really great? What if Brandon was now after Elinor?

He called Elinor's home phone number-for the first time, but he did already have the number memorized because it was the phone number of the woman he loved-but the answering machine picked up.

"This is Elinor Dashwood's answering machine. Talk. Beep."

Edward quickly hung up. What was he supposed to say to her answering machine? He would have to say something good, something coherent, something that will make her really want to visit him and stay and realize how much he loved her.

He called the number again, and this time left a message: "Hi Elinor, that last hang up was me. Don't you hate it when you know exactly what you want to say to someone and then you get the machine and it's like, well, I don't know. But that's not what I was going to say now on your answering machine, darn. You should be able to cancel and delete messages you leave on other people's answering machines. Anyway, I got your message. Call me when you are in town. Best-selling authors have cell phones these days. Let it ring a lot because I always forget what the ring sounds like and then I forget how to turn the darn thing on. Then I sometimes hang up on whoever is calling, so you should call back if I do that. Oh, by the way, this is Edward Ferrars. I didn't say that earlier, did I? Bye."

Then he called back to actually leave his number. So Elinor would think he's a rambling, forgetful, incoherent mess. Maybe that was good; she would then realize how much he needed her around. He really did need her around.

But she was in medical school now. She probably could hardly manage to get time to spend a weekend away from school. She was never going to come back to stay in the city. And she may have heard about the mess with Lucy Steele by now. Maybe he should call back and tell her that it's all a lie about his being married to Lucy. But he had already sounded like an idiot on her answering machine that night. He would talk to her when she was in town.

Elinor was coming to New York! He would see her again!

Henry seemed a bit preoccupied that night. Edward could have sworn he had heard Henry rehearsing what he was going to say to Catherine before their nightly phone call. But Edward had his own romantic concerns to obsess about, so he let his friend dwell on his romantic problems alone.

"She's not home!" Henry announced a few minutes later. Edward pretended to sympathize with his friend's grief while he started cleaning up the apartment. Elinor was going to visit, so it would have to be spotless by the weekend.

Catherine was not home to talk to Henry because she was out with his sister. The General checked up on Henry enough at Edward's apartment that Henry did not see Ellie as much as he wanted, but Catherine saw Ellie a couple times a week. They were having a late dinner together that night to discuss Catherine's campaign to capture Henry Tilney's heart.

Catherine had initially been very reluctant to discuss Henry at all with his sister, but Ellie knew from the very beginning that Catherine was crazy about him. Ellie knew that her brother hadn't ever had a serious girlfriend, and she could tell that, at the very least, he liked Catherine a whole lot. Ellie Tilney had the sophistication and experience with men that Catherine lacked, so she had taken it upon herself to do what she could to bring her dear brother and her dear friend together. Catherine was thankful for the advice from someone her age, and even more thankful for having someone she could freely talk about Henry with.

"Well, he did say he liked my blouse," Catherine said, "but he didn't say a thing about the skirt."

The skirt was one of purchases they had made on a recent shopping trip together. Ellie had excellent fashion sense, so Catherine trusted her recommendations completely. Ellie had been certain that Henry would like the skirt.

"That's not like Henry not to notice a new skirt," Ellie said, shaking her head. "I wish you'd let me just talk to him. Something must be on his mind."

"I'm not stopping you from talking to your brother," Catherine said quickly. She would never dare to harm Ellie and Henry's close sibling relationship. "But don't talk to him about me. I don't want him to think I'm throwing myself at him. And I don't want to have to nudge him into giving me a second look."

"My brother is an idiot," Ellie said. "You are perfect for him."

Ellie had told Catherine that many times before, and Catherine always felt happier when she heard it. But then she remembered the reasons why she had been making absolutely no progress even during the last few months when they were constantly seeing each other outside of work.

"I'm too young," Catherine said. "Six years, four months, and eleven days too young. And I don't know anything. Henry has already graduated from college and I haven't even begun. We're too different."

"No, you're not," Ellie said. "Sonny is older than I am. Sonny's even older than Henry. Sonny hasn't been to college. And you should hear the noise he considers to be good music. But it doesn't matter. Being different is no problem. It makes things more interesting, if you ask me. And Henry doesn't care."

"How do you know that?"

"He is always going out with you, he always eats lunch with you, he always calls you," Ellie said. "If he thought you were too different for him to like, he wouldn't be spending so much time with you."

That was right. He did spend a lot of time with her. Catherine smiled and said, "Well, what do you think I should do now?"

Ellie thought for a moment, then said, "You're too eager to stop everything and do what he wants. You should try playing hard to get. Make him realize that you have a life apart from him, too. Make him appreciate you."

"What? You mean ... avoid seeing him?" Catherine asked. That was a terrible idea. Why should she waste a single day that she could be seeing or talking to him?

Ellie laughed at her look of shock. "You don't need to do anything drastic. Just be too busy for lunch a few times in a row. See how much he misses having you there."

"But..."

"Maybe go out for lunch with someone else," Ellie suggested. "It doesn't have to be a real date, but just show Henry that he's not the only guy in the world."

"But he is," Catherine protested. "That is, he's the only guy in the world for me."

Ellie shook her head and said, "Trust me. Henry is taking you for granted. You want him on his knees begging for you, don't you?"

"Do I?" Catherine asked.

She thought she would be pretty happy just seeing him a lot and knowing that he was happy to see her, too. Of course she would be even happier as Mrs. Henry Tilney, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon. She hadn't even started college yet. All the scholarships and fellowships were arranged for her to start studying piano at Julliard in the spring. Henry still intended to start business school soon, too. Maybe it was better to leave things they were.

But it would be very nice to have Henry Tilney as a full-fledged boyfriend. It would be really, really nice, actually.

"You think it will work?" Catherine asked.

Ellie nodded. "Trust me."

Oh, the things Catherine would do to get Henry Tilney's attention. She would even forego their lunches. She reluctantly listened while Ellie gave her more advice on how to look too busy and important for him, and she even half-agreed to follow Ellie's advice. It had better work.

Chapter 14

Elinor Dashwood had left a message on Edward's voice mail that Edward somehow managed to access. He succeeded in listening to it once before he accidentally deleted it, so he could only remember the actual content of the message (Marianne and Elinor were going to stop by his apartment on Friday at around 7:30) and couldn't fully analyze all potential hidden meanings. Surely by examining her use of personal pronouns, he would have been able to discern more of Elinor's feelings towards him.

His feelings were unchanged. He was still convinced that she was the most beautiful, brilliant, and generally wonderful woman that he had ever met. She was far too good for him, of course, but he could still try to improve himself so that one day he would be worthy of her. He had at least sixty or seventy years until he died, so that gave him plenty of time for self-improvement.

But things between Edward and Elinor were more complicated than that. Lucy Steele was in New York City somewhere, not talking to Edward directly but talking a whole lot about him. Edward could not even get his brother Robert to talk to him. He had called Lucy and Robert's hotel and left message after message. She appeared on a radio talk show. She appeared in other interviews in papers. She appeared on television. Her basic theme: Edward was a bad husband but she stood by him for the sake of the book.

At first glance, she was saying terrible things about Edward, with a few allusions to Elinor Dashwood thrown in to support her case against her negligent husband. But then if you really listen, you could tell that she actually did think highly of the book. The overall effect of her media blitz was that Edward's book was selling even better. People were curious.

But at this point sales didn't matter to Edward. Elinor did. And she must be wondering what was going on between Lucy and Edward. Elinor knew that they weren't really married. She knew that Lucy knew that there was nothing going on between Elinor and Edward when they were living together. She could think that Edward and Lucy were using her for more publicity. Would she?

All of Friday was dedicated to preparations for Elinor's visit. First the apartment had to be cleaned. Henry and Edward were generally neat people, but it had to be sparklingly clean for Elinor. The hardwood floors were all waxed, the upholstery on all the furniture was cleaned, every flat surface dusted and polished, fresh flowers put in the vase on the coffee table, even some extra junk food added to Elinor's snack cabinet in the kitchen.

Once the apartment was ready, Edward had to worry about himself. He raided his wardrobe for something adequately charming yet humble and apologetic. Luckily he still had Henry Tilney as a roommate, and therefore he had someone to ask whether a gray sweater and brown trousers were more apologetic than a dark brown shirt with green pants. And luckily Henry Tilney had much more fashion sense than Edward. He managed to get Edward to wear tasteful black.

"But Elinor would see that I wouldn't choose this out for myself," Edward complained when he saw his reflection in the mirror.

He appeared to be a completely different creature than the awkward guy Elinor Dashwood had met at the von Ridderbusch party nearly a year ago. He had on a black button-down silk shirt, hand-tailored pants, and designer-brand leather dress shoes. Even his glasses were elegant and designer. He was still a tall, scrawny guy with cantaloupe-colored hair, but he was now a well-dressed and successful tall, scrawny guy, and even the odd natural hair color worked with whatever he wore.

"Your Elinor will think you look fine," Henry said, giving Edward an assuring pat on the back. "I really would like to see her one of these days."

Edward grabbed the nearest picture on a bookshelf, showing Elinor and him standing together on the Brooklyn Bridge with lower Manhattan behind them. He handed it to Henry and said, "See? That's Elinor."

"I've seen all your pictures a dozen times, Ed," Henry said, putting the picture back in its prominent place in the living room. Edward had added more framed pictures of Elinor and him around the apartment since Elinor's departure. Edward wasn't concerned about her noticing. She should know how important she was to him by this time.

"But you can't be here tonight," Edward said. "If you're here, Elinor will think that I'm all right on my own, and we all know that's a complete lie. I'm useless without her. Do you think they'll be expecting food? Drinks? What do people give guests at 7:30 in the evening? Dessert?"

Henry made his escape at 6:00 to meet Catherine, leaving Edward an hour and a half hour to pace. What if Elinor didn't come? What if her flight was delayed? What if she changed her mind?

But then there was the buzzer, precisely on time. Elinor said she was coming up. Elinor was coming. She was coming! And then she was there!

Elinor still had her keys to the apartment, of course, so she let herself in. She smiled when she saw the place again, and she even smiled when she saw Edward. It wasn't the same happy smile of coming home like she used to have when she came into the apartment. It was a more wistful smile, a smile of remembering what had been. But she looked different from before. In the last three months she had lost weight and looked paler; Edward wanted to ask whether she was feeling OK. She must be overworking herself at school.

But Edward was still pleased because, well, here she was again, after three months of being away. She had come to see him. And maybe he could help her. He didn't expect she'd let him immediately move into her apartment in Baltimore and start cooking her healthy meals every night, but surely he could do something for her, just as a concerned friend.

Edward was vaguely aware that Marianne Dashwood came in behind her sister. He was vaguely aware that they all sat down on the chairs in the living room. Then he was acutely aware that he had no idea why they were there or what he should say.

"Chris is dealing with checking us into the hotel now," Marianne said. "We're staying at the Park Plaza again. It's not far from here, you know."

Edward wasn't certain what Marianne was trying to suggest. Was he expected to go and visit them later? He would decide about that later. For the present, he simply said, "Oh really?"

Elinor looked around the apartment and said, "Where's Lucy?"

"Lucy?" Edward repeated. What was he expected to say to that question? That he had no idea? That she wasn't answering his phone calls? That she was out ruining his life and increasing his book's sales?

Then Lucy did come in and Elinor immediately got up to greet her. So it was their Lucy that Elinor was so interested in, their black-and-gray cat. Lucy even seemed to remember Elinor, or at least she allowed Elinor to easily pick her up and cuddle her like she used to. Edward had a few scratch marks from when he tried to do the same thing. Lucy was very particular about who she liked to hold her.

"What a cute picture!" Marianne declared, seeing a picture of Elinor on the coffee table. It was one another one of their touristy pictures Edward had on display. The picture showed Elinor standing on the observation deck on the top of the Empire State Building on a cold, foggy day. Edward remembered Elinor's simple rationalization for why she wanted to go to the top of the Empire State Building the day the picture was taken: "The lines will be shorter."

Elinor glanced at the picture Marianne was pointing to, then quickly looked away, not willing to acknowledge the compliment. But at least she would notice that he still had her picture everywhere, like in the old days.

"So what are you doing in the city now?" Edward asked.

Elinor was still pretending to dedicate all her attention to the cat in her arms, so Marianne answered for them. "It's just a little vacation. Both Elinor and Chris needed to get away from their classes."

"What about your classes?" Edward asked, wondering again where Marianne went to school.

"She's very good at not getting tied down with them," Elinor said, still looking down at the cat. "Ask her how many years it took her to finally finish her undergraduate degree."

She said that with a smile, no doubt referring to a family joke that she could share with Edward. So of course he laughed, not at Marianne Dashwood skipping classes but at the relief of knowing that Elinor may still actually consider him a friend.

"We also wanted to see you again, Edward," Marianne said. She glanced at Elinor, but seeing that her sister wasn't going to elaborate, she continued, "It's just that Lucy Steele won't talk to Elinor and she seems to be really, well..."

Edward shook his head and said, "She won't talk to me, either. She even has my brother Robert with her and he won't talk to me. I'm sorry about all this mess."

That was enough to get Elinor's attention. She now looked directly at Edward, waiting for him to say more. After a moment of silence, she said quietly, "So you two really aren't ... married."

Even before she was finished saying the last word, Edward was quickly saying, "No, no, never, not at all, it's all lies."

He couldn't look directly at Elinor when he said it, so instead he focused on Marianne. She was now beaming, looking at both Edward and Elinor and waiting for the great romantic reunion that she must be expecting now that they had broached the difficult subject of Edward's marriage.

Edward smiled, too, and with more courage said, "Either this is Lucy's way of pressuring me into finally agreeing to a date for the wedding or else this is her way of dumping me for living with another woman."

This would have been a joke in a different setting. Henry Tilney, for example, would have laughed a lot and suggested other interesting possibilities. But Edward was with the woman he loved and her sister, so he couldn't easily laugh off the idea of getting out of his troublesome engagement.

Of course Marianne was eager to accept the more desirable alternative. She said, "If she won't talk to you, wouldn't that mean that the engagement is off?" She seemed to be quite satisfied with that idea.

Elinor half-heartedly laughed and said, "Somehow I think that Lucy Steele wouldn't give up so easily. She's getting Edward and herself publicity."

Both Edward and Marianne's smiles disappeared at Elinor's reaction. She didn't seem to think that all their problems were so easily solved. And what if Elinor was right? What if Lucy really was still intent on marrying Edward? How on earth was Edward going to get out of the marriage?

Now sitting in his seat in the living room, Edward saw his problems taking on much greater importance. If he was not married to Lucy, shouldn't he have already made that vocal? His silence in the media could be admitting that Lucy was right. And even if Lucy did make a great spectacle out of dumping him, how could he ever hope to get Elinor to give him another chance? Elinor will just be the Other Woman who broke up Edward's first "marriage", even though he never really was married to Lucy.

He wished he had settled the Lucy/Elinor issue before the book came out. Why did people have to actually like his book, anyway? No one would have cared about his real life had he just written the obscure psychological and philosophical novel he had been planning on writing. Young, new writers got more attention, especially when the critics actually liked their books. And if they force themselves into the public spotlight with the help of scandalous love stories, everyone got to know his name for a week or so. Whenever his next book came out, some people would immediately remember his shaky marriage. This wasn't good.

"Elinor read your book," Marianne said, obviously thinking this was a very good way to start a conversation.

"Of course I did," Elinor said. "I read most of it a couple of times when Edward was writing it."

"Oh," Marianne said, somewhat disappointed that that was not a great, flattering revelation. She smiled again with a new idea, and said, "Well, Chris really liked your novel, too, and we all know that Chris has excellent taste."

"Yes, he still is raving about it," Elinor said, a little too happily for Edward's taste. Why should the fact that Brandon liked Edward's book be something that Edward was now expected to be overjoyed about?

But then they were back to having nothing to talk about. Edward tried to think of what he could have to offer them by way of drinks. In spite of all of Marianne's best attempts to keep the conversation going, they were gone by 8:00. And Edward went back to feeling sorry for himself.

"So when is your boyfriend coming by?" Mrs. Allen asked.

Catherine Morland blushed and said for the thousandth time, "Henry isn't my boyfriend. He's just a good friend."

She had cancelled their lunch meeting on Thursday, reluctantly following Ellie's advice, and she had assumed that Henry would be at least a little annoyed with her. But at lunch earlier that day he hadn't complain at all. He didn't seem remotely disappointed or grieved by the loss of her company. Instead he happily accepted the invitation for dinner at the Allens'.

"You shouldn't expect anything fancy or really nice," Catherine was quick to say. "They just wanted to meet you."

"Well, I want to meet them, too," Henry had said. "They should want to know who this strange man is who gets to eat lunch with their pretty little goddaughter."

His use of the adjective "pretty" was nearly cancelled out by the use of "little", showing his consciousness of the substantial age difference between them. But only nearly-Catherine still repeated the remark in her head a few zillion times since then.

"Oh, they know you're just a friend," Catherine said nervously.

Actually Mr. and Mrs. Allen openly referred to Henry Tilney as Catherine's boyfriend whenever he called or whenever Catherine went out to meet him on the weekends. No matter how many times Catherine corrected them, they perversely continued making allusions to Catherine and Henry's still non-existent relationship. Catherine knew that they were just joking, but it never failed to get a strong denial from her.

The Allens were richer than Catherine's family in upstate New York, but she had seen the Tilneys' mansion on Long Island so she now looked at her godparents' house differently. How would Henry Tilney see them?

Mrs. Allen was an antique collector and spent all her time and all the money her husband would allow her on Tiffany lamps, Dutch sugar bowls, and estate jewelry. When Catherine was a little girl she always held Mrs. Allen in awe because of all the miscellaneous things she owned. Now Catherine could see that most of Mrs. Allen's prized possessions were frivolous pieces of junk only a collector could love, but she appreciated Mrs. Allen as a warm-hearted and supportive friend. But what would Henry think of the 19th century Chinese armchairs (appraised at $4500 for the pair) next to the Louis Philippe mahogany nesting tables ($900) and Turkish vintage oriental silk prayer rug ($2900)?

Mr. Allen worked on Wall Street and was no doubt a very intelligent man for the success that he had had in his career, but he did not bring that sense of professionalism back home from the office. He would browse through antique stores for hours and hours on the weekend with his wife, and he would offer his own opinions on whether a English Anglo-Indian footstool or a pair of Louis XV style parlor chairs would be the best additions to their already chaotically cluttered parlor. He supported her in all her decisions and took the same delight in owning useless things.

Catherine loved both of them, but she did admit that they came off as being rather ridiculous when you first met them. She knew Henry Tilney's love for laughing at everything he found silly, and the one thing she feared most was that he would laugh at her godparents, even though they sometimes deserved it for their interior decorating.

"Shouldn't your boyfriend be here by now?" Mr. Allen asked, not looking up from his newspaper to see the glare Catherine gave him.

"He's usually late," Catherine said, then went back to her position at the window. Where was he?

Mrs. Allen called Catherine into the kitchen for her help with a sauce, and when Catherine returned to the living room she found that Henry Tilney was already there, talking amiably with Mr. Allen. She didn't want to disrupt their conversation, so she stood in the doorway, marveling at the unlikelihood of the scene in front of her.

The handsome but tragically older Henry Tilney was sitting on one of the embarrassingly obscure 19th century Chinese armchairs. He actually looked like he sort of dressed up for the occasion of meeting her godparents. He always dressed well, but Catherine noted that he had changed since lunch in preparation to see her. What a perfect gentleman. Or maybe he had just spilled something on his shirt and really wasn't thinking about her at all when he changed.

And he was laughing with Mr. Allen, not at Mr. Allen. That was a good start. Mr. Allen seemed equally pleased with Henry. Everyone was behaving himself very well, and Catherine was delighted. Maybe the evening wouldn't be the great disaster she had feared it would be ever since she agreed to invite Henry.

"Oh, there she is," Mr. Allen announced, gesturing to Catherine. Henry turned around to look at her, and Catherine could only look at him and marvel at how lovely he looked when he was trying to make a good impression. Even his hair was neatly combed for the occasion.

Catherine realized that she must have been staring at her guest instead of treating him like the good friend she insisted he was to her. She willed herself not to blush and said, "Hi Henry. I see you were ... fashionably late."

Henry smiled and said, "But still late, you think?"

It was beyond Catherine's willpower not to blush at the recollection of that first dinner she had had with Henry and Ellie. She hoped that Mr. Allen didn't notice, or else he really would never stop teasing her about Henry. She sat down on the sofa (R. J. Horner mahogany Victorian sofa with carved acanthus leaf details, $6000) next to Mr. Allen and didn't say a word.

"Catherine, your friend here was just complimenting us on the biscuit box," Mr. Allen said. Catherine hoped she only imagined the emphasis on the word 'friend', otherwise what would Henry think? She quickly glanced over towards him and saw that he was smiling harmlessly. But there were few things as intimidating as Henry Tilney pretending to be harmless.

Catherine looked at the object of interest, a late nineteenth century circular silver box ($625) sitting on the marble top Renaissance revival table with bronze trim ($10,000) in the center of the room. She liked the table, but she didn't think much of the biscuit box. But perhaps that was because she had seen the finer articles of the Allens' silver collection on display in other rooms of the house.

Mrs. Allen called her husband into the kitchen for help carving the meat for dinner, so Catherine was left alone with Henry for a few minutes. They always spent time alone together, but it felt different now.

She shyly said, "Thanks for coming."

Henry said, "No problem. Edward wanted me out of the apartment anyway. His Elinor Dashwood is visiting and he doesn't want her to think that she has been replaced."

"Oh." Catherine now felt much less special. The only reason Henry was there was because Edward told him to go away. He probably was dressed nicely just in case Elinor Dashwood was still around when he got back.

Henry must have noticed her disappointment, and he quickly added, "I like Mr. Allen. And I have never seen such a weird collection of antiques crammed into a single house."

"You think they're weird?" Catherine asked. He was going to start laughing at the Allens, she knew it.

"No, no, I mean I like them, really," Henry said.

Now she felt guilty about making him feel self-conscious about his remarks about her godparents. Before she could form some sort of appropriate apology, Mrs. Allen announced that dinner was served.

Mrs. Allen was an excellent cook, so while eating Catherine was able to briefly forget about her anxiety over Henry's impressions of the Allens and the Allens' impressions of Henry. Henry very properly complimented the food and inquired about the silverware pattern and the end tables. Mrs. Allen pronounced him a "charming young man" over dessert, and Mr. Allen called him a "fine fellow." Catherine was pleased with their approval, though she would have wished if they did not announce their approval straight to Henry's face. What if he thought that they were evaluating him for some different reason than just as Catherine's friend?

After dinner Catherine was persuaded to play the piano for them, and the Allens were even more impressed by Henry Tilney when he agreed to play three-handed bridge with them. They later admitted that he played very poorly, mainly because his attention always seemed to be focused more on Catherine on the piano than at the game in front of him, but they did stop teasing Catherine about her "boyfriend". They just would smile significantly whenever his name came up.

Edward was up early on Saturday. Elinor was in town so he couldn't possibly just waste time sleep when he could be trying to talk to her. But he couldn't go over to her hotel at 9:00 in the morning and say that he wanted to be friends again. He would just have to wait to see whether she wanted to ever see him again.

He did not like waiting for her to call him, so he distracted himself the best way he could: he worked on his new novel. He was starting from the end of it, the happy ending. He liked happy endings. The guy and the girl live happily ever after. Then he could write the section right before they get together, when everyone knows that they are going to be together though they haven't quite realized that themselves. Knowing that they would end up together in the end made writing the more depressing not-quite-together parts easier. If he had any doubt about how things would turn out in the end, he could just scroll down to the last chapter. It would all work out in the end.

At around 10:30 am Henry came out of his bedroom and announced, "I'm crazy."

Edward nodded and continued typing on his computer.

"Don't you want to know why?" Henry asked, sitting down on the sofa by Edward's computer.

Edward finished up the paragraph he was working on, saved the changes he had made on the file, and turned his chair around so he could talk to his friend. Henry had just woken up, so his hair was disheveled in a very un-Henry-Tilney-like manner and the clothes he slept in were not nearly as color-coordinated as one would expect. Henry was usually very meticulous about getting ready for the day before even coming out of his room to go to the shower, so Edward knew Henry must be seriously disturbed about his newly discovered insanity.

"Tell me what happened," Edward said in his most sympathetic tone. If he couldn't fix his problems with Elinor and if Henry wouldn't let him continue working on Edmond and Elise's love story, he might as well listen to Henry's psychoses. Perhaps it could make for good entertainment.

Henry sighed - that was another atypical thing for Henry Tilney to do - and said, "I've somehow managed to fall in love."

He didn't sound very happy about that, so Edward sympathetically patted Henry's shoulder and said, "Don't worry about it. You'll get over it." Of course Edward was currently convinced that his own life would be drastically improved by the love of the Right Woman, but he wasn't going to think about his own love life for the present. He was going to help his friend.

"Get over it?" Henry repeated. "But the weirdest thing of all is that I don't think I want to get over it. And I haven't even told you who I'm now in love with, for no good reason."

He certainly wasn't sounding very romantic about his unexpected yet not quite undesirable love, but Edward didn't point that out. "You don't need to tell me, I've known for ages," Edward said. "Catherine's a nice girl."

Henry actually was shocked by Edward's response. "You knew?" he asked. "But I wasn't in love with her a few days ago. It's just now. Last night I went to her godparents' house and then somehow, boom, there it was in front of me, I was in love with Catherine. Isn't that crazy?"

When comforting a person, it's always best to just agree. Edward nodded and said, "Yes, it's absolutely crazy. She's not even 20 years old."

"You're right," Henry said, looking even less happy than before. "It's crazy. I'm going to Harvard soon, anyway. Next fall."

"I thought this spring," Edward said.

Henry shook his head. "Last week I talked to them and deferred admission even later. That was even before this Cathy thing came up. I don't know how the General would deal in the shop without me right now. You know how useless all the new secretaries have been. And there's still the Corleone situation that may get out of control if we don't keep our eyes open."

Edward could genuinely agree with Henry on that. The search to find a replacement for Catherine Morland at the piano shop had thus far been a complete disaster. And the Corleones were still regular clients who still demanded Edward's visits for their perfectly fine pianos.

"But maybe it will all be OK in the end," Edward said. He saw that his friend was waiting for him to elaborate, so he continued, "So we know that Catherine is going to be in the city at Julliard for the next few years. You'll be in Boston, which isn't very far away, for two of those years. You'll be coming back to the city to visit your dear family and your dear friends. So it may not be too bad. And, well, we all know she's been crazy about you for ages."

"Really?" Henry asked. He really seemed to be surprised by that information. Edward had noticed it the very first time he met Catherine Morland, and everyone knew that Edward was the unobservant one. But this time Henry was the fool for not noticing something in front of his eyes for months.

Before Edward could elaborate on all the reasons why it was obvious that Catherine Morland worshipped the ground Henry Tilney walked on, the phone rang. It wasn't Edward's cell phone, which was lost somewhere around the apartment anyway, so Edward was actually able to answer it before the answering machine picked up. With Elinor in town, he couldn't run the chance of missing one of her phone calls.

But the voice wasn't Elinor's. Not at all.

"Hi Edward. It's Lucy."

He had been trying to get in touch with Lucy Steele all week, but now that he finally had her on the phone all he could say was: "Lucy?"

"I saw you've been calling," she said. She sounded like this was an ordinary phone call between friends, like there was nothing important they had to discuss, such as the reasons why Lucy was determined to ruin Edward's relationship with Elinor Dashwood.

"Twice a day."

"Well, you didn't call yesterday."

Edward could hardly believe the conversation he was having. Lucy Steele was calling him to reprimand him for not calling on Friday after he had been calling so routinely during the first few days after her arrival in the city.

"I was busy yesterday. Would it have mattered?" he asked. He would be treating her more bitterly if he wasn't still in shock that she had called.

"Well, I just wanted to make certain you hadn't done something stupid like jump off a cliff or something."

Edward had to laugh at her thoughtfulness. "No, I had other things on my mind than what you've been doing to me," he said. "By the way, what are you doing? That's what I've been calling to ask."

She giggled - she actually giggled - and said, "Well, sorry about all this, but in the first interview I was just really mad. You weren't ever mentioning me, you didn't say anything about going back to Sussex to marry me, and you just kept on talking about Elinor Dashwood. But once I saw that everyone actually cared about what I was saying, I guess I got a bit carried away. Robert wanted me to stop, but by then I had all these interviews set up and I couldn't just say 'Never mind.' Then Robert said it was like getting you free advertising. So I just kept on talking. You know I'm good at talking."

Edward shook his head and wondered why on earth he now nearly forgave Lucy for what she had done. It made sense to him, at least. She thought she was helping him.

"Then why didn't you tell me about all this free advertising you were giving me?" Edward asked. He now asked his questions patiently, like getting a child to explain her silly plans.

"That's another one of Robert's ideas. The people at the hotel saw how often you called so that gave me more credibility. But we were scared when we saw that you hadn't called yesterday."

"Sorry to call your credibility into question, Lucy," Edward said, now actually nearly smiling at the situation.

"I really was afraid you had leaped in front of the subway or something. Robert can tell you. I was looking at the newspapers today expecting that the best-selling author Edward Ferrars's body had been found in a ditch somewhere."

"Thanks for the consideration," Edward said. How was it that he could never stay annoyed with Lucy for long? Perhaps that was why they had been engaged for so long. But that was another problem: their engagement.

Lucy then settled that problem, too: "Oh, and I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I announced our divorce. Or do you want to do that?"

"What?"

"I'm leaving you, so it's OK. It won't look too bad. People already expect it."

She spoke like it was the most normal, ordinary thing in the world. And, well, it was. Of course they couldn't get really married now. What would people say about Lucy taking Edward back after he had been living with another woman and never telling even his closest friends about his wife back in Pennsylvania?

Just for some reassurance that this wasn't all a twisted joke, he asked, "Are you serious?"

She laughed again. Edward had no idea how she could take this issue so lightly, but he was now laughing himself, too. They weren't going to be engaged anymore.

She said, "Maybe I should have gone over to your place to tell you in person. I want to break off our engagement."

"And pretend marriage?"

"Yes."

"Well... OK."

So that was it. Edward Ferrars was a free man again.

"I knew you wouldn't disagree. I saw that Elinor Dashwood left a message the other day. She's in town."

"Yeah."

"Oh, got to go. Robert and I are going out. He's such a cutie, you know. But you really don't mind about us not getting married? Because if you did, I'd feel just awful."

"No, no, I really don't mind. So you'll announce it?"

"Yeah, I have a TV spot tomorrow. Don't worry, hon. I'm sure it will help your sales, too. The more buzz, the more customers. It's been helping the restaurant, too. Everyone's talking about us now. Keep in touch, OK?"

"OK."

And she hung up. Edward put the phone back down on the receiver and turned to Henry.

"That was Lucy," Edward said slowly. "She just dumped me." He paused, blinked a few times, and repeated, "Lucy just dumped me." Then he had to smile. "It's over. I don't have to marry Lucy."

He accepted Henry's hearty congratulations and started to plot his next course of action.

Of course that evening Edward had to see Elinor again. He went to the Park Plaza hotel, but found only Marianne was in the room. She had been sitting in the hotel room with all the lights turned off and an old black-and-white Cary Grant movie playing on the television. When she led Edward into the room, she turned on one small lamp by the chair she had been sitting in and turned off the television. The lighting made everything in the beautifully ornate hotel room seem more dismal than even total darkness, casting more things in shadows than actually illuminating them. Marianne must be in a bad mood. Edward took a seat in the dark.

"I came to tell you all the good news," Edward said. "Lucy's divorcing me."

"I was under the impression that you two were never married to begin with," Marianne said, the shadows suggesting that she was looking very concerned.

"So was I. That's why I'm not overly upset that we're now getting divorced. Hopefully the judge will go light on the alimony payments." He tried to laugh but couldn't.

"So you finally talked to Lucy?"

"Just this morning. She called to tell me the news. I think she's going to run off with my brother."

"So you're free now? No other secret fianc‚es?"

"I would say no but I haven't seen tomorrow's papers yet." Edward smiled but knew that Marianne wouldn't see it in the dark.

Marianne was silent for a moment, thinking about these new revelations from Edward. Once she had made up her mind about what she thought about it all, she was ready to have her dramatic scene.

"Elinor was very upset about Lucy. She didn't show it, but she was," Marianne said, standing up. She was in full melodrama mode now. She began to walk away from the light as she said, "I hated you for the last few months. You hurt her." Edward was about to say some sort of apology but then Marianne turned around with conviction, suggesting that her speech wasn't over yet.

"I thought that Elinor could handle anything, just like you must have. But no. She can't," Marianne said quietly. She had returned to where the chair was and leaned on it as she continued. "She's been unhappy. She says she's just been busy with all her work for medical school, but that's not true. She's not thinking about taking care of herself because she's too busy trying to forget about you."

"But now, does she still think that I'm still in love with Lucy Steele?"

"You haven't exactly gone out of your way to deny it."

Edward knew he had to tell Elinor about how things really stood with Lucy, at the very least, and perhaps even tell her about how things really stood within himself. She'd either laugh at the idea of the two of them together or else... "And where's she now?"

"Out with...Chris." Marianne took her seat again, the light showing now that she was mad. The tragic heroine's diatribe was not over yet.

"Brandon? What's she doing with him?" Edward asked.

"Getting over you," Marianne spitted back. "She's moving on. And Chris isn't like you. He's not playing with her. He's ready to be in love with her."

Edward had never thought much about Brandon, except when he was afraid that he was too conscious of Elinor's greatness. And now Marianne thought that Elinor and Chris could potentially end up together. This was terrible. Besides, Brandon was much too stable for Elinor; she needed someone to keep her life interesting, even if he was the piano tuner of the Mob and a best-selling author with a scandalous love life. Then Edward realized something: Marianne wasn't oblivious to Brandon after all! She actually looked disturbed by the idea of her sister going out with Brandon.

"You mean that you and Christopher..."

"There is no me and Chris," Marianne said with a sigh. So she was no longer crazy about Willoughby; she really was crazy about Brandon. She should really make up her mind and just stick to it. That would make everything so much easier. "There's an Elinor and Chris. Because of you."

"It was Lucy -"

"You could have told Elinor before."

"I could have. I didn't. I didn't know what to say."

"You could have dropped Lucy long ago."

"Or she could have dropped me. What do you think Elinor would think of a divorcee?"

"You made her cry. She never cries. You aren't good for her."

He needed to say something equally melodramatic to get Marianne on his side. If he wanted to get Elinor to give him another chance, he'd need an ally. "Of course Brandon is the better man, but I love her," Edward said. "It's as simple as that."

Even though she was still sitting in the shadows, Edward could tell that Marianne's face immediately lit up. He had said the magical word: love. Now Marianne could see all her fondest hopes for her sister could be realized. But she must have remembered the role she was dedicated to playing for the evening. She couldn't give up the melodrama now.

"Elinor deserves Christopher. He's good, she's good, and we're rotten," Marianne said resignedly. But we - she wanted him to win now. She'd stand up for him. "Don't you think?"

"Don't say you're secretly engaged to someone else, too," Edward said, trying and failing to make her smile.

"I took advantage of Christopher. I chased guys, I agonized over John, I flirted with everyone else, and I ignored the only guy who did anything for me. You should have seen how he stood by me during my recovery after the accident here. And now Christopher has someone else more worthy of him."

From the way that she said that, she obviously thought that she was already a lost cause. "You don't think they're in love, do you?" Edward asked. Now that he had gotten rid of the Lucy complication, nothing would be worse than seeing Elinor still end up with someone else.

"Not yet," Marianne said. "Chris loved me, did you know that? I didn't. And now he's out with my sister, who used to love you."

Marianne thought Elinor used to love him? That got Edward's attention. But then he remembered that Marianne thought the same from her very first visit; she wasn't a very good source of that kind of information. Or perhaps he'd actually been in love with Elinor since then and it took an outsider to notice.

"So how do we get to show those two paragons of virtue that we've changed?"

"We can't just say that," Marianne said thoughtfully. "I've thought I've changed many times before. We just have to hope that we really have changed. Do you think I have?"

"Yes," Edward said confidently. He didn't actually know that for certain, but he was eager to have her on his side, so he was willing to assert anything that could possibly make her happier about her romantic prospects. And how could Brandon resist the attractions of Marianne Dashwood after he was in love with her for so long?

Marianne was quite satisfied with Edward's response and said, "Well, I'm not convinced that you're any different than you were before, but you never seemed like the one to marry Lucy Steele."

Before Marianne could begin overanalyzing everything to get an idea of how Edward had and had not changed, Edward began to get up from his chair and asked, "Where did Elinor and Brandon go?"

The name of the restaurant was in Sandscript; there were beaded curtains around the windows, inside was very poorly lit with some incense burning somewhere. Marianne looked around the Indian restaurant, nearly full that evening, while Edward awkwardly stood by the door.

"There they are," Marianne said, standing on her tip-toes to look over a row of potted shrubs blocking the entrance way from the tables of customers. She pulled the arm of Edward's coat, and said, "It's the right place. So let's get a table."

"But don't you think they'd see us?" Edward asked, not being able to resist looking over the plants to see for himself. Yes, there were Elinor and Brandon sitting in the corner together by the window, not seeming to be paying attention to their surroundings, including the entrance. Brandon was talking with more animation that Edward had ever seen him have before in conversation, and Elinor was listening with her half-attention that she often had when she was worried about something. For a moment Edward wondered if he could possibly be that thing she was worried about, but then he remembered back then they were living together. The worry was always a patient she wasn't certain whether she would be able to help. It was always someone else, never her problems. She never gave herself nearly the attention she deserved. That's why she needed him, to make certain that she was worshipped as she deserved. Yes, she definitely needed Edward. He hoped.

"Come on," Marianne hissed, grabbing Edward's arm again and pulling him after her while they followed the waiter to their table in the middle of the room. This wasn't a good idea. Marianne took the chair positioned so she could see Elinor and Brandon's table, so Edward had to be content with his back towards them but with Marianne keeping a watchful eye over them.

"They're just talking," she reported while they were given their menus and told about the specials. Edward tried to look like he was paying attention to the waiter just in case Elinor saw him. Her back would be turned to them, though, so Brandon would be the one to spot them. Then what would they say? They just happened to be going out to an Indian restaurant that happened to be the same one that the two of them were already at, and they just hadn't noticed Brandon and Elinor sitting there even though Marianne was examining them as closely as possible from their table.

Marianne said in a low voice, "Did you know that Christopher has been to India? He makes wonderful curry dishes."

"Really?" Edward said, looking at the menu. He wasn't particularly hungry, but he knew that he wasn't going to get Marianne out of that restaurant any time soon.

"He speaks some Hindi," Marianne continued. "I think all people ought to study the languages of the world, don't you? And everyone simply must travel. Don't you agree Edward? I've always wanted to travel more."

No doubt Brandon was an accomplished traveler. Then he would have more stories to tell Elinor than Edward could ever dream up for his next dozen books. Edward decided that he, too, was in desperate need of an exotic vacation or two.

"Oh, do you think he saw me? I just thought that he looked this way," Marianne said, immediately ducking her head down to examine the menu. She would make a very bad spy. "Is he looking away now? No - don't turn around, Edward, he'd recognize you." Edward hadn't begun moving, but he appreciated her thoughtful caution and decided to continue comparing the ingredients of the different types of curry dishes. Marianne looked up again and said, "Good, he must not have seen us. He's talking to Elinor again." She didn't say anything for a few minutes, then said, "They still don't see us. Do you think we ought to go over there and say hi?"

"But I thought we were spying on them," Edward said, thoroughly confused.

"That's because we care," Marianne said. "And how will they know that we care enough to spy on them unless they know that we're here? Come on, Edward."

"Let's first order dinner," Edward said, thankful for the approach of their waiter. "Do you know what you want?"

"Oh, you can order for me," Marianne said, still distracted.

Over the course of the next five minutes Edward attempted to order for Marianne, being alerted to her numerous allergies and preferences during that time until, by process of elimination, he managed to find something that met with her approval. Then Brandon and Elinor were getting their check.

"They can't leave," Marianne exclaimed, beginning to push out her chair to follow them.

"We just ordered dinner," Edward protested. "We spent all that time finding something you'd eat. We can't leave."

Marianne frowned, then quickly turned her head while Brandon and Elinor passed. They left the restaurant, completely oblivious to the caring spying that had taken place.

"Maybe I can tell Elinor tomorrow," Marianne said. "She'd be touched, I'm sure."

"Don't tell her that I was spying on her," Edward said. "She wouldn't take that in the right way. I'm just here for you."

"Yeah right," Marianne said with a laugh. "You wanted to make certain she wasn't having too good of a time. Were you happy?"

"Very. She looked bored."

"No, she looked sad. Because of you. Brandon's making her feel better. And he's going to make her forget about you," Marianne said indignantly, like she was proud of her sister for getting over a jerk like Edward. But then she remembered her own schemes and began to cry. Her grief was only checked by the arrival of their meals. Edward was forced to admit that Brandon had excellent taste in restaurants.