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Chapter 15
"...In six years in Congress, he sponsored eight bills to limit the influence of tobacco on our nation's youth. Vote Darcy. Build a future on Virginia's legacy. Sponsored by the friends of Fitzwilliam Darcy."
Smiling mirthlessly, Elizabeth turned back to her work. Wherever she turned, she seemed to be confronted by images of Darcy, or the sound of his voice, or minutely detailed disputes among the talking heads about the impact of his current campaign. And an impact it most certainly was having. Despite the fact that he was contesting a regional election, Darcy seemed to have captured the imagination of the national press. Without yet even having secured the party nomination, he was being touted as a force to be reckoned with in national politics in the years to come. Obviously, this popularity had been facilitated by Virginia's proximity to the nation's capital, and Darcy's own ties to the federal government, but Darcy himself, emerging from his seclusion, had embraced public attention in a manner unprecedented in his political career. No forum was too unimportant for him to address, and no journalist was denied an interview. The Washington Post, of course, had always given him ample coverage, partly because of Elizabeth's efforts, but her mantle seemed to now have been picked up by other reporters and political analysts. Elizabeth herself had studiously avoided any mention of him in her columns ever since he had declared his candidacy; her silence had not gone unnoticed by her readers and colleagues, but she maintained that he was yet to cover any ground that was pertinent to her interest in national politics. She had, however, researched at length all the particulars of the story he had revealed to her, and had found enough corroborating evidence to be thoroughly ashamed of herself at not having been able to independently reach the same conclusion.
She looked up from her computer again, unsuccessfully attempting to ignore Rush Limbaugh taking tasteless jabs at the media's love affair with Fitz Darcy. Her colleagues, of course, would wonder if she asked that the radio be turned off; she more than any of them usually enjoyed these tirades against their profession. As she was about to turn back to her rather unproductive labors, she noticed someone approaching her desk, and smiled a tentative greeting, relieved at any excuse to get her mind off Fitz Darcy.
The young lady, a striking redhead, came up and introduced herself.
"Ms. Bennet, I presume? I'm Mary King. I wonder if I might take up a few moments of your time?"
"Certainly, Ms. King. Please, have a seat. How may I help you?"
"I represent an anti-tobacco lobbying group. A Mr. Wikham is interested in a position in our firm. Considering his current employment, we do have some misgivings, but our main problem is that it's puts us in a very awkward position trying to confirm his references. He is, I believe, an acquaintance of yours, and he suggested that we approach you for a reference, if you wouldn't mind."
To say that Elizabeth was surprised at the application would have been a gross understatement. Under the circumstances, while she needed to consider what particulars she might reveal, she did not for a moment question which way her recommendation, if it could be so called, would sway. She wondered, however, how she would have responded to the request had it not been for Darcy's revelations. It seemed incredible that Wikham should have assumed she would be willing to speak for him after so short an acquaintance, but Elizabeth was ashamed to remember how easily she had given credence to his story. It was no wonder that he should have assumed that he could use her to vouch for him. She wondered for a moment whether he had manipulated Mary King in a similar manner, and did not know whether she would be willing to hear a critical assessment. She couched her answer almost as a refusal, wondering whether Ms. King would pick up on her inflection.
"Ms. King, Mr. Wikham and I are acquainted; however, I must tell you that regardless of what he has assumed, I cannot recommend him for any position."
Mary King regarded her closely for a moment, and then responded.
"I should be very interested in what you might have to say about him, Ms. Bennet."
"Very well, then. If you've looked into his professional qualifications, I think you'll have found that he has been remarkably persuasive. But I'm not sure how closely you've looked into the campaigns he's been involved with, and there are a number of them. In most cases, he's helped finance a rather brutal series of negatives, often factually questionable but undoubtedly compelling. None of these, I might add, have been directly associated with the candidate in question, since Mr. Wikham is not a campaign staffer. But the correlation between the efficacy of these smear-campaigns and the voting pattern of the candidate has been quite remarkable. Effective, certainly, but I'm not sure if that's the kind of image you're looking for. Especially since his brand of lobbying seems to be rather more funding-intensive than yours."
"I see. I had discovered most of that myself, but I was curious as to a second opinion. Is there anything else I might have overlooked?"
"I don't suppose you have checked up on his criminal record? Most of the charges are somewhat dated, and perhaps defensible if he admitted to them, but under the circumstances, they are rather illuminating."
"I'll look into it. Thank you, Ms. Bennet. You've been extremely helpful. And may I say that I've always admired your columns?"
"Thank you, Ms. King. And may I ask why you asked me for a reference? I'm sure I'm not the only one Mr. Wikham suggested."
"No, you weren't. In fact, he named a number of the representatives he'd worked with as well, but given their voting pattern, I was a little hesitant to approach them. And you come highly recommended yourself, if I might say so."
"Highly recommended?"
"I worked very closely with Mr. Darcy when he was on the Hill. He always had the highest opinion of your insight, and your integrity."
Chapter 16
"...The Pemberley property has been in the hands of the Darcys since very shortly after the first British settlers arrived in Virginia in 1607, but the original building was a far more humble affair. This present mansion is an early Georgian structure; it can be dated back approximately to the 1720s, although the exact date is uncertain...."
Elizabeth looked up from her brochure, having resolutely read every word, and scrutinized every picture, anxious to delay the sight of the actual house itself. She could not withhold a gasp of admiration; none of the pictures could have prepared her for the grandeur of the structure itself.
"Remarkable, isn't it? I knew you'd enjoy this, Lizzy," her uncle remarked.
She smiled back at him and her aunt, determined to maintain every appearance of enjoying herself. The Gardiners were her favorite relatives, but because her uncle was in the military, and had spent much of his time on postings abroad, she did not see them as often as she would have liked. Her aunt and uncle were both Civil War buffs, and Elizabeth, who had also majored in history in College, had long promised to accompany them on this tour of the historic sites of Virginia, and now that they were in the United States, they had finally claimed their promise. Their enthusiasm for the journey, in fact, was motivated largely by their concern for their niece, who had struck them as being somewhat overly morose. They attributed this alteration from her normally sunny demeanor at least partly to the absence of her sister, but whatever the cause, they were anxious to do as much as they could to effect a remedy. This trip had been their solution, and until now, they had enjoyed at least a little success. Elizabeth, however, had not foreseen her relatives' eagerness to visit this particular plantation, but not wanting to disappoint them, she had come with them to Pemberley. And, despite the fact that she could feel her blood throbbing in her veins with every step she took on this crunching gravel path, she could not deny that her own curiosity had drawn her here as well.
As Fitzwilliam Darcy drove back to his family home, he tried not to think of the woman he had hoped to have by his side on this journey. Her refusal still haunted him, though he had done all that he could to exorcise the memory. He had thrown himself into his work with a vengeance, thinking that he might find some reprieve there, as he always had in the past. The optimistic front he projected on the campaign trail was gradually becoming second nature to him, and indeed, it did have a numbing effect, but though it could dull, it could not relieve the almost physical pain he still experienced when he thought of her.
And he could not but think of her. That too he had finally acknowledged to himself. His work helped fill the hours, but it was nothing in comparison. He would check the Post every morning to see what she had written, to try and see if he could discern anything about her feelings. But he had received not a clue, beyond what silence might communicate. That she had kept his confidence did not surprise him, but he did not know what to make of the fact that she had refrained from any comment about his present campaign. His thoughts would sometimes turn traitor and tell him that had he waited for a response from her before declaring his candidacy she might now have been his. Certainly she could not think so ill of him as she once had, since Wikham's story could hardly now be credible. But that alone could hardly effect the transformation of her feelings. He had managed to convince himself that Elizabeth did not despise him, but her indifference could be of no comfort. And how could he think her other than indifferent if she would not deign even to engage in a friendly debate?
He pulled up at the gates of Pemberley, and as he waited for them to be opened to allow in his car, he could see a tour group being led into the house. Knowing the visitors would be there, he did not pull up before the house, but rather, took the car directly to the garage.
As they followed the guide into the house itself, Elizabeth was better able to compose herself, and she tried intently to focus on the guide's description. The historical context of her surroundings were indeed fascinating, and she was able to become quite engrossed in the narrative, and was able to take her mind of its owner to some extent.
"...Note the double arches, modeled after alterations suggested by Thomas Jefferson at another James River Plantation, Berkeley. The Darcys and the Harrisons frequently visited with one another, and, as in this instance, consulted each other on the furnishings of the houses as well. In this sitting room, many generations of Darcys have entertained distinguished visitors, from the Byrds and the Washingtons to the Tylers and the Lees...."
It was when they reached the portrait gallery that she was forcefully conscious of him. It was the Fitzwilliam Darcy she knew that she saw in his every namesake, and suddenly, standing before one particular portrait, she realized with something of a start that it was in fact an excellent likeness of the man himself. Somehow, she had always associated the sort of grand oils she was seeing before her with historical figures, but she realized, of course, that it was entirely reasonable for Darcy's portrait to be included here. He had apparently posed for it several years earlier, as an undergraduate in college. To Elizabeth there was little perceptible change in his appearance, although she fancied she could detect in his eyes something of a more carefree manner. Obviously, he carried his years well; in her mind's eye, Elizabeth could visualize him in years to come, graying in a distinguished manner. She blushed slightly as she realized just how physically conscious she had always been of him. But that avenue was closed to her. Certainly, he would cut a fine figure as a politician; she could now do little other than to follow his future career with considerable interest, as cliched rejection letters read. What could she have been thinking, in having rejected him so brutally, in having taken Wikham's transparent lies at face value?
Darcy entered the house through one of the side entrances, avoiding the areas open to tourists. He made his way up to the set of rooms he maintained as family quarters, and proceeded to freshen himself. He then made his way back downstairs, where he ran into the housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds.
"I did not expect to see you here today, sir. I understood you were to address the students at William and Mary."
"I see you've been reading the papers, Mrs. Reynolds. Yes, I did, but the engagement ended early, and I thought I'd rather drive back here for the night rather than stay at another hotel."
"I'm very glad you did, sir. We don't see you often enough these days."
"You know how trying the campaign trail can be."
"After you and your father, I should say I do. You will do him proud as Governor, and all the Darcys before him."
"Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds." Pausing for a moment, he added, "The house is looking particularly well, as are the gardens. Thank you for taking care of it... of all of us."
"I'm happy to do what I can, sir. Now you go rest awhile. You look like you could use it."
Smiling ruefully, he nodded and made his way back up. Going up to his room, he stared for a moment out of the window on to the gardens, which truly were looking remarkably fine. He could not help but envision Elizabeth in them, and he smiled at the picture. Then she shook his head, drew the curtains, and shut his eyes, drifting from his daydreams into a peaceful slumber.
"...the seven acres of terraced gardens here at Pemberley are some of the finest in the country. They are open to the visiting public at present, so please, feel free to take your time exploring. If you have any questions, I or any of the gardeners you might encounter would be happy to answer them. I hope you've enjoyed your tour of the plantation, and will enjoy the remainder of your visit in the area."
Elizabeth ambled through the expansive lawns in a leisurely manner, but her mind was preoccupied still on the owner of all she saw before her. It was very obvious that he took a great deal of interest in the maintenance of this plantation; she had visited several others, but had found none in such excellent condition, and moreover, she had been very surprised to find that they had not been charged for entry. Despite the grants Darcy had mentioned in his letter, Pemberley was certainly a significant drain on his finances. As she approached the bank of the river, Elizabeth turned back, and surveyed the house and its environs. For a moment, she allowed herself to think that she could belong here. Then, shaking her head with a rueful smile, she went back to join her aunt and uncle.
Chapter 17
Elizabeth stood a little awkwardly in the press stands, close to the hastily erected podium on the green of Lynchburg College, in front of the Rotunda, wondering what on earth had brought her here. Of course, she was very well aware why she had come, but that did not prevent her from questioning her wisdom in having appeared here. Much as she had wanted to come to this rally, and others like it earlier, she had always managed to second-guess herself before she actually appeared. But this time it was almost as though circumstances had conspired against her. She hadn't come into town to cover this particular rally; in fact, it had almost escaped her attention until she had arrived in town and seen the posters. She had come to cover a conference of the Religious Right at Liberty University across town. But she had arrived only to learn that Jerry Falwell was no longer in town, and that he and the rest of the conferees had suddenly left for a small town in Idaho where a student was making the front pages by asserting that the local public school had no authority to compel him to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. And being in town, with nothing to do and a press pass in her possession, she hadn't been able to stay away. She had rationalized to herself that he would never see her in the crowd, and that even if he did, it would mean nothing; as a member of the press corps, she had a perfect right to come. But now, finding her place in the stands was only yards away from where he would be standing, she felt strangely transparent, and was convinced that he would know exactly what had brought her there. She chided herself for imagining that he would even notice her presence, but she could not rid herself of the belief that he would sense it, and with it, far more. What she could not convince herself was that he would still care.
Fitzwilliam Darcy stood behind the platform, trying to carry on a casual conversation with the President of the College while he observed the hasty and somewhat makeshift arrangements that were still being finalized just minutes before he was supposed to speak. Despite his recent media romance, Darcy still did not consider himself one for stump speeches, and though what he would be saying here at Lynchburg was only slightly modified from what he had said at William and Mary, he was still extremely conscious of the sweating of his palms, and the rush of adrenaline that sent his heart working over-time.
All too quickly, the master of ceremonies completed his opening remarks, and Darcy and the President came on to the stage. Darcy took a quick glance up at the sky, as if in silent prayer, and then surveyed the crowd assembled before him. It was as he was taking his final steps up to the podium that he noticed her in the stands. He blinked a few times involuntarily, to convince himself he wasn't seeing things. Then, noticing that he had stopped in mid-step, he hastened forward, tangling his steps in the wires, and falling unceremoniously off the stage itself. Distantly, he was aware of the tumult of the crowd, but his consciousness was focused still on her. Almost in slow motion, he saw her expression changing from disbelief and shock to sympathy. And then suddenly, she looked away for a second, and started laughing. It was those peals of laughter that brought him back to earth. At first he could not help but feel a little indignant, but as he looked at her, now laughing almost helplessly as she attempted to control herself, he could not help but see the humor of it himself. He grinned, and picked himself up, brushing the dust and twigs off his jacket, and jumped back on to the platform in a far more elegant gesture. As he took another quick glance at her, he noticed her surprise at his reaction. Evidently she had trouble believing that he could laugh at himself. Then he turned back to the rest of the crowd, which was beginning to settle down again, and started.
"I guess I'd better come clean with you folks; I'm just trying to pull a Bob Dole here."
He paused, as the crowd chuckled, and then continued, "This isn't about Governor any more; it's all about the Viagra endorsement."
The crowd exploded in applause, as one rather matronly woman from the back yelled out, "Take it from me, hon, that is one thing you don't need to be spending your money on."
Darcy grinned. This was going to be fun.
Elizabeth could not remember when she'd enjoyed a press conference more. After what might literally be called a rather shaky start, Darcy had seemed entirely in his element. She could remember ever seeing him so relaxed, and ready to interact with his audience. She felt a little guilty about her own behavior, in having burst into laughter; she was well aware that he had noticed it, but she hadn't been able to help herself. In all her imaginings about this meeting, deliriously romantic or grimly pessimistic, she had never foreseen such an utterly anti-climactic outcome to her next encounter with this man who had for so many years inhabited her fantasies. And yet, there was another reason for her sudden light-heartedness; somewhere in the middle of all that tumult, she had felt something magical, as though the connection she had been seeking so long, had suddenly, instantaneously, been formed.
But as the speech wrapped up, and the Master of Ceremonies was making a few parting comments, this magical feeling began to fade, as she started to grow conscious of how much remained to be said, and would probably never be said. He had stared at her, but she could not assume that he was prepared to listen to her. A few moments of connection and empathy was all they were -- magical to her perhaps, but she was literally a face in the crowd. And she had no right to disrupt his life. For if there was one thing she had realized at today's rally, it was that Fitzwilliam Darcy, for all that he had said to her in February, was meant to be a political figure, that he could not be happy away from this arena. And he was happy here. She might have caused him to lose his balance, but he had regained his footing only too quickly. And knowing just how thoroughly how he belonged made her realize just what he had offered, and she had rejected out of hand.
As Darcy, and the rest of the people on stage stepped off, and the crowd began to melt away, Elizabeth started to head back towards her car. It was then that a young man approached her. He was obviously an undergraduate, from his clothes and bearing, and a Darcy campaign staffer, from his pin.
"Excuse me, Miss, but Mr. Darcy said he'd see you now about that interview now, if you have time."
Elizabeth paused and stared. The young man hesitated.
"I mean, it's no big deal, if this is a bad time. He was just wondering..."
"I have time."
The words emerged in a business-like clipped tone, hardly reflecting the butterflies in her stomach. But they did reflect her resolve, despite the acrobatics of said butterflies. She knew exactly what had to be said, and for once she wasn't going to think about the consequences of saying it.
She followed the young man into one of the classrooms, which had been converted into an impromptu campaign head-quarters, and found Darcy in conversation with several of his staffers. He saw her standing in the doorway, and nodded for them to leave. She took a few steps forward, suddenly nervous again. He approached her, and then stopped abruptly, obviously having the same problem. She reached forward, almost instinctively, to brush away a few stubborn blades of grass that still clung to his jacket, and turned away quickly before bursting into laughter again as she recalled the moment not so very long ago. He laughed too, making her very conscious of his throaty chuckle, and then suddenly, he put an arm about her waist, drawing her to him, and kissed her full on the lips. Startled, she drew back slightly, as he mentally cursed himself again for throwing away another chance.
"Elizabeth?"
He looked into her eyes, pleadingly, and was transfixed by what he saw there. This time, it was she who kissed him, and she left him in no doubt of where he stood, or perhaps more accurately, rendered him entirely unconscious of it. It was some time before she noticed that she hadn't said a word. She tucked the thought away in a corner of her mind, noticing that Darcy didn't appear to care.
Chapter 18
As Elizabeth's eyes blinked open, she surveyed her surroundings, and contentedly proceeded to snuggle up more closely to the still sleeping form beside her. Darcy stirred, and drew her closer, but he did not awaken, and Elizabeth, for her part, was loath to disturb him. She shut her eyes, and savoured his closeness, reliving the events of the previous night. Elizabeth was still amazed at her own responses; although she had not come to him inexperienced, she had never had cause to think of her affections on anything other than a cerebral level. To be sure, she had hardly ever been unconscious of the effect Fitz Darcy had always had on her hormones, but she had always put her feelings on a different plane. He had been in her mind an ideal, and her antipathy had stemmed from her conscious attempts to separate the man from that ideal. But the urgency of her physical needs as she had experienced them last night had had little or nothing to do with any ideal; and she realized now that she had always lusted after the man himself. And certainly she had not been disillusioned; Darcy had fulfilled and exceeded her every fantasy.
But now, in retrospect, she could not help but wonder if that was all there had been. Had her hounding been sexual frustration, and the pedestal a hollow rationalization? It was a question she could not but entertain, but her entire being protested that it was not the case. Safely ensconced as she was in his arms, Elizabeth was entirely convinced that this would be a hollow comfort if it were a confluence of body but not of mind. Her heart, she knew, was most certainly engaged; she had not spent six years pining simply for a touch she had never felt. And her mind -- her mind had led her to the only man she could fall in love with. A man who could understand her, who could respond to her rationally without being either patronizing or intimidated. A man who expected her to know her own mind. And most of all, a man who did not resent her reactions, even at their basest and most petty. But her mind had never permitted her to fall in love; that she had done at a level beyond thought, and its consequences had almost always been incongruous to her rational sensibilities. She had known, except for one narrow window, that for her love to find expression she would have to face consequences that had not been worth contemplating. Today, she could contemplate those consequences. She was not convinced, even now, that she would be the happier for having made the sacrifice involved. But she could not now just leave. The man lying beside her had offered her his life on those very terms; it was she who had belittled the offer. Whether or not he could have lived on those terms, and Elizabeth was convinced that he could not have, the gesture had been a powerful one. And it was she who had come back to him. If there was any explanation now to be made, it was for her to make it.
Elizabeth just wished she knew what that explanation would be. She attempted to parse the possibilities in her mind. Darcy could not sacrifice his career for her. She did not know whether or not he would do it, but she knew for a fact that it would place an intolerable strain on their budding relationship. Though he had once made the offer, and had obviously thought long and hard about it, it had obviously been a difficult conclusion at which to arrive. Moreover, at the time, he had been distanced already. Now that he was immersed in the game of politics, she knew it would be far more difficult for him. She could not ask for such a thing, even if she were completely convinced that she could do the same for him. And she was not. At times she could bear the thought easily enough, but she did not know how long it would be before regrets would set in. For her entire adult life, she had defined her sense of self around the persona she projected through her work, and it was a self she was reluctant to abandon. She looked to a final possibility, and wondered whether there could be any reconciliation between their two lives.
Darcy blinked his eyes open, Elizabeth stirred against him, and laughed artlessly at finding her in his arms.
"Good morning, sunshine!"
"Good morning. Are you laughing at me?"
"I wouldn't dare, Elizabeth. I've been skewered in your editorials often enough as it is!"
She blushed, and changed the subject, deferring a serious discussion for the moment.
"Nobody calls me Elizabeth."
"I thought you called yourself that."
"Yes, but my friends have always called me Liz, and my family calls me Lizzy."
"Well, I'll call you Liz if you'd prefer..."
"It was an observation. I rather like Elizabeth."
"Elizabeth it is, then. And speaking of observations, I notice you've decided to call me nothing at all."
Elizabeth smiled awkwardly.
"Well, I guess I've always called you Fitz Darcy in my head, and Mr. Darcy is awfully dashing and everything, but under the circumstances, it's hardly applicable."
He laughed again, and held her closer.
"I should imagine not. Fitz would seem to suggest itself, but you're welcome to come up with something else if you'd like."
"Fitz, for now, then. I'll have to see if I can't do better."
"You're doing just fine, dear."
She reached up and kissed him, tenderly.
"Better and better," he murmured as they parted from the embrace, and for a while, they just lay there, contentedly.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"What?"
"Did you plan for your campaign posters to be objects of teenage lust, or did they just come out like that?"
"Why do you think we never wanted cameras on the floor of the House? It's all one big hormone fest."
"Yeah, right. It's false advertising, that's what it is."
"So I don't deliver the goods?"
"I see you haven't been reading the papers."
"Haven't read this morning's."
Elizabeth blushed.
"Don't look at me. I didn't write it."
"So this is what comes of my grand scheme of seducing the journalist? Suddenly she's too busy to write for the papers?"
"Well, I didn't see you complaining last night!"
"True, there are certain fringe benefits involved."
"Such as?"
"Oh, come on! You're telling me you don't see the merits in getting up close and personal?"
Elizabeth looked away momentarily, steeling herself for a more serious bent in the conversation. Then she searched for his eyes again, and held them.
"Fitz, what happens next?"
"Well, I have a couple more speaking engagements hereabouts in the next couple of days, and after that, the debates are in a few weeks..."
"You know what I mean."
"You don't date the news. You've mentioned."
"And?"
"I'm not the news. At least, I'm not the only news. There's no good reason why you should be writing about Richmond anyway. Look, Elizabeth, other people are doing this sort of thing all the time. You haven't written about me in almost a year now. We're adults. We can keep our personal lives personal."
"Fitz, I know you too well to imagine that you're in this just for Richmond. And in any case, how do you know I haven't written about you in that long?"
"Well, I read the papers..."
"And you haven't missed a single day?"
"What are you getting at?"
"The reason you know that is because it's been blasted at you from every direction. I had no idea so many talking heads knew that I existed on the face of the earth, and suddenly all they can talk about are articles I haven't written. Can you imagine what'll happen when they find out about this? Can you begin to see the ways in which they can twist this? Don't you see that what I'm talking about has nothing to do with us?"
It was his turn to look away, instead of meeting her eye.
"I could quit, you know."
"Could you? And why would you? Why would you put yourself through that kind of speculation again? There's no way you could survive it twice. It would finish your career. You don't want that."
"No, I don't."
"Thank you, for not lying to me."
He nodded, solemnly.
"And all of the above holds if you quit, too."
"An opinionated girlfriend in the middle of the campaign probably wouldn't help, anyway."
"What about an opinionated wife?"
"Is that a hypothetical question?"
"Or a proposal."
"The proposal is tentatively accepted. As far as the hypothetical question, there would be some rather interesting questions to answer if you introduced said wife to the populace after years of apparent animosity. They'd probably assume I'd want to do things my own way."
"I'd take my chances on it, but I can't ask you to do it. You'd never be happy unless you could speak your mind."
"No."
He laughed mordantly for a second.
"You know what you should do? You should run for office yourself!--Why not? You know the ropes already. It's the only other job that let's you speak your mind. And unless you decide to run against me, there's no good reason why we can't live happily ever after."
"It's a good thing we both know you're kidding."
"So what are we saying here?"
"Fitz, what happens if I disappear for a bit?"
"Disappear?"
"Well, the Post will send someone to Hong Kong to cover the hand-over for a while anyway. And then Jane's there and everything. And after that, I don't know, I'll find some excuse or another. Maybe if I could just become a foreign affairs analyst or something..."
"And after that you'll come back and marry me?"
"Well, once we're past the election, your life's your own again, sort of. The campaign is the really tricky part. After that, people aren't going to talk as much. We can figure it out as we go along."
"I see what this is all about. You want to go check up on whether I've been meddling with your sister and Charles again."
"Fitz, I'm so sorry about that whole thing. I was just upset because it was so obvious that she was heartbroken. But I had no business pulling you into it."
"No, I had no business interfering in the first place." He paused for a second. "Charles was ecstatic to see her again. I think it might be for real this time."
"I hope so. She's never been happier."
"And you?"
"Wish I knew! Why is everything always so complicated?"
"Do you have to go?"
"Perhaps not. But I should. I will miss you, you know."
"You know I'll miss you too."
She smiled, wryly.
"I wouldn't have it otherwise."
Chapter 19
Darcy stood by the Tidal Basin, his distraction obvious from his countenance. The cherry blossoms had long since fallen; by now, there were but a few still lying scattered on the ground, bearing evidence of having been much trampled upon. The trees themselves were utterly bare. But his immediate surroundings did not hold Darcy's interest; he was pensively looking over the Potomac in the direction of National Airport, watching the planes take off at regular intervals. Elizabeth was leaving today for Hong Kong; they had refused to speculate on when she would return. As he watched, another plane took off at what appeared to be an impossibly steep angle; he followed it with his eyes as long as he could keep it in sight, feeling as though he would let go of his heart when he could see it no longer. It was an absurd conceit, of course; in any case, Elizabeth was flying out of Dulles, and she would be in none of the planes he was able to see. But she was leaving, and they had agreed that he would not even be able to see her off; it would have been absurd to do so, given the company she was traveling in. All of the precautions they had attempted to take over the last two weeks would have come to nothing if her colleagues had found them together in such a venue. They had met very sporadically; Elizabeth had started making discreet appearances at the publicly scheduled events of his campaign, but there they had barely been able to exchange covert glances, and perhaps on occasion a few furtive words. And she had visited him once or twice at his house, where they thought they would be assured of some privacy. Darcy shut his eyes, reveling momentarily in the intimacies they had shared. Much had been spoken of between them, and more had been shared without words being necessary. He had known for some time now that she was the only woman he could love; what he had learnt was how she had become the person she was. Now he could only hope that the memories would suffice until they could begin once again to make up for lost time. The next plane took off, and Darcy subjected himself again to the same sweet agony, wishing for he knew not what, and knowing well that there was no other way.
Elizabeth buckled herself into her seat, and stared distractedly out of the window. Necessary as she knew this separation was, she could not fight the hollow ache within her. Were she to dwell on Darcy forever she knew she would run mad, but for now at least she allowed herself to wallow in the memory of what they had come to share. Intellectually she had long known they would be compatible, and the physical attraction had been equally apparent, but the chemistry they shared went beyond any of this. In getting to know him she had discovered in most cases a remarkable coincidence of taste, and in a few others a very healthy degree of antagonism. As though to compensate for the six years of lukewarm acquaintance, they had run through lists of movies and books; they had discussed art and music, and they had grilled each other on their habits and mannerisms, and even their noises and gestures. He had learnt of her predilection for long walks by the tidal basin or the marina, and of her fondness for independent movies that generally screened only at financially insecure theaters such the Circle and the Key. She had learnt of his fondness for horses and riding (and had even taken a tumble or two as he attempted to teach her to ride) and of his habit of browsing used book stores for rare editions to augment his impressive collection. They had shared also hopes, dreams, and fantasies -- things that some of their closest friends would never know. And this was in two weeks. She wondered what a lifetime together would bring. Part of her protested that this separation was unnatural, but she knew also that it was necessary. If she stayed, they would be able share a few stolen moments together; if they went their separate ways temporarily, it would help ensure a future for each of them that they would want to share with each other. Because what she had always known had become far more obvious in these last two weeks; they were both of them personally ambitious and motivated, and this was an intrinsic aspect not only of their self-identities but also of what they saw in each other.
The plane took off, and Elizabeth watched as the suburban landscape shrunk to Lilliputian proportions. Straining her eyes, she thought she spotted Darcy's home in McLean, and the attached property, but of course she knew it could be one of many others. Then the plane turned towards the city, and she caught her last glimpse of its monuments, keeping her eyes on what she and her sister had christened the big needle for as long as it remained in view. He was somewhere down there; she wondered where he was, and what he was thinking. Then, as the plane penetrated the cloud barrier, she turned away from the window, and shut her eyes.
Jane Bennet waited at Hong Kong's brand new airport, expectantly checking the screens to see when her sister's flight would be landing. With her was Charles Bingley, who attempted every few moments to surprise her with some new piece of trivia about the grand scope of the project, and the amount of money that had gone into its construction, bringing a smile to her face. Despite his obviously canny understanding and enjoyment of the theoretical aspects of his work, Charles was rather boyish in his enthusiasm for sheer scale and grandeur, and little factoids relating to such matters. They were neither of them personally ambitious; they were content rather to take a step back from the world, to admire, understand, and analyze its workings, instead of throwing themselves into the fray, and each found the other's retiring disposition a refreshing change. Charles's sisters were, to his mind, almost viciously selfish in their ambitions; his brother-in-law was simply indolent; even his best friend found it necessary to make a mark on the world. Charles was able to sympathize with them, but for his part he was content to stand back, watch, and perhaps to advise. Jane, likewise, had grown up among the rather misguided ambitions of her mother and younger sisters, and the more focused ones of Elizabeth. She resembled her father in her retiring disposition, but though he had a value for her, he had always seen in Elizabeth the potential to achieve everything his own reticence had kept him from. For the first time in her life, she had found someone who was not only like-minded but also able to value her qualities for what they were.
Both of them were able to recognize in the crowds mulling around them familiar faces from the world's media and its political circles. Hong Kong on the eve of the transfer back to China appeared to have become a very popular place to be. As the sign for her sister's flight changed to indicate that it had landed, Jane and Charles made their way through the crowds towards the gate through which she would be emerging. Jane was eager to see her favorite sister again, and to find out what had changed her mind about coming to Hong Kong. Charles, for his part, was very eager to see the woman who had made such an impact on his friend. He had telephoned Darcy a few days earlier, and noticing a distinctly novel quality of enthusiasm in his manner, he had managed to extract a full confidence from his reticent friend, albeit quite literally at a considerable expense. They cut their way through the crowd around the gate, and situated themselves at a conveniently visible location, keeping their eyes on the stream of passengers emerging from immigration. Suddenly, Jane started waving enthusiastically, and Charles's eyes were drawn to the woman who waved back. Elizabeth Bennet looked rather different from her sister, but there was an air of understated confidence about her reminded him of his friend. And of course, he was familiar with her writing style. The two women hugged, each other and the introductions were made. The sisters could not stop talking as they waited for her baggage to arrive, and Charles was amused to see that he was one of the primary subjects under discussion. Elizabeth's extremely-verbal and openly-teasing manner was rather different from Darcy's habitual reticence and restrained sarcasm, but he could see how the one could appreciate and complement the other. All in all, he could easily begin to understand his friend's enthusiasm. If there was anything puzzling, it was the fact that the pair had not hooked up earlier, but Darcy's qualms about such attachments could easily explain that. He wondered what had brought about a change of heart now.
As he lugged Elizabeth's bags out toward the taxi stand, Charles invited Elizabeth and Jane to join him at his home for a drink before depositing her at the hotel. When she demurred, pleading tiredness, he remarked casually that Darcy was expecting a phone-call from him. He was not disappointed in his response; Elizabeth met his eye pointedly, and accepted the invitation. Jane looked at them both inquisitively, and as they settled into the cab, having discussed one sister's affairs to satisfaction, the other prepared to make her revelation.
Chapter 20
The Washington Post5/13/97
Book World
J5Party Pooper
A review of Party Animals, by Anonymous....starting out as a promising romp through inside-the-beltway machinations, Party Animals ultimately loses its grip in the unraveling emotional maelstrom. The author's evident desire to humanize the characters ends up taking the novel into the realm of cliched expressions and over-blown emotions. Among the major characters, the unscrupulous Senatorial candidate, Wallace Jefferson, with his southern pedigree oozing even from the choice of name, comes off remarkably well; less successfully drawn are Sharon Maynard and Virginia Devries, the women he shamelessly manipulates. Maynard, a fiercely independent journalist determined to expose Jefferson's corruption, ends up as a silent co-conspirator like Devries, who cannot bring herself to expose Jefferson even after being used and abandoned by him. The narrator, Phil Clifton, a childhood friend of Jefferson, is unsuccessful at keeping himself emotionally detached from the circumstances he describes despite his ardent disclaimers, and his own casual acquaintance with the seamy underbelly of Washington politics. Ultimately, the novel is most memorable for the sharply drawn caricatures; it seems as though every prominent Washingtonian dons a false name and takes a bow within these pages, and Clifton's scathing commentary is a refreshingly new slant on old news....
5/20/97
International
A27South-East Asia Preparing for Hong Kong Transfer
by Elizabeth Bennet, Staff ReporterAs the count-down to the transfer of Hong Kong to China enters the last few crucial weeks, other nations in the area are warily anticipating changes in the region's economy. As Hong Kong has become one of the primary loci of trade in the region, other countries, including China, have taken a different route, choosing instead to utilize their comparative advantage in the low-technology manufacturing sector. Now, as the debate about Hong Kong's future heats up, some of these countries are poised to take up its mantle. But not all observers are so sanguine....
6/2/97
Style
C1Join the Party!
It used to be common knowledge that the day of the novel was past, and politics was dull as ditchwater. Yet suddenly, it seems like too much cannot be said about a certain novel of politics, and all eyes are on Washington again. The gaze is not a completely comfortable one; Party Animals, the novel which shot to the top of the New York Times Best-Seller List and is the current Book of the Month for Oprah's Book Club despite luke-warm reviews, airs out some of the dirty laundry that Washington would rather keep safely locked away from prying eyes. The intricacies of the lobbying system, not to mention the vagaries of campaign finance, are opened up for public scrutiny with a sophisticated familiarity that has most analysts agreeing about the anonymous author's insider credentials. Washington's favorite guessing game is spotting Anonymous; in second place is identifying the cameos within the novel. Among the more inspired appearances are the Caroline Bingley clone who is there for all the breaking news but never quite gets it, as well as the media and political doyenne obviously modeled on Catherine de Bourgh. Mrs. de Bourgh, when questioned about the similarities, answered with amazingly good humor. Of course, it's likely she's influenced by the fact that her publishing firm is raking in a hefty profit from the novel's sales, although Mrs. de Bourgh's evasive replies have only fueled further speculation about the identity of Anonymous. She claims that after all the uproar, the revelation would only be disappointing, but judging from the frenzy, most people would beg to differ.....
The media love affair with Fitz Darcy, currently running for Governor of Virginia, has only intensified as public opinion has identified him with Wallace Jefferson, the ruthlessly manipulative yet charming protagonist. The comparison is inevitable, given some rather striking parallels; Darcy is a moderate Southern Democrat from a family with a strong political tradition. Moreover, the Senate campaign described closely resembles Darcy's aborted run last year, and it's tempting to assume that similar financing problems led to his withdrawal from that race. The more provocative similarity involves Darcy's six-year war of words with Elizabeth Bennet, a Post reporter. In the novel, Jefferson ends up not only overcoming his financing irregularities and winning the race, but also coaxing the supposedly hard-headed investigative reporter into his bed, driving his lobbyist ex-girlfriend, Virginia Devries, to suicide along the way. Critics have not responded well to the weeping willow characterization of supposedly strong women, but the public appears to be lapping it up....
Darcy has been characteristically closed-mouthed: he did recently admit to having read Party Animals, but when asked whether or not it was factual he said that it was "just wishful thinking." His mordant comment did ring true; the charismatic politician has long been either unattached or amazingly discreet. But that has not stopped speculation about affairs; Bennet, of course, is the current favorite, although she is rather inconveniently in Hong Kong at the moment. It has been whispered that a bitter break-up may have driven her there, although it seems a bit premature to be speculating about break-ups given that the attachment seems to exist only in the realm of speculation. Other rumors have cited Mary King, a lobbyist who worked closely with Darcy on the Hill; the two have been spotted together sporadically, though each denies any romantic involvement. But perhaps the most frenzied speculation surrounds the narrator, Phil Clifton; Darcy's childhood and youth are being scrutinized in agonizing detail as observers are hoping to find not only a model for the character but also a likely candidate for the identity of Anonymous. But the search so far has not been fruitful, and many observers have concluded that Clifton's character is in fact entirely fictional.....
The search for Anonymous continues elsewhere, however, and many prominent journalists and newsmongers are considered likely candidates.... Among the more provocative possibilities cited are Bennet and Darcy themselves. In her articles and editorials for this paper, Bennet has followed Darcy's career extremely closely, and is considered by many as the preeminent authority on him. It is certainly tempting to assume that she has taken her expertise into the realm of fiction, although the novel's depiction does raise interesting questions about the relationship between them. If Bennet is in fact the author, one has to wonder why Maynard, her counterpart in the novel, gets sucked into, and becomes complicit in, Jefferson's financial intrigues. More satisfying on this front, perhaps, is the Darcy hypothesis; even the most rudimentary feminist analysis can relate his hypothesized frustration with Bennet's antagonism to her fictionalized conquest. However, such criticism belongs to the realm of academia, and one could argue that Party Animals does not have the necessary depth to withstand such analysis. Popular opinion seems to dismiss the possibility that Darcy is the author, mainly because he is currently contesting another election and such a novel is unlikely to help his chances.
...Despite the critical lambasting of the portrayal of women in the novel, most opinion polls have found that audiences are overwhelmingly convinced that Anonymous is a woman....
6/5/97
Style
C3The Reliable Source
A reading of an excerpt from Party Animals is scheduled this evening at seven at the down-town store of Borders. Readers will include candidates cited as possible authors of the novel, including reporters from prominent newspapers and magazines. Notable among the absentees are Darcy, widely accepted to be the model for protagonist Wallace Jefferson, and Elizabeth Bennet, a Post reporter whom many have cited as the possible author, despite the inconsistent characterization of her analogue in the novel; Newsweek's Joe Klein has persuasively argued that the characterization is a smokescreen to divert attention from her. A similar argument has been made about Darcy, and more than one analyst is apt to take his "wishful thinking" comment at face value. Klein himself has been cited as a possible candidate, and though he denies it, he will be present at the reading today...
6/7/97
Fairfax Review
G1Darcy Addresses ESL, Novel, at Local High School
Addressing an assembly of students at Fallschurch High School today, Democratic Gubernatorial candidate Fitzwilliam Darcy spoke about the importance of funding for English as a Second Language programs. Northern Virginia has a rapidly-growing population of non-native speakers of English, and Darcy addressed the importance of integrating these immigrants into the work-force through an educational program equipped to put them on par with other students. These programs have been a point of some controversy both locally and nationally, as the debate continues over whether ESL programs should be bilingual or taught directly in English....
...When Darcy opened up the floor for questions, however, most queries revolved around Darcy's reaction to the recently published novel, Party Animals. Darcy, who attempted to turn the discussion to other subjects, did quip that the "teachers [were] obviously doing their job right, if students [were] reading novels outside of class." Continuing in the same vein, he added he had just confirmed everybody's worst fears by pandering to the teacher's union....
6/10/97
Style
C3The Reliable Source
Universal Studios announced today that it had obtained the screenplay rights for best-selling novel Party Animals, paying $6.6 million. Although the movie will be several years in the making, inside sources are citing Oscar winner Michael Douglas for the part of Wallace Jefferson, commonly believed to be modeled on Virginia gubernatorial candidate, Fitzwilliam Darcy. Michelle Pfeiffer is reportedly interested in the role of journalist Sharon Maynard, although the studio claims to be looking for a new face...
Author's Note: Any opinions expressed by "real" people here are invented by me. Also, any ideological slant that comes through is my own, or influenced by it.
Any similarity to real events is obviously too extreme to be accidental.
~ Malini.
Chapter 21
Jane stepped out of the library, carrying a few volumes she thought would help her with her research. She was pleased with the progress she had made since coming to Hong Kong, and was confident that she would be able to submit her thesis by the end of the year. After that, although Jane did not like to speculate about her future, she was becoming increasingly sanguine about her prospects. Ideally, she would land an independent position at a suitable university, and she had every expectation that her attachment with Charles would become a more permanent arrangement. But as she hastened to meet him at their appointed rendez-vous, Jane was preoccupied with an entirely different set of circumstances.
Despite all of her teasing over the years, Jane had been more than a little shocked to learn of Elizabeth's involvement with Fitz Darcy; she had never seen her sister rush into any commitment in such a manner, especially given the sensitive circumstances, and it was Elizabeth who had to remind her that a six year crush was hardly rushing in. Still, after listening in on her sister's side of the telephone conversation that first evening, she had at any rate accepted the facts of the matter, although she worried about the outcome. Elizabeth had not really brought up the question of their future prospects, and she did not know how either of them were taking the separation. She and Charles had discussed it privately, and although they agreed with the assessment that matters would be less complicated once the election itself was over with, they were not convinced even so that Elizabeth would be able to continue with her career. And Jane could see that quitting was an option Elizabeth would not want to consider. They had agreed, though, that such doubts were best saved for later, and that their task for now would be to accept the relationship as a given and keep Elizabeth in spirits.
But now there was another matter to add to their concern. Although Elizabeth had never mentioned it, Jane and Charles could hardly have helped learning about the novel, Party Animals, and along with their curiosity about who could have written such an account, they could not help speculating to each other about the impact this would have on the tentative relationship between Elizabeth and Fitz Darcy. Neither were they entirely able to clear themselves of the suspicion that either one of two might have been the author of the novel in the first place. Although such suspicion was far from their normal habits, they could not help but recall how circumstances had stood only a short time earlier. Elizabeth had been vociferous in her opposition to Darcy, and Jane, knowing how hard she had attempted to discover the facts of his withdrawal from the Senate, could easily imagine her generating a fictionalized account. The affair, as it developed in the novel, as far as she could gather from the press reports, might easily have stemmed from the attraction she knew her sister to have been fighting for six years. And the jaded tone of the novel, almost condoning the reprehensible acts of the protagonist, translated into Elizabeth's frustration; much as Elizabeth loved her job, she was fully conscious of its limitations, and in her unsuccessful investigation of Darcy she had come face to face with them. And considering when it had gone into publication, the novel had obviously been finished before the affair between them had started, at a time Elizabeth's former resentment had been firmly in place. The aspect of secrecy was more troubling. Jane knew that Lizzy was an essentially honest person, and moreover, that she was proud of the material she published under her own name. It was difficult to see her assume such a mantle of secrecy. Of course, the nature of the subject almost demanded such anonymity, but Jane had trouble believing that Elizabeth would conceal her authorship from her own sister. As it was, she was yet to acknowledge the fact of the existence of the novel. Then there was the practical difficulty involved in undertaking a project of this scale in utter secrecy. Elizabeth shared a flat with her, and Jane, whose own research had given her a glimpse of the magnitude of work involved in writing such a novel, did not think that Elizabeth could have completed it entirely on her own time without her knowing about it. All in all, despite the remarkable coincidences involved, Jane was inclined to acquit her sister of authorship.
Of Darcy she could not be as sure. Much as she had liked him over their short meetings, he had struck her as a man who was accustomed to having his own way. She had even suspected him of having a role in sending Charles away from her to Hong Kong, and her sister had at the time been inclined to agree with her. Though he was by no means as manipulative as the character in the novel, Jane had a sense that that aspect was more of an exaggeration than a fabrication. She thought politics an excellent career choice for such a man, and she had trouble understanding why he would have voluntarily quit. Elizabeth had never enlightened her about the actual facts of the case, and only after hearing of the novel had Jane begun to think that financial irregularities might have been at the root of it. Having quit, she could certainly see him venting his frustration through the novel, using his fictional counterpart to accomplish what he could not in real life. The hypothesis fit neatly together except for one factor; Darcy was back in politics now, and if any financial irregularities could be traced back to him, he would endanger this campaign as well. But Elizabeth had spent long months searching for any trace of such a thing, and she had uncovered nothing. If Darcy had been so very careful, it was unlikely that anything would emerge now. And while there were some reporters who were exploring this possibility now, the overwhelming response to the novel had been quite the opposite. If Darcy had been a media darling before its publication, he was an obsession now. Never before had a gubernatorial election received so much national coverage, and the exposure could only help Darcy, who undoubtedly had higher ambitions than Richmond down the line.
She looked up from her musings to find Charles waving at her, and smiling at her distraction. Coming up to her, he relieved her of her load, and hailed a cab, so that they could continue on to Elizabeth's hotel, where they were meeting her for dinner.
"You look preoccupied. Research not going as well as you hoped for?"
"No, it's going fine. I was just thinking about Elizabeth."
"Still worrying about that book?"
"Well, yeah. She still hasn't mentioned it; I'm worried how she's taking it. What do you make of the whole mess?"
"Jane, you know they can take care of themselves."
"I do not. She's had a love-hate thing for him for six years; there's no reason to imagine they can suddenly settle into a stable relationship. And I don't know whether or not she's even talked to him since that first day from your house."
"They can't talk that frequently, with him on the road. Jane, you're not telling me everything. I get the feeling you don't quite trust him. You think he wrote it, don't you?"
"Well, it's hard not to. I don't know how he feels now, but back when he quit that race, yeah, I can see him coming up with something like this. And I know she's not going to take that well. But what do you think? You know him better than I do."
"Frankly, I don't know what to make of it. I can't vouch for the fact that he didn't write it. He burrowed underground for several months after that Senate race; he took it pretty hard, and I'm sure he was bitter enough to have written something like this for a while. In fact, that whole thing about inviting him up to my class was basically a ruse because I hadn't seen him in so long. But I have trouble seeing him publish it, especially now."
"Well, it isn't hurting his campaign any."
"Yeah, there is that. But it's still a dangerous thing to have written in his position."
"If it is him, he won't be the only politician to have written relevant fiction; Benjamin Disraeli springs to mind, and there have been more recent examples."
"Like I said, I have my doubts. It just doesn't fit."
"In any case, Lizzy will be devastated if it was him. I've never known her to be this serious about a relationship."
"In that case, it's probably best for us to make light of the entire thing. She's got enough to worry about as it is."
"Are you planning to bring the subject up?"
"How long can we go on pretending the book doesn't exist? Maybe she needs someone to talk to."
"True. I've been afraid of intruding too much, but we should let her know we're there if she needs us."
Elizabeth looked up from her reading as Jane and Charles burst into her hotel room, wistfully noting the understated intimacy of their entwined hands. She managed to greet them cheerfully as they came up to where she was sitting, but each of them was sensitive enough to know where her mind must be. They shared a quick glance at each other, and it was Charles who casually broached the subject.
"Looking for pictures of Fitz in the Post already, Liz? Didn't he give you a nice one to keep?"
Elizabeth smiled; she knew where this was probably heading, but she responded in kind.
"Hardly, Charles. I was gloating over my own articles; by far the best reading to be had, I assure you. And I have quite as many pictures of your friend as I am likely to require, thank you."
"Pity; I've a series of rather interesting ones from a frat party that I've threatened to sell to the tabloids if Fitz doesn't meet my price one of these days. I could offer them to you at a substantial discount."
"In that case, I might reconsider. I'm always on the look-out for new acquisitions. And a little something to hold over his head might come in handy at some point along the way. I'd need to examine the goods first, though."
"I'll have to bring them over for you some time. I have a feeling you'd enjoy them, although I wouldn't say the same about Fitz finding out about it. By the way, do you mind if I check out those articles of yours? It's been ages since had a chance to read the Post."
Elizabeth nodded and turned to her sister as Charles picked up the paper, but it wasn't long before he interrupted them again.
"Caught in the act, I see. Here's a lovely picture of Fitz for you to ogle!"
Elizabeth blushed, still smiling. "Oh, I don't even know why they have his picture there in the first place. It's that silly book..."
"While we're on the subject, dare I ask if I'm in the company of a best-selling author?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Charles! It sounds like utter trash."
"It sounds like a best-seller. I'm sure it'll make the news-stands here in a bit. I'll be looking out for it."
"Who do you think would write such a thing, though?" Jane asked, trying to keep her voice disinterested.
"Any number of people could have written a book about Washington, Jane. It's not that mysterious. I'm not even sure why people are so convinced it's about Fitz; he's hardly the only southern politician, and he certainly isn't as smarmy as this guy sounds."
"There's more to it than that, Elizabeth," said Charles. "I have a feeling this isn't going to die down so easily. Especially if it gets out that you two are seeing each other."
Jane gave Charles a warning look, but Elizabeth did not seem phased by the inquiry. All the same, she made it clear that this was a subject she would rather not be discussing.
"By the time that gets out this hue and cry will be over. How long are people going to stand around talking about a book?"
She changed the subject, pointedly, and her companions took the hint and allowed the matter to be dropped. In order to quiet their suspicions, she went on to talk about her recent conversations with Fitz. They had talked on the telephone a few times, and while they had mutually affirmed their affection, made some tentative plans for the future, and spoken at random about various trivial matters, neither of them had raised the question of the novel. But Elizabeth was more worried than she was prepared to admit to anyone. Unlike Jane and Charles or anyone in Washington, she was sufficiently well acquainted with the facts of the matter to realize that this narrator was a flattering portrait of Wikham. And she knew that George Wikham's role in sabotaging Darcy's campaign was a well kept secret. In fact, other than herself and Fitz, she could not think of anyone who knew the entirety of it. Even Georgiana Darcy, who had been closely involved in the perpetration of it, did not know the whole story; Fitz had told her that he did not want his sister blaming herself for what had happened. While it was tempting to assume that Wikham was behind it all, it was unlikely, to say the least, that he should know anything about their subsequent attachment. Of course, that did not mean that he could not have extrapolated on that particular point; it occurred to her now, in hindsight, that observers might easily have inferred the state of the feelings she herself had attempted to deny from her preoccupation with Darcy. But surely Wikham had little to gain from such a tangential attack; even if it was through him that some of the details had leaked, Elizabeth considered it unlikely that he was behind the publication. Perhaps the entire matter was completely coincidental, or at least, based on no more factual evidence than any outsider could glean.
There was another possibility, however, that had insidiously crept into her thoughts, and that she could not quite dismiss. Could Fitz himself be the author of this novel? It had taken the spur of her rejection, she knew, for him to enter the gubernatorial race. Before that, he had ostensibly quit politics for good. He had told her that if he quit politics it would be for her sake, but when had that resolve been formed? Was Fitz himself the author of this novel? There had been a long window between the two campaigns, when for all intents and purposes, he had given up on politics entirely. Had he decided to tell all in a thinly veiled what-might-have-been version of events? And was this his idea of what might have been?
Though she could not but consider the possibility, Elizabeth was inclined to acquit Fitz of the charge. Not since she had believed Wikham's account had she believed him capable of such deception. On that score, she had long acquitted him, based not solely on his assertions, but also on much corroborating evidence. And, if writing such a novel before their attachment had been formed, was not necessarily a deceptive act, allowing it to be published before telling her about it, after they had become involved, certainly was. And the plot of the novel was such that her heart refused to believe that he had ever considered her in such a light. But she wondered in what light he regarded her now. For it was obvious to Elizabeth that if he was not the author, it would be easy for him to assume that she was. He knew that she had investigated the facts of the case, and for a time, accepted Wikham's version of events. She had learnt from him, also, that he had always been aware of her teenage crush. And he himself had straightened her out on the real particulars. Other than him, she was the one person familiar with all the facts. The media was already pointing at her as a probable author. It was inevitable that he, knowing more than they did, would be able to reach the same conclusion with greater certainty. If she could consider him as a possible candidate for the author, she could hardly assume that he would not consider her as such. All she could hope for now was that he would give her the benefit of the doubt.
Chapter 22
Unable to concentrate on it properly, Fitz Darcy put down the proofs of his speech he intended to deliver two nights hence at a Virginia Teachers' Union Convention. Despite his best attempts to focus them elsewhere, his thoughts returned at every instance to the novel all of Washington was talking about, Party Animals. Reaching into a drawer, he drew out a copy, and thumbed through in thoughtfully. When he first heard about the book, when a reporter had asked him to comment on it, he had dismissed as coincidence that a novel corresponding superficially to his own life should have appeared in print. After facing the same questions over and over again, he had decided that the novel was probably worth a perusal. And that was when he had been truly astonished. A caricature of himself he had expected to find; a slanted perspective on so many of the people important to him he had not. Darcy had recognized in the novel things that the press could never have picked up on. The novelist was obviously more than a casual observer -- it had to be someone who had followed his life and his career extremely closely. It was someone intelligent enough to light on subtle details and small quirks in mannerisms, and someone well versed in the nuances of political life. It was enough to give Darcy a very uncanny feeling about the people surrounding him. The circumstances that had been embellished to form the lynchpin of the plot were unfamiliar to all but a very select group. To be sure, there were others who knew enough to have guessed, but even so, the number was not large, and of these people, Darcy could think of no one other than George Wikham whom he might not implicitly be able to trust. But surely George Wikham would not take such a tangential approach. The trouble of writing a novel or having it ghost-written when such a work could only insinuate what he would rather scream from the roof-tops seemed unlikely in the extreme. Of course, there were advantages to the novel format: the author had not only protected his or her identity, but had also foregone the necessity of the kind of documentation an explicit denunciation would have required. But on the other hand, a novel in and of itself could do little harm. All that Darcy had had to endure so far was the burden of greater publicity, and that was something he felt well able to handle, since relatively little of it had been adverse. What bothered him, though, was something else entirely.
Try as he might, Darcy could not but flip through the pages of the novel without thinking of the letter he had written Elizabeth. The novel did not include an admission in those sort of terms, and in fact, the closest parallel to such a revelation was a complete and utter fabrication on the part of his counterpart in the book. But Darcy knew that some such fabrication from an insidious source had preceded his own revelation, and he had to wonder what Elizabeth had made of it. Could she be the author of this novel? He could not tell. For all the melodramatic characterization, the style was elegant enough to be hers, and it was hard for him to associate a fictional narrative with anyone's non-fiction style. She certainly knew enough about the subject, and if she had written it, it had been at a time when she did not know him. He did not wish to accept that she might have regarded him in such a light, but her brutal rejection played back in his mind and he wondered whether it might not have been the case. In truth it did not bother him so much that she might have written such a thing but that she should never have confessed it. The few days he had spent secure in her affection had seemed to him idyllic; when he thought of them, it was easy to forget any such suspicions. In his conversations with her he was able to remain light-hearted and affectionate. It was when those moments were more distant that doubt crept in. And it was most especially the case when he turned to his work. He knew how she felt about her career, and he understood what it meant to her to have that voice. And he had supposed, even when she had placed herself in vehement opposition to him, that she understood his integrity. Now he was forced to question if she had ever seen that. He wondered if he truly knew her. And he despised himself for asking the question.
But he had concerns more immediate as well. Although he had suffered no adverse press as of now, he knew this novel was likely to give people an idea of where to look to find the reason for his aborted campaign the year before. And while he was personally secure of the integrity of his actions, he knew that they could be misrepresented quite conveniently, and it would always remain an assertion on his part that he had withdrawn voluntarily, and not been hopelessly compromised into such a position. His severest critic, Elizabeth, had accepted that assertion, but there he had been able to contradict other falsehoods as well. And while Elizabeth had considered him capable of pettiness and vindictiveness, she had never imagined him to be capable of large scale fraud; yet he knew that the provable circumstances left him vulnerable to such a charge. It had only to be revealed that a donation had been made to the Pemberley account from Philip Morris -- for the rest, whether he had returned the money and withdrawn from the race voluntarily or under duress would always remain a matter of speculation. And while there was nothing actually illegal in such a donation since it had not been channeled into his campaign, his close association with the fund, and his explicit stance on tobacco, made it a politically untenable position.
A knock on the door distracted him from his reverie, and hastily returning the book to its drawer, he called out, "Enter!"
The door opened slightly, admitting Georgiana Darcy a young woman in her early twenties. Darcy started slightly to see her; he had thought Georgiana would be at work at this hour. Georgiana had majored in music in college, but she had been too shy to consider a career in performance. She enjoyed composing, and had published a few pieces; other than that, she was involved in the activities of the Pemberley restoration project. But she had always taken an interest in some aspects of her brother's work, primarily in his anti-tobacco efforts. The Wikham fiasco had been a particularly galling experience for her because she had unwittingly become an accomplice to big tobacco, and afterward, she had spent several months brooding over what had happened, much like her brother had. After recovering from his own disappointment, Darcy had turned to his sister, and he had persuaded her to take a more active role in the cause to which she was so committed. He had contacted Mary King, who had been happy to take her on board. Mary had hoped, at one point, that Darcy himself consider working for their organization, but she had confessed to him that she was relieved that he had returned to active politics, because he would be more helpful to her in that role. Her organization was firmly behind his campaign, and was even determined to bolster it with a television campaign devoted particularly to their cause and funded independently of his campaign.
"Hello, Fitz. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"It's a welcome interruption, Georgiana. I'm getting nowhere with this speech."
"I'm sure it's wonderful, Fitz. You do over-react so."
"Well, any way, what brings you by here? How's Mary able to spare you so early in the day?"
"Lovely as it is to see you, I'm here on business, Fitz, not pleasure. Mary wanted me to stop by to discuss those 30 second spots she wants to run."
"They're not spots for my campaign, Georgiana."
"Well, of course not. The anti-tobacco lobby is sponsoring them. But they do endorse your candidacy."
"Where is the money for all this coming from anyway? I was under the impression that the funding was all on the other side of the tobacco lobby"
Georgiana blushed, as Fitz regretted his words, and started to apologize, but she recovered quickly and continued, leaving him to wonder slightly at how much she had matured.
"Search me! But there is more and more money coming in our way. Mary was talking to Aunt Catherine about it, so I suppose she's paying for some of these."
"Aunt Catherine? Donating money selflessly to a cause that won't buy her accolades or influence? Well, I suppose stranger things have happened."
"Fitz, she is our aunt! I imagine it isn't a wholly disinterested gesture on her part. I mean, she can't really donate much money directly to your campaign, can she? Perhaps this is her way of helping out. In any case, she's been extremely helpful. She even helped Mary find a production crew."
"Astonish me. Who is our aunt patronizing now?"
"The people who did that documentary about the de Bourghs. She was very pleased about how that worked out, and she insisted that Mary work with the same people."
"Not Billy Collins?"
"So you've met him? I know what you mean; he doesn't look that competent, but I suppose he gets the work done. I wouldn't be surprised if his wife is actually the one behind it all."
"Oh, that's right. He married Charlotte Lucas, didn't he? What was she thinking, leaving the Post for him?"
"Charlotte's doing all right. She's involved in a lot of Aunt Catherine's projects. I think she's editing a poli sci text-book, and then there's all the television work. I think she's considering crossing over to the right side of the camera, and doing some interviews and stuff herself too. Oh, that's what I'm here to tell you -- you need to discuss the script with her. And I need to figure out a shooting schedule with you; we can't compose the entire thing out of clips."
"Georgiana, these aren't even my own campaign spots. It's not necessary for me to get so involved."
"Fitz, have you seen Jim Gilmore's spots? Much as the media loves you, you're fighting some severe disadvantages here. Firstly, you're a Democrat, so there's less money to start with. Then, it's a state government campaign, so there's even less, and you're used to running national campaigns. And thirdly, Don Beyer is already Lieutenant Governor, so he's the institutional favorite for the Party nomination. Right now, the media attention has set things up so that people are waiting to see what you have to say. If you don't deliver, they turn away. And I know you're doing a busy schedule of stump speeches, but you know you'll reach more people on TV. And you're best off saving your own finances for the last leg of the election, so if Mary's got the funds to back you up right now, it's silly of you not to take advantage of it."
Darcy grinned, listening to his sister's emphatic statements, knowing that a few months earlier she would never have had the confidence to voice them so unequivocally. He made a mental note to thank Mary King; obviously, Georgiana's new responsibilities had a great deal to do with her growing self esteem.
"Maybe the wrong Darcy's been running for office all along. Are you sure you majored in music?"
"Fitz! Don't be silly. Now tell me, what does your schedule look like for the next couple of days?"
As she leafed through the Washington Post, Charlotte Collins noticed an article by her friend, Elizabeth Bennet, in the foreign affairs section. She wondered what Liz was making of this entire circus in DC right now; her timing for orchestrating an absence certainly was impeccable, although Charlotte wondered whether it would be better for her career if she were around to feed the frenzy herself. But Liz's determination to ignore Darcy in print pre-dated the current situation by a considerable margin, and Charlotte was convinced that there was some reason for that. She remembered the last time she had seen either Elizabeth or Fitz Darcy in person; it had been the day of her engagement party at Rosings. Neither of them had stayed until after the screening of the documentary, and Charlotte, who had deliberately left them with each other, had a shrewd idea that they had left together. But what had happened afterward she did not know; Elizabeth and she had stayed casually in touch, but neither had mentioned Darcy to the other. Now Liz was in Hong Kong, and Charlotte's instincts told her that her departure had something to do with Darcy. What she could not decide was whether Liz was frustrated that they could not surmount the obstacle of their professional affiliations and get together, whether they were going out and Liz had decided to stay out of the way, or whether they had fallen apart, leaving her with a distaste for Washington. Having long considered them a suitable match, Charlotte could not help being curious how matters stood between them. What she wondered was how she would be able to satisfy her curiosity. Darcy she would be meeting again shortly about her latest project, scripting anti-tobacco advertisement, but she certainly did not know him well enough to question him directly on the subject. The best she might be able to do would be to casually drop Elizabeth's name and gauge his reaction, but her primary source of information would have to be Liz herself. And Liz, she knew, could keep her own counsel quite well, and they were no longer the close confidants they had once been. Still, she idly wondered whether she could manufacture some pretext for getting in touch with her friend, and seeing what she could find out. Perhaps she could come up with something about the Hong Kong situation; she did have a great deal of autonomy nowadays, and it need not be a complete lie if she were to come up with some kind of program about the colonial legacy of Hong Kong. A timely documentary would be just the thing. Nodding to herself, she made a note of that particular idea. Then turning back to her immediate assignment, she telephoned Fitz Darcy and set up an appointment with him.
"...So I believe that it's absolutely vital to attract large businesses to the state of Virginia, and increase employment options for our citizens."
"Thank you, Mr. Gilmore. We were hearing from Jim Gilmore, Republican front-runner in one of the nation's most hotly contested gubernatorial elections. With the backing of current Governor George Allen, Mr. Gilmore is confident of the Republican nomination, and is looking forward to the actual election, where he will face either Lieutenant Governor Don Beyer or challenger Fitz Darcy. This is Caroline Bingley, reporting for MSNBC from Richmond, Virginia."
As the cameras switched off and the lights dimmed, Caroline went into the mobile unit that was carrying her equipment, and watched her crew edit the short segment. Someone came up to her, handing her a glass of water, and a stack of mail. She raised an eyebrow, and the her assistant called out, "They forwarded the fan mail; do you want me to go through it?"
"No, I'll look at it myself."
Taking a seat, she absently started scanning through the letters, most of them containing standard platitudes of admiration and requests for autographed pictures. Her mind, however, was on the report she had done just now. Up until Darcy had come forward and announced his candidacy as a Democrat, Caroline had been convinced that he would take advantage of his temporary hiatus to switch his party alignment, and she still could not understand why he had not. Despite his family's Democratic ties, the tide was turning nationwide, and especially in the South, towards conservatism, and many classic southern Democrats like Darcy had come over as moderate Republicans. But Darcy had not, and Caroline had to imagine that this meant that he was becoming more liberal, not less. To her way of thinking, it was obvious that such a drift would drive him further and further out of touch with public opinion, and despite her friendship with him, she could not in all conscience support him in the election. She was determined to find out if there was any particular reason for his misguided allegiance. But barring the small possibility that she might yet be able to convert him, she was determined to do whatever she could to undermine his extremely popular campaign.
She opened another letter, and started to peruse it as cursorily as the rest, when suddenly, the import of what she was reading struck her, and she went back and read it through carefully several times. She put down the letter, and examined the enclosed documentation. Her features curved into a calculating smile; she had quite accidentally struck gold. This was exactly the sort of thing that would sink Fitz Darcy's upstart Democratic pretensions. She shook her head, ruefully. He had had so much potential; why hadn't he come over to the party which would have allowed him properly to finance a campaign?
© 1998, 1999 Copyright held by the author.