The Secret Diary of Lizzie Bennet (25 page)

Fitz is certain I would like Gigi. He thinks she’s a cool kid, but from everything I’ve heard, she’s as focused and driven and snobby as her brother. Although I did hear a lot
of that from George, so . . . consider the source.

And given the choice between the two, I would much rather believe Fitz, and give Gigi the benefit of the doubt. But then again, I don’t know if Fitz’s judgment is sound when it comes
to the Darcys. After all, he thinks Darcy is a good dancer, and that he charmed the pants off of the poor girl who was forced to dance with him at the Gibson wedding.

And for a guy who is so focused and driven and snobby, and not to mention anti–time-wasting, Darcy does seem to be spending a lot of time loitering in hallways, looking at his phone, and
then putting it away in a hurry when he sees me. If he has better things to do, he doesn’t have to be here, prying into Charlotte’s business. And there is no definitive end to his
“consulting.” Fitz said it was only supposed to be a couple of days, but Darcy keeps wanting to stay and dig deeper.

I hope that doesn’t mean Charlotte, or Collins & Collins, is in trouble.

It’s no secret that I find Darcy strange. Annoying, aggravating, snobby, and pretentious, too, but mostly strange. But perhaps, yesterday was the strangest Darcy
encounter of all.

I was in my little office at Collins & Collins, yet again on a Sunday. I could have stayed at Charlotte’s, but she had a morning brunch with De Bourgh (the amount of time she and Ricky
spend placating that woman’s need to micromanage while she eats is amazing) and was coming back to the office afterward, so I decided I would just meet her here. I was in the process of
setting up my camera for my regularly scheduled recording of my video, when who should walk into the empty office but Darcy.

“Oh. Hello,” he said, as if he was surprised to see me. In my office.

“Darcy—what are you doing here?”

“I was . . . just passing, and I thought I might check with Charlotte . . .”

“Charlotte’s at brunch with your aunt.”

“Oh,” he replied quickly. “I see.”

“She should be back relatively soon, if you want to wait.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

And he took a seat. In my office.

Obviously, I should have clarified that I meant he could wait in the office that was assigned to him down the hall, not in mine. But I didn’t, so there was little choice but to sit down as
well.

“Are you filming something?” he asked, nodding toward the camera resting on its tripod.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “No. That’s not on.”

“What’s it for?” he asked.

There are times when it’s okay to tell small fibs, massage the truth, if you will. Then, there are times when you have to outright lie.

“I . . . sometimes record things. Just notes. Documentation. To help with my, um, thesis.”

Luckily, he seemed to buy it, and didn’t poke all the obvious holes in such a lame excuse. In fact he just nodded, distracted, and looking out the window.

And said
nothing.

“So . . .” I ventured after an uncomfortable amount of silence. “Were you hoping to talk to Charlotte about the operational report?”

“Yes,” he answered, although it seemed like the idea had just occurred to him.

“But I thought it wasn’t due until next week.”

“It’s not,” he agreed quickly. “I just . . . like to stay on top of things.”

And again . . . silence.

Clearly the onus of conversation was going to be on me, so I decided perhaps it was a good time to bring up subjects he had successfully avoided in the past.

“So, how are Bing and Caroline?”

“They are well.”

“You, Bing, and Caroline all left the neighborhood in quite a hurry at the end of the summer.”

That only garnered a stiffening of the mouth and furrowing of the brow.

“Do you think Bing might ever come back to Netherfield?”

“I doubt it,” Darcy replied. “He’s very busy in Los Angeles with medical school and new people.”

I nodded and tried not to let the acid churn in my stomach, lest I get an ulcer.

“Well, if he’s not going to come back, is he going to sell the property?” I asked.

“If he can. It was an impulsive purchase, considering the way the market is. For now he’ll likely rent it.”

Right. Impulsive to buy, impulsive to leave.

Darcy, probably sensing he was treading on thorny territory, tactfully changed subjects.

“Your friend Charlotte seems to have settled in well here at Collins & Collins.”

“Yes, she has.” I couldn’t help but smile. “I wasn’t very supportive at first, but it turns out I was completely wrong. She’s doing very well, and I am
incredibly proud of her.”

“Must be useful, too, to be working so close to your hometown.”

“Close?” I scoffed. “It was a four-hour drive.”

“Close is relative,” he replied. “A four-hour drive means she can make it home if she’s needed. Or if she just wants to visit for the weekend.”

“True,” I mused. “But it’s also not
too
close. That way she doesn’t get sucked back into the minutiae of daily life there, and she can make her own life
here.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, and weirdly was almost smiling. “Not too close and not too far is ideal. Your friend likely prefers it. You would probably prefer it as well. You could
even move farther away.”

I had—and still have—absolutely no idea what he meant by that. Did he mean I would be happy living in Siberia? Or that I was destined to move up here and eventually go to work for
Charlotte?

My confusion must have shown on my face, because he blushed and looked out the window again. Then, after a lengthy pause, he suddenly stood up.

“I should go.”

“Really?” I stood up, too—it seemed like the thing to do. “But Charlotte should be back—”

“No, I’ll . . . I’ll see her tomorrow. It wasn’t important.”

Before I could ask if the operational report was so unimportant, why was Charlotte killing herself over it, he had stalked out of the room and was gone.

Leaving me
completely
perplexed. But at least it made for a good video, once I was certain he’d actually left the building.

It seems like the more I’m thrown into Darcy’s company, the less I understand him.

I am LIVID. I don’t even know where to start.

No, that’s wrong—I do know where to start. Start at the place that all of my problems originate lately: Darcy.

Why am I so livid at the person who just days ago was vaguely strange, mildly irksome, but tolerated for politeness’s sake? Because now he’s not vaguely strange and mildly irksome.
He’s the WORST HUMAN BEING TO ROAM THE EARTH. No, check that—HE DOESN’T EVEN GET THE TITLE OF HUMAN BEING. HE IS PROTOZOAN POND SCUM.

Because now I know that it was
Darcy
who decided that Jane didn’t deserve Bing, and broke them up.

And I got it straight from the business partner of the horse’s mouth.

Fitz told me. We were hanging out, and he thought he was defending Darcy—since it is not a secret (at least to Fitz) that I am slightly unimpressed by his friend. He was telling me how
Darcy is actually a really good guy. And if you’re his friend, he’ll do almost anything for you. Then I asked for an example.

“Last month, he warned a friend about a girl he was seeing. He pulled him away from the whole situation. He warned him that it was . . . unhealthy. She was bad news.”

“Who was the friend?”

“Bing Lee.”

It was like the world was shifting under my feet, and all I could do was hold on to my chair. When I managed to put two words together and ask what reason Darcy gave for wedging himself into the
lives of Bing and the as-yet unnamed girl, he said that the girl was a gold digger—not being real, and only in it for the money.

So to recap: DARCY thought JANE was the insincere one. That she was only with Bing for his money.

Now, my sister has been called a lot of things: sweet, kind, a living Disney princess, but none of those things imply that she would ever date someone just for his money.

I know I speculated in the past about Darcy’s involvement in somehow breaking up Bing and Jane. But it’s one thing to wonder; it’s another thing to know.

And I don’t want to know this! That must be the case, right? How else to explain why I have been paralyzed from doing or saying anything since I found out yesterday? All I’ve done is
dodge Darcy in the hallways and tried to process this new information.

I don’t want to know that people exist who could possibly think that badly of my sister. I don’t want to know that Bing is apparently so incredibly wishy-washy that he would believe
his “friend” over someone who loves him like Jane. And I don’t want to know that people like Darcy get to roam free. I prefer to think that life is like a superhero
movie—good prevails and the bad guy’s facing twenty-five-to-life for general dickishness.

But sometimes the bad guy does get away with it. Sometimes, he does get to destroy other people’s lives. Like Jane’s. Heck, like George’s.

Why am I such a coward that I can’t confront him with this? Why am I so afraid to even tell Charlotte? It’s simple—he has the ability to ruin my friend’s career.
She’s all wrapped up in operational reports, and he has his aunt’s ear.

I was stuck with my feelings balling up, powerlessness rendering me frustrated to the point of shaking, so when I got back to Charlotte’s tonight, I resolved to tell
someone
. Thus
I called the one person who most deserves to know.

“Hey, Lizzie!” Jane picked up on the first ring. “It’s so good to hear from you!”

“Hey, Jane. Good to hear your voice.” And it was, too. She sounded at once bemused and happy and engaged. Like a steaming cup of tea. All of my anger temporarily dissipated.

“Did you get my care package?”

“Yes,” I replied. Jane had sent me yet another care package, full of warmth and love and home. It made me smile and my chest all hollow and achy. “It was fantastic. I love the
postcards of LA in the thirties.”

“I knew you’d like those,” she replied. “So what’s up?”

I could have told her right then. But instead, my resolve had dissipated with my anger, and I ended up chickening out. Like the coward that I was.

“Nothing,” I mumbled. “I just . . . wanted to hear your voice, is all.”

“Wow,” Jane said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “Everybody wants to talk to their big sister today.”

“Why? Did Lydia call?”

“Actually, Lydia turned up on my doorstep.”

“Really?” I sat up straight. “Wait, doesn’t she have midterms?”

“Yes,” Jane replied very carefully. “That she does.”

“OMG, is that Lizzie?” I could hear Lydia in the background, practically bouncing off the walls. “Tell her that we are going to have the awesomest time in LA and she should hop
in her car and come down here and haaaaaaang!”

“Did you hear that?” Jane asked.

“Yes. Tell her that I would love to.” And I would, I realized. I would like nothing better than to hop in my car, drive through the night and wind up on Jane’s doorstep
tomorrow morning, and spend the weekend with my sisters. “But unfortunately I have to stay here.”

“I’ll try to convey your disappointment.” Jane replied kindly.

“Jane, can I ask you something?” I girded my strength. Tried to find my resolve.

“Of course, Lizzie.”

“Have you heard anything from Bing?”

There was a long pause. I had never really asked Jane this directly. I always talked around it, and she talked around it, but now I had to know.

“No. Lizzie, that’s . . . that’s over.” For once, Jane let her sadness show through. But also, her resignation. She had accepted it. It was over between her and Bing.
Nothing to do but move on.

“Did you ever tell him about . . . you know. The forty-eight hours of worry?”

“No.” She sighed. “By the time it had happened, there was no point. He just . . . he pulled away from me. That’s all that happened.”

All that happened was, just when Jane had realized that she’d fallen in love with him, Bing had pulled away. No, check that. Bing
was pulled
away. By someone who he thinks is his
friend.

I fell back on my bed. The tear that had been threatening to fall all day slid out of the corner of my eye.

I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream the truth. But I couldn’t.

If I told Jane what I knew, it would just drag her back to a place she’d decided to leave behind. A place I didn’t want to see her, locked in her room for three days, picking over
every aspect of their relationship. She didn’t need or want that.

But I was still stuck knowing this thing I didn’t want to know.

“So, how’s work?” I asked instead.

“
Crazy
. But great,” Jane said.

We talked for a couple more minutes, but since I couldn’t say what I wanted, I got off the phone pretty fast.

Now, I’m still stuck not knowing what to do. I hate this. And I hate, I hate, I
hate
Darcy.

I guess I have to do the only thing I can. Keep it inside. Somehow. Avoid Darcy like the plague, and hope this doesn’t bubble over into a rage-filled tirade that costs Charlotte her
job—and me my dignity.

Well,
that
was interesting.

I can’t even begin to describe what just happened.

Luckily, I don’t have to. I have it all on video, and can simply transcribe it.