A hard gleam appeared in Anne’s eyes. “My particular friend wants to visit his guru in South Korea. I’ll offer to cover his expenses if he makes a detour to Vietnam. If nothing else, his showing up would make Darcy uneasy and he’d leave.”
“As long as my nephew doesn’t find out about it. And make sure your little friend knows exactly what to do this time and doesn’t mess up like he did last year with Georgiana.”
***
Elizabeth studied the man in front of her and tried not to meet her sister’s eyes lest she laugh.
A short man, balding on top but with long, graying hair on the sides that he tied in a ponytail, Mr. Bill Collins had shown up unexpected and uninvited. He had a letter from their mother asking them to take care of him; he was the son of an old friend of hers. Told by Mai Gardiner last week his services as an investigator were no longer needed, he wanted to know where he had gone wrong. He wasn’t upset, he informed them; he figured he just needed to learn more about the orphanage business and he would soon be hired back.
“Dr. Elizabeth, we have much in common.” He smiled.
She flinched at seeing both his upper and lower gum. “Yes, we both have long hair.”
“Oh, that too. I meant we both shared a common interest in medicine. Have you seen any fascinating specimens since you’ve been here?”
“Why yes! There’s an unsightly growth, which showed up very unexpectedly, suffering from alopecia but likely to cause trichotillomania in others by contact.”
He leaned forward. “The afflicted has no hair but causes hair pulling in his contacts? I have not heard of this.”
“I’ve only been introduced to this growth very, very recently. I discovered it to be full of gas.”
“I must tell you. I feel as if I am in heaven, talking medicine like this to a doctor without being accused of being a valetudinarian.”
“A hypochondriac,” she answered Jane’s questioning glance and turned back to him. “The gas is awful smelling, but probably harmless. People who are afflicted with this… uh… growth usually have difficulty smelling the offending gas, though others can discern it quite easily.”
“What’s its name?”
“Billious collinititis.”
He rubbed his chin and nodded, missing Jane’s kick at Elizabeth. “Fascinating. I know ‘billious’ has to do with bile and ‘collinititis’ means the large bowel—the colon—is affected, which explained the gas.”
After giving Elizabeth a warning glance, Jane said to him, “How did you meet our mother again?”
“Your mother and your aunt Phillips were dancers with my mother in the same show in Las Vegas years ago,” he said. “My mother lost touch with them until a few months ago, when she recognized Sunny Phillips from the photo I took on a shoot. Even though it’s been years, she recognized Sunny’s body.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. “What kind of photo shoot did you say it was?”
“An anti-war photo shoot in Marin County, in the Bay Area. Sunny was naked, as were all the other protesters. I dabble in many things and am always interested in acquiring new skills and degrees. All of us in my therapy group seek new ways to be in touch with our true selves. Must always keep learning and growing, you understand,” he said.
At that Elizabeth met Jane’s eyes and smirked, but Mr. Collins was too busy tapping the side of his head to notice.
Unfortunately, a phone call to their mother confirmed and corroborated Mr. Collins’s story and connection, so they had to put up with him. The next day, Elizabeth couldn’t shake him dogging her footstep in the hospital. He shadowed her and offered his own medical opinions to her patients. Just when she seriously contemplated taking Mr. Vinh up on his offer to get rid of unwanted foreigners, Chau took Mr. Collins on a tour of the children’s ward. Grateful for her friend’s help, Elizabeth agreed to return the favor by passing a message to Chau’s father when she headed back to the resort later.
***
As she drew nearer to the resort, her heart jumped. Perhaps she’d see William.
No. No. No. She immediately scolded herself for that undisciplined thought. He’s off limits to you, Lizzy! She forced herself to remember that day by the lagoon. William standing next to Charles and a baby in between them, the perfect picture of a family. She was not going to disrupt that.
Since that day, Elizabeth had been very, very good. She’d avoided any alone time with William. Once, when she glimpsed him in the lobby of the resort, she managed to casually wave and dart into a room. She hoped it wasn’t too obvious she was avoiding him.
After Jane denied the adoption, the Hursts and Caroline Bingley left. Yet William and Charles stayed. Of the whole Bingley family, Charles was the most disappointed with Jane’s decision. Elizabeth wondered if Charles was now trying to convince William to adopt anyway and if that was why they’d stayed.
The crowd was still small in the early evening hour when she arrived at Merry Bar. The hostess sat Elizabeth at a small table to wait for Mr. Luc. She waved at Chau’s brothers and caught sight of a stranger with them. The man must have thought she was flirting with him; he smiled and winked at her. Chau’s younger brother said something to him.
The stranger made his way toward Elizabeth. “You’re the doctor? Dr. Bennet?”
He had an English accent, she noticed. He must be a guest wanting some medical attention. “Yes, do you need to see me?”
“I always need to see someone as pretty as you. I may be developing heart palpitations, I think. I’m Wickham, George Wickham.”
She tried not to roll her eyes at his cheesy line.
“You’re not a Bond girl even with your looks, I see. That line didn’t go over well.”
Slightly pleased at being called a Bond girl—though he was right; she wasn’t a fan—she gave him a cool smile. “I’m more of a Regency period girl.”
“I’m willing to wear a period costume,” he offered. “A Regency militia redcoat. I’ve always wanted one.”
“I’d prefer a dark blue topcoat.” She relaxed. This could be fun, flirting with a guy she knew was harmless. He was too smarmy. She couldn’t take him too seriously. He was obviously a heterosexual man, judging from the way his neck swiveled to check out the other women in the room even as he chatted with Elizabeth.
“I’ve always admired doctors.” He sat without asking permission, but she let it go. “My father was a gynecologist. At one point, I’d planned to follow in his footsteps, but in pediatrics. I love kids.”
“You didn’t, though?”
“No, my father died and I had to start working. A godfather was going to leave me something to continue my schooling, but it didn’t work out.”
“What happened?”
“He died and his son refused to finance my medical education. He doesn’t like people in the medical profession. I’m embarrassed to say I wasn’t smart enough to get by on my academic strengths to attain a scholarship.” He smiled a self-deprecating smile. “Enough about pitiful me. How did a beautiful woman like yourself end up here in Vietnam?”
For the next few songs, she enjoyed herself and was beginning to think perhaps she could learn to tolerate a slow dance with this particular British accent when William walked into the club with Mr. Luc.
She stopped mid-sentence, turned from the man beside her, and, forgetting that she meant to deny herself the pleasure of William’s company, smiled brightly at him.
At first, he looked surprised to see her and the beginning of a responding smile appeared, but then his face froze. He rudely turned away.
Her stomach clenched. In disbelief, she stared at his disappearing back. She knew she had deliberately kept a distance from him, but still, she hadn’t expected such a reaction.
“Was that William Darcy I just saw walking away?” George said.
Trying not to show her hurt over William’s rejection, she swallowed and nodded. “You know him?”
“What a small world.” He smiled a bitter smile. “Remember my godfathe
r’s son?”
Her mouth opened. “That’s William Darcy?”
He nodded. “Darcy unreasonably blamed his mother’s death on her doctors. I told you, he hates the medical profession.”
George stayed with her and didn’t seem to mind that she was silent. He bought her drinks. She usually didn’t drink much alcohol—a sip here and there of wine—but that night she kept drinking whatever he put in front of her. George kept talking. She didn’t pay attention to his words, giving a nod or two on occasion to keep him by the table so she wouldn’t look stupid sitting alone drinking and ruminating about William’s behavior.
He didn’t have to be so rude and hateful if he didn’t want to talk to her. When she avoided him, she at least had given him a friendly wave before she hid from him. He should have returned the courtesy. Was that too much to ask? She fumed and drank to the droning of George’s voice.
Occasionally, she thought she saw William’s face replacing George’s. It was always a cold and angry one, like the one he had that first time she met him in the hospital, when he was such an ass. She kept drinking, hoping more alcohol would chase his ugly mug off. At some point, William turned from a donkey’s ass into a toad, and he kissed her. She kissed back, hoping he’d change back into her prince. The kiss was unpleasant. Not wanting to get infected with warts, she pushed him away.
Abruptly, she was freed. Loud voices assaulted her ears, and blurry people moved around too damn much. She decided she’d had enough and roared she was leaving.
She floated to her room. Someone, probably a bellboy, carried her, so she wouldn’t have to walk. How nice of the resort to provide such a wonderful escort service for their drunken guests, even though the bellboy was jostling her around a little too much, making her stomach queasy. Hopefully, the bellboy recognized that she wasn’t Vietnamese but an American. She explained to him being drunk on occasion was acceptable in her culture, as long as she didn’t drink and drive.
To the bellboy’s chest, she talked all about William’s rudeness and how he probably hated her and blamed her for his mother’s death. She slurred it was so unfair and if she saw him again she’d vomit on him. When they reached her room, despite her nausea, good manners dictated she lift her face to thank the bellboy.
She threw up—all over his blurry face.
He didn’t seem to mind. He took her inside her room, gently wiped her face clean, and, with strong arms, tucked her into bed.
“Thank you,” she mumbled into her pillow. As soon as she felt better, she really must compliment the concierge for hiring such a saintly bellboy.
CHAPTER 12
Strange Thoughts and Illusions
Elizabeth wished the construction workers would wait until she had fully awakened and moved out of their way. The jackhammer had mistakenly been drilling on the sides of her head. She whimpered, “Stop it. You’re hurting my head.”
“Shhhh,” a voice soothed and gentle hands stroked her head until the pain lessened. Eventually, the jackhammer moved away, though she could still hear it being used nearby. The voice coaxed her to drink some water. After taking a few sips, she opened her eyes.
William’s hazy face appeared. She pushed him away. “You were rude! George said you hated me. You should wear a hard hat when you’re doing construction, toad.”
“You’re not making sense. Here, swallow these two headache pills. You’ll feel better in a while.”
“No.” She felt like being contrary. “I’m not supposed to take pills from men. And I’m never going to accept a drink from any man again, no matter how cute his accent is.”
“I should hope not.”
Annoyed at his snotty tone, she said, “Go away. My head hurts.”
“I’ll go away, but promise me you’ll at least drink some water?”
Keeping her eyes closed, she nodded. She drifted off to sleep, lulled by the noise of the bulldozers circling around her head, but at least the jackhammer did not return.
When she woke up, her mouth felt like the construction workers had poured cement into it by accident, and her head still pounded. On the bedside table, someone had put a bottle of water, thoughtfully opened, with the cap and two aspirin next to it. She drank some water and took the pills. The effort took all of her energy, and she fell asleep again. She awoke briefly at intervals, drank some water each time, and fell back to sleep. At one point, she thought she saw William’s face again and told him he was a donkey’s ass. She was sure that he and his cute accent were responsible for the thumping of her head.
The pain in her head was almost all gone when she fully awakened. It took her a few moments to orient herself. A full water bottle, opened as before with a cap to the side, sat on the bedside table next to a piece of paper with her name on top.
She scanned down and saw William’s signature at the bottom. Her eyes widened. She hadn’t dreamt him being in her room.
He reminded her to call Jane. Her sister had called late last night to check on her. Elizabeth blushed, guessing what her sister probably concluded when William answered. He next apologized for leaving her. Charles was going diving and William needed to accompany him.
As Elizabeth read, her face flushed in embarrassment at realizing that he had witnessed her drunken behavior.
…I’m sorry to have pulled you away from your date with George Wickham last night, but you had too much to drink and I didn’t want him to take advantage of you. You talked in your sleep. From your mutterings, I can guess what he has been telling you.
Just for the record, I do not hate you, Elizabeth. I admire you greatly for your dedication and your selflessness in your work.
So that you’ll understand, I will explain briefly my history with the Wickham family. George’s father, Dr. Frank Wickham, was my mother’s doctor and a family friend. George was named after my father, his godfather. George and I were playmates as children.
When I was fifteen and my sister Georgiana not yet two, my mother suffered a miscarriage. My father was away on business. Dr. Wickham treated her in his office. I arrived home and found my mother recuperating in bed. Though I expressed my concern at how pale she appeared, she insisted she was fine. I suspected she suffered from something related to women’s problems but was too embarrassed to ask directly the nature of her symptoms. I should have, for she rapidly worsened that evening. By the time I managed to take her to the hospital and convince the busy ER doctors to treat her, it was too late.
She died within hours of arriving at the hospital.
The doctors explained bacteria had suddenly taken over her whole body, causing internal bleeding, and she couldn’t fight the overwhelming infection and the blood loss.
After her death, my father withdrew into his work and I left for boarding school. My relationship with my father remained strained until his death seven years after my mother’s. I suspect he and I both blamed each other, and ourselves, for not having prevented my mother’s death somehow.
A few years ago, I learned a business associate’s daughter had died while under the care of Dr. Wickham—in the same eerie fashion that my mother had years earlier. I investigated and discovered that this young girl—and likely my mother—had died because Dr. Wickham failed to properly sterilize his equipment. Had I asked questions years earlier, and thereby stopped Dr. Wickham from practicing unsafe medicine, the young woman’s death could have been prevented.
Soon after he was forced to involuntarily retire from medicine, Dr. Wickham died of a heart attack. George blamed me for his father’s death and promised revenge. I didn’t take his threat seriously and dismissed it as an understandable reaction of a grief-stricken son.
That was my arrogant mistake and my little sister paid for it.
During Georgiana’s first term at college, I was traveling a lot for work and didn’t keep as close an eye on her as I should have. Sometime around Christmas, she told our cousin Richard—her other guardian—that she had met and fallen in love with someone. Richard assumed the guy was anoth
er college student and didn’t think it necessary to inform me, since he knew that I would try to intimidate any young boyfriend of Georgiana’s.
It turned out George Wickham, a man more than fifteen years her senior, was her boyfriend. He convinced her to join a cult and to turn over a significant amount of her money to them. She had planned to marry George Wickham in a mass marriage ceremony on Valentine’s Day, her eighteenth birthday. (I was unforgivably away on a business trip.) Fortunately, Richard discovered her plan and prevented the wedding. George Wickham then admitted to using Georgiana to hurt me.
Though she now knows the truth about George, my sister, understandably, has been in somewhat of a depressive state since. We both have. She had to drop out of college. My work suffered.
My cousin Richard blamed himself for both of our melancholy, which was why he convinced Bingley to take me on this trip.
I am very suspicious of George Wickham’s motive in befriending you. I understand now why you have been avoiding me. You may disagree with my warning, but make sure his feelings for you are true and worthy.
Bingley and I will leave Vietnam soon. Thank you for your friendship during our time here. Take care of yourself, Elizabeth.
William Darcy
She put the letter down. Poor William. Poor his young sister. She felt awful. He had been hurt by her avoidance of him these past few days. He must not leave Vietnam thinking that she was dating or even interested in George Wickham. Even if George, whose features she could barely recall that moment, wasn’t completely repulsive, she could never be friends with a man who had hurt William.
The dive desk confirmed that he and Charles were on the list of divers for an excursion that would not return for a couple of hours.
Too restless to wait inside, she made her way to the dock where the dive boats came in.
A group of men hanging around a boat asked if she wanted to go for a diving excursion.
She shuddered. “No thank you. I don’t swim.”
“No need to be afraid,” one of them said.
“We teach you,” another pressed, eyeing her with an appreciative gleam.
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