The Charm Bracelet

by HILL, MELISSA

  ‘Don’t we all?’ her aunt replied airily. Then she sighed. ‘I just want you to be happy, darling. This city’s not an easy place to be alone, especially around the holidays and -’

  ‘But I’m not alone. I have lots of friends, and I have you too, don’t I? OK I know you’re heading to St Barts for Christmas this year -’

  Notwithstanding that her aunt would be going out of town, she and Katherine just didn’t have that sort of relationship.

  Darcy thought about their first Christmas together, over twenty years ago – not long after her parents’ accident. She was still only a child though she felt like she’d grown up almost overnight upon losing her beloved family, and moving in with her mother’s younger sister who in truth she barely knew. Her forbidding and somewhat austere aunt had always frightened Darcy a little, and she seemed to possess little of Lauren’s natural warmth and gentle ways.

  She recalled how that Christmas Katherine’s modern Brooklyn condo had barely been decorated for the season; nothing but a small, artificial tree in the corner of the living room and a holly wreath on the door - a sharp contrast to the lavish and cheery festive adornments of her family’s classic brick townhouse in the older part of the borough at that time of year.

  There was no lovingly prepared Christmas dinner on the day - Katherine ordered Thai take-out - nor a big fuss that same morning around the opening of presents like Darcy was used to.

  In fact, it was almost as though her aunt had forgotten about the holiday altogether, and Darcy wasn’t sure if this was down to Katherine’s still-raw grief over losing her only sister a few months before, or her bewilderment at the sudden overwhelming responsibility of a twelve-year-old girl. Most likely a combination of both.

  Though given her own heartbreak following the accident, Darcy hadn’t felt like there was much to celebrate. Still, Christmas had always been one of her favourite times of the year and the lack of any traditional nod towards the festivities merely served to highlight her loneliness and the gaping difference between her old life and the new.

  Over the years, and mostly through her own efforts, Darcy had gradually brought her aunt round to celebrating the season, though Katherine typically preferred to spend the holidays in warmer climes, whereas Darcy couldn’t conceive of being anywhere else but Manhattan at this time of year

  And even though in reality she and Katherine had spent only five years living under the same roof, Darcy had always felt that she’d been cramping her vivacious aunt’s style, which was why she’d tried to stay as independent as possible and make her own way in life as soon as she could. She wasn’t sure why her aunt’s sense of responsibility now seemed to extend to finding Darcy a mate - perhaps if she was coupled or married off, then in Katherine’s mind that burden of duty (perceived or otherwise) would finally end? There was no denying that Katherine took a business-like approach to most things in life. It was part of the reason she’d been so successful in navigating Manhattan’s cut-throat events scene. Darcy knew that her own lack of ambition was another aspect of her character that her aunt didn’t understand, but she was happy with her life and her job and her beloved books. Sure, she guessed she could do with a little more excitement in her life, but she figured most people felt like that from time to time.

  Katherine put a hand on Darcy’s arm in a rare show of tenderness. ‘Of course you have me.’ She watched in surprise as Darcy started to take out her gloves and scarf. ‘You’re not leaving now, are you? But you just got here! I promise I won’t introduce you to any other…’

  ‘No, honestly, thanks, but I think I have had enough for one night. Besides, I have an early start in the morning.’

  ‘Well if you insist. But you certainly can’t ride that bike home now,’ her aunt argued indicating the now thickly falling snow outside. ‘It’s too dangerous and it’s getting late. We will catch you a cab and they can put your bike in the trunk.’

  Moments later, Darcy was tucked into a Yellow Cab with her aunt peering in the window. The cab driver pulled away from the kerb, as her aunt hit one resounding hand on the roof of the car. Darcy waved a weak goodbye and stared forward as the driver made his way down the street.

  ‘You said West Houston?’ the driver asked as he turned the corner.

  ‘No,’ she said resolutely, ‘change of plans. Just take me up a couple blocks and turn right. I can get my bike out and go from there.’

  Snowflakes landing on her cheeks was one of her favourite sensations, and she would much rather brave the elements than be cooped up in an airless vehicle. ‘In this weather?’

  Darcy nodded.

  ‘In this weather,’ she repeated in a tone that indicated the conversation was over. ‘But thanks anyway,’ she added, not wanting to be rude.

  Moments later, as the driver unloaded her bike and she reached into her messenger bag to get his fare, her hand touched her old dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice. She felt a sudden longing to get home as quickly as possible, make a cup of chamomile tea, change in to her pyjamas and get under the covers with her namesake, Mr Darcy. Her mum had been a big fan of Austen too, she thought smiling fondly as she recalled when her mum had first introduced her to her all-time favourite novel. Darcy had been too young to understand much of the subject matter or theme at the time, but over the years found herself returning again and again to Austen’s famous tale, finding comfort in the story and she supposed, viewing it as a kind of tangible connection to her late mum.

  She slung a leg over her bike as the cab driver got back in his vehicle and disappeared. Alone on the cold street, the snow fell across her shoulders and she tentatively pushed off, knowing she would have to ride with caution.

  Darcy stared in front of her and navigated the empty streets as snowflakes danced in front of her, happier now in the knowledge that she was in control of her own destiny and would be home soon.

  In the words of Groucho Marx, she thought wryly, I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn’t it.

  Chapter 3

  ‘Dreams are illustrations... from the book your soul is writing about you’

  Marsha Norman

  The setting sun dropped languidly behind the small pond that ran along the back of the Pemberley Estate. Here it was mid-summer, and the heat added to the mood that now enshrouded Darcy as she took a tentative step towards the horizon.

  Although she was a lady and shouldn’t be inclined to so-called animal urges, it was indeed difficult to curb the anticipation that soared through her chest at that moment. It seemed the faster she breathed, the more her tight whalebone stays drove into her chest and constricted her fluttering heart. But, it looked as though her efforts to still herself would not take hold. She could barely contain her racing heart and her thoughts of what would happen.

  Would he be here? she wondered

  She knew she was breaking all the rules just then. She understood that she was facing damage to her reputation if anyone saw her alone with him. But still, she couldn’t seem to care about her reputation. Not in light of the ecstasy she felt when she was in his presence, how alive she felt at the heady sense of wonder that sprang up in her heart when she was around him. This shocked her, considering they hadn’t got off onto the best of starts. And that was saying the absolute least.

  She adjusted her parasol and quickened her pace as the lake came into full view before her. Suddenly, hearing the clattering of hooves behind her, her pulse spiked. Quickly, she turned towards the sound as her breath caught in her throat.

  There he was. His gaze met hers as he pulled his great steed to a stop and quickly dismounted. His eyes seemed to bore into her soul and she placed a quivering hand against the bosom of her empire waist gown.

  A tentative smile flitted across her face even while his expression remained unreadable in the setting sun. Wondering what she should do next, it was he who made the first move. First, taking a slow step in her direction, and then seeming to have made up his mind about something, he closed the space b
etween them quickly with his long stride.

  Before she knew what was happening, he was in front of her, so close she could smell the intoxicating male aroma of the brandy he had been sipping after dinner and the pipe tobacco she knew he kept in his coat pocket. Her lips parted breathlessly.

  ‘You’re here,’ he said simply.

  ‘I am,’ she replied, feeling a blush spreading from her neck to her cheeks. His gaze found her lips and at once she understood what would happen next. As if on cue, his eyes turned a smoky shade of gray and determination crossed his face. He moved his head ever so subtly toward hers and her heart threatened to explode from her chest. He was going to kiss her! Mr. Darcy was going to kiss her!

  ‘Miss Archer …’ he said quietly.

  “Yes?” she replied breathlessly as she met his eyes.

  BUZZ…BUZZ…BUZZ…BUZZ.

  Confused, and unwilling to miss what he was about to say next, she shook her head, as if trying shoo away an annoying insect that had begun to buzz around her brain.

  She looked around out of frustration, trying to figure out just who was interrupting what had to be the most romantic moment of her life

  BUZZ…BUZZ…BUZZ…BUZZ.

  Darcy sat up in bed, and pushed her wayward curls out of her face, trying to get a handle on where she was. She put her hand on the ringing phone lying next to her on her pillow, where she must have left it after texting Katherine the night before to confirm that she was safely home.

  She’d spent the rest of the evening reading in bed, and realised she must have dozed off before setting her alarm. And had spent much of her slumber enjoying a recurring dream that was just about to reach a most satisfactory conclusion, only to be interrupted at a critical moment.

  Darcy sighed. Looking blearily at the phone display, she discovered that she had multiple missed calls and frighteningly, that it was almost ten am! She was more than an hour late for work, and poor Joshua had been phoning steadily for the last hour and was trying to call her right then.

  Feeling panic rise in her chest, she fumbled with the keypad to answer the call. Fully awake now, she hit the accept button.

  ‘Oh my goodness, Joshua, I’m so sorry. I know I was supposed to be in with you first thing, but my alarm didn’t go off and my phone was on vibrate and I am a complete putz and I’m so sorry. I’m on my way right now.’

  ‘Darcy, thank God …’ came Joshua’s concerned voice down the other end of the line. ‘Are you OK? I’ve been calling for the past hour. I thought Ashley was supposed to be in, but then she told me she’d changed shifts with you and I was just about ready to start calling round the emergency rooms. Where are you? What are you doing?’ Clearly, Joshua had been too agitated to register any of Darcy’s excuses.

  She threw back the covers and shook her head, hoping she could calm down her workmate, who had a penchant for dramatics akin to the stage mothers on the TV show Toddlers and Tiaras. Incredibly histrionic, Darcy knew that he was probably wringing his hands and on the verge of tears at that very moment. Small wonder his earlier career as a trainee paramedic hadn’t worked out.

  Growing up in a family of surgeons, it seemed inevitable that Joshua would follow in his older siblings’ footsteps and pursue a career in medicine, but ultimately he proved too much of a delicate soul to handle the inevitable daily chaos of such a profession. Much to his relief Darcy knew, Joshua’s parents had grudgingly accepted his decision to cut short his training and pursue instead his passion for literature. Which was how he’d ended up working in Chaucer’s, in a job which (most of the time) was considerably less tumultuous than the ER, while taking a Masters in Drama – something that suited him all too well.

  Strange though, how she and her colleague’s career paths had taken such similar routes – suggesting that you could (and should) never fight your own destiny.

  ‘Joshua, I’m fine, you can call off the search party. I forgot to set my alarm last night, that’s all. And I’m sorry I scared you.’ Darcy hurried across the room towards the tiny adjoining bathroom and turned on the shower while trying to pull her pyjama top over her head with one arm. ‘I’m just jumping in the shower now. I’ll be with you in no time.’

  ‘For all I knew you could have been hit by a car on your way to work and were laid up at Mount Sinai, unconscious, on life support. I mean, don’t you understand how much you scare me – especially on that bike?’

  Darcy couldn’t help but giggle. ‘And don’t you understand how much you sound like a worry-wart mother?’

  Joshua voice was gentle. ‘Someone has to look out for you, you know,’ he said and Darcy was touched by his concern.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll be there as fast as I can, OK?’

  ‘And take a damn cab!’ Joshua pleaded. ‘Don’t even think of trying to make your way all the way up here on the bike. It’s a mess out there this morning with all that snow. The city put salt down but the roads are still a horror show, and everywhere people are losing their damn minds. Honestly, it’s like something out of The Dead Zone.’

  ‘Joshua, I’ll be fine. My bike has seen worse, believe me. I’ll be there in no time.’

  ‘Well don’t pedal too hard!’ he added in parting.

  Having showered and dressed, Darcy clattered downstairs. On the way, she met one of her neighbours Mrs Henley, a cantankerous type who lived in the apartment across the hallway. Darcy smiled as she passed the older woman who was on the way up. ‘Morning, looks like it’s going to be a cold one today!’ she called out by way of greeting.

  ‘It’s the middle of December; what else would it be?’ the woman grumbled, her face typically pinched as she continued upwards towards her own apartment.

  Darcy shook her head. ‘Well, good morning to you too …’

  But it was her own fault for bothering. In the three years she’d lived in this building Mrs Henley had barely acknowledged her salutations, or any attempt at neighbourly friendship. She understood that many people including herself embraced solitude and were perfectly happy in their own company but still the rejection stung. Despite being a city of millions, it could be a lonely place at times.

  Throwing open the front door of her building, she was immediately assaulted by the change in temperature. So Joshua had in fact been right about the weather, she thought, immediately training in on the fact that her hair was still damp from the shower, and would be in danger of freezing under her helmet in such a temperature.

  Well, she didn’t have time to go back in and blow-dry it and if she ended up catching pneumonia, it will have been for the greater good of Chaucer’s bookstore. Darcy carefully watched her footing as she unlocked her bike from the decorative rail sectioning off the front of Luigi’s restaurant to the entrance of her building, and mentally thanked her landlord for having the wherewithal to have salted the steps the night before.

  As she positioned her bike on the path, she began to swing a leg over when, caught unawares by the icy terrain, she slipped and landed squarely on her backside on the hard cold ground.

  ‘Damn…’ Darcy cursed as the bike landed clumsily on top of her. Pulling herself to her feet, she steadied the bike while holding on to the rail, deciding that she’d have to be more careful, and not go out and prove the prediction that so many seemed to believe in that she was putting herself in serious danger on this thing.

  Taking a deep breath this time, she mounted without issue and with the wheels eventually finding traction, she pedalled off in the direction of uptown.

  Allow the panicky adrenaline rush she’d been experiencing since she woke to subside, Darcy felt her pulse gradually stabilise as she pumped her legs, gliding through the streets with ease. Taking a cleansing breath, she pushed her frantic start out of her mind and concentrated on the streets, soon realising that traffic was nowhere near as bad as Joshua claimed, and that, at this hour, the worst of the morning rush had dwindled in any case. She smiled and shook her head fondly; her workmate could really be a fussbudget sometimes.

&n
bsp; Soon, Darcy felt her awareness shift and she slipped into autopilot, something that happened routinely when riding. She felt her body push forward almost of on its own accord, and her legs move automatically, so familiar with this route – right and straight up on Sixth Avenue towards Central Park - that she could probably do it in her sleep.

  Her mind started to drift to the list of items to be accomplished at the bookstore that day, things she had to catch up on.

  She should probably start with that special order from Mrs Hansen, she thought, remembering an email from one of the store’s regulars the day before. And then get those Christmas orders out, or maybe Joshua had done that already? And she needed to ready her yearly festive favours - special Chaucer’s colour-themed candy canes to give out with purchases - which always helped spread some cheer amongst customers’ stressful last-minute shopping expeditions.

  If she could get all of that done before the weekend, Chaucer’s would be in great shape in time for the last minute Christmas rush next week, she decided, admiring the gigantic Christmas tree baubles atop the fountain between Forty-Ninth and Fiftieth Street, before she sped past the famous LOVE sculpture further along on the corner of Fifty Fifth.

  Then once the holidays were over, she would think again about putting in place her long-held idea to offer customised literary walking tours of the city.

  Over the last while she’d spent a lot of time investigating potential routes and assorted interesting literary-related nooks and crannies throughout the city. Such as a former speakeasy in Greenwich frequented by F. Scott Fitzgerald, the destroyed shirtwaist factory near Washington Square Park - the tragedy of which featured in several modern literary works - as well as the various Greek Revival houses made famous by Henry James, which were home to eighteenth-century New York high society and where Edith Wharton had once lived. Not to mention the plethora of cafés, theatres and watering holes oft-frequented by many a great American Novelist.

  She’d come up with the idea ages ago through conversations with customers and tourists who’d shown a keen interest in the city’s literary heritage but had yet to get round to making it a reality. For Darcy, offering to show people around the city’s bookish nooks and crannies she knew like the back of her hand was something of a natural progression, yet still she found it hard to find the courage to just do it, and not for the first time wished she possessed some of Katherine’s entrepreneurial spirit