Jane Eyre Austen

by Doyle MacBrayne

  Clayton shrugged, “The Judge didn’t, and his friend says Richard is a sick freak, but money buys reputation my friend.” Clayton added quietly, “There’s something between her and Ben too. The picture doesn’t do them justice.”

  Poole nodded, remembering Ben at the Symphony, his glaring at Richard. He was protective of her, but the kiss in the video was fraternal. Clayton left him to stew in his thoughts and he simmered for hours, recalling how she and Patrick looked so natural together. Was she promising something with her wicked tongue? It would be reasonable for Jane to remain friends with Patrick, and then become friends with Ben. What was her relationship with Richard, anyway? He attacked her and then they sat at the same table later. Why would she put up with that? Why, Gray wondered, did he care so much? Why did he need to know?

  Before leaving work, he stopped by Jane’s desk. “Ms. Eyre, how is your mother?”

  Jane’s brows furrowed, “Much the same.”

  “I expect that you will spend the evening with her.” Jane nodded, “Yes, sir, I will.”

  “Please give your mother my best wishes. I shall miss you this evening.” He looked at her kindly before leaving.

  He decided that he would stop by the gallery tonight and forego the cocktail party altogether. She was a complicated woman and he wondered if her art would offer any clue. She was too brilliant to be a receptionist, he mused, wondering why she ever agreed to take a job so below her capabilities.

  At the gallery, he easily spotted her work. He was surprised at her subjects and her ability to capture the mundane and make it beautiful. He fell in love with a painting of a rusted old bicycle leaning against a window box. The wall behind the box was painted terra cotta and he could feel the stucco. The window box was filled with pansies that overflowed, cheerfully spilling down, contrasting the rusted metal and torn seat of the bicycle. It looked so forlorn there, surrounded by the beauty. His breath hitched when he saw the reflection in the window. “Jesus,” he breathed.

  Lyn came up behind him, “Yes, it’s an amazing piece. She’s a new artist so it’s priced very reasonably.”

  He pointed to the reflection, “She’s painted the fountain. Oh my God, do you see that? She captured the fountain in the reflection.”

  Lyn nodded, curious at his reaction. “I believe she said it’s…”

  “Piazza Navona. Yes, I recognize it.” He marveled at the face in the reflection. She chose the figure that faced the church, holding his arms out, his face tortured in disgust. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was trying to say. Was she disgusted that the bicycle was uncared for, left abandoned? Or, that there was beauty in ugliness, in the creation of something, or that something useful was as beautiful as something as frivolous as a flower?

  His eyes flicked to the curator, “I’ll take it.”

  “Very good, it’s the last piece available.”

  He turned his eyes to the other works; three were of Venice, and one he recognized as Parc Guell in Barcelona. He turned to her, “are you going to give her a show?”

  She smiled, “I’m not sure she has enough pieces for a show. I would be happy to put your name on our contact list and let you know when she’s brought in new pieces.” He shook his head warily; concerned of her reaction if she knew he had bought her painting.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jane sat by her mother’s bedside knitting a shawl in a leaf pattern that required more concentration than she was capable of at the moment. The doctor had decreased her mother’s sedation and introduced some medications for anxiety, which he assured Jane would help with her delusions. They had discussed nursing care facilities. He had broached the subject callously, as if he assumed Jane would be thrilled at the opportunity to drop her mother off and visit on weekends. Her mother was not herself, at all. This last stroke had taken her personality in a new direction? She was now a bitter, confused woman lashing out at everyone who tried to help her or contradicted her.

  She was concentrating on the shawl in her lap when her mother looked over at her, “What are you doing, Jane, dear?”

  She held up the shawl and disdainfully muttered, “I have wasted good wool.”

  Her mother smiled at her, “Nonsense, dear, simply unwind and begin again. That’s the best thing about knitting. You can always start over, and no one ever sees the errors of your ways.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” Jane smiled gratefully, pulled her needles out and began to pull out all of the stitches.

  “Were you attempting a leaf pattern dear?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “And what keeps you so distracted that you cannot keep count?” She raised an eyebrow, “I daresay it’s that handsome Mr. Poole you work with.”

  Jane’s eyes widened at her mother’s words, not lucid really, but not angry either. This moment was a gift; she closed her eyes and sighed, pushing the tears back. She nodded, “Yes ma’am.”

  “I believe he has good intentions in his heart, dear. I approve of him; he seems a most sincere man. What does your heart tell you, Jane?”

  “My heart responds quite nicely to him, Mother,” she said shyly.

  Her mother chuckled softly, “Good. I should hate to die thinking you alone in the world, Jane.”

  Jane reached for her mother’s hand, “I am glad you think well of him, Mother.” She felt caught in between the two worlds-- reality and the beautiful future her mother clearly saw for her. While her heart responded quite nicely, her head warned her clearly that she did not have his affections. Lust, maybe.

  Her mother squeezed her hand, “I do. You have chosen well, child.” Her brows furrowed, “I wish your father had met him. Of course, Richard will stand in at the wedding.”

  Jane’s smile froze, “Yes, Mother,” she breathed.

  “I am tired, Jane. Will you read to me?”

  “Of course, Mother. What do you feel like tonight?”

  “I should like a comedy, perhaps The Importance of Being Earnest?”

  On Monday, Jane dressed in a simple cotton sheath dress, flats, and a smile, happy that her mother seemed to be improving. Mr. Poole murmured good morning when he passed by her desk but didn’t stop to talk. Anxiety built a home in her stomach, pushing up and out until Jane couldn’t stand sitting in her own skin.

  Ben called her rather than texting, something that he almost never did. Fear made her stomach lurch. His curt tone did nothing to alleviate her concerns, “Hey, Richard is spreading some nasty rumors about you. Patrick’s assistant told him yesterday. I’m taking care of it.”

  “Ok,” was all Jane could manage to say. She wanted to say kill Richard, make him suffer, torture him. Ben hung up, and Jane forced herself to make a cup of tea. It had to be bad for Ben to sound so angry, terse.

  The day dragged on, Poole acting cold and distant and Jane’s imagination killing every remaining shred of self-confidence. What could Richard have said? Ben would tell her eventually, but not on the phone.

  She left at five, headed to the hospital and spent the evening with her mother, trying to put her nerves at ease. Reading to her mother relaxed her. Her mom was feeling better today, and was having less bitter moments and more normal moments. The nursing staff commented that she seemed to be improving and that there was a good chance of significant improvement in a few weeks.

  Jane drove home feeling relieved until she saw Ben’s car in the driveway. She entered the kitchen to find Susannah, Ben, Patrick and James sitting at the table. Susannah got up and poured a glass of red wine for Jane and motioned to the empty stool next to James.

  Ben spoke first, “So the typical rumors are out there-- about the three of us during Spring Break. The new one is that you hooked your way through Europe.” His voice was flat.

  Her eyes flicked up, “Oh my God!”

  Ben continued, “It’s being contained. I don’t know why Richard is doing this, Janie. He’s really working hard at destroying your reputation.” He paused and looked over at James, “And his.”

 
; “What?” she asked.

  “He’s started a rumor that James is using your mother-- spending her money, worming her way into the will. He’s started a rumor that James isn’t even a cousin.”

  “I want to kill him,” James muttered. He looked up and shrugged, “Come on, we all do.”

  Jane nodded, “I know. What do we do Ben?”

  Ben shrugged, “I’m going to investigate further. Probably not legally. We all ok with that?”

  They all nodded their heads. Jane spoke up, “Unless it puts you in danger, Ben. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  Ben, his mouth a grim line, nodded, “I won’t get caught. I just don’t know what the hell he’s thinking.” He looked at Jane, “You need to go through all the legal papers, Jane, make sure he can’t become your mom’s legal guardian. He’s a greedy bastard; he’s probably going after the money.”

  Jane’s brows furrowed. She gulped her wine. “Ben, what about having a lawyer read through the papers too? Who would you trust?”

  Ben thought for a moment and then scrolled through the contacts on his phone. He texted the contact to Jane. “Let me talk to him first. His name is Charles LeClerc. I’ll have him contact you with a time.”

  Jane nodded, “Thank you. Mom was doing well tonight; the nurse thinks she’ll be herself in a few more weeks.”

  Susannah smiled, “I know. I spent the morning with her and she even apologized for the tea towels.”

  Jane allowed herself a small smile. She looked at Ben, “Do whatever it takes, Ben.” She meant it. She wouldn’t care if he put a bullet in his head, there was no way she would let Richard decide the care for her mother.

  Friday had finally arrived and Jane dreaded the weekend. She was to photograph Poole’s niece at her house and Jane feared he would be there too. She couldn’t bear to look at him; he obviously had heard the rumors and believed them. She was disgusted that he was unwilling to give her the benefit of the doubt, or even talk to her about it.

  Saturday morning she packed her Jetta with her photography equipment, a small portfolio of her work as examples, and some props. She had some ideas for portraits and hoped the little girl would cooperate.

  When she arrived at the house she was greeted warmly by a petite brunette and a very rambunctious toddler who ran over to the couch and jumped on the cushions. Missy Morgan introduced her daughter Tessa and convinced her to show Jane her bedroom.

  Fortunately, Tessa adored dress up and had many outfits she wanted to try on for Jane. Jane had Tessa show her around the house and outside so they could decide where best to take Tessa’s pictures. Missy had several suggestions and a list from her husband too. Over apple juice and graham crackers they planned the day and Jane made a checklist with pictures for Tessa to cross off.

  She went out to her car to bring in more equipment: lights, screens, additional lenses and her laptop, and found Patrick leaning against her trunk. Poole was sitting on the hood of his car, watching her walk out.

  She nodded politely to Poole but smiled warmly at Patrick. “Morning, boys! What brings you here?”

  Patrick gave her a quick hug, “Just thought you might want a hand.”

  She popped the trunk and Patrick opened it looking in, “Hey, you could hide a couple of bodies back here.”

  “You are never to borrow my car,” she said flatly.

  He scoffed, “It was just an observation.”

  “Where’s Ben?”

  Patrick looked at Poole and shrugged, “He had some stuff to do. He dropped me off. Is it alright if I stay, Janie?”

  “Yes, thank you. She’s adorable and will be putty in your hands.” She handed him two bags and then looked over to Poole. The left side of his face was red. She grinned, handed him a bag and said, “Ben’s got an incredibly fast hook, doesn’t he?”

  Poole rubbed his jaw and nodded adding drily, “It’s almost as deadly as your knee.”

  She quickly looked at him, “What would you know about my knee?”

  His brows furrowed, “I saw you with Richard.” Looking towards the house, he noticed Missy coming toward them; he said quietly, “I wish you would trust me, Miss Eyre.”

  There was nothing more to say, Missy was upon them now. She was surprised and delighted Gray came. While Missy and Gray caught up, Jane and Patrick set up in the back yard.

  Once Jane and Patrick were alone, she whispered, “What the hell happened, Patrick? Why did Ben punch him?”

  “He doesn’t deserve you, Jane,” he answered, while carefully running electrical cord from an outlet to her lights.

  She narrowed her eyes, “What happened?”

  Patrick looked up, “He asked about us and Ben punched him. Ok?”

  She nodded, “What’s Ben doing today?”

  He shrugged, “He didn’t say.”

  Tessa came bounding out of the house and Patrick scooped her up before she fell over any cords or knocked over the lights.

  “Princess, I, your faithful servant, Patrick, shall place you in yonder tree.”

  She giggled as Patrick carefully sat her on a branch of an old oak tree. She looked like a fairy in an enchanted forest. After taking hundreds of pictures outside and changing her clothes a dozen times they moved indoors. Tessa cheerfully checked off their list of pictures to take and was incredibly cooperative. Jane fell in love with Tessa’s sweet countenance.

  They took a snack break for Tessa’s sake and Jane loaded the pictures she’d taken so far on to Missy’s computer, explaining that she’d retouch and work on a couple dozen out of the hundreds they’d already taken. Missy was delighted to have copies of all the pictures. Gray stood behind them, looking at the pictures and occasionally commenting about which were his favorites.

  In the music room, she saw the pictures of a woman who looked like Missy standing in a wedding dress with Gray. She couldn’t help but stare at the carefree young man and wondered how different he was from the man she knew.

  He surprised her by speaking, “That’s my Lizzie.”

  “She’s beautiful, sir.”

  He nodded and then gave Tessa and Missy a kiss. “I see you are in excellent hands! I shall take my leave now.”

  Missy rolled her eyes, “Don’t be such a stranger, Gray. Her party’s on the 12, it’s just us, please come.”

  He gave Tessa another hug, “Of course,” and then he left. No goodbye for Patrick or Jane.

  Patrick spoke up mimicking Gray, “He took his leave? Does he do that often?”

  She bit her lip, “Sometimes, when he’s in a playful mood.”

  Missy chuckled, “He’s an odd duck. They were so funny together. He was so formal, and she was totally laid back.”

  Jane gave a tentative smile, “I’m sure you miss her very much.”

  She nodded, “It was really hard at first for Gray. Tessa and Constance would have been only a few months apart.”

  Patrick scoffed, “Constance?”

  Missy rolled her eyes, “I know his idea…” Her eyes narrowed, “Are you two dating?”

  Patrick chuckled, “No. We’re friends.”

  Missy’s eyes opened wide, surprised, “No! I meant Jane and Gray.”

  Jane felt her cheeks flush, “No, I, uh." She stammered, "We work together.”

  Missy chuckled, “You, uh, work together, huh? Well if you like him, you need to do something, because he never will.”

  Jane nodded and hung up some screens. Patrick grunted, “I guess that means nothing is going to happen then.” He leaned closer, “Besides the vote is still out on whether we like him or not.”

  She punched his stomach lightly, “Who said you get a vote?”

  He grinned, “I did, Janie,” and quickly swatted her butt.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  On Monday, they had arranged for her mother to move back home. Susannah had taken care of all the details and hired a nurse to watch her during the day. Fortunately the woman had a sense of humor, and a penchant for Jane Austen, and her mother seemed to
enjoy her new companion.

  Jane decided to wear her senior project in costume design. It had a classic Edith Head dress line, but she had created fabric out of stripes, darting and pleating so that the lines reminded her of MC Escher stairs. It was cool, easily the coolest thing she had ever designed, but it was busy, so she wore a simple black jacket over it.

  Ben had spent the weekend researching Richard and his business dealings and running interference with rumors. She found out later that Patrick had told Gray that if he wanted to discuss her relationship with them, Patrick would answer every question honestly, he just needed to decide if he wanted the answers. He gave Gray his card with his cell phone number. So far, Gray hadn’t asked any questions.

  He hadn’t asked her either and this morning he was polite, still distant, but he didn’t seem cold. She wasn’t sure which Mr. Poole she was working with, the entrepreneur or the playful verbose man.

  Julia, his date from the Symphony showed up around ten and asked if he could spare a moment. She showed her in to Mrs. Fairfax, watching her walk away in rhinestone flip flop wedges, yoga pants, and a Chanel cable knit sweater. Jane mused, she could have given her eye teeth for the sweater, but flip flops, really?

  Gray escorted Julia out about twenty minutes later and she was gushing over something. Jane looked up, dubious that he was enjoying the attention, and was relieved to see his jaw clenched and his fingers tapping the side of his pants, clearly anxious to remove her from his sight.

  Julia continued, “Thank you again Gray, an entire table is a wonderful gift. Will you be bringing a date?” His eyebrows rose in warning but she continued, “I know it didn’t work out between us, but I have a friend…”

  “Thank you Julia, that won’t be necessary.” His eyes flicked over to Jane and she tried to continue typing, but she could feel herself heating under his gaze. The printer flicked to life and it spit out three pages that she wanted to bring to Mrs. Fairfax, leaving Julia to simper without her listening.

  “Ms. Eyre, what are you wearing?” asked an amused Gray.