Audrey's Mr. Darcy

by Freda, Paula

  At last a reflex. A pause, and an expressed struggle to reply courteously.

  "Mr. Darcy, you are basically a pleasant-faced man, no matter your style of clothing or hair color. As the department manager, I don't evaluate the quality of your work by the cut of your hair or your jacket. Except for cleanliness and neatness, I don't judge by exteriors. You are a conscientious worker, honest and fair in your dealings with the clients, and easy to get along with." She paused, then added, "Is that answer enough for you?"

  Wow, that was a well-constructed milquetoast reply, Wil thought, gazing at her intently. Was she truly oblivious to the reason for his makeover? She had told him straight out at their first meeting that she preferred Edward Fairfax Rochester to Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  "Yes, Miss Lambert, answer enough," he replied. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. At least she was courteous enough not to laugh in his face, although his next words might snap that control. "Please don't fire me, for what I'm about to say. You are a beautiful woman, and the first one that ever looked at me, and didn't expect me to be Fitzwilliam Darcy. And now, I think I've wasted enough of your time. I should get back to work."

  He studied her reaction a moment more. If she had been holding back laughter, it was gone.

  "Yes, you should get back to work," she said, in all seriousness.

  Wil nodded. "Excuse me." He turned and went out.

  Audrey watched him leave. As he closed the door behind him, her shoulders slumped and the bravado she impersonated before the world slid from her shoulders, like a velvety slick too-heavy cloak with no bindings. Not again, she thought, miserably. She couldn't ask for another transfer. A third request in five years was bound to start raising eyebrows, if the prior two transfers hadn't already. Perhaps she should do what her great-grandmother had done, so many years ago in the New England College where she taught Archaeology. In those days, a disturbingly beautiful unmarried woman was not considered an asset to a board of directors running a college. A potential distraction both to staff and students. So she had dyed her red-gold hair to the ugliest shade of dark brown and twisted it into a bun to sit on top of her head. Great-grandfather, who also taught Archaeology at the same college, said the bun on top of her head reminded him of a day-old toasted bagel. But that was before he discovered that the grey-tinted glasses hid beautiful emerald colored eyes, and her spinsterish grey unflattering, unappealing suits and opaque stockings, camouflaged her exquisite figure. She had led him a merry chase and their story was legendary in her family. They had shared many adventures on their field trips acquiring rare and precious artifacts. In all their many years together, their love never wavered. Not even death separated them, as hand in hand they crossed that boundary in God's good time.

  Audrey's eyes misted. Thinking about their love story always triggered in her an emotional response. Theirs was the kind of love she sought. To no avail, it seemed. Wil thought himself cursed because of his physical resemblance to a character in a book, portrayed by a handsome actor. Her curse was being desired for her beauty and her intelligence, and her position, in a society that now considered an attractive, well-educated woman, a most definite asset. But who would desire the simple girl, minus the beauty, fine clothes, and impressive position — the dreamer, the girl in an old pair of jeans and t-shirt, who loved to sit by her window and read the journals of her great-grandparents and wish that she could find such love as theirs, and live their adventures.

  She had to admit that Wil was the humblest and most ardent of the young men, and old, who had pursued her. No one had ever gone to the extreme that he had to attract her attention. She smiled, and her good-natured chuckle refused further restraint. The hopeful expression in his eyes was far too gentle and tender for the Vulcan image of Charlotte Bronte's flawed hero, Edward Fairfax Rochester.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Wil turned on his back and focused on the sunlight filtering through the blinds into his bedroom. He groaned with relief, glad the dream was over and he was awake. He wasn't overly fond of this dream. As a child, the occasional recurring nightmare terrified him. As a teen, it had made him wonder what was going on in his subconscious. As an adult, he pondered if he should visit a psychologist. The setting wasn't always the same, but it evoked the same feelings; not fear any longer, yet strange. He didn't actually see himself, but he felt the tentacles, and he knew they were his arms and legs. That was the weird part of the dream. The part that he didn't mind at all was the woman who stood on the dais. Her flowing garment was sheer and spun from silk, and she wore a gold ankh pendant across her chest and a golden diadem with an ostrich feather at the front on her straight, black hair. Behind her was a royal throne garbed in red silk. Wil had long since deduced she was an Egyptian Queen from ancient times.

  She did not appear afraid of his appearance, almost as if she did not see the tentacles, as she smiled at him, admiration and warmth in her onyx gaze. She was as beautiful in form, as were her thoughts and her soul, inexplicably clear to him. And he, as the creature, loved her.

  The dream puzzling as ever, Wil ran a nervous hand through his darkened hair. What was his subconscious trying to tell him? He took a deep breath and climbed out of bed. A steaming cup of coffee sweetened with cream and sugar, followed by a nutritious breakfast, would help him shake off the dream's effects.

  By the time Wil entered his cubicle at work, he had put the dream from his mind. More serious matters, as the daily grind, needed his attention. He immersed himself in his research and his clients.

  Toward lunchtime, his intercom buzzed. It was Heather. "Miss Lambert wants to see you in her office."

  Wil grimaced. Perhaps she intended firing him after all. "Any idea, why?" he asked.

  "Nope."

  "Did she sound annoyed."

  "No, but she's not one to show her emotions readily."

  "Okay, be there in five."

  Wil used the five minutes to comb his hair back neatly, adjust his tie, and make sure his shirt tails were tucked in tidily. He shrugged back into his eighteen hundreds suit jacket, straightened his shoulders, and headed for Audrey's office, feeling as if he were heading for the executioner's block.

  He reached Heather's desk. Heather pointed behind her toward Audrey's door.

  Wil knocked first.

  "Come in," Audrey said.

  Wil took a deep breath and entered.

  Audrey was not seated behind her desk, but standing beside the floor-to-ceiling windowpanes that extended the width of the room. Like her, the view of New York City from the twentieth floor was impressive — the myriad of streets and lanes weaving around the grey monolithic skyscrapers, and Central Park to the north, leading to the lake.

  Wil had yet to see Audrey in other than a skirted business suit, always neutral colors. If he were on closer terms with her, he would buy her a black dress with silver and gold threads weaving through the fabric. Gold to accent the golden brown color of her hair, and the yellow highlights in her hazel eyes on a sunny day; silver to match the sparkle in her eyes when she complimented him or another employee on a job particularly well done. Outside of that one remark about his makeover earlier that month, she had said nothing more about it. And it looked like his plan to undo the makeover that weekend, was too late.

  Audrey turned away from the window and faced him. He tried to hide his relief when she smiled at him.

  "Sit down, Wil," she beckoned. "I have a special request to make. Believe me, I don't ... it-it's not my style." It was the first time Wil had ever heard her stammer, or have trouble expressing herself. He quickly offered, "Whatever I can do to help. Please, don't hesitate—"

  Again that lovely smile that threatened to unnerve him completely.

  "Thank you," she said, moving away from the window, and coming toward him. She stopped at a respectable distance. "Of all the men in our department, you appear to me to be the most sensible and most conscientious worker. I'm fairly certain you won't interpret what I'm about to ask in the wrong way."
She stopped talking, apparently debating whether to continue or not.

  Wil held his breath as he waited the few seconds for her next words. They came in a rush of breath.

  "One of our clients, a very rich one, occasionally sponsors archaeological digs. He is sponsoring one presently and has asked me to accompany him to survey the project — for our firm's opinion on its worthiness, financial wise. I would normally relegate this assignment to one of our staff, but he specifically asked for me. I'm not comfortable accompanying him alone. I may be reading into his request, but from past encounters at company conferences, I sense he's more interested in me than in his dealings with our firm."

  Again she paused, as if reluctant to ask, what he'd already guessed was her reason for summoning him into her office. He took a chance, hoping he was not misjudging. "You'd like me to accompany you, sort of a chaperone?" Wil saw a timid smile cross her lips.

  She nodded, and offered, "You can, of course, refuse. This is more of a personal request, than an official one. But as I said, you appear to me the most conscientious one in the department. I'll add, sensitive one. You are also unattached, if I'm correct?" She waited for his reply.

  He nodded.

  "So," she went on, "accompanying me would not cause you any difficulty or bad feelings, with a better half."

  Suspecting what she was asking and actually hearing it from her own lips, the shock caused his vocal chords to refuse to cooperate. Good Lord, he thought, the impossible dream of sharing time with her, and the chance to make an impression on her, even perhaps the chance, as improbable as he believed it to be, to stir feelings in her for him.

  "If you're uncomfortable with the request ... please, we'll speak no more of it." Audrey started to turn away.

  The thought of losing this opportunity jump-started his vocal chords. Wil said, "I'd love to accompany you." Not wanting to sound too enthused, for fear of frightening her — she might think he was as bad as the enamored client — he added quickly, "I-I enjoy traveling to exotic ports. And I must admit that as a young man, I considered a career in Archaeology. But unfortunately, despite my working while I attended college, my parents didn't have the money to help me pursue such a career. So, yes, I'd be very interested in accompanying you and the client."

  Audrey's timid smiled widened. "Thank you," she said. "Can you be ready to leave in a couple of days?"

  "Yes," Wil replied softly, wishing he could shout his reply from the top of the building.

  "Great. I'll make the travel arrangements ... a business trip with our client to utilize our firm's financial advice and expertise. The client has already made arrangements to cover all expenses." She nodded, satisfied. "Thank you, Wil. I'll let you get back to work." She returned to her desk.

  As he opened the door to leave, Audrey asked, "Wil, would you mind getting a haircut?"

  He turned back. "Of course. You want me to look my best for the client."

  "Yes, I do. And, you know, your natural hair color wasn't that bad, either."

  At this moment, if she asked him, he'd tie a rope around his waist and climb down the side of the building for her. "Understood," he nodded.

  Her acknowledging smile was gratitude enough.

  Again, he turned to leave.

  "Wil," she called. "Aren't you curious where we are going?"

  In all the excitement of knowing he'd be spending time with her, it hadn't crossed his mind to ask. "Uh, right. Where are we going?" She must think him daft.

  She eyed him curiously, but didn't comment further on his forgetting to ask. "You'll need to pack warm clothes," she said. "Our first destination is Iceland."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Brrrrr! It was cold. The hiking path ahead rose and dipped through the low-range snow-topped mountains. Their frozen peaks sparkled in the sunlight. Wil tightened the neck strings on the parka's hood that shielded his head and his newly cut hair. At his request, his barber had dyed his hair as close as possible to its natural shade of light brown.

  Another gust of frigid wind. Wil's toes curled inside the heavy winter boots. The full body thermal underwear and socks, and the thick sweater and jeans under his parka, were still not enough to stop him visibly shivering.

  "You'll feel warmer after a few hours of exertion," Singhen said. "You may actually feel overheated. That's why it's well you followed Audrey's advice to dress in layers." He cast Audrey a complimentary gaze.

  Wil saw her half-hearted smile, followed by her head and shoulders hunching deeper into her own hooded anorak.

  He and Audrey had left the States on the client's private jet. For the moment, their rolled sleeping bags, and backpacks containing only their essentials, with hiking poles hooked on, lay on the snow-covered ground beside them. The client and sponsor, Singhen Albertson, was a self-made multi-millionaire. His private jet attested to his taste for luxury and beautiful flight attendants, and, Wil realized, to his dismay the moment he met him, Audrey herself. Singhen was tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, to boot. The manner of his greeting to Audrey, the hug and kiss that would have turned passionate if she hadn't quickly moved back, and the enamored gaze that left nothing unsaid, made Wil cringe. No wonder Audrey had asked him to accompany her — to protect her. He felt honored, but at the same time, saddened. Her trust indicated that she did not consider him, Wil, a prospective suitor. He was there simply as a loyal employee, to mitigate any physical advances the enamored client was sure to make.

  The cold did not seem to bother Singhen. Most likely, Wil thought, the man was used to it, being a noted worldwide traveler who had visited Iceland digs several times in the past. From the client files, Wil had learned that Singhen was forty years old, born in the United States, but raised in Norway and Iceland. He had returned to America to attend a prestigious college, graduate school and specialized universities. Born into a wealthy family, he'd had no problems pursuing a career in Archaeology. With every new fact, Wil learned about Singhen, he saw his chances to capture Audrey's heart, steadily diminish. A loyal employee, he thought again, to mitigate any physical advances from the enamored client.

  "Ah, here they are," Singhen exclaimed, directing their gazes to the all-weather jeep coming towards them and stopping a few feet away. The four men inside, similarly clad in fur-lined hiking wear, jumped out, exchanged a quick greeting with Singhen, then unloaded the supplies and the hiking gear the group would need for the trek to the digging site.

  The site itself was located in a green valley. Iceland was noted for its varied topography — snow covered fields, glaciers, frozen mountain peaks, verdant forests, icy waterfalls often partially frozen in mid-flow; volcanoes sealed by frozen lava, cracks in the earth spewing steam and geysers, and deep caves that wove like mazes beneath it all. The travel guidebooks commented that Iceland's topography often reminded tourist of science fiction and fantasy settings.

  Using only their first names, Singhen introduced each of the four men who would carry the supplies needed for the weeklong trek — the tents and non-perishable food supplies, and whatever else he had deemed necessary.

  "Everyone, strap on your gear, and let's move out," he called out with heady enthusiasm.

  Everyone followed his directive. Singhen led; Audrey, Wil, and the four men followed single file close behind.

  Wil asked Audrey, "Has he mentioned to you yet, what this artifact is that he's searching for?"

  She turned her head briefly as they trudged upward. "No, nothing, except that it's precious and priceless — and very, very old."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The further up they hiked, the colder it grew, until by late afternoon, they reached a plateau where the snow was thickest and beginning to glaciate. Singhen signaled to stop. He turned to Audrey and noted her pallor and clenched lips. "This is your first trek in Iceland, and you must be exhausted."

  Wil asked Singhen, "How much further to the dig?" Of course she was exhausted, and most likely near frozen to the bone, Wil thought, with equal compassion for himself. H
e wished he had the right to take her in his arms and share with her what heat remained in his body.

  "It's a first time for you as well, and unfortunately the dig is still a ways off, and the wind is picking up, along with the wind chill. We'll set up camp here for the night." He motioned to his carriers, raising his arm, his hand curving downwards. They immediately dropped the supplies they carried and unhooked their backpacks. It was obvious they had worked for Singhen before.

  Within the hour, the carriers had set up four tents in a circle, each with a mini portable heater, batteries fully charged. Audrey, as the only female on the trek, was allotted her own tent. The other three tents were shared between the four carriers, Wil and Singhen. Since it was illegal in Iceland to burn a campfire, Singhen's men set up a small outdoor camping stove. Very soon, they were all enjoying fresh brewed coffee and sizzling canned beef stew.

  If Singhen noticed that Audrey avoided being alone with him, and kept close to Wil, he did not remark about it. Audrey retired to her tent early, but before zippering the flaps closed, she whispered to Wil as he passed by on his way to the tent he'd be sharing with Singhen.

  "Wil?"

  He inquired, "Everything all right?"

  "Yes, I'm feeling much better. A night's rest should do the trick. I just wanted to thank you for all your attentiveness toward me. I'm certain now I chose right, and when we get back—" She hesitated, then, "I wonder, if you would let me buy you ... lunch?"

  Wil smiled in earnest. Encouraged, he said, "I'd rather you'd let me buy you dinner?" He waited, hoping he hadn't ruined his chances.