Rich leaned back against the counter. “I stopped by the office yesterday. Sara mentioned that you’d only been in there twice in the past two weeks. She’s worried about you.”
“I talk to her four or five times a day.”
“When I told her about Coco, she burst into tears,” Rich replied, his voice hard. “You didn’t tell her? Your assistant? Do you ever talk to anybody?”
Darcy grimaced and bent over to untie his shoes. “She loves animals. She adored Coco. I just didn’t want the sympathy hugs or the cookies. Her motherbakesfor me,” he said plaintively.
Rich gave him a long, appraising look. “Coco had a good life. You were great with her. But she tied you down. You’re a free man now.”
Darcy scoffed. “That’s one way to see it. You really are a diplomat, Rich.”
“For God’s sake. You look like you haven’t slept in a week. You’ve lost weight.” Rich was nearly shouting. “Andtwoweeks of working at home? Coco died in her sleep four days ago. What were you doing the week before that?”
Darcy picked up his shoes and frowned. He carried them over to the utility room, placed them on the laundry sink, and walked back into the kitchen, saying nothing.
“Fine,” Rich said. “The Yankees have won eight straight, and youhaven’t even been to a game. Just…move on. Let’s decide about the ashes and go have dinner. We could go to the game tonight.”
“I’m sure you haven’t let the seats go unoccupied. Who’ve you been watching the games with? That Italian translator?”
“No one you know, man. But maybe one or two you should get to know.” Rich crossed his arms and shook his head. “Let’s get out of town. I could use a vacation, and God knows you need one. Rio? Buenos Aires?”
“South of the equator? It’s winter there.”
“Right. So…Sardinia or Fiji?”
Darcy shrugged and headed to the shower. Rich reached over the counter for a beer. He walked back into the living room, rubbed his beard, and looked around. The apartment was clean and neat as always. Nothing out of place. He glanced over at the writing desk in the front hall. Mail was stacked up, magazines and cards neatly piled. “What else is going on with him?”
He wandered down the hall, peeking into rooms but finding nothing to pique his interest. Hearing the shower running, he walked into the master bedroom and studied it. It looked as it always did—darkly furnished and, besides some books and a few family photos, free of clutter. Except on the nightstand, where a blue envelope addressed in feminine handwriting caught his eye.
He tamped down his shame by reminding himself that he was on a reconnaissance mission. Mrs. Reynolds was worried about “her boy,” Sara was concerned about her boss, and it was his job to solve the mystery of his cousin’s melancholy.
Fitzwilliam,
I apologize if hearing from me brings you more pain, but I wanted you to know how sorry I am about Coco. She was a lovely dog, and you were always very sweet with her. Now she is with others who loved her. I hope you are with those who love you.
I’m sorry about other things as well. I greatly misjudged you and misunderstood myself, actions I deeply regret. You deserve better. Please take care, and be well.
—Elizabeth Bennet
“What the hell are you doing in my room?”
Darcy emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waistand another one in his hand rubbing dry his hair. Richard turned around, and Darcy’s eyes drifted to the envelope in his cousin’s hand.
“Put that down,” he said harshly. “Did you read it?”
Rich set the card back on the nightstand and shifted on his feet. “So what’s the story there?” he asked in a light voice. “Between the two of you?”
“Nothing. Not a bloody thing.” Darcy threw the bath towel over his neck and stalked over to the table. He picked up the card and carried it to his dresser where he opened a drawer, pulled out a pair of boxers, and slid the card under a stack of T-shirts. He escaped into his closet.
“Right,” Rich called after him. “You’re hiding a woman’s card in your underwear drawer, and you say it’s nothing?”
Darcy emerged in jeans, barefoot and rolling up the sleeves on a chambray shirt. “It’s nothing to you. Seriously. Sod off.”
He went to the kitchen and pulled a salad and a few labeled containers out of the refrigerator. His cousin followed a few moments later.
“We’re not going out?”
“I don’t feel like it. Mrs. Reynolds leaves meals for the weekends.”
