Chapter Seven Prophets and Losses

Darcy turned from the checkerboard to face Lizzy, his stooped, pondering posture becoming ramrod straight. He was frowning, his eyes dark. "We need to prepare for tonight. Ready ourselves. Sooner…not later." Although he faced her and spoke in the first-person plural, it was unclear if he was really speaking to Lizzy.

He seemed to catch himself, and he focused intently on her before he spoke again. “Bingley should have put some tech equipment in the bedroom closet. Since you'll be with Wickham without me, we need to confirm that we can track you and track what's happening. Since Bingley must have heard the call and recorded it, he knows to get the other tech preparations underway."

Darcy gestured for her to lead the way, and they walked to the bedroom. In the closet, pushed to the back on the top shelf, a large, used-looking cardboard box labeled Photos was sitting . Lizzy had not yet noticed it, as it was too far back for her to see it without craning.

He placed it on the bed and opened it, then pulled out photographs of a dark-haired girl with a man and woman, presumably her parents―Fanny's parents. There were also photos of Lizzy from her high school and college days, all altered so that the backgrounds were nondescript, featuring nothing that would identify the locations. Lizzy recognized them as photos the CIA had used before when constructing a cover for her, other covers.

Darcy nodded at them. "The usual. Fanny's prior life. They're all also on your phone, but more since hardly anyone has hard copies of photographs now. These are here for atmosphere."

"Like my new used books?"

That got a flicker of a grin from Darcy.

He dug deeper into the box and, beneath the photos, unearthed a smaller cardboard box that was long, narrow, and flat. He opened one end and shook it. A paper holding tiny discs fell out, looking like thick white stickers, along with a necklace—a heavy gold pendant with a topaz gem in the center—and three pairs of earrings, each pair still attached to a decorative flat piece of cardboard.

Lizzy understood it all without Darcy explaining: the discs, adhesive, would allow her to be tracked when slipped into a purse, a jacket, or a shoe and fastened in place. The necklace contained the latest CIA high-tech camera, and the earrings were similar cutting-edge listening devices. Darcy glanced at her, and she nodded her recognition.

"Be sure to stow two of the disks away tonight, one on your person and one in your jacket or your purse, and, of course, wear the necklace and a pair of the earrings. Bingley will tell you more about it in the video conference he mentioned. To be honest, I hadn't expected Wickham to act so quickly. I figured we'd have all day today to prepare."

His words contained a tincture, not just of disappointment, but of disapproval. The disappointment Lizzy thought she understood, but she did not know whom or what he disapproved of. He put his hands in his pockets, looking for a moment at the items on the bed and then for a moment at her.

Shrugging, he pulled his hands out and waved one toward the door. "I'm going to go and help Bingley. He'll video conference with you soon.

“Oh! One thing that I haven't mentioned since it wasn't available until today. Between the parking deck below your building and the one across the street where Bingley and I are staying, there's an underground tunnel. It's part of the reason I chose this location. It took this long to get the building owners to give us the keys to it, and they finally arrived last night while we were at the party." Putting a hand back in a pocket, Darcy produced a worn, thick brass key, which he handed to her. "The door's heavy steel, gray, with no markings, only a round brass lock. Just follow the tunnel, and it will take you to a matching door in our parking deck. The key will open that door, too. I checked them both this morning and walked the tunnel a couple of times. The tunnel's not in regular use and it's dark, so be careful. But the floor is smooth, free of debris. So far as I know, there should be no need for you to use it, but it will allow Bingley and me to move between the buildings without being visible." He paused. "If— when —Wickham's in your apartment, one of us will be in this building nearby, too."

"That sounds good. Thanks to you both."

"Like I said, I'm going to go help Bingley. He'll be in touch soon."

With that, Darcy left, leaving Lizzy standing in the living room, deciding what she would wear and trying steel herself to face what was ahead. She found it hard to do. The nature of this mission and her lack of downtime made it hard to summon the energy she needed.

She felt worn, threadbare―wrong from the start.

***

"So," Charlie said, drawing out the monosyllable in obvious self-consciousness, "Darcy told you about the tunnel, gave you the key?"

The question was rhetorical, but Lizzy answered anyway. "He did. Said he'd already scouted it, used it."

Charlie nodded, a faint look of significance on his face. "He did. He woke the roosters this morning. I'm not sure he slept at all. I know he didn't sleep much if he did."

Darcy had told her as much but without any hint of significance. Except he had bought her books and a cactus. The cactus was on the marble counter on the far side of her laptop screen. She smiled at it. It made her feel less alone.

Charlie cleared his throat: "So, Darcy also showed you the equipment for tonight?"

"Yes, the trackers, the necklace, and the earrings."

"Fine. You're comfortable with all of them?"

"I am. I've used versions of them before. What's the range?"

"Pretty amazing. A mile, give or take a few yards. Darcy and I will divide the backup today since he's not with you." His manner was subdued, cloudy, not his usual sunny manner. Did Darcy dress him down? She was certain that would be unpleasant, given Darcy's native gravity, the typical weightiness of his manner.

Although Lizzy wondered where he was, she did not ask. Perhaps he was just off-screen.

"Darcy will be stationed here, working the tech. I will be in a car, tailing you. A brand-new, Cavalry-blue Camry." Charlie grinned.

"Appropriate," Lizzy said with a laugh.

"I'll do my best to keep you in eyesight the whole time―Wickham’s car, anyway―and I'll have a tablet in my car keyed to your tech so I can keep track of you and at least hear the audio. Don't worry, I'll be around. Just stay out of deserted places, dark corners."

She shuddered. "No worries. Besides, this is his opening salvo, his attempt to soften me up for eventual infidelity. I doubt he'd have followed up so fast if he thought I would immediately yield to him. That would suggest I was already corrupted and the causal power would not be his."

"That sounds right, but I will worry. So will Darcy. He's questioning the security guard, our guy, who talked to the priest this morning. They're meeting in the parking deck below your building. Now that someone's been to the desk, I'm going to bug it tonight. That way, we'll know specifically what's happening there, if necessary. We'd planned to do that all along but had to hurry the schedule, given the priest and Wickham. You know the story: the longer a bug's in place, even if the placement is ideal, the more likely it becomes that the wrong person will find it accidentally."

"Accident. The great equalizer."

Charlie smiled. His spirits seemed to be on the rise. "Tell me about it. Accidents have nearly gotten me killed a few times."

"Me, too. Me, too. But there's no making any mission accident-proof."

"No," he said with a self-deprecating grin, "or foolproof."

"Don't, Charlie," Lizzy said kindly. "No harm, no foul. Don't let Darcy's imperious manner make you believe that was anything but a hiccup."

"He was always able to make me feel foolish, even when we were in school. Darcy displaces a lot of water, existentially. A battleship. Me, I know I'm a light cruiser, way less displacement."

"Maybe." Lizzy tilted her head as she entertained the image. "But that doesn't make you superficial or any less seaworthy. Don't let Darcy browbeat you with that high brow of his."

Charlie laughed out loud. "You're one of the few spies I know, Lizzy, who's genuinely funny. It’s like you're the Anti-Darcy."

"I don't know." She thought about her text exchange with Darcy about her pedicure, "I suspect he can be funny…when his dignity isn't in the way."

He shook his head, unconvinced. "So the CIA has tapped into the Chicago traffic cams. Darcy will be monitoring those, too. They'll back up my systems, should I somehow lose track of Wickham's car. Are you planning to take any weapon?"

"No. I always have mace in my purse, so now Fanny does, too. There’s no reason for Wickham to question that if he were to see it. It's part of the urban woman uniform."

"So, architectural tour?"

"That's what he said. At the party, he told me he had studied architecture, but there was nothing on that in the file Darcy gave us, was there?"

"No, I'll ask him about it. He said he put in a request with MI-6 for the full Wickham/Wicker Man file. I suppose we should be glad of Wickham’s previous studies. It'll keep you two in public."

Lizzy nodded. "So…"―this time she elongated the monosyllable―"why do you want to keep your new girlfriend a secret?" She grinned at Charlie with mischief.

His jaw slackened. "Huh?"

"Oh, come on Charlie, we're friends. Share! I promise I won't tell Darcy."

He examined her, clearly indecisive, his ears reddening. "It's a…workplace thing. Even though we're not breaking any rules, we both want…time for things to…stabilize between us before we make it public. You know how hard it is for an agent to have anything remotely real, much less long-lasting."

"Spies don't fall in love?"

His eyes widened. She was sure he had heard that from Darcy and probably not long ago. "Yeah. Even if that isn't how it ought to be or needs to be, it's how it is. We want to nurture this while it's tender so maybe it can grow into something sturdy enough to last."

She understood. "Have you ever thought about quitting, Charlie, walking away, leaving the whole shadowy mess behind you, all the awful, evil people…some who are supposedly the good guys?"

Charlie hesitated. "No, but I believe I would for her. If she asked."

Lizzy felt almost jolted, almost envious. "Wow! Well, I'm on your side, Charlie. And hers. Whoever she is."

His answering smile was enigmatic, not an expression she was used to on his candid face. "That means a lot, Lizzy.”

His manner turned professional again. “Oh, Darcy said to tell you that if there's a problem or an emergency, he'll text you as Ned: Miss you. If you receive that text, free yourself from Wickham as soon as possible."

"Will do."

***

For her outing with Wickham, Lizzy chose a pair of jeans, a red sweater, boots, and a beret. After she put the sweater on, it occurred to her that it was exactly the shade of her toenail polish. The garments exposed no skin, nothing like the dress she had worn to the party, and she covered the sweater with a leather jacket. She had inserted a disc into an interior pocket of the small purse she would carry and put another inside one boot. She accessorized with the topaz necklace and a pair of earrings that matched it.

Opening the computer, she waited for Charlie. A moment later, he was on the screen. "I've got strong signals from the trackers. Say something for me."

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."

Charlie stared at her. "Where the hell did you hear that?"

"My mom. She repeated it to me every day the summer before I started at Haverford. She's a throwback―way, way back. The only degree she cared about me getting was my M.R.S."

"Christ! That must've been some fun for you!"

Lizzy smiled with bitterness. "Still is. Every phone call. I never received that diploma."

He barked a laugh. "Ouch.” He grew serious, scanning his equipment and then looking up. “Okay, I hear you and see what you see."

Lizzy chuckled. “It's strange to have a man's eyes on my breasts, but looking away from them."

Charlie shook his head at her. "Be safe, Lizzy. I'll be around. Count on it."

***

She headed downstairs at 2:45 p.m. Shortly after Darcy had left, Lizzy had texted Wickham the address and received his response:

Looking forward to seeing you and the sights

Carefully worded, George, she thought to herself, the final three words modulating the earlier ones but not negating them. By the time she got downstairs and waved to the security guard, who waved back and smiled, her phone vibrated.

Car outside. Look for the limo

Lizzy had not expected that. He had said he would have a car, but a limo was not what Lizzy, Darcy, or Charlie expected. Still, it was good in one way: easier to tail, harder to hide. It was bad in another, as it had too much room inside. A playground in the rear. She focused herself as she walked outside.

The black limo shined in the afternoon sun, like boots at a military parade. Wickham stood beside it, the inside of the open rear door. A large man in a chauffeur's uniform held the door from the outer side.

Wickham watched her walk to him, watching her the whole way. He tried to disguise it, but his eyes explored her. He thought he had more control over his features than he did, at least where lust was concerned. Lizzy made herself smile at him.

"Fanny, welcome! This is Rook, my driver. Or I should say, with less pretense, he’s Lady Catherine's driver…lent to me along with the car."

The large man smiled, but it did not make him seem any more or less friendly. It was like a boulder smiling.

Wickham was dressed in expensive clothing and emitted a subtle musk fragrance. She smelled it―not strong but present, pleasant―before she reached him.

She understood his power. He was nicely built, if slim, and his face was pleasing; his features beckoned the eye. In the long afternoon sunlight, she thought he was perhaps more beautiful than handsome, the reverse of some women who are more handsome than beautiful. There was no doubt that, whatever the precise term, he was downright attractive.

He stepped away from the door and took Lizzy's hand, helping her to slide inside. She could feel his eyes again. Then he was in and beside her, and Rook closed the door with a surprising silence.

Wickham rubbed his long hands together. "Since we don't have a lot of time, I've picked just two places to see, two very different sorts of architecture. They're a few minutes from us but not that far from one another. We should be able to see them both comfortably, especially since I had Lady Catherine call in a favor."

He sat back without further explanation, careful to leave a small gap between them on the vast, couch-like backseat. Then he gestured to the driver, waving his hand with authoritarian flair. "To Marina City, Rook."

The chauffeur’s frowning nod was an avalanche.

Wickham talked quickly, excitedly. He did know something about architecture. "So…Marina City. You've probably seen pictures. It’s hard, I've heard, to take it in unless it's on one of the long architectural boat tours, but we don't have time for one of those. Still, we might be able to manage.” Wickham spoke informatively about the architect, Bertrand Goldberg, and his planning concept for the area. “I believe Golberg was a minor genius, a prophet of sorts. He conceived of it as a city within a city, sort of a microcosm of the larger city, Chicago, the macrocosm. A little City of Big Shoulders."

Lizzy looked at him. She had not quoted that bit of Sandburg. Did Wickham hunt down the poem? She did not know what to make of that. It seemed he had. "I confess, I know next to nothing about architecture."

"Not a problem, and tell me if I'm boring you. At the end of the day, great buildings should speak directly to the soul, but I'll have a hard time not interrupting."

So far as she could tell, his enthusiasm was genuine. "How did you get interested in architecture in the first place?" It seemed like a natural first question, innocuous.

He turned toward her. "It's hard to say. I can't remember when I was indifferent, not even when I was young." He was pensive for a few beats and then went on. "I've always preferred buildings to people, although perhaps I should not admit that. People are so changeable, not just in response to externals. Building are that, too, of course, to weather and sun and planned alterations. But people change internally, inside out, all that pesky…psychology." He smiled in a disapproving way. "It's messy and complicated, and the laws that govern the changes are more complicated, of a different sort, not like the laws of physics. Give me things, not people." He paused and then laughed as if trying to undo any sting the remarks might have had. "Not that I'm indifferent to all people."

"I look forward to seeing it."

When the towers of Marina City came clearly into view, Rook slowed the car.

Wickham leaned across the seat, crowding Lizzy slightly, his musky cologne stronger as he did, and he pointed. "There! The 65-story towers. Sometimes they've been called the corn cobs. Marina City was the first building in the US to be constructed using a tower crane." He studied the building in rapt fascination.

Lizzy leaned farther back, toward her window, away from Wickham, and stared out at the building, the towers. The towers did look like corn cobs, after eating and not before. At any rate, they looked futuristic even now, and they must have looked even more so when they were first built. They seemed familiar to her, though she was sure she'd never seen them before, not in person.

Rook increased the speed of the car, taking them closer, and Wickham leaned back with a long sigh. He put a hand softly on her forearm. "Do you ever have the feeling that everything worth happening already has?"

His question expressed an aggravated, frustrated loss that Lizzy could not fathom and found unnerving. Since she had no ready response to the question, she kept her eyes steady on Marina City as if she had not heard him.

After a lingering moment, he removed his hand when Lizzy made no effort to remove it herself. He did not return to his previous place on the seat but remained close to her. She gave him a small, unsure smile.

Play the game, Lizzy. Let him win a little at a time. She thought of Darcy and checkers, losing battles for the sake of the war. She wondered what he was making of all this, listening to it, seeing much of it. Charlie was listening, too.

Rook took them by Marina City, and Lizzy and Wickham saw it up close. He stopped the car and let them out. Wickham led her down to the Marina level, next to the water. They went through the door of the Chicago Electric Boat Company.

"George? What are we doing?"

"A little surprise. I didn't think I could lure you into the full-scale architectural boat tour, so I reserved one of these small electric boats. We'll go out on the river and get a better view of the towers. We won't be out for long, and the boats are quite safe, easy to steer."

She thought of her image of him as a dashing ship's captain at the party. Going onto the water with him wasn't the best idea, but it was daylight, they couldn't go far, and they would be in clear view of anyone along the riverside.

The man at the counter took Wickham's name and then led them out to a small, docked boat. It looked like a giant inner tube, with a kind of table in the center, a steering wheel, and an umbrella that shaded the seating inside the tube, around the table. Opposite the steering wheel― you can't call that a helm with a straight face― was a step for entering the boat. Wickham helped her aboard.

For Darcy and Charlie’s sake, as soon as the salesman had shown George how to operate the boat, she asked: "How long will we be out?"

"Not long. I want to see Marina City from the river. We'll get a good look and then hurry back. Remember, we have another stop before we eat."

He started the boat and maneuvered it masterfully out of the dock and into the river. The electric motor ran with a hum felt rather than heard. The boat did not move quickly, but Wickham deftly moved it out into the water and positioned it where, by looking up, they could see Marina City, the towers.

The view was splendid, overwhelming. The city was above them and reflected all around them in the glassy river. They seemed suspended between the city and itself. The boat drifted in one place for a time, allowing them both to appreciate the view,

"Are you a music fan, Fanny?"

"Yes, sure. Why?"

"You might remember that the towers are on the cover of Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot album."

Lizzy did remember. That was why the towers looked familiar, although she had not been able to account for her feeling that she had some not-in-person memory of them. "Are you a Wilco fan?"

He shrugged. "I've listened, mostly on flights. I don't know if I'm a fan of any band. I haven't had much time to invest in music. Lady Catherine believes it makes me a philistine. What about you?"

"I like Wilco, but they aren't my everyday listening. A little dark and heavy. But I listen to music as much as I can. It helps me stop chasing thoughts around, trying to organize them."

"Ah, a librarian's occupational psychosis, I suppose." He grinned and Lizzy laughed.

"I suppose." Or an agent's.

He chuckled at her and then steered the boat around in lazy circles, staying more or less in the same place and taking long looks up at the towers.

Lizzy looked at them but also snuck a glance at the marina level. She spotted Charlie in the distance, standing back among the shadows there. Darcy would likely be unhappy about the boat, but she had correctly assessed that there wasn't much danger. It was too public, and Wickham had definite plans for her. She was surer of that now than before he picked her up, and she had been sure then. She could satisfy none of those plans as he would want if she were dead—or injured.

She tightened her jacket around her.

***

Rook was driving again, and they were on their way to the second architectural site. Wickham had not indicated a destination, merely giving the driver another wave of the hand. After a slow blink, Rook started in that direction.

"Where are we going?"

"A change of pace. Nothing quite so massive and overwhelming, something more… actual size ."

"Oh, good. That was impressive but a bit much. Like housing in Valhalla."

He laughed softly. "You're a funny woman, Fanny. I do like a sense of humor. It helps a person cope."

Lizzy agreed. Rook drove on for about twenty-five minutes and turned into a residential neighborhood. Wickham seemed happy enough to sit mostly in silence, looking out the window and occasionally smiling at Lizzy. He made some small talk about the weather and assured her that, although the temperature was dropping, they would be inside for most of the next stop, warm.

She used the silence to consider Wickham after more extended exposure. He was attractive and keenly intelligent. Except for her initial walk to the car, he had remained in control of himself, his expressions, the placement and movement of his gaze. She could feel his desire for her intensifying, but he doled it out slowly, showing it in measured stages, in the one lingering touch, and in his smiles and compliments.

He reminded her of a boy she had dated in high school, a fabled bad boy. In hindsight, he hadn't been all that bad. Mainly, he had been reckless, a street racer who smoked unfiltered Camels, and his grades were deliberately failing. Lizzy liked that he was her mother's aversion; he made Mrs. Bennet crazy. In retrospect, she had liked that more than she liked him, to be honest. He had been stereotypically rebellious, a latter-day James Dean, gripped by a need to answer to norms other than those of parents and school.

Wickham was no teenage rebel, no bad boy in that sense. He was certainly a man fully grown. For all his beauty and intellect (and he was smart ), his almost unfailingly careful handling of himself and her, there was a looming threat in him, an internal thundercloud, a slow-gathering, dark storm. He was exciting and ominous all at once, the two interpenetrating. His charm was laced with menace. It was present, coercive, and actively operating. Deadly allure . He combined an overshadowing strangeness with low-key but bright gallantry. Both at the party and at Marina City, Lizzy had not missed noticing that every woman's head turned, posture shifted slightly, as Wickham passed.

She tried again to summon up the energy she needed to contend with him. He was more challenging than any of her previous marks, and she was finding it hard to regain the pitch of concentration she had managed at the party. Regaining it was crucial. Wickham was aware, intensely aware of her, attending to every expression, gesture, and word. Let one be faulty, and he would be done with her; the mission would fail. If she lost her hold on him, she would lose their chance of discovering some information that could ultimately dismantle the Wicker Man.

The next stop on the tour turned out to be the Robie House.

"...Frank Lloyd Wright," Wickham was saying, "not only designed the house, but he created the interiors and selected the furniture, lighting, and other elements. It's Wright all over." Just as he had earlier in the day, he rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. "I've always wanted to get inside. Today, although it was closed for some repairs, we will. Lady Catherine made a call."

Rook stopped the car and came around to open the door. As Lizzy got out after Wickham, taking Wickham's proffered hand, she noticed a cavalry-blue Camry parking far down the block.

Wickham led her to the house. "It's Prairie School. See the long, box-like sections that meet in the middle? Wright was echoing a midwestern landscape, the strong exterior horizontal lines. The roof is cantilever and the wood details inside are legendary. And look at those long bands of windows!"

A nicely dressed woman in her late fifties or early sixties met them at the door, checking her clipboard. "Mr. Wickham?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes. Lady Catherine called."

"Yes, please come inside. I'm busy with other things, but I'll be around if you have questions. Otherwise, feel free to look around.”

They walked slowly through the house, Wickham acting as eager, engaged guide. Lizzy admired the house. The art glass windows particularly captivated her, their subtle filtration of light that somehow blended the external world of the city with the internal world of the house. It was all impressive.

As they finished, Wickham shook his head. "It's art you can inhabit. Like a painting that suddenly allows you to step into it, that stretches from two dimensions to three."

Lizzy understood this. "Like Bert's chalk drawings in Mary Poppins !"

To her surprise, Wickham responded to her question with a blank look. "What's that?"

"A famous movie. Everyone has seen it at least once as a child."

His face contracted. "Not me. But then, I had an odd childhood." He scowled, not at Lizzy but at something neither of them could see, and then quickly lightened his expression. "Shall we go to dinner? We can walk from here."

"We can?"

"Yes, it's a neighborhood place. Rook will pick us up when we finish."

They walked a short distance, and Lizzy was puzzled when they ended up at a corner diner, a Greek place called Salonica.

Wickham held the door for her. "I hope you don't mind. I have a soft spot for diner food, particularly for Greek food, so this place seemed a natural choice. And it was near our last tour."

They went inside and sat down in one of the worn booths. Their waitress―a small, elderly woman with hair that should have been gray but was jet black―brought them small glasses of water and asked if they wanted anything else to drink.

"Coffee," Wickham said. "Are you still serving breakfast?"

The woman shrugged as if they might or might not be but could provide it anyway.

"Water's good for me," Lizzy said.

The woman trudged away. They studied their menus, already on the table.

Lizzy felt Fanny's phone vibrate in her purse. "Oh, pardon me." She took out the phone and saw she had a text from Ned.

Sorry again about having to leave, hope you found a way to entertain yourself

"Is there a problem?" Wickham’s tone sounded slightly irritated at the interruption. Darcy. Good thought.

She turned the phone so that he could read the text. He sighed and shook his head. "Ned's loss is my gain." His eyes met Lizzy's as he said it, and she held his gaze for an extra second before glancing back at the text.

"I wish he hadn't had to leave," she looked up at Wickham, "but I'm enjoying myself. Thanks for this afternoon."

The waitress came back with coffee. "What will you have?"

Wickham let Lizzy go first. "A gyro and fries."

"And I'll have the Greek omelet."

As the woman trudged away again, Lizzy chuckled. "I had an omelet this morning. Made it myself." But I didn't eat it myself. She thought of Darcy, first at breakfast and now listening to her talk to Wickham.

"So…Ned. How did you two meet? I'm assuming there were books involved?"

Lizzy chuckled again. "Yes, there were. One book in particular. We met in a used bookstore in New York, both of us looking for a copy of the same book."

"What book?"

"Elizabeth Gaskell's last novel, Wives and Daughters . She was writing it when she died and did not complete it. It's missing the final chapter, although the trajectory is clear enough."

Wickham nodded slowly. "Hmm…Ned was looking for Wives and Daughters ? Isn't that a little…I don't know… piano? "

She hadn't expected that phrasing, but Darcy had correctly anticipated the sentiment when they built their backstory. She shrugged. "Ned's so sweet, a gentle soul…"

Wickham grinned, deviltry curling the corners of his mouth. "Maybe a little too gentle?"

For some reason, Lizzy blushed a real blush. But it worked perfectly. He saw it, and his grin grew bigger. He sipped his coffee, staring at her over the cup and waiting.

She did not answer, but Lizzy knew Fanny's non-answer was Wickham's answer. Another loss for Fanny, another win for Wickham.

He was sure of her now, his surety evident in his posture. All that he thought remained was the time it would take to reach the goal that was already but not yet his. Her . Fanny.

When they returned to her apartment building, Rook again opened the door. Wickham again helped Lizzy out, but he made no move to enter the building or ask about a nightcap. "Thanks for a lovely afternoon and for putting up with my diner choice for dinner."

"I liked it. The gyro was good, but I couldn't eat it all."

He caught her eyes. "Would you be interested in dinner tomorrow night, Fanny? Someplace fancier this time?"

She made herself hesitate, visibly dither. "Um, okay. Sure. Text me." She displayed Fanny's self-division in her stammer. Then she smiled and spoke with more decision. "Yes, text me."

The deviltry returned but not to his lips, only to his eyes. A fire was banked there. Wickham bent down and kissed her cheek. "I will."

She turned and walked away from him. Tomorrow will be harder.