Chapter Twenty-Four
How could it be that Gabe, Mr Practicality, Mr Stoic, Mr I Know A Dialectic That Explains This Metaphysical Contradiction Perfectly, now felt as if he’d been stumbling around in the shadows for all of his days on earth? Until someone, or rather Jane Austen, had turned on the big light.
How could it be that he, who’d read all the great and not so great philosophers, had learned more about life, love and even himself, from the pen of a woman who’d never left England, had never set up home by herself, and had died aged only forty-one?
Ignoring his own academic research (he’d planned to make a start on his paper on AI versus the principles of robotic philosophy as put forward by the science fiction writer Isaac Asimov, to be presented at a conference next year), Gabe had binge-read all Jane Austen’s novels.
Persuasion was his favourite. If he was going to devote his entire life and future happiness to the pursuit of an Austen hero, which he very much wasn’t, then it would be Captain Henry Wentworth.
He was brave, kind, well-travelled, self-aware and sensitive.
Surely a much better bet than Fitzwilliam Darcy who, even at the end of Pride and Prejudice, still needed to do a lot of work on himself.
Which was why Gabe was more convinced than ever before that this date with Darcy was a bad idea.
Even if he couldn’t prevent it, then he could at least make sure that it didn’t lead to a second date.
And yes, on one hand, Gabe knew that he was crushing Tess’s dreams but on the other hand, he was doing it for her own good. Not just her own good but for the good of other … interested parties.
Ella, however, refused to be drawn into a polite conversation with Gabe about the date. She didn’t even want to discuss Gabe’s newfound appreciation for Jane Austen, even though she’d gone through her own Jane Austen phase before she’d discovered Westlife then real boys.
‘It’s under control,’ was all that she would say when Gabe cornered her in the back office. ‘Not that it concerns you.’
‘I just heard you booking a photographer. Don’t you think that’s a little premature? Have you even asked Tess? She might not want to be photographed and I’m sure that taking pictures of library property … Oh my God, Ella, are you twelve?’ he’d broken off.
Ella had stuck her fingers in her ears and was chanting, ‘La la la, I can’t hear you!’
There were other alarming discoveries. While using the ancient computer in the back office, rather than his MacBook, he’d realised that The Love Library now had its own social media accounts though The Love Library wasn’t even in beta mode or soft launch.
The idea hadn’t even been floated in front of the library board.
Also, the office computer still ran on Windows Vista and Gabe hadn’t even known that it was capable of connecting to the internet.
There was only one option left to him. He had no other choice.
Gabe knew it was wrong, but he’d been forced to these desperate measures.
It helped that Ella was still suffering from what she called baby brain.
Of course, Gabe would never dare blame his sister’s pig-headedness on such a thing.
One, it was incredibly sexist. Two, it had already been established that Ella had always been pig-headed, long before she had a baby.
Either way, when she’d locked Pride and Prejudice in the safe, she’d forgotten a very important detail: as joint head librarian, Gabe also had a key to the safe.
The date with Darcy was on Sunday but it wasn’t until the preceding Thursday evening that the coast was clear.
It was the last day of May and the library was very busy with the end of the academic year looming, exams on the horizon, final papers due, so it was gone midnight before Gabe finally had the place to himself.
With pounding heart and hands that trembled slightly, he approached the safe in the back office.
The library was empty. The doors were locked.
He was on his own but still, Gabe knew real fear as he retrieved Pride and Prejudice.
Even without its unique properties, it was very rare.
The three-volume set was from the original print run of just fifteen hundred copies.
There was a similar set, without any magical properties, which had just come up for auction at Christie’s with a reserve price of over ￡130,000.
However, that wasn’t why Gabe was so nervous.
As he checked for what felt like the hundredth time that the office door was unlocked and open, he had a horrible metallic taste in his mouth, like he’d been gargling with old pennies.
Gabe sat down. Then stood up again. He was about to have the sort of conversation that should be done standing up. He opened the second volume and when he said, ‘Darcy,’ his voice, to his own ears, sounded weak and croaky.
The bells echoed the frenetic thrum of his own heart, the gold dust in the air made it even harder to catch his breath, and as a tall figure appeared in the doorway, Gabe wondered if he was about to have a stroke.
‘Ah, Sharma,’ said Darcy. ‘This is unexpected. I’m meant to be on what your sister calls a break. Why are you locking the door?’
Gabe made sure the door was locked and bolted, then turned round to confront the man who haunted many a young woman’s (and many a middle-aged and elderly and let’s face it all women’s and some men’s) dreams because he really was unfairly and stupidly good-looking.
Jane Austen’s first description of Darcy had been a succinct ‘he was a tall, fine person, handsome features, noble mien’, which just didn’t do the man justice.
He was, in common parlance, a snack.
Gabe groaned.
‘Are you unwell, sir?’ Darcy enquired, with a touch of impatience to his voice. ‘Do you have need of a surgeon? I fear that I’m unschooled in the ways of medicine.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ Gabe said with his own touch of impatience. ‘I need to talk to you, man to man. Please, take a seat.’
He gestured at the sofa and chairs so Darcy could take his pick, but the man’s upper lip curled, his brow furrowed and there he was! The Darcy whom Jane Austen had first described and who had put himself very firmly on Elizabeth Bennet’s shitlist.
‘… he was looked at with great admiration for half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust, which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud; to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance.’
It was that most forbidding, disagreeable countenance that Gabe faced now. He knew that Darcy improved beyond this first impression, but he gave the appearance of being very high in his instep as Gabe began to speak.
Then Gabe couldn’t look at him any longer because he felt the need to nervously pace the room as he outlined his plan.
‘And so, I know it’s a somewhat unorthodox request but I’m sure you can understand what’s at stake here …
’ Gabe ran out of breath and words and turned unwilling eyes to Darcy, who now looked like he’d been asked to strip down to his grundies and take to the stage as one of the performers in a regional production of Magic Mike.
In short, he looked absolutely appalled.
‘I can scarce believe that you’d make such an audacious request; to take advantage of any generosity and respect I may feel towards your kin,’ Darcy said curtly once he’d regained the ability to speak.
‘I appreciate that, but these are very unusual circumstances and it would, personally, mean a lot to me.’ Gabe found he was wringing his hands and instead clenched them into fists. ‘Please understand my position …’
‘I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding.’ Darcy looked down his well-sculpted nose at Gabe. ‘And yet, I cannot forget the vices and follies of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself.’
Gabe was off his game. He knew that. Usually, he was as comfortable conversing in Ancient Greek as he was in his native tongue but tonight, he just wished that Darcy would say what he had to say in plain English.
‘I’m begging you, Darcy,’ he pleaded. ‘I beseech you.’
‘For goodness’ sake, man, pull yourself together,’ Darcy advised harshly. ‘I cannot concede to your demands. To do so would go against every principle that I possess.’
This was the stuffed-shirt version of Darcy that Gabe hoped would turn up for his date with Tess. If he could guarantee that, then there would have been no need to humiliate himself in this fashion.
‘You might want to watch that pride, Darcy,’ he said, unable to resist puncturing a little of that haughty attitude. ‘Otherwise you might find yourself falling from a great height.’
That warranted an impressive flaring of Darcy’s nostrils. ‘It would do well to remind you, Sharma, that my good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.’
‘So, you won’t help me then?’
‘I will not.’ Darcy stiffly bowed. ‘Now let me take leave of you, sir.’
‘Gladly. Restore!’ Gabe snapped as he also snapped the book shut with scant regard for its venerated and valuable status.
Gabe returned the book to the safe and slammed the door shut. He’d played his last hand. Now he had to let the cards fall where they may.
He was still brooding about it when he got home to find his own copy of Pride and Prejudice on the coffee table.
He should have known that nothing good could come from reading novels.
He picked up the book as a precursor to maybe flinging it across the room, but Gabe could no sooner mistreat a book than he could fly to the moon.
He had a bookmark, or rather a flyer from a local plumber wedged between its pages, at his favourite part of the novel. Because in a short space of time, Gabe didn’t just read novels, he had favourite bits of them.
His favourite part of Pride and Prejudice was the ill-fated proposal scene where Elizabeth Bennet sent Darcy packing. Who didn’t love to see someone, who richly deserved it, have their arse handed to them?
‘From the very beginning – from the first moment I may almost say – of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others … I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.’
He could have done with her company tonight when he was trying to appeal to Darcy’s better nature. But the man clearly didn’t have one.
It wasn’t until he was brushing his teeth before bed, the two minutes of the day when Gabe did all his best thinking, that he realised that he still had an ace up his sleeve.
All was not lost.
It was time to call in the big guns.
Or rather, call in the big gun.