When Mark left her apartment, Eliza had the unmitigated feeling she would never see him again. All her efforts persuading him to stay the night did not seem to have had an effect on him. Never mind dinner or breakfast in bed and all the window dressing she could've added to the promising sexy morning, he simply would not stay. Not wishing to sound overbearing, Eliza chose not to press him. But there was nothing she could do to avoid the feeling of abandonment that his hasty leaving had left in her heart.

When the telephone rang a few minutes later, she was already in bed, envisioning a dreary Sunday at home pondering whether to spend it ferreting her wardrobe for warm clothes for the oncoming cold weather (although there were still three good months until winter, but what with this changes in global weather, one never knows...Was it not snowing in Buenos Aires last week?) or cleaning the kitchen cupboard to get rid of unwanted jars and tins, both tasks quite drudgery in themselves. Thinking it was Charlotte, she first had the impulse to let it ring. But then again it occurred to her it could be her sister, so, since the telephone was in the living-room, she shuffled across the room and picked up the phone to hear Mark's voice at the other end. Her heart gave such a jolt that she could hardly find words to answer him.

He asked her out. No, not lunch, he had already fixed lunch with Marjorie. Marjorie was his sister. Yes, she lived in the outskirts. Yes, she was very fond of him. No, she was older. Ten years. No, she wasn't ten (laughs) she was forty-six. His sister wasn't Georgiana Darcy (laughs). Had never eloped. (sneer) No, Marjorie was single. Yes, she was very fond of roses. Same as she (deep voice) No, he was not restless. He was very tired, in fact. (chuckle) He was alone, yes. No he had not let the dog out yet. The name was Solo. An Alsatian. Solo, like the man from U.N.K.L.E. No, not his uncle, Napoleon Sol...never mind. (embarrassed) It was a show in the 70s. He must've been five by then. No, of course not. She was not born yet. Yes, he remembered. No, not Bond, Solo...

Curled up on the sofa, all snug and warm, Eliza must have been talking like that for half an hour, from time to time a meek endearment slipping from her lips. Mark's voice was husky and seductive, which was the fountainhead of Eliza's thawing with his warm endearments. When she finally hung off, her neck hurt because she had been holding the speaker between her cheek and her shoulder for longer than she could remember. But, despite a ruddy blotch on her cheek, and the speaker of the phone moistened with her own breath, she had a beautiful smile on her face. Everything had run smoothly in the end.

However, during the scarce twenty minutes that had passed between Mark leaving her place to Mark giving her a call, Eliza had had time to do a lot of worry. While he was in her apartment, and all through the aftermath of their lovemaking, she had succeeded in looking as cool as a cucumber, but truth be told, she was trembling inside. And not for nothing.

She was experiencing what one could call the effects of the unexpected course her actions had taken. Mark was an interesting man to experience her first incursions in sex with ...mm...well let's face it: he was terribly handsome, a veritable treat for the eyes, especially wearing nothing but his boxers...ahem...most importantly, he looked decent enough and reliable, but that did not diminish the fact that he was a complete stranger.

To make matters worse, she had not taken one single precaution, and nor had he. She knew she should have hinted that she was inexperienced, that she wasn't on the pill, so now the responsibility lay foursquare with her. But despite the risks she had unwisely run, Eliza reckoned she had enjoyed every bit of it. Mark knew how to please a woman, and had pleased her even when he had had to overcome her obvious nervousness.

The foreplay on the sofa had been something out of this world. She reckoned it was she who had started it off. Until she threw herself into his arms and kissed him decidedly on the lips, he had been the perfect gentleman. But then in the throbs of passion, when her hand, unsophisticatedly and unexpectedly landed between his legs, something quickened within his trousers. Her eyes flashed to his face and they knew it.

From then on it had been a landslide. Used to snogging with quite naïve boys of her age who would be fairly content to grope her boobs and press themselves against her, Mark's hand sliding into her knickers had taken her completely by surprise. She had never meant to turn him on like that. Yet turned on he was, and there was only one way in which Mark knew how to extinguish such a fire.

She had meant to stop him during the first innings, while they were still on the sofa, but then, he did something she had not anticipated; though an action that pre-dated the first amorous expressions in the history of intercourse, it took her completely unawares. He stripped in front of her.

Now that was quite a spectacle.

He began to peel his clothes little by little while he kissed her and caressed her with his free hand, rubbing himself against her in the process. Obviously, he was a man used to getting his oats. Before she could protest, he was doing away with her clothes with amazing mastery. He did not hesitate for the briefest moment, not waiting for her to give him the nod, simply digging in as if she were his to take.

And take her he did.

When Mark, ever so decidedly 'invaded' her, Eliza gasped, half of surprise half of pleasure. Not that it hurt, not at all. But the sheer notion of having abandoned the safe concourse of girlhood to plunge into the road of womanhood, with all the uncertainties and unparalleled thrills that such leap entailed, also invaded her. She purred with satisfaction. There was a man in her apartment, just as the good God had made him, and she was entwined with him in such a way, that she hardly had time to notice the moment when he had slid into her. She merely gasped in recognition that something substantially big had trespassed on the limits of her innocence.

Inhibiting an absurd impulse to gape at the event, Eliza gave in to venting her emotions with little whimpering sounds that seemed to enervate his rhythm even more. Grabbing a bunch of hair from his head, Eliza monitored his movements from the mirror. He was a beautiful view, diving into her as it were, with such an ease and grace that she could not help the words that escaped her lips.

"Oh, God! I love you, I do."

"Me too," came his husky, drowsy voice into her ear. And guess what... she believed him.

Elizabeth was in the bathroom when the door bell rang. She left the water running, rushed to the living room and opened the door a little. It was Charlotte.

"Hi, Sweety. Come on in!" she said as she backed a little to let her in.

"Hi. Everything ok?" Charlotte asked as she poked her face in to kiss her friend hello.

"Oh, don't kiss me. I've got to take this off!" Eliza was talking about the green cream that masked her face. Charlotte shrugged and came in. While she was making herself at home, Eliza rushed back to the bathroom and turned off the tab. Then she washed her face with some hot water, put on her bathrobe and came over to the living room.

"How are you?"

"Fine.

"What've you been doing?"

"The usual."

"Not the usual." Charlotte pointed out. The usual would have been parroting over the phone with her the whole night, especially after the occurrence of the blind date. To Charlotte amazement, Eliza had neither phoned nor answered her phone calls. As if that was not weird enough, Charlotte had found her friend still surprisingly undressed, possibly with no breakfast in her stomach, nonetheless notably relaxed and suspiciously happy.

"Yeah. Just out there sunning meself."

"You didn't ring me," protested Charlotte meekly.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that. I completely forgot to phone you."

"You forgot?"

Eliza nodded, biting her lower lip.

"Yeah..." Charlotte eyed her friend suspiciously. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Eliza shrugged.

"How was your date?"

"It was ok."

"You're lying, you fat cow. You didn't meet the guy."

"Sorry?"

"Yesterday. You texted me saying you were going out with this guy, but I saw him on his own later on."

"Oh, that guy. Nope. Actually, I picked the other one."

"You're kidding!"

"Nope"

"God! You mean the tall, dark, handsome fellow with the red rose in his lapel? You, lucky bastard!"

They both burst into naughty, conspiratorial laughter. Eliza was delighted. At long last she had some story to tell.

"I did something really bad," Eliza said in between laughs, and then paused to see Charlotte's reaction. Charlotte spied her suspiciously from behind her hands.

"You didn't bring him here, did you?"

Eliza nodded, sputtering with contained laughter. She took both her hands to her face.

"Holly confessions!"

Eliza laughed hysterically and wiggled her toes. She was relishing the moment. Charlotte would be green with envy.

"Honest, Eli!" said Charlotte nodding. "This is too much. I can't deal with it!"

"Oh, please Charlotte! Cleanse my soul! I need to tell someone!"

Charlotte didn't know whether she actually wanted to hear what Eliza had to say. She suspected she wouldn't like it at all. Ever so tactfully she asked: "You did it?"

Eliza nodded demurely. Then she voiced it emphatically, "I did."

"Oh, Lard!"

"Twice!"

Charlotte stared at her friend in complete befuddlement, eyes wide like saucers.

"You did the deed with a complete stranger?"

"Did it!" she giggled

"Jesus, Eli!" wined Charlotte. "Mad as a hatter, you are!"

"I am, aren't I?"

Charlotte could not contain herself. She was thoroughly amazed. Never in a hundred years would she have expected Eliza to give her cherry away as if it were nothing at all. When she had agreed to go with her to this crazy blind date she had never imagined things would turn out this way. What could have possibly happened to Eliza that had made her act so thoughtlessly? Had she been doped? Perhaps they guy put something in her tea?

"Well. What was it like?" she asked nonchalantly.

"I can't describe it, Charlotte! He's too much. You can't even begin to understand what he did to me. He's just...beautiful!"

"Oh, my God!" cried Charlotte as she buried her face in her arm. They both laughed and gave little euphoric cries until Charlotte, with a very serious voice, asked: "Did you use a condom?"

"Vernon. For God's sake, how did you get in?"

"Good morning to you," Vernon said unflappable as he served Mark an indulging quantity of egg and bacon on a saucer. Vernon was tall and slim, and always had slinky clothes on. Today he was wearing a silky shirt that hung becomingly to his body and a pair of luscious leather trousers that rustled as he moved. His watery blue eyes and perfect profile gave him a boyish look that lingered on despite he was not getting any younger. Ever a swish, he wore his long wavy hair in a pony tail. Polished nails shone in his bony fingers adorned with several rings as he moved his hands to emphasize every single word he uttered. When he sat down across from Mark in the kitchen, Vernon did not betray the great nervousness that gripped him deep inside.

"Come, handsome. You must be starving. What were you doing out so late last night? Did you have dinner somewhere?"

It took some time for Mark to come to terms that it was Vernon that had invaded his kitchen. At length, he took a seat at the kitchen table in front of a freshly cooked full English breakfast. If there was one thing he missed from Vernon that was his cooking. Delighted despite himself, Mark took a forkful of egg and bacon to his mouth and listened to Vernon's prattle.

"Is there not a word of welcome for Vernon?"

Mark nodded unconvinced. He knew his old friend. If Vernon had come to his place it was because either he was in debt or he had nowhere else to go. Without saying a word to welcome him, Mark grunted. "So what's it this time?"

Vernon sneered. "I've missed you."

"Whatever," Mark said waving his fork in the air as he washed the bacon down with freshly squashed orange juice.

"Nothing's been the same since you dumped me."

"I did no such thing."

"You left me for whores."

"Oh, stop that, Vernon. One day someone might hear you and get the wrong impression," he said as he stuffed more food in his mouth. "Besides, we weren't compatible, and you know it," he said with a chuckle.

"Oh, I would've put up with you as long as you stayed clear from the kitchen."

"Vernon, I wouldn't have put up with you for anything," Mark pointed out.

"You put up with that slag."

"Oh yes! But then again people took pity on me. Thought I was a cuckoo, not a queen."

Indeed, Vernon moving in with Mark after his divorce would have not helped much clean his already tinged reputation. Anyway, Vernon visited Mark with great regularity when Mark's marriage came apart, bringing CDs, video games, books and champagne to cheer him up. His hands always full with groceries, he would appear at unseemly hours to cook or merely fill up his fridge. All through Mark's trying moments, Vernon had been a loyal friend, too loyal for Mark's taste. Many times Vernon had been seen in his tight jeans coming and going, doing the cooking for Mark or disposing of the garbage. Soon, Blokes started to pass rather disturbing stories about Mark's real reasons to get a divorce.

Mark took a better look at Vernon's clothes and chuckled again. "You could dress decently from time to time."

"What can I say? I have always had a thing for silk."

"People think you're gay. In fact, I thought you were gay when I saw you last year in those tights!"

"Don't be daft, Mark! I could've dressed like Clark Kent and people'd still have something to say."

"Still. You, coming home dressed like a ..."

"Like what! Silk's the latest tendency! So you're afraid for your reputation? It's not my fault if people think you're queer, Chuck. It's simply that you...divorced, looking bereft and lonely, living with an overweight dog, never a woman again... you give the impression..."

"The pot calling the kettle black."

"Oh I've my reasons to avoid girls. Women do funny things."

"Yes, that's true."

"Like whooping your friends."

"He was no friend of mine."

"Oh, no. Not him!"

This time Mark changed the subject, "How did you get in?"

"The dog let me in."

"How did you get in?" Mark chanted, losing patience with Vernon.

"You left your keys in the keyhole."

"Sod it!"

"I could've raped you and you wouldn't 've noticed."

"You tugged me in?"

"I know. I'm sorry. I've no morals. By the way, your buttocks are glorious! How do you do it?" Vernon asked sounded mystified.

"I jog."

"Then you must take me with you. I can't reduce the fat around my..." a long description of Vernon's ideas about the benefits of exercise followed. Mark paid no mind to his prattle. He set his mind to finish his breakfast. It was really good.

"Well anyway. How have you been?" asked Vernon when he realised Mark wasn't paying attention.

Mark shrugged. "I'm ok. And you? You're looking well yourself."

"Thank you," he said gaily. "Mm. I've been away lately."

"France?"

"Amsterdam, Las Vegas."

"Well! I'll be blown! And what were you doing down there?"

"Losing money, actually."

"Tell me something I don't know. Lost much?"

"I'm broke. As a matter of fact, I've come to have a talk, actually," he started tentatively. "I've been thinking. Perhaps we should have a go at getting back together, like in the old days. What d'you say?"

"I'd say poverty has ruined your brain."

"I've nowhere to go."

"You can't stay here."

"I'm ill."

"I don't believe you."

"It'll be for a short time. We could have separate living arrangements in the house. Separate bedrooms, of course," he said smugly, "See how it goes."

"I'm afraid it's impossible, Vernon. I'm in no need of room partners. We're no longer at college."

Vernon looked dismayed. He had been a lodger at Mark's house during a long time, before Mark had got married. A great fondness attached him to the spacious rooms in fact. Memories of hilarious nights with friends, good music and drinks were edged for ever in his mind. In truth he had thought Mark wouldn't object to his staying. For the good old days.

"Is it a woman? You're dating someone? Are you getting married again?"

"No...what does it have to do with anything anyway? You're not staying. End of story."

"Who were you talking to last night?" he asked feigning annoyance.

"Vernon, you're not my wife. Do me a favour. Bugger off. Get your butt out of here. If it's money what you need, I can make you a deposit just for this once. Ok? But don't get into the house any more. And next time you see the keys in the keyhole, ring the bell..." he cried exasperated.

"Let me stay tonight." Vernon pleaded, eyes like those of Puss in Boots. "I'll sleep with Solo. I promise I'll leave tomorrow."

"No! You cannot stay! And this is my last word!"

Just then the telephone rang. It was Marjorie. Mark had completely forgotten about the lunch. Mark left Vernon and went into his bedroom to get changed. When he came back downstairs, Vernon was moping the countertop with a moisten cloth. Mark watched him moving around and took a few seconds to ponder on his friend's manners. Clearly he was nervous. He must be in some sort of problem. Mark began to feel embarrassed by his ungenerous response. His embarrassment was beginning to turn into remorse when Vernon spotted him in the doorway.

"Who does the cleaning? This place sucks!"

"Listen, Vernon. I must go now. Do you need anything? Mm...errr...I don't want to see you here when I'm back. Got that?"

"Got the message."

"Here's some cash...Mm..."

"Thanks."

"Yeah, well ...I must go now."

"Will you be back for dinner?"

"No, I've got...Vernon, I warn you..."

"All right, all right. I know when I'm not wanted," then looking bereft at Mark. "Can I go with you? I'd love to see Marjorie."

It was almost one pm when Mark arrived at his sister's. It was a sunny Sunday which meant that his sister would be devoting the bulk of the day to weeding. Accordingly, he found Marjorie in the garden, pruning the roses, her cheeks glowing with sweat under the scorching sun, her straw hat perched right on the back of her head.

"I think you will have to put more mulch on these trees, Richard!" she called out not noticing Mark and Vernon coming towards her across the lawn. Richard was in the vegetable garden, a few steps from the rose arbour. His movements were causing a strong whiff of mint to come from behind the luxuriant creeps that grew fencing the garden where he was pulling out unwanted weeds and watering the herbs.

"There's no need to mow the lawn today, Rick. I'll call the Fetchers' boy to do it sometime in the week."

"I can do it now," said Mark with a smile.

"Mark! I was about to call you again. Vernon! How good to see you!"

"Hi, Marjorie," said Mark warmly as he kissed her sweaty cheek.

"Sweetheart!" cried Vernon. "You look fantastic!"

"So do you, Vernon!"

They talked for a little while, exchanging the usual pleasantries. Then Vernon asked to use the loo.

"Are you two ok, dearest?" asked Marjorie as she watch Vernon going out of ear shot. "I've thought you two had fallen out."

"Yes, we have. But no one can be angry with Vernon for long. He stayed last night at home but he's leaving today. Where's the lawnmower?"

"Oh, not now, Mark. You must have lunch first."

"No, thanks I'm not hungry. Vernon's stuffed me with bacon. You two already had something to eat?"

"Oh, you know Richard. Lunch's served at twelve."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I did remember. But something came up."

"Oh yes. I can imagine."

"Look out. That stem has some buds."

She stopped pruning and looked at the stem Mark was pointing at. She discarded it and went on pruning lower. "Do me a favour. There's some burlap on the countertop in the shed. Will you get it for me? Then please ask Richard for some rope and tie these for me, and swath them in burlap."

"Of course."

"But get changed first! You will ruin those trousers!"

Mark went into the house and came back a few minutes later wearing old denim jeans his sister kept for him to wear when they did the garden together.

"Why are you pruning those now?"

"Oh, it was last week's wretched rain. The damp weather was perfect for slugs, and they ate it up during the night. I want to preserve the stems for the spring."

Mark nodded.

"Here," she said passing Mark a pair of scissors. "Take off the thorns to swath the stems later."

"Hey, Mark! Isn't it a bit late for lunch?" said his cousin as he came from the garden, hands full of weeds and sprouts. He had a handkerchief on his head as way of a hat and his face was shiny with sweat, his torso was drenched in perspiration, leaving a smear on his shirt. Richard was well into his forties, addicted to beer and allergic to all sort of exercise that was not on TV. Well, except gardening.

"Hello, Rick. That's some hat!" remarked Mark.

"Thank you," he answered merrily. "Who is that little Mary?" he asked gesturing towards Vernon.

"That'll be Vernon. Whitman's son, remember?"

Rick shook his head and pursed his lips.

"Vernon's not gay if that what you're thinking."

"Mhm."

"He's not."

"Dear. Just ignore him."

"Oh, I've nothing against gays," exclaimed Richard. "It's just I wouldn't like Mark to join them."

"Vernon's not gay," Mark insisted.

"Richard, Vernon's a friend of the family, and you know it. His father worked for dad, and they were the best of friends. When Mr Whitman died, dad looked after his wife and Vernon. Mark and Vernon have always been good friends," Mark nodded emphatically from behind during his sister's discourse. "You know they've been together since infancy," she went on. "I remember well when Mark and Vernon used to play naked in the paddling pool when they were babies." Richard raised a brow and a lopsided smiled blossomed. Mark went red in the face.

"It's a pity he turned wild in the end," Marjorie continued. "But he's always been good to us, hasn't he, dear?"

"To tell you the truth Vernon's sexual life doesn't bother me at all. He could be a crazy queen and I wouldn't give a damn. But as it is, I know he's not gay. A cool-cat, maybe, but nothing beyond that. The trouble is, he's always in debt. He's a compulsive gambler."

"Hanky-panky?"

"A black sheep," corrected Marjorie. Then, addressing Mark. "How long is he staying with you?"

"He's not staying. I told him he's got to leave before we get home tonight."

"We?" asked Richard again. The use of the collective amused him.

"You're staying with us that long?"

"No. I've got a date in town." Marked blurted distractedly and he immediately regretted it.

"Oh!" his sister said approvingly.

"Is it an unmarried specimen of the weaker sex?" asked Richard.

"Mhm,"

"Oh, Mark! Why didn't you bring her to have lunch with us?"

"Hey, I've just met her."

"Tell us more." Richard said suddenly interested. It was the first time Mark admitted having a date with an unmarried woman.

"Where did you meet her?"

Now Mark was dumbfounded. He could not possible tell his sister and Richard where or how he had met Eliza. As a matter of fact, he could not believe he had told them anything about her at all.

"She's just a fleeting acquaintance."

"You mean an easy shag."

"Oh, stop that you, daft idiot." Marjorie said slapping Richard slightly on his shoulder. "Let Mark speak."

"There's precious little to say. We've just met. I'll tell you if there's anything more to say later on. Ok?"

Mark nodded in Vernon's direction, who was beginning to feel the effect of walking in leather trousers on a boiling day like that, grimacing with each step. Vernon waved his hand at Rick. Rick frowned.

"How old is she?" shot Marjorie not forgetting for an instant the momentous event.

Now that was the one question Mark dreaded most.

"She's rather young," he admitted lightly.

"She's not one of your students?" Marjorie ventured a bit apprehensive.

"No."

"She's not married?" asked Vernon positively astounding, catching up with the conversation immediately.

"No."

"Whoopy!" clapped Marjory cheerfully.

"You, old Bean, didn't tell me anything! Mark, you must marry this one," said Vernon, merrily.

"Oh, yes Mark," pleaded Marjorie. "I'm not getting any younger, you know. I want to be a young aunty. Not a granny to your children."

"I knew you'd say something like this. Listen I've just met her... I..."

"Have you two...mm?" Richard winked at him as he prodded him lightly with an elbow.

"I won't answer that!"

"So you have!" Richard said conclusively.

"When are you planning to bring her here?" interjected Marjorie.

"I'm not planning to..."

"Next Sunday will be excellent. Don't you think next Sunday will be just fine Richard?

Richard nodded. "I can cook something special," he said smiling broadly.

"Does she like meat? Did you say she's a foreigner? I hope she's not Latin. Latin people are so lousy. She's not Latin, is she sweetheart?"

"Marjorie. I won't bring Eliza next Sunday. I..."

"Eliza! Goodness Mark! She's not one of those Bennet girls from the north, is she?" asked Vernon with a grin on his face.

"Oh, what a perfectly beautiful name! Isn't it, Rick? Why not? Why can't you bring her next week?"

Mark sighed. If you cannot beat them, then join them. "Fact is, we're planning a weekend on our own. You know. To get to know each other. See how it goes."

"Oh! I see. That's why Vernon's staying at your place, isn't that sugar? To take care of the house." Vernon jigged delightedly in triumph. "And where are you two going?"

"Don't know, yet." Mark hissed while eyeing Vernon with scorn.

"You must take her to Pemberley!" cried Vernon almost in hysterics.

"Ha!" Richard chuckled.

"Oh, stop that Rick," cried Marjorie beginning to lose patience. "You two! You're just envious!

Just then they heard a car's brakes screeching to a halt.

"Bless my soul! What was that!" asked Marjorie.

Mark's mobile phone rang. Backing away a little into the kitchen, he answered it. Meantime, Marjorie went out to see to the door. Judging from the noise of the brakes, it could be nothing else but Charles Benson's mad driving. Marjorie could only hope he had not brought his sister along with him.

At the other end of the telephone, one of Mark's students sounded very anxious.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr Darcy."

Mark recognised the student's voice instantly. It was that sweet blonde that he had been tutoring for the last semester. "No, no bother at all. What's up?" He made an effort to relax and sound comfortable. He generally avoided private calls from students, especially if they were gorgeous blondes he was in position to fancy. After all, he could not afford getting involved with a student. He had a reputation to keep.

"I'm not sure," the student said timidly.

"Listen. I'm at my sister's and..."

"I've been going about all this data and...how...I'm really... no, I'm not sure."

"I'm afraid I can't help you. You see, it's Sunday and I'm..."

"I don't know, professor. I'm stuck."

"Can we not talk this over on Monday?"

"I have to finish this by Friday. Oh, oh, oh (a crash was heard at the other end followed by the student's voice swearing) Bugger it! Sorry, not to you! I've smashed a dish."

"It's ok. Listen, I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you..."

"Can I come over to your place and show you?"

"Actually, I'm not at home," (haven't I told you?).

"Sod it!"

"Yes, well...I'll call you ..."

"Where are you?"

"Pardon?"

"Listen, I've got a car. I can be anywhere within a radius of thirty miles in a flash."

"No way."

"It'll be only a few minutes..."

"Listen. I've got to go. I'm in the middle of a...."

Just then, Marjorie came back from answering the door bell. But she wasn't alone. A couple was with her. To Mark's dismay, out of the corner of his eye, he spied Charles and Rebecca Benson. Somehow, working on Sunday suddenly became quite appealing after all. Mark had studied all sorts of misfortunes at university: wars, revolutions, famines, pestilences, and could spend the whole evening discussing hundreds of papers on those topics. In fact, he could stand anything but Rebecca Benson's unbridled flirting.

"Please... I promise it won't take long. I promise," the student went on. "I've been trying to fill in the gaps but I'm always stuck in the same place. I'm so embarrassed to have to talk to you on a Sunday. I stayed on campus to work on this the whole weekend and all for nothing! Hate this draft! It'll never be a complete thesis at this pace, I'm afraid."

"Well, yes, all right," he said. Mark decided that agreeing to work the rest of the afternoon was better than fencing the aggressive advances of Rebecca. "Have you got the files in your computer? Or is it printed material?"

"No, it's printed."

"Well then, come over for a sec, and send me anything you've got in your files. Can you take down the address? Yes, I'll wait." He waited a few seconds for the student to grab a pen. "The address is 565 Ashley Road SW. Got that?"

"565...Ashley Road SW. Got that."

"See you in...ehm..."

"Twenty minutes. Thank you!"

He hung up and went directly into Marjorie's office, at all times deliberately avoiding eye contact with everyone in the house, feigning great annoyance and concern over the phone call, lest he should be confronted with the undesirable Rebecca. After efficiently hiding from her for a while, he relaxed a little and flopped himself onto a sofa. It was a good thing he had brought old Vernon with him after all. He would offer great entertainment while he hid in the office.

Without bothering to knock at the door (after all it was her office, wasn't it?), Marjorie came in to the study, and gave her brother a knowing look. "I've got a book for you. It's called 'How to do PhD Supervising and Keep a Social Life at the Same Time'. Can't you just say no for a change?"

"I could. But she's ... She's not really on a solid path, you know. I mean, to complete it this year. Actually, she's worried about my criticism of her work. I'm also genuinely worried. She might not be up to doing a PhD after all. Besides, this way I'll be safe from Rebecca."

"I know. So you have the perfect alibi to stay away from her claws. Why don't you tell her you just aren't interested?"

"Believe me, I've tried. She's simply mad. Same as my student. Once she lost her mind completely after I told her I was not satisfied with her and would rather not go on after all. I didn't want her to waste her time. Ripped up a whole month's work furiously at my face."

"Ms Benson or your student?"

"Well, actually, my student."

"A bit temperamental."

"These kids are mad."

"Kid? How old is she?

"Dunno. Twenty something."

"She's an adult for God's sake!"

"I know. But she needs my help."

"Yes but, Sunday?"

"I'm sorry, Marge. Would you rather have me gone?"

"No, of course not. Stay. Use my study. D'you need my ..." she nodded towards the computer.

"No. Only the printer. She's sending her files, and I like to have them in my hand rather than reading them on the screen."

"Of course, sweetie. Do I send your regards to the Bensons? "

"Please, apologise to Charles."

"I'll show your student in when she arrives."

Once alone, Mark went over to his sister's computer, put on his glasses and prodded her password with a pencil on the keyboard. A twinkling sound announced he had been granted access to the computer and Mark looked for the icons he knew well. But strangely enough, they weren't on the desktop. He clicked on the window icon and nothing on the screen was familiar to him. "Sod it. What's wrong here?" he wondered. He was just about to call for his sister when the door opened and he heard Marjorie approached from behind.

Only it wasn't Marjorie. * * * *

The beautiful blonde got into her car, her laptop securely placed on the passenger seat, and she set out for the road. Her teacher was a great guy. She must remember to buy a token for him. But what could he like? Not a tie. He didn't wear those. He only wore those ridiculous bow ties that made him look ten years older. Maybe some wine. No. He must be very touchy with spirits. Gay guys were always touchy about those things. She had heard he was definitely gay, though perhaps he thought no one knew. He must be. He was the only guy on campus of her acquaintance who had not made a pass at her. And God! If he were straight, he would be the only guy on campus with whom she would be willing to have something. But these days, all handsome men seemed to have passed to the other side. After she pulled over in front of the Victorian house at the address she had been given, she reached for her handbag and fished into it for her mobile. She quickly found her sister's number among the list of quick contacts and texted her she would probably be a bit late home for dinner. * * * * *

At home in her apartment, Eliza received Mark's text message saying he would be late for their date and suggested dinner at her place.

Now what to do? Her sister Jane would be at home tired from working to the point of exhaustion, probably expecting to have late dinner with her. Maybe she could leave her some Chinese takeaway. Mark could take her out, couldn't he? After all this would be their first real date. She picked up the phone and dialled his number. But he wasn't at home. So she took her mobile and tapped his contact. A few seconds later she heard a metallic voice asking her to leave a message.

"Bugger it. Where are you, Mr Darcy?" * * * * *

"Where's your sweet brother, Marjorie?" Rebecca asked impatiently as she hammered her nails against the garden table. "I saw his car parked outside."

"Yes. Where's he?" seconded Charles.

"He received an urgent phone call from a student. He's working on some tuition and only God knows what else," Marjorie explained with a matter-of-fact tone as she distributed the tea saucers and cups.

"What! He's working? Has he become workaholic or something?"

"I imagine he could've gotten away had he not been so willing to avoid a certain person."

"You mean he's avoiding me?" Rebecca asked indignantly.

Marjorie merely pursed her lips.

"You're cruel, Marjorie. Spinsterhood's turning you into a wicked witch. You'd better find some proper job. I think I've had enough of your cruel jokes. "

"Oh, darling. It was nothing but the truth," she answered saucily.

Charles and George jerked their heads away to avoid showing their mirth. Even as she stared in surprise, still open-mouthed, Rebecca would not avert her eyes. Jumping to her feet, she rushed across the lawn towards the house, where she imagined Mark could be hiding away.

Marjorie laughed. It was a wicked laugh.

"Why did you do that?" asked Richard quite intrigued.

"I pity her. She has to come to terms with Mark's indifference."

"You sound as if you were enjoying the whole thing," Richard remarked.

"Only a little," she conceded. "On the other hand she's so stubborn." * * * * *

It didn't take Rebecca long to find Mark's hiding place. She went into the study with a quick, nervous step that proved her spectacular tantrum. As she came closer, it was clear to Mark that she had not come to inquire after his health. She was flushed and plainly furious. "Oh, hi Rebecca," he mumbled as he continued fumbling with the mouse, still unable to find the hang of it. The computer blinked in protestation.

"Is it true?"

Mark raised his eyes from behind his glasses. "What?"

"That you're bloody hiding away from me? Is it true?"

With a swaggering motion of his hand, he yanked his glasses off and asked. "Why should I hide from you, may I ask?"

"Marjorie said so," she snapped, sending a piercing look at him. "Tell me. Is there anything wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, Rebecca. I'm just busy here."

"Then why don't you like me?"

He stared at her in bewilderment. Could this be happening to him? And why didn't he like her? Ah yes. She was single and desperate to get married. But he couldn't say so, could he?

"Why don't you like me? I'll go crazy, Mark. I don't know what else to do to show you I...I want to be with you. Mark. Look at me. Tell me what's wrong with me."

"As I've told you before. There's nothing wrong with you. It's only that I'm..." he hesitated. What could he say? ' I'm sorry, Reb. I only date married women. You see, I'm not prepared for a commitment?'

"Yes...You can tell me, Mark," she said encouragingly.

No. Mark couldn't say what was no longer true. For his feelings for the nearly complete stranger that was waiting for him to have dinner at her place were indeed scaring. He had been contemplating not only sex with her, but also marriage, and family, and even a daughter. Perhaps it was a refutable proof that he had matured. That he had left his failed marriage behind. That he was, in fact, ready for a commitment. "Actually, I'm ..."

In turn, Rebecca was too scared to hear from Mark that he was not interested in her. She would rather hear he was unable to feel anything from women in general. As he hesitated to give a convincing reason for his flat refusal to have something with her, the most preposterous idea trickled into Rebecca's mind. "You're gay?"

Mark was momentarily dumbfounded.

"Is it true, Mark?" she whispered.

Mark shook his head still unable to find words to answer her.

"Is it Vernon?" she ventured. "Because if it is true, I can handle it. I know of many couples ..."

"I'm not gay," he interrupted her, exasperated. Was it possible that everyone believed him gay? This was beginning to bother him. "I'm just...I happen to be already...involved... with someone else."

"Oh."

"Are you ok?"

Admittedly, Rebecca was relieved. It was comforting to know that he was not rejecting her. The notion that he didn't find her remotely likeable would be insupportable. "Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"So involved, huh?"

"Yes."

"Not in love."

"Listen, I ..."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." Getting closer to him, she sat on his lap, boldly putting her arms around his neck and purring into his ear. "Will you let me know when it's over?"

Mark went red in the face. He wasn't at all shy. The last time he had let himself been carried away by the moment, he ended up completely hooked. Indeed, Mark was certain his feelings, his warm emotions resulting from the vertigo of his unexpected encounter with Eliza were something beyond lust. Yes. At first he had thought Eliza could have been someone who was just willing to go all the way with him. But she was more. There was this comfort about her, this warmness, this kindness and trust he had never felt before. And yet, Rebecca on his lap, eyes holding his gaze expectantly was altogether unsettling. "Sure," he answered, feeling just the opposite.

"Promise?"

What could a man say in such a situation, for God's sake? 'No. I'm not interested? I'll never phone you? Or email you?' Actually, they could. But no. In reality they just don't. No. That is not simply how it is done. A man would say yes, and never phone after all. And Mark was no less man than the regular guy. But Rebecca was quite content with the promise she exacted, and didn't give much consideration to how reluctantly it had been granted. For the first time, her efforts to attract Mark's attention had resulted in a definable physical, if fleeting, response. Accordingly, she gave him a rewarding peck on his lips. Mark knew that they had gone way too far already and he tried to slid from under her when the door opened to reveal his student, laptop and folder in hands, with Marjory and Vernon at her heels.

Just then, Mark's mobile phone rang.

So in the end Mark Darcy was not gay. The discovery had left Jane completely astonished. To that day, she had accepted the general view that people had of him, the one everybody had heard about, which was that Mark Darcy was an eccentric, detached kind of guy, probably a genius, but nonetheless decidedly gay. Surprisingly enough, she felt thoroughly embarrassed to be in his presence now that she was aware she was in front of a gorgeous heterosexual specimen.

Had Jane ever imagined him to be straight she would have never agreed to the tutoring. The last thing she wished was to become romantically involved with a teacher. Truth be told, judging from Mark Darcy's good looks, that could have easily happened had she not believed him queer. Until that day, Jane had felt safe since he had been ... how to put it, a peer.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jane spied Mark as he attentively read the draft of her thesis. Why was he not wearing his glasses, she wondered? She strained her eyes and noticed he was wearing contacts. So, he was vain. Nothing wrong with that! Obviously he did not try to impress his female students at college, since he never wore contacts there. On the contrary, he probably was determined to avoid getting involved with anyone from the college. That must be why he always looked so perfectly English there. But in his personal life and with his girlfriend that was a different story, Jane had noticed.

Mark's mobile rang and they were both startled by it. He mumbled excuses to Jane and answered. Jane saw his features changed if not softened a little. At the other end she thought she perceived a female voice. To Jane's amazement Mark Darcy talked sweetly to her. It was quite a sight. He really seemed quite smitten with her. Jane could almost swear the woman who was now speaking with him was not the same one who had been on his lap a few minutes before. Did he have another girlfriend? Mark seemed to notice Jane spying him while he talked so he turned his back and continued talking. Jane tried to look uninterested and began to scan her papers as if she was not listening. He turned around again, looked at her and moved a distance away. He was definitely talking to a special girl, for Jane could see two previously unknown dimples appearing at both sides of his face. Ha! What a discovery!

God he was handsome when he smiled! Jane felt herself blushing furiously. She wondered how she could have not noticed before! Out of his line of sight, she examined him from behind. He had quite broad shoulders and she was certain firm buttocks beneath those jeans. His tone was lighthearted and mocking on the phone and at times almost velvety as he obviously whispered endearments.

"Listen. I'd better go. You've plans...I dunno..." she said apologetically when he had finished his conversation.

"Well, yes. But, mm, she ... I mean ...my plans will wait."

Jane nodded, flattered that he wanted to finish with her instead of going on with his plans, but she made a mental promise to concentrate harder on her paper and less on her interlocutor.

But it was in vain. He simply drove her to distraction. She could see now that Mark Darcy was quite the stud. After the woman she had found cuddled on his lap had left them alone in Miss Darcy's study, Jane had sent him a cursory look and her judgement of his appearance left her more than pensive. He was not wearing his ever present tie and black trousers. Instead, his clothes were casual and quite becoming. He had a T-shirt on and from the opening at the front she could spy a generous amount of chest hair. A pair of jeans gave him a boyish look. His hair, also, was strikingly different, tousled curls on his high forehead that took a good ten years from him. His face, unusually young, his dark eyebrows widely arched and the stillness of his gaze as he roamed across the papers and settled on her to point something out.

Jane could hardly come to terms with the idea that she had spent so much time in comfortable companionship with such a delicious man, all the time with the wrong notion that no matter what she wore or how she smiled he would not be interested. Unconsciously, she began to worry about the way she looked that day, tugging a straight lock of hair behind her ear, wishing she had changed at least her blouse. She had not dressed for Mark Darcy, but for her gay teacher who had never taken notice of her. The truth is that when it came to straight men that hardly ever happened no matter what she had on. Every time Jane spent the minimum amount of time with a heterosexual guy, she would arouse his attention. But that simply did not seem to happen with her teacher.

Unfortunately, Jane now found him quite distracting. Rebecca must have sensed the danger for every now and then, she would quite unexpectedly poke her head into the study to see if they had finished. In the end, Mark begged her not to interrupt them any longer and she obediently ceased her pursuit. She was obviously keeping an eye on her cattle.

Darcy had always taken his tutoring with great care. Granted, he was the severest critic of Jane's writing style. This time, however, Jane abandoned her usual attitude, and did not argue with his judgement of her work. All of a sudden, her teacher made her feel vulnerable, her boldness almost gone. When Mark pointed out the flaws in her writing not once did she try to argue his reasoning. Being alone with him had suddenly turned strange, almost compromising. Without meaning to, their hands had grazed each other as it had happened countless times in the past, while they looked at the papers, yet this time Jane had felt her face colour with absurd embarrassment. Her first reaction was to freeze and her eyes darted to his. She felt a strange tightening at her stomach. Mark noticed her discomfort too and he was a bit taken aback. What was wrong with her?

Hard as Mark tried to finish in time for his date with Eliza, they ended up working on Jane's urgent paper until quite late. When they finally poked their heads out of the study, they found the house utterly silent. Ever so charming, Mark took the enchanted Jane to the door and saw her drive away. When he went into the house again, he found Vernon sprawled on a sofa, watching old movies with Marjorie and Richard, Charles and Rebecca long gone, thank goodness.

He took a quick glance to his wristwatch, and went into the study again. There he picked up his mobile phone and prodded Eliza's number with a pencil. Her recorded voice answered first, then her dreamy voice came in as in slow motion.

"I'll be there in no time," he just said.

"Ok. I'll do my best not to fall asleep."

"I'm sorry. Has your sister arrived?"

"Not yet. I'll leave her a note."

"You're sure you don't want to cancel?"

"No, no. It's all right. I was waiting for you."

"Good. Coming in no time at all."

As Jane drove away, flashes of Mark Darcy's mortified look in spotting her spying on him while talking on the phone with his girl made Jane giggle. Afterwards it had taken him quite a time to recover his wits. He had stammered and blushed all through the following part of their meeting. Jane had felt almost sorry for him for he was clearly looking forward to finishing with her to see this woman.

But then it had been her time to blush. It is shameful how one's body refuses to conceal one's emotions. Incredible as it may seem, this time Jane had failed to keep her heart under regulation. Even when she had schooled her thoughts to steer clear from Mark Darcy's fine looks, certain parts of her body will not lie. At first she denied it, then she doubted it and at last she accepted it. It was embarrassing enough but ...God, she had been fancying her teacher!

A flash of headlights from an oncoming vehicle caught Jane's attention. To her amazement, in looking at her rear mirror, she thought she could see Mark driving his car right behind her. She screwed her eyes up squinting because of the glare and yes, it was him! What did he mean following her? Soon she saw he was not, for Mark pulled ahead without even looking at her. Jane sighed. For a moment she had imagined what would she do if her teacher was making a pass at her.

She caught up with him at the traffic lights. This time she pulled out beside him and he spotted her. With a bewildered look on his face, he nodded in acknowledgment but could do nothing else since the green light forced them to advance.

Mark's uneasiness in seeing Jane was not greater than his excitement of the prospect of seeing Eliza again. His unruly member jumped and fluttered like a mouse trapped beneath his trousers, the journey to her place already a foreplay, even though he knew perfectly well they would have to go somewhere else. He had his place in mind, that was why he had asked Vernon to stay at Marjorie's, since Eliza's sister was coming to stay at her flat. After Jane's car reached the same ring road that led to Eliza's place, however, Mark began to be seriously worried; a certain film, starring Michael Douglas coming to his mind.

He reached the block of apartments first, and prodded the bell of her apartment. Eliza let him in and he was about to call the lift when he saw his student getting into the building, a bewildered look upon her face, sporting her own set of keys and walking, head first, in his direction They held each other's eyes but none knew what to say or how to explain their presence in the same building and about to climb on the same elevator.

At length he asked shyly. "D'you live here?"

"Yes," she said, then added cheekily. "Do you?"

"No. I've got a date with ..." he gestured upstairs.

"Ah."

"The world's a napkin," he observed.

"Yes."

He backed a little to let her get into the lift and then very gentlemanly asked her, "which floor? I'm going four."

"Me too."

Unconsciously, Mark touched number two.

She quickly, yet decidedly intrigued, corrected him, "No. Four. I'm going four, as well."

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