"Jane?" Richard heard a girl's voice at the other end of Jane's mobile.

"No," he drawled tentatively, taking a lingering glance at Jane's lovely form now peacefully dozing on his bed at last. "Jane's momentarily unavailable," he sighed. "Who's speaking?"

"Who are you?" barked the girl, obviously puzzled to hear a man answering Jane's phone. Richard immediately conjectured that his interlocutor must be Jane's younger sister, whose name Richard had heard when Jane had made her phone call. What was it...Elizabeth? Eliza?

"My name's Rick. You must be Jane's sister, err...Eli?"

The person at the other end seemed to freak. Who was it that was in possession of Jane's mobile in the middle of the night? "Yes. Where's Jane?"

"She was too...tired and...err...fell asleep before I...before I could take her ...mmm...back home. She's staying the night and..." This wasn't strictly untrue, yet Richard found the whole explanation must sound completely deceitful to the girl.

"Can't you just shake her awake and bring her over the phone so she can tell me all this herself?" she asked suspiciously.

"Actually, I can't," he stated frankly. "She's asleep. Believe me, I've done everything in my power to wake her up in vain," he sighed as he observed that Jane was indeed fast asleep.

Eliza sighed too. Although this behaviour was not like Jane's, she knew perfectly well that Jane slept like a stone, especially after a drink or two...maybe she had been drinking... She knew Jane was the worst drinker ever. But all the same, Eliza did not know what to do. She could not merely believe this stranger and go back to sleep. She made up her mind to subject the guy to a thorough interrogation. If he could not answer her questions properly, she would call the police. "Ok. What was your name again?"

"Richard. I'm a...a friend of Jane's."

"From?"

"Mmm...College."

"Which is..."

"UCL."

"And Jane studies..."

"Philosophy. She's finishing her thesis now."

"Humph. Why haven't I heard of you before, Richard?"

"We...just met through Mark Darcy. Have you heard of him?"

Decidedly shocked, Eliza looked at Mark, pleasantly asleep, or pretending to be so, lying on her bed, his lovely bum visible amidst a tangle of sheets.

"Mark? You know Mark?" she asked astonished. For God's sake! What was it with Mark's ubiquitous presence?

"He's my cousin," Richard explained. "Actually, Jane's staying at Mark's sister's now. So don't worry. She'll phone you first thing in the morning. Okay?"

Ok, she thought but could not answer for the stranger had cut off the conversation. So good old Jane was sleeping at Mark's with Mark's cousin, probably had just had a shag in style at Mark's cousin's expense and now could not even answer her own mobile. Well. Eliza admitted that, given Jane's personality, the whole thing was really amazing, but good anyway. Now Jane would not be able to tell her off.

Turning her thoughts back to the man in her bed, Eliza had to repress an impulse to wake up Mark and ask him if he did have a cousin by the name of Richard. But she thought better than that since Mark had already told her he had known Jane for quite some time, so the tale this Richard had rendered must be the truth. All in all, if Jane had started dating a friend of Mark's, or his cousin for that matter, without telling her, so much the better. Now that Eliza was dating Mark, they could hang out on double dates! But best of all, Mark would be staying tonight. She tiptoed back to bed and did not resist applying a gentle kiss on his naked back.

"Eliza?" he moaned half asleep.

"Hush," she whispered gently.

"What time is it?"

"Never mind. Jane's not coming home tonight. You can stay."

"Good," he said and went back to sleep.

Oh, joy! Eliza could hardly contain herself. She would have Mark for breakfast again and would play the geisha part in attending his every whim, though truth be told, she failed to understand where this absurd necessity to keep him in her bed and feed him like a pet stemmed from. Maybe she was falling in love with him?

But was he? After all...what were they? Was she his girlfriend or merely his lover? Unfortunately, only time would tell because there was no way that she would ask him. That would be pathetic. Okay, Mark. What are we? Argh! What if he said they were just good friends? No, no, she could not run that risk.

Anyway, one way or the other, he was now in her bed and the odds seemed to dictate that he would remain there until the next day. There was no need to waste precious time mulling over what she had no way to know. Mmm...and perhaps if she was a good girl, he might stay yet another night...though she could not fathom how to get rid of her sister.

Switching into the worried housewife once again, Eliza made a mental note to go to the grocer's and prepare a lovely breakfast early that morning. Was the baker's open on Mondays? Sod it, it was not! So that left croissants out of her breakfast plans. Did she still have that recipe her mum had given her to make waffles? Oh, did he like coffee or tea? She must remember to ask him first thing in the morning. Did he have to go to work? Oh God! She had completely forgotten it was a working day! Blast! She had a test in a fortnight and had planned to study with the group while on holidays! How could she ever concentrate on botany now when she had a big pistil of her own in bed and boundless sexual freedom with it?

Oh well. She could always skip the test and leave it for the next term.

Decisions made, she eased her head onto the pillow with perfect happiness, head to head with him, held up her mobile phone and took a picture of them together. Then she switched the mobile off and watched him sleep.

Marjorie looked at the obviously uncomfortable yet still sleeping form of her cousin on the couch with an inquiring look on her face. The last time he had seen him, he was setting his plans to seduce Mark's student. To end up curled up on the sofa in the living room did not look seductive at all. But Marjorie knew her men. Unlike Mark, Richard had always been quite unpredictable. Had he been drinking? She bent over to sniff him.

Richard opened one eye, his cousin's inquiring face filling his view. Marjorie opened her mouth to say something, but Richard stopped her halfway. "Don't ask," he warned.

So Marjorie simply shrugged and went over to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Upstairs in Richard's room, Jane stirred. When she finally woke up, she was arrested by a distinctive manly scent. She opened her eyes and looked at her chest. What the heck was she wearing? Turning her gaze around, she discovered that she had no idea where she was. Assaulted by the notion that she might suffer from short-term memory loss like Drew Barrymore in 50 First Dates, she sat up in bed and surveyed her surroundings. Panic-stricken, her eyes darted to the shelves to see whether there were pictures of herself sporting an advanced pregnancy in any of them. But no. All she saw were pictures of a man whose name she later remembered was Richard, and with whom she seemed to have been quite intimately acquainted the previous night. He was smiling down at her from various frames in different settings: university, club and the like. She rose from bed and walked towards one picture frame in particular that had caught her attention. Yes, that was Mark Darcy with Richard.

She had not walked more than two steps when a throbbing headache threatened her. Very slowly, she returned to the bed and sat at the edge of it, her left hand on her forehead. From that position, she spied her bra dangling unceremoniously from the back of a chair, and she cringed with the idea that Richard might have disposed of it in the throes of passion. On the floor next to her foot, she spotted her skirt and, rolled in a tangle with the covers, her blouse cried bloody murder for ironing. Her sandals were nowhere to be seen.

Blimey! Completely weird evening, she thought to herself. Shit! How did I end up here?

Seriously speaking, and setting aside all material proof to the contrary, she did not think she had had sex last night. She would remember if she had, would she not? After all, drunkenness notwithstanding, blind dates did not happen to her every day.

But why was she in a perfect stranger's room, wearing what she waged was his T-shirt after having spent the night in hisbed and sans bra to boot and no recollection whatsoever as to how she ended up without it?

Oy! She was startled by a light knock at her...mmm...at Richard's door. A rush of panic ran through her back. Who could it be? It could not be Richard, for that was his own room so he would not knock, would he? Unless he was a real gentleman and wanted to make sure she was decent, which would be nice since it might mean that they had not been that intimate after all.

"Miss Evans, can I come in?" Marjorie's voice called from the other side.

"Yes, yes," she answered. She remembered Mark Darcy's sister and was admittedly relieved to hear her voice instead of Richard's.

"Rick told me about your car," Mark's sister wailed miserably, poking her head in. "Never trust the French, that's what I always say. Would you like some tea?"

She nodded demurely. "Tea would be lovely, thanks."

"And I'll get you an aspirin for that headache," she added with a smile. How the hell did she know? "Come downstairs into the garden. We're all gathered there."

Wondering what sort of lie Richard had made up to explain her presence in the house and in his bedroom that particular morning, she dreaded the truth even more. Was it possible that she had spent the night with a complete stranger?

She used the bathroom and quickly changed into her clothes, purposely avoiding taking a look at herself in the mirror for fear that she might discover further proof of a man's passion around her neck. When she went into the garden, Marjorie was pouring tea into a mug.

"Oh, What happened to your blouse? Would you like to iron it a bit?"

Aargh! That stung. Jane suspected the woman was subtly stating that she knew what had happened between Richard and her last night, which was more than Jane could say. Obviously, Marjorie was not swallowing the explanation that easily.

"Oh no. I'll drive home directly. I'll change at home."

"That is if Rick manages to repair your car. He's been working on it since he woke up."

"Oh." That was all she could say not to sound completely bewildered. "In that case I shall take a cab."

Marjorie stared at her blankly, then blinked twice, then said, "Oh, no. I was joking. Rick's an expert with motors," she laughed heartily. Jane ventured a forced smile and sipped her tea, looking like a fish out of water.

"So, tell me. How's your paper going?" Marjorie asked trying to make small conversation.

Jane was about to open her mouth to answer when Vernon made a spectacular entrance looking at her as if she just emerged from Heaven.

"Oh. What do we have here? Hello," he said to Jane.

"Good morning to you," said Marjorie.

Without even looking at Marjorie, Vernon directed his full attention at the gorgeous blond. "I'm Vernon. And you must be the famous Jane."

"Jane Evans," she corrected him.

"Directly from heaven," he said undeniably flirtatiously. "So you're Rick's guest I guess. I'm Mark's. Only that he chucked me here last night. Got a date with someone else..." he sighed. Jane's eyes went round. "Oh well. I guess I should be used to it by now."

"Oh stop that crap, Vernon! He's only joking, my dear. Vernon is an old friend of the family."

"She is in the denial stage," he whispered.

"I heard you, Vernon."

Vernon laughed. "So, how did you end up staying the night?" he asked cheekily.

"My car broke down," she said quite seriously in unison with Marjorie who said exactly the same.

"Oh, I see. That's why good old Richard is bent into your bonnet now."

"I think I'll have a look at it," Jane said placing her mug on the table. "Excuse me."

When she was gone, Vernon and Marjorie looked at each other.

"He shagged her," Vernon stated.

"He didn't," said Marjorie.

"Wanna bet on it?"

"You'll lose."

"I'm used to losing."

"You're on."

"What seems to be the problem?" Arms akimbo, Jane looked as if she were ready to stab Richard in the back.

"It's just a pipe. It was disconnected," Richard answered pointing randomly at the motor.

"You mean, it really broke down?"

"You don't remember?" Richard asked, raising an inquiring brow.

"Of course I remember," she huffed tremulously. "It's just I ... I wanted to know if it was what we...thought it was..."

"Yes, it was." Richard went on with his charade. If she remembered nothing, so much the better. "Just as I suspected. From now on, you should take your foot off the clutch while you press the accelerator, ok?"

"Ok," she nodded, biting her lip.

"Had any breakfast yet?"

"Yes. Actually your cousin gave me a cup of tea."

"Good."

"Why didn't I take a cab?" she blurted out abruptly, and rather crossly, looking him right in the eye.

He stopped and stared at her. "The minicab office closed after midnight. Anyway, I wouldn't let you take a cab at that hour."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Stop that crap, and tell me the truth."

"What truth?"

"What happened last night?"

Richard sighed. He leaned against the car and rubbed his greasy fingers one by one with a wet cloth dirtier than his hands. "So you don't remember?" he asked tentatively once more. "That doesn't speak very well of me," he stated with a wicked smile.

"You mean you and I..."

"I..." he paused, turned around, closed the bonnet of the car and walked a few steps in her direction, dropping the wet cloth on the floor.

"Oh my God. That explains everything."

"Nothing happened, really."

"Oh no. Of course not." she spit. "Only I wake up half-naked but for what I guess must be your T-shirt, braless, my clothes all over the place in a mess, your smell all over me..."

"You smell of me?" he asked in amazement. God, that was arousing.

"Well, it isn't Chanel No. 5."

"Givenchy," he supplied, rather pleased by the idea.

"Huh?"

"You can't deny it's a sexy way of waking up."

Blinking fast, she inquired with consternation, "Did you put me to bed?"

Richard nodded.

"You undressed me?"

"Eyes closed."

"Oh my God."

"I didn't touch you, I promise." Jane threw him a murderous look. "Well, not much," he conceded.

"Did you remove my..."

"No. That was your doing. You flung it loose in no time. By the way, you must teach me your technique."

"Oh, sod off," and she rushed past him in a fit of rage.

"No. Don't go," he pleaded, taking her by an elbow as she dodged by him. "Can't you stay for a while?"

"Huh?"

"I think we should talk after last night. Really. We must."

"So bad?"

"Aha."

She sighed. "I have a very busy week. Must meet Mr Darcy this afternoon, and I haven't even looked at my paper yet."

"Then will you maybe have dinner with me?"

She stopped again and stared at him with suspicious eyes. "You aren't making this up, are you?" she told him off.

He shook his head.

"Because if this isn't the truth, I really don't think we should see each other again. I've got a very busy life," she went on haughtily, "and I don't want to get involved with anyone at this moment, I ..."

Before she could say another word, he took her by her shoulders and turned her round to face him; Jane instantly thought he would kiss her squarely on the lips. Yet letting go of her shoulders, he cupped her chin and touched the tip of her nose with his point finger. "I think I can't agree with you more. I don't think we should start getting involved either," he said almost in a whisper. "However, I had a lot of fun yesterday. There's nothing wrong with a little fun, is there?" Unbelievably, Jane found herself agreeing with him. No, of course there was nothing wrong with a little fun. "So...I would really love to see you again after you have finished your thesis. No compromise, of course. Let's say...dinner in town. Friday night?" he offered. Despite herself, she nodded again. "Good," he said. "Let's go inside now and have a proper breakfast."

Eliza stared at the pancake recipe carelessly scribbled on a slip of paper. Then she frantically searched the kitchen cabinets for the ingredients she had not expected to need. Dry buttermilk powder...whatever was that for? Was it the same if she put baking powder instead? Her instincts told her she had better not. After all, pancakes are not baked, are they? Why would she need baking powder for something she did not intend to put into the oven?

No luck with the buttermilk powder. It seemed there was none in sight. She might have found it among the many little jars and packets in the cabinet if her sister had bothered to label them or if she had the remotest idea of what said powder looked like. She ended up with almost all the contents of the cabinet on the table, but she still had not figured out which of those damnable containers might hide the precious ingredient. She had meant to get up earlier and go out to do some shopping; she was not expecting to have Mark in the morning still dozing in her bed and did not wish to feed him on buttered toast again. Unbelievably, she felt an overwhelming desire to cook for him, which was extremely unusual, for Eliza was the laziest girl ever when it came to household chores.

Taking several short peeks at Mark to make sure he was still sleeping, Eliza rattled her brain to find a suitable replacement for the ingredient she did not have. After several tries, she admitted defeat and picked up the phone to call her mother.

"Oh hello, Mum. I was just ringing to ask a favour. Can you tell me if this recipe to make pancakes is okay?"

"Read the recipe to me, darling."

"Dry buttermilk powder, flour, sugar, 4 teaspoons of baking soda..."

"Yes, yes. That is alright."

"Sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"What if I don't have dry buttermilk powder?"

"Use regular milk instead."

Eliza sighed.

"Darling, it's eight-thirty in the morning. You never cook breakfast. Why are you suddenly making pancakes?" Feeling unexpectedly caught, she winced as she quickly searched her brain for a convincing argument to be calling her mum at such an early hour over a stupid recipe. "Just a whim." It was all she could think of.

"But it's summer. It's boiling hot to cook. What are you up to?" her mum asked, decidedly intrigued.

"Nothing, Mum," she said, struggling to sound innocent. "Are you sure I can use regular milk?"

"Yes. Some salt too, of course."

"Fine, Mum. Thanks."

But before she could cut off the conversation, her mother assaulted her with what she had almost forgotten. "What are you planning for your birthday?"

Now that was a problem. Surely, her mum would insist on her coming to celebrate with the family. "Nothing," she ventured, knowing too well she should have said she had already planned something with friends, like taking a mini-break to an island in the Pacific.

"Well, it's next week. Would you like a surprise party? We could have a family reunion."

"But then it wouldn't be a surprise," she reasoned in vain, for Mrs Quayle did not find anything odd in warning her daughter about a surprise and succeeding in surprising her anyway.

"Ask Jane if she can come, too. Doesn't she have a boyfriend already?"

"I don't know. But Mum, I don't want a surp..."

"Nonsense. I will call your sister and tell her to come over. Wish she would get married one of these days. She is no longer nineteen, you know. But you, young lady, you'd better stay away from men, you hear me? You must concentrate on your course of study. Okay?"

Despite herself, Eliza found herself blushing with embarrassment. "Okay, Mum. But I don't..."

"I wonder if you would like a pair of skis for your birthday."

"No!" she bellowed. "I don't want a pair of skis and I don't want a ..."

"You know my friend Helga? She gave her daughter, the one that recently married that super gorgeous man, a nice pair of skis last Christmas. Well, she took lessons with this Swedish instructor, and guess what?"

"Mum..."

"You'll never guess so I'd better tell you..." At this Eliza held the phone away from her ear. When she put it back, her mother had already decided they would celebrate Eliza's birthday at a nice restaurant near her hometown and that she would be taking her holiday in South America where it was winter, so she could put her new skis to the test.

"Mum? I'm not sure I can go on holiday this year..."

"Oh, nonsense. Of course you can. South America is the cheapest place. You'll have a great time, you'll see. What else do you have to do?"

"Ah. Actually, I...

"Of course you're going to need some money. I'll ask dad if..."

Exhausted, Eliza held the phone away again. A few minutes later, she heard the monotonous sound the telephone makes when it is disengaged. She replaced the receiver on the hook, and then turned her attention back to breakfast.

With the greatest joy, she set herself to the task of preparing pancakes, only to find the whole experience more difficult than it seemed. When she finally succeeded in combining the ingredients into one homogeneous mound of dough, she had flour all over herself, not to mention fingers that were sticky enough to rival a kindergarten kid left alone with the same task.

"Please, tell me that that isn't breakfast." Mark's words startled her. He was grinning broadly, leaning against the kitchen door only in his boxers. Eliza glared at him once she succeeded in taking her eyes off his fine figure. She shrugged, pretending to be hurt.

"You must take care, Mr Darcy. I might take offence and you might end up not having any," she said, turning to the sad mixture again. But Mark was ready to show her he was only teasing her. In fact, he was deeply touched to see her trying to cook breakfast for him. Circling his arms around her waist and pressing her to him from behind, he kissed one sensitive earlobe with great tenderness. She gave a little shriek of pleasure and, turning around, tinged the tip of his nose with flour.

"What is it?" he asked focusing on the would-be breakfast, a concerned look on his face.

"What does it look like?" she snapped, offended.

"Plasticine?" he asked mischievously. Eliza gave him a murderous look, and Mark chuckled. "Let me see. Not plasticine...pancakes?" he offered.

"Aha."

"Don't you need milk instead of water?" he boomed.

Elizabeth gasped. Her mother's prattling about breakfast had vanished all other conversation. "Milk?" she asked panicking wildly.

He nodded. "Definitely. Have any?" To Eliza's relief, she remembered she had bought a bottle of milk on her way back from college on Tuesday. Surely, it was still in the fridge.

"Yes," she said as she held a sticky finger to point at the fridge. Mark immediately set himself to the task of helping her cook breakfast.

"What do you have to put in them?"

"Whadda you mean?"

"You know...pancakes are great with stuff in them."

"Apples?"

"I like banana best. Have any?"

"Mmm. Dunno. I think it will be terribly fattening. How many calories in a banana?"

"Are you on a diet?" he asked, casting a furtive look at her lovely bottom.

"I am forever on a diet."

"How many calories are you supposed to eat?"

"Mmm. About a thousand."

"At breakfast?"

"No! A day!"

"You must be kidding!"

"No, I'm not. So, how many calories in a banana?"

"What's the point of worrying about the calories in a banana when you are going to eat pancakes?"

His logic was devastating. "You're right. It's just that I'm used to avoiding bananas."

"You sound like a borderline anorexic."

"Anorexic? I wish!"

Smug look on his face, he hugged her tenderly and kissed her on her chin. "If you're going to feed me the rest of my life, Miss Quayle, you must be aware I disapprove of diet food. I wouldn't have set eyes on you if you looked remotely skinny, you know," he said patting her rear.

Wow! Feed him the rest of his life? That was nice. It was the nicest thing Eliza had heard, especially coming from a man who had already met her exceedingly slim and beautiful sister, in whose shadow Eliza had gotten so used to feeling inevitably ignored and to whom she had always been invariably compared. Eliza almost purred with happiness. Could she ever find someone more...perfect than this man?

The whole cooking business proved a delightful activity when shared with someone you liked. They laughed a lot when it came to flipping the pancakes in the air. Eliza was frankly astonished to see Mark's amazing ability with a pan. They ended up quite satisfied with their interaction in the tiny kitchen. It was as if they had been doing it for ages.

"What happened to your sister?" Mark asked as he wiped the kitchen counter with a wet cloth when breakfast was over.

"Oh, mmm...it seems she stayed the night at your place," she blurted out quickly.

Mark abandoned the wet cloth, turning round to give Eliza his full attention, and asked in disbelief. "What do you mean my place?"

Eliza stared at him. What could she say? She was more surprised than Mark at Jane's unseemly behaviour. "You see, I was worried last night about Jane not coming back. The thing is, it's not like her to stay the night with a...mmm... Actually, she never spends the night anywhere but home when she's on holiday. So I phoned her."

"So?"

"Yeah, well... It was really, really late. And you were sleeping so soundly, and began to...mmm...you snored." Mark raised his eyebrows in surprise, a little embarrassed. "Anyway, I couldn't go back to sleep. Besides, I knew I would have to wake you up by then, for Jane would be at home any minute. And then something quite unexpected happened."

"What?"

"Someone else answered her mobile."

Mark only stared at her. He was trying to comprehend all that Eliza was saying.

She went on. "It was a man's voice...someone who claimed to be your cousin Richard."

"Rick? Rick answered Jane's phone?"

"Yes, that's the name."

"What was he doing with Jane's mobile, for God's sake? Where was Jane?" Undoubtedly, both Mark and Eliza had a slight idea where Jane could have been when Richard answered her mobile. Only Eliza found the notion in itself a bit disturbing. (Unlike herself, Jane was all that was good and sensible) Mark did not want to dwell on the shocking fact that Richard most surely had had it off with his student.

"Well. Here's the curious...mmm...detail. He said Jane was already asleep."

Mark closed his eyes and covered them with his hand in a gesture that Eliza was beginning to recognize. "Oh my."

"Richard is your cousin, isn't he?" she asked a bit worried.

"Yes! But, did you talk to Jane at all?"

"No. Not yet. Your cousin Richard said Jane was going to phone when she woke up in the morning."

"Perfect. Now he's made it."

"What? What has who made?"

"Oh bugger it! I'm going to kill him if......"

"What? You're going to kill him if what?"

Going frantically to the bedroom, he began to get dressed. Eliza followed him. "I must talk to him," he said, halfway into his trousers.

"Listen. You don't need to tell Jane about..." she took a big breath and gathered courage. "I'd like to tell Jane personally that you and I...but not now...at least not yet."

"Oh, yes. I understand. You tell her whenever you think it is convenient. Anyway, I...must talk to my... I must go now."

"Must you?"

"Yes. Solo will burst if I stay a minute longer. Must have already, damn it."

"Oh." She gave him a bereft look that shrunk his heart. Was it possible that he could not bear to leave her?

"I hate to go," he said with a guilty face.

"Do you?"

He nodded. Then he took her hand and pulled her close to him. "You have bewitched me. I spent the whole day yesterday thinking of you."

"Oh," she said, blushing.

"I suppose Jane will be here tonight."

"Yes."

"I don't... I was thinking perhaps you... Why don't you come over to have dinner at my place, then?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes. I warn you...I'm not a great cook, but I can manage something."

"I'd love to."

"Right." He made as if he was already leaving but hesitated, looking a bit pensive. I wonder if... Do you think you can stay the night?"

Delighted, Eliza ran to him and hugged him. "I'll bring my toothbrush."

He gave her a sweet peck on the lips. "Don't. I'll buy a new one for you."

Now, as soon as Jane opened her eyes again she was greeted by a major headache throbbing relentlessly in her forehead, leaving her incapable of the slightest movement. Huddling in bed, hoping her hangover would eventually clear if she did not move, she fought the nauseous feeling that kept coming and going down her throat. And that was how her sister found her when Eliza poked her head into Jane's room to greet her good evening.

"Awright, gal?"

"Mmmm?" Jane answered painfully.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?"

"I'm not myself today."

"So I see. Did you get faced last night?"

Jane moaned affirmatively.

"What did you get dahn yer greg?" Eliza chuckled.

"I wish I knew," Jane hissed as she abandoned her bed. She floundered about for a few seconds, her feet somehow finding the floor an inch or two deeper down than usual.

"You got a new bloke?" Eliza pressed on.

"A bloke?" Jane panicked. "Um. I ... Ah...No, no, no," she answered desperately.

"You mean you got pissed on your own? 'Cuz you weren't at Charlotte's, I know," Eliza pointed out, trying to encourage some confession.

"Can we talk about it later?" answered Jane while going all pink and breathless. "I've a chronic headache right and now I think I gonna be sick."

"Would you like a cup 'a char?" Eliza offered with affected solicitude.

"I don't think so," she mumbled as she darted across the room to the bathroom, stooping over the toilet.

Eliza left Jane on her own to empty her stomach while she readied the offered tea. After awhile, Jane, looking much better and already sporting her shoulder bag, made her appearance in the kitchen, where Eliza was lazily stirring her cup.

"Better?"

Jane nodded.

"Now, where did you spend your night, sis?" she asked with an arched brow as she handed a cup over to Jane.

"At Mr Darcy's," Jane answered quickly.

"Huh?"

"Yeah. He helped me out with my paper all night," she blurted out and then hid her face behind her cup.

"Rev up! The man's totally committed to his work!" Eliza exclaimed in feigned astonishment.

"He is, he is. Beyond all sense."

Yuk! Elisa could hardly control her exasperation. It was obvious Jane was making all this up, unless Mark had a cloned copy of himself around. Cunning as a fox, Eliza pretended to believe Jane's story and inquired cheerfully on the particulars of her late night lesson.

"Goodness, Jane!" she boomed. "Have you got any folding left on you? I imagine the man must be charging you. How much did you pay for this late hour lesson?"

"Oh, no," Jane bellowed and she immediately resented doing it. Her headache hammered every time she opened her mouth to say something. Using her indoor voice again she went on. "He's not. He's a darling diamond guy. Even had a drink or two with me afterwards, you know, to celebrate that we finished the whole thing once and for all, only I had a little too much and got totally arseholed."

"You did all that with Mark Darcy... last night."

Not being a natural liar, Jane's face went red. "Yes. I couldn't drive back in that pitiful state so he put me up in a spare room."

"I see."

"I could have asked him to bring me back in his car but I knew I'd be completely safe with him, you know," and then she added in a confidential tone, "he's a bit of a geek plus he does not like girls much."

"Yeah, you told me."

"Only that last night he wasn't that queer," Jane added absentmindedly as she stared at the amber liquid in her cup, sounding a little mystified. "You know, I saw him with a girl."

"A girl?" Oh God.

"Actually, a bimbo I should say. They were in a mayor lip-lock when I opened the door of the office. Well, it wasn't me who opened the door, mind you. It was his sister. Did I mention that he has a sister? I guess she didn't expect to catch him unawares with the girl. But there she was, gagging for it on his lap."

Eliza was not certain what length her sister was ready to go to cover her little escapade with Mark's cousin. Did she seriously believe her that naïve so as to swallow that pill? Obviously Jane was really concerned about whatever happened with Rick, which could only mean that something big had happened---something really, really huge--- otherwise Jane would have never invented all that crap about her beloved teacher. Anyway, to throw doubts over Mark's manliness was something Eliza could easily deal with since nothing Jane could say against him would be emasculating enough given Mark's stork in bed the previous night. But to blatantly assert that Mark had a girl other than her when Eliza had imagined she was on a permanent date basis with him...that would be some disquieting piece of information. But of course, this was all Jane's doing since she was evidently suffering from long term fuckwittageness and Eliza was on the verge of losing her patience.

Eliza racked her brain frantically thinking what to do. Should she take all this seriously, or should she dismiss the idea and simply go on with her life? She chose to do the sensible thing and think light of it without discarding it completely.

"She didn't stay, of course," Jane kept gabbing. "She left as soon as I got into the room. Marjorie didn't seem to like her..."

"Marjorie?"

"Mark's sister. We had tea this morning. Or rather she offered me some but I just couldn't swallow it."

"What a load of old cack you talk sometimes, Jane!"

"No, no. It's all true!"

Looking at her sister straight in the eye, Eliza protested out loud. "You mean you really expect me to believe that you stayed the whole night with your gay teacher only that you found out he was not so very gay when you caught him with a girl, and then, out of pure professionalism, the man dropped his date only to help you out with your paper for nothing, and then you...you...ended up steaming drunk and sleeping over at his place and getting acquainted with his family?"

Jane nodded. "It does sound a bit out of this world, doesn't it?"

"Out of this world?" Eliza fumed, "What's next? That you two are an item?"

"An item? What are you talking about? I don't even like the man, silly!"

"Oh, shut your gob! I know your Mr Darcy's no gay!"

"How do you know that?"

"I just know."

"For what it's worth" Jane interposed, "I must say Mark looked very different last night. Nothing like his usual self. It must be the clothes he was wearing."

"Clothes?"

"He usually wears this ... this stupid suit that puts a load of years on him. But yesterday he had these jeans on and a blue shirt and no bow tie..."

"Bow tie?"

"Yes. He usually wears a bow tie at college. And reading glasses. He wasn't wearing his glasses yesterday."

"Maybe he wears contact at home."

Jane shrugged. "Whatever. I think he was kind of cute. I wonder what else is there behind the mild man. I bet there's a lot more about him than meets the eye."

Meditating moonily about Mark in boxers, Eliza ventured that perhaps he was in fact leading a double life. "So you think he's some kind of Clark Kent?"

Jane blinked at her. "Oh, you know, one man at the office, another at home?" Eliza offered.

Jane nodded. "Precisely. That would be his type!"

The possibility of her date's leading a life of duality suddenly loomed over Eliza like a ghost. Certainly it would not be the first time a girl was fooled in this manner. After all she had heard of countless cases of alleged straight fellows, with families and all, suddenly declaring themselves gays. Could Mark be one of those? Ever so timidly Eliza voiced her fear, "So you really think he's got something in the closet?"

"Absobloodylutedly. He's so typical! I'm sure he's trying to hide it from his family. That would explain the bimbo girlfriend...what I'm not certain about is..."

"What?

"Well...in those clothes... he looked damn well fit."

"You liked him that much?" Eliza asked looking at her sister with some alarm.

"Yeah. The full monty. The clothes made a big difference. He was a complete new person. I confess I found it difficult to concentrate on the paper. At first I couldn't believe it, I was totally gobsmacked, but yes... he exuded male."

Well, that sounded most certainly like her Mark. "Jane. You're not arching for it, are you?"

"With Darcy? Oh no, am not...I don't think so... No, no. I'm definitely out of his league. I mean, even if he wasn't a puff... I'm his student."

"Right. 'Cuz there's something I have to tell you..." but she trailed off, still uncertain whether to tell her sister or not.

"Hey! I hope it's nothing serious... that you got knocked up or something." Jane said with a broad smile, not expecting anything of the sort from her little innocent sister. Just when Eliza had gathered courage to answer, Jane took a quick glance at her watch. "Oh! Sod it! Look at the time! I've gotta chip, catch you later." Without allowing Eliza the minimal comment, she waved her a kiss and was gone to Mark's place.

Eliza sighed. She had a date to get ready for too. Or didn't she?

To be continued

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