Jane Eyre Austen (9 page)

He sighed and leaned back, “Ok, I get it. No.”

She laughed, relieved that he would move on.  He looked at her carefully, “You really do look nice today, Jane.  I spent some time looking into Grayson Poole.  The man is interested in you; I’m pretty sure that is why he interfered with Richard at the Symphony.”  He took a bite of his sandwich and said quietly, “I hate that Patrick loved you.”  He looked up quickly, “I love you, Janie, but I hate that he knew you first.”

She nodded, “I can’t change that, Ben.  I love you too.  You and Patrick are my best friends.  He loves you, adores you, will do anything you ask.  Don’t hurt him, please.  Work on your damn issues. You are crazy jealous, Ben.”

“You seem to attract crazy, Janie.”  Ben nudged her shoulder.

She grinned, “I do.”

“Do you like him, Jane?”

She sighed, “I do…”

Ben nudged her again and grinned, “Ok, then.  You know your step brother Richard has been busy?”

Jane froze, “No, what did he do?”

“Richard purchased a tract of land that Poole was interested in.  Paid more than it was worth.”  His eyes flicked around the room before he continued, “Like he’s trying to screw with Poole because of his interference with the symphony.”

Ben watched her carefully, “This is what you’ve been waiting for.  He can really screw with Richard.  Richard’s put a lot of money into this deal. He’s gone to a lot of his usual investors and if it backfires, Richard’s name will be toast.”

He sat back and they continued their lunch in silence.  She looked up at him and whispered, “I don’t know. I don’t think I should involve Poole.”

Ben nodded, “It’s time, Janie.  You need to take this chance.” 

She looked at him, “What’s your impression of him?”

Ben shrugged, “Direct, probably loyal.  Why?”

She felt her cheeks blush and groaned, “He talked to my mother about courting me.  James put him up to it, suggesting that it would stop the excruciating brunches for me, and that he could take me to social functions.”

Ben grimaced, “Hey, that’s our thing.”

“I know, but Mom knows I’m not. . .” she shrugged, “you know. . . interested in you like that.”

He shot her a seductive look, “Really?”  He sat back rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling, “It wouldn’t be a bad gig for you.  Your mom would be thrilled.  He can court you for a year before your mom catches on.”

She nodded, “It’s just that, I think he wants more in the arrangement.”

Ben leaned forward, “What do you mean, Janie?”

“I mean he made a pass at me, and then warned me that I was playing with fire.  Like, sometimes he’s so polite, then sometimes he’s distant, and occasionally I get the feeling he would very much like to take me to bed.”

Ben shrugged, “Just sex then?”

“I think so.  It’s not like he’s asked me out to get to know me. But then he was really sweet about asking about mom, and now this thing with Richard.  I don’t know. But Ben, I don’t think I can handle playing this game.”

Ben nodded, “Oh.  Then don’t, Janie. Don’t go out with him.  We’ll find another way to screw with Richard.  You’re right. We won’t involve him.”  He looked at her carefully, “He’ll hurt you, Jane.  He’s not the kind of man who will accept your situation.”

She nodded, “Who would?” 

He slid out of the bench and offered his hand.  They walked back to the office and before entering, he stopped.  “Are we ok?”  She nodded, punching his stomach lightly. He pulled her into a tight hug.

“I love you, Janie.  Sorry about my crazy jealousy.”  He tilted her chin up and kissed her lightly on the lips before opening the door and watching her walk in.

Gray worked in his office for the rest of the afternoon, until he was interrupted by Clayton who placed his laptop on Gray’s desk, then sat down in the comfortable wingback chair.

“Richard Austen has title to the entire block.”  His eyes narrowed on Gray, “I’m not sure how he even knew you were interested in that land, unless his sister told him.”

Gray shrugged, “I don’t believe she’s that close to her brother. In fact I get the distinct impression she hates him.”

“She had access to the files, Clay. How else could Richard have known about it?”

Gray sighed, “The real estate agent, the land owners, their neighbors. . .  I don’t think the girl is seriously involved in this.  Besides, you already told me he paid more than it was worth.  We’ll just set up somewhere else.”

Clayton pulled his laptop around and pulled up the video from earlier that day.  “Gray, I think you should see this. It’s from the door camera.”

The video was Ben kissing Jane goodbye. Gray rolled his eyes but didn’t look away. 

Gray groaned, “Clayton, you’ve gone too far. I’m surprised you don’t have video and audio from lunch.”

Clayton glared at him, “You’re an idiot when it comes to women, Gray.  You should have seen her with him earlier today.  It makes it easy to believe the rumors.”

Gray cocked his head, “What rumors?”

“They are more than friends, the three of them, Gray.” 

Gray shook his head, “Don’t be disgusting Clay, and I don’t ever want to hear you repeat that again.”  His face contorted, “And where the hell did you hear that anyway?”

Clayton held his gaze, “Golf.  One of Judge Stein’s friends joined us today.  He’s a friend of Richard’s.  It’s how I found out about the real estate deal too.”

Gray sat back, rubbing his temple as Clayton continued, “Apparently, Richard has been spreading rumors about her being a high class hooker or something-- that she traveled through Europe on her back.  That she, Patrick, and Ben play house every chance they get.”  He looked at his friend who looked ill, “Do you want me to continue?”

“Does it get worse?” he asked quietly.   Clayton nodded.  Poole groaned and waved his hand for Clayton to continue.

“Richard set her up at the Symphony.  Told his golf buddies that the package included the fantasy of their choice with his sister.”

Poole felt sick, “And they believed him?”

Clayton shrugged, “The Judge didn’t, and his friend says Richard is a sick freak, but money buys reputation my friend.”  Clayton added quietly, “There’s something between her and Ben too. The picture doesn’t do them justice.”

Poole nodded, remembering Ben at the Symphony, his glaring at Richard.  He was protective of her, but the kiss in the video was fraternal.  Clayton left him to stew in his thoughts and he simmered for hours, recalling how she and Patrick looked so natural together.  Was she promising something with her wicked tongue?  It would be reasonable for Jane to remain friends with Patrick, and then become friends with Ben.  What was her relationship with Richard, anyway?  He attacked her and then they sat at the same table later.  Why would she put up with that?  Why, Gray wondered, did he care so much?  Why did he need to know? 

Before leaving work, he stopped by Jane’s desk.  “Ms. Eyre, how is your mother?”

Jane’s brows furrowed, “Much the same.”

“I expect that you will spend the evening with her.”  Jane nodded, “Yes, sir, I will.”

“Please give your mother my best wishes.  I shall miss you this evening.”  He looked at her kindly before leaving.

He decided that he would stop by the gallery tonight and forego the cocktail party altogether.  She was a complicated woman and he wondered if her art would offer any clue.  She was too brilliant to be a receptionist, he mused, wondering why she ever agreed to take a job so below her capabilities.

At the gallery, he easily spotted her work.  He was surprised at her subjects and her ability to capture the mundane and make it beautiful.  He fell in love with a painting of a rusted old bicycle leaning against a window box.  The wall behind the box was painted terra cotta and he could feel the stucco.  The window box was filled with pansies that overflowed, cheerfully spilling down, contrasting the rusted metal and torn seat of the bicycle.  It looked so forlorn there, surrounded by the beauty.  His breath hitched when he saw the reflection in the window.  “Jesus,” he breathed.

Lyn came up behind him, “Yes, it’s an amazing piece.  She’s a new artist so it’s priced very reasonably.”

He pointed to the reflection, “She’s painted the fountain.  Oh my God, do you see that?  She captured the fountain in the reflection.”

Lyn nodded, curious at his reaction.  “I believe she said it’s…”

“Piazza Navona.  Yes, I recognize it.”  He marveled at the face in the reflection. She chose the figure that faced the church, holding his arms out, his face tortured in disgust.  He couldn’t help but wonder what she was trying to say.  Was she disgusted that the bicycle was uncared for, left abandoned?  Or, that there was beauty in ugliness, in the creation of something, or that something useful was as beautiful as something as frivolous as a flower?

His eyes flicked to the curator, “I’ll take it.” 

“Very good, it’s the last piece available.”

He turned his eyes to the other works; three were of Venice, and one he recognized as Parc Guell in Barcelona.  He turned to her, “are you going to give her a show?”

She smiled, “I’m not sure she has enough pieces for a show.  I would be happy to put your name on our contact list and let you know when she’s brought in new pieces.”  He shook his head warily; concerned of her reaction if she knew he had bought her painting. 

Jane sat by her mother’s bedside knitting a shawl in a leaf pattern that required more concentration than she was capable of at the moment.  The doctor had decreased her mother’s sedation and introduced some medications for anxiety, which he assured Jane would help with her delusions.  They had discussed nursing care facilities. He had broached the subject callously, as if he assumed Jane would be thrilled at the opportunity to drop her mother off and visit on weekends.  Her mother was not herself, at all.  This last stroke had taken her personality in a new direction? She was now a bitter, confused woman lashing out at everyone who tried to help her or contradicted her. 

She was concentrating on the shawl in her lap when her mother looked over at her, “What are you doing, Jane, dear?”

She held up the shawl and disdainfully muttered, “I have wasted good wool.”

Her mother smiled at her, “Nonsense, dear, simply unwind and begin again.  That’s the best thing about knitting. You can always start over, and no one ever sees the errors of your ways.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Jane smiled gratefully, pulled her needles out and began to pull out all of the stitches.

“Were you attempting a leaf pattern dear?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“And what keeps you so distracted that you cannot keep count?”  She raised an eyebrow, “I daresay it’s that handsome Mr. Poole you work with.”

Jane’s eyes widened at her mother’s words, not lucid really, but not angry either.  This moment was a gift; she closed her eyes and sighed, pushing the tears back.  She nodded, “Yes ma’am.”

“I believe he has good intentions in his heart, dear.  I approve of him; he seems a most sincere man.  What does your heart tell you, Jane?”

“My heart responds quite nicely to him, Mother,” she said shyly.

Her mother chuckled softly, “Good. I should hate to die thinking you alone in the world, Jane.”

Jane reached for her mother’s hand, “I am glad you think well of him, Mother.”  She felt caught in between the two worlds-- reality and the beautiful future her mother clearly saw for her.  While her heart responded quite nicely, her head warned her clearly that she did not have his affections.  Lust, maybe.

Her mother squeezed her hand, “I do. You have chosen well, child.”  Her brows furrowed, “I wish your father had met him.  Of course, Richard will stand in at the wedding.”

Jane’s smile froze, “Yes, Mother,” she breathed.

“I am tired, Jane. Will you read to me?”

“Of course, Mother. What do you feel like tonight?”

“I should like a comedy, perhaps
The Importance of Being Earnest
?”

On Monday, Jane dressed in a simple cotton sheath dress, flats, and a smile, happy that her mother seemed to be improving.  Mr. Poole murmured good morning when he passed by her desk but didn’t stop to talk.  Anxiety built a home in her stomach, pushing up and out until Jane couldn’t stand
sitting in her own skin.

Ben called her rather than texting, something that he almost never did.   Fear made her stomach lurch.  His curt tone did nothing to alleviate her concerns, “Hey, Richard is spreading some nasty rumors about you.  Patrick’s assistant told him yesterday. I’m taking care of it.”

“Ok,” was all Jane could manage to say.  She wanted to say kill Richard, make him suffer, torture him.  Ben hung up, and Jane forced herself to make a cup of tea.  It had to be bad for Ben to sound so angry, terse.