Everything You Are (26 page)

“Don't you dare end that sentence!”

“Or what?” He lifted one eyebrow.

She grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged it down, but he refused to budge, so she pushed herself on her toes and hissed, “I was a virgin before I slept with you.”

“You were?” Surprise smoothed out his scowl, but only for a second, before it was back again, this time darker. “Who was it? It can't be Mark, can it?”

The anger burst out. “How dare you?” She slapped him, hard, so hard that her palm ached. She wheeled around and stormed out of the room and rushed over the hallway's chessboard floor. In her fury she lost her way and orientation, but then a few moments later she found a familiar hallway and with it the staircase leading to Ian's part of the house.

She climbed the stairs, huffing.
How dare he? How dare he doubt me like that? And to treat me like that in front of his family?
She rushed into her room, shoved the door of her wardrobe open and started to toss her things into the open suitcase that was on the wardrobe floor. There was no way she was going to stay in this house another minute. She'd call a taxi and then go to Mark's place. No, since Mark was at the spa, she would have to go to Ian's apartment first to get the key.

She turned around, searching for her phone. She remembered that she had put it in the pocket of her hoodie. She took it out and stared at it. She was supposed to call Mark, to tell him what? That Ian had just accused her of sleeping with somebody else? That he believed that the baby wasn't his? And that she was going to move back to his place? That she was going to leave Ian? To leave Ian!

She slumped on the ground, her head bent, her fingers digging into the soft carpet, and tears marked small dots on the fabric of her pants. What had just happened? And because of the due date. The obstetrician had calculated the wrong date and now Ian turned out to be a moron who had no faith in her.

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. But Ian loved her. He loved her, he had said, and that he would always love her no matter what. And she loved him too, that big stupid fool. That was why she wouldn't allow this to divide them. No, she wouldn't. She would go down there, hit him with few harsh words, and clear up this stupid misunderstanding. And if he refused to listen, she would just slap him again and force some sense in that thick skull of his.

Ian unlocked his jaw and ran his hand over his face, sighing. He had hurt her, his sweet girl, and it had left a terrible taste in his mouth. It also irritated him. She should have fought harder for them, she should have tried to...

He shook his head. He should be grateful that she hadn't dragged out their fight and cut his accusations short by storming out. But did she really believe that he was so stupid that he didn't know how due dates were calculated and how inaccurate they could be? Or believe that he would have tossed her out of his life even if the child turned out not to be his? She had gotten pregnant before they became a couple, it wasn’t as if she was cheating on him. Yes, he would get angry if he found out that she was carrying another's man child, and she had lied to him about him being the father, but he loved her enough to forgive her. She was his now, there was no way he was letting her go. That's why he had to perform this show for Martha. The hand on Jane's back before the fall could have been just a figment of Jane's imagination, but he couldn't take the risk of dismissing it.

He pushed himself away from the desk on which he had been leaning and with long strides left his father's office and went to the first room that was free of bugs. It was a storage room in the hallway that led to the kitchen. He didn't bother to turn on the light. He lowered himself onto the crates stacked by the door and from his pocket pulled out his phone. He dialled his grandmother's number. After she answered, he didn't introduce himself, he just said, “Thank you.”

“It was not a pleasure.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” Ian said. “I need another favour from you. Because of the bugs, I can't have her in the apartment right now, so I would appreciate it if you would take her to your place for a few days.”

“Since I was the one who brought up the discrepancy about the due date, I doubt she would accept an invitation. Did you hear what she said to me? 'If you have something to say, you don't have to beat around the bush, spit it out.'” Ann chuckled. “She has a spine and she's not afraid to show it. Not even Rose would dare to say something like that to my face.”

He smiled. “She's amazing, isn't she?” And she was a virgin, she had said. It made him happy and relieved that there were no men in her past that could arouse his jealousy. He was her first and he planned to be her last. But why hadn't he noticed that she was a virgin? Because he was an insensitive brute, who had taken advantage of her in a dazed moment, not really knowing what he was doing.

“She doesn't seem like somebody who is going to put up with your antics.”

“What antics?”

“What's your plan?”

“I don't have a plan.” Ian rubbed his chin. “I want to involve the police, but as you may be aware, Father is against it, so for now, I only want to take Jane out of the picture. I promised Father that I won't remove the bugs; he doesn't want Martha to find out we are on to her, so I'm thinking of renting something for us until everything is resolved.”

“I have enough rooms, you could move in with me,” Ann proposed.

“Is this your way of telling me that you're willing to suffer the presence of two love birds?”

She chuckled. “Love birds? Darling, from what I have seen, I can claim with certainty that there will be no love birds in your relationship with Jane for quite a while.”

“Yes, Jane's probably mad as hell and she'll make me grovel for a long time before she forgives me. But that was for her own sake.” And his.

“You could have let her in on it.”

“Yes, I could have, but Jane isn't a good actress, and Martha might not have believed us.” Ian stood up. “Will you take her in or not?”

“Yes, I'll take her in.”

“Good. Thank you,” Ian said and hung up. He pocketed the phone and rubbed his chin again. Now he only had to figure out how to get Jane to Ann's. He could try to talk with her, but would she be willing not only to listen, but to believe him?

He sighed and went out into the hallway. The elevator was closer than the staircase, so he opened the wooden panel. The iron grate moved aside and he stepped in. The gate glided back into place and he pressed the key for the first floor.

The panel closed and the elevator moved, then froze, whimpering.

Ian furrowed his eyebrows. The elevators in the house were old, but they were all regularly maintained.

The elevator's cage swung, as if the ties holding it had snapped off, and the light on the ceiling started to flicker.

He hit the alarm button and tried to open the iron door.

It didn't budge. The cage tilted and the light flicked off, leaving him in the darkness with a small red dot flashing on the elevator armature. The metal whine grew louder.

He shifted into the corner, where he planted his legs firmly on the floor, and with his hands against the wall he waited. There was only one floor below him, he would be fine. He would.

A screeching sound and then a snap. The elevator fell.

He braced himself.

With a loud thud and the sound of breaking machinery, the cage hit the ground. It bounced once, twice, and then settled down, with debris raining down.

Ian blinked into the darkness. He was lying on his side. There was just one thought that ran across his mind, only one thought that dampened his hairline with cold dread; Jane could have been in the elevator with him.

He pushed away the wood that had fallen on him and tried to draw his legs under him so that he could sit up, but something held his left leg in a firm grip. “Great, just great.” He didn't know how long he had been there; it seemed like eternity, but it must have been only a few minutes.

“Ian.” The yell came from the other side of the wall.

“In here!”

A vertical ribbon of light dispersed the darkness and revealed the steel on the wall where the impact of the fall had ripped out the wooden panel.

“Ian,” Andrew called.

“Here. I can't get up, my foot is stuck.”

The narrow strip of light widened and the dark outline of a body appeared in it. “Don't move,” Andrew said.

“Like I can.” Ian's eyes went to his leg squeezed between the wall and the wooden panel. Because of the twisted position of his body, he couldn't reach it. “Somebody will have to get in and free my leg.”

“Yes,” Andrew said and then disappeared from Ian's line of vision, but Ian could hear him giving instructions to whomever was beside him.

Ian wiped his face with his hand-- there was so much dust on it -- and sighed before his eyes went to the ceiling of the elevator, which didn't looked as if it had suffered any damage. This was no accident, he was sure of it. As he was certain that when the investigator, somebody who knew his way around elevators, inspected the cables, they would probably learn that they had been cut. Martha was trying to hurt Jane. Or was she trying to hurt him? But why? To wound his father? How had she gotten to the elevator cables? Well, that was easy. She had opened the elevator's door, pushed the iron frame aside and leaned into the shaft using something like secateurs.

“Is Ian there? Is he okay?” Jane's voice drifted to Ian.

Jane could have been here with him. She could have been lying here beside him, hurt or worse. “Get her out of here!”

“Ian?” Jane's voice was soft and he could distinguish worry in it.

“Andrew, get her out of this house, now!”

“I'm not leaving until I know you are okay,” Jane cried out.

“Now, Andrew. Get her out now!” There was no way he would allow Jane to stay in the house, where there was the danger that she might end up hurt, a second longer than necessary.

“Come on, Jane.”

“No, I'm not leaving. You can't make me...” Jane's voice faded away as if somebody had put her to sleep. Had Andrew used his special technique on Jane, the one that rendered a person unconscious -- the one he refused to teach Ian? She would hate him for sending her away, he knew that, and yet, he wanted her safe. No, not wanted, he
needed
her to be safe, his darling girl and the child she carried. “I love you,” he whispered under his breath.

The shock of the fall passed, and his leg pulsed in dull pain, while the numerous scratches that marred his body itched. His jacket was ripped apart, so were his pants. Men freed him from the grip of the elevator and carried him out, where his parents and his sister awaited him with worry written on their faces. Despite his objections, he was put on a stretcher and carried outside the house and behind the garages to a helicopter pad and into the estate's helicopter. His father joined him, while his mother, Izzy and Andrew would use a car to get to the hospital.

As soon as the door of the helicopter closed, Ian asked his father, “Where is Jane?”

“On her way to Ann's townhouse.”

“Good.” That was one worry that he could cross off his list. “I don't believe that this was an accident. I want you to involve the police.”

“I already called them,” his father said. “They should be there in a few minutes, there's just...”

“What?”

“We can't find Martha anywhere. I think she's gone.”

A dull pain flashed inside Jane's skull and her fingers touched her temples as her eyelids fluttered open. She was lying with her cheek on soft beige leather, with her hands clasped under her chin and her knees bent, and there was a strange feeling of movement. She must be in a car.

There was somebody sitting on the seat across from her, a familiar older woman, who usually had a strict gaze, but who now glanced at her with something that looked suspiciously like benevolence. “How do you feel?”

“Not so good.” With her hand against the seat, Jane pushed herself up. Her eyes went to the car windows. Yes, she was in a car; a limousine that had two rows of seats in the back, facing each other. “Where am I? What happened?” she asked, but then in the next moment the memory of what had happened crashed over her: the due date, Ian's accusations, Ian's accident and how he had shouted 'Get her out now', as if he couldn't stand another minute of her presence. He had said he loved her, but it was all a lie.

“We are on our way home,” Mrs. Cromwell said.

Home? Where was home? Tension curved Jane's spine and locked her jaw, she wrapped her arms around her middle. Ian didn't love her like he’d said he did. He didn't love her.
I won't cry. I won't cry!
Not in front of this woman who thought that Jane had deceived her grandson. Mrs. Cromwell must despise her. What about Mrs. and Mr. Thornton, what must they think of her? And what about her job? Would Mr. Thornton fire her now? “Is Ian...” Her voice sounded so weak and whiny. She cleared her throat. “Is Ian okay?”

“Yes, as well one in his situation can be. My daughter informed me that he has sprained his leg and sports some superficial wounds, but otherwise he's well. Don't look so worried, child.” Mrs. Cromwell shifted so that she now sat on the seat beside Jane, facing forward. She put her hand over Jane's cold one. “Everything is going to turn out all right.”

Jane hauled her hand away. “Why are you being so kind to me?” She laced her fingers and squeezed them together to the point of pain. “Weren’t you the one who pointed out how I'm trying to deceive your grandchild into thinking that I'm carrying his baby?”

“I never said that you want to deceive Ian, I merely pointed out the discrepancy.”

“You must have a really low opinion of me.”

“No, I don't.”

Why not?
Jane thought.

Mrs. Cromwell's hand covered Jane's laced fingers. “Some may say that I have a tendency to meddle in my relatives' affairs. Which I do, sometimes, but not this time.”

“What are you trying to say?” This time Jane didn't wiggle her hands out from Mrs. Cromwell's. She had met Ian's grandmother on only two occasions and on both, Mrs. Cromwell had scowled at her and given her the feeling that the old lady was measuring her and judging her, trying to see into Jane's mind. But now the woman's gaze was soft and open, as if she was trying to gain Jane's trust and friendship. “What's going on?”

“Ian asked me to do him two favours. One, I have already done, by mentioning the due date; the other, I'm doing now.”

“It was Ian? Why? Why would he want for you to -- He acted so innocent!” Jane ground her teeth. She never knew that he was such a coward and a liar. “If he wanted to get rid of me, he should have said so to my face.”

“Ian doesn't want to part with you.”

“Then what?”

“We’ve arrived, ma'am.” A man's voice came from somewhere up front.

“Thank you, Tom,” Mrs. Cromwell said.

Jane glanced through the window to see a heavy steel door closing behind them and before a circular drive before a large light-grey building with columns at its front.

“This is Grey House. My home,” Mrs. Cromwell said to Jane. “I hope you'll like it.”

Why should the lady care if Jane liked it or not? It wasn’t as if she was staying.

The car stopped before the house and a man in black livery hurried down the stairs and opened the door for them. Mrs. Cromwell climbed out and walked to the entrance, the man in livery close behind her.

Jane closed her door and remained sitting. The driver would take her home now -- no, not home, to Ian's apartment, and from there she would go to Mark's place. But the driver killed the engine and the car stood there.

Mrs. Cromwell glanced at the car over her shoulder. She said something to the man beside her and continued her stroll into the house.

The man nodded and rushed to the car. He knocked on the window.

Jane pressed the button and the glass slid down.

“Miss Bennet,” he said. “Mrs. Cromwell requests your presence in the Flower Room.”

“Thank you, but I'll pass.”

“Very well, Miss, I'll let ma'am know,” the man said and went to the trunk of the car. Two maids joined him.

Jane watched them as they carried baggage up the stairs, noticing that one of the suitcases looked surprisingly familiar. “Hey, that's mine.” She jumped out of the car and rushed after them. “That's my suitcase, give it back.”

The car buzzed to life.

Jane's eyes snapped toward the vehicle. She wheeled around and ran to it, then alongside it as it slowly rolled over the gravel path. Her breath was coming out of her lungs in short, shallow puffs. “Stop! Stop!”

The car stopped and the driver's window glided down. “Yes, Miss?”

“Where are you going?”

“To the garage.”

“To the garage? But you have to drive me home.”

“Those are not my instructions,” the driver said.

“What?”

The window closed and the car moved.

“No. You have to drive me home,” Jane cried out and she was about to dash after it, but the vehicle accelerated, drove past the house and turned around the corner. She pinched her mouth and crossed her arms, while her chin jutted out. “I'll walk then.”

She directed her step toward the steel door, blind for the greenery framing the gravel drive. She came to the door. It was high and its surface was smooth, there was no crevice that she could use to climb over. If she could even climb at all with her protruding belly. She followed the line of the tall brick wall that wound around the estate, looking for something, anything that she could use to get out.

Her phone rang.

She glanced at the number. It wasn't familiar to her, so she cancelled it, then it dawned on her: She had a phone, she could call for help.

The phone rang again. This time she answered it. “Yes.”

“Jane, come to the house, please,” a woman's said. Jane recognized Mrs. Cromwell's voice.

“I want to go home.”

“I'm afraid that's not possible at the moment.”

“I demand that you let me go home. Or I'll call the police.”

“That won't do you any good. They won't believe you. Now, please, stop sulking and come to the house. You had a tiring day and you have to eat something and get some rest.”

“I want to go home.”

“That's not possible. We are afraid that something might happen if you do, so for your safety you'll have to stay in this house and tolerate my presence. Now, come to the house, please.”

Jane cut the connection. Mrs. Cromwell was right. Even if she called the police, they wouldn't believe her, and Mrs. Cromwell could just spin it as Jane being crazy or something. She slumped down on the neatly groomed grass, her hands fisting the green blades. Ian didn't love her. And she was a prisoner in this large estate. “I won't cry. I won't cry,” she stubbornly said, but the wetness spilled out of her eyes and trailed down her cheeks anyway.

#

“Jane, you have to eat something.” Mrs. Cromwell eyed Jane across the small table with something that looked like worry.

Jane pinched her lips tightly together as she stared out the window at the meadow and the trees that were visible behind it. The house was in the middle of the city and yet, with the greenery around it, it gave Jane the feeling that she was in the countryside. Mrs. Cromwell had told her that they were afraid Jane was in danger, but she refused to elaborate or tell her where the danger was coming from.

“If you don't want to eat for yourself, then think of your baby.” Mrs. Cromwell buttered a slice of bread, added a spoonful of jam on top, put it on a small plate and pushed it across the table, toward Jane.

Jane refused to look at the plate or at the food on the table, knowing that if she did, she would pounce on it. She hadn't eaten anything today and though her stomach was growling, she declined all the food that was offered to her. It was her way of showing her displeasure at being confined to this house, even though she did plan to secretly rummage through the pantry later, when Ian's grandmother went to work. She was stubborn enough to harm herself out of spite, but not stupid enough to harm her baby. She was pregnant, she needed to eat.

A vibration moved the phone that lay beside Mrs. Cromwell's cup of coffee. She lifted the phone. “It's Ian,” she said before she answered it. “Yes?”

Ian!
Jane's eyes narrowed. She should have left the room to show her displeasure, but instead she felt rooted in the chair. How was he? What was he doing? His grandmother told her that they had only kept him in the hospital for a day, just long enough to test for internal injuries and concussion. But hearing about it was different than learning about it first-hand, by seeing him. It had been a week since she had been forced to stay in this house, a week since he had yelled at her to get out of his life, and a week since she had last seen him, and she missed him terribly, the insensitive, dumb board-head. Despite the spring turning into summer and the gentle warmth in the air, the nights were so cold and her bed felt so empty. She just wanted to see him, but if she did, she would probably toss herself on him and hold onto him tightly, while she begged him to not throw her away.

“Yes, I heard from Sebastian that she's Linda's older step-sister from her father's previous marriage.”

Linda? Jane had heard that name before. Where?

“No, my investigators haven’t found anything about her whereabouts. Have you learned what provoked her departure?”

Jane drew the cup and teapot closer, pretending to be busy with pouring the tea into the cup.

“I doubt that it was that,” Mrs. Cromwell said. Her eyes descended on Jane. “Yes, she's with me right now. She's well, but she refuses to eat.” A short pause. “I doubt that you would be able to persuade her. You can try though.” She offered her phone to Jane.

Jane's glanced longingly at the phone. Her hand itched to take it and to put it against her ear, just for a second, just for a short moment, just to hear his voice. She folded her hands in her lap. “I don't want to talk to him.”

Mrs. Cromwell sighed. She retracted her hand. “Did you hear her?”

Jane stood, ready to return to her room, where she spent most of her time, watching telly, reading or chatting over the phone with Mark, who had started to be annoying with his defence of Ian and his proposals that she call Ian and demand to know why he acted as he had. Ian had hurt her and her best friend was taking his side, even though he hadn't even heard Ian's side. Or had he? But if he had, he would have told her, wouldn't he?

“Sit down, Jane,” Mrs. Cromwell ordered with a voice that demanded complete obedience.

Scowling, Jane obeyed.

“I have had enough of this, of your demands to report to you every tiny step Jane takes, and of Jane's sulking. You two love birds need to talk and soon. So I expect you to come to dinner today, preferably with suitcase in hand. Is that understood?” Mrs. Cromwell said into the phone, then after a short pause and a short goodbye she turned off the phone and set it on the table. “Did you hear that, Jane?”

“Yes.” Jane swallowed and frowned down at her hands that had become strangely clammy. She wiped them on her tunic.

“You'd better not lock yourself in your room.”

“Why would I do that?”

“For the same reason you refuse to talk to him.” Mrs. Cromwell took a napkin and dabbed her mouth. She laid it on her empty plate. “I won't ask you to talk to Ian; what you do regarding him is not my concern. I do love my grandchild and I want to see him happy, but for the situation in which he found himself regarding you, he has nobody to blame but himself. I do wish you to continue participating in meals whether he's here or not.”

She was only keeping the old woman company at breakfast and dinner because otherwise Harold, Mrs. Cromwell's butler, would knock on her door until she gave in. The first time he knocked on her door for an hour and twenty three minutes, ignoring all of Jane's calls for him to stop and go away. “Do I have any choice?”

“No.” Ian's grandmother gave her a pleasant smile. She gathered her phone and the newspaper that she had been reading a few moments ago, and stood up.

Harold, who was lingering nearby, appeared beside the older lady. “The car is already waiting for you, ma'am.”

“Thank you, Harold.” Another smile flashed on Mrs. Cromwell's face. “Does this bring a bit of deja vu, Harold? Even though the guest we had then was more graceful and accommodating than Jane.”

What was that supposed to mean? Jane's eyes narrowed.