Compulsively Mr. Darcy (2 page)

Darcy tried to use the CEO face on his friend, but, as usual, Bingley was immune to it. Darcy turned back and discovered Green Eyes had disappeared amongst the group around the next bed.

Friendly Face smiled at him. “Doctor say I take you out.”

“Yes, please, Oanh. Take Mr. Darcy outside before he does any more damage.” Bingley turned toward Darcy. “Go get a breath of fresh air, man. You need it.”

Once outside, Oanh tried to get Darcy to sit in the cyclo to rest, but Darcy, feeling he had suffered enough humiliation today, declined. He could not bring himself to sit in that contraption. He arranged for the resort to send a car and a driver.

After what seemed like another excruciatingly long wait, someone came and told him Bingley would be done in ten minutes. Darcy settled the hospital bill and clarified the discharge instructions with a nurse. He knew Bingley wouldn't remember to take care of any details and he wanted to be gone as soon as Bingley was ready to go.

On the ride to the resort, to Darcy's irritation, Bingley was back to his prattling self. “That was an amazing experience. It was like being in one of those medical shows on TV. The tough old soldier in the next bed refused all pain medication. I did too. The doctor said I must be part Vietnamese. They have a high pain threshold. She was so gentle when she worked on me. Very patient and efficient, she was.”

Darcy snorted and made a rude gesture.

“You deserved what she said to you for being such an insulting, bloody arse to the poor woman. I heard a nurse say the doctor missed her dinner, again…” On and on Bingley jabbered until an evil glare from Darcy finally dampened him.

Once in his own suite, one as far away from the Bingley family as possible, Darcy immediately undressed and took a hot shower. He threw his traveling suit in the trash bin and wrote a note to the hotel staff that, yes, he did mean to discard the expensive and tailor-made suit. It was now contaminated. Infiltrated by microscopic invaders.

They'd skittered across him when he'd lain on that floor.

At that thought, he took another shower. A long one. Then one more to make sure.

Before he slipped into the king-sized bed, he checked the bedding. Satisfied at seeing his own sheets with his own monograms, he reminded himself to thank his housekeeper Mrs. Reynolds for arranging everything with the resort. He hated to sleep in linens others may have used.

At last, his head sank onto the pillow and he let the peace of the room cover him. Alone. All quiet.

As he drifted off to sleep, visions of a green-eyed monster devouring him jerked him awake. Again and again. Finally, giving up, he dragged himself out of bed and made a phone call.

He gave precise, detailed instructions for a meal to be prepared and delivered, making them repeat his instructions back to him. Mrs. Reynolds must have relayed how particular her boss would be as a guest. The hotel staff accepted his peculiar instructions without any difficulty. Sometimes there were advantages to being an obsessive control freak, he decided.

“Now, go away,” he muttered to the green-eyed monster floating around him as he settled back into his bed. The pounding in his head lulled him into a much-needed sleep.

“You bloody arse!”

Hands on her throat, Elizabeth Bennet bolted up and looked around to see who had woken her up. No one. Sheepishly, she put down her hands. As usual, after a sleep-deprived on-call night, she had been talking in her sleep.

She lay back against her pillow. This was her favorite part of the day, waking up and letting the echo of life in Vietnam serenade her. She listened to the melodic music from a neighbor's radio, the singsong voices of people talking in soft murmurs, and the rhythmic chopping of a cleaver against a wooden board. The sound of lunch being prepared in the kitchen of the orphanage next door reminded her it was time to get up.

Fragrances from freshly cut fruit greeted her in the tiny dining area of the cottage she shared with her sister Jane. Elizabeth made her coffee, grabbed a medical journal from a stack, and sat down to her meal.

Two paragraphs deep in an article about post-miscarriage infections after dilation and curettage procedures, she paused, distracted by the unbidden image of a man's handsome face appearing on the page. Frowning, she swatted at the paper and refocused on medicine. A few paragraphs later, hearing the sound of his voice reading aloud “staphylococcus,” she gave up and put the journal away.

Why did she keep hearing his voice? It must be that English accent—so clear, so clipped, and so concise. Every syllable enunciated, in that public school–educated British male voice with its typical, unhurried delivery, even when giving a blistering setdown. Probably from watching too many period pieces on the BBC channel, she'd always had a weakness for snotty, male, British accents.

The phone rang. Her sister called from the orphanage's office next door. “Did you catch up on your sleep after your call night?”

“Yes, I feel rested.” Elizabeth took a small bite of a jackfruit and made a face at its oversweet aroma. Jane liked the fruit, but Elizabeth thought it too sticky. “Yesterday was the worst day I've had at the hospital here. I thought I was back on-call at San Francisco General. We were short staffed. Two doctors had family emergencies.”

“I'm sure you handled it fine, knowing you.”

“You wouldn't say that if you were there near the end of my shift. I'm ashamed to tell you I yelled at someone in the OR.”

“Staff?”

“No, a guy who came with a patient. Foreigners. Rich tourist saps.”

Jane laughed. “Oh, it's one of us who was your patient.”

“This guy got a bad gash on his leg from some bicycle accident in the market earlier. Any doctor in the hospital could have taken care of it, but he requested the American doctor, me. He was very friendly and seemed, oddly enough, excited to be treated in a Third-World hospital.”

“Then what was the problem?”

“His partner.” Elizabeth gave the details of her encounter with Mr. Darcy, ending with, “You should have heard the way Mr. Darcy carried on about the care his partner was receiving. He behaved worse than any nervous father with his wife's first delivery.”

“That was terrible, what he said about you. He must have been so anxious about Mr. Bingley. They're a couple, then?”

“Yes. From the way Mr. Darcy acted, definitely.”

“What happened after you yelled at him?”

“I forgot there was a bloody scalpel in my hand. I think he thought I was serious. He almost fainted again, though Mr. Bingley said Mr. Darcy always faints at the sight of blood.”

“You're cranky when you're hungry. Did you remember to eat something last night?”

“Yes. When I finally sat down at my desk to finish charting, I had the nicest surprise. Net Thi Phen Resort's delivery guy handed me a basket of goodies.”

“Was there a note along with it?”

“No, but I think it's from Mr. Bingley. When I finished with him, he was very apologetic for his partner's rudeness.”

“That's considerate. Are you sure the two guys are together? Maybe he's flirting with you with that basket of food?”

“He's not my type. Too friendly. Too blond. Talks too much. If the dark-haired partner wasn't such a bloody arse, I might consider him. I liked his accent. And, of course, he bats for the other team. You know my track record.” Elizabeth sighed. She had horrible luck with men. She was always bringing potential boyfriends home only to have them fall for her guy friends instead.

“I'd forgotten about your horrible track record.” Jane laughed again. “Hmmm. Blond and very friendly, Mr. Bingley was? That's more my type. It's been so long since I had a real date, I'd even go for a green Mohawk.”

“Just flash that angelic smile of yours and you'll have guys from all the hues of the rainbow lining up to be on your team,” Elizabeth teased, very glad to hear Jane expressing a desire to date. As always, guilt hit her for having been too involved with her medical training to notice her sister was in an abusive relationship two years previously.

“Listen, I have to go,” Jane said. “I need to track down the new investigator Aunt Mai hired and have him fax me the report on this Hurst couple who are coming tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? And you haven't done the background on the adoptive parents yet?” Elizabeth asked. Their mother's younger brother, Edward, and his Vietnamese wife, Mai, had founded Gracechurch Orphanage a few years before. When Edward Gardiner suffered a heart attack in San Francisco at the same time the orphanage's Vietnamese manager received her visa to join her son in America, Jane offered to come to Vietnam to run the orphanage temporarily. Elizabeth came along to keep her company and to volunteer as an infectious disease specialist at the local hospital.

“The pre-adoption was done during the transition from the last manager to me, and with the new investigator taking over what Uncle Ed usually handled, a few things got missed. I'll see you at lunch.”

“Good luck.” Elizabeth said good-bye. She glanced at the clock. She still had time to go check on a patient before lunch.

***

An hour later, as Elizabeth sat in her office at the hospital, a voice scolded her, “You're supposed to be off today, Dr. Bennet.”

She looked up from reading a patient's chart and smiled at the young Vietnamese woman at her door, her friend and colleague Dr. Chau Luc. “I'm just checking on Mr. Vinh.”

“You Americans are all workaholics, working all the time. You never rest.”

“Speak for yourself, Chau. Aren't you always working at your father's club on your days off?” Elizabeth said. Chau was very devoted to her family.

“The only way I get to spend time with my father and brothers lately is if I help out at Merry Bar. When you and Jane have some free time, you should come and check the club out. I'll introduce you to my family.”

“First chance we get,” Elizabeth promised and stood. “Now, I need to go see my patient.”

Mr. Vinh looked surprised to see her. “Dr. Bennet, I thought you were not working today.”

“I missed you and want to see what damage I did yesterday,” she said. His infection was a rare case, and she fretted about his progress.

Smiling at her teasing, Mr. Vinh replied that he was well and she need not bother herself.

Aware that Vietnamese people always said they were fine, even if they were dying, she carefully examined him anyway. Satisfied at his healing, she bid him good-bye.

He held out a hand and, in a formal manner, said, “Thank you very much, Dr. Bennet. I'm honored to have your care.”

She shook his hand. “You are very welcome, Mr. Vinh. I'm glad to be able to help.”

“I saw what happened with the two men yesterday. The dark-haired one insulted you. He thought you neglected his friend and he was angry. I'm honored that you put me first, though I would have been happy to wait.”

“I'm so sorry you saw my undisciplined outburst yesterday. I put you first because you were the sicker patient.”

“I don't have money but I have influence.” His eyes serious, Mr. Vinh added, “If you want, I can make them leave the country.”

She held up her hands. “No, no. He was worried about his friend. I was the bad one. You don't have to do anything. I want them to stay, please.”

He pointed his finger in a commanding manner at her. “Anybody gives you trouble, you come to me. You promise?”

She quickly agreed, a little fearful if she didn't, he would do something on his own. “Don't worry, Mr. Vinh. If I have any trouble with anyone, I promise to come to you for help. Those men yesterday were tourists passing through. I'm sure I won't see them again.”

Jane tried not to gawk at the group that just arrived from Net Thi Phen Resort.

Mr. Hurst, a forty-year-old Englishman whose family owned a Scotch and brandy distribution business, requested something stronger upon being offered tea or coffee. Mrs. Hurst, a thirty-seven-year-old woman, had simply listed “socialite” as her current and past employment history. Jane tried to recall the sparse details she had just read about the Hursts this morning. Nothing stood out.

Mrs. Hurst's brother, Mr. Bingley, and his friend, Mr. Darcy, accompanied the Hursts. Jane's eyes widened, recognizing their names.

Mr. Bingley said, “Our other sister will join us shortly, but no need to wait for her. She's reading in the car.”

Mr. Bingley's infectious good humor, especially when he caught a glimpse of the children playing, more than made up for the Hursts' muted affect. His smile dimmed when Jane denied his request to join the children in the sandbox. She explained the orphanage preferred to minimize the children's exposure to potential adoptive parents, to avoid disappointment for both parties. Next, she discussed the orphanage's strict policy of first come, first adopted. The adoptive parents had no choice which child they would be given.

The Hursts showed no reaction on hearing that. Mr. Bingley simply nodded. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, threw Jane a skeptical glance, though he remained silent and moved to stand next to a window. During her detailed explanation of the orphanage's philosophies and policies, she saw that the enigmatic Mr. Darcy was the only one who seemed to be listening intensely and carefully.

“Do you have any questions for me?” she said at the end of the interview.

Mr. Hurst asked no questions of the orphanage or of the prospective child. Mrs. Hurst asked what size clothing the child would likely wear. Mr. Bingley asked why there was no playground. After she answered their questions, Jane began to wrap up the meeting when Mr. Darcy spoke.

“If you don't mind, I have a few questions.”

Mr. Darcy asked about the orphanage's founders, how it was funded, what its long-term goals were, where the orphans came from, the health history of the children prior to and during their time at the orphanage, the birth parents' continued involvement, if any, and so forth. Jane suspected Mr. Darcy knew the answers already. Though very courteous, he rarely made eye contact with her or the others, keeping his eyes fixed on the view outside the window.
Perhaps
Mr. Darcy is part Vietnamese
, Jane dryly mused, thinking of the repugnance the Vietnamese culture had for direct eye contact in social interactions.

At one point, something in the courtyard distracted him and he absentmindedly repeated a question to which she had already answered. Finally, he finished with his questioning.

She stood up to again wrap up the interview.

The door to her office opened. A tall woman, wearing a white linen suit, white wide-brimmed hat, and white six-inch high heels entered. She looked like an escapee from the cover of the imaginary
Trophy
Wife's Weekly.
Jane immediately felt ashamed for her unkind thought.

Click, clack
. The woman's heels made stabbing sounds on the wooden floor. She marched to Mr. Darcy, grasped his arm, and nearly sliced his left eye with the brim of her hat. Mr. Darcy flinched. The woman pulled him forward. “William, you must not be so shy. You're a part of our family.”

After Mr. Bingley introduced her to Jane, Miss Bingley complained, “What's taking so long with the interview?”

In a dry voice, Mr. Bingley explained, “Darcy took a while with the inquisition.”

Miss Bingley looked puzzled.

After a brief moment of silence, Mr. Bingley provided the definition of
inquisition
.

His sister frowned at him and turned back to Mr. Darcy. “I know where to find the best children's boutiques in New York City. Fifth Avenue! I read about them in the car. When baby Darcy makes his or her first appearance to the world”—she winked at him—“you must get him or her a personal stylist. All the up-and-coming babies in New York and London have one.”

Mr. Darcy darted a telling glance in Mr. Bingley's direction.

The latter immediately stood and, acting as if he was an adopting parent, thanked Jane for meeting with them.

Jane explained to the Hursts she would contact them soon, once she had a chance to go through their application more thoroughly and make sure all necessary paperwork was done properly. As she clarified for them, she had only that morning received the background report on them from the orphanage's new investigator, a Mr. Bill Collins.

“We met with him weeks ago. We don't understand the delay here,” Mrs. Hurst said.

Jane simply apologized again and promised to do her best to minimize their waiting.

No response from Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, but Mr. Bingley smiled. “Take your time, Miss Bennet.”

While Mr. Darcy subtly edged away from Miss Bingley, she turned to Jane. “I was hoping we'd learn the child's clothing size today. It takes time to put together a wardrobe.”

Mr. Bingley herded his sister outside. Jane walked them to their car. Before he got in the car, Mr. Darcy kept glancing back at the courtyard. Curious, Jane followed the direction of his eyes. She saw nothing unusual except a pathway leading to her and Elizabeth's cottage. Her sister should have arrived home for lunch by now.

***

Elizabeth pointed her chopsticks at Jane. “All right, you're bursting at the seams. Spill.”

Jane resisted the urge to remind her sister pointing chopsticks at people was rude in Vietnam. “Your patient Mr. Bingley and his partner Mr. Darcy just left here.”

“What?” The small bowl of rice paused halfway to Elizabeth's mouth. “They're the fancy limo I saw when I arrived home?”

Jane nodded. “They were here with another couple, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, the parents listed on the application.”

“Why does your Mother Teresa–face scream complications with a big capital
C
?”

Jane described her visitors. She agreed with Elizabeth's initial impression of Mr. Bingley as a friendly fellow. When she portrayed Mr. Darcy as serious but polite, her sister snorted. Jane reminded her, “At the hospital, he was jet-lagged and anxious about his partner. He was completely different here, very courteous and controlled. He asked questions I wished the adoptive parents had asked.”

“Why the hell was he the one asking questions? Shouldn't the Hursts be the ones to do that? See, that proves he's a prick, sticking his nose into everything that doesn't involve him, like he did at the hospital.”

“That's just it. I think he was the right one to be asking all the questions. He did all the homework the parents usually do. His partner showed such enthusiasm at the idea of playing with a child.”

“What are you saying?”

“The two men acted like expectant parents while the adoptive parents showed no emotion. Miss Bingley might have inadvertently let something slip. I heard her say ‘When baby Darcy makes his or her appearance to the world.' And then she winked at Mr. Darcy.”

“Ah! I see. It's the two men who are the adopting parents and the married couple are just fronting.”

“It would explain the Hursts' lack of interest and the sparse background information the investigator faxed over, which revealed nothing more substantial than they're wealthy enough to financially care for a child.”

“Why didn't the men apply themselves?”

“Lizzy, you know the answer to that. As much as you and I feel two men or two women can be great parents, Aunt Mai would never have been able to convince people here to accept that. She has to have married—as in a man and woman—as a requirement to satisfy the authorities.”

“The ‘authorities' sure made an exception for those on the covers of the gossip rags.”

“You know that's good tourism publicity for the country. And it's also good publicity for the plight of orphans here. But back to my problem: I can't help feeling something's not right.”

“Like?”

“The Hursts did make it this far in the adoption process. Perhaps they do want a child but aren't good at showing their feelings. I haven't had much experience with the private-jet crowd to confidently assess them. I hate to say no to them—or even the two guys—and deny a child a chance for a home because I'm not doing my job right.”

“It doesn't sound like you're the one not doing your job right. This new investigator, what's his name, again? I can't believe Aunt Mai would have hired a shoddy investigator.”

“Bill Collins. Aunt Sunny referred him to Aunt Mai.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “If Sunny Phillips from Marin County had recommended him, you have cause to worry. I bet you he's probably a flaky New Age guy who's always dabbling in various quests of self-discovery. Hell, she probably met him during one of her daily group-therapy sessions. Tell Aunt Mai he's incompetent.”

Jane ignored her sister's snap judgment of a man she hadn't met. “Aunt Mai doesn't need to hear my concerns over the new investigator she hired. Uncle Ed usually does the background checks on adoptive parents, and he's not supposed to worry about anything while he's recuperating. I want to handle this myself.”

“What are you going to do?” Elizabeth poured more tea into Jane's cup.

The fragrant jasmine drifted to Jane's nose and soothed her. “I need your help. I'm going to ask for another background investigation. Until I get more information, I need you to be another set of eyes and ears at my next meeting with them.”