Improvise Page 12

  “From Brussels?” Will asked, his voice hard.

  Elizabeth didn’t respond, but Charlotte gave him a nod. Will took out his phone and began to type.

  “You have a few choices here, Elizabeth Bennet,” Charlotte said, her eyebrows raised. “You can get a ride with me and go see Jane, you can get a ride with me and see my dad, or . . .”

  “Or she can ride into the city with me and see my doctor,” Will said, shoving the phone back into his pocket. “He’s on his way to the office. He’ll be there before we are.” He saw the two women in a face-off. Charlotte’s hands were on her hips, and Elizabeth’s arms were crossed over her chest. Will noticed the little grimace that flitted across Elizabeth’s face as she shifted.

  “I also have a Jacuzzi at my place,” he added.

  Charlotte made a face at him. “Jacuzzi?”

  “Jacuzzi,” he repeated, and turned to Elizabeth. “I’m guessing your back could use a little more than a heating pad, am I right?”

  Elizabeth’s posture relaxed just a little. “Maybe,” she said reluctantly, shifting her eyes to the car and away from his. She uncrossed her arms. “How did you get your doctor to open his office this late?”

  Will took the bag from Lizzy’s shoulder and slung it over his own. “He’s been our doctor for a long time.”

  Elizabeth thought about that for a minute. Must be nice to have been in one place that long, she thought, before sighing and rubbing her forehead. Giving in to Will was better than going to someone she knew and getting a lecture about how she shouldn’t have been playing co-ed, but it wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined seeing his home for the first time. “How do we get Jane’s car back to her, Char?”

  Charlotte’s arms dropped to her sides. “My dad will drive me out here, and I’ll take it to her. She won’t need it until tomorrow morning, right?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Right. And not a word to anyone.”

  “If you get a clean bill of health. But you should still tell Ed and Maddy.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Charlotte uncrossed her arms. “That’s a mistake, but since I talked you into playing, I won’t say anything.”

  Elizabeth could feel the muscles in her low back stiffening and sighed. I just want to get out of here. She nodded at Will. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Will tossed their bags into the trunk before unlocking the doors and helping her in. “Do you want the seat to recline a bit?” he asked, crouching beside her to tinker with the controls. She nodded, feeling ridiculous.

  “You know, I’m really okay. You don’t have to make such a big deal.”

  “Sure,” he said teasingly, “I know you planned all this just so you could get a ride into the city with me. Let me at least show off a bit.”

  “Well, don’t fuss, dear; get on with it,” she quipped as she tried to find a comfortable position.

  Will’s face brightened. “Hey, that’s Audrey Hepburn,” he said with a grin, still working on the seat. The back began to recline, but the seat tipped up too, taking some of the pressure off her lower back.

  “You recognized that?” Elizabeth asked. Nobody ever knows what I’m talking about.

  He nodded. “My mother loved the classics.”

  She nodded. “A woman of taste.” She leaned back uncomfortably. “As my friend, I think you should know that I am completely in love with Audrey Hepburn.”

  Will chuckled. “So I’m too late to ask you to go steady?”

  “Funny,” Elizabeth retorted. Will gently shut the door and walked around the driver’s side, got behind the wheel, and punched a button on the dash. Elizabeth felt her seat warming up, the tendrils of heat wrapping around her back and easing the tension from her aching muscles.

  “Is the seat supposed to heat like this, or is the car about to burst into flames?” she asked cheekily. “Just so I know to prepare.”

  He started the car and carefully backed out of his spot. “My sister Georgiana is always cold, so I got a car with seat warmers. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  Finally, Elizabeth had to relent. “I don’t. Thank you.”

  His eyes crinkled a bit at the corners. “You’re welcome.”

  Will watched the road as he pulled out, but there was comparatively little traffic. He glanced at Elizabeth and saw her eyes closing. He wasn’t sure that she should sleep until he got her to the doctor, so he asked, “You like Hepburn, then?”

  “Mmm,” she said tiredly. “Both of them.”

  “They weren’t related, you know,” he said, trying to make small talk.

  She chuckled. “I know. Audrey lived through the Nazi occupation. One of the reasons I like her. She was a survivor.”

  “Which movie’s your favorite?”

  “I have to be a traditionalist here and say Roman Holiday. I like The Nun’s Story, too, though. You?”

  “Hard to choose,” he replied, glancing at traffic and moving into the middle lane as they passed the border into New York. “Maybe Charade?”

  “Ah,” she agreed, “good one. Hidden treasure.”

  He kept up their conversation about old movies, touching on her dislike of Sabrina—which, despite her fondness for Bogie, she found “disturbing”—his interest in The Treasure of Sierra Madre, hers in The African Queen.

  “Your most quotable movie ever?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Modern or classic?” Will pulled up next to a tall, skinny office building just off Central Park and maneuvered into the last available parking space.

  She thought for a second. “Classic.”

  Without hesitation, he said, “Has to be Casablanca.”

  She nodded. “Okay, I’ll give you that one.”

  He shut off the engine. “Hang on, I’ll help you out.”

  Elizabeth would have reached for the door, but the way the seat was positioned, she felt like a bug on its back, so she waited patiently. She had not been lying to Charlotte before. She did feel fine other than her back, and she was embarrassed by all the attention. “You’d think I was the Queen of England,” she muttered. In no time at all, Will had the seat up and had taken both of her arms in his to help her stand.

  “Will,” she protested, “I’m not ninety.”

  “It’s not you, Elizabeth,” he deadpanned, “I’m afraid of your uncle. Humor me.”

  “Only if you do take me out to eat after this,” she said, as her stomach growled. “I’m starving, and since we’re in the city, we can get food around the clock.”

  “I’ve got food at my place, if you don’t mind that. It’ll be more comfortable, and you can use the Jacuzzi, too.”

  “You cook?” Elizabeth asked, surprised.

  “Don’t sound so shocked,” he replied, pretending to be affronted.

  Elizabeth lifted her eyebrows.

  “Okay, Mrs. Summers cooks for me and leaves meals in the freezer. I just heat things up. But I happen to very good at it.”

  She smiled. “I see you share my talent for the art.”

  “I can cook a little if I need to, but it’s nothing fancy. I prefer to leave it to the experts and actually eat well.”

  “I can cook eggs eight different ways and just about nothing else.” She paused. “They’re good with salsa and tortillas.”

  Will shook his head as he guided her to the entrance. “You eat like a college student. I don’t even want to think about what your diet looks like.”

  “It’s my job to keep the Gardiner/Bennet computer network up and running,” she replied, “and it’s quite a complicated endeavor. You cannot believe what Kit and Lydia do to their laptops. Since I’m there, I eat with everyone, and then Aunt Maddy sends me home with more food than I can possibly finish.” She smiled. “I have a Mrs. Summers, too.”

  They reached the door and Will pressed the intercom for Dr. Garcia, who buzzed them into the building. Elizabeth eyed the stairs warily, but fortunately the doctor’s office was on the first floor. The pair entered the brightly lit office.

&n
bsp; “Will,” greeted the doctor, “good evening.”

  “Dr. Garcia,” Will said with a nod, “thanks for meeting us. My friend here had a disagreement with a wall.”

  Dr. Garcia smiled. “Drinking?” he joked.

  “Hit and run,” she said with a smirk, and the doctor laughed.

  Elizabeth liked him immediately. Dr. Garcia was a square man of medium height, probably in his sixties, with a full head of wavy gray hair and a pleasantly lined face. She was put at ease by how graciously he responded to being rousted from home long after business hours.

  “Let’s take you in the back then, Elizabeth,” he said, waving her ahead.

  Will stood awkwardly in the waiting room. “Should I stay here?”

  The doctor answered immediately, “Yes. We’ll be out shortly.”

  Elizabeth followed Dr. Garcia into an examination room where he had her sit.

  He checked his phone. “So, Will said in his text that you went into the wall headfirst.”

  “Yes. It’s an indoor arena, though, so the wall does give a bit.”

  “Okay. And you’ve had a concussion before?”

  “Yes. Almost four months ago.”

  “Did you lose consciousness with the first injury?” He put the phone down and picked up a small light.

  “I don’t think so.” She expected him to chastise her for not knowing, as they had done in Brussels, but he just moved on, checking her pupils for reactivity. She’d been through these tests before. He finished and put the light down.

  “And you still have migraines?”

  She nodded. “When I get stressed or work too long.”

  “Okay.” He had her rotate her head while focusing on something else in the room, change focus quickly between two objects, and track the movement of his finger before he performed a few other tests. Elizabeth was surprised that the little office was so well equipped. This guy must cost a fortune. The doctor reached up to feel the top of her head where she’d hit the wall and seemed satisfied when she didn’t flinch.

  “So,” Dr. Garcia said at the end of his examination, “it doesn’t seem as though you have another concussion.”

  “I tried to tell them,” she began, but he cut her off.

  “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t very important to have this exam, Elizabeth.” He waited until she nodded. “How did you sustain the concussion?”

  This wasn’t something she wanted to discuss, but at least Will wasn’t in the room. She sighed. “Bomb blast. I dove into a bunch of tables. Can’t really say whether it was one or the other or both.” She waited for the inevitable emotional response, the one where people didn’t know what to say and either said too much or nothing at all.

  Dr. Garcia nodded, unperturbed, and made a note in his phone. “Military or law enforcement?”

  “Military.”

  “Were you medically retired?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He grunted a little. “So it wasn’t severe. That’s good.”

  The doctor was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that Elizabeth began to feel easier speaking to him, and she did have a question.

  “I wanted to ask something,” she said cautiously.

  “What’s that?”

  “This is confidential?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  Elizabeth bit her bottom lip. “Well, after I hit the wall tonight, just for a second, I thought I was somewhere else.”

  “Where?” still the calm, no-nonsense voice.

  “In the bombing. Where I was hurt. I thought Will was his cousin.” She waited for a flash of recognition, but either the doctor didn’t make the connection, or he didn’t show it. Elizabeth was relieved. “Just for a second, you know, but it was weird.”

  “This hasn’t happened before?” His brown eyes sought hers out.

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  He wrote something down. “Are you having nightmares?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve had a few.”

  Dr. Garcia leaned back, contemplative. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You’re bound to have some residual response from the experience. If the nightmares become more frequent or you have another episode, with or without the physical trigger, you might want to talk to a therapist. I’ve got a good recommendation for you if you want it.”

  That’ll never happen, she thought. I don’t need a therapist. “Okay,” she said.

  “All right then,” he replied, “let’s look at your back.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Back in the car, Elizabeth finished texting Charlotte and dropped her hands in her lap, a satisfied smile on her face. Will shook his head.

  “Go ahead and say it,” he told her, feigning defeat. “You know you’re dying to.”

  “I would never say ‘I told you so,’” she said smugly. “But I did.”

  “This is you not saying ‘I told you so’?” Will asked, his eyebrows raised.

  She smirked. “Okay, so I said it. It happens to be true.”

  Will paused for a second. “If you’d seen the flight pattern you took, you’d have insisted, too.”

  “I felt that flight pattern and its abrupt termination.” She cocked her head at him. “I know how I feel, Will. I was and am fine, just a little sore. I believe Dr. Garcia’s exact words were ‘take some ibuprofen and use a heating pad if you have one.’”

  Will couldn’t help but laugh a little. She was irritated and self-righteous, but he felt reassured. “The offer of the Jacuzzi still holds.”

  “Oh, I’m definitely using the Jacuzzi,” she informed him. “That’s what got me in the car.”

  He shrugged. “Is that all it took? I should have offered sooner.”

  She looked at her feet and shook her head slightly. “Well, now you know.” She raised her head, and he could see her eyes light up.

  “We should text Richard.”

  “What? Now?” Why is she thinking about Richard?

  “Oh Will,” she rolled her eyes. “You really do have so much to learn.”

  “It’s only about five in the morning there.”

  “Sounds about right.” She appeared so pleased he thought she might begin rubbing her hands together in glee. It made him smile. It made him feel the smile.

  “What are you planning, woman?”

  “Nothing,” she said innocently. Will caught a glimpse of her eyes sparkling as she turned to face him, and he felt his heart begin to beat a little harder.

  “Elizabeth . . .” he said warningly.

  “I just thought Richard might like to wake up to a message that I’m at your place. Close to midnight,” she said liltingly, her smile lighting up her face, “in your Jacuzzi.”

  Will started to laugh. “And then we turn off our phones?”

  “Now you’re getting it.” Elizabeth drew in a quick breath, as though another thought had just occurred to her. “I think we need to send pictures.”

  Having a prank to play helped Elizabeth not to overreact to the splendor of Will’s home. First, they pulled into a parking garage attached to an old Art Deco building only five minutes away from Dr. Garcia’s office. Will had access to three parking spots. Three. Those tiny slices of real estate alone were probably worth two years of rent for her. More. His building had a doorman who wore white gloves, and there were signs for a pool and gym.

  “You’ll like this,” he said with a grin, “I’ve had the apartment converted so everything’s controlled remotely. You need my phone to open the door.”

  “Smart apartment?” she asked. “Is that a good idea?”

  Will appeared a little surprised. “I’d have thought you would be on board with it.”

  “Just a little neurotic,” she replied with a shrug. “What’s online can always be hacked. I should know.”

  “My security is very tight,” he assured her.

  “I believe you,” she responded, and they dropped the subject.

  The door to his apartment opened to
a foyer with inlaid marble flooring and white walls. There was a line of silver coat hooks and a blue and white chinoiserie umbrella holder to the left. On the right was a hall table with a small blue and green mosaic bowl perched in the center and a large mirror in a thin gilded frame hanging just above. Will tossed his keys in the bowl and dropped his bag beneath the coat hooks.

  Elizabeth stood still for a moment, drinking it all in. Will’s apartment was on the top floor of a building across the street from Central Park. She realized that the interior was huge—she was sure it took up the entire floor. It was a small building, to be sure, but still—in Manhattan, where apartments in a far less prestigious neighborhood often sold for more than fifteen hundred dollars a square foot, the sheer size of the place was breathtaking.

  “The bedrooms are all on the first floor,” he said, moving into what looked like a formal living room with sleek leather couches that Elizabeth thought looked uncomfortable. “The stairs are there,” he said, pointing to his left, “but given the state of your back, I thought you’d rather take the lift down.” She took in the art on the walls, the high ceilings, the large windows that faced the park. He glanced behind him and then turned to wait for her.

  Elizabeth met his gaze. “You have an elevator inside the apartment?” she asked. “I’m impressed.”

  “Well, it’s pretty small,” he explained with a small grin and a shrug. “It’s only good for two people. My parents had it put in for my grandmother when she was no longer able to take the stairs.”

  “How long has your family owned this place?” she asked. “It’s stunning.”

  “My great-grandparents bought into this building just after they married in the early 1920s,” he said quietly. “When the apartment next door came on the market in the ’30s, they bought it and expanded. My grandfather lived here his entire life—when he married my grandmother, they just used his room until his parents passed. When my grandfather eventually passed away, my parents moved us back in to take care of Grandmother. My parents were offered a chance to purchase one of the apartments below us, and they entertained a lot. So the main floor, where we entered, became the entertainment space, and the bedrooms are all downstairs.”