Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [26]
As the train left the station and began its steady crawl north, Jane continued to wrestle with the question of her romantic life like a dog worrying a bone. After two hundred years of romantic deprivation, it was time for a change.
“I won’t do anything rash,” she assured herself. “I’ll just take things as they come.”
It was a sensible decision, and she was pleased to have come to it. After all, she had made no promises to Walter. Until she did, she was free to do anything she liked. And at the moment she wasn’t doing anything but speculating. If she found that Kelly was interested, then she would do the right thing and make a decision between them.
Having settled the matter, she returned to her book. She was trying, and failing, to make her way through Barbara Pym’s The Sweet Dove Died. She isn’t a bit like me, Jane thought as she finished a page. I can’t imagine why anyone thinks we’re similar. She’s all tea and garden parties and ladies’ hats.
Chapter 10
She had not expected him to be in attendance at the party. Yet when she entered the drawing room she saw him seated on a sofa in intimate proximity to Barbara Wexley. He whispered into her ear. The girl giggled and tapped him lightly on the knee, to which Jonathan reacted with feigned hurt, turning his gaze toward the doorway. Seeing Constance standing there, he smiled mockingly, and she felt her heart burn with hatred for him.
—Jane Austen, Constance, manuscript
“SOMETHING’S DIFFERENT,” JANE SAID, LOOKING AROUND THE store. “You moved something.”
Lucy gave Jane a big hug. “Welcome home,” she said.
“I was only gone for forty-eight hours,” Jane said. “It wasn’t as if I went off to war.”
Lucy, who went to hang up her coat in the office, called back, “It’s okay to say you missed me, you know.” She emerged from the office and came to the front desk. “So, did you bring me a present?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Jane said. She reached into her bag and brought out the little gift she’d picked up for Lucy at one of the numerous tourist traps surrounding Times Square. It was a snow globe containing a replica of the Empire State Building. A plastic King Kong was climbing up it, one arm outstretched as he roared in fury. Lucy shook the globe and the tiny pieces of plastic snow swirled around.
“It’s beautiful,” Lucy told Jane. “Thank you. I didn’t have New York in my collection. Now I’m missing just South Dakota, Arkansas, and Maine. Oh, and I broke Florida, so I need to replace that one.”
Jane’s eyes suddenly locked onto an area to the left of the checkout counter. “What on earth is that?” she demanded, pointing to a spinning rack containing what looked like dozens of tiny bodies.
“Aren’t they great?” Lucy said, smiling mischievously. “They’re finger puppets of famous authors. I ordered them ages ago, but they came yesterday.”
Jane walked over and picked up one of the tiny puppets. Its gray hair was done up in a bun, and the expression on its face was solemn.
“Virginia Woolf,” Lucy said. She picked up another puppet and placed it on her finger. This one had wild black hair. “Dylan Thomas. We’ve got practically everybody. Well, everybody who’s dead. I’m guessing they didn’t want to pay anybody, so there’s no J. K. Rowling or John Grisham. But we’ve got James Baldwin, Louisa May Alcott, Samuel Pepys, Poe. Of course there’s Shakespeare, and this is the one I think will be our bestseller.” She held up a puppet with brown hair and a white dress gathered at the chest.
“Jane Austen,” Jane said, looking at her puppet self.
“I ordered fifty of her,” said Lucy. “We’ve already sold five.”
“Lovely,” Jane said, trying to sound chipper. “I don’t suppose we sold any actual books yesterday?”
“It was pretty good for January,” Lucy answered. “But let’s not talk work. Tell me about your trip. Was it fun seeing your friend?”
“It was,” Jane said. She badly wanted to tell Lucy the real reason for her New York visit, but she didn’t want to reveal her news too soon. Despite Kelly’s enthusiasm for her