The Complete Jane Austen Addict by Laurie Viera Rigler

Author:Laurie Viera Rigler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2011-08-16T04:00:00+00:00

The café is bustling, and Sharon reminds me that it is time for my break. I can hardly believe that four hours have passed, and much more pleasantly than I would have imagined.

Just as I am about to carry my cup of coffee to a brightly covered, red-and-yellow cushioned chair near the window, I sense that I am being stared at. I look up and see a petite young woman who has just entered the café frozen, as if in mid-stride, and staring at me. At first I cannot believe that I am the object of her gaze. Yet when I glance behind me, I see that Sharon is at the other end of the counter, and there is no one else in the vicinity. I look at the lady questioningly, and she seems to recollect herself, resuming her stride towards the counter.

I am strangely unsettled, not only by her staring, but by something eerily familiar about her face, and thus I move as quickly as I can out of her path. I settle into the chair by the window and busy myself to avoid looking in her direction. But I cannot help myself, so great is my curiosity to look at her again.

And then I remember where I saw her before: She is the same woman who was staring at me in Awakening as I stood in the gallery, speaking with Wes and Deepa, though she was farther away than she is now. I study her features as she orders her coffee. She is quite pretty, in a style of beauty which is all her own. Her face is heart-shaped. Her large eyes tilt upward at the outside corners. She has a tiny nose, dimpled cheeks, and a wide, girlish mouth.

And then she looks up at me, full in the face, and resumes her staring from across the café. If she and I are acquainted, which we must be or why would she look at me so, then why does she not greet me in a proper manner? It is most unsettling. I occupy myself by watching Sharon, who glides over to the table next to mine, tray in hand, and collects empty cups and plates.

When Sharon returns to the counter, I decide to give my full attention to my coffee and a newspaper which is lying on the table. And sure enough, something much more interesting than the staring young woman captures my attention: a story about the first African American president of the United States. That such a thing should ever be possible, and that I should be alive to see it, something I’ll vow not even William Wilberforce or Thomas Clarkson ever dreamt of.

“Think she fancies you, too?” says a distinctive voice and accent behind me. I turn; it is Deepa.

I rise and kiss her on both cheeks. “What a delightful surprise.”

She smiles. “I had to stop by and see your new work digs, but the first thing I noticed was her.” She inclines her head

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