She pointed at Darcy, who was watching RuPaul’s contestants take part in a runway walk, his face a mixture of terror and delight.
“Did he, uh…” I paused, wondering how to phrase the next question. “Did he tell you who he thinks he is?”
She nodded vigorously. “He did, but I’m not concerned. I had a cousin whose wife thought she was the Egyptian queen Cleopatra, and she lived a very happy life. I’ve always believed that some people are not born for our cruel world, and so take refuge in their own. And to be honest, given the shit show we live in right now, who can blame them.”
I swallowed, suddenly nervous Mrs. Atallah might have broadcast Darcy’s appearance to the whole of North London. “Have you mentioned him to anyone?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Of course not! Who do you think I am? The man isn’t harming anyone, and he seems perfectly content. Although he did ask me if I know the way back to Netherfield.”
“Well, thank you so much for looking after him. I’ll take him off your hands now.”
“Not so fast, habibti.”
Her tone had changed, and I immediately recognized it as the one she used whenever I tried to complain about the mouse infestation or asked her to investigate the smell of gas in my kitchen. It was her “don’t fuck with me” voice.
“I was thinking that perhaps we could come to a little arrangement.”
“What kind of arrangement?” I asked.
“Well, clearly you are enjoying the company of this gentleman for whatever sex role-play thing you have going on.”
“It’s not like that.”
“There is no judgment from me,” she said, holding her palms up. “As long as it’s consensual, two adults may do whatever they please. It is consensual, isn’t it?”
“Mrs. Atallah!” I shrieked.
“Well, I’m happy to keep your little secret, on the condition that you let your friend come and visit me when you’re at work.”
“What? But why?”
“Because I enjoy his company,” she said. “He’s erudite and interesting, even if he does sometimes behave like he has a stick up his ass. But it’s been a long, long time since I had a handsome, charming companion to talk to.”
I paused. In the two and a half years I’d lived here, I’d thought of Mrs. Atallah as many things: noisy, interfering, completely inappropriate. But in all that time, I’d never once considered that she might be lonely too.
“I can feed him, if you like. He’s a big fan of my cooking.”
As Mrs. Atallah said that, I noticed all the empty dishes on the low table in front of the TV. If my plan to take Darcy out on the 88 bus was successful, then he’d be gone by this time tomorrow—but if it didn’t work, then Mrs. Atallah’s idea wasn’t such a terrible one. After all, I’d bankrupt myself if Darcy was here much longer and I kept ordering takeaway, and I wasn’t sure he’d be happy to eat my diet of fruit and instant noodles. Plus, he was bound to get bored sitting in the flat on his own, especially if he was still here on Friday night when I was going to Bianca’s engagement party, and Mrs. Atallah could make sure he was safe.
“If you’re sure it won’t be a bother,” I said cautiously.
“Not at all. Do you hear that, Fitz? What good news!”
Darcy looked away from the TV, blinking as if waking from a dream. “Did you address me?”
“Yes!” Mrs. Atallah said, practically dancing with glee. “Miss Knight says you can come and hang out with me while she’s at work. Isn’t that great?”
“Will you prepare more of those delicious fal-fals?”
“I will make all the falafels your little Georgian heart desires. And tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to the greatest work of art of the modern era.”
“Would that be Leonardo da Vinci’sMona Lisa?” Darcy asked.
“No, season five ofLove Island!”
Chapter Eleven
At Darcy’s request, we spent the evening watchingRuPaul’s Drag Race. A couple of times, I tried to suggest that we turn off the TV and chat, keen to get to know him better on what was potentially our last evening together, but Darcy was completely engrossed in the show. In fact, he only spoke to tell me how impressed he was with the contestants as seamstresses, or how their creations rivaled anything he’d seen at any ball, even at St. James’s. The rest of the time, we sat watching in silence, although it wasn’t the kind of stilted, awkward silence that Elizabeth complained about with Darcy in the book. I liked to think that was because he was getting more comfortable around me, although deep down I suspected that the TV just gave him the perfect cover for his social anxiety.
