Part 2 · Chapter 16Lying to George

But Lucy had grown up a lot since spring. Basically, she was better at keeping her emotions in check - the kind the world and society frown upon. Even though things were more intense, she wasn't falling apart with sobs.

She told Cecil, "I’m not coming in for tea - tell Mom - I need to write some letters," and headed upstairs. Then she got ready to face the situation.

Love, the real kind that connects our bodies and transforms our hearts, the most genuine thing we’re ever gonna experience, suddenly showed up as the world's enemy, and she had to shut it down. She called for Miss Bartlett.

It wasn't a battle between love and duty. Maybe there never really is one. It was a conflict between reality and pretense, and Lucy’s first goal was to defeat herself.

As her thoughts got hazy, as the memories faded and the words from the book disappeared, she fell back on her old excuse of being sensitive. She "conquered her breakdown.

Lying about the truth, she totally forgot that the truth had ever existed.

Reminding herself that she was engaged to Cecil, she forced herself to remember George - but he meant nothing to her, had never meant anything, he’d acted terribly, and she’s never encouraged him.

The armor of lies is sneaky, crafted from shadows, and hides a person not only from others, but from their own soul. In a few minutes, Lucy was ready for war.

"Something really awful has happened," she started as soon as her cousin arrived. " Do you know anything about Miss Lavish’s novel?"

Miss Bartlett looked surprised and said she hadn’t read the book or even known it was published; Eleanor was a pretty private person.

"There’s a scene in it. The hero and heroine make love. Do you know about that?" "Seriously - ?"

"Do you know about it, please?" she repeated. " They’re on a hillside, and Florence is in the distance."

"My gosh, I’m totally lost. I don’t know anything about it whatsoever."

"There are violets. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence. Charlotte, Charlotte, how could you have told her? I’ve thought before speaking; it has to be you."

"Told her what?" she asked, sounding increasingly stressed.

"About that awful afternoon in February."

Miss Bartlett looked genuinely upset. " Oh, Lucy, sweetie - she put that in her book?" Lucy nodded.

"Not in a way you’d obviously recognize it. Yeah."

"Then never - ever - ever again will Eleanor Lavish be a friend of mine." "So you did tell?"

"I just happened - when I had tea with her in Rome - in the course of conversation - "

"But Charlotte - what about the promise you gave me when we were packing? Why did you tell Miss Lavish, when you wouldn’t even let me tell Mom?"

"I’m never forgiving Eleanor. She betrayed my confidence."

"Why did you tell her, though? This is a really big deal."

Why does anyone tell anything? It’s a question that’s always been around, and it wasn’t surprising that Miss Bartlett just sighed softly in response.

She had done wrong - she admitted it - she just hoped she hadn't caused any harm; she had told Eleanor in the strictest confidence.

Lucy stamped her foot in frustration.

"Cecil happened to read the passage aloud to me and to Mr. Emerson; it upset Mr. Emerson and he insulted me again. Behind Cecil’s back. Ugh! Can guys be such jerks? Behind Cecil’s back as we were walking up the garden."

Miss Bartlett started blaming herself and feeling regretful.

"What are we supposed to do now? Can you tell me?"

"Oh, Lucy - I’m never going to forgive myself, ever. To my dying day."

"I know," said Lucy, cringing at the word. " I see now why you wanted me to tell Cecil, and what you meant by ‘some other source.’ You knew that you had told Miss Lavish, and that she wasn’t reliable."

It was Miss Bartlett’s turn to wince. " However," said the girl, disliking her cousin’s sneaky behavior, "What’s done is done. You’ve put me in a really awkward position. How am I supposed to get out of this?"

Miss Bartlett was totally blanking out. Her energetic days were long gone. She was just a visitor, not a chaperone, and honestly, a pretty discredited one at that.

She stood with her hands clasped while the girl worked herself into a full-blown rage.

"He needs to get taken down a peg, seriously. And who’s gonna do it? I can’t tell Mom now - it’s all because of you. Or Cecil, or Charlotte, because of you. I’m totally stuck. I feel like I’m gonna lose it. I have no one to help me.

That’s why I called you."

"What I need is a guy who can lay down the law."

Miss Bartlett agreed: you definitely needed a guy who could lay down the law.

"Yeah - but it’s pointless just agreeing. What are we supposed to do? We girls just whine on and on. What does a girl do when she runs into a total jerk?"

"I always said he was a jerk, dear. Give me some credit for that, at least. From the very beginning - when he mentioned his dad was taking a bath."

"Ugh, forget the credit and who was right or wrong! We’ve both messed this up. George Emerson is still hanging out in the garden - is he gonna get away with it, or not? I need to know."

Miss Bartlett was completely helpless. Her own awkwardness had rattled her, and thoughts were crashing around in her head. She stumbled to the window and tried to spot the jerk’s white shorts among the bushes.

"You were totally fine with the Bertolini when you rushed me off to Rome. Can’t you talk to him again now?"

"I’d move heaven and earth - seriously - "

"I want something more concrete," said Lucy, sounding unimpressed. " Will you talk to him? It’s the least you can do, considering it all happened because you broke your word."

"Never again will Eleanor Lavish be a friend of mine."

Seriously, Charlotte was really overdoing it.

"Yes or no, please; yes or no."

"It’s the kind of thing that only a decent guy can sort out." George Emerson was walking up the garden with a tennis ball in his hand.

"Okay," said Lucy, making an annoyed gesture. " Nobody’s gonna help me. I’ll talk to him myself." And immediately she realized that’s what her cousin had been planning all along.

"Hey, Emerson!" yelled Freddy from below. " Found the lost ball? Good for you! Want some tea?" And there was a rush of people coming out of the house onto the patio.

"Oh, Lucy, that’s brave! I admire you - "

They’d all gathered around George, who seemed to beckon her, past all the junk, the messy thoughts, the secret longings that were starting to pile up in her soul. Her anger faded when she saw him. Ah!

The Emersons were good people in their own way.

She had to fight back a sudden rush of emotion before saying:

"Freddy took him into the dining room. The others are heading down the garden. Come on. Let’s get this over with quickly. Come on. I want you in the room, of course."

"Lucy, are you okay with doing this?"

"How can you even ask such a ridiculous question?"

"Poor Lucy - " She reached out her hand. " I seem to bring nothing but bad luck wherever I go." Lucy nodded.

She remembered their last evening in Florence - the packing, the candle, the shadow of Miss Bartlett’s hat on the door. She wasn’t gonna get trapped by some sentimental moment again. Dodging her cousin’s touch, she led the way downstairs.

"Try the jam," Freddy was saying. " The jam’s really good."

George, looking big and disheveled, was pacing up and down the dining room. As she entered, he stopped and said: "No - not hungry."

"You go back to the others," said Lucy; "Charlotte and I will give Mr. Emerson everything he wants. Where’s Mom?"

"She’s started her Sunday writing. She’s in the drawing-room." "That’s fine. You go away." He wandered off, singing.

Lucy sat down at the table. Miss Bartlett, who was totally freaked out, picked up a book and pretended to read.

"She wasn’t about to launch into a long speech. She just said, "I can’t do this, Mr. Emerson. I literally can’t even talk to you right now.

Get out of this house, and don’t ever come back while I’m living here - " her face flushed as she pointed to the door. " I hate drama.

Please, just go. What - ? No discussion. But I can’t - ?

She shook her head. " Please, just go. I don’t even want to have to call Mr. Vyse."

"You’re not seriously saying - ?"

he said, totally ignoring Miss Bartlett - "you’re going to marry that guy?" That was unexpected.

She shrugged, like his rudeness was exhausting. " You’re just being ridiculous," she said quietly.

Then his voice rose over hers, serious and intense: "You can’t live with Vyse. He’s just a casual acquaintance. He’s for society and clever conversation. He shouldn’t know anyone intimately, especially not a woman."

That was a whole new side of Cecil.

"Have you ever talked to Vyse without feeling drained?" "I can barely - "

"No, but have you? He’s the type who’s fine as long as he’s talking about stuff - books, paintings - but he’s toxic when it comes to people. That’s why I’m speaking out through all this mess, even now.

Losing you is shocking enough, but I would have held back if your Cecil was different."

I would’ve reined myself in. But I saw him first at the National Gallery when he winced because my dad mispronounced the names of famous painters. Then he brings us here, and we find it’s just to pull some lame prank on a nice neighbor.

That's him - always messing with people, even with the most important things in life. Next, I meet you together, and he’s teaching you and your mom to be shocked, when you should have been deciding for yourselves. Cecil, all over again.

He can’t let a woman make up her own mind.

He’s the reason Europe is still stuck in the dark ages.

Every second of his life he’s shaping you, telling you what’s charming or amusing or ladylike, telling you what a man thinks a woman should be; and you, of all people, listen to his voice instead of your own.

It was the same at the Rectory when I saw you both again; it’s been the whole afternoon. So - not ‘therefore I kissed you,’ because the book made me do it, and I seriously wish I had more self-control. I’m not ashamed. I don’t apologize.

"But it scared you, and you might not have noticed that I love you. Or would you have told me to leave, and brushed off something so huge so easily? But therefore - therefore I decided to fight him."

Lucy had the perfect comeback.

"You’re saying Mr. Vyse wants me to listen to him, Mr. Emerson. Sorry, but are you just picking up the habit?"

And he took her pointed remark and turned it into something profound. He said:

Yeah, I have, and sank down as if suddenly exhausted. I’m just as bad underneath. This need to control a woman - it runs really deep, and men and women have to fight it together before they can find happiness.

But I love you, really, in a better way than he does. He paused.

Yeah - seriously, in a better way. I want you to have your own thoughts, even when I’m holding you close.

He reached for her. " Lucy, hurry - there’s no time for us to talk now - come to me like you did in the spring, and then I’ll explain everything gently. I’ve cared for you since that man died.

"I can’t live without you. ‘ No good,’ I thought; ‘she’s marrying someone else’; but then I see you again when the world is glowing with sunlight and water. As you walked through the woods, nothing else mattered. I called out.

I wanted to live, to have a chance at happiness."

"And Mr. Vyse?" said Lucy, who was surprisingly composed. " Doesn’t he matter? I love Cecil and I’ll be his wife soon? Just a detail, I guess?"

But he stretched his arms across the table towards her.

"May I ask what you’re trying to achieve with this display?"

"This is our last shot. I’m gonna do everything I can," he said.

Then, turning to Miss Bartlett, who looked totally out of place against the evening sky, he added, "You wouldn’t stop us this time if you knew what was going on.

He paused. " I’m heading into a really dark place, and I’m going back unless you try to understand."

Her head kept snapping back and forth, like she was trying to knock down an invisible wall. She didn’t respond.

"It’s about being young," he said quietly, picking up his racquet and getting ready to leave. " It’s about knowing Lucy really cares about me. It’s about love and youth actually mattering, like, on a deeper level."

The two women watched him in silence. They knew his last comment was total nonsense, but was he actually going for it? Would he, the jerk, the fake, try to make a big, dramatic exit? Nope. He seemed totally fine with how things were.

He left them, carefully closing the front door.

When they looked through the hall window, they saw him walk up the driveway and start climbing the slopes of dead ferns behind the house. Their tongues loosened, and they started celebrating quietly.

"Oh, Lucy - come back here - oh, what an awful guy!"

Lucy didn't react - at least, not yet. " Well, he’s entertaining," she said. " Either I’m crazy, or he is, and I think it’s him. She turned to Charlotte. " One more drama with you, Charlotte. Thanks a lot. But I think this is the last one.

My admirer probably won’t bother me again."

Miss Bartlett tried to sound playful, too.

"Well, not everyone can brag about a conquest like that, dearest, right? Oh, you really shouldn’t laugh. It could have been serious. But you were so smart and brave - so unlike the girls I knew back in my day." "Let’s go down to them."

But once outside, she stopped. A strong feeling - pity, fear, love - hit her, and she realized it was autumn. Summer was over, and the evening brought smells of decay, which were even more sad because they reminded her of spring.

That something or other mattered intellectually?

A leaf danced past her, swirling in the wind, while other leaves lay still. The earth was hurrying towards darkness, and the shadows of those trees over Windy Corner...

"Hey, Lucy! There’s still enough light for another set if you two hurry up." "Mr. Emerson had to leave."

"That’s a bummer! That messes up the four. Cecil, play, please! There’s a good guy. It’s Floyd’s last day. Just play tennis with us, just this once."

Cecil’s voice came: "My dear Freddy, I’m no athlete. As you pointed out this very morning, ‘There are some guys who are good for nothing but books’; I confess, I’m one of those guys, and I won’t burden you with my presence."

Suddenly, it clicked for Lucy. How had she even tolerated Cecil for a moment? He was totally unbearable, and that same evening, she broke off their engagement.