Page 31 of Stuck

Some of the team are joining me for a swim in the morning. I’m going to ask if he wants to come

There was a long pause before an unknown number shared Darcy’s contact details with me.

Bingley just sent you his number. He says Darcy won’t come, though, and maybe that’s for the best since you’re supposed to be avoiding him???

I blew a raspberry at my phone then apologised to the startled driver.

If Bingley is sure he won’t come, there’s nothing to worry about, is there?

I clicked out of the message thread before she could reply and then, common sense still very much missing in action despite Jane’s extremely sensible warning, fired off another text.

Hi, Darcy, it’s Elizabeth. Some of us are meeting at the Serpentine Lido at 7am for a swim, if you fancy joining us. Didn’t want you to miss out because you were more nobly engaged when the plan was hatched

He didn’t reply, which, considering what he was doing, was no surprise. But I didn’t regret sending the invitation. Not for a full eight and a half hours.

15

DARCY

I’d officially lost my mind. There was no other possible explanation for why, after less than five hours’ sleep, I was standing at the edge of the Serpentine on a chilly September morning, about to strip down to my swimming trunks in front of half of Bingley’s executive board, at least fifteen of his more junior employees, and his blasted girlfriend.

It wasn’t a bad place for a swim. After a wet summer, Hyde Park provided a lush green backdrop to the lake’s shores. I was trying and failing to convince myself, as I looked out beyond the cordoned-off swimming area to the picturesque expanse of water, that coming hadn’t been a huge mistake.

I’d told myself I wouldn’t come. Despite, or maybe because of, the thrill I’d felt at seeing Elizabeth’s message when my shift finally ended and I turned my phone back on, I’d dismissed the idea out of hand. I didn’t need to add firsthand knowledge to my already plenty-vivid imaginings of her in a swimming costume.

Even so, something had me out of my bed at the arse crack of dawn, texting Trent to come and pick me up and deliver me to Hyde Park. Now here I was, watching Elizabeth mingle with an ever-growing gaggle of swimmers, trying valiantly not to think about what was underneath her oversized swim parka.

Gareth Sanchez approached me, decked out in a full-body wetsuit and with a steaming coffee in hand, disgustingly eager. “Morning, Darcy! I’m surprised to see you here.”

“You and me both.”

“How did you get roped in? You weren’t even in the pub, so you don’t have the excuse of being shamelessly goaded into it whilst under the influence like the rest of us.”

“You’re not under the influence anymore, Sanchez. You could have stayed at home.”

“I briefly considered chickening out when I woke up, but I didn’t want to let the side down.” He sipped his coffee then pointed with his cup at Don Polanski. “There’s a competition going between R&D and Legal, so I need to see if I can beat that bugger in a race.”

I smiled in a way I hoped would pass as interested, but my eyes had strayed back to Elizabeth. She was holding court with a group of what appeared to be regulars, judging by their more serious-looking gear—an array of brightly coloured swimming caps, goggles, and tow floats.

Elizabeth wasn’t wearing a cap; her hair was gathered in a thick plait at the nape of her neck. With it tied back, her face seemed more open, her eyes bigger, her smile wider. She looked relaxed and happy. And beautiful. I only realised I’d started walking towards her when her eyes flicked in my direction and surprise briefly dimmed her excitement.

“Darcy, you came! Bingley didn’t think you would.”

I bet he didn’t. I shouldn’t have. “Bingley is generally amazed by anyone being able to stay afloat long enough to enjoy the activity.”

“Are you telling me Bingley can’t swim?” Sanchez asked. I hadn’t realised he’d followed me over.

“He has many other endearing qualities,” Elizabeth replied, grinning. “You look like you’re expecting it to be cold,” she added, eyeing Sanchez’s wetsuit.

“Well, I’m not expecting it to be heated,” he replied, adding hopefully, “Is it?”

One of the group laughed. “Sadly not, but it’s okay once you’re in.”

This prompted a round of introductions, to which I paid very little attention since it was unlikely I’d ever see any of them again after today—but one name stuck out to me: Billy.

Her being involved with Bingley aside, I bloody hoped Elizabeth hadn’t gone on a date with him. He looked about seventeen, with an embarrassment of a moustache on his top lip and a bloody mullet. I watched closely, but if there was anything between them, it wasn’t immediately obvious—no in-jokes, no meaningful looks, no overt touching. He shot me a few confused glances, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. I could not have cared less about his comfort, but my observations were halted anyway when Sanchez let out a loud groan.

“What is it?” Elizabeth asked, following his gaze to Polanski, who’d stripped down to a minuscule pair of Speedos, revealing the sort of sinewy body that only elite athletes achieved. She snorted a laugh. “Did no one tell you he runs marathons?”