I made myself cry with the first draft of this chapter - hope you like it! Thank you for all being awesome :)
SONG: Please Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want - Vitamin String Quartet
Harriet had woken her up at ten past six with a nudge, they were in the Harlequin Penthouse of The Dorchester, it had cost a small fortune, but it was worth it to soak in Elizabeth Taylor's glorious pink bathtub and look out on the winter splendour of the capital before them from their own private terrace. Winston had always loved to stay at The Dorchester, and Lizzy found that her family name caused some ripples of recognition amongst older members of staff who remembered her grandad with fondness. The suite itself came with butler service, but Harriet had already made coffee in the small service kitchen, encouraging Imogen to grunt herself awake by opening the doors to the balcony and letting an icy waft of cold December air flood in. At nine o'clock sharp, the first of the team of polishers and pluckers arrived and the ritual began. Lizzy had read once, on the Instagram post of a famous actress, that it took a village to get red carpet ready, and it was true. She had completely underestimated the amount of time it would take, and it was only now, seven hours after they had begun their toilette, that the Lady Elizabeth, the Lady Imogen and the Hon. Harriet Darcy were ready to glide into the waiting car.
As Lizzy looked in the floor length mirror, she couldn't quite believe that she was looking at her own reflection. The dress had a tight bodice, and pulled in all her wobbly bits, thanks to the amazing sucky-in underwear that she was wearing like a shield. It had little capped sleeves with sequins that looked itchy, but were smooth on her skin, and the skirt flared out from her waist, over 10 metres of organza cascading to the floor, embroidered with tiny golden deer. She had been bronzed and highlighted so that her arms looked luminous and toned, and she had no idea what they had done to her face, but she looked like a real-life Snapchat filter. Her father had pulled some jewels from the deposit box at Coutts, a glittering selection of necklaces and bracelets that had belonged to the women of the Darcy family for his daughters and granddaughter to wear, although Lizzy knew that his main reason for visiting the bank was to carefully collect his great-grandmother's ring.
The Duke of Derbyshire had proposed to the love of his life at Mr Darcy's Pond, up out in the park one dusky summer evening. Hugh Darcy had thought about it a lot, wondering if he should even consider asking her to be his wife - he was quite happy to spend his evenings holed up with her in the small cottage on the outskirts of the estate. They had spent nearly nine months doing normal couple things, and she told him off for leaving socks on the living room floor, or feeding the dog too many scraps from the table. He loved having a normal family life, Joyce's sons, James and Gareth, came over with their families every other Sunday and he found that there was great comfort in washing up the dishes whilst they all played and fought over Monopoly after dinner, as Joyce stood beside him drying the plates and humming. He often found himself glancing over at her like a lovelorn schoolboy, and she would look back at him shyly before cracking a tea towel whip on his bum with a carefully timed attack. He hadn't bought a ring, didn't want to present her with something from Tiffany or De Beers, she would consider them too flashy, too much. Instead he knew that he needed to outwardly declare his devotion with something steeped in the history of the family that she loved so much. The ring he had chosen for her, ably assisted by his eldest daughter, had once belonged to Cecily Darcy. Unlike the famed Victorian party hostess herself, the ring was modest, with a large square emerald at its centre, surrounded by smaller diamonds. He hadn't needed to say the words, they had already been hanging unspoken in the air; quietly, carefully and with gentle kisses to his face, Joyce Hutchinson, crying happy tears, accepted his proposal. Their own story was now a small, but intrinsic part of the narrative that Pemberley would continue to weave long after they had gone.
Lizzy hadn't known which jewels to choose; they all seemed so grand and so heavy. In the end she had chosen a simple hair barrette that had been made from Lady Anne's necklace – the diamonds and sapphires sparkling in the midst of her tamed curls, which were now straightened into the most elegant of up-dos. She stepped softly into the glitter encrusted shoes and walked into the living room of the Penthouse. Harriet was dressed in a stunning pink empire cut gown, with a diamante band pulled across her waist, her own curls tied back into a fishtail plait, dotted with tiny pearls throughout, and a tiara that once belonged to Sophia Darcy perched on her head.
"Oh Harriet," Lizzy murmured. "You look absolutely beautiful."
"You too, Mum," she walked over and tucked herself under her mum's arm.
"Woah, watch what you're doing, Lizard – you'll ruin all this hard work!"
Imogen, with her legs long and lean like a baby gazelle, was wearing the highest of Louboutins and a tasselled Gatsby style dress that had been edged with an iridescent thread, catching the light in the most magnificent of ways. Her hair, now its natural warm blonde, was curled and pinned and she looked like a Vivienne Westwood interpretation of a twenties It Girl.
Lizzy thought that film premieres would be a lot more glamourous than they actually turned out to be, and whilst she did capture the attention of the press whilst standing awkwardly on the red carpet, they were more interested in real celebrities despite taking a few pictures of the stunning silver gown. The photographers did, however, go wild for Lady Imogen – who hadn't been seen for months – and the barrage of noise and lights was immense. Lizzy felt Harriet's arm on hers and they were, all three, whisked inside by assistants and handlers.
'Lady Elizabeth, what a fabulous dress!" called a busty lady from the other side of the room, as she pushed her way over. "I'm Wendy and I will be pointing you in the right direction for today." She began to lead them over to a sectioned off area, where Harriet recognised a few reality stars and poked Lizzy to draw attention to them being in the presence of actual famous people. Despite spending most of her childhood on film sets and fraternising with film stars of varying brightness, Matthew Wickham's daughter got positively starstruck by people from Big Brother or The Only Way Is Essex. Imogen spotted Jonty, the son of the bread billionaire, with whom she had a televised tryst during her brief stint on Made in Chelsea. She grabbed Harriet's hand and pulled her over to meet him, her niece blushing furiously as they all posed for selfies. There was a loud hum of people as the room began to fill – the Odeon in Leicester Square held over two thousand people and only a very small percentage of these had anything to do with the film, she was in the VIP section, but the room was also full of competition winners, regular people who had bought tickets, HHS staff for their co-operation – suddenly she felt overdressed and wished that she was on the other side of the velvet rope. Abandoned by Harriet and Imogen, Lizzy pushed her way to the bar – not an easy thing in a massive dress – and ordered herself a pink gin cocktail, which was conveniently called 'Moist Mr Darcy'.
She was messaging Debs and sipping it through a straw when the roar of applause and cheers from outside caught her attention. Craning her neck over the sea of people, she saw Benn Williams and a young woman with curls in a red dress walking in, arm in arm. He looked so different – more polished, much more handsome even without the sideburns – wearing a tuxedo and a smile he was completely, totally, every inch the Hollywood star and she felt her stomach do a flip. She was torn between wanting to hide from him whilst at the same time wanting him to acknowledge her. Even though she had been the one to not turn up at the gate, he had been the one who had been gallivanting across Santa Monica with another woman and even though it still hurt even now, she still wanted him to see her. Ordering another cocktail at the bar, she texted Deb for moral support.
D: Just stand there and look fabulous, maybe he will come over and say hello.
L: Or maybe he will just ignore me all night
D: Or maybe he will run over and sweep you up into his arms and whisk you away.
L: Or maybe he will take his girlfriend home and propose to her.
D: Why do you think that because he is shagging her that he is going to marry her? Your mind goes from sex to marriage in a single bounce. Hehehe. Bounce.
L: Two gins in now, better go and sit down. Talk later.
D: Remember my goodie bag! xx
Lizzy turned her phone off and signed it over to the security staff, who also wanded her before letting her pass through into the auditorium. The screen was playing a phenomenal drone based advert for Pemberley itself, which was part of the Historic House Society's promotional campaign to capitalise on the film. Directed to her seat, she could hardly take her eyes off the screen as amazing sweeping shots of the estate were shown on the screen, accompanied by a soaring, bespoke soundtrack. She never forgot how special her family estate was, but sometimes she needed reminding of how vast and varied it was. As she was finding her seat, marked 'Lady Elizabeth Darcy' she noticed the curly haired woman in the red dress walking up the aisle. She looked quickly at the seats either side of her own – on her left was 'Hon. Harriet Darcy' and on the right…Oh, God, No… the seat next to her was marked with a sign – 'Benn Williams', the one next to his 'Natasha Lymefield'.
Benn walked down the aisle, gently excusing himself past those already seated, Harriet and Imogen jokingly tutted loudly at him and he grinned at them both. Lizzy had to stand to let him past her metres of organza, as he squeezed past her, avoiding her eye, he was so close that she could smell his aftershave, could smell the faint tinge of alcohol on his breath. He sat down in the seat next to her, trying to avoid all bodily contact, as if they were strangers. She loved the film, laughing at Mrs Bennet, crying at the proposal scene and looking over at Imogen open-mouthed during a new and improved Wet Shirt Scene. Then there were the last few minutes and Harriet's line, accompanied by her daughter hiding behind a tissue, shrinking with embarrassment. But during all of this she was thinking of the small patch of skin behind his ear, and the moan he had made when she had touched it with her lips. At one point his finger had accidentally grazed hers, and she sensed that little spark again; it was small, but powerful, and she knew that he still felt it too, as he moved his hand away far too quickly.
The after-party, on the roof terrace of a trendy hotel in Shoreditch was hot and busy, with a constant push and pull of people talking and congratulating themselves. The music – an eclectic mix of 60s psychedelia, 80's cheese and 00's anthems – was loud and thumping, the room vibrating with the bass. Harriet and Imogen were dancing wildly, enjoying themselves ridiculously, and Lizzy grinned as Imogen pulled a very famous and serious actor onto the floor during The Time Warp. Despite enjoying the party, Lizzy needed air; she felt strangely strangled by the heat and the noise, and she pushed her way out onto roof garden, hoisting the skirts of the dress up in a most unladylike fashion.
He was standing at the edge of the terrace, his hands firmly holding onto the bars, looking down. She hadn't expected him to be there, was sure she had seen him a few moments ago in the middle of the back-patting throng standing at the bar, when Matthew had waved at her, Tamsin hanging off his arm looking devilishly beautiful in emerald green.
"Hello," she whispered in a small strangled voice. He turned immediately, welcoming her presence with a frown, before turning his back on her. She walked over to him, the soft rustle of her gown feeling loud against the muted background noise. Tentatively, she stood next to him, placing her hand next to his on the balcony.
"You are a brilliant Mr Darcy," she said firmly, trying desperately to hide her nerves and the waves of nausea that were sweeping over her. "Even better than Colin Firth and you know he's my number one." He said nothing, didn't even acknowledge her presence and she looked ahead. "Matthew said you were on 'Find My Roots', that we - "
"Lizzy, stop," he sputtered, before glaring at her. "I can't do this."
He pushed himself away from the balcony, like an Olympic swimmer pushing off from the edge of the pool, before turning away and stomping towards the door in a dramatic gesture. He paused at the glass patio doors, the silhouette of him outlined by the party lights from inside. She watched him, like a rabbit watching a fox, trying to anticipate his next move.
"Actually, I can," he uttered walking back towards her with an angry, mean look in his eyes. "I want to hate you, Elizabeth, for leaving me at the gate, for disappearing on me and never giving me any reason why. I waited there for four hours, I called you and left messages, everyone thought you were with me, but you weren't anywhere to be found. Did you not think that I would be worried? I was so scared, Lizzy, so scared that something had happened to you on the way to meet me." His voice softened. "I sat there in the VIP lounge with a bunch of daisies, waiting and hoping until I realised that you weren't coming." He sat down on one of the unseasonable sun loungers and put his head in his hands. "And…and…" He sat there for a moment, still, thinking as she watched him again, wanting to know what he was thinking, wanted to know what he needed to say.
"And…?" she asked, swallowing hard, feeling her heartbeat in her throat. He looked at her again, but this time with a look of regret and sadness, before getting up and walking slowly towards the door.
"You don't get to walk off every time, Benn," her voice projected across the terrace, startling a pigeon who left its hiding place under the lounger and flew onto the roof, away from the drama. He turned around again, daring her to say something, willing her to justify her actions. "Sometimes I get to walk off," she snarled at him angrily. "If you really need to know why I didn't turn up then think about what happened the day before when you were on the beach walking arm in arm with Rosie Schaffer, or when you were having lunch with her at Spago, or even when you were walking down Venice Beach with her drinking a fucking smoothie!" The tirade had left her breathless and the restrictions of her corset was making her bosom heave as if she was in a terribly intense period drama.
"Rosie? But, what? Why would that make you mad?"
She looked at him and he looked confused, she gave him a moment to think about it and then gathered up her skirts and began to stomp off in the direction of the door, looking like a Disney Princess version of Annie Oakley.
"Lizzy," he said warningly, "it's not what you think."
"Well, please tell me what I do think," she challenged.
"Rosie lives with my sister, they're getting married – she's…It's not how it looked… Rosie is.."
"Gay?" Lizzy questioned, "You're telling me that Rosie Schaffer is gay?"
"Yes, well for my sister's sake I hope so… and she won't mind me outing her to you. She was really looking forward to meeting you," he said. "Those times on the beach, all we talked about was you and how happy she was that I had met you."
Suddenly the anger and the longing and the heartache of the last year started to fade away, her voice softened, "why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't think it was important," he whispered.
Lizzy looked up at him, the tears in her eyes that she had desperately tried to contain were now escaping slowly. "Of course, it was important." Her voice cracked a little and the tears started to flow down her face, causing her mascara to smudge and run. "I thought you had met someone perfect and wonderful in America who you wanted to be with, and it was easier to pretend that the time we had spent together hadn't happened. That's why I didn't turn up. I didn't want you to let me down easily."
Benn realised his mistake too late and now here they were; nearly twelve months had passed, and he had known immediately, as soon as he saw her again, that he still felt the same way about her. In the first few months he had purposely dragged friends into social media posts that he thought she might see, had been intentionally direct about looking for a relationship in interviews, had taken every job he could to ensure that he was out of the UK and wouldn't be reminded of her. But he always had been. Six months passed before he started dating; women who all reminded him of her in small ways, but none of whom were her. He hadn't thought to tell her about his friendship with Rosie, didn't think it would matter. Surely, she had known how he felt about her. He hated himself for not realising earlier that he had royally fucked up.
He looked at her, standing there in the cold, looking like she had run away from the ball before midnight. The dress was amazing, yes – completely stunning, and her hair and make up were perfect, but it was not these things that attracted him. It was her vulnerability and her strength, her clever retorts and her mad half-hours, how she could tell when he had needed a hug, or a joke or cake, the way they could talk for hours or languish in comfortable silence. Lizzy Darcy was absolutely, incandescently beautiful.
"Are you not cold?" he asked softly.
"Absolutely freezing," she shivered. "and I look like the prow of a ship." She looked up at him, her eyebrow arched and, smiling, he placed his arms around her gathering her into his jacket. He felt her fall into him, and he held her close as the rest of the world faded into the periphery.
"I can't be responsible for letting your mascara run," he said softly as he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and as he pulled it out the pineapple fell to the floor. Taking her face in his hands, he gently dabbed at her tears.
"What were you going to say before…" she faltered. Lizzy wanted him to confirm it, wanting him to say the words, because once he had she would spread out her dreams under his feet. She knew now that she had to take chances, had to put her heart out there – it might get hurt, but it would heal if it needed to. If she never asked, too scared of what might happen, she could live her whole life never knowing something so wonderful.
"It doesn't matter now, Lizzy, it can't matter now, but," he soothed, "when I told that evening on top of Pemberley that I was danger of falling halfway in love with you, it was already too late. I already loved you," he paused, took a breath.
She could hear the blood pounding around her body, "you say that now in a past tense, as if all hope has gone."
All through the film, when she was sitting next to him, he could hear her laugh, could practically hear her smiling and he wanted to do was lean over, smile at her and thrown popcorn down the front of her ten thousand dollar dress. He knew that she would have giggled and then thrown it back at him. Instead he had sat there awkward and stiff, pulling his hand back when he felt that familiar shot of lightning run up his arm.
His phone beeped in his pocket. Natasha.
He had forgotten about his girlfriend, even when she had been sitting beside him in the movie theatre. Even now he had to concentrate so he didn't call her Lizzy in a moment of distraction.
"I can't do this now, Lizzy, I am so sorry," his eyes were sad, his voice was sadder, his heart was the saddest. On the floor he saw the glinting pineapple and picked it up carefully. He held it in his hand for a moment, before placing it gently into hers. "This was always yours, I borrowed it for a while."
She looked at the pineapple and grinned at him, "Darcy's Pineapple, you remembered!" She had told him the story as they ate ice cream in frozen pineapples at the Chinese in Lambton. Holding the solid, shining pendant in her hand she could see that it was heavy, beautiful.
"I bought it for you, in Venice," he uttered. "I always hoped you would like it."
"I love it, even now… I will always cherish it, thank you."
They both knew that she wasn't talking about the pineapple. Taking her hand in his, he kissed it softly before placing his own hand on her cheek and pulling her towards him, kissing her gently on the forehead
"I have some things I need to sort out," he said firmly. "I… I…"
"You need to go."
He nodded slowly, "I do."
She looked at him again, unable to take her eyes off him, until she knew that she couldn't watch him walk away again. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.
Lizzy dabbed at her eyes, checked her face using the compact mirror in her handbag and pushed open the door of the terrace to join her sister and daughter, and to congratulate her oldest friend on his resounding success.
