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Lizzy had been in London for forty-eight hours, living out of her bag and eating food snaffled from the tea trolley or ice-cold sandwiches from the vending machine on the third floor. The afternoon after Imogen woke up, Hugh had relieved his eldest daughter from her vigil and she had journeyed over to the flat on Upper Grosvenor Street which had, at one time, been part of the house owned by Jane Bingley's sister in law, Mrs Hurst. Carol Darcy, once so proud of her London pied-de-terre, had wasted no time in removing the most valuable pieces of art and furniture and the result was an empty shell of a house, filled with spaces where the pieces that made it a home once stood. Joe, nearly eighteen, was still boarding at Eton – his free time full of ski trips to Courchevel with his friends, or golfing at St Andrews - and so had luckily missed out on the drama of his parents' divorce. Lizzy walked around the house with sadness; although she hadn't had the best relationship with her stepmother, she always enjoyed her time here – especially at Christmas, when they would ship in their elaborate meal from Fortnum and Mason, ending with a massive flaming Christmas pudding and custard. Later Hugh, Lizzy, Imogen, Joe and Harriet would spend the afternoon watching Morecambe & Wise whilst Carol and Aunty Julia got drunk off the rest of the brandy that had been destined for the dessert.
The afternoon had been spent making phonecalls to work – asking Deb to reschedule her diary and send out the final drafts of documents that were on her desk; contacting Matthew, making sure that Harriet was suitably supervised. Harriet was remarkably resilient and, after the initial shock of what had happened, had dealt with things admirably. She was staying with her Dad at the Alveston Arms in Lambton and enjoying the last few days of the half term, although missing her mum as could be understood. Benn had sent messages as often as the shooting schedule allowed and her phone pinged with random cat pictures and videos, or stupid selfies of him at Pemberley, which he thought would cheer her up. He had been right, they had, and in the first few days when everything was unclear, she had messaged him back with words of appreciation, pouring out her heart over the mobile network.
On the seventh day, there had been a parcel for her waiting with Malcolm, the friendly faced concierge at the flat – it had obviously been hand wrapped and contained a box of those hideously expensive macarons she loved, a soft grey cashmere cardigan and a little enamel brooch of a bee, which she immediately adored. She had smiled as she had read the card and later, when the consultant was speaking to Imogen and her dad, she stood in the hospital corridor and phoned him to say thank you. He had sounded concerned on the phone, told her how much he wanted to be there to support her and make sure she was alright. She told him she was okay, and that hugs were most definitely required. He laughed softly, before agreeing that he would have happily acquiesced to her request. It was his last day on set, but he was flying straight out to the US on the redeye flight to screentest for a big budget action film with a famous director who had specifically asked for him. She was so excited for him; texting over a list of American sweets that he needed to bring her back. He was there for a fortnight, but they arranged to meet in London the day his flight landed.
"Will you be standing at the gate waiting for me with a sign?" He said it jokingly, but seriously would have loved for her to be standing there with her Bee shoes and mischievous smile.
"Only if you promise not to judge my terrible sign-making skills and poor lettering!"
"Of course not, as long as you're naked I won't have any issue with your bubble writing. I have to warn you though, Miss Lizzy," he said with mock sternness, "I will be removing my sideburns."
"Oh, no!" She laughed for the first time in a week, "I might have to rethink this whole thing."
He had laughed too and then in a low growl said, "you had better not, you cannot even begin to imagine the things I want to do to you."
She had felt herself blush and was glad that he was two hundred miles away, so he couldn't see her face turn pink. "Surely it all depends on the effects of the sideburn removal on whether or not I permit you to do such things," she teased him, matching his low voice with one of her own.
"My god, woman, you sound like the Cadbury's Caramel bunny when you do that… Do you even know what you are doing to me right now?"
"I could tell you what I want to do to you," she murmured, hiding her face from the nurses rushing past her, "but I don't think it would be appropriate preparation for the scene, do you?"
Benn was standing alone in the porch at Pemberley, the only place where he could get reception, wrapped up against the cold and licking a lolly, which had replaced his previously ever-present e-cig. "Probably not – it's the scene with Jemima and the piano."
"Lady Catherine!" she squealed with excitement.
Lizzy had been so pleased with she had heard that one of her favourite actresses, Jemima Lancaster, was playing the part of Lady Catherine De Bourgh and had made him watch three of her favourite films back to back one evening in the summer.
"Yes," he sighed. "I know you are a bit devastated about not getting to meet her."
"Please will you get her autograph for me?"
"Are you serious?"
"Yes!"
He sighed again, this time louder, "okay. For you, and you alone, I will go up to a woman I am working with and ask for an autograph. Not cool, Darcy, not cool."
She giggled down the phone, "thank you so much… I will make it worth your while."
"You better had…"
The frowning runner came toddling towards him and he knew that his time was up, "look I have to go, but I will call you before the flight, okay?"
"Okay," she smiled. "Break a leg!"
"Love you," she heard him say. She guessed he had said it inadvertently, distracted by the noise and kerfuffle of filming.
Later, as she sat in the uncomfortable chair in the stiflingly hot room, watching dreadful television with her dad and sister, pulling on her t-shirt that was clinging and making her feel self-conscious, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.
BENN: At Heathrow now, getting zoomed through the gate to First Class (veh posh, eh?) as traffic awful on the M25 and late. Will let you know when I land – don't worry, I remembered your list. Can't promise to buy Twinkies. xx
BENN: Couldn't get an autograph – thought this would be better?
There was a video attached and she opened it, it started playing immediately.
"So, I would like you to meet Lady Elizabeth Darcy – she couldn't be here today, but she will be on the other end of this message," Benn boomed out in his Mr Darcy voice, which was grander and deeper than his own.
The screen panned around, and Jemima Lancaster appeared perfectly costumed as Lady Catherine De Bourgh. She spoke in the way that Lizzy always imagined the great lady spoke when reading the letters sent between Darcy and Elizabeth documenting their various encounters with her.
"Lady Elizabeth," she said in a perfectly condescending tone, "if one is to believe what one has been told you have asked my nephew, Fitzwilliam, to procure my signature for what I can only assume is some dreadful reason only enjoyed by ladies of lower social standing. One will not tolerate such behaviour from such an unfeeling, selfish girl!"
"I'm afraid, Lady Elizabeth, that my aunt is quite determined!"
He looked up at Jemima who was now smiling, all traces of Lady Catherine removed from her face.
"Hello Lizzy, wish you could have been here… I was so looking forward to your behind the scenes tour! I'm in a play in Huddersfield in March, so I will come and visit and you will have to show me around then! Mwah!"
Jemima Lancaster waved and blew kisses at the camera, until it flashed back to Benn who gave her a thumbs up before waving.
BENN: Well, you said you would make it worth my while… :D xx
Lizzy's heart gave a little flip as she placed the phone back in her pocket.
"Everything alright, Lizard?" Hugh asked, looking at his eldest daughter who looked as if she had fallen asleep with a coathanger in her mouth.
"Yes," she said in a small, happy voice.
"Sure?" He nodded.
"Yes," she grinned. "Quite sure."
Imogen never quite remembered the journey to Derbyshire taking as long as it did today. They were in her father's Range Rover and not the hideous little yellow car that Lizzy always drove, and she struggled to keep her eyes open as they skirted off the M25 towards the north. Even when they stopped at the services at Newport Pagnell, she only requested a coffee, which remained undrunk and resting in the cupholder. Her sister was sitting in the front, talking to their dad in quietened tones, occasionally leaning over her shoulder and looking at her with a look of concern that she found slightly comforting. She was being taken to Pemberley for the next six weeks to recover – well, that was what they said, it felt more like she was being exiled to the countryside to pay penance for her sins. Out of the window of the car, the world got hillier and she only woke again when they juddered over the cattlegrid and crossed the bridge over the railway line that Fitzwilliam Darcy paid for. As they pulled up to the north front gate, given special leave by Don to do so, she was bundled out of the car and up the backstairs to the small flat at the top of the house, where she would live with her sister and her niece until she was better. 'Better' – what a strange concept, she thought, lying on the bed in Lizzy's spare room, which had been hastily made up for her. She couldn't explain to anyone why she had done what she did, didn't even want to talk about it in case it brought back those feelings of loneliness and despair. Imogen was not quite twenty, but she felt as if she had led so many lives now that she wasn't sure who she was anymore, but she knew that it had been the voice of her sister that had reminded her that life wasn't quite done with her yet and she was curious to see what fate had in store. She wandered downstairs and plonked herself on the squishy sofa, covering herself with large blanket and scrolling through the barrage of crap that the showbiz columns pushed through to her email inbox on her phone whilst waiting for Lizzy who was in the kitchen making a pot of tea.
"Hey Lizard, isn't this that guy you know?"
Lizzy walked over to the table and placed a tray with biscuits and a teapot onto the low coffee table, she glanced over at the phone.
"Which guy?"
Imogen zoomed the screen in and practically thrust the phone into her sister's face. On the screen, wearing a blue shirt and looking movie-star polished was Benn, she did a little smile that Imogen immediately recognised. Lizzy grabbed the phone and quickly read the article.
Beautiful Brit Benn Williams, 42, in town for talks with Tony Bennedetto cuddles up to latest squeeze, Rosie Schaffer, 27. Spotted on the Santa Monica Pier and out for lunch at Chateau Marmont, this gorgeous pair have been stepping out all over the LA since his arrival a fortnight ago.
Lizzy felt the weight drop to her stomach straight away, the prickles of betrayal running up her spine, she sat down and took a mouthful of tea, feeling it fall into the emptiness inside her.
"Lizzy, whatever is the matter?" Imogen's face was the picture of concern, and she leaned over and put an arm around her, pulling her close. Lizzy felt the close warmth of her sister and she knew that, whatever was going on with this, she couldn't let it impede Imogen getting better.
She smiled with a fake brightness that she suspected might fool her sister, "I didn't really know him, I met him a few times though when he was filming here. I'm okay. Do you fancy putting a film on?" Lizzy took another mouthful of tea even though the taste of it in her mouth make her feel nauseous.
"Yeah, alright," Imogen nodded, knowing full well that if she listened closely enough, she could hear her sister's heart shattering.