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SONG: Lilac Wine - Jeff Buckley

2010
The train started rolling out of Manchester Piccadilly station as Lizzy Darcy ventured to London for the final time in what had been a frantic and tiring nine months. She was dealing with a difficult inheritance case; this trip should be the final visit to the beneficiary of a complicated lady's complicated estate and, though it had taken many hours of work, many gallons of coffee and fair amount of sleepless nights, she was content that she had done her best work and proved herself, finally, as the latest of the Darcy attorneys.

The first gentleman to take up the Law was Francis, youngest son of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth, his father approving of the career path most suited for a second son and useful in the legal wrangling that was occurring behind the scenes at Pemberley. The youngest Darcy son had been known for his hideous fits of temper which saw him screaming for servants to do his bidding and resulted in him being disliked by senior members of the household; afterwards he would ride into the woods for hours and only return after everyone was in bed, still demanding supper. For all his obvious faults, he had been a brilliant lawyer and a key member of the Law Society in its early days; there was an Italian marble bust of his likeness in the hallway of the headquarters on Chancery Lane and Uncle Jeremy always gave it a reverent nod when he walked past.

Lizzy was often saddened by the story of the bachelor uncle who defined the career path of his Darcy descendants; he was buried in the graveyard of the small church next to the house at Longbourn after succumbing to pneumonia at the grand old age of ninety-five – born when the country was celebrating the victory of Waterloo and dying when the world was embroiled in what felt like an unending war. Next to the grand, granite monument marking his final resting place was a smaller, inconspicuous one – simply engraved with the name and dates – Albert DeVere 1825-1871. She knew that somewhere along the line that the DeVere family were related to the Darcys, but she wasn't sure how. What she did know, however, from the many letters written by Elizabeth Bennet-Darcy to her youngest child, and those received from him, that the friendship was much more intimate that could have ever been revealed publicly. Lizzy didn't know if Elizabeth had ever been able to read between the lines in Francis' letters, but it was obvious in a modern day context. It made the small headstone, and Albert's early death at the age of forty-six, even more poignant.

"Penny for your thoughts?" The man sitting across from her smiled as the train pulled into Stockport station. Usually she hated when strangers tried to speak to her on trains, preferring instead to hide behind the safety of a book, this was why she always paid the extra money for First Class. He looked friendly enough, was dressed in a smart suit and a pair of nice Oxfords, Hugh had always told her to pay attention to a man's shoes.

"I am sorry, how terrible of me not to introduce myself," he smiled in a way that was rather dashing, "I'm David Forsythe." He held out his hand, she placed her own in his and he returned a firm handshake.

"Elizabeth Darcy, pleased to meet you," she had smiled back at him.

By the time the train arrived at Euston, they had exchanged numbers and planned to meet for dinner later that week. David had been obviously impressed with the Grosvenor Square address, where she was staying with Charlie and the boys, and her ability to obtain tables at The Ivy. It was a whirlwind and one that she let herself be carried along on. He worked in the City and had a whole wardrobe of nice suits, expensive shoes and an apartment with a view of the Thames. They had crazy, drunken sex on his Conran sofa whilst looking out at Tower Bridge and he wooed Lizzy with a passionate intensity that she had not experienced before, she felt truly adored. The problem was that David Forsythe was newly separated from his wife of twelve years, and whilst he always proclaimed that he wanted to marry Lizzy and claim her as his own, he just couldn't right now, and he hoped that she would understand. There was two years of illicit text messages, covert dinners and broken promises before he came to her one night in the hotel that she had booked for their 'anniversary' weekend.

"Lizzy…" he said, unable to look her in the eye. He hadn't removed his coat, which she thought was odd, but she ignored the voice at the back of her head.

"Is everything alright?" she said, unsure but doing her best to stop the echoes of disappointment crossing her face. He nodded, as he looked down at his shoes. "I picked the tickets up for the show, have you ever seen Les Mis?" she continued with a false enthusiasm that belied the waves of panic rising in her stomach.

"Lizzy, please stop…" She stopped and looked at him, her heart thumping hard in her chest. "I can't do this anymore. I'm so sorry…"

She noticed that he wasn't wearing his suit, wasn't dressed for the dinner at Le Gavroche that she had planned for them, on his feet were battered gym trainers. She looked up at him in disbelief, searching his eyes and finding them unresponsive.
"It's Bianca…" he said flatly. "She's pregnant."

"Oh, okay," she said. "Is it yours?"

"Of course, it's mine," he sat down on the edge of the bed with a thud. "I never told you why we separated Bianca and I. She always wanted children. We had nine rounds of IVF," he looked up at her, tearful, "each time it was harder to get over the disappointment. Each time it didn't take it was like a little part of us died and then it drove us apart."

"And then you separated, but…and let me be very clear about this…you never stopped loving her, you just hated yourself for being unable to make her happy." There was an icy edge to Lizzy's voice that David failed to pick up on. "What about me, David, did I make you happy?"

"Lizzy, you made me realise what it was I wanted this whole time. I wanted a family," he paused, and then slowly, ashamedly, "I wanted a family with Bianca."

"Well, I'm glad I could be of use to you, David," she said, "I hope you will be very happy."

"I'm so sorry, I never meant to end up loving you as much as I did. It was just…"

"It was just that you would always love your wife a little bit more…?"

He reached out to put his hand on hers, but she moved away and walked over to the window. The sparkling city was illuminated below her, and she wished, more than anything, that Harriet was there to look at the view with her and get over-excited about the glittering lights of the capital. Suddenly the gentle touch of his hand on his shoulder felt like a personal attack.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

"Lizzy…"

"Goodbye, David."

He walked out of the door and she sat on the bed, wondering what use she would have now for all the fancy lingerie she had bought from Agent Provocateur that afternoon. Lizzy Darcy, ever the optimist, dressed up for herself and strapped herself into the bustier and suspenders. She ate the pre-theatre dinner at La Gavroche, sat in the stalls and watched Eponine and Cosette sing about lost loves and disappointments, and then, with the tune of 'One Day More' ringing in her ears, she picked herself up and dusted herself off. She never heard from David Forsythe again, but she saw the birth announcement on Facebook seven months later through a mutual friend of a mutual friend. He had taught her that above all else she had to rely on herself; he had made promises to her that he hadn't been able to keep and played with her heart, and she vowed to be much more careful in future.

Benn Williams held the small velvet pouch in his hand, tucked inside the pocket of his shorts. It was something that he had bought that afternoon from a small artisan store on the boardwalk at Venice Beach. November in California was something altogether different, he stood out like a sore thumb in his summer sandals and board shorts whilst the natives were wrapped up in sweaters and Uggs. There had been a few Paparazzo hanging about trying to get pictures, but they got bored once they realised that he wasn't playing their game. He walked up to the small beach house, just off the main drag, which they had rented for the 'views' and that turned out to be small glimpse of the 'Hollywood' sign if you leaned to side and squinted.

Rosie was already in the kitchen, blending a mixture of Kale, Matcha and Spinach and proclaiming it the healthiest things ever. He liked Rosie Schaffer a lot, she was fun and so Cali that it made him laugh at her pretentiousness. They had worked together on a film two years ago called 'Tempest Beloved', which had been terrible and filmed in the worst conditions ever. She had protested to her agent about the lack of Vegan options and was laughed at every day by the catering team, who gave her plain rice and broccoli. It was here that Rosie had met Yvette, Benn's younger sister, and they had fallen madly and head over heels in love. They lived in the LA for most of the year but couldn't commit to buying a home and raising a family here, or selling up and moving to a farm in Minnesota like the one Rosie had grown up on. When she was drunk, which was rare, the change in her accent from neutral LA to deep St Cloud was something special to behold.

"Hey you, where ya been?" She poured him out a glass of green into a tall glass, he took a slurp and grimaced.

"Wandered about… what do you think of this?" He tipped the contents of the pouch onto the counter, Rosie picked up the necklace and held it up to the light; the gold pineapple pendant glittered at the end of it in the bright winter sunshine, the smooth chain slipping between her fingers.

"Is this for Miss Lizzy?" she said conspiratorially.

Rosie had watched over the last few months as Benn, still shaken and insecure from his divorce, had met, insulted, flattered, danced with and started to fall in love with Lizzy Darcy.

"Yeah, do you think she will like it? I wasn't sure, but I remember she told me this story about Mr Darcy and a pineapple – I thought it would be funny." He looked so unsure and nervous about his choice of gift that she walked over and gave him a reassuring hug. Her head rested just under his six-foot frame and, superficially, they made an attractive couple.

"I am certain that she will adore it, why wouldn't she?!"

"Women are strange creatures, Schaffer, you know this," he said walking off in the direction of his bedroom to finish packing. His flight was that evening and he was excited to see Lizzy the following day, could feel the bubbles of anticipation dance across his stomach in waves; he couldn't wait to whisk her away to the small hotel in the corner of the Cotswolds where he could spend the day listening to her laugh, kissing every inch of her and feeling his insecurities and fears fall away. Lizzy had made him feel safe and loved in a way that he had never felt before. She looked at him through brand new eyes and he found that every day with her was learning how to skip with lightning. Benn had never expected to be single at forty-two, had always thought that his marriage had been the end of the worrying, the end of being alone, but he had found that he sometimes felt lonelier than ever when Madeleine was lying beside him. He had loved her, would always love her, but it had felt as if he was the filler for her missing parts, with Lizzy he truly felt as if they were two halves that made a whole.

The flight was long, and he couldn't sleep, despite the luxurious surroundings of First Class. Benn never paid the ridiculous amounts of money for the decadent menus and fully reclining beds, he always booked Business Class and was upgraded at check-in; Madeleine had always shouted at him under her breath, but as his fame grew he would always be upgraded for free, so why pay for it. The money was much better being donated to the bursary scheme at his old college, which helped kids from underprivileged backgrounds fund their way through university. It was the way that he had been able to pay for his own tuition at Cambridge, back when the most working-class boys from his area could aspire to was a job in the plastics factory, or maybe teacher training if they were lucky. Benn ate his fillet steak and gently patted his face with the warm cloth, feeling no guilt for the opulence, as the plane soared over the Atlantic.

He held the small velvet pouch in his pocket, turning it over in his hand. In his other hand was a bunch of daisies – he didn't know her favourite flower yet, but these seemed the most fitting for her and he was eager to see her face. The plane had landed over two hours ago now and she had said that she would be here to meet him, maybe she was stuck in traffic.

Four hours later, Benn called for his car and went home to his empty house in Clapham. In his hand he still held tight to the small, gold pineapple, not wanting to let it go.