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SONGS for this chapter: 'Lilac Wine' by Nina Simone and 'From The Dining Table' by Harry Styles

Nearly twelve months after the principal photography on 'Pride and Prejudice' had completed, Matthew Wickham contacted the CEO of Vanquish Pictures, Brian McPhail and let him know that the final cut was ready for approval. Even though he had accolades and awards, he was always unsure about having to submit the print to the studio – to letting himself be so openly judged by his peers; there was always an underlying insecurity there that he hid with a layer of bravado and noise, attempting to shield the ever-present nervousness that he wasn't quite good enough. He needn't have worried; Simone McPhail was a Jane Austen obsessive and, after watching the screening with her father, proclaimed it the most wonderful thing that she had ever seen. Brian, completely devoted to his fifteen-year-old daughter, was equally impressed with the faithful retelling of the classic tale – carefully crafted and committed to script by Casey Muir, and beautifully and artfully shot by Wickham. Benn Williams was perfect as Darcy, Jenny Graves shone, sparkled and stole every scene she was in as Elizabeth and Pemberley itself looked glorious, as the rough credits ran Matthew smiled to himself, content that he had done the story and his childhood home justice.

As he had worked with his editing team, Matthew had fallen in love with Pemberley all over again, seeing it through new eyes. When he was younger it had been hard living there; even though the Wickhams were never treated as staff, he always felt second rate. At school he had been the boy who lived in the stables, hanging around the outside of the in-crowd, listening to Lizzy laugh and joke with a group of friends who he didn't know. They had belonged to each other at Pemberley but here, where there were new people to know, she left him standing alone – it wasn't intentional, but it hurt nonetheless. He chose a different college to go to, away from Lambton and the little town where everyone knew everyone else, and he travelled out to Manchester even though it was an hour journey each way, because he wanted to be free from everyone's pre-conceived ideas about him - it wasn't easy when your name was so readily associated with one of the bad boys of English Literature. He saw Lizzy less and less, socialising more with his new friends whilst she still loitered in her same old social circle from school; he brought girls back to Pemberley to show them where he lived, and he liked to think he romanced them, although he was sure the house bore the brunt of the work. It had been Christmas Eve when he had gone to the house to take her gift; it was a book of poems he thought she would like and a Casablanca film poster. They had watched it each summer with Winston, as he dragged his old projector up from cellars - the faces of Bergman and Bogey shining seven feet tall on the wall of the Wyatt designed dining room, the projector flickering and clicking as they ate popcorn and drank Pepsi floats whilst sitting on 18th century chairs. It was early evening; when the lights were dim, and the grounds were dark. She had been in the library, curled up in the corner bay window, covered in blankets to fend off the chill. He knocked on the door gently and she looked up, smiling at him in the same familiar way that she had for as long as he could remember. He walked over and snuggled under the blanket with her, and she nestled into the crook of his arm and opened her gifts, appreciating the thoughtfulness.

"Come a little closer," he murmured, edging nearer to her on the wide window seat.

"Closer?" She echoed, and he felt his pulse race, his breathing slow down.

"Yes," he said as he looked into her eyes.

"This close?" Her face was inches away from his now, he could see the traces of mascara in the corner of her eye, could smell the cleanser she had used earlier that day, cucumber. He felt her tentatively place her hand on his. He glanced down, she was biting her lip – was she nervous? He knew he was as he leaned over and gently placed his lips on hers. She leaned back for a moment, unsure, scared… He knew what she felt. This would change everything and regardless of what happened or any other outcome, this one event would change their friendship irrevocably. He could see the reticence in her eyes, could see her reluctance, understood it. But he did it anyway and kissed her fully, feeling her yield to his embrace. They stayed there for hours, kissing and laughing and softly crooning to each other as Nina Simone played in the background. The house smelled like pine and cinnamon, and it was Christmas morning before they reluctantly separated.

"Matthew," Linda began, as she hesitantly hovered at the glass door of the corner office suite, "Cara is on line one for you…Do you want to take the call?"

He sighed, leaning back in the plush leather chair and rolled his eyes towards Linda who nodded in agreement before returning to her desk in the cubicle outside. They had worked together for eight years and she could anticipate his needs, remind him to take his echinacea and book appointments with his dental hygienist, and bat away soon-to-be ex-wives with a simple click of the telephone switchboard. It was all done with the utmost professionalism, of course, and this was why Linda Sobreski was one of the highest paid assistants in Hollywood, although she would argue that she was worth every cent and she would be right; despite the high levels of stress and anxiety that came from working in close proximity to one of the industry's most highly-strung directors Linda loved her job.

"What do you mean 'he's busy'", the voice at the end of the phone line challenged, "…having lunch at Sugarfish with Benn Williams and his latest conquest is not what I call busy."

Linda stood firm, genuinely fatigued by the almost hourly rants. "I apologise, Mrs Wickham…Would you like to leave a message?" There was a saccharine tone to her Brooklyn accent that she knew would cause Cara to get even more aggravated than she already was, and it was intentional. For all his demanding ways, fuelled in part by his ego, Linda was irrevocably and totally on Matthew's side and would defend him to the death in any battle, especially with the ash-blonde, entitled, leggy bitch of a woman who was playing the divorce courts to her own advantage, despite there being copious amounts of evidence regarding her own infidelities.

"Fuck you, Linda," the voice shrieked in jarring, clipped British tones, before the slamming of the phone down harshly signalled the end of the call. Linda smiled with the merest hint of smugness, anything she could do to make Cara Wickham's day ever so slightly more unpleasant was worth it.

The marriage had already been over before he had even left for Derbyshire the previous summer; there were no sad declarations, just a mutual apathy. He had his own indiscretions, but she had her own, and whilst he was discreet, kept these away from her and their sons, she had flaunted her succession of lovers all over Southern California. Whilst he was well-known in industry circles, he wasn't famous enough for it to have hit the newspapers, and he was grateful that his children didn't have to see the pictures of their mother kissing and canoodling with their twenty-three-year-old tennis coach in the small tequila bar in Calabasas all over the press. He knew he was being a hypocrite; knew that there had been at least four actresses who could come forward and claim they had an on-set relationship, but he had always been cautious, had never allowed himself to get caught until this last time, when weighed down, tired, and stressed, they had left the hotel at the same time, inadvertently gotten into the same car and gone for breakfast, forgetting about the random photographers still loitering. It had taken one picture; gently tucking her hair behind her ear as she smiled up at him, that betrayed their relationship and set off a chain of events that meant he now living in a condo in Beverley Grove.

"What time is the flight to Heathrow?" He questioned Linda as he flicked through a pile of post on his desk, the sun was warm despite it being nearly November and he was glad that he would be back in England to feel the change in the seasons. As much as he loved living in LA, the constant heat and unwavering joviality of the natives caused him to long for the content silence of the tube, or the pleasantness of unseasonal rainfall where you ended up soaked to the skin.

"Eight o'clock, but there were no transfers to Manchester, so I have booked you a car to take you up to Pemberley," Linda confirmed as she handed him a wodge of travel documents. "Tamsin's tickets are in there too." She raised her eyebrows at him, he looked at her aghast with mock chagrin. Linda hadn't seen Matthew happy in a long time, and whatever this girl was doing for him then she wanted her to keep on doing it. They would be away for a few months now; there was the promotional tour of the film that would be planned by the studio and Linda was looking to her vacation in Hawaii as she handed over the reins to her British counterpart. Matthew threw a few items in his bag, kissed Linda on the cheek and waved her farewell. It was going to be a long six weeks.

xXx

It was nightfall by the time the car pulled up at Pemberley, Tamsin had been curled up on the backseat with him, and he had dropped her off at the hotel, where she ordered room service and took a bath before sleeping until morning. Lizzy watched as Matthew hurried across the courtyard in the cold night air and tapped in the code which gave him access to the north staircase. Harriet was already waiting for him at the top of the staircase, eager to see her dad after the long separation. As much as technology made it easier for the due to keep in touch, Skype didn't really replace being close to each other in flesh and bone. She walked into the kitchen and made coffee, tossing a few biscuits onto a plate and planning on making herself scarce. He bowled through the door of the apartment as he always did and plonked himself on the sofa, with Harriet following behind carrying a bag of doughnuts that he had picked up from the motorway services. They switched on the television, chatting and talking and catching up with each other. She was always so amazed at how similar they were, the same mannerisms manifesting themselves so clearly now that she saw them both together, the way they both spoke with their mouths full – eager to eat and tell the world a story, how they crossed their legs in the same direction, or placed one arm behind the head and onto the opposite shoulder as they concentrated.

The television was on a low murmur, the lights lowered apart from the gentle glow of the reading lamp that hovered over the couch where she was sitting. He padded softly down the winding wooden staircase, his fingers grazing the rough finish of the wall as it curled into the living room.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" He asked softly.

She looked up and nodded, closing her book before following him into the kitchen. He boiled the kettle and warmed the pot as she put two slices of bread in the toaster.

"Toast is always a brilliant idea," he agreed, his arm gently grazing the base of her back as he reached into the fridge for the milk and passed her the butter.

"Are you sure you're okay having full-fat butter and not avocado spread," she joked, a faint smiled on her lips, and he grinned at her as he poured the tea.

They walked back into the front room, taking seats on opposite couches, munching on toast and slurping on tea.

"So, Harriet tells me that the book is doing well," he stated as he brushed toast crumbs from his jumper, crossing his legs as he sat up on the couch.

"Yes," she enthused. "I can't quite believe it…"

The book of Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy's letters – 'Bewitched, Body and Soul'- had immediately been a bestseller, remaining at the top of the charts for three months – Lizzy and Joyce had crafted an amazing narrative out of the letters they had written to each other, and the result was a story that was truly real; heartbreaking, uplifting, inspiring and ultimately true. Hugh had written a foreword for the book gently prodded by his new wife-to-be and, together with Maggie, Joyce had also convinced her big bosses at the HHS to allow rare pictures and portraits from the archives to be reproduced within it. The sales of the book had raised enough money to repair the roof and allowed Paddock Cottage – childhood home of the dastardly George Wickham – to be restored and re-opened on the visitors' trail. Lizzy had included the letter that Elizabeth had written to Jane which had vindicated Wickham and his elopement with Lydia Bennet. Maggie had nearly cried when she had read the letter in the draft version of the book she had been presented with, but Lizzy had done this for Matthew too, whether he ever knew it or not.

"Proud of you, Lizard," he uttered, draining the last dregs of tea from his mug. "You were always wasted in a law office."

"Well, I'm glad you approve," she smiled. "Maybe it can be your sequel!"

"Let me get this one out of the way first… Can we still not convince you to come to the premiere?" He looked at her expectantly, already knowing her answer.

"No, you cannot convince me on this I'm afraid," she grabbed her cup and his, gestured that she was making a drink and walked back into the kitchen. "Besides which, I don't think you want to piss off Cara more than is necessary," she shouted through, her voice echoing through the small corridor.

It was nice to see him now, for the first time in so long, unfettered by the weight of Cara who had such suppressing personality that sometimes Lizzy had forgotten who he was. Harriet had told her about his relationship with Tamsin McLeod, and she could see that he was happier now – enjoying his success rather than worried about how it might impact his relationship. There was a rattle of the front door and Imogen walked in, followed by Sam – one of the under-gardeners – it was late and they hadn't been expecting an audience, Sam fumbled a kiss as Imogen turned around quickly, distracted by the noise, and his kiss ended up on her shoulder.

"Erm… hello… didn't expect you to be still here" She walked over to Matthew who rose to greet her, planting an air kiss on her cheek. "thought jet lag would have got you."

"No, but your sister has been plying me with carbs, so my personal trainer will be pissed once I get back home," he looked at Lizzy, who had come back through with more tea, with a cheeky glint in his eye.

"I'll get off now," Sam stammered from the doorway, where he had stood awkward and silent. Imogen walked back to him, ushering him out of the door so that they could say their goodbyes.

Matthew took a seat next to Lizzy on the old red sofa where they had made so many memories and mistakes. "That seems to be going well," he laughed as he dunked a rich tea into his mug. He reached over and turned the TV off, clicking on iPod that was next to the couch and turning it to random.

"Yes," Lizzy grinned. "She seems to be sorting herself out, she just needed looking after, I think. She enrolled herself in college, and I think she might have a boyfriend given how many times he ends up here."

Almost on cue, Imogen entered again and looked at them both sheepishly before announcing that she was going to bed. They looked at each other and laughed, it was always this that Lizzy had missed the most – the easy camaraderie and shared history that had made their friendship so precious, that had made the ending of their relationship feel like a tragedy. She always had so many unanswered questions that she was almost scared to ask, as if the answers would never be as a real as the ones that she had already concocted in her head. The dulcet tones of Nina Simone wafted out over the surround sound system, the gentle chords underscoring the haunting melody.

"This," he whispered. "This was the song playing when I kissed you for the first time."

"I remember," she said as they were both fell into silence, treading water in a shared memory.

"I always believe that you and I were meant for each other," he said seriously, fumbling with the cup in his hand, before looking her directly in the eye. "That somewhere out there in an alternate reality we have all the things we wanted – the stone built house in the country with the AGA and the stone floor, the twins – a boy and a girl, and one on the way – and Dennis the greyhound who we rescued on a whim." He smiled at, and she smiled back recognising the common daydream they had shared. "And every day, we pinch ourselves because life is not meant to be this amazing, and as we curl up each night in our pyjamas and thick socks – you are reading some huge history book, me finally learning how to play guitar – we look at each other and we know that we are the lucky ones."

He looked at her, she was still the same girl that he had loved for half his life – the girl whose laughter he would know anywhere, no longer a stranger. They had left so many things about them open-ended, but this conversation on this cold Winter night at the top of the house in Derbyshire seemed to provide them both with the closure that they needed. Even though Lizzy knew that there were many questions that she would never receive the answers to, she sensed that maybe she didn't need them, that this was enough.

"We would never call the dog Dennis," a grin passing across her face, before sadness pricked at her eyes and she held back for a moment not wanting to cry. "The problem is that not everything we have is meant to be ours to keep," she reached over and held his hand, stroking the gap on his left hand where his wedding band used to be. "Even the most wonderful things expire in time. But," she said feeling happier now, lighter, "these are replaced by newer, brighter, shinier things. Things that we can hold in our hands and keep safe for as long as we need."

They sat there for what seemed like the longest time until he spoke, "I had lunch with Benn yesterday."

"Right," she said, not wanting to look up, not wanting to see the look in his eye. "Who is he with this week?"

Benn Williams had dated voraciously over the last year, Matthew had met them all in various forms and various guises, and they all had one thing in common, they were all pale imitations of Elizabeth Darcy. Francesca had dark curls, but nothing else to recommend her. Sarah wore petticoats in the middle of summer, sweating profusely as they ate lunch on the terrace at Spago. Marilyn was an attorney, snapping at the waiter and making disparaging comments. The latest, Natasha, bore more than a passing resemblance to Lizzy – the same height, the same hair, even the same laugh if you listened carefully – and Benn seemed to like her a lot, even if she had the personality of a teaspoon. He wasn't sure what had happened with Benn and Lizzy, he remembered mentioned to Benn one night, offhand, as they drank in the small bar after filming that she was emotionally closed off, that she took her time to commit to anything or anyone. It was true, but it was because she weighed up every outcome before deciding on any course of action. He knew that Benn had contacted Lizzy a lot during the last few days of filming, when she had been in London and he in Derbyshire, powerless to do anything, and he saw the chemistry between them on film when he had been editing the Netherfield Ball scene. As he had sat in the air-conditioned comfort of the editing suite with Thelma and Dylan, piecing together the intricate jigsaw of shots, the key pieces of the story, he could see the small glances and looks between his close friend and the mother of his child. They were unnoticeable to anyone else, but he could see the tiny sparks of something there, recognised the way she looked at Benn because it had been the way she used to look at him.

"She's called Natasha," he explained. "He's bringing her to the premiere – well, the London one at least. They're flying over tomorrow."

"Oh," she faltered. "Well, that's nice for him."

He had known her too long to know that there was no point in pushing this any further tonight, but he sincerely hoped that she would swallow her pride and contact Benn. He slipped on his shoes and put on his coat, his driver was still waiting downstairs and it was only a short trip back to the comfort of the Alveston Arms and the warmth of his girlfriend.

Lizzy stood at the door as they shared a comfortable hug and he kissed her gently on the forehead. "You might want to contact him anyway," he said offhandedly, grabbing his bag from the door. "He's doing the research bit of that ancestry programme you love, and it turns out you are vaguely related…maybe they could film some of it here. It would be a great tie-in with the film."

"Related?" She questioned, pulling back from the embrace. Benn was from Oldham – the eldest child of a teaching assistant and a mechanic. "How can we possibly be related?"

Matthew didn't know the ins and out of the discoveries Benn had made with the CBS genealogy expert, and he was determined that Lizzy speak to the man himself to find out.

"His last name is Fitzwilliam, so I think that's pretty obvious, don't you?"

"No, it's Williams."

"No, that's his Equity name, his agent made him change it – his real last name is Fitzwilliam. Bennet Fitzwilliam."

Lizzy guffawed at the strange ridiculousness of it all: Elizabeth Darcy and Bennet Fitzwilliam. "Why did he not tell me that?"

"He hates it…thinks it makes him sounds like an arsehole," he confirmed, turning the brass lock of the door and walking out into the cold frostiness of the hallway. "Oh, and there is a watch he has, I think – it turns out that it belonged to Darcy, forgot about that bit. You should call him," he embraced her quickly again, kissing her on the cheek and walking down the stairs.

Lizzy watched from the tower as he walked across the courtyard, buffeted by the winter winds that cascaded in from across the Peaks. She had hurt Benn Williams, and she hadn't meant to – she thought that she was doing the best for both of them, but she had arrogantly made the decision without even thinking to ask him how he felt. She didn't even know how to begin to repair the hurt she had caused, and even if it was too beyond repair to be anything more than friendship, she hated the thought of him being somewhere in the world and despising her.

xXx

He stood in the sunshine of Santa Monica; he had been in LA for too long now, accustomed to the heat, noticing the drop in temperature, wrapping himself up in a hoodie and boots even though if he were in England he would be walking around in shorts. Natasha had stopped to buy them ice cream at Soda Jerks, but he continued without her walking down the flight of wooden steps, holding onto the smooth metal of the handrail. The platform was busy with every slice of society folding up yoga mats and chatting amongst themselves as the session finished and he found himself walking against the flow of people, wanting to reach the end of the pier and feel the cool breeze of the Pacific against his face. He had grown his beard again, despite what Lucy had said to him he liked how it made him look like every other middle-aged man with a twenty-five-year-old girlfriend. They could walk about downtown shopping for groceries holding hands and no-one noticed, and he found that he liked being able to grab a coffee or nip to the bookstore without having to worry about waiting photographers.

He leaned over the balustrade of the pier, looking over at the crashing waves of the water below, white horses galloping towards an invisible finish line. He still had the little pineapple in his pocket, still used it as a lucky charm to reassure him when the struggles with his inner demons threatened to take over, but it also reminded him of her a little bit too much. Pulling out the tangled chain, he rubbed the links between his fingers, holding it tentatively over the water. It would be easy to drop it, to let it be swallowed by the ocean and disappear forever.

"Benn! Over here!" The polished Washington tones of the curly-haired, super clever Natasha drifted over to him on the breeze, he turned around and saw her holding two sundaes in plastic cups and smiling at him broadly from the top of the steps. He quickly gathered the chain up, tucking it back into his pocket before walking over to her and taking her hand as they walked down the promenade, eating ice-cream and laughing together.