Christmas with Mr Darcy (an Austen Addicts story)

by Connelly, Victoria

  ‘Julian Sands was very blond in A Room with a View,’ Katherine said.

  ‘And all of the Scarlet Pimpernels have been blond too,’ Warwick said, pulling up a chair to join in. ‘And Sean Bean as Sharpe.’

  ‘Okay! Enough heroes already!’ Sarah said.

  ‘Oh, you can never have enough heroes!’ Doris Norris said with a smile as she took another sip of sherry.

  ‘I'd like to see Richard Armitage as Mr Darcy,’ Kay said. ‘I really do think that he’s the forgotten Darcy.’

  ‘What about Henry Cavill?’ Mia said.

  ‘As Darcy? Oh, no! He’s far better suited to play Wickham,’ Kay said.

  And the conversation went on.

  ‘I wonder what the next adaptation will be,’ Rose said. ‘I’m still waiting for a really good Mansfield Park. I don’t think anyone’s quite nailed it yet.’

  ‘But does it really matter if it’s good or not?’ Mia said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rose asked.

  ‘I mean, it doesn’t matter how bad an adaptation is. It’s still Jane Austen and that means it’s a hundred times better than anything else that’s on the television that evening.’

  Rose nodded. ‘You’re right. A bad Jane Austen adaptation still beats anything else by a mile.’

  ‘Yes but that Lost in Austen was just preposterous!’ Mrs Soames said. ‘Falling into the plot of Pride and Prejudice! It’s ridiculous! Surely it would have been more realistic to have her finding a portal back to Regency times.’

  ‘Yes but that’s been done by so many books already,’ Roberta said. ‘I read two of them last week alone.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Kay said, ‘haven’t we all wanted to find ourselves in the midst of the Bennet family and meet Mr Darcy?’

  ‘But for that – that – heroine to end up with Mr Darcy!’ Mrs Soames said.

  ‘So, you stayed with it until the end, then?’ Kay teased.

  Mrs Soames looked a little embarrassed. ‘Well, there was nothing else on.’

  ‘I think it was absolutely wonderful,’ Doris Norris said. ‘And just what so many of us have dreamed of for ourselves – a happy ending with Mr Darcy.’

  Chapter 11

  Dame Pamela was the first up on Christmas Day. It was still dark and she turned her bedside lamp on. Warm light filled the room as she placed her feet in her sequinned slippers. She didn’t feel good. Her heart was racing and she’d had the most terrible nightmare that the Christmas tree had crashed down in the hallway, trapping several guests under an avalanche of baubles.

  She yawned and got washed and dressed, blow-drying her hair and applying her make-up.

  ‘How did my face become so old?’ she asked the reflection that stared at her from out of the dressing table mirror. Beside the perfume bottles sat a silver-framed photograph of Dame Pamela in her much-loved production of Sense and Sensibility. She’d played Marianne Dashwood and had captured the hearts of every red-blooded man in the country. She picked up the photograph and stared at it, noting the flawless skin and the red-gold ringlets before returning her gaze to the ghostly face in the mirror once more. There was only one thing for it – more make-up.

  Twenty minutes later, she was fully made-up and dressed, choosing the rich burgundy velvet gown trimmed with black lace. A pair of ruby stud earrings and her favourite ruby ring were chosen. Perfect for Christmas Day.

  Leaving her bedroom, she walked the length of hallway that led to her study. It was lined with photographs of the great and the good and Dame Pamela nodded to a few of the friendly faces from the world of film and theatre including Sir Laurence Olivier who had once flirted with her at a charity dinner.

  She loved her study first thing in the morning, opening the shutters and letting the first light in. It was a quiet time for her to contemplate the day that lay before her and to browse through some of the fan mail. People really were very sweet. She was still getting fan mail for films she’d made decades ago. Christmas cards too. Robyn had made a couple of cardboard Christmas trees painted in jolly colours to hold some of them and Dame Pamela smiled at them now. She adored her fans as much as they adored her and that had been one of the reasons she’d bought the first edition of Pride and Prejudice – because she didn’t think of it as buying it for herself but rather for all her fellow Austen fans.

  The conference was going so well, she thought. She would hold the memory of her guests’ faces when she’d brought out the first edition of Pride and Prejudice for many years to come. It had been a wonderful, bonding moment between her and the other Janeites and she couldn’t resist opening the safe which was hidden behind a painting of herself in the role of Ophelia in Hamlet. Higgins had told her that it wasn’t a very original place to have a safe but Dame Pamela had adored the idea of having it behind her portrait and wouldn’t listen to any advice. But, that morning, when she removed the painting and entered the code, her heart almost stopped because the first edition was no longer there.

  Mia couldn’t help it. She was worse than a child on Christmas morning and was out of bed way before the first streaks of light brightened the land.

  ‘Sarah!’ she whispered in her sister’s ear. ‘Sarah – it’s Christmas!’

  ‘What?’ Sarah muttered something from under her duvet and turned over.

  Mia tried again. ‘We’ll be late!’ she said.

  Sarah was sitting upright in a flash. ‘Late? Didn’t my alarm go off?’

  Mia grinned.

  ‘It hasn’t gone off yet, has it, Mia?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, Mia!’

  ‘But it’s Christmas morning and you shouldn’t spend it sleeping!’ she chided.

  ‘It doesn’t look like I’m going to get much choice in the matter, does it?’ Sarah swung her legs out of bed and carefully put her slippers on – left then right.

  ‘Presents!’ Mia shouted.

  ‘Not yet,’ Sarah said. ‘Wash and dress first!’

  Mia sighed but then washed and dressed in record time but then had to wait for Sarah who took simply ages to do everything perfectly and in the right order.

  Finally, they were ready.

  ‘Open yours first!’ Mia said, handing her sister a tiny package wrapped in metallic green paper.

  Sarah took the package and opened it neatly, prising the tape from both ends of the package without ripping the paper at all and then unfolding it to reveal a box. She put the paper to one side and placed the box in the palm of her hand, looking at it for a maddeningly long time.

  ‘Open it!’ Mia urged from her home on the carpet where she was sitting cross-legged as if in some yoga position.

  Sarah did and then gasped at the contents. It was a cameo brooch depicting a lovely lady with long flowing hair.

  ‘Oh, Mia! It’s beautiful. Wherever did you find it?’

  Mia grinned. ‘At a tabletop sale in a little village in the Cotswolds. Gabe took us out for the day and we pottered around and found all sorts of amazing places but, when I saw this, I just knew you’d love it!’

  ‘I do! It’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Put it on!’

  Sarah, who was wearing an immaculate cashmere jumper, swallowed hard and Mia immediately knew what she was thinking and leapt up from the floor, opening one of the drawers in which Sarah had folded and placed some of her clothes.

  ‘Here we are,’ she said a second later, flying back across the room with a chiffon scarf that matched the colour of Sarah’s jumper. ‘So you don’t put a hole in your jumper.’

  Sarah smiled up at Mia as she placed the scarf around her neck before pinning the brooch to it. They knew each other’s little quirks so well.

  ‘Would you like your present now or later?’ Sarah teased.

  Mia laughed. ‘What do you think?’

  Sarah laughed too and went to get her handbag. Mia cocked her head to one side. Experience had told her that the best presents were often the smallest and, if it fitted in Sarah’s handbag, then it was bound to be a
good one.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Mia,’ Sarah said, handing over a flat gold package a moment later.

  Mia held it in her hands for a moment, trying to get the measure of it. It was light and almost completely flat like an envelope.

  ‘Come on then – open it! You dragged me out of bed at the crack of dawn for that!’

  Mia took a deep breath and ripped the paper. Whereas Sarah’s gift had been opened with meticulous care, Mia tore through hers like a naughty puppy. She’d been right, it was an envelope. She bit her lip and then opened it. It was a letter confirming the booking of a holiday cottage on the Devon coast. But not just any holiday cottage. It was the grand country manor house that had been used in the 1995 film adaptation of Sense and Sensibility. Barton Cottage – the home of the Dashwood sisters.

  ‘Sarah!’ Mia cried.

  Sarah grinned. ‘You didn’t guess, then?’

  ‘No! I thought it might be theatre tickets or a book token or something. Never this!’

  ‘I checked the dates with Gabe,’ Sarah said, ‘and it doesn’t clash with school terms or anything.’

  ‘You always think of everything,’ Mia said.

  ‘Of course,’ Sarah said with a smile and then she looked serious for a moment. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d want to go again what with all the memories of Alec,’ she added, thinking of the man they’d met on their last holiday there – the man who had torn them apart for three long years.

  ‘No – I mean – yes, I do! It’s the most beautiful place in the world and I won’t let Alec take that away from me.’

  ‘Good,’ Sarah said. ‘I’d hoped that was how you’d feel about it.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t wait for Gabe to see it! He’s going to love it. And Will’s going to adore the garden and the beach.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘You’ll have a brilliant time.’

  ‘And you’ll come too, won’t you, Sarah? You and Lloyd?’

  ‘No, no – this is for you and Gabe and Will.’

  ‘Oh, but you must come!’ Mia cried. ‘There’s so much room and it’ll be so much fun.’

  Sarah smiled. ‘Well, maybe for just a couple of nights.’

  When Katherine walked out of the en suite, her hair still wet from her shower, she saw the most peculiar sight – Warwick’s rump was high in the air and the contents of his suitcase was strewn around the floor. He was at it again and, this time, she was going to confront him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she cried.

  Warwick span around, a defeated look on his face. ‘I – erm,’ he began, a strange, sickly smile on his face. ‘I think I’ve forgotten your Christmas present.’

  ‘Oh, Warwick! I told you not to worry,’ she said, relief filling her that that was all he’d been hiding from her.

  ‘What? Are you kidding?’ he said, his dark eyes widening.

  ‘No,’ Katherine said, walking over to the dressing table and combing her hair. ‘I’m not like other women – you don’t have to butter me up with presents all the time.’

  ‘But it’s Christmas!’ Warwick said.

  ‘Christmas is a modern convention which simply exists to make money.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t believe that for one minute,’ Warwick said. ‘Besides, every woman who says she doesn’t want flowers or chocolates or any sort of gifts is just testing you.’

  Katherine turned around from the mirror and gave him a wry smile. ‘I’m not testing you, Warwick. The fact that I’ve got you a present and you haven’t got me one doesn’t bother me at all.’

  ‘But I have got you one!’ Warwick protested. ‘I was sure I’d brought it too but I – well – never mind. I’m obviously not as well organised as you are.’

  ‘I know,’ Katherine said matter-of-factly as she walked over to her own suitcase and unzipped the compartment on the top. She brought out a present that was wrapped in green and gold striped paper: neat and classic – so like Katherine, Warwick couldn’t help thinking. It was book-shaped but Warwick didn’t like to try and guess presents. He liked to be surprised.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek and handing him his gift.

  Warwick grinned as he tore the paper. It was a book but he wasn’t prepared for which book it was.

  ‘Now, don’t get excited – it’s not a first edition of Pride and Prejudice,’ Katherine warned him.

  ‘Oh, my god!’ he said a moment later, sliding the book out of the paper. ‘It’s better than that,’ he said with a long, low whistle. It was a first edition of one of his own early books. Warwick had mentioned how he’d absent-mindedly posted copies to friends and fans and had discovered that he hadn’t kept a single copy for himself. It had been a small print run too and it was notoriously difficult to get hold of now.

  ‘Where did you find it?’ he asked, his mouth hanging open.

  ‘I have my sources,’ Katherine said.

  Warwick shook his head. ‘You’re a miracle worker,’ he said.

  ‘Now, don’t you feel bad because you didn’t get me a present?’

  ‘But I did!’ he cried.

  She laughed at his distraught face.

  ‘I really did,’ he said, ‘and you’ll have it as soon as we’re back at the vicarage.’

  For a few moments, Dame Pamela found that she couldn’t move. She was literally petrified. Think, she kept telling herself. Think! Had she really put the first edition back in the safe as Higgins had expressly told her to do straight after dinner or had she placed it on her desk or left it somewhere else?

  She tried to retrace her steps after dinner but she could only remember it being a jumble of broken conversations with her guests. Had she come straight to her study afterwards or had she absent-mindedly placed the book down somewhere else? Dear, oh dear! Why was her memory so bad these day? Why couldn’t she remember?

  Chapter 12

  Kay Ashton gazed out of one of the library windows, her eyes taking in the beauty of it all. She’d just spent a rather uncomfortable ten minutes talking to Jackson Moore and was trying to work out what exactly he was doing at the conference. She’d managed to slip away from him when Higgins had come in a moment ago to top up the little bowls of mint humbugs on the tables and she sincerely hoped that the strange man wouldn’t catch her eye again.

  ‘Hello,’ Adam said as he came into the room.

  ‘Oh, Adam!’ Kay said, relieved to see him.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  Kay pulled a face. ‘It’s that Jackson Moore,’ she whispered.

  Adam looked in the direction she was nodding in. ‘What about him?’ he whispered back.

  ‘He just doesn’t seem to fit in here,’ Kay said. ‘He’s been prowling around the library taking books down and examining them since I came in and he does this nervous throat-clearing thing. It’s very unnerving!’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Adam said. ‘Gemma and I tried to talk to him yesterday and we couldn’t get a thing out of him.’

  ‘I’ve just tried talking to him too,’ Kay said, ‘and he just doesn’t seem-’ she paused, searching for the right word, ‘real.’

  They turned to look at Jackson Moore. He was still pulling books out from the shelves and examining them carefully.

  ‘He’s probably just one of those blokes who gets on better with books than with people,’ Adam said.

  ‘You mean like you were before you met me?’ Kay said.

  ‘Exactly,’ Adam said with a grin.

  Dame Pamela was pacing up and down in her study, twisting one of her diamond rings round and round her finger.

  ‘Did you come straight back to the study, madam?’ Higgins asked.

  ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to remember,’ Dame Pamela said, ‘only it’s not that easy to remember the order of things these days. I was talking to everyone, you see.’

  Higgins nodded. ‘Can you remember if you were holding Pride and Prejudice when you were talking to everyone? Maybe you let somebody hold it?’

  ‘Yes, of cou
rse I did. I promised everyone they could have a look at it but I was keeping an eye on it.’

  ‘We’ll have to check everybody,’ Higgins said. ‘Do room searches and look through luggage.’

  ‘Oh, must we? It’s Christmas Day.’

  ‘And your first edition of Pride and Prejudice is missing,’ Higgins pointed out.

  ‘But I don’t want to cause panic. Not today,’ Dame Pamela said, giving her ring its biggest twist yet.

  ‘What would you like to do, madam?’ Higgins asked, his face more serious than Dame Pamela had ever seen it before.

  ‘Why don’t we just leave things for a bit and see if it turns up?’

  Higgins didn’t look happy. ‘Madam-’

  ‘Nobody’s going to leave, are they? Just look at the snow out there. It’s not as if somebody has stolen it and is about to make off with it.’

  Dame Pamela walked over to the window and looked out over the snow-covered garden. She didn’t speak for a moment but then she turned to look back at Higgins.

  ‘And I think I’d like to speak to Benedict,’ she said.

  Benedict Harcourt was sitting in the Yellow Drawing Room enjoying a cigar he’d found in the drawer of a rather fine Georgian bureau. He didn’t normally smoke cigars – he couldn’t afford to - but it was Christmas and his sister surely wouldn’t begrudge him a cigar or two, would she?

  He looked around the room, marvelling at the paintings and wondering how much they’d cost. That landscape, for example. It looked like it could have been painted by some long-dead painter like Constable and was probably worth a penny or two. He could probably pay his mortgage off with what it would fetch and set up that company he’d been planning.

  He sighed. That was the trouble with money. You needed money in order to get money and, well, he didn’t have any money. It did seem a tad unfair to him that some people seemed to attract money whilst others never got anywhere near it. Take his sister. What did she get paid for her last film? He shuddered to think. And the cost and upkeep of Purley Hall was enough to make your eyes water. She was one lucky dame, that was for sure, whilst he was a great big loser with nothing in his pockets but a stick of gum and a two-inch tear.