Katie Oliver - The Trouble With Emma

“Wonderful,” Lizzy exclaimed. “We’ll see you here at noon, then?”

He pushed himself away from the kitchen counter. “I look forward to it.” After exchanging polite pleasantries with Hugh Darcy and Mr Bennet for a few moments longer, he made to leave. “It’s time I said goodbye. It was a pleasure to meet you Hugh, Mr Bennet.” His gaze flicked to Emma. “Miss Bennet.”

She pressed her lips together and managed a curt nod.

“You’ll find the Litchfield Inn provides excellent accommodation,” Hugh told him. “And the Regency in Longbourne is very good as well.”

“Thank you, and thank you all for your hospitality. I’d best be going.”

“Emma,” her father suggested, “why don’t you see Mr Knightley out?”

“Of course.” She followed Mark Knightley down the hall to the front door. For such a tall man, he moved with surprising grace.

If one cared to notice such things , she told herself. And she most certainly did not.

“Goodbye, Miss Bennet,” he said as she opened the door. “I’ll see you on Sunday, I expect.”

“I’ll be here,” she assured him. “Dressed in serviceable but unstylish clothes and reeking faintly of the barnyard, no doubt. Goodbye, Mr Knightley.”

He nodded and sketched a bow, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Goodbye.”

As she shut the door after him, Emma found his conceit – no matter how he might try to couch it in charm – beyond irritating.

She returned to the kitchen, to a lively conversation about the relative merits of Cornish pasties and saffron buns, and told herself she was glad that Mr Knightley was gone.

What a pity she’d have to see him again on Sunday. She was not looking forward to it in the least.

***

“Why did you invite him to the party?” Emma asked her sister later, where they remained behind at the kitchen table after Hugh and Mr Bennet went outside to sit on the terrace.

“Who?” Lizzy asked, feigning innocence. “Mr Knightley, do you mean?”

“Yes, of course, Mr Knightley!”

“Because he’s a friend, Emma, that’s why. We worked together in London. I told you that.”

She studied her sister. “A friend? Or was he something more?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Emma lowered her voice and leaned forward. “Were you and Mark Knightley involved ?”

Lizzy blushed. “No…yes. Not really,” she said, flustered, and went to the window to make sure her husband and father were still outside on the terrace. “We had a bit too much to drink at lunch one day, and there was a sort-of attraction between us, and –” she broke off and returned to her seat at the table. “We slept together. Just the once,” she added defensively, “and long before Hugh came back into my life.”

“Oh.” For the second time that day, Emma was at a loss for words.

“It shouldn’t have happened, and it didn’t, after that one time. Mark’s a lovely man, clever and talented, but we weren’t really suited. We were both at a loose end at the time, and bored, and it just…happened.”

“So it didn’t mean anything.”

“No. It was very –” Lizzy reddened. “Pleasant, and perhaps if I hadn’t lost my job, and we’d continued to work together…” She paused. “But it didn’t work out, Emma. There was never really anything between us.”

“He seems too arrogant by half.”

“Yes.” She smiled slightly. “He does come across that way, at first.”

“But –?” Emma prodded.

“But what ? He’s a perfectly nice man, Em,” Lizzy said in exasperation. “He’s not all that different from you, now I think on it. Intelligent, well spoken, opinionated…” She cast a quick, considering glance at her sister. “And quite fanciable, too, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Emma pushed her chair back and took several lemons out of the refrigerator bin. “I’ll make a pitcher of lemonade and we can take it outside. But first,” she added as she turned around to face her sister, “I want to hear all about your honeymoon. Every romantic, jealousy-inducing detail.”

“All right,” Lizzy agreed. “Hand me some of those lemons and come and sit down.”

Emma set a bowl of lemons on the table and joined her sister. They talked of the honeymoon in Cornwall and the pleasures of sailing on the Rosings , as well as Lizzy’s complete and utter adoration for Hugh, and Mark Knightley was not mentioned again.

Chapter 15

Saturday morning found Emma in the kitchen, in desperate need of a cup of coffee.

Such a flurry of pie baking, scone making, and flour flinging went on as her father and Martine – who’d come in to help on her day off – prepared for tomorrow’s party, that Emma felt guilty as she reached for the coffee pot.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked Mr Bennet.

“Nothing,” he replied, cutting butter into his flour mixture with a grim expression, “unless you can bake a cake or make fondant.”

“You know very well I can’t do either.”

“Then you have your answer.” He glanced down at Elton, who would keep getting underfoot. “Charlotte’s not up yet; why don’t you take Elton for a walk? I’m sure he’d like that.”

At the word ‘walk’, the pug began to yap and chase himself in excitement.

“All right,” Emma agreed, and sighed. “Lord knows when Charli will decide to get up…just let me finish my coffee.”

Twenty minutes later she and Elton made their way across the field to Cleremont – slowly, because the dog stopped to investigate and sniff every rock, tree, and pile of horse manure along the way. But Emma didn’t mind. It was a lovely sunny day, and she was anxious to see Lizzy again.

Her thoughts wandered, as they sometimes did, to Jeremy North. She wondered what he was doing now. How strange it was, knowing they’d be married now if things had turned out differently. She’d be Mrs Emma North and they’d live in London.

Would they have been happy? Was remaining single a mistake?

No, she decided, and tugged on the lead to pull Elton away from the brambles. She was perfectly happy. It was true she missed her sisters…even Charli. The house was too quiet by half with only her and daddy remaining at home.

But who’d look after him if she left?

The thought troubled her. While Mr Bennet was in the pink of health in most regards, he was no longer a young man. His knees troubled him and he tired more easily; she often found him sleeping in his study, slumped back against the chair and snoring softly.

Perhaps instead of fixing Litchfield Manor up, she should persuade him to sell it, and move into something smaller and easier to manage – a flat, for instance.

Even as the thought occurred she dismissed it. He’d never give up his home, and he wouldn’t leave until, as he often declared, ‘I go out in a box.’

Besides, it was too late to change her mind now – Simon Fox and Jacquetta Winspear of Mind Your Manors would arrive on Tuesday to have their first look round the house and property. The television wheels were in motion.

Which meant, Emma realised with sudden dismay, that as a writer and associate producer, Mark Knightley would surely be spending time at Litchfield Manor as well.

“Come along, Elton,” she said now, sharply. “We’ve a ways to go to reach Cleremont. Chop chop!”

He trotted obediently alongside her as she strode towards the Darcys’ stately home, its chimneys rising against the distant sky like sentinels.

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