Christmas With Mr Darcy (9 page)

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 course 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.

‘Ah, there you are, Benedict,’ Dame Pamela said as she entered the room in a flurry of burgundy.

‘Pamsy!’ he said, springing out of the armchair and puffing a plume of smoke into her face. ‘Merry Christmas, darling sister!’

‘Yes, yes. Merry Christmas to you too,’ she said, accepting his kiss none too graciously. ‘Sit down, Benedict,’ she said, taking a seat on the sofa opposite him.

‘You seem a little flustered,’ he said.

Dame Pamela nodded, twisting the great diamond ring once again. Benedict’s eyes were almost out on stalks as he noticed it. ‘What exactly are you doing here, Benedict?’ she asked him a moment later.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘I’ve told you, I came to see you, Pamsy!’

Dame Pamela glared at him, her expression echoing her role as Lady Catherine de Bough and he instantly knew that she didn’t believe him.

‘We don’t see you from one year to the next and then we only get the occasional phone call when you’re in financial difficulties.’

‘Well, I’m sorry if you think I’m a bad brother.’

‘I didn’t say that. It’s just the way you are and we’re used to it but it makes me wonder what you’re doing here now,’ she said.

Benedict took a deep breath. ‘What’s this all about?’ he asked.

‘You tell me.’

‘You’re the one who’s anxious,’ he pointed out.

Dame Pamela sighed. ‘You’re right. I am. Something’s gone missing. Something very precious.’

‘What?’

‘The first edition.’

Benedict stubbed out the fat cigar in a little porcelain dish on a mahogany side table, making Dame Pamela wince. ‘It’s missing?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what’s that got to do with me being here?’

Dame Pamela blinked but didn’t say anything.

Benedict nodded slowly. ‘I see,’ he said at last. ‘You think I’ve got it, don’t you? You think I’ve come here like some petty thief to take whatever I could get my hands on. Is that it?’

‘No,’ Dame Pamela said but her voice didn’t seem to back her up.

‘You really think I’d do something like that? Just come here and steal from you?’

‘Benedict, I don’t think that at all but-’

‘Because that’s all I am to you, isn’t it? I’m the brother who’s just after a handout.’ He stood up and marched towards the door and, before Dame Pamela could stop him, he’d stormed out, slamming the great door behind him.