Their mother turned round, flapping a hand anxiously at them. ‘Be quiet, behave,’ she urged, fiddling with one of her pearl earrings, a sign Lizzie recognised as showing just how nervous she was under all her bravado. ‘Now girls, you will – well, make a good impression, won’t you? If we’re going to be bosom buddies . . . Oh look! Here comes Vanessa.’
Mrs Bingley, wearing a simple but very chic lilac linen dress and a straw sunhat, hurried up to them, hand outstretched. ‘Alice, you’re here. And . . .’ She paused, her eyes resting on Alice’s attire and then swiftly recovered herself. ‘And your girls – lovely.’
She fanned herself with a hand bedecked with several large diamond and amethyst rings. ‘This heat – I’ve never known a July like it,’ she said. ‘Now do come and have a cooling drink, all of you.’
She led the family across the lawn, past the clusters of guests clutching glasses and balancing plates, towards the vast terrace, on which a trestle table was laid out with jugs of Pimm’s and dishes piled with crudités and upmarket-looking canapés.
Suddenly, Lydia let out a screech of delight.
‘Denny! Babe!’ Without a backward glance, she dashed across the lawn, almost colliding with a stout man in shorts that lacked any kind of sartorial elegance, and straight into Denny’s arms.
‘Good heavens!’ Mrs Bingley was clearly taken aback.
‘Don’t tell me your daughter is – er – well, a friend of Denis?’
‘She’s so popular, bless her, with all the boys,’ Lizzie’s mum laughed. ‘I can’t keep track of them all.’
‘Well, he’s one I’d keep track of if she was my child,’ Vanessa said, gesturing to them to help themselves to drinks. ‘Used to be such a nice little kid too . . . my two played with him, rode ponies together and then somehow he got in with quite the wrong . . . anyway, that’s your business. What I need to do is fill you in on all this ghastly business that’s blighting our village. This isn’t just any party – it’s a party with a purpose.’
She eyed the obviously bewildered group.
‘LOAM – you’ll have read about our campaign, of course?’
‘Er, well, no . . . I,’ Mrs Bennet stammered.
‘Longbourn Oaks Against Masts,’ Vanessa stressed. ‘They’re planning to put a phone mast in our village. On the church tower, no less. Outrageous!’
She gestured in the direction of St Peter’s Church, the tower of which could be seen through the trees at the side of the house.
‘Happens a lot these days,’ said Lizzie’s father. ‘Sign of the times.’
‘Maybe, but that doesn’t make it right,’ Mrs Bingley insisted. ‘It’s totally inappropriate. I told the vicar he should be ashamed of himself. Desecrating the house of God.’ She turned to Alice. ‘I’m sure you agree?’
‘Oh definitely, absolutely, yes indeed,’ Alice gabbled.
‘Good thing, I say,’ Harry observed. ‘Might mean we get a decent signal round here. I have to go halfway down the garden to make a call. Damn nuisance.’
‘You don’t mean to say – but the view from our upstairs windows – it’ll be ruined,’ Vanessa protested. ‘I’m writing to the bishop, of course.’
‘The bishop?’ Harry remarked. ‘Well, of course, I’m sure he’ll see your point of view. The view being ruined – terrible thing. Far worse than desecrating the house of God, then?’
Vanessa blushed as Jane and Lizzie exchanged amused glances.
‘What I meant was – that is, the —’
‘Harry will have his little joke,’ Lizzie’s mum butted in, applying the heel of her sandal to Harry’s instep.
‘Oh, I see – you’re winding me up!’ Vanessa fluttered her eyelashes at him. This was no mean achievement considering the amount of mascara weighing them down. ‘Naughty man!’ She smiled girlishly at Harry, who suddenly found a neighbouring rose bush to be of huge interest.
‘Well now,’ Vanessa went on, ‘why don’t I find my crew and let the young people sort themselves out while we get down to business.’ She glanced around the garden. ‘Ah, there they are!’ She pointed to a group of kids at the far side of the lawn by the swimming pool. ‘Charlie! Caroline!’
A tall, well-built girl with an auburn bob and a large chest bulging somewhat provocatively from a jade green sundress nudged one of the guys and they broke away from their group and ambled towards them. In the short time it took to reach them, the girl had scanned them all from top to toe and back again and, judging by the thinly veiled sneer on her heavily glossed lips, she wasn’t much impressed by what she saw.
‘Darlings, these are the Bennets,’ Mrs Bingley announced. ‘They’re new to the village – well, I say village. Actually, they’re in Priory Park.’
From her tone, Lizzie judged that no amount of estate agent hype could convince Mrs Bingley that the new development was anything other than an intrusion into their tight-knit community.
‘Cool,’ her son said cheerfully, grinning at them.
Caroline merely grunted.
‘Now, why don’t you get to know one another while I take Alice and Harry away and bring them up to speed about what’s going on,’ their mother ordered, gesturing to Lizzie’s parents to follow her over to the terrace. ‘You’ll need the information pack and I’ve drawn up a list of the help we need before the planning meeting and then there’s . . .’
Her voice faded as she ushered them away.
‘Is there anything worse than a campaigning parent?’ Charlie – slim, sandy-haired and with the sort of boyish grin that suggested he had never quite left the Just William stage behind – raised an eyebrow at his mother’s retreating back. ‘Honestly, I don’t know why she bothers – it’s not like it’s going make a bit of difference.’
‘That’s typical of you,’ his sister remarked scathingly, nibbling on a curl of smoked salmon. ‘Sit back and let the world trample all over you.’
‘I just think,’ Charlie said, ‘that it’s a bit rich when people who spend half their lives glued to their mobile phones then moan like crazy when someone wants to erect a mast.’
‘They don’t have to put it where it’s going to ruin our view, though, do they?’ Caroline cut in.
‘Oh, so if they stuck it in the middle of an estate full of social housing, it would be OK, would it?’ Lizzie suggested dryly, irritated at being ignored.
‘Lizzie,’ Jane whispered urgently. ‘Shh.’
‘Sorry, but surely that’s not what matters?’ Lizzie went on, only half aware that it was her pent-up irritations with Toby that were driving her to be so outspoken with strangers. ‘The church is right next to the village school. What about all that radiation?’
‘You sound like Meredith,’ Jane teased and then turned hastily to Charlie. ‘That’s our other sister, she’s not here but she’s very hot on environmental issues and —’
‘Don’t tell me there’re more of you,’ Caroline gasped. ‘What happened? Did your parents keep trying in hopes of a boy?’
‘Caro!’ Charlie snapped. ‘You are something else, you know that.’
‘So-reee, it was only a joke.’
‘What’s going on? Don’t tell me you two are bickering again?’ A broad-shouldered guy with deep-set, charcoal-grey eyes sauntered up to them, tossing a croquet ball from one hand to the other.
Charlie grinned. ‘I’ve just been firmly put in my place by . . .’ He turned to Lizzie. ‘Oh – I don’t even know your name.’
‘Lizzie,’ said Lizzie. ‘And this is Jane and over there, that’s Lydia and Katie.’
She pointed across to the lower lawn where Katie was making a valiant attempt to tag along with Lydia and a couple of guys who were bashing croquet balls through hoops and giggling hysterically.
‘And this,’ Charlie announced, gesturing to his friend, ‘is James Darcy, who on a good day is my best mate and on a bad day, a pain in the butt.’
He punched his friend teasingly in the ribs. To Lizzie’s amusement, Caroline had suddenly discarded h
er supercilious expression and was sidling closer to this newcomer, her sharp features softened by what Lizzie assumed was an attempt at an alluring pout.
James glanced at Lizzie and Jane and gave a brief nod. Lizzie thought that if he could manage to force a smile, he would be quite cute; his finely chiselled features were softened by dark hair that flopped over his right eye and he had just enough of a five o’clock shadow to be appealing, without looking scruffy. It was, in fact, a look that Lizzie, so used to the chubbycheeked, blue-eyed and over-clean Toby, had started to favour of late.
‘James is in a sulk,’ Charlie said grinning. ‘Staying with us is a bit downmarket for him – he usually spends the summer living it up at the family chateau in France.’
‘Leave it out, Charlie,’ James retorted. ‘I’m not sulking, just bored stiff. Look, why don’t we —’
His words were interrupted by the jangling of a bell from the terrace, and judging by the thunderous look James flung in Charlie’s direction, it was just as well.
‘Over here, everyone, please!’ Mrs Bingley’s strident tones reminded Lizzie of her primary school headmistress, whose voice at playtime could be heard above a force-ten gale.
‘This is where it could start to get embarrassing,’ Charlie sighed, as the guests began obediently moving towards the rows of chairs set on the patio. ‘This was meant to be a thank-you party for everyone who rallied round when Pa got ill; trust Mum to turn it into a fullblown protest!’
‘Your father’s been ill?’ Jane asked. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yes, he had some sort of —’
‘For God’s sake, Charlie, you don’t have to share all our private business with a load of strangers!’ Caroline snapped. ‘He was ill and he’s getting better, OK? That’s all you need to know.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,’ Jane flushed scarlet.
‘Caro, for God’s sake,’ Charlie hissed, and turned to the girls, his voice artificially bright. ‘Come on, meet the rest of the gang – we were just debating what to do for the rest of the evening while Ma and her cronies put the world to rights.’
He led them across the lawn and down to the swimming pool, where a group of kids were hanging out round a trestle table under a flapping awning. As they drew nearer, Lizzie gasped in surprise.
‘Hey, Emily!’
At the sound of Lizzie’s voice, a plump, freckle-faced girl with strands of caramel-coloured hair escaping from a ponytail spun round, her face breaking into a grin.
‘Liz!’ She ran forward and gave Lizzie a hug. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here – this is so cool! I’ve missed you. And I’ve been texting and calling you non-stop all day. I thought you must have missed your flight.’
‘I’ve had the phone switched off,’ Lizzie told her, not wanting to confess that she’d been putting off replying to her friend’s text all day. ‘And our landline’s not working yet.’
‘You? Switched off – Miss Communicator herself?’ Emily teased. ‘That has to be a first. How come?’
‘Later.’
One look at Lizzie’s face and Emily’s expression changed to one of concern.
‘Are you OK?’ she whispered, edging closer to Lizzie, who was staring into the middle distance.
‘Never better – not. So what are you doing here anyway? You never said you knew this crowd.’
‘Oh yes, known them for ages. Dad and Mr B were churchwardens together, back before he got ill, and Mum plays tennis with Vanessa,’ Emily explained. ‘That’s why Mum’s doing the catering at a discount for her.’
Emily’s mother had started ChicChefs the year before with a couple of friends because, as she explained to Lizzie’s mum, despite not needing the money (the Lucases were loaded) she needed breathing space now that her husband had retired and was under her feet all day.
‘I’m supposed to be helping,’ Emily admitted, ‘but I dropped two trays of food and spilled a jug of Pimm’s on the vicar.’
Lizzie laughed. ‘So no change there, then,’ she said. When it came to manual dexterity, Emily was a nonstarter.
‘Hey, so you two know each other, yeah?’ Charlie asked, scooping ice cubes into highball glasses.
‘Sure – we are at the same school,’ Emily told him, squeezing Lizzie’s arm. ‘Well, officially we’ve just left, actually.’
‘Where’s that, then?’ James turned and glanced at Lizzie enquiringly. ‘Clearly not Benenden, since you don’t know Caroline, but your face is familiar. You’re not at Roedean, are you?’
Lizzie burst out laughing at the idea of her father forking out thousands for a private school education for five children.
‘Hardly!’ she replied. ‘Meryton Academy.’
‘Academy? You mean a state school? A comprehensive?’ James’s dark eyebrows shot skywards. ‘Really?’
There was something in his tone of voice that irritated Lizzie beyond belief.
‘And what’s wrong with a state school?’ she demanded, accepting a glass of Pimm’s from Charlie, who was desperately trying to catch James’s eye.
‘You want a list?’ James asked. ‘Dumbed-down teaching, sports fields sold off for supermarkets, sod all discipline . . .’
‘And the rest,’ murmured Caroline.
‘That is so prejudiced!’ Lizzie bristled, glancing at Emily in the hope that she would back her up. ‘Meryton Ack’s way up the league tables and —’
‘Like that means anything,’ James retorted.
‘Cool it, James, yeah?’ Charlie’s tone had lost its usual banter as he glared at his friend.
‘I was only pointing out . . .’
‘Well, don’t.’
What could have been an uneasy silence was broken by Katie tearing up to Lizzie and grabbing her arm. ‘You won’t believe what Lydia’s done,’ she said. ‘Only gone into Meryton and not even asked me along.’
‘Gone? I just saw her a minute ago.’ Lizzie frowned.
‘Well, she’s not here now. She went off with Denny, on his motorbike, just a moment ago.’ Katie told her, her face paler than ever. ‘They’re going to a club.’
‘Clickers, I bet,’ Emily cut in eagerly. ‘Lydia said that Tim and Amber were texting everyone to say they’ve pitched up there, and it’s two-for-one night on drinks and what’s more, Capital Caterpillar are playing.’
‘I don’t believe it!’ Lizzie exploded, grabbing her mobile phone from the pocket of her jeans and calling Lydia. ‘Dad will go spare.’
‘Has she told Mum?’ Jane asked at the same moment.
‘Get real,’ Katie replied scornfully. ‘Like she’s really gonna do that.’ She turned to Lizzie. ‘And she’s hardly going to answer the phone, is she?’ she reasoned. ‘You’re wasting your time.’
‘Well, if you ask me . . . Katie, where are you going?’ Lizzie called, but Katie had dashed off round the side of the house.
‘Seems to me like they’ve got the right idea,’ James muttered, glancing across the lawn to where the guests were still listening to Mrs Bingley’s urgent appeals for what she called active protest. ‘Beats hanging around here.’
‘Great,’ Charlie pronounced. ‘So what are we waiting for?’
He turned to Jane. ‘You’re up for it, yeah? I haven’t had a drink – I can take Ma’s car. We won’t all get into mine.’
‘Well, I don’t know.’
‘Go on, it’ll be a laugh,’ he urged. ‘Unless of course – I mean, you may have other things to do?’
‘No, nothing,’ Jane assured him. ‘OK then, that’d be good.’
Lizzie stared at her sister in amazement. It usually took Jane, who had made shyness into an art form, weeks to feel at ease with new people (when she went to uni she had spent the first ten days phoning home in tears every few hours) and here she was proposing to go clubbing with perfect strangers.
‘I’ll come in your car,’ Caroline said, sidling up to James. ‘But we’ll need to get back early – I’ve got to be up at six to get Gigi ready for a dressage lesson.’
‘You ride?’ Jane gasped, her eyes lighting up. ‘Have you got your own horse?’
‘We’ve got three,’ Charlie said. ‘Well, one’s only a pony, really, but we can’t bear to part with him! We keep them over at the College. British Horse Society students get to ride them and we get reduced fees. Why? Are you keen too?’
‘I love it,’ Jane enthused. ‘I went every week when I was a kid, but then it got too expensive.’
‘Hear that, Caro?’ Charlie exclaimed.’ Jane could take Nutmeg out some time. She could do with being ridden again.’
To Lizzie’s surprise, Caroline smiled broadly at Jane. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Any time you like – be good to have someone to help out.’
‘Yoo hoo, girls!’ Lizzie, who had been on the point of trying Lydia’s phone again, froze in horror as her mother came tripping across the lawn to them. ‘Having fun? I think I’m a bit squiffy what with all the Pimm’s – you don’t realise how much you’re drinking, do you, until . . .’
James and Caroline made no attempt to suppress their titters as Mrs Bennet wobbled and grabbed hold of the table.
‘So you’ve made lots of friends, cherubs?’ she went on, beaming at her daughters. ‘Ever so stylish here, isn’t it? And I’ve been given a job to do on the mokity . . . committee – for the toepress . . . protest.’
‘Is she for real, or some extra from a downmarket soap?’ James’s whispered remark to Caroline was clear enough for Lizzie to hear. ‘And what’s with the hat?’
‘Mum, I need to talk to you.’ Lizzie grabbed her mother’s arm and piloted her away from the group.
‘You’re drunk,’ she muttered accusingly. ‘You know you can’t take more than one glass at the best of times. What were you thinking of?’
‘Don’t be zilly, Lissie,’ her mother retorted. ‘I’m as sober as a – as a —’
‘Whatever,’ Lizzie interrupted. ‘The thing is, about Lydia. She’s —’
‘She’s coming out with us for a bit, OK, Mum?’ Jane cut in throwing Lizzie a warning glance. ‘We’re going to Meryton with Charlie.’
‘He’s a bit of all right, isn’t he?’ Jane winced as her mother’s voice rang round the garden. ‘Nice bum. If I was thirty years younger . . .’
Love, Lies and Lizzie Page 4