Love, Lies and Lizzie

by Rosie Rushton

  ‘Come off it, what guy in the twenty-first century does anything they don’t want to do? If he’s being cool with you, it’s because he fancies you something chronic.’

  ‘You think so?’ Jane asked eagerly.

  ‘Trust me. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s reading people. Charlie Bingley is putty in your hands.’

  CHAPTER 7

  ‘Collins was not a sensible man.’

  (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice)

  ‘THAT DREW IS UNREAL!’ LYDIA DECLARED, FLOPPING down on one of the wicker chairs on the patio late on Saturday afternoon, and unscrewing the top of her new black nail polish.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Katie agreed.

  ‘Does he ever shut up, I wonder?’ Lizzie sighed, rubbing sunscreen into her legs.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Jane broke in on her sisters’ moans, ‘he’s probably just nervous. I mean, imagine us arriving in a strange country and having to stay with people we didn’t know.’

  ‘It’s not that strange,’ Lizzie pointed out, as the strains of Lohengrin wafted through the open window from their father’s newly designated music room. ‘After all, he lived here till he was ten, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘And he didn’t exactly seem fazed by anything, did he?’ Lydia added, plonking her foot on Katie’s lap and starting to paint her toenails. ‘Oh but I forgot, he’s “ righthand man to one of America’s most venerated hoteliers”.’ She imitated Drew’s Boston drawl, which reduced her sisters to giggles.

  ‘Be quiet,’ Jane pleaded, wincing slightly with the pain from her wrist. ‘He’ll hear us.’

  ‘No, he won’t,’ Lizzie laughed. ‘He’s upstairs, “abluting”.’

  ‘I hadn’t a clue what he was on about,’ Katie said. ‘Why couldn’t he just ask to take a shower?’

  Ever since their parents had arrived home at ten that morning, with Drew Collins and enough luggage to keep him in clean clothes for a year, the girls had had the utmost difficulty in keeping straight faces. Drew was twenty-two, but acted thirty-five; tall, stockily built and with one of the most unfortunate haircuts Lizzie had ever seen, he had eyes that appeared too small for his face and a mouth that was not only too large, but never stopped working.

  He also had a very inflated opinion of himself.

  ‘Oh, don’t you worry about a single little thing,’ he had declared when Mrs Bennet showed him into the spacious guest room with its en-suite shower and said, through gritted teeth, that she hoped he’d be comfortable. ‘I’m able to bunk down just anywhere I find myself. Just because I’m used to some of the top hotels in the world, don’t mean I can’t enjoy a little basic living now and then. I’m a very adaptable kinda guy.’

  And over supper, the family had been subjected to his views on nutrition.

  ‘Now I just want you to know that I’m not your typical stereotype American guy,’ he had declared. ‘No junk food comes near my body; so I won’t be trying your fish and chips, nor your Yorkshire pudding. But I don’t want you to worry; just because I’m used to eating food in some of the top hotels . . .’

  He had then listed the various food items he could not consume (this took some time because each item was accompanied by a graphic description of the effect it had on various parts of his anatomy). Then he sighed with relief when Mrs Bennet assured him that yes, whenever possible she bought organic food and that while the tap water in their area was perfectly drinkable, if he really insisted, she would purchase a large quantity of sparkling spring water the very next day. That being settled, he then polished off two helpings of shepherd’s pie, a large bowl of strawberries and whipped cream, two wedges of Stilton cheese and the larger part of a bunch of grapes.

  ‘Tell us,’ Mr Bennet had said, when Drew had paused briefly to take a breath, ‘about your hotel management course.’

  ‘I am so excited,’ Drew had replied, laying down his spoon and beaming at them all. ‘I was named Trainee of the Year (Eastern Seaboard) because – guess what? My exceptional talent for management was spotted by no less than KDB herself!’

  He had leaned back so far in his chair that he almost fell into the yucca plant standing at the side of the hearth.

  ‘The KGB?’ Katie had gasped, her eyes like saucers. ‘Isn’t that the people who chase criminals?’

  ‘No, no, no!’ Drew had laughed. ‘Kay Dee Bee – Katrina De Burgh. Of De Burgh Hotels. My employers. She’s the granddaughter of the founder and the new CEO.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ Mr Bennet had murmured solemnly. ‘And your talent is so great that this lady felt Europe should benefit from it?’

  Drew coloured slightly as the girls struggled to suppress their giggles.

  ‘Well, of course, I’m not one to brag, but Mrs De Burgh being half English – well, Scottish, I believe – really warmed to me; and then again, I am a very fast learner, which is why she’s earmarked me for fast-track management training. And part of that is a placement in Europe.’

  ‘Where exactly?’ Jane had asked politely, kicking Lizzie under the table as she stifled a yawn.

  ‘Château de la Belle Rose,’ he pronounced with a flourish, but without a trace of anything approaching a French accent. ‘In France. The latest acquisition for the De Burgh Luxury Living portfolio. So in three weeks I shall have to leave you and be on my way.’

  ‘Three?’ gasped Lizzie’s mum. ‘Harry, you said two and —’

  ‘Oh, but I forgot,’ Drew exclaimed, cutting her short. ‘I have a little treat for you, in gratitude for your hospitality.’ He paused, presumably to allow the excitement to build. ‘Vouchers for a two-night-stay, including a half-day’s pampering in the spa at any De Burgh hotel in the UK,’ he declared, handing Alice a gold envelope.

  Lizzie winked at Jane as their mother clearly wavered between her excitement at the thought of five-star living and her unwillingness to express indebtedness to Drew.

  ‘Well, that’s very kind,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, look, a list of hotels – Brighton, Bath, Edinburgh – oh, Harry, I fancy Edinburgh!’

  ‘But Brighton is so close to Glyndebourne,’ Harry replied. ‘We could do the opera.’

  A glare from his wife put an end to further discussion. ‘There’s a spa and a pool and – ooh, look, four-poster beds!’

  ‘Edinburgh it is, then,’ sighed Harry. ‘Most kind. Now Drew, I’m sure the jet lag must be catching up with you, so perhaps you’d like to go to your room and rest?’

  ‘Oh, I sure don’t get jet lag,’ said Drew. ‘When you’ve been on as many business class flights as I have . . .’

  At which point, Mr Bennet urgently remembered a phone call he simply had to make, Katie and Lydia discovered a sudden urge to begin their school holiday projects, and Mrs Bennet decided this was the moment to return Mrs Bingley’s phone call about theatre backdrops. Lizzie had offered to clear the table and Jane, on the pretext of an aching wrist, had hurried upstairs in search of painkillers, leaving Meredith to bombard Drew with questions about what De Burgh hotels were doing to be eco-friendly, and holding forth about sourcing food that was locally grown and organic. Listening to their intense conversation through the dining-room hatch, it had occurred to Lizzie that if there was a prize for being boring, it would be a close-run contest between Drew and her sister.

  ‘Done!’ declared Lydia now, examining her toenails with satisfaction. ‘I’m off to get changed. You coming, Katie?’

  Her sister’s eyes widened.

  ‘With you? To Amber’s?’ she asked eagerly. ‘For the evening?’

  ‘Sure – why not? A whole crowd’s going to meet for a barbie in the Forsters’ garden – her mum’s out with the new man at some ball or other. Who knows – I might find you a guy.’ She made it sound about as likely as snow in August.

  ‘But has Amber said it’s OK?’ Katie ventured. Amber was known throughout Meryton Academy for her scathing remarks to anyone she deemed unfit to be in her clique and Katie had on many occasions been the butt of her sarcasm.

  Lydia laug
hed. ‘She’ll do whatever I say,’ she replied. ‘She owes me. Now are you coming or not?’

  ‘You bet! But – what shall I wear?’

  ‘White cropped jeans, that bright orange shirt and those shiny bronze slingbacks I told you to buy. And don’t be long or I’ll go without you.’

  As Katie, grinning from ear to ear, dashed into the house, swiftly followed by Lydia shouting instructions about earrings and make-up, Jane turned to Lizzie.

  ‘You know, I think Lyddy is actually getting to be nicer to Katie,’ she remarked. ‘I mean, she didn’t have to invite her tonight. It’s not like she’s in Amber’s set.’

  ‘Too right,’ Lizzie nodded. ‘And if you ask me there’s only one reason why she has.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘She wants something. Lydia always has an ulterior motive.’

  Before Jane could reply, Lydia was back.

  ‘Look who’s here!’ she cried. ‘Lover boy!’

  Jane’s face flushed scarlet as Charlie Bingley hovered in the doorway of the conservatory.

  Lydia giggled and puckered her lips in a kiss behind Charlie’s back.

  ‘And look, he’s got chocolates! Sweet or what?’

  It was as Lizzie got up, suppressing the desire to throttle her sister on the spot, that she saw Charlie wasn’t alone.

  Standing behind him, eyeing Lydia with complete disdain and swinging a tennis racket, was James Darcy. Dressed in crisp white shorts and an open neck polo shirt that revealed just a smattering of chest hair, even Lizzie had to admit he was – in an arrogant, distant kind of way – very fit.

  ‘You do like chocolates?’ Charlie asked anxiously, handing the box to Jane. ‘I know it’s a pretty naff idea, and it’s so damn hot they’ve probably melted but . . .’

  ‘They’re my favourite,’ Jane assured him, taking the box from him as Lydia, blowing another fake kiss, scuttled off. ‘That’s really kind.’

  There was an awkward pause as Jane looked first at her feet, then out of the window and finally, biting her lip, turned back to Charlie. ‘Um – would you like a drink? There’s some of Meredith’s home-made lemonade in the kitchen. Unlike some of her culinary efforts, it’s pretty good.’

  ‘No thanks, we’re just off to play tennis,’ James said, turning as if to leave.

  ‘There’s no rush,’ Charlie replied. ‘The court’s not booked for another half-hour.’

  ‘I’ll fetch it,’ Jane said. ‘Oh —’ She waggled her bandaged wrist in the air. ‘Lizzie, can you . . .?’

  ‘No problem, I’ll help,’ Charlie said at once. ‘Lead on!’

  ‘This is for you.’ James tossed a brown padded envelope at Lizzie as Jane and Charlie disappeared into the house. ‘The CD – I burned one for you.’

  Lizzie looked at him in astonishment. ‘You did? Thank you,’ she said, ripping open the envelope and taking the disc out. ‘Hey, – it’s blank. I mean, you haven’t written the name of the artist or anything.’

  ‘Oh. Well, no. I mean, she’s hardly an artist.’

  ‘I thought she was brilliant,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘Really?’ James queried, his face breaking into the nearest thing to a genuine grin that Lizzie had yet seen. ‘I’ll tell her. She’ll be thrilled.’

  ‘You know this woman? So who is she?’ asked Lizzie. ‘What’s her name? I’d like to hear some of her other stuff.’

  ‘She’s called Jenna Darcy. She’s my sister. And there isn’t any more.’

  ‘She’s . . . you never said you had a sister.’

  ‘You never asked.’

  ‘So tell me about her? Is she at school? College? Does she sing with a choir?’

  James paused, tossed his racket onto the patio table and took a deep breath. ‘The thing about Jenna,’ he began, ‘is that she’s been —’

  He started, as the conservatory door burst open.

  ‘Well, hi there! Jane said we had visitors!’

  Lizzie cringed as Drew, wearing ankle-basher trousers and with his hair so heavily gelled that he looked like a frightened hedgehog, strode across the patio towards them.

  ‘How ya doing?’ To Lizzie’s horror, he actually slapped James on the back. ‘I’m Drew Collins, visiting from the US of A. And you are?’

  ‘This is James Darcy,’ Lizzie said with a sigh.

  ‘Well, James, I guess Lizzie’s told you all about me.’

  ‘No.’ James eyed him up and down with visible distaste.

  ‘Ah. Well, I’m a close family friend from Massachusetts,’ Drew declared. ‘My pa and Lizzie’s parents were in business together way back. It all went badly wrong, thanks to Harry not being quite on the ball, but hey, no hard feelings.’

  ‘That is so not the way it was,’ Lizzie burst out. ‘My father worked his guts out to save the business while Ambrose —’

  ‘God rest his soul.’ Drew closed his eyes momentarily and Lizzie felt a cow. The guy was, after all, dead and presumably all Drew was doing was trying to rewrite history to make things look better.

  ‘Sorry. It’s all in the past anyway.’

  ‘And you two are an item, I guess?’ Drew’s mournful expression disappeared as rapidly as it had come.

  ‘No way!’ Lizzie burst out, horrified at the audacity of the guy. ‘We hardly know one another.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really,’ James repeated. ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Aw man! Wow! Well. Gee.’

  To which neither Lizzie nor James had any answer at all. Fortunately the ensuing, rather awkward, silence was broken by the arrival of Emily, who came bursting through the back gate in her usual state of sweaty disarray.

  ‘Sorry, sorry, a million zillion sorries – oh, sorry!’ She caught sight of James and Drew and pulled a face. ‘Am I interrupting?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Lizzie assured her. ‘And what’s with all the apologies?’

  ‘For being so crabby,’ Emily replied. ‘You know, over the Toby thing. I bumped into Lydia and she told me about Jane’s accident. No wonder you weren’t in the mood to talk.’

  ‘It was pretty full on,’ Lizzie agreed, ‘but I should have rung back.’

  ‘Well, you couldn’t have done anything about it anyway because he’s not coming. He’ll be away. Just my luck.’

  She sighed and pulled Lizzie to one side. ‘Can’t stop – going babysitting, but I’m so fed up. Everything about my party’s going wrong,’ she muttered. ‘I want it to be great, but it’s so not going to happen. Mum’s insisting on totally the wrong food, Dad wants it all upmarket and formal, and as for me – what a loser I’m going to look with no boyfriend and spots the size of pistachio nuts.’

  She paused, eyeing Drew. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘This is Drew Collins,’ Lizzie explained hurriedly, relieved to have a reason to deflect Emily from her rapid descent into self-pity. ‘From America. He’s staying with us for a bit.’

  ‘Hi,’ Emily grinned. ‘Will you be around Saturday week? Cos if so, you’re invited too. James and Charlie’ll be there and Denny and, oh, of course, you won’t know these guys. Well, anyway . . .’

  Lizzie wished that Emily wouldn’t go into overdrive every time she met a new guy.

  ‘I’d sure like that,’ Drew replied. ‘What sort of party is it?’

  ‘My eighteenth,’ Emily said.

  ‘No, no, I mean what’s the theme?’ Drew went on. ‘All the best parties have a theme – or at least, that’s the way we do them where I come from.’

  ‘Which is Milton Keynes originally, isn’t it?’ Lizzie asked sweetly as Jane and Charlie finally appeared from the kitchen.

  ‘A theme! Oh my God – I never thought about anything like that,’ Emily groaned. ‘Got to dash, but – talk later, Drew, yeah?’

  She waved and belted out of the back gate, only narrowly missing crashing into Charlie, who was carrying a tray of drinks.

  ‘Sorry we’ve been so long,’ Charlie said. ‘Oh, hi, Emily – oh, bye, Emily!’

  He dumped th
e tray on the patio table and began handing round glasses.

  ‘Listen, you lot – we’ve cooked up the greatest scheme.’ He turned to James. ‘Your aunt’s horse is running next Saturday at Newmarket, right?

  ‘No, Brighton, actually – it’s a big charity race day affair,’ James replied. ‘Newmarket’s next month.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that’s right, Brighton. Denny said,’ Charlie acknowledged.

  ‘Denny?’ James frowned.

  ‘Yes, the college is sponsoring a race, apparently – and they’ve got a stand there, you know, promoting their courses and stuff. Anyway, it was Denny that gave me the idea. How about we all go over for the day? I know Caro would be up for it. She’s still miffed about missing Ascot because of that bug she caught.’

  For once, James looked mildly enthusiastic.

  ‘Could be cool,’ he nodded. ‘Since the sainted aunt’s in France with Jenna, that leaves me.’

  ‘With Jenna?’ Lizzie cut in. ‘So is your sister —’

  ‘Wow, the races sure does sound a neat idea,’ Drew burst out. ‘Count me in.’

  Lizzie flinched inwardly at his audacity.

  ‘Oh, sorry – I don’t think we’ve met,’ Charlie replied, glancing at Jane.

  ‘This is Drew,’ Jane explained and went through the introductions once again.

  ‘So come on, James,’ Charlie urged. ‘What do you say? Up for it?’

  ‘I guess,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to sort passes for the Owners’ stand, though – how many of us are going?’

  ‘Me, Jane . . .’

  ‘No, I’ll pass on that one,’ Jane said quickly.

  ‘No way!’ Charlie exclaimed. ‘That’s the whole point – I mean, you said you thought it’d be fun.’

  ‘Yes, but you said Newmarket.’

  ‘So? What’s the difference?’ Charlie demanded.

  Lizzie knew exactly what the difference was. Brighton was where Simon lived and went to college. Brighton was where Jane and he had hung out, weekend after weekend. Brighton, regardless of what Jane pretended, was still full of memories her sister would rather forget.

  ‘Please.’ Charlie looked pleadingly at Jane.