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Part 1 ‘…the things we really ought not to hear…’

Posted on Wednesday, 9 November 2005

Elizabeth felt sick; she breathed sharply and hung onto the sink for dear life. What was she doing here, she asked for herself the hundred time…how in the world had Jane managed to talk her into this?

She was no screen actress, so what was she thinking going for a part like this, and aside from that to play opposite the famous Fitzwilliam Darcy, his intensity and passion would laugh her off the screen. She had had moderate success on the stage and though the reviews had been entirely favourable, the play was independent enough to ensure it was seen by only a handful.

But she had agreed despite herself, knowing better she had let Jane, her sister and her agent to answer the call for fresh, talented actresses. Still she had made it through three readings already; surely she couldn’t be all that bad? Now things were getting serious, now it mattered and as the latest wave of nausea passed over her, Elizabeth gathered all her last remaining resolve and headed out of the toilets.

It was the reading opposite Darcy that was unnerving her, everything she had read about him, all that she had seen of his work ensured that he was the upcoming star they all raved about. It also ensured that fresh faced, newbie Elizabeth Bennet, had a schoolgirl crush on the handsome Adonis. She was not ashamed of it; at least she was not an obsessive like some of the girls auditioning out there. She cringed inwardly at the words of Melissa, who had stated in no uncertain circumstances, her intention to take a lock of his hair by whatever means necessary.

In this train of thought she stalked the corridor outside the dressing rooms pacing up and down, wholly occupied with various scenes from the book that when she heard steps approaching her at no remarkable distance, it was much too late. Voices confirmed at least one of them to be Darcy…a panicked Elizabeth terrified of being seen and having to talk to him ridiculously unprepared, made a beeline for the nearest room. She prayed it was empty as she turned the handle and slipped inside…it was, she headed for the clothes rack, overflowing as it was it could be the only place to offer any concealment.

She heard them stood outside talking and thinking they were about to leave, prepared to slip out unnoticed. Her heart was practically in her throat when she realized they were not moving on, but someone was opening the door of the room she was hiding in! No…surely it couldn’t be…but yes it was, in her haste she failed to notice the name on the door, this was Darcy’s dressing room!

Crouching lower and cursing her stupidity, she resolved not to listen to their conversation. But it would prove difficult, his voice, smooth and gentle and filled with generous humour, was velvet to her ears, it washed over her and with a silly grin plastered on her face, Lizzy realized she was even in love with his voice!

Elizabeth would have done better to shut her ears; the conversation would not prove to be to her liking. Darcy was on the phone, there was someone else in the room with him, ‘Thank you…Mrs Reynolds for doing your best…I’m sure it’ll be fine…the girls probably have first-night nerves…no…no I’m sure she’s not being difficult on purpose…look I have to go…I’m sorry…but I promise, as soon as everything is confirmed here…I’ll be right back. You’re doing a great job… please don’t worry and thanks again…yes…bye.’

He let out an exasperated sigh and Lizzy could imagine him shaking his head in frustration, ‘Bingley…I swear this whole thing is driving me mad….’

She knew Bingley to be his closest friend and publicist.

‘No wonder…do you ever stop…I mean as well as running to and from auditions, you’ve got that infernal place to keep together as well…Darcy I can’t understand why you just don’t sell it and be done…’

Darcy laughed quietly, ‘I think Mrs Reynolds’ does the most of the keeping together of that place…I can’t sell it Bingley, you know that…it means too much, there’s a history with it…I’m telling you it’s destined for great things. Besides Georgiana loves the place, she would never speak to me again.’

Bingley sighed resigned, ‘Alright, so what’s the latest crisis with the old theatre…?’

Darcy spoke through gritted teeth, ‘Oh you know, only the usual, Mrs Reynolds is having trouble persuading some of the other girls in the play to not poison our fair Desdemona for real…’

‘Oh no…don’t tell me Rita Simmons is up to making her ridiculous demands again…what does she want this time…all the yellow m&m’s removed…no wait, let me guess a troupe of dancing midgets in her dressing room…!’

Lizzy was forced to stifle a laugh, while the gentlemen present reveled in the mirth.

‘No, worse, now she’s intent on giving orders to the costume department, she wants the other girls in the chorus, dressed more drably, less colour so there’s less distraction from her star performance…suffice to say the girls aren’t happy.’

‘I bet…so what’re you going to do…I could go up there for you…’

‘Ha…no…no way…’ Darcy laughed out loud.

Bingley seemed hurt and offended by this sudden outburst, ‘what…you don’t think I could do it…?’

‘I’m sorry Bingley…you’re my best friend, and God knows you’ve managed my career admirably, but someone like Rita Simmons…she’ll eat you alive…no, no I have to sort this out myself.’

‘I was only trying to help…’

‘I know and you’ll never know just how thankful I am. I don’t know Bingley, what is it with these actresses, I swear as soon as they suspect they’ve got something between their ears, they turn into these annoying, whining, demanding prima donnas.’

Bingley smiled ruefully, ‘Oh come on Darcy…you’re being too hard…’

‘No I’m telling you it’s true. At first I wondered what Harry was thinking, sending out this call for fresh, new talent; with him being a first time director I was sure he wouldn’t take any risks, but you know I think he’s got the right idea. The less brains they suspect they have the less demands they’re likely to make.’

Bingley snorted at this crude analogy.

‘Bingley have you seen the girls out there, I walked past their room they were all in there giggling like a bunch of helium filled hyenas. It was awful; it’d be a punishment to act opposite anyone of them. Still, though I doubt he’s going to find what he’s looking for in them, if Harry does pick an empty headed bimbo, it could only serve to make me look better, right…?’

‘You know Darcy; I think I can see why your opinions would make some people call you a complete ass…’

‘Really…’ Darcy’s mock tone of hurt was obvious, ‘I always considered my opinions to be refreshingly honest…’

Bingley laughed, ‘well you would…’

They left soon after that, leaving a seething Lizzy still hunched up among the clothes rack. She stood up and the cramp in her leg was soon forgotten. If the phrase, ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’ was ever concocted to describe exactly how a woman felt, well it was a poor substitute for Lizzy’s rage. She could not believe how stupid and odiously blind she had been, to have a silly, teenage crush on a man like that! Well, no more…Lizzy Bennet was no-one’s fool and certainly not of that arrogant, pompous…vain, self-centered…

Lizzy had stormed out of the room and was heading down the corridor, cursing and stamping as she went; she almost ended up running down her sister. Jane seeing Lizzy coloured a most disturbing shade of red, was about to ask the reason for her obvious distress when she began herself.

‘Oh God, how can I have been so stupid, me the world’s greatest cynic when it comes to the heart…oh, hateful, spiteful man..!’ She was aware of the volte face, her impressions of Darcy had been entirely favourable only a few minutes before, now she did not care to hear or see either him or his friend ever again.

Jane was at a loss to understand whom she meant. ‘Lizzy, what’s happened…who are you talking about…Lizzy stop, where are you going..?’

Lizzy had stepped passed her and was carrying on down the corridor, quite oblivious to Jane’s questions. She had to run to catch up with her, and in doing so grabbed Lizzy by both arms and turned her round to face her.

‘Calm down, tell me what this is about…why are you so upset..?’ Jane’s calm, measured tones seemed to have the desired effect. Lizzy began to breathe slower, and her cursing was limited to at least a word at a time.

‘I’m sorry Jane, I can’t do this…I just can’t. I’m going home…’

Jane stared at her mouth agape, ‘No Lizzy you can’t…besides you’re up to read next…they’ll be waiting for you…’

‘I’m sorry Jane, tell them I’m ill or something…please make some excuse, I have to get out of here…’

She was shaking, and Jane thought her on the verge of tears, but as keenly as she felt for her sister, Lizzy could not leave. Her voice was therefore unusually stern.

‘I will not…Lizzy whatever reservations you have had, you have gotten through three of these readings already, that wouldn’t have been possible without talent, which you have masses of. So no, Lizzy, I will not make excuses and you are not leaving, not when we are this close… I won’t let you.’

‘I can’t do it…Jane please…’

‘Yes you can…and you owe it to yourself and me to find out…’

Lizzy was at last forced to resign; Jane was not going to give way. She would have to do it, have to stand opposite that man… Darcy, who had mortified her so only minutes before.

Stand and utter lines, words that she was convinced she couldn’t speak the way they were meant to, or convey the feeling they expressed. Never had her faith in her own capability been shaken so badly, not even when she had stood throwing up in the bathroom, she had allowed herself a glimmer of hope even then. And what had tested her so, the words and cruel laughter of a man whom she had never met, and who had yet managed to embed himself deep within her, rooted in the darkest place where all thoughts are hateful and voices venomous.

She took a few deep breaths and still shaking but no longer cursing, headed towards the hall where the auditions were being held. A small local theatre had been hired; readings were taking place on stage, in front of the casting crew and, in the masses of seats, if front of just about everyone else. None of the girls had left; those who had already read were sat with those who hadn’t, in turns giving encouragement whilst hoping to make eyes with Darcy.

Lizzy entered the stage through a side door, Jane was right, everyone was waiting for her. They all looked towards her anticipating, expecting…Lizzy was glad for Jane who was right behind her and squeezing her hand in sisterly encouragement.

‘Miss Bennet…?’ A voice boomed out from the front rows, ‘Well I’m glad you could finally join us, if you’d care to make your way to the stage…’

‘Of course…I’m sorry…’ Lizzy was embarrassed.

‘Don’t be sorry Miss Bennet…just be good…’ Lizzy sought in vain for the owner of that voice as she climbed the stage, but the spotlight on her shone so brightly that she would have had to strain to see anything in the darkened seats below; and she didn’t want to be accused of having a squint on top of everything else.

She stood bemused until a painful realization smacked her; she was empty handed, she had left the script on the bathroom sink!

‘Here take mine…I know the words well enough by now…’ Lizzy looking up foolishly was about to utter a thousand thanks when recognition of her protagonist stopped her short…Darcy.

She snatched it from him ungratefully, barely looked him in the eye and turned her attention wholly to the paper in front of her. He seemed amazed at her affront, and she suspected he rolled his eyes skyward in disgust at her forgetfulness. He thought her scatter brained no doubt, well no matter; she cared as little for his opinion as she did his disapprobation.

‘When you’re ready guys…’ the voice again prompted him.

A collective hush fell upon the room; Jane held her breath and crossed her fingers.

Lizzy composed herself and walked towards Darcy, she was stood only a few feet away, throwing her script aside she rushed up and wrapped her arms around him.

Lizzy was Celia now, and he was Rupert, the script had taken over, and as far as Lizzy was concerned that was all that mattered, her repulsion for the man around whose neck her arms were encircled was put behind her; she could be a true professional whatever he thought of her.

She was about to utter her first words when…a phone rang; one of the actresses was the guilty party and as she was being banished to outside the hall, Darcy found it the perfect time to accost Lizzy.

‘You know when somebody does you a favour it’s generally polite to say thank you…’ he began.

Lizzy was in no mood to let him finish, ‘Really…’ she smiled and simpered prettily, ‘I guess with my being just another air headed bimbo actress, the sort of things like manners just passes me by…right…?’

The effect was wonderful; Darcy first stared wide-eyed and then blushed, he seemed mortified and left wondering exactly how and when she had overheard their conversation. They were ready for them again, and now it was left to Darcy to gather what was left of his composure. He managed it admirably, ever the consummate professional.

They resumed their positions, she with her arms about his neck, and his circling her waist. They were to portray lovers, there could be no uncomfortableness, and they could show none, however ill they felt towards each other.

The scene was a quarrel between Celia and Rupert; Celia runs down to meet him secretly not suspecting the devastating news he has to greet her.

‘Celia…’he begins even as she’s hanging about him, ‘Celia I must tell you something…’

She’s concerned; he looks serious, ‘What is it…?’

‘I’m to be married…’ She thought him joking; he could not be…not whilst still making love and promises to her.

‘Rupert, do not joke…’

‘I do not…within a few months…’ he held her at arms length.

‘How…what do you mean…what of all that we have promised to each other…’

‘What of it…nothing can come of it…you must have known…’

The scene was reaching its height now, and both Darcy and Lizzy were engrossed by it all, they were the only two in the hall, with the words of a dying love being spoken between them.

‘No…you do not love her…you cannot, you love me I know you do…’ Celia clawed to his neck pathetically.

Wishing to comfort, and with a lingering affection, Rupert held her for a while.

Lizzy for some strange reason, perhaps in the hope of putting him off, took the opportunity to whisper in his ear, ‘You know if all it takes to make you look better is an air head, then maybe you aren’t really as good an actor as you think…’

Darcy refused to be outdone…certainly not by a pretentious upstart like Elizabeth Bennet, he kept resolutely to his words.

‘Celia…we must part…I am for one way, you another…’

‘Please Rupert…I am not a child, do not use such consoling tones with me…I refuse to release you…’

‘You refuse…and what power do you think you hold sway over me, pray speak…’

Darcy deliberately made Rupert’s tone more malicious and vicious than it was written, and squeezing Lizzy tighter, he whispered his retort to her earlier remark, with the similar intention of distracting her, ‘And maybe you’re just a harpy who makes a habit of listening in to private conversations…’

Lizzy’s reply was as an unexpected for them both as it was spectacular, she stepped away from him and with all her might slapped him across the face with her open hand! Was it Lizzy’s or Celia’s rage that inspired such a reaction? A collective gasp went up across the whole room, and poor Jane, who was convinced Lizzy had just driven a nail through her short lived career, almost fainted.

‘Wait a minute, that’s not in the script…’ a puny voice called up before being shot down with an equally awed and hasty, ‘shut up you idiot…!’

The reading resumed, every eye, every mind was fixated now wholly on the two on stage.

Celia’s voice quivered, she shook with anger, ‘No…no power Rupert, only I know…we both know you care only for me…it is the truth, and you will regret the day you ever gave me up…’

Rupert was not to be moved, ‘we all have regrets Celia…many of which we learn to live with…’

‘I hope you learn to live with this Rupert…’she reached up and kissing him softly on the lips, and turned to walk away, vowing it to be forever.

Had she turned at that exact opportune moment, she would have rushed back straight into his arms, for Rupert stood head bowed, with tears brimming in his eyes and an ache in his heart.

The performance held the audience so captive and spellbound that for a long moment no-one spoke. They were at last all roused by the sight of an obviously distraught Lizzy hurrying off the stage; she jumped down and without speaking to a soul hurried out of the room, banging the doors behind her as she went.

Only Jane proved brave enough to hurry after her, Lizzy by this time had already picked up her things and was making her way across the car park towards her car.

It had started to rain, and poor Elizabeth looked like a dejected soul as she fumbled hopelessly in her bag for keys. She cut a pathetic sight, more so when she dropped her bag and had to retrieve the strewn contents; the rain had mottled and soaked her hair leaving it hanging down in strands about her face.

Jane hurried to her having had the good sense to take an umbrella with her, held it aloft as she helped her sister.

She took hold of her hand when they had done, ‘Lizzy surely you can’t contemplate disappearing now…’

Lizzy smiled woefully, and Jane spied the tell tale streak of tears, ‘Jane do you remember the first time you ever read The Framed Rose…’

‘Yes of course…I was 14 and I loved the book so much I read it again and then lent it to you…’

‘Exactly…it’s a classic you loved it, and I loved it and so did all the other millions of people who have been lucky enough to read it…’

Jane was puzzled, ‘Lizzy, what are you talking about…?’

‘I can’t do this Jane, the characters, Celia and Rupert are so indelibly printed on everyone’s heart, that I could never do them…I could never do Celia justice…’

‘What…!’ Jane gestured emphatically with the umbrella, thoroughly defeating the whole purpose of its use and allowing them both to be soaked by the heavy downpour,

‘You can’t think that now, Lizzy were you listening to yourself on that stage…you were amazing, you were Celia…’

Lizzy shook her head stubbornly, ‘No…Jane I know how much that book means to me…I don’t want a generation of readers who, when they think of The Framed Rose, instead of picturing that wonderful story, have me and my performance making them cringe…’

Jane was at a loss to understand where her fears stemmed from. ‘Lizzy, given what you just did in there, what both you and Darcy did, I promise you that anybody who goes to see this film is going to be amazed as we all were…’

‘Jane…I’m not good enough…its time we both accepted that...’

‘God…Lizzy..! Where is this coming from…?’

‘I’m not the only one who thinks so…’

Jane was about to ask her just who had affected her belief in herself so profoundly, when her phone rang. Lizzy finding her keys and her resolve made her way to her car.

Lizzy’s and Darcy’s stellar performance as well as being watched from the front of the stage, was also observed very sneakily by the man who was to direct the whole thing, Harry Kilton. He had stood in the shadows throughout it all, and had been about to hurry after Lizzy when he had tripped over the curtain rope and fell flat on his face, Lizzy escaped him.

But he was not to be deterred, convinced he had found his elusive stars at last he scrambled to his feet and called out after the fast retreating Lizzy and an even faster Jane, they didn’t hear him.

Harry although young was also a short, fat easily exhausted man, and shouting tired him so; turning to the casting coach he grabbed him by the collar and demanded to know who that girl was.

‘Elizabeth Bennet…’ the poor man wasn’t allowed to finish.

‘Well I want her…she’s the one…’ Harry was turning a peculiar shade of beetroot with all his breathless excitement.

‘But sir…there are at least a half dozen more girls to read…’

‘Well send them all home…’he waved frantically in the air, ‘I’ve found her…I’ve found Celia…’

‘I agree…she’s the one…’ Darcy had climbed down from the stage and standing behind them was gingerly rubbing his cheek, where Lizzy had left her mark; he wore a peculiar smile.

With such ringing endorsements the casting coach had no choice but to find Jane’s number and give her the news.

‘Lizzy…wait, please…’ Jane struggled to catch up; Lizzy had already started her car. She tapped on the window and waited for Lizzy to wind it down, ‘Lizzy you can’t leave…’

‘Jane we’ve talked about this…’

Jane shook her head and grinned, ‘No you don’t understand…you got it…you got the part…you’re playing Celia…’

Lizzy refused to believe it at first, but then began to declare she wouldn’t take it, she actually intended to turn the part down!

Jane’s face fell at these words, ‘You’re not serious…’

‘I most certainly am…’ and with that was about to wind her window back up and drive off. Jane was desperate.

‘Okay…look you can’t leave…I need you to take this part, because…because I’ve met someone… here and the only way I can keep on seeing him is if you take this part…’

Lizzy looked at her sceptically, she readily believed Jane was capable of concocting such a story if it could persuade her to stay.

But Jane was blushing now and seemed sincere, or if she wasn’t it was her who ought to have been the actress.

‘Come on…’ she continued, ‘do you really want to ensure your sister stays on the shelf for the rest of her life…?’ Jane smiled sheepishly.

Lizzy smiled back, ‘You and I both know that’s not going to happen…’ she shook her head, ‘I know I’m going to regret this…’

‘Yes…!’ Jane jumped and squealed with delight.

The sisters returned arm in arm, and peeking through the half open door to the hall they saw everybody had already left; only an overly excited Harry, a bruised Darcy and Bingley remained.

Lizzy turned to her sister, ‘So before we go in…are you going to tell me anymore about this mystery man of yours…when am I going to get to meet him…?’

Jane smiled and squeezed her arm, ‘Right now if you like…’ pushing the doors open further, ‘he’s in here…’

Lizzy prayed she was talking about Harry, worse…it soon became clear she meant Bingley.

‘Oh no…’ Bingley and Darcy were close, likewise the sisters were inseparable, so to spend time with Bingley would mean to spend time with Darcy; Lizzy was she beginning to regret changing her mind already.

Part 2- ‘…a difference over words…’

Posted on Tuesday, 15 November 2005

Darcy surveyed the night sky above him, brilliantly lit with stars as far as the eye could see, he breathed in a large gasp of the crisp, clean air. He had for the past few hours been forced to smile graciously and feign an interest in people who induced nothing but a tendency to scream in order to escape their abject boredom.

This should get easier, he sighed, he was an actor after all, who better to make love and utter pleasantries to a people he could not stand to be around. Still he had taken the first chance to escape and slipped out unnoticed to sweet…sweet freedom!

The only person who could have stirred a genuine interest spent the entire time avoiding him, though he could not blame her, he was a little disappointed in Lizzy Bennet’s inability to forgive.

She may have found his words to be offensive, but the simple truth of the matter remained his declaring all actresses to be air headed bimbos had pushed her to give a better performance on that stage. He had no doubt he was responsible for her getting the part of Celia, getting inflamed and angry at him, ensured her success…she shouldn’t still be resentful, if anything she had plenty to thank him for.

She wore a long flowing, cream satin dress, and in a room full of beautiful people was the only one who stood out with a natural beauty. Lizzy’s figure was light and pleasing, her complexion healthy, and beautifully set off with her black hair done up in the latest style. Her dark eyes, with their animated expression and thick lashes would have been difficult for any painter to capture with any accuracy.

Aware of the fact he may have been staring at her a little too intently, he moved about the room, viewing her at every angle and not losing sight of her once. She had acknowledged his presence only briefly, when his gaze had caught her eye; she had turned hers away with cold disdain and a dismissive air.

The sound of classical violins floated out of the giant marquee, and hearing familiar voices Darcy realized he had circled the entire area and ended up right back at the entrance. Ready to go in, he stopped short upon seeing Lizzy stood with her sister Jane…he thought, or perhaps because he wished to, though he heard Lizzy say his name. Determined to hear exactly what she would say about him, he stepped back to avoid notice…but no, Jane was moving on and Lizzy was standing quite alone.

Courage quickened his step; finally spying his chance to speak to her alone he hurried in before someone else had a chance to join her. In his haste he failed to take into account the flustered waiter approaching at no particular pace from the other side.

The crash was inevitable; arms, legs and canapés went everywhere… Darcy certainly had her attention now, as well as everybody else’s in the place.

The orchestra had the sense and compassion to allay poor Darcy’s embarrassment as quickly as possible by starting up with a lively piece, he was thankful but not before he managed to spy Lizzy’s thinly veiled attempt at suppressing her laughter. Discomfited and angry, he surprised her by instead of hurrying away as she suspected he would, coming over and calmly taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, stood next to her.

The knowing smile still played on her face, she could not resist, ‘ever the star Mr Darcy…you certainly know how to make an entrance…’

He smiled back; she would not rile him however much she tried.

‘I like people to know I’m there…’

‘Oh…a blatant exhibitionist then….’

‘Not at all…it’s just I wouldn’t like to run the risk of overhearing something I might not like…’

Lizzy scowled at him, this was of course another pointed dig, yet another reference to events at the audition. Darcy liked this look about her; he loved the way he was able to get at her, even when she tried her hardest to resist…he somehow managed to get under her skin. He half wondered if she was going to slap him again and braced himself accordingly.

Lizzy was robbed of the opportunity; they were joined by a tall, handsome woman. ‘Oh good, Harry’s two stars together, bonding…I’m so glad…’

Marcie Hicks was Harry’s girlfriend and financial backer; she was an elegant woman, huskily voiced and considerably older than Harry. Her height and flaming red hair, contrasted with his being short and bald, and ensured that the two were greeted with looks that confirmed their status as being the odd couple.

‘Darcy…it’s a pleasure as always…’ leaning over to kiss him on the cheek, her low cut dress bulged and Lizzy caught more than an eyeful of Marcie’s ‘assets’. She turned to her next.

‘And this must be Miss Elizabeth Bennet…Harry’s Celia; well I can understand what he was raving about now…my name is Marcie Hicks…’ She offered her hand and Lizzy shook it warmly.

Lizzy was uncomfortable with any sort of praise, she smiled meekly, ‘It’s a wonderful party Miss Hicks…forgive my ignorance, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a pre-filming party…’

‘Please dear, call me Marcie…’ her smiles were all motherly, ‘and this is all business. I have no romantic notions about the movies, Miss Bennet, but I have invested a lot of money into this project of Harry’s and I intend to see a return.’

She swept her arm, a gesture meant to encircle the whole room, ‘this is all publicity…letting people know that this film is happening…’

‘Because the added pressure should prove such a thrill…?’ Lizzy’s tone became unintentionally sarcastic, but she was nervous about making her first film, and Marcie’s words were not doing anything to calm her fears.

Marcie looked towards Darcy with an expressive smile and she imagined they shared a confidence, the thought unnerved her.

‘Miss Bennet…Lizzy, you are a relative unknown…we must show you off a little…’

Darcy chipped in, ‘and let’s face it if you didn’t want to be shown off you wouldn’t have become an actress…’

Darcy was obviously amused at her discomfort, she thought his words intended as revenge for her laughing at him earlier.

Marcie interceded, ‘we need to get you in the public eye…both of you, and you must be associated with the book, the characters Celia and Rupert as much as possible. We’ll give the public teasers and tasters of what’s to come, not too much, enough to keep them guessing and wanting more…’

Seeing Lizzy still skeptical, she added, ‘Miss Bennet trust me, I’m an old pro at this…and I learnt a long time ago, nothing heightens desire more than expectation…isn’t that right…Darcy?’ she had turned to him so suddenly that he almost spilt his drink.

‘Um…yes that’s right Marcie…’ his reply was accompanied by the deepest blush, and Lizzy was sure they shared that expression of confidence once more, and wondered what was behind it.

‘Miss Bennet if you want somebody to buy, you must be prepared to sell…by any and every means possible…’ she stabbed her finger in the palm of her hand to emphasize her point.

‘Do you mean to sell us then Marcie...?’ The reservation in Lizzy’s voice was painfully obvious.

Marcie smiled sweetly but her words belied the seriousness behind it all, ‘Of course, Miss Bennet, we are relying on you, all of us… to raise our fortunes…, you will make or break this movie…’

Lizzy gulped hard, my God the pressure…it sat an ugly, huge weight on her chest and she thought she would collapse under the burden of it. She closed her eyes, and only opened them as Marcie laying a cool hand on her arm, brought her face close and whispered, ‘don’t worry…I’ve wanted to slap him a few times myself..’

She moved on after that leaving a distinctly cold and numb Lizzy in her wake.

The publicity Marcie had promised arrived soon after; Lizzy and Darcy were still stood together, her looking for an excuse to escape, and his looking for the words, something to say to keep her there still, when a photographer appeared by their side.

He declared his reasons for interrupting, stating that he had been ordered to take pictures of every stage of the films production, beginning appropriately enough with the pre filming party, for the films official website.

He began snapping away happily, but seeing Lizzy and Darcy starting to feel uncomfortable around him and each other, he thought it best to start a conversation to divert their attention from the camera.

‘So…The Framed Rose, a classic book…had either of you read it before taking on this project…?’

He could not have picked a topic closer to Lizzy’s heart, she beamed proudly, ‘of course…it’s a wonderful book, I must have read it at least a dozen times, and the role of Celia is a dream to come through for me…’

They both looked to Darcy, who finally realized it was his time to share, ‘oh…I read it a couple of months ago…when I knew I would be playing Rupert…’

‘A couple of months…’ Lizzy found it hard to conceal her incredulity.

‘Yes…is that a problem…?’

The photographer seeing his handiwork begin to take effect, stood back to catch them in all the right angles. They were both animated now as the discussion between them began to heat up.

‘No…no problem, I just think it would be difficult for anyone to truly know the character of Rupert…after reading the book only once, and to play him well, after studying him for such a short time…’

Lizzy’s colour was beginning to return, ‘Tell me…what did you think of the book…?’

‘I thought it was written well enough…’

‘Ha…’ his indifference clearly astounded her. He asked her to elaborate. ‘I must admit to being shocked at how you can be so indifferent, but to tell the truth that is exactly what I would have expected of you…’

‘Really, you presume to know me so well then…?’ he challenged her.

‘I presume nothing Mr Darcy, only I cannot see how someone can be so cold, as to dismiss some of the most heart rending words written as being, merely ‘well written’. How could anyone fail to be moved by Rupert, when he states ‘I slip further every day, every hour…deeper and deeper, and at every turn encountering a darkness I cannot fathom....’

Darcy was becoming exasperated, she was determined to pick an argument with him, ‘You know the book so well Miss Bennet, anything I could say would only serve to offend you...’

‘I would rather you offered an unfavourable opinion than none at all…’

‘Truly…?’ he smiled skeptically.

Lizzy’s tone at once became one of reconciliation; it would not do for the whole room to see how ill they got on, not when so much was depended upon the both of them. Marcie’s words still rang shrilly in her ears.

She smiled as pleasantly as possible, ‘I refuse to believe you are yet so indifferent…’

Darcy resigned unreservedly, her smile disarmed him, ‘Fine…here is what I think, yes The Framed Rose is a wonderful book, portraying loss, redemption and pitiful sorrow vividly…but I suppose I have reservations with the writer’s underlying message, that loss of love can be equated with death…’

Reservations…! Lizzy wondered at the arrogance of this man to presume to know the mindset of the writer and such a wonderful piece as to have reservations about it! But still that pleasant smile was retained.

‘But surely it can be readily believed in the case of Celia and Rupert…?’

Darcy was on a roll now, ‘and what is there of comfort to be offered in the book…I for one confess to being a slave to the happy ending…’

Lizzy interrupted him, ‘The ending is not so entirely to be lamented. Celia finds Rupert; she forgives him and offers him solace in his final hours…’

‘Yes that is exactly it… Rupert is the one that suffers, continued impoverishment, and solitude and finally a lingering death, it seems the writers wish is to punish him for acting correctly…’

‘Correctly…?’ Lizzy inquired.

‘Yes in giving Celia up…obeying voices in the head, instead of the murmurs of the heart…’

‘He gave away the love, the hope and heart of a girl who was devoted to him…!’ Lizzy voice was starting to rise again, despite her endeavours to keep her temper in check.

‘Yes and for no other reason than he truly believed that a union between them would have been disastrous…and he was quite right…’

‘Oh…?’

‘Rupert put aside his own sentiments to ensure that the woman he loved would continue in that happy existence and comfort to which she has been accustomed all her life. Marriage to an impoverished painter would have brought Celia to hardships and struggles she could never have imagined or borne…’

Lizzy could only stare at him astounded, he continued oblivious. ‘Yet the writer seems happy to punish him for his sense and decency…’

She sighed patiently, ‘then I take it you do not subscribe to the theorem that love conquers all…?’

Darcy smiled, ‘I said I was a slave to happy endings Miss Bennet, not that I demand them in every case…love would certainly not have conquered all where Rupert and Celia are concerned…’

Lizzy jumped on his contradiction, ‘You confuse me Mr Darcy, you seem to both condemn and laud the book for its lack of a happy ending…’

Darcy aware of his mistake became anxious, ‘I merely wished to state my feelings, perhaps not very clearly, on a narrative that seems to condemn its principal character for acting nobly and selflessly…’

‘We have talked of the writer without mentioning that it’s author is perhaps one of the most singular aspects of The Framed Rose, it was of course published anonymously we have no way of knowing if the author was he or a she…’

Darcy sneered contemptuously, ‘and I suppose Miss Bennet that you are one of those hopeless romantics, who will endeavour to ascribe the work of being perhaps not entirely fictitious. That the character of Celia possibly existed, and the book was her work, to gain some immortality for, and preserve the memory of the man she loved in Rupert…’

She did not care to dignify this with a response, and instead chose to end the discussion entirely, sighing resignedly, ‘Very well Mr Darcy, it is clear to me we will never agree… perhaps we ought to declare our difference of opinion and leave it at that…’

His reply was short and curt, he was getting tired of being opposed and challenged in every way.

‘Fine…’

‘Good.’ Lizzy was in an equally morose mood and eager to be away.

‘Fine…’ he retorted again.

Their conversation threatened to turn into a monosyllabic series of grunts. Before Lizzy could reply a small voice behind them sounded, ‘ummm…excuse me…’

Of course, the photographer! In all their arguing back and forth they had quite forgotten the man who had kept happily snapping away.

Lizzy was at once apologetic and embarrassed, had he been taken pictures of their quarrelling? It certainly wouldn’t be the sort of publicity Marcie had in mind.

‘I’m sorry; I hope we didn’t put you off too much…’

‘No…not at all I quite enjoyed your discussion actually; it was very…informative…’

The poor man could not hurry away quick enough; Lizzy turned to Darcy in order to gauge his reaction… he appeared entirely indifferent to the whole.

As occupied as they now were with how they had been perceived, both Lizzy and Darcy failed to notice the photographer scurrying off to join Marcie in a quiet corner.

‘Well…?’ she inquired impatiently. The fake photographer, Arnold Sallis was in fact a close friend of hers; he had an amateurish interest in behavioural psychology and body language, she thought him the perfect person to observe Lizzy and Darcy closely.

In order to go about unnoticed and unchallenged she had ordered him to take a camera with him as a disguise.

It was with this disguise he was now fiddling, much to Marcie’s annoyance, ‘you do realize there’s no film in that thing…?’ she snapped angrily.

‘I know…’ he put the camera aside reluctantly.

‘Well what about them two…?’ Marcie gestured emphatically with her head in the direction of Lizzy and Darcy.

‘It’s difficult to say really…they’re both so guarded, even when they’re arguing, they’re holding back…’

‘Really…?’ Marcie was disappointed, ‘look she’s fiddling with her hair I thought that was flirting…?’

‘Normally, yes but where Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy are concerned, she might as well be giving him the two fingers…’

Marcie was frustrated; she thought she could see her investment sinking into a deep, black hole. ‘Well a fat lot of good you are…so Harry got it wrong then…?’

‘No…not entirely, there’s something there...’

‘Something…so it could work…they could work…?’

Arnold nodded decisively, ‘Oh yes, they could work…’

Part 3 ‘…The art of making love…’

Posted on Friday, 18 November 2005

‘This is not going to work…’ Harry’s producer threw up his arms in obvious disdain. ‘Harry I’m telling you this is hopeless…’

Harry was tired. This was the second month into filming and the problems that had already arisen were numerous, this scene the principal. It was the first declaration of love from Rupert for Celia, and had Harry hoped that his stars, Lizzy and Darcy, would deliver the same intensity and passion that marked their scenes together during audition, he was sorely mistaken.

It was easier to make war than love, as the song went, and Harry was pulling out what little hair he had left. Lizzy and Darcy seemed reluctant to get past their dislike of each other.

They spoke the words well enough; the scene played out beautifully until they were required to touch. Darcy then appeared reluctant, and worse, Lizzy clearly radiated disgust. But Harry refused to give up.

His producer, Billy Farren, was of a less tenacious nature. ‘Look Harry, it’s still not too late, we could easily replace her…bring in a more established girl…’

‘No…! Of course it’s too late this late into production, to bring about a complete turnaround now would be disastrous, we’ve already lost time, and not to mention the cost…you know that. Besides, I don’t want to replace anybody. They are perfect…’

‘Oh, come on, Harry! Are you watching the same two people…?’

‘Yes…and I’m telling you, there is something between them…chemistry…something electric, I can see it…’

Billy scoffed, ‘Yeah…That’s not really the point, is it…let’s only hope you can make them see it as well…’

‘I can…and I will… I’m not giving up on them on yet….’

Billy was suddenly struck by a thought. ‘Look Harry this wasn’t like that commercial is it, you know that time you got drunk and took up that bet on casting the first two people you saw…?’
Harry became defensive. ‘Hey…that only happened once, alright? And I was really drunk…’

‘Okay…it’s your call…’

Harry nodded, and called out, ‘Places, people! Get ready to go again…’ A final touch of make up and adjusting of the costumes and the scene was ready to be played out again.

Rupert’s hands shook as he worked and the lines he had drawn on the canvas could have been better done by a rank amateur. But really it could not be helped, Celia looked…my God, he thought, she is beautiful…

Aware that he had stopped drawing all together and now was just staring stupidly, he dropped his pencil and walked purposefully over to her.

She refused to look up.

Rupert had known it would be beyond temptation for them to be left alone. He had tried to make some excuse to her father to avoid exactly this situation, but he trusted him.

Lord Grayson had welcomed Rupert, a destitute painter, into his home, and treated him with more dignity than Rupert was ashamed to admit he deserved. This trust, solemn as it was, and solemnly placed with him, he was about to violate.

What a violation it would be…he loved her, he loved Celia…beyond reasoning, beyond doubt and beyond promises to an old man more trusting than was wise.

He fell at her feet, and still she did not acknowledge him as she sat in that pose favoured by wealthy ladies: dress billowing outwards and with a book in hand, wishing to look more studious and better read than they really were. He dared not speak; she looked at him at last…and smiled.

‘I am no artist sir, but I believe you would find a better prospect from where you stood…’

‘The view is perfect from here…Celia, you would be enchanting from every angle; if I never saw it again, this fair prospect would remain with me forever…’

Celia laughed unintentionally and he looked hurt. ‘You have chosen the wrong vocation sir; with such pretty words…surely you ought to have been a poet…?’

‘It would not matter what I was or am, nothing I could ever paint or say would match you…Celia…’

He whispered her name again and again, and taking the hem of her dress kissed it reverently. She was all seriousness now.

‘Then I am sorry for you, sir; it must be a cruel punishment indeed to be plagued with such a poor opinion of one’s talent…’

He stared at her wide-eyed, not wishing to understand. She continued and every word was a twist of the knife she plunged into his heart.

She took her dress out of his hands. ‘You had better finish your portrait sir…from where you stood before…’ Her coldness was unmistakable. He took her advice and, rising slowly, walked back to the canvas. He carried on, every stroke with his pencil a sweeping, angry gesture…he hated her!

‘And…cut!’ Harry leapt out of his chair and, walking over to Lizzy, tried to smile... ‘Okay, that was better, but…’ He stopped short. The poor girl was looking tired. He had forgotten this was her first film and she was not used to the punishing schedule. She had not yet developed the stamina required for such an ambitious project; he felt sorry for her.

‘Okay…let’s call it a day. We’ll move on to the family scenes with Lord Grayson and Celia tomorrow…’ He looked down at Lizzy and, placing a hand on her shoulder, tried to reassure her, ‘You’re doing fine…don’t worry.’

Lizzy sat in her trailer utterly depressed. She was still in her costume; the girl who had been assigned to help her undress and return the costume safely was late.

She endeavoured to remove the make up herself. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she knew exactly what was wrong, and why scenes with Darcy were proving difficult.

Aside from her dislike of the man, it was the startling conclusion which she had reached after the party. Sleep had been an impossibility after Marcie’s words, and as she tossed and turned, she suddenly realized the meaning behind the significant looks they had exchanged, the confidences they shared. Of course, it was all so clear…Fitzwilliam Darcy and Marcie Hicks were having an affair! What else could have been meant by her, ‘desire and expectation’…it was all so clear.

Now she found it impossible to be on set with the two men. Every moment spent with Darcy increased her anger at his dishonesty and cruelty towards the man he regarded as a friend. And Harry…poor Harry, she could barely look him in the eye.

Lizzy in desperation had called Jane, who had promised to come tomorrow. She smiled when she thought of her sister; there, at least, was the promise of some happy prospects. Jane had been spending a lot of time with Bingley, and Lizzy was delighted for them both.

Bingley was not at all like his friend. A starker contrast could not have been made: he was kind and gentle, and generously humoured. Darcy, on the other hand, was mean and resentful, and so full of…deceit.

Darcy stood in the doorway watching her intently; they were setting up the table again for the family scene. Lizzy sat on one side of the actor who was playing Lord Grayson, smiling and laughing in the most engaging fashion.

He was aware of the little pangs of jealousy he felt at her easy, friendly manner with just about every one else involved in this film, that was, everyone except himself. Towards him she continued cold and indifferent, a manner which in turns thrilled and frustrated him.

It alarmed him, all the little things he noticed about her: the way she played with that same strand of hair when she was nervous, how she tilted her head to one side and smiled wistfully, and all the things he had picked up and retained in memory from her conversations with others. He knew they were a family of five sisters of which she was the second; that her parents had both been theatre actors, and that her father was in fact in a play; even that her favourite colour was green.

His pleasant reverie was uninterrupted by a figure appearing at his side. He smiled warmly and pointed out the point of his interest. ‘Is it me, Bingley…or does Collins get slimier every day…?’

Mr Collins, as he preferred to be known, was the resident history expert: an authority on the period in which The Framed Rose was set, and therefore perfect to advise Harry on the authenticity of his production.

He had been called in at the start and almost at once set about falling in love with the leading lady. His attentions towards her were painfully obvious, and soon became the butt of everyone’s joke on set. Lizzy tried hard and unsuccessfully in turns to ignore and dissuade it, but Collins proved as resilient as he was annoying.

He hovered about her even now, straightening out the set pieces on the table and laying a hand on Lizzy’s arm as he did so. She was obviously uncomfortable with his familiarity but much too good natured to say so.

Bingley smiled, feeling sorry for Lizzy. ‘You’re right…I didn’t think it was possible, but I think he’s sunk to a new low…’

‘Well, it’s good to have you back; do I have to ask where you’ve been…?’ Darcy smiled knowingly and watched Bingley blush.

‘It’s nothing like that, we had a nice time…Jane is…Look, we went to the zoo yesterday alright? That’s all…’ he stammered.

Darcy laughed at his awkwardness. ‘To the zoo…Well, Bingley, you really know how to show a girl a good time…’

‘What…?’ he cried defensively.

Everything was in place now, and Harry called everyone but the actors off the set. ‘Silence, please…’ he bellowed.

The scene was only beginning to get going when a couple of voices could be heard giggling. The next moment a shrill, excited sound behind Harry piped up. ‘She’s very good, isn’t she…She gets it from my side of the family you know…’

It appeared so suddenly and so close that Harry was startled out of his chair. Once over his initial shock, he began to shout, ‘Who the hell are you…What is this woman doing here, this is a closed set…Get her out of here…!’

Darcy and Bingley, amused by the scene, peered closely; the cause of Harry’s foaming at the mouth was apparently a middle-aged woman. She wore the most ridiculously loud, flamboyant clothes and an obscenely large, brimmed hat complete with an abundance of purple feathers. The thing on her arm remained a mystery, though.

‘What is that…?’ Darcy asked an equally bemused Bingley.

‘I think it’s some sort of dog…’ he replied.

‘Is it alive…?’

Lizzy had likewise heard the commotion, but she realized in horror the voice arguing with Harry before she actually turned to see, was familiar…and heavens…! Yes she was right…instant recognition of the woman angrily wagging her finger at the director, and furthermore of the two giggling voices shamelessly flirting with the light technician, resulted in Lizzy letting out a tortured a moan and dropping her head on the table, convinced she was going to die of shame.

‘Oh no, Jane….what have you done…’ she murmured into the tablecloth.

‘I’m sorry, Lizzy...I won’t blame you if you never forgive me…’ Jane pleaded her case with her sister. They had retreated to her trailer, bolting the door behind them.

‘That’s something I’m seriously considering right now Jane…what were you thinking, telling her…bringing her here…with Kitty, Lydia and even Mary in tow?’

‘I’m sorry...’ Jane repeated, ‘but you know what mother is like…she cornered me, she knew you had gone up for some big project…and then she kept asking and asking, believe me Lizzy she just wouldn’t stop…’

Lizzy softened her tone, ‘Poor Jane…it’s a good thing they don’t trust you with state secrets…’

‘I could withstand the worst torture very well, but we both know mother is positively sadistic…when she starts to lament on her nerves, and how poorly she is used by everyone…’ They both laughed, thoroughly reconciled.

‘Unwelcome guests aside, I’m glad you’re here, Jane. There’s something I want to talk to you about…’ Lizzy poured out all her fears and suspicions regarding Darcy and Harry’s girlfriend. Thoroughly expecting a sympathetic ear, she was surprised when Jane burst out laughing.

‘I’m sorry for laughing Lizzy, but it’s ridiculous…they’re not having an affair...!’

‘Really…you know that for sure..?’

Jane shook her head, ‘Lizzy, she’s nearly old enough to be his mother…’

‘So…she’s nearly old enough to be Harry’s mother…she is still a very attractive woman…’

‘Trust me Lizzy, they are not having an affair…I would know, Bingley would have said something…’

‘Oh..?’ Lizzy smiled slyly at her.

‘There’s no need to smile like that Lizzy…, but he’s so open and honest he wouldn’t have kept such a thing to himself...’

Lizzy at length complied with Jane’s better sense, and admitted perhaps she had read too much meaning where there was none, and looked for a sordid explanation where a perfectly innocent one existed.

She reached up and hugged her sister, ‘I’m so glad to have you back…’

After a frantic ten minutes in her trailer composing herself and being consoled by Jane, Elizabeth and her sister emerged and returned to the set they had left in a hurry.

Harry, thoroughly defeated by their mother, sat languidly in his chair, fed up and self pitying; he offered Lizzy a withering look as she caught his eye.

Mrs Bennet stood talking with Mr Collins. Lizzy surveyed the scene and cringed. She noted the miserable creature held tentatively on her mothers forearm, and turned to Jane.

‘God, Jane, that thing is still alive…?’ She referred to the small Yorkshire terrier dog.

Jane smiled sympathetically, ‘You mean the rather ironically named Warrior? And, yes, the old mutt is still alive, just not kicking as much…’

‘Somebody ought to put that poor thing out of its misery…’

‘Don’t worry; he doesn’t bite as much as he used to, lack of teeth…’

They approached their mother and Mr Collins slowly. Lizzy had no intention of hearing what they could possibly have to discuss. ‘Mother, may I speak to you for a second?’ She smiled pleasantly at Collins, who grinned rather stupidly in return.

‘Miss Bennet, I was just telling your mother what a pleasure it was working on this film. The presence of a certain party has certainly served to heighten the pleasure…’

Lizzy, although smiling, could not help but wonder if it was possible he was getting slimier by the day.
‘Pray excuse us, Mr Collins…’ Lizzy was forced to take her mother by the arm, careful not to touch the poor excuse for a dog, and carry her away.

Mrs Bennet began in her shrill, breathless way almost at once. ‘Lizzy, why you didn’t tell me you were working with Darcy? In fact, I wonder why Jane didn’t tell me…I wonder have been down here straight away…’ Barely a breath later and she was off again. ‘Do you know he’s from a long noble, line of actors…He has the largest theatre in Derbyshire, the world famous Pemberley theatre…Lizzy he’s worth thousands…’

Lizzy sighed, ‘Thank you mother, for that entirely mercenary approach…’
Mrs Bennet was not actually listening; she was busily envisioning white dresses and churches… ‘It’s even better than Jane’s Bingley; Lizzy, you could do a lot worse than marry Darcy…’

‘Marry…!’ Lizzy practically choked on the word. ‘Mother, you have barely known Darcy for five minutes. I have known him for a little longer and am convinced it has been too long already…Believe me, you may put away any romantic notions you have there…’

Mrs Bennet was disappointed and persisted, until Lizzy repeated some of what Darcy had stated about actresses in general, and then Mrs Bennet was as offended and disgusted as Lizzy had expected a former actress to be.

Still, she was not one to be put off a single thought quite so easily and seeing Collins yet hovering, had no qualms substituting one potential bridegroom for another. ‘Well what about Collins, then? He’s no looker, but he’ll do well enough for you…besides, for some reason, he’s quite taken with you…’

Lizzy had spent too long deadening herself to her mother’s often thoughtless comments to be hurt. ‘Thank you mother…I love you too…’
As her mother chose not to understand, she turned the conversation to her father and his absence.

Mrs Bennet was equally as scathing on that point, ‘Oh, he has rehearsals…that play is apparently far too important to come support his daughter on her first film…’
Lizzy could not hide her disappointment. Her father was one of the few men whose opinion she truly valued, and he was not here to offer it.

She knew her mother’s resentment stemmed entirely from jealousy. She had no doubt, had her mother still been receiving offers for parts in plays, her rehearsal would have proved equally more important than Lizzy’s first film.

Leaving her mother in the trusted presence of Jane, Lizzy hurried away to find her absentee sisters. She had a fair idea as to where the first two would be, and as the sound of their ceaseless giggling pointed out, she was right. They were still standing with various members of the lighting crew, who appeared delighted with some female company at last.

Lizzy was greeted with positive resentment as she took both her sisters and dragged them away. ‘For God’s sake, Lydia, Kitty…the lighting crew, those sad beings…When are you two girls ever going to show some class…?’

Mary was discovered as they were passing; Lizzy picked her up just in time, as she was about to offer another lecture on the issue of classic books being mauled by substandard film adaptations to yet another unsuspecting victim.

Having finally gathered her clan, Lizzy ushered them off the set and through some side doors. She spied Darcy, sitting in a chair, watching them whilst pretending to read a newspaper; she thought she saw him smirk superiorly and at once grew angry and ashamed.

Once safely outside, Lizzy asked her mother about her plans. ‘Well…’ she began in hope, ‘I guess this is a flying visit…I’m sure you have to get back home, you’ll have a long drive…hadn’t you best be going...?’

Mrs Bennet laughed that shrill laugh of hers, ‘Don’t be silly, Lizzy! We’re staying for a while yet…You know your Aunt Philips has a boarding house not a couple of miles from here…no we’ll be here almost every day…’

‘Oh, good…’ were all the words Lizzy could muster between gritted teeth.

Part 4- ‘….waltzes of the heart…’

Posted on Sunday, 20 November 2005,

Lord Herington must have thought himself on the verge of making a considerable amount of money when he had agreed to allow his estate to be used as the primary location for the film’s settings. He had reason, however, after seeing the complete overhaul of his grand house, the building of false walls in the rooms to tie in with correct period, and the continued comings and goings of the multitude of people, actors, technicians, and the rest, to think his thirty pieces of silver dearly bought.

The Herington estate, settled neatly within the foothills of the Pennine Hills, straddling the border between Scotland and England, was perfect to depict the scenes of Celia’s family life and wealth. The grounds were ample and though the interior had needed some adjustment, it was vast and perfectly suited. Though the grounds may have proved to be perfect, affairs on the set were proving less harmonious.

It had only been a week since the Bennet ladies’ arrival, and Harry had already been held back physically on several occasions to prevent him from strangling Mrs Bennet. She made a mockery of his authority, was obnoxious and rude to Darcy, encouraged Collins in his attentions to Lizzy, despite the latter’s wishes to the contrary, and continually embarrassed Jane and Bingley with all her insinuations.

The daughters were not much better. Lydia and Kitty flirted with anyone that offered them more than a passing glance, and Mary took it upon herself to offer tips on self improvement to whichever poor soul had ventured too close.

They were a continuous source of embarrassment to Lizzy, whose anguish was clear to everyone except them; they ignored her hints, subtle and otherwise, to leave.

But at least during filming, on the sets they were safe; Harry had appointed burly security men for exactly that, with specific instructions to be on the lookout for the dreaded Bennet quartet!

It was after a particularly heavy day of filming, during which Darcy and Lizzy were finding it – as usual – difficult to get along, that Lizzy would gain yet another insight into his character.

Harry had just called ‘cut’ much to the relief of everyone, and as a frustrated Darcy made his way off the set, he was stopped suddenly in his tracks by what appeared to be an extra. He stared at the man who stood in his way. Lizzy was watching it all and saw him turn pale with anger, and the stranger became red. He spoke to Darcy, and Lizzy could not fathom if it was the words that were spoken or the sight of this stranger, but Darcy, with more than usual alacrity and common rudeness, turned on his heel and walked away, banging the door with frightening force as he went.

Lizzy was astounded, and was thinking of the incident with some curiosity, when she was joined by one of the men in question.

‘Excuse me…’ Lizzy turned to see a handsome, tall man smiling at her. ‘I’m sorry; I just had to come and speak to you…my name is George Wickham.’

Lizzy smiled in return, and he took that as encouragement.

‘The Framed rose is my favourite book, and well I just have to say…I think you’re perfect…’ Lizzy laughed, embarrassed.

He shuffled and smiled coyly at her, ‘That is…I mean to say that you are exactly how I have pictured Celia…’

‘Thank you…that’s very kind of you…’ Lizzy couldn’t help but ask, the incident between this man and Darcy was to her so very peculiar, ‘I hope you don’t mind my asking…but I couldn’t help but notice…you know my co-star…?’

Wickham seemed cautious in his reply. ‘Darcy..? Yes I do…are you much acquainted with his character..?’

Lizzy was quick to respond, ‘No…no, that is to say, we are forced to spend a great deal of time together, but I am as much acquainted with his character as I could ever wish to be…’

Wickham nodded sympathetically. ‘I am sorry to hear it…though I can’t say I’m surprised; you see, I have known Darcy all my life…’

Lizzy’s astonishment at these words must have spoken volumes.

‘You are surprised, I know, Miss Bennet. You must have noted our less than warm address…?’

Lizzy reluctantly admitted she did; she did not wish to appear prying.

‘We are not on friendly terms…Darcy and I…, but, Miss Bennet, that is far too long a story, though it’s one I would gladly tell you, if you would join me for a drink…if that is not too forward of me…’

Lizzy blushed, ‘No...I would be delighted…’

Less than an hour later Lizzy and Wickham were seated in the far corner of the local pub talking intently. Her glass was still practically full, his stories had her riveted; he could tell a tale with the most pleasing accuracy and with such animation that Lizzy was left with little attention for the drink.

She was fascinated, more so when he at last reached the subject which interested her most: Darcy.

‘We grew up together. My father was an assistant to Darcy’s. As children we would run around the theatre, play under the stage and everything else…’

‘What happened between you two…?’

‘Old man Darcy died and all his son’s fears and insecurities came to the surface; you see, his father was very fond of me. So much so that he left me a significant sum of money and a share in the theatre. But Darcy refuted all that and I was left with nothing…it is the reason you see me this way now, Miss Bennet, on the verge of abject poverty and forced to take jobs as an extra.’

Lizzy could not believe what she was hearing. ‘Why…why would he behave so cruelly…?’

‘I can only think it was because of jealousy, that his father should love me, perhaps more than him…’

‘But to act so viciously to a childhood friend as to leave you destitute…Why didn’t you seek legal help…?’

Wickham sighed remorsefully. ‘Because it would have inevitably turned into an ugly court battle, and I couldn’t bear to bring the theatre into disrepute, and Miss Bennet, I loved and do still love the memory of his father too much to risk exposing his son…’

Lizzy smiled empathetically and thought him the noblest, most self-sacrificing creature in the world. Her thoughts returned again to Darcy. ‘I never thought him as bad as this…and I wonder how he can so successfully trick his friend into believing in him so fully. Mr Bingley is his closest friend, and no fool…he is one of the kindest men I have ever met…I wonder, Mr Bingley can’t know what he really is…’

‘You forget Darcy is an actor, a highly skilled one at that, he may make Bingley or anyone else he wishes to believe what he chooses…’

Lizzy agreed, ‘Yes of course, you are quite right…Do you know Mr Bingley?’

‘A little. I have heard something of him…Darcy’s publicist as well as his friend, I believe…’ he smiled quietly, ‘Bingley may prove to be one of those rare creatures to make an impression on our Darcy…’ Lizzy’s quizzical look pressed him to add more. ‘I believe Darcy has him in mind as a potential husband for his sister Georgiana…’

Lizzy’s thoughts at once flew to Jane; a potential rival could prove trouble for her heart. She did not think to question how Wickham could have come to know such information.

‘And Bingley…what of his response…?’

‘Well, I know that he is fond of her at least…’

It was easy to see Lizzy’s interest was particularly piqued now. ‘What is she like, Miss Darcy…?’

Wickham recalled thoughtfully, ‘Very pretty. I wish I could say better, but I believe she has turned out too much like her brother, haughty and reserved…’

Lizzy stood staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her thoughts were indelibly fixed on the conversation of a few days ago with Wickham. Harry had given them the weekend break off filming, and Lizzy was more thankful for it than anyone could have imagined. Seeing Darcy again so soon, after all that she had heard about him, probably would have resulted in her slapping him again or worse. She had gone to stay with her family at her Aunt Philips’ boarding house.

The only condition to the break had been that they attend a charity ball organized by Marcie, yet another publicity shot. It was the reason she was standing in front of the mirror, giving more attention to her dress and makeup than she had ever done before. She wore her hair down; the tousled locks she thought were her best feature cascaded about her shoulders and the thin straps of her bottle-green dress.

Lizzy had extended the invitation to Wickham; they were allowed to bring a guest and as it was already a given that all her family were already invited, she looked forward to seeing him there.

Of Darcy’s behaviour towards Wickham she, at the latter’s behest, had not breathed a word to another soul…except, of course, to Jane. She had been careful to leave out mention of Georgiana; it would have only caused needless worry. Everything else she related, and Jane’s reaction showed her tendency to think the best of everyone. Jane was sure there had been some sort of mistake, it was all tragic error, and no one could be blamed.

Elizabeth strongly disagreed with her; there certainly was someone to blame…Darcy.

The dinner proved more of a torturous affair than Lizzy could ever have feared. She soon discerned Wickham was not among the crowds, and from then on any anticipation of enjoyment was entirely done away. He had assured her that he would come, in spite of Darcy, that he was not afraid of him and Darcy ought to be the one to leave if he wished to avoid him. Darcy was, of course, there, standing in the corner and as usual avoiding eye contact with everyone; the sight of him now provided Lizzy with added resentment.

She found her place, a table in the centre of the room, in clear view of everyone. The name card next to hers was to add to her despair: Fitzwilliam Darcy. There was no escaping him. Lizzy soon ascertained the whole thing to being Marcie’s handiwork, who made a point of smiling and raising her glass to her. Lizzy forced a smile in return.

Thankfully, Darcy appeared to be in a more sullen mood than she, and aside from a few comments in the beginning on the starter and the excellent wine, said precious little thereafter. The various speakers on the charity were listened to in silence and Lizzy thought she could breathe a sigh of relief when it seemed Darcy would leave without speaking to her at all; she would have found it hard to keep a civil voice in her head.

He got up after the speeches, and Lizzy was likewise considering leaving when Darcy returned and addressed her. ‘Miss Bennet…as the band has started up, I wonder…I do not claim to be much of a dancer, but I have been told I’m very good at the waltz…’

His application was so sudden that she found it hard to reply. He repeated his request, holding out his hand, ‘Miss Bennet would you do me the honour of dancing with me…?’

A turn of her head and she spied Marcie, staring wide-eyed at her and, it appeared, mouthing words of encouragement; it was impossible for Lizzy to answer otherwise.

‘Thank you…yes’ and placing a cool hand in his, she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. The space was empty; by all appearances they looked like the handsome young couple setting an example. They were soon joined by other couples.

He held her close, her hand rested on his shoulder, their heads almost touching whilst his arm encircled her waist. Marcie was delighted; publicity like this could not be bought, and she was soon directing photographers towards the film star couple dancing intimately.

Darcy had no wish to speak; this was too delicious, holding Lizzy as close as this, his lips almost caressing her ear, feeling her warm breath in the nape of his neck. The soft rise and fall of her chest, pressed next to his…he breathed it all in deeply and, closing his eyes, swayed her gently in time to the softly playing music.

Darcy may have been enjoying the relative silence between them, but Lizzy saw it as too much of an opportunity to miss, she could not resist. ‘We are a temperamental lot…’ she began, ‘we actors, are we not, Mr Darcy…would you agree…?’

He looked at her curiously. ‘Perhaps…’

Lizzy smiled, ‘…quick-tempered…and with our fair share of melodramatic prejudices and a taste for developing resentments…’

‘I would not like to confess to such failings in a character…’

‘Do you consider them failings…?’ Lizzy looked at him intently.

He was unnerved by her frankness. ‘Irrational prejudice, anger and implacable resentment…yes of course…’

‘Perhaps it is precisely because we are actors. Our emotions are always called upon to be entirely on the surface…Would you consider that to be a viable excuse, if one were to behave unfairly…’

She had a curious tone in her voice Darcy did not like. He grew suspicious. ‘Miss Bennet may I ask to what these questions tend…’

She tried vainly to reassure him, and laughed lightly, ‘I am only trying to make out your character, Mr Darcy…’

‘You have had the best part of six months. I would never have thought myself to be so complex…our time together has given you little opportunity for success?’

‘It is confusing, I hear such different accounts of you, from such varied sources that…I do not know which to believe…’

Darcy’s voice took on its own gravity now. ‘I can readily believe it, Miss Bennet, and I would not wish to influence your decision. Choose whatever source you wish, it makes little difference to me either way…’

‘A thoroughly admirable detachment, Mr Darcy…’

They descended once more into silence, until he began again, ‘How was your weekend…?’

She sighed tiredly, and endeavoured to answer him with some semblance of patience. ‘Uneventful, but a welcome rest nonetheless.’ She smiled slyly, ‘I did, however, have the pleasure of making a new acquaintance…’ She looked forward to seeing his reaction when she announced Wickham’s name, but he proved to have prior knowledge of the affair.

‘You mean, of course, George Wickham….’ He met her astounded gaze, ‘You work on a small set, Miss Bennet, and gossip is a part of daily life…’

‘Yes, Mr Wickham…’ she was mortified that the crew had been talking about her.

‘I do not doubt that he is one of the sources you mentioned…’

‘Yes…’ Lizzy regained her courage, ‘his tale in relation to you was highly interesting…’

Just then the band finished their number and Lizzy gladly unwrapped herself from him. He looked at her closely. If he was about to say something, Lizzy did not wish to hear it, and she began to walk away. She thought she had safely made her escape, when a hand suddenly seized her tightly above the wrist.

Darcy had followed her, and now pulled her arm with such force that she twirled right back into his arms again! At that precise moment, the band started up with a series of dramatic sultry chords, perfectly timed. She later wondered if Darcy had given them a signal and planned the whole thing.

He held her tight, forcefully pressing her close; one hand still held her arm tightly, whilst the other he placed in the small of her back. Lizzy shivered involuntarily as he slid his knee between her inner thigh and nudged her legs further apart to adjust her stance. She could only stare at him, amazed, as he brought her face close to his and began the first steps to the tango.

It was clear from his expression he was angry and intended to make sure she knew it; the other couples had meanwhile stepped back and formed a ring around them, thinking they were about to be treated to an impromptu display of dance.

Darcy lips brushed her cheek as he hissed at her, ‘Now let us be clear, Miss Bennet, I care little enough for your opinion of me and even less for that of your friend George Wickham…’

He quickened his pace at these words and before Lizzy could respond, swiveled her right around and leaning forward, pushed her back and then pulled her forward in a dazzling series of steps all in time to the music. Darcy suddenly dipped her low; her back arched and her long hair almost touched the floor before he snapped her back up again.

‘You will find this out soon enough: Mr Wickham is blessed with those engaging manners and happy conduct as to guarantee him friends wherever he goes…’

Again he twirled her out of his arms, before catching her by the hand and pulling her back so close that their lips almost touched, ‘…but his ability to keep them is less certain..’

Lizzy grew breathless; she was not used to dancing like this. She felt herself being lowered into yet another dip, with his hand at the base of her spine supporting her, but this time as he brought her back up Lizzy seized her chance to speak.

‘And wretched indeed is the soul that is as unfortunate as to lose the friendship of Mr Darcy, for it is likely to be an affliction they suffer from for the rest of their lives, as Mr Wickham has found to his cost…’

At this Darcy merely huffed and Lizzy was convinced she had silenced him. A strange feeling arrested her…could it be that she was enjoying this? Darcy danced so well, but the thought of praising this man seemed to betray her friendship with Wickham.

Another swing of the arms and Lizzy was propelled outwards, twirling prettily as she went. Fully expecting Darcy to catch and pull her back again, she stopped dead in her tracks when nothing happened…Darcy was not there to catch her.

In fact, she found to her horror he was not even on the dance floor, but instead she saw him making his way through the crowd and towards the doors without once looking back!

He was leaving…leaving her halfway through a dance…and with the crowds still looking on. Lizzy, humiliated and shocked, could only stare after him, mouth agape…and thanks to Marcie; dozens of photographers were there to capture it all.

Poor Lizzy…amidst the sympathetic looks and what seemed hundreds of flashing bulbs of cameras, she felt a deep blush creeping up her neck and spreading over her face. Though she would never admit it…she had begun to enjoy herself.

Part 5-‘…An unwelcome proposal…’

Posted on Friday, 25 November 2005

Darcy tiredly rubbed his eyes as he read the newspaper spread out in front of him, with the headline screaming, ‘The Framed Rose Proves It Has Its Thorns’. The two page spread was making him nauseous; what had he done?

Lizzy Bennet had succeeded in making him so angry that for the first time in three years he had gone out and gotten completely drunk. And now the frame by frame shot of his dancing with Lizzy and then abandoning her was proving no cure for a hangover.

He had long forgiven her, his anger had been soon replaced by a powerful, tolerable feeling; it was the thought that George Wickham had encroached upon his life once more that had caused the excess drinking. He was a shadow, a bane he could not shake off…and an immeasurable source of pain to those he loved.

Had he really said her opinion did not matter, that he did not care for it…? How wrong could he have been? As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them; it had been long since her opinion had proved to be the only one that mattered.

Bingley’s entrance was as sudden as it was loud and painful to a tender Darcy. He groaned as his friend slapped down a handful of papers on the table, one after the other, in front of him.

‘You know, Darcy, it’s stunts like this that make my job all that much harder…’

‘Bingley…please don’t shout…’

Bingley noted the way Darcy was holding his head. ‘My God…are you drunk?’ He sounded disgusted.

‘No…not any more…’ Darcy was holding out his tongue, trying to remember what it felt like, without all the fur and awful taste.

Bingley was shouting again, ‘What the hell is the matter with you…? Whatever Lizzy may have said or done…nothing…nothing justifies the way you humiliated her last night…’ He snatched up a paper and began to read.

‘…Rumours persisted, and were given added force yesterday, of a rift between the two main stars of the much-anticipated and eagerly awaited film, The Framed Rose. Though much denied, the chilly atmosphere between Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy, who are to portray the lovers Celia and Rupert, was evident at the charity ball they both attended. They were seen to hardly speak at dinner, and though the dance that followed appeared to be intimate and spontaneous, one could not help but suspect it had all been staged…’

Bingley fixed him with a stare, ‘Ready to hear more…?’ At Darcy’s feeble ‘No…,’ he carried on anyway.

‘…No one could know the words that passed between the two during this dance, but the effect of them proved to be quite spectacular. An evidently angry Darcy followed Miss Bennet as she made her way off the floor and engaged her, just as the band was striking up again, in the most passionate, angriest, and sultriest Tango the surprised audience are likely to have ever seen.
‘…This, we were soon to realize, was not staged, for instead of completing the dance and accepting the generous applause for such a fine display of footwork, Darcy proceeded to abandon his partner on the dance floor…’

Bingley paused for effect, fully intending to finish the article, when he was interrupted by Darcy. ‘Enough…Bingley, enough, please…I know what I did was terrible and I’m sorry…’

Bingley was not so easily reconciled. ‘It’s not me you have to apologize to, and you know, Darcy…somehow I don’t think ‘Sorry’ is going to cut it this time…’

Bingley stormed off, slamming the doors purposefully as he went. Darcy let out another painful groan.

Jane sat curiously eyeing Lizzy as she prepared herself for make-up and costume. She had never been so worried about her sister; events of last night had left Lizzy…curiously calm. Unnervingly calm. Jane had convinced herself Lizzy was planning something diabolical.

‘Lizzy...’ she began tentatively, ‘are you alright…?’ Her sister’s reply was surprisingly cheerful.

‘Yes, of course…why?’

‘Lizzy, we were all there last night; we saw what happened…what Darcy did…’

Jane saw her shrug it off, ‘It does no good to dwell on these things, Jane…besides, Darcy will be sorry, I will make him regret it…’

And there it was, the Lizzy she recognized, angry and passionate…but still, shouldn’t her expression be a little less lively, and a lot more serious? Jane stared anxiously at her sister.

‘Lizzy…?’

‘Hmmmm….?’

‘Lizzy…you’re not planning on hurting Darcy…physically, I mean…’ Jane pressed her arm desperately.

‘No, of course not…I’m angry, not psychotic, Jane …’

Jane smiled, relieved. She rose to leave but on second thoughts turned back. ‘…All the same… you wouldn’t mind if I took the scissors…the pins…, oh, and this nail file…’ She gathered up the items as she spoke, ‘…They don’t let you keep knives in here, do they…?’

Lizzy sat alone in pensive thought after Jane’s departure. She stared deeply into the mirror seeking out all her imperfections. She felt as she did when she had overheard Darcy’s view of actresses, just as awful and depressed. Her words to Jane, that she would prove Darcy sorry, had been nothing but shallow bravado; in truth, she had no idea how to take her revenge.

His humiliation of her had proved complete, and he had certainly shown how little her opinion of him mattered…what else was there?

Lizzy’s despairing gesture of raising her hand to cover her face and in turn knocking over something to the floor was to provide the answer; as she bent to retrieve the item, she saw her script for the forthcoming scene in her hand.

She smiled, suddenly realizing the answer was right before her! It was so simple; Lizzy berated herself for not thinking of it before. Of course, the only thing Darcy truly cared about, was passionate about, was his acting. Lizzy resolved to outdo him at that, she would act him off the screen…give a performance so breathtaking…so real, he would have to admit her worth, her potential…and most importantly, that he was wrong. He would resent the competition and she was sure she could do it…she certainly knew the book well enough.

Lizzy excitedly jumped out of her chair and hurried out of her trailer. She flung open her door and was shocked to be greeted with a painful moan upon doing so. Peeking behind the door, she was met with the sight of Mr Collins woefully rubbing his forehead, nursing what was proving to be a substantial lump.

‘Oh no, Mr Collins…are you alright? I’m so sorry…I didn’t see you there…’

‘That’s quite alright, Miss Bennet. I was just retrieving these cards I had dropped…entirely my fault, I assure you…’ She wondered at the cards he held in his hand. They had dropped into a puddle, and he was vainly trying to blow the water from them.

‘I wonder, Miss Bennet, if I may speak to you, alone…’

Lizzy smiled but shook her head, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Collins, but I am expected at make-up, perhaps another time…’

He stepped in her way. ‘Please, Miss Bennet…I assure you, it is quite important…’

It was clear he was not going to give way until she had heard him out, and purely in the interest of having it done with as soon as possible, Lizzy, resigned, gestured towards her trailer door.

She suspected something of what he had to say. She had seen him in frequent conversation with her mother, and the both of them had thrown such expressive glances towards her she was left in no doubt as to what they had been discussing.

She thought she saw him sneaking peeks at his cards, arranging them and shuffling them. Lizzy sat at her table, endeavouring to be patient. He looked up now and then, smiling and reading as he went. Lizzy sat up a few times in anticipation when it at last seemed as if he was about to speak, but he simply shook his head and went back to arranging his cards.

It had been a good ten minutes, and Lizzy was about to prompt him when at last Mr Collins did speak.

‘Miss Bennet, perhaps I ought to state my reasons for addressing you thus…though I cannot expect you to be too surprised, my feelings for you have long been made clear…but I get ahead of myself…’

Another quick glance through his cards to make sure of what he wrote and he was off again. ‘You see, my being a history expert, living alone with my books, has led to assumptions being made in the past amongst my neighbours, with regards to my…sexuality…’ Lizzy had to restrain herself from laughing as she saw how he struggled over the word.

‘Wrongful assumptions, I must hasten to add…but I wish to allay further embarrassment and question, Miss Bennet, by marriage…to you…’

Lizzy smiled; trust Mr Collins to be the only man in the world who would bring prompting cards when making a proposal. Though she knew her answer long before he asked the question, Lizzy could still not help but feel sorry for him, and in an effort to prevent further embarrassment she endeavoured to stop him before he said another word on the subject.

‘Mr Collins…’ He interrupted her by raising his hand before she could say anything more. Lizzy rolled her eyes in despair when his back was turned.

‘Please, Miss Bennet…from the first moment of my stepping onto the set, I have come to feel strongly for you…your wit and vivacity, though admittedly not exactly suited to my reserved nature…however, I think it’s something we will work out, we can tame and quieten that aspect of you, Miss Bennet…’

Lizzy balked at the idea, ‘Tame, sir…?’

He pretended not to hear her, ‘I find you wonderfully endearing, I am convinced you are exactly the type of woman to ensure my happiness…and I am pleased to add my attentions have not been entirely discouraged by you…’

Lizzy longed to say that this had been only because she had felt sorry for him, and nothing more, but he blundered on, oblivious, with yet another shuffle through the cards.

‘Miss Bennet, you must very well know, the film industry is far from certain, in fact this film itself…the chances of its success are in doubt, to say the least…be that as it may, Miss Bennet you are a sensible woman, I am sure you will appreciate the financial security only a husband with a secure social position such as mine can provide…’

Lizzy had been called many things but never a ‘sensible woman’. ‘Mr Collins, I thank you for you elegant words and…kind proposal, but…’

Mr Collins did not like the sound of that ‘but’ and hastened onwards, ‘Your mother has led me to believe that my pressing this suit was not entirely hopeless…’

Lizzy shook her head vigorously. ‘Then I am sorry, but she was wrong to do so…’

‘And I have spoken to your father; he was not forthcoming in his opinion but I believe he is not averse to the match…’

Lizzy was astounded; this was all moving at a pace she found difficult to keep up with. ‘You have spoken to my father..?’

‘Yes, I went to see him at his rehearsals. We spoke only briefly, as he was extremely busy, but he assured me that he would write to you on the subject…’

Lizzy looked around, puzzled. Spying her mail, she frantically searched through the post, and sure enough, there it was…a letter in a handwriting she fully recognized. Taking her eyes briefly away from Mr Collins appeared to have afforded him the perfect opportunity to suddenly fall to his knees before a startled Lizzy.

He placed a finger on her lips clumsily, ‘Miss Bennet…you must allow me to express my ardent admiration and passion for you, and only ask that if your reply is contrary to my wishes that you do not state it now…’

He seemed to gain momentarily in confidence, ‘…but if your reply is to make me the happiest man in the world, by all means answer at once…’ He removed his finger in order to allow her to do so, but soon replaced it again when she seemed hesitant.

‘Well, I only ask that you permit me to ask you again in a few months’ time…a little hope, if you please…that I may at least have some wish to expect your answer sometime in the future to be…favourable.’

Mr Collins looked so pathetic and forlorn that Lizzy could not help but feel sorry for him. Though she knew her answer could never be different, she could not see the harm in giving him the little hope he craved.

He left happy, and Lizzy was relieved to be rid of him at last. She turned to the note from her father in anticipation. Upon opening it she smiled; it was a short note, elegantly written and characteristically to the point.

My dear Lizzy,

I have endeavoured to send this letter in the hope that it reaches you before a certain proposal. If it proves to be a little late, it does not signify for I am confident of the choice you will make.

And now to the particulars: our mutual friend Mr Collins came to see me a few days ago with regards to a proposal for my favourite daughter. I will spare you the details; suffice it to say Mr Collins may have proved a novel amusement at first, but I’m afraid soon became tiresome. My only means of escape was to ensure him that my approval would only come after that of my daughter. I was deliberately vague as to my feelings on the subject. The poor man went away hopeful to say the least; I, of course, knew better.

Your mother called yesterday with her endorsement, afraid that your answer would prove unsatisfactory to both her and Mr Collins; she sought to gain my support for the whole affair.

If you are at all wavering as to your decision, Lizzy, perhaps my next words would do something to sway you. The unenviable prospect of henceforth being a stranger to one of your parents is before you: your mother will not speak to you again if do not marry Mr Collins, and I state, in no uncertain terms, that I will not speak to you again if you do.

There, I have done all that is required of me. I only add, I have implicit confidence in your judgment, Lizzy, and trust you will make the right decision accordingly.

As always,
Your loving father

Lizzy folded up the letter and was about to put it away, when her mother barged in without knocking.

‘Well, I have spoken to Mr Collins…you have outdone yourself this time, Lizzy…’ She spied the letter Lizzy held in her hand. ‘Is that a note from your father? Oh, he took the time to write, did he…let me see it…’

Lizzy smiled slyly as she handed it to her, ‘By all means, mother…’ well aware that his words would not meet with her approval.

Mr Collins’ lengthy proposal had already made her late; her mother’s anger would have to wait. She eased her way past her and, pushing open the door, hurriedly began to make her way to the make-up department.

But Mrs Bennet was not to be so easily eluded. She finished the note and, angrily scrunching it up in her hand, pursued Lizzy while waving the letter above her head. ‘Well, this is exactly what I would have expected from him…favourite daughter indeed…!’

Lizzy carried on walking, ‘You were wrong, mother, to give Mr Collins false hope like that, and now I have had to do the same…’

‘Is that why he looked so happy..?’

‘Are you really so ignorant of my character…’ Lizzy called back angrily, ‘that after twenty years you still don’t know your own daughter’s nature well enough to suspect that her answer might be a refusal…?’

‘Forgive me for thinking that my daughter of twenty years might finally have come to her senses…your career has hardly flourished, this film, your first, is verging on disaster.’

That stopped Lizzy in her tracks. She turned to face her mother angrily; this was the second person to cast aspersions on her future prospects.

Mrs Bennet refused to be intimidated. ‘And you are aware of our financial situation. If you think your parents will support you once you’re a washed-up, broke actress…’

Mrs Bennet had been expecting fireworks at this comment but surprisingly Lizzy merely smiled.

‘I will endeavour to forgive that little speech of yours, mother…because I know what a difficult time it must be for you…’ Lizzy spoke deliberately loud, attracting the attention of the numerous personnel milling about.

Mrs Bennet looked closely at her, puzzled and a little worried. ‘What are you talking about, Lizzy...?’

‘The hot flushes, the mood swings and the irritability…Mother, it’s all quite clear…’

Still Mrs Bennet refused to understand. Lizzy’s face turned to mock seriousness, ‘It’s quite alright, mother…it’s nothing to be ashamed of, and you’re merely passing onto another stage of the wonderful cycle of life…’

Her mother’s eyes widened as she realized with horror what Lizzy was implicating.

‘It is a perfectly natural thing for older, maturing women to go through…’ Lizzy paused deliberately, ‘…the MENOPAUSE…!’

Mrs Bennet at first gasped, and then, clutching her chest dramatically, practically screamed at the word. The sniggers of onlookers could not be mistaken. She turned on her heel and hurried away, calling out as she went, ‘Elizabeth Bennet…I will never forgive you for this…and I will never speak to you again…’

Her voice faded into the distance, and Lizzy, smiling, merely added, ‘What a blessing that would be, mother, if only it were true…’ before resuming her quick pace to make-up.

Her step was more self-assured than ever; Lizzy was determined to make a success of The Framed Rose if only to escape the sort of financial security Mr Collins was threatening.

Continued in Next Section