Mr. Darcy Forever (11 page)

‘
It probably wasn't her at all,’ Shelley said. ‘Everybody looks the same in costume. It could have been any number of people.’

Mia nodded. Shelley was probably right but Mia couldn't help wondering if the woman she'd seen really had been her sister.

When the promenade reached the Pump Room again, Sarah couldn’t help feeling a little lost. A great crowd of people were gathering outside the entrance to the Pump Room, luxuriating in having lunch in the sumptuous surroundings whilst wearing the most appropriate of clothing. Others were sitting on chairs outside cafés, happy to mingle with the modern world and not the least bit embarrassed by the looks they were getting.

It was always a sad moment to see the crowd dispersing and knowing it would be a full year before everybody met again. Of course, the festival was far from over and Austen stalwarts would continue to wear a costume until the last event closed and it was time for Bath to return to the modern world.

Sarah paused for a moment, wondering where she should go. She had lost her new friends in the crowd and wasn't at all sure what to do with herself.

‘
Don’t be such a child,’ she told herself. ‘You’re a grown woman and can fend for yourself. Just get a sandwich and sit on the bench.’

A few minutes later, she had bought herself some lunch and walked to the square by the abbey. There was a busker playing a guitar and singing and the benches were full of tourists and workers on their lunch break. In fact, there was only one bench that was free but a man had spotted it just before her and was making his way towards it. Sarah was just about to turn in search of somewhere else to sit when she realised it was the man from the restaurant. She recognized his neat dark hair and kind brown eyes.

She watched in fascination as he got out a large tissue and dusted the bench. It hadn’t been raining and the bench didn’t look dirty but he wiped each slat of wood before walking across to a nearby bin and placing the tissue in it. Returning to the bench, he sat down, placing a large bag next to him.

Sarah wasn't usually forward when it came to men but she really didn't fancy going in search of another place to sit and the dark-haired man looked slightly less threatening a proposition than most.

‘
Okay if I sit here?’ she asked as she approached the bench.

He looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘Please,’ he said with a nod.

Sarah sat down. She was terribly hungry. In fact, she could feel her stomach rumbling but she felt funny about eating in front of a stranger and so left her pack of sandwiches in her handbag.

‘
Weren’t you at the restaurant last night?’ he said.

Sarah gave a little smile – half thrilled, half shy. ‘Yes.’

‘
Good restaurant,’ he said.’

‘
Yes.’

‘
Clean.’

‘
Yes,’ Sarah said.

‘
I mean, all restaurants should be, of course, but they’re not. At least, not to –’ he stopped. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘
What for?’

‘
I’m boring you.’

‘
No, you’re not.’

He shook his head, looking embarrassed. ‘Really, I can go on sometimes.’ He cleared his throat and turned towards her. ‘I’m Lloyd,’ he said.

‘
I’m Sarah.’ She was relieved when he didn’t offer his hand to shake. That was another potential minefield for the OCD sufferer. Not everyone took as much care of their hands as someone with OCD although Lloyd had been talking about clean restaurants and had wiped the bench before sitting on it so his hands were probably cleaner than your average person’s. Then something struck Sarah. He hadn’t shaken hands with her not because he knew she wouldn’t want to but because he had probably thought that
her
hands weren’t clean. Sarah bit her lip and she immediately wanted to say something but she couldn’t really blurt out, ‘My hands are clean,’ could she? It wouldn’t be very gracious.

‘
What brings you to Bath?’ Lloyd said and Sarah was glad to be diverted from the unpleasant subject of how clean her hands were perceived to be.

‘
The Jane Austen Festival,’ she said, motioning to her costume.

He grinned. ‘I should've guessed,’ he said. ‘That’s why I'm here too.’

Sarah frowned. He didn't look like a fan but maybe he was a secret one. After all, not everybody went around sporting breaches and cravats and hadn’t she spotted him reading Jane Austen’s Collected Letters the night before?

‘
I’m a photographer. I'm here to photograph the festival,’ he went on.

‘
Oh!’ Sarah said.

‘
For
Vive!
’

Sarah grimaced at the name of the tabloid newspaper.

‘
Not for the newspaper itself,’ he said. ‘They’ve got a new Sunday magazine called
The Difference
.’ He gave a groan. ‘
Vive! – The Difference
, get it?’ The photographs are for that.’

‘
I don’t like that newspaper,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s full of appalling stories that just aren’t true.’

‘
I know,’ Lloyd said. ‘My mother’s horrified that I’m working for them but you can’t be too choosy when you’re freelance and it’s good exposure.’

‘
I suppose,’ Sarah said. ‘But I do hope they’re not going to make fun of the festival. Jane Austen fans in costume are an easy target, I’m afraid.’

‘
You’ve got no worries there. It’s a totally sincere piece to coincide with one of the Austen anniversaries.’

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief.

‘
Perhaps I could take a photo of you?’ he said.

‘
Oh, I don’t know,’ Sarah said, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. ‘I’m not very photogenic.’

Lloyd frowned and seemed to peer at her. ‘I wouldn’t say that. You look very photogenic from where I’m sitting.’

‘
No, no,’ Sarah said, in fear that he was about to get his camera out. ‘I much prefer to be on the other side of the camera.’ She opened her handbag and got out her tiny silver camera. ‘See?’ She showed him the screen and scrolled through some of the photographs she’d taken of the promenade.

‘
Very nice,’ he said.

‘
Well, they won’t be as good as yours.’ She watched as he opened up his bag and got a very impressive camera out.

‘
I think there are one or two I can use,’ he said and scrolled through the photos taken that morning.

Sarah gasped. They were stunning. He had caught the buoyant mood of the morning and the light was exquisite, capturing the smiling faces, swirls of fabulous fabric, and the beautiful surroundings perfectly.

And then her heart stopped. As picture followed picture, Sarah’s eyes picked out the image of a young woman she thought she recognised. Could it have been Mia?

‘
Go back!’ she suddenly blurted. ‘Back!’

Lloyd looked surprised but scrolled back through the photos.

‘
Stop!’ Sarah grabbed the camera from him and zoomed into the figure but it was impossible to tell whether it was her sister or not. It could be but it could just as easily be half a dozen other young women.

She handed the camera back to him. ‘Sorry,’ she said, suddenly realising how odd her behaviour must have seemed to him.

‘
Did you recognize someone?’

‘
No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I thought I did for a moment but I was wrong.’

He gave a little smile.

‘
Your pictures are wonderful,’ she said.

‘
Thanks,’ he said, putting the camera back in the bag. As he did so, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground and, at once, Sarah noticed what it was.

‘
Oh, you have a list!’ she said.

Lloyd cleared his throat as he retrieved it, obviously embarrassed. ‘I – er – yes,’ he said.

‘
I make lists too – all the time. I can’t leave the house without them.’

‘
Really?’

Sarah nodded. ‘You don’t think that’s weird, do you?’

‘
No,’ he said quickly. ‘That’s absolutely normal. I think people who leave home
without
lists are the strange ones.’

‘
Yes,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ve always thought so too. I mean, how do people remember everything without a list? How do they make the best use of their time?’

Lloyd nodded. ‘People might think they'll remember everything but something usually gets forgotten.’

Their eyes met and they both smiled as if they'd found a kindred spirit.

‘
I’m afraid I’ve got to go now,’ he said, standing up. ‘There’s an event on at the Guildhall.’

‘
Yes, the Country Fayre. I’m going to that later,’ Sarah said.

‘
Here’s my card,’ he said, fumbling for one from a jacket pocket.

Sarah took it from him and read the name in bold script across the top.

Lloyd Anderson

‘
Maybe I’ll see you there,’ he said, a definite invitation in his voice.

‘
Yes,’ she said, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked up and smiled at him. ‘Maybe.’

She watched as he walked away and became immersed in the crowds, thinking that her ‘maybe’ was a definite
probably
.

The walk back up to Barton Cottage was taking Mia longer than it really should have - not because her knee was sore but because she was rather enjoying linking arms with Alec Burrows.

‘
Okay?’ he asked as they squeezed through the gate together. ‘We’re nearly there.’

‘
Where are you staying?’ Mia asked.

‘
The little place just through the wood. It's right down by the water and has the most amazing views.’

‘
This one does too.’

‘
Yes,’ he said, looking back down towards the estuary. ‘My aunt used to live in Devon and we’d stay here on family holidays. I guess I never outgrew them.’

‘
Where do you live?’

‘
London,’ he said.

‘
Oh, I live in London too!’ Mia said, a bit too enthusiastically. She could almost hear Sarah admonishing her. ‘I’m in Ealing at the moment with a friend. I’ve just finished drama school.’

‘
Really? You’re an actress?’

‘
Yes. Well, more of a singer. I’m auditioning in the West End.’

‘
Wow!’ he said. ‘I’ve never met an actress or singer before. I’ll have to come and see you when you’re on stage.’

‘
Would you?’

‘
Of course. I’ll give you my card. Just let me know when and where.’

‘
I will,’ she said, imagining him sending her red roses to her dressing room and taking her out for a champagne supper after her first stunning performance. But she was getting too ahead of herself; she hadn’t even known him for five minutes.

‘
Now, let’s get you to the nearest sofa,’ he said and the two of them walked across the lawn and into Barton Cottage.