The Trouble With Emma (21 page)

“Miss Em?” Martine called up the stairs. “Was it you I heard come in just now?”

Emma left her room and appeared at the top of the stairs. “Guilty as charged.” She made her way down the steps. “What are you doing here on a Tuesday? - It’s your day off.”

“Your dad asked if I’d work an extra day, seein’ as the house is a tip with all these telly folk here. And he’s invited Mrs Cusack to tea this afternoon…” Her voice trailed away as she caught sight of Emma’s expression. “Oh. Didn’t he tell you?”

“No.” She let out a short breath. “But then, how could he? He’s not here. He’s out filming this afternoon. Or ‘shooting’, I suppose I should say.”

Martine adjusted the laundry basket on her hip. “They do have their own way of talkin’, that lot, don’t they?” She turned and made her way to the laundry room tucked away behind the kitchen. “Cheater cuts, dollies, gaffers and grips…it all makes my head spin.”

“Sounds as though you’re more familiar with the terminology than I am,” Emma observed as she went to the kitchen counter and switched on the kettle.

“That’s only because of Tom.” Her disembodied voice drifted out from the laundry room. “He explained some of that stuff, but most of it goes right over my head.”

“You like him, don’t you?” Emma said as the girl started the washing machine and returned to the kitchen. She took down two cups and set them out on the counter.

Martine nodded and caught the end of her ponytail, twisting it around her finger. “I do like him, a bit. Don’t get me wrong, though,” she hastened to add. “He’s full of himself and no mistake. But…” she blushed. “For all that, he’s good fun. He makes me laugh – always taking the piss and windin’ me up.”

“He came to the bakery today.”

“He did?” Martine regarded her in surprise and sank down at the table as Emma brought her a cup of tea.

Emma nodded and sat down across from her. “He said he couldn’t face another sandwich from the craft services table and bought two of Boz’s garlic and onion baps. He devoured them on the spot.”

“That’s Tom, all right.” She grinned and wrinkled her nose. “Guess we won’t be doin’ any snogging today, then.” Immediately she said the words, she turned scarlet. “I mean…that is –”

“Don’t worry, it’s none of my business.” Emma took a sip of her tea and added, choosing her words carefully, “Your personal life is your own. Just the same, I wouldn’t get too involved with Tom if I were you. I don’t think it’s advisable in the long run.”

Martine’s brow crumpled in perplexity. “I don’t understand. What do you mean? Why shouldn’t I see Tom, if I like him?”

“Oh, I’m not saying you shouldn’t see him,” Emma reassured her. “Of course I’m not! I like Tom, too. I’m only saying that in the long term, getting involved with someone like him could eventually lead to disappointment.”

“’Someone like him?” Martine’s confusion deepened. “What do you mean? He’s a good bloke. A bit cheeky sometimes, it’s true, but…”

“Tom’s lovely. I only meant that – well, he won’t be staying here in Litchfield for long. Like the rest of the crew, he’ll be leaving in a few weeks, going back to London.”

Just like Mr Knightley
, Emma reminded herself.

“Oh.” Martine sipped her tea, her expression subdued. “That’s true enough. But it doesn’t matter.” She brightened. “Because we can still text each other, and meet up now and then.”

“But it’s not the same,” Emma said gently. She pressed her lips together at the thought of Mark. “Trust me – he’ll forget about you the minute he’s gone. He’ll meet other girls, see other people…and you’ll become nothing more than a…a lovely memory.”

“Well, I hardly plan to
marry
him,” Martine pointed out, exasperated. “We have fun together. That’s all.”

“Are you sure?” Emma’s expression was sceptical. “It looks like a bit more than that to me. Of course,” she added, and gave a shrug, “it’s none of my business – but I don’t want you to get hurt when Tom leaves. Don’t get too attached, and you’ll be fine. Getting too serious is a recipe for disaster, I can assure you. Long distance relationships seldom work out.”

Martine was silent.

“What about Mr Churchill?” Emma prodded. “You two spent quite a lot of time together at the garden party.”

“Mr
Churchill
?” She shook her head firmly. “Oh, no. We flirted a bit, but he flirts with everyone. And he was only being polite, like. Besides, he’s far too posh for the likes of me.”

“Nonsense,” Emma said sharply. “He’d be lucky to have you.” Her recent conversation with Mark Knightley echoed in her head.

‘You think Martine isn’t good enough for Mr Churchill, don’t you?’

‘On the contrary, I think Mr Churchill is not nearly good enough for
her
.’

“I think the world of you, Miss Em, I do,” Martine assured her. She hesitated. “You’re kind, and thoughtful, and terribly clever. And you’re usually always right. But I think you’re wrong about this. Mr Churchill doesn’t like me, at least, not the way you mean. We’re just friends.”

Emma studied her and frowned.
‘Friends,’
Mark had once scoffed.
‘The word which puts paid to any hope of a potential romance between two people.’

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” she told the girl now, firmly.

Martine reached out and scrabbled through a pile of post on the table until she unearthed a creamy white envelope. “Speaking of Mr Churchill…this came in the morning post for you and your dad.” She handed it over. “Looks like an invitation.”

Emma frowned and slid her finger under the flap. “Yes, it does. I wonder…”

It was indeed an invitation, to James’s party at Crossley Hall in three weeks’ time.

“Is Mr C having a do at the Hall, then?”

Emma nodded. “It’s to be a cocktail reception.”

“Ooh, sounds posh. I wish I could go,” the girl said wistfully. “I’d love to have a peek around Crossley Hall. I always wondered what it looks like inside. I used to stand outside the gates when I was a kid.”

“I’ll speak to James,” Emma decided. “I distinctly remember him promising to invite you to the party as well as me. I’m sure he must have overlooked your name when he was addressing the invitations.”

“I doubt it.” Martine took a last sip of her tea and shoved her chair back as the washing machine stopped. “I’m sure Miss Fairfax took care of the invitations. She’s his PA, after all.”

“All the more reason to bring it up with James,” Emma insisted.

“Oh, please don’t worry yourself about it. I reckon if Mr Churchill wanted to invite me, he would’ve done.” And with a shrug, Martine disappeared into the laundry room.

As she set her cup aside, Emma heard a floorboard creak and glanced up sharply. Mark Knightley stood in the kitchen doorway. His expression could only be called disapproving.

“I sincerely hope you’re not matchmaking again, Miss Bennet,” he said.

Chapter 39

“How long were you standing there?” she demanded.

“Long enough.”

“We were discussing an invitation to Mr Churchill’s party, Mr Knightley, not that it’s any of your concern. How dare you eavesdrop on me in my own home?”

“Your home is my work location at present, whether you like it or not. As such, I have a reasonable and perfect right to be here.”

“But you have no right – reasonable, or otherwise – to listen to my private conversations.”
And you’ve no right to judge me
, she thought as she glared at him,
being as you’re a married man, and shamelessly pretending to be single…

“And you have no right to interfere in that girl’s life.” He paused as the sound of the dryer door slamming reached their ears, and lowered his voice. “I heard you just now, Emma, discouraging Martine from seeing Tom. Giving her ridiculous ideas –”

“’Ideas above her station?’” she finished, her voice low and trembling with fury. “Forgive me for encouraging her to do better for herself! What a judgmental snob you are, Mr Knightley.”

“Better a snob than a clueless young woman,” he retorted.

“I’d rather be clueless than conniving,” she flung back.

His eyes narrowed. “Conniving –? What the devil is
that
supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I know all about you, Mr Knightley. You’re the worst – and sadly, the most common – kind of hypocrite. You pretend to be something you’re not, letting others think –” she broke off.

“Think what?” he demanded.

“Never mind,” Emma said crossly. “That
you
should judge
me
is…is beyond insulting! Furthermore, I am
not
interfering in Martine’s life; I’m simply offering her my best and most considered advice in an effort to help her avoid a broken heart.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Bennet,” Knightley said evenly. “I don’t pretend to be anything other than what I am. And you’re wrong – you most definitely
are
interfering in that girl’s life!” He snorted. “‘Your best and most considered advice,’ my arse!”

“Please leave,” Emma invited him, her voice quivering with outrage.

“With pleasure.” He turned to go, then paused. “Tom is a good and decent man, Emma. He’s a hard worker with a good head and a good future in front of him. He’s worth ten of your flash friend, Mr Churchill. And here’s a bit of considered advice for
you
, Miss Bennet, before we part company. You’ve no business running someone else’s life when you can barely manage to run your own.”

So saying, he turned away and stalked back down the hall, leaving Emma speechless with fury, her hands clenched impotently at her sides.

***

Promptly at four p.m. that afternoon, Mrs Cusack arrived for tea.

“Come in, please,” Emma invited as she forced her lips into a polite smile. “Daddy’s in the drawing room, waiting.”

“Thank you, dear. Did you have a nice time in London?” she asked as she set her handbag aside on the hallway table.

“Very nice, thanks.”

“I’m so pleased. Your sister Elizabeth did quite well for herself, marrying Mr Darcy, did she not? Although –” she cast a quick, speculative glance at Emma. “I hear tell you’ve a suitor of your own, now.”

Emma’s smile vanished. “I’m sorry?”

Mrs Cusack folded her hands together and leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile. “Isabella told me she saw you at Hamleys with that handsome fellow from the programme, the writer.” She sighed and pressed one hand against her breast. “What I wouldn’t give to be young and pretty once again!”

“Isabella’s mistaken.” Emma’s words were firm. “Mr Knightley and I are friends. Nothing more. We scarcely know each other.”

The woman nodded but it was plain she didn’t believe her. “My niece said he had two boys with him. Is he divorced? If he is, he must’ve got married quite young –”

“Your niece is very observant,” Emma said tightly. “And very wrong.”
Isabella is having her revenge on me
, she realised, and pressed her lips together. “This way, if you please, Mrs Cusack.”

She turned and marched down the hall to the drawing room, leaving her father’s guest no option but to follow hurriedly in her wake.

***

Although she avoided Mr Knightley for the rest of the day, on Wednesday Emma rose early and got dressed with a feeling of dread in her stomach.

She picked up the sheet of paper lying on her desk and glanced at the typed page with a grim expression. Her name was all over the call sheet; there’d be no escaping Mark today.

Why, she wondered as she slammed out of the room, had she ever agreed to allow Litchfield Manor to appear on this ridiculous television programme?

Why, indeed.

When she came into the kitchen a few minutes later, Jacquetta looked up from her pages. “There you are, Emma. Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“We’re just getting ready to shoot the first scene in the library.” The presenter sidled closer to her. “I don’t mean to pry, but did you and Mark have a little falling out?”

Emma stared at her. “What on earth makes you say that?”

“Only, he’s been in the very
devil
of a foul mood since we all got back from London –”

She broke off as Mark appeared, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, and thrust several pages of scripted dialogue at Emma. “These are your lines, Miss Bennet. I recommend you learn them, and quickly. We’re filming in ten minutes.”

“But…there’s no time! I can’t possibly remember all of these lines –”

“Then I’d suggest you get reading.”

Before she could open her mouth to tell him to stuff it, he was gone.

“Now do you see what I mean?” Jacquetta stage-whispered, and wandered off down the hall to the library.

“I’m afraid it’s your turn to suffer today, Emma,” Mr Bennet said as he came into the kitchen in search of tea. “I’ve already done my penance in front of the cameras.”

“Oh, bother.” She sat down and scowled at the pages Mark had just given her, skimming the lines with a frown. “Simon and Jacquetta are recommending we restore the paddock and stables and establish Litchfield Manor as an equestrian training centre.”

“Horses?” Her father’s brows rose skyward. “But we’ve never kept any horses here. You always went to Cleremont and rode the Darcys’ horses. Besides which, good mounts cost a fortune – and we’d need at least six! And where would everyone stay?”

“At Litchfield Manor, of course.” She lowered the pages and eyed him thoughtfully. “We could do up the rooms with a riding theme. Plaids, horse prints…dark greens and reds.”

“Hmmm.” Scepticism showed plainly on his face. “I don’t know. Restoring the stables will take a good deal of money, I should think.”

“According to this,” Emma said, and indicated the pages she held, “structurally, the stables are quite sound. It’ll only require painting, and scouring the concrete flooring, to bring everything up to standard. And of course we’ll need to add new rubber mats to the stalls, and furnish horses, and the necessary tack.” Her smile was dry. “Lizzy will absolutely love the idea of Litchfield Manor as a riding centre.”

“She’ll be over the moon with excitement,” Mr Bennet agreed.

Simon thrust his head around the doorway. “Miss Bennet, if you’re ready, we’re about to begin shooting the first scene.”