The Trouble With Emma (30 page)

Emma lowered the phone with a stricken expression. “It’s daddy. He’s fallen from a ladder. I have to go. I have to go now.”

“Right, I’ll take you.”

She didn’t argue, but turned away to retrieve her clothes and swiftly got dressed.

But as she got in the car with Mark a short time later and headed for Litchfield Manor, both of them subdued, Emma couldn’t help but think that if she’d only been at home, at home with her father where she belonged, none of this would have happened.

Chapter 54

They arrived at the house only to find that no one was home. Frantic, Emma ran into the kitchen, where she spotted a note on the table. She grabbed it up.

“‘Gone to Longbourne Hospital with Mr B,’” she read aloud. “‘Meet us at A&E. Martine.’”

“Oh, Mark,” she cried, her throat thickening as she turned back towards the front door, “what if he’s really hurt? This is all my fault –”

“What? That’s nonsense, and you know it,” he said firmly. “I’m sure your father’s in good hands and I’ve no doubt he’s fine. Come on – we’ve no time to waste, let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later they arrived at the hospital and found a place to park. After inquiring at reception, they were directed to one of the curtained cubicles just off the main A&E waiting area.

“Miss Em!” Martine hurried across the waiting room, a back issue of
Heat
clutched in her hand. “I was that worried when your dad fell. Lucky thing I was still there. And lucky the bushes broke his fall.” She winced. “More or less.”

“I’m very glad you were there, too,” Emma assured her. “Thank you for calling me.”

“I hope I did the right thing,” Martine said doubtfully. “I didn’t like to bother you, but I thought you’d like to know.”

“You did the absolute right thing.” She smiled. “There’s no need for you to stay any longer. My father’s very lucky to have you to look after him. Thank you, Martine.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Em.” She hesitated. “And I’m sorry about…everything. I know – I know you meant well.”

Before Emma could find words to reply, Martine tossed the magazine aside, murmured goodnight to both of them, and left.

Emma and Mark found Mr Bennet’s cubicle and stepped through a gap in the curtains. He sat up in a semi-reclining position on a gurney, one foot encased in a sort of boot and elevated slightly by a pulley. He smiled at them a bit woozily.

“Daddy,” she cried, horrified, and brushed past Mark to lean forward and wrap her arms around him. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“Right as rain, Emma. I’m fine.” He patted her on the back in an awkward gesture of reassurance. “No need to fuss. Just took a little tumble off the ladder, that’s all. That blasted dog got his lead tangled round the ladder and decided to lunge after a squirrel, taking the ladder – and myself – down in a heap.” He paused. “Thankfully, the bushes broke my fall.”

“But your foot,” she exclaimed, and drew back to eye it in dismay. “You’ve broken it!”

“It’s my ankle, and the correct medical term is a ‘fracture’,” he replied. “In my case, a traumatic fracture. Once the cast is on, I’ll be as good as new, hobbling round Litchfield on crutches as early as tomorrow, or so they tell me.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good news, then, I suppose,” Emma said, somewhat mollified.

“Indeed it is,” Mark agreed. “Is there anything we can bring you, Mr Bennet? A magazine? Coffee, or a candy bar?”

He leaned back against the pillows. “Nothing, thank you.” He yawned. “The pain medications are beginning to take effect, I do believe. I’m feeling quite tired.”

“We won’t stay,” Knightley said, with a telling glance at Mr Bennet’s daughter. “We’ll go now, won’t we, Emma? We’ll let your father get his rest.”

“Y-yes. Yes, of course.” She bent forward once again and pressed her lips briefly against her father’s cheek. “Goodnight, daddy. We’ll come back again tomorrow.”

“Lovely,” he murmured, and gave her a beatific smile. “I’ll look forward to it.” His eyelids grew heavy.

The doctor arrived, and after assuring Emma that Mr Bennet would be discharged in a day or two and should recover from his injuries in a few weeks, bade them goodnight and ushered them out of the cubicle.

“Well,” she said as she walked with Mark back to the car, “that’s that, then. It looks as though my father’s being well taken care of.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” he agreed. “I’m sure Mrs Cusack will enjoy fussing over her new patient.”

“She won’t, not when she finds out what a horrible patient he makes.” She smirked. “Poor woman.”

***

True to Mr Bennet’s prediction, he was discharged the next day. Emma took it upon herself to oversee his care, and – despite his protests – took the remainder of the week off to stay home with him.

“This really isn’t necessary,” her father grumbled as she brought him a cup of tea on Tuesday afternoon and set it down before him on the kitchen table. His foot, encased in a cast, was thrust out awkwardly before him. “I can manage quite well with my crutches.”

“Yes, I’m sure you can. But you’ve forgotten that we’re having the open house party this Saturday, to say goodbye to the production crew and to show off the new, improved Litchfield Manor. You can’t possibly stand on your feet or make scones, so –” Emma gave him a firm smile “– I’m here to take over.”

A look of something akin to alarm skimmed his face. “I’m sure I can still see my way clear to whipping up a batch or two of scones –”

“Nonsense, William,” Mrs Cusack said as she bustled into the kitchen, a sack of groceries clutched to her bosom and her face flushed from the effort. “You’ll do no such thing. I’ll handle the baking, and take care of everything else besides.” She turned to Emma. “Now…be a dear, and don’t give your father – or the party – another thought. I’ve got things well in hand.”

As promised, the woman set to work and planned the menu for Saturday’s party; did the grocery shop for all of the baking ingredients; Hoovered; and began baking scones and pies and all manner of delicious treats.

“I’ll put the scones in the deep freeze until Friday evening,” she decided, “then take them out to thaw.”

“But – what shall I do in the meantime?” Emma asked.

Mrs Cusack regarded her in surprise. “Nothing, dear. Just plan your party outfit and relax. Martine and I have everything well in hand.”

“I feel like a – a piece of mismatched china,” Emma complained to Martine on Friday morning as she helped the girl peg the laundry out on the line. “I once had my place, but now I’m relegated to the back of the cupboard.”

“Maybe. But that’s as it should be, Miss Em. Besides –” she turned away to peg a pillow slip to the line. “My mismatched cup and saucer at home is my favourite. It’s the cup I always reach for when I make tea. Just as you’ll always be your dad’s favourite, no matter who he marries.”

Emma glanced at her. “Do you know something I don’t? Has my father said anything to you about marriage?”

“No, of course not! He never talks about such things with me. I just meant in general, like.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

“But he might marry again,” Martine pointed out reasonably as she reached for another clothes peg. “He’s a good catch, your dad, especially now that Litchfield Manor’s fixed up properly. He’ll meet lots of women now, once the place starts booking up for horse shows and festivals and the like.”

Emma made no reply, but she suspected Martine was right. Her father would soon be in the orbit of all manner of females, not only Mrs Cusack and the local church ladies. It was very possible – no, it was highly likely – that he might even meet someone new and fall in love.

And there was not one thing she could do about it.

“We’re already booked through the end of November,” she told Martine. “I can scarcely believe it.”

Jacquetta had contacted a top-tier London letting agent (and, she’d confided airily, a former lover,
very
skilled) who’d agreed to get word out about Litchfield Manor’s riding centre ahead of the programme’s airdate.

She and Simon had recommended that Mr Bennet let out the land to festivals in the summer months – local literary gatherings, food festivals, glamping, concerts on the lawn – and, to Emma’s surprise, he’d agreed to all but the glamping.

“I never heard of such a thing,” he grumbled. “‘Glamorous camping?’ It’s quite the most ridiculous oxymoron I’ve ever come across.”

“It’s a thing,” Martine assured him. “Very popular it is, too.”

Emma sighed. So much was changing. After tomorrow’s open house, with the filming finished and the production crew back to London, things could return to normal. Litchfield Manor would once again become the quiet, comfortable home Emma had always known…at least, until the first guests of the autumn season began to arrive.

She pegged the last of the sheets to the line. After tomorrow, Mark would be gone as well. The thought filled her with a sense of loss so sudden and sharp that she had to avert her face for a moment to hide the rise of tears.

She loved Mark Knightley. There was no use denying it, not even to herself.

But after tomorrow’s open house, there was a very real possibility that she might never see him again.

Chapter 55

Mark had assured Emma they’d continue to see one another once he was gone, and she wanted to believe him. She
did
believe him.

But London was a world away from Litchfield. And there was her father to consider. With his injury, he’d need her help now more than ever.

“Emma,” Mrs Cusack called out as she hurried down the terrace steps and across the grass towards them, “we’ve a problem.”

“What is it?” Emma glanced at her sharply. “It’s not daddy, is it? Is he all right?”

“No, dear, he’s fine. No need for alarm. Only, he’s just realised he needs to go and fetch Charlotte from school, but it’s quite impossible for him to drive.”

“Oh, bother.” Emma turned towards the house. “With all the excitement last night, I quite forgot about Charli.”

“I’d go and fetch her myself,” the woman fretted, “but I’m up to my elbows in baking at the moment. And your sister Lizzy’s down from London for the party and said she and Mr Darcy might stop in this evening. I need to tidy up the kitchen and straighten the house before I go. That crew keeps it in constant disarray.”

“After tomorrow, they’ll be gone,” Emma pointed out.
How quiet the house would be
. “Things should improve considerably.”
Mark would be gone, too…and she didn’t think she could bear it.

“I do hope so.” Mrs Cusack glanced down at her flour-dusted apron and back up again. “Would you mind terribly –?”

“No, of course not. I’ll go get Charli and bring her home.”

Emma was just leaving, car keys in hand, when Mark’s hire car turned in and parked behind her.

“I stopped in to see how your father’s doing,” he said, and eyed the keys in her hand. “Going somewhere?”

She nodded. “Daddy can’t drive, so I’m off to pick Charlotte up from school.” She paused. “Are you back for the day? I thought you lot were finished.”

“We are. I just had a few scripts and notes to retrieve.”

He looked at her, and she at him, and an awkward silence stretched out between them.

“Would you like to come along?” she asked suddenly. “I’d welcome the company.”

He hesitated. “Thank you, but I really can’t. I’ve packing still to do, and a few loose ends to tie up here first. And I wanted to look in on Mr Bennet now, while your house isn’t overrun with guests.” He smiled slightly. “Not to mention cables, and cameras, and an irksome production crew.”

“I haven’t minded.” She smiled up at him and realised it was true. “It’s been an adventure, having everyone here. I’ve learnt so much! It’ll be very quiet and dull indeed when you –” she stopped, and flushed slightly. “When all of you are gone.”

“But London isn’t –”

“’Antarctica,’” she finished, and sighed. “No. But it might as well be.”

She turned away so he wouldn’t see the traitorous gleam of moisture in her eyes and made her way to the car. “I’d best be off. Lizzy and Hugh are stopping by later this evening. I know she’ll want to see you before you go.”

“I want to see her, too.” He waited as she slid behind the driver’s wheel and shut the door after her, then leaned forward and rested his forearms against the side. “Safe journey, Emma. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” she echoed, and with a smile that was only a tiny bit watery, started the engine and drove away.

***

The sun had just set, painting the late summer sky with streaks of lavender, pink and teal as Emma and Charlotte returned to Litchfield Manor.

“I do hope Alec’s here,” Charli said as she and her sister got out of the car and made their way to the front door. She glimpsed the silver Mercedes, and her face fell. “No such luck. Hugh’s driven down from London himself.”

“Alec is too old for you,” Emma said, automatically. “And he smokes.” She grimaced.

Charli hoicked her rucksack straps over one shoulder. “I like older men. And he’s not
that
much older.”

“Only about six years,” Emma retorted. She trailed behind her sister up the drive towards the front steps, but came to an abrupt stop as they neared the house. She saw two people under the apple tree in the orchard…the tree Lizzy liked to sit under whenever she was upset or needed to be alone with her thoughts.

Lizzy stood under the tree now, deep in conversation with someone…a man. Her expression was earnest. One might even say troubled. At first glance Emma supposed it was Hugh her sister spoke to; but as he turned back to face Lizzy, she froze, rooted to the spot.

It was Mark Knightley. And his expression was serious.

They’re only saying their goodbyes
, Emma reminded herself.
Before Mark leaves tomorrow…

“Em? Are you coming in?” Charli asked with a trace of impatience as she waited expectantly in the open doorway.

“Not now,” she answered, her eyes still riveted to Lizzy and Mark. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Charli shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She disappeared inside and shut the door.

Lizzy and Mark spoke for a moment longer; then her sister let out a little cry, and flung her arms around Mark. Their two shapes were indistinct in the gathering dusk, but there was no mistaking their closeness as Mark held her and they melded together.