‘I guess it would be Mr Darcy. No, actually I always liked Henry Tilney – he had a great sense of humour.’
‘So, your ideal man only exists in books written two hundred years ago. We may just about have found why there might be a problem with your previous relationships.’ Miss Palmer-Wright smiles delightedly with herself and gives that irritating tinkly little laugh of hers.
‘No, I like lots of other real men.’
‘Like…’
‘Like Colin Firth, Matthew Macfadyen, Aiden Turner…’ I share my list of favourite actors.
‘Basically any guy in breeches then, who’s acted in a period drama.’
That just about covers it, I think. God, am I really that shallow?
‘This might prove a little tricky as I believe most of those are pretty busy right now.’
I glance at her uncertainly; this is no time for her to develop a sense of humour.
‘No, I mean that would be my ideal, I know they’re not available. I just don’t really know that many men,’ I mumble, trying to hold on to any shred of dignity.
‘Of course not,’ she snaps, glaring. ‘My little joke. Anyway…’ She sweeps round in her chair and presents me with a large glossy brochure. On the front is a picture of the BBC 1995 production’s Jennifer Ehle gazing up at Colin Firth with the caption… You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you…
‘Inside you will find details of how to join the agency, how to download the app on your mobile, our fees, and the Bronze, Silver and Gold Membership schemes,’ recites Miss Palmer-Wright. ‘If you sign up for the Bronze Membership in the next week, I am able to offer you ten per cent off your first date which is usually one of the following: a tour and stroll in the park at Luckington Court aka The Bennets’ House, afternoon tea with the Collinses if you prefer something a little less full-on, or a Regency dancing lesson at Chawton Village Hall.’
Miss Palmer-Wright finishes reciting the list, which she has obviously learnt by heart, and looks at me awaiting my response. I hesitate, this was not really what I’d been expecting from The Jane Austen Dating Agency – it wasn’t what I thought it would be like. Of course I have constantly daydreamed about being transported into all the film versions of Austen’s novels but I guess that isn’t reality. I don’t know what I had thought but this just isn’t it. It all feels so weird, kind of fake, like playing at being in Austen, a bit like going to a French group but with English people who are all speaking in French so it doesn’t really work. And I mean, realistically, what kind of guys are going to want to have a date involving a cup of tea? This is not exactly Love Island, or Dinner Date for that matter.
Miss Palmer-Wright leans forward in her chair. ‘We are extremely popular, you know. This is why there is an incredibly comprehensive questionnaire. We, as an agency, are renowned for connecting the right sort of people, creating lasting and successful relationships which are for those in the same, shall I say, income bracket as each of our clients. Of course we wouldn’t want a lawyer from Goldman Sachs matched with a cleaner from Bristol now, would we?’ She tinkles again.
I recognise this sort of sales script – it sounds all too familiar. I also feel it’s time for me to make my excuses and leave, but while she was talking I have been flicking nervously through the brochure. It looks good actually, the ball is at the beautiful Chatsworth House, strawberry champagne picnics sound amazing and the people aren’t bad looking. Some of them are quite fit; they don’t appear to be total weirdos, although of course they could be actors.
My phone suddenly rings loudly. Darn, I thought I’d put it on silent.
‘Sorry.’ I apologise to Miss Palmer-Wright who glares impatiently at me as I quickly check the screen. Yep, it’s Dean again. For goodness sake, this guy just doesn’t give up. Then I have a sudden thought – perhaps I’ll give him the number for the agency. He might find himself someone else, and if not, Miss Palmer-Wright would certainly know how to deal with him! I shove my phone back in my bag, having firmly turned it off.
‘How do you find people their perfect date?’ I ask, suddenly having images of computer matching and random blind dates.
‘We pride ourselves on our personalised matchmaking service. Emma and I, as the agency chaperones, personally review each candidate’s resumé and work out their perfect match. It is a rather old-fashioned approach but we like to be traditional here at The Jane Austen Dating Agency.’
Apart from when it comes to reading, I think.
‘It is only possible to go out with someone if introduced by the chaperones. That way there is no room for unsuitable matches and you are more likely to have things in common. We do have an app as we like to keep up to date, but it is really a log of dates you have been on and forthcoming events.’ Miss Palmer-Wright has it all mapped out.
It kind of makes sense, yet I’m not convinced I want her matching me with anyone. Still, it might be worth having a look at the brochure when I get home and perhaps her colleague Emma might be nicer. She simply couldn’t be much worse.
I get up from my chair in what I hope is a businesslike manner. ‘Thank you for your help. I shall read the brochure, fill in the form, and return it to the agency.’
‘Please allow plenty of time for us to assess your application,’ says Miss Palmer-Wright. ‘I don’t like to point out the obvious but I do like to try to avoid any confusion. We do not necessarily accept all our applicants as we are an extremely exclusive agency.’
I trot out of the door behind her, trying not to feel like a naughty schoolgirl.
As we return to the front desk, I notice a huge wall-mounted advertising screen with images of glamorous and good-looking couples in Regency dress. They look deliriously happy, posing in front of dreamily romantic backdrops of ruined abbeys and wild moorland.
‘This is impressive.’ I point at the screen.
‘Yes, just a few of our incredible success stories. Penelope Smith-Klein’s wedding to Andrew Huntingdon was in last month’s edition of Tatler, absolutely stunning occasion.’ Miss Palmer-Wright looks as pleased with herself as though she has achieved all this single-handedly.
As I stop to admire the images, an impossibly good-looking guy comes up on the screen. He’s dark and handsome, slightly swarthy and, oh yes, brooding with a hint of dark stubble smudge on his finely chiselled cheekbones. He isn’t dressed in Regency costume but an extremely expensive-looking dark blue tailored suit, moulded tightly to his obviously fit body. In fact, this guy is so fit, I have a job not to stand there and gawp.
‘Is this one of your clients?’ I ask hopefully, thinking if he’s on my list, book me in now.
‘Gosh no!’ Miss Palmer-Wright retorts in utter disdain at my total ignorance. ‘That is Darcy Drummond,’ she pauses dramatically. ‘He is CEO of the agency. But surely you have heard of Darcy Drummond – of Drummond Associates? I thought you said you work in London. Huge business, darling, mother is loaded; family friends of ours. It’s not what you know but who you know in this world.’
‘Oh,’ I reply, making a concerted effort to drag my eyes away from Darcy Drummond’s image. And he’s called Darcy – it must be a sign! I’ve never heard of Darcy Drummond, but I would certainly like to get to know him a whole lot better. Although, I bet he is surrounded by eligible women, probably Jessica Palmer-Wright at the top of the list, trampling on the others in her lethal heels. Money always attracts money, as my dad often says. It’s only in the novels of Jane Austen there is any variation on this theme.