‘I can’t believe it. But why? Darcy’s not really anything to do with me.’
‘Are you sure? Because the way he spoke of you, I assumed you both… well, I sort of thought…’
‘Thought what?’
‘Nothing. My mistake. Anyway. I’ll let you get hold of Chloe. Send her my love. I hope you can help her recover from this, although from what I hear of Kian, it’s no great loss.’
‘You’re so right, it’s getting Chloe to see that. If only Nick were around to help her take her mind off him. I think she really liked him.’
‘Didn’t you know? He’s back from New York, has been for a while. I could give you his number if you like, it can’t be against agency rules as there’s no agency anymore.’
‘That would be amazing and thank you a million times, Emma. I owe you so much.’
This call has changed my entire evening. I try Chloe on her mobile but there’s no reply, and my mum and dad’s home phone is engaged. I walk back past the gallery – the antics and celebrations in the other room seem far removed from my reality. I leave a quick message with Maria, who offers to come home with me.
‘No, stay. I’ll see you later anyway, and you need to help Mel celebrate in style.’
I make my way home in a taxi, ignoring the driver’s efforts to be chatty by continually dialling both Chloe and my parents, but don’t get very far.
I arrive at my flat tired and dispirited.
As the taxi pulls up, I’m surprised to see a smartly dressed elegant lady waiting by the door. She’s vaguely familiar but I can’t remember where from. Her hair is dark, cut short and stylish, her eyes carefully highlighted and her make-up flawless. I see she’s wearing Jimmy Choos and a classically cut long coat.
‘Hello?’ I say as politely as I can muster, considering I’m tired and just want to get in my flat, put on my slippers and speak to Chloe.
‘I’m looking for Sophie Johnson,’ the lady says, forgoing the hello.
‘Yes, I’m her, or should that be I’m she?’ I blur. I’m too tired to cope with any more conversations.
‘I am Mrs Drummond.’ The woman extends her hand formally.
‘Oh, pleased to meet you.’ My voice catches slightly but I shake her hand politely. ‘Would you like to come in a moment?’
Mrs Drummond waits in awkward silence as I rummage in my bag for the door key and fumble with the lock. This woman makes me anxious. My mind’s gone into overdrive – why would Darcy’s mother have come to visit me? It’s all very odd.
I walk into my flat, hoping against hope that we left it fairly tidy. Thank goodness it looks reasonable, Maria’s beautiful flowers are still blooming on the kitchen table. Unfortunately some of Mel’s original patterns and dresses are left strewn across the sofa.
‘Please sit down,’ I say. ‘Sorry for these, I’ll move them.’ I grab Mel’s creations and shove them behind the sofa as the lounge is where she’s had to stay for now; the flat being full to capacity. ‘My friend, Mel, has just had her debut fashion show at the Saatchi Gallery,’ I say to fill the awkward silence.
‘Really?’ Mrs Drummond says in a disinterested voice.
I finish clearing a space and come to sit opposite her on a comfy chair. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or a glass of wine?’
‘No, nothing, thank you.’ Mrs Drummond continues to stare at her surroundings in total disdain. ‘You must be wondering why I’m here.’
‘It is a bit of a surprise,’ I say. ‘We haven’t been introduced.’
‘No, indeed, and that is my point.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’
This woman is talking in riddles.
‘The fact is, we do not know you and you do not really know my son,’ she states matter of factly.
‘No, I don’t know him very well. That is to say I’ve bumped into him a couple of times but…’ I drift off, unsure where I’m going with this.
‘No,’ she says in an I-told-you-so sort of voice. ‘The point is, you and he move in very different circles and have nothing in common.’
‘Absolutely. I totally agree with you.’
‘You do?’ she says, her pre-rehearsed speech momentarily halted.
‘Yes I do, I’ve told him so several times,’ I say glibly.
Mrs Drummond visibly heaves a sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness. I thought this was going to be like one of those tawdry cases in the paper where a trumped-up call girl ruins the CEO’s career.’
‘Excuse me?’ I am incredulous now. ‘I can tell you I am no call girl, I am not used to moving in the same circles as you, that’s true, but I’m an intelligent well-educated woman who knows her mind.’
‘That’s for sure,’ Mrs Drummond retorts, ‘but who are your parents, you have no title, no fortune, no listing in Country Life magazine.’
What is it with these people and their magazines?
‘My parents are normal individuals, we are a loving family and no, I don’t have a title or lots of money but I have a great deal to offer.’
‘But look at your sister, a complete disaster, her husband is in prison, and your friends so drunk they end up in hospital.’ Mrs Drummond’s on a roll.
‘How dare you criticise my family and friends,’ I say quietly but firmly. ‘You don’t know them and quite honestly, it is through your son’s agency that both my sister’s husband and my friend got caught up in all this trouble.’ (Okay, so Kian was a pain before that, but there’s no way I’m going to admit this right now.)
‘I am aware of all the issues your relations and friends have and they are not at all what we are used to,’ her voice rises querulously. ‘Your association with my son is a disgrace, you are out of your league and you should know it. Stay in the circles you are used to mixing within.’
I stare at this woman in her fine make-up and clothes, and laugh outright. ‘You’re suggesting I will pollute the shades of Pemberley?’ I say blithely.
‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you have read any Austen. Darcy said you probably hadn’t. If you had, you would understand.’
‘What I do understand, Miss Upstart, is that you are wasting your time with Darcy and this family. It will never work. He is destined to marry an heiress and that is what will happen. Have you any idea what it costs to run the empire his father left us?’
‘No,’ I say simply, ‘and I don’t care as I’m not interested in money or anything else from Darcy. As he told me himself, I love books, nothing more, and am not interested in you or your family’s tawdry dealings in stocks and shares and any other profit-making schemes you have.’
‘Don’t you play the innocent with me. I have heard how your sister has been throwing herself at Nick Palmer-Wright, and you’ve been meddling in Lady Constance’s affairs too, slyly getting your friend, Mel, to steal her famous sister’s ideas. Your sort stop at nothing.’
‘I’m sorry but I’m not going to sit here and put up with you insulting me. I think perhaps you should leave.’ I jump to my feet and open the door.