But where better than The Jane Austen Dating Agency to find both love and money at the same time? As Lizzie says to Jane in P and P, ‘Take care to fall in love with a man of good fortune.’
I say goodbye to Miss Palmer-Wright with barely disguised relief and a renewed determination to check out the glossy brochure. Who knows, perhaps I might be going to Pemberley after all.
Chapter 3
A couple of days later, I’m back at work and the world of Jane Austen is a million miles away. I’ve spent most of the morning making fruitless calls with a variety of responses from not answering or not interested, to the downright rude and aggressive. I also haven’t even had a chance to check out the agency brochure properly. I tried last night with a glass of wine when the phone had rung and I’d left it, thinking it might be Dean and his repetitive messages, or my mum, which would definitely mean no evening left for anything. It turned out it was my mum, who continued to phone until finally our dodgy answer machine had kicked in.
‘Sophie, are you there? I need to speak to you, it’s very urgent,’ she’d said, sounding so agitated, it had made me scramble to the phone, scattering the brochure and its contents onto the floor.
‘Hi, Mum, sorry, I was just sorting out some stuff. Is everything okay?’
‘Oh, thank goodness. I’ve been needing to catch you. Have you sent Great Aunt Flo a birthday card?’
Oh no. My heart sank. I’d completely forgotten Great Aunt Flo’s birthday and not for the first time. She’s so sweet and about ninety. I can’t have missed her birthday again.
‘Oh, Sophie – you knew it was today, I reminded you on Friday. Didn’t you send one?’ My mum always treats me as though I’m about ten.
‘It’s okay, Mum.’ I tried to adopt a bright and cheerful everything-is-under-control-here tone. ‘I’ll send it tomorrow. I’m sure she won’t mind.’
‘That’s not the point. I’m always telling you how important it is that the card gets there on the day. It’s not much to ask. I gave you a birthday book last year. Haven’t you filled it in?’
‘Erm, yes? I’m just not quite sure where it is. I expect I’ll find it when I’ve finished unpacking.’ I actually can’t remember where it is and I don’t think I ever got around to filling it in. I’m hopeless when it comes to birthdays and other communications. It’s really embarrassing but I have drawers full of unsent thank you letters and birthday cards and even worse, a sympathy card, all of which I wrote or started writing and have never sent.
I’m not joking but people have literally died waiting for a thank you card from me. I have one which I wrote for my Uncle Jim, who is now sadly no longer with us (see what I mean), when I was about twelve, and I still feel a pang of guilt when I read it. As you can imagine, it was a very long time ago and I’m sure he would have loved to have known how pleased I was with his glove puppet, though I expect I said thank you when I next saw him.
No-one ever sends cards these days anyway – a text is so much quicker and easier. Although no good with Great Aunt Flo as she hasn’t got a phone. Actually, maybe that gives me an idea – I wonder if she would like one, she could probably deal with Dean for me once and for all.
‘Are you listening, Sophie?’ Oh no, my mum had been continuing to chat and I hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
‘Of course,’ I replied as convincingly as possible.
My mum carried on undeterred. ‘Ben did his yesterday and Chloe said she sent hers last week.’
‘I expect Ben only signed yours,’ I said indignantly.
‘Of course he did, and I said you could too if you had been here.’ Mum always has an answer for everything. Quite honestly it never occurs to her that Ben could actually go and buy his own card. He’s twenty-seven, after all.
‘Okay, Mum. I’ll deal with it tomorrow and send it out. It’ll only be a couple of days late.’
I had felt a bit rubbish; my sister Chloe is ridiculously organised even if she is busy, which is always. She remembers every card and every birthday. She does her Christmas shopping all year round so when it comes to the actual season, it’s done. She makes me feel totally inadequate.
‘How’s Ben?’ I asked, trying desperately to change the subject.
‘Okay, I suppose, though he isn’t at all himself.’ Mum sounded worried.
‘No, I suppose he’s not going to be for a while.’ Ben’s wife, Libby, had run off with another guy last year.
‘I know, he’s still heartbroken, poor lad. And to think we made Libby so welcome. She was always included as part of the family. I can’t understand it. And now he brings home all these different girls, disappearing off to his room with them for hours. Most embarrassing. I never know whether to call him for dinner or just leave it in the oven for later. It’s so awkward.’
‘I s’pose it is a bit.’
‘I’ve been asking your dad to have a word with him but you know what he’s like. He says it’s interfering. Leaves it all to me, as usual.’
I made soothing noises and, thank goodness, after some time and a significant amount of chat covering most topics, including the redevelopment of the local community centre, Mum had rung off. Then Mel had walked in, so I’d pushed the brochure under the sofa – I don’t think she would understand the point of a Jane Austen dating agency. It wouldn’t conform to her feminist ideals.
So, the long and short of it is, I’m still none the wiser about the whole thing.
And it’s now Monday morning again. I hate Mondays, the whole working week stretching ahead and the only thing on my desk is a pile of bridal shops to phone. Today I’m in no mood to be bothering any more people who don’t want to advertise with us. In fact, the whole day had started badly before I’d even got to work; the tube was extra busy and I had to run the last bit of the journey, never a good beginning as I felt dishevelled and at a disadvantage from the outset.
To add to my rubbish mood, the immaculately groomed girls in the sales team are all discussing the wonderful things they did over the weekend. Like meeting up on Saturday night at Lush – the cool new restaurant in Knightsbridge. They didn’t invite me officially, which I was kind of relieved about as I could never afford £80 a course. Kelli had mentioned it casually in passing but after muttering a lame excuse, which no-one had listened to, the subject had been dropped. It sounded fabulous, if utterly pretentious, but I did feel even more than usually left out. Mel and I have difficulty scraping together the rent and certainly don’t have the money for this kind of venue. I find myself wondering for the millionth time how on earth they afford it on our salary.
I’m about to pick up the desk phone and ring yet another wedding shop when my sister’s number bings up on my mobile. After a quick glance to check Amanda isn’t around, I grab it.
‘Sophie…’ Chloe sings out cheerily. ‘Are you at work?’
‘Of course. Where do you expect me to be on a Monday morning?’ I whisper. Chloe’s completely ditzy but I love her to bits.
‘Ooh I thought you might be in a glamorous spa somewhere lounging round, drinking cocktails as part of the fabulous London lifestyle.’ She laughs.