‘Oh.’ I blush. ‘Do you think he’ll be there?’ I ask shyly, referring to Darcy Drummond of course.
‘You bet he will, so no more playing hard to get,’ Mark scoffs. ‘Now, we just need to talk about what you’re going to wear, darling.’
I guess it sounds a bit sad stalking a man I’ve only seen in a photo once, but I have been spending rather a lot of my waking and sleeping hours thinking about Darcy Drummond. I’ve googled him a couple of times too, perhaps more than a couple – in the name of research of course. And to go to an awards ceremony, dress up in something stylish and maybe appear on TV. It’s a hard job but someone’s got to do it.
Anyway, I hate to admit it, but I’ve often secretly thought Mrs Bennet was kind of right to send Jane to Netherfield on horseback so she had to stay overnight. Pushy yes, but it put Jane right under Bingley’s nose and without her knowledge, it brought Lizzie even more to the attention of Mr Darcy. They had some pretty snappy and electrically charged exchanges during that stay.
More to the point, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, I still hope that maybe one day, I – like Jane Austen’s heroines – can create my own happy ever after.
Chapter 4
It’s really late by the time I stumble in from work, as right at the end of the day, Amanda found a load of sales leads that needed documenting and in my usual way, I didn’t feel able to say no. You never know, it might help me get a good reference just in case I ever get noticed by someone in Editorial, although somehow I doubt it. And to top off my perfect day, the Victoria Line was disrupted again due to emergency works, so it’s well past nine when I get in the door.
‘Your mum phoned earlier,’ Mel calls from the bathroom.
‘Oh God, not again. What did she want this time? I haven’t forgotten someone else’s birthday, have I?’ I shout back.
‘No, it was something about a teaching course she’s found near Oxford.’ Mel comes out from the bathroom, her head in a towel.
‘Not that flipping PGCE course again. Will she ever give up?’ I ask, throwing myself down in a chair. As part of the better-job prospects thing, my mum has this idea I should be a primary school teacher, probably because she loves her job and also due to the long holidays. I do think that bit sounds good but I can’t imagine teaching in a school every day. Anyway, Mum works every hour there is. When she isn’t at school, she’s preparing lessons, marking, writing reports and there’s no such thing as a tea break – too much time spent on first aid and paperwork.
‘I can sort of see her point in some ways,’ Mel says, vigorously drying her mop of curly hair with a towel. ‘You’re not exactly happy in this job at Modiste, are you? Sounds boring as hell.’
That’s one of the things I love about Mel, she always says it how it is. She’s also easy going, arty and doesn’t give a stuff what other people think about her, to boot. She’s studying at the Royal College of Art and is awesomely talented. Mel’s one of those enviable people you could give a piece of scrunched up paper and a plastic bag and she’d create something amazing out of it. She’s always fabricating incredible structures out of the most unlikely articles.
Lately she’s been concentrating on texture so I keep finding bits of knitting, weaving and other scraps of fabric round the flat. That’s the only thing; she is kind of messy but then I’m not the tidiest person in the world either. Every so often we get fed up with it and run round with bin bags, chucking stuff in and hiding it in the car or behind the sofa. (That’s usually only when someone’s coming round though.)
The other thing about Mel is, she’s really modest about her work; it’s as though she doesn’t really know how good she is. I think it’s because her siblings all went to Oxford or Cambridge, I can’t remember which, but her parents give her a hard time about it. They seem to think she’s the failure of the family, just because she isn’t academic; people can be so weird sometimes. I don’t understand why they aren’t able to celebrate how talented she is. It’s like Mel has to constantly try to prove herself to them and she’s wasting her time because they’re the ones with issues, not her.
‘Oh, by the way,’ Mel grabs a vibrant pink Post-it with a scribbled note on it, ‘speaking of boring, some woman rang from The Jane Austen Dating Agency. What the heck is that, for goodness sake?’
‘Nothing really,’ I say casually, ‘just something I heard about in a magazine.’
‘Her name was Emma Woodtree. She wanted to know if you’ve filled in the rest of the forms yet as she doesn’t seem to have received them?’ Mel laughs. ‘Have you joined a historical dating agency? I know you’re crazy about literature but this sounds bizarre. I can picture you dressed like ladies drinking tea and reading Austen!’
‘Oh erm, yeah, I mean no.’ I find myself blushing with embarrassment. Of course, I’d given the agency my new home number as well as my mobile, having finally changed both in an effort to stop Dean’s stalking. Darn, now Mel will think I’m a totally sad case. I clear my throat and slope off into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. ‘Yes, I was thinking about joining, it sounded quite good actually.’
‘This Emma person seemed nice, but what do you do for dates? Dress up in Regency costume and prance about pretending to be characters from Jane Austen’s novels?’ Mel’s doubled up with laughter. ‘You do realise all the guys will either be complete weirdos or gay?’
She’s probably nearer the truth than she realises. ‘I thought I might give it a go,’ I say casually. ‘In any case, I may not need a dating agency, something a tad more exciting might have come up.’
‘Really?’
‘Guess who’s going to the GQ Best Groomed Men Awards? You never know who I might meet.’
‘Oooh you go, girl! Come on spill, tell all. What are you wearing, who’s going?’ Mel jumps off the sofa in her excitement. ‘I want to hear every detail.’
‘There isn’t much to tell yet, but I’ll fill you in on the story so far over a takeout. I’ll order the pizza, you grab some more wine.’
A couple of days later, I’m getting a bit panicky about this whole awards evening. The reality is, no-one goes out in London without major getting ready first. I’ve learnt this the hard way as my usual routine is a bit slap dash, to put it mildly.
For the girls at Modiste, pampering and being well groomed is a serious and full-time occupation in itself. They all spend several hours preparing just to go out for a drink, their hair immaculate, make-up flawless and Prada bags at the ready.
‘Do you know any good beauty salons?’ I had asked Heidi one day at work. She can be slightly kinder than the others.
‘Yes, Bliss is amazing – I go every week, just to keep on top of the tan and my eyelash extensions,’ she had replied enthusiastically. ’You must go – they’re so good in there. Make sure you tell them I sent you, then I’ll get a reduction next time.’
‘Isn’t it really expensive?’ I had asked nervously.
‘Not really, and it’s so important to keep yourself looking good, don’t you think?’