Читать книгу A Weekend with Mr Darcy: The perfect summer read for Austen addicts! - Виктория Коннелли, Victoria Connelly - Страница 13

Robyn would never forget her first glimpse of Purley Hall. They’d rounded corner after corner of twisting country lane, when suddenly, there it was; red-gold and glorious across the rolling fields. It sat in symmetrical perfection, its aspect cushioned by the countryside around it, with honey-coloured fields stretching out in front of it and deep green woods behind it.

‘Look!’ she exclaimed, pointing out of the window like an excited toddler.

Jace looked. ‘What?’

‘Purley!’

‘Where?’

‘Where?’ Robyn echoed. ‘There!’

‘That? I thought it would be bigger.’

‘It’s perfect,’ Robyn said, counting its three visible storeys and its seven sash windows across. ‘Twenty-one,’ she said.

‘Twenty-one what?’

‘Twenty-one windows. Or rather twenty. I expect one’s a door.’

Jace grimaced. Windows and doors didn’t interest him. They took another bend in the road and entered the tiny village of Purley. There was a row of picture perfect cottages with dark thatched roofs, a pub called the Dog and Boot and a pale gold church with a modest steeple.

‘Oh, I love it!’ Robyn said. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’

‘’S’all right if you like that sort of thing,’ Jace mumbled.

Robyn bristled. Well, she did like that sort of thing and it was hard to enjoy it all with Jace as her companion. When, she wondered, was she going to manage to get rid of him?

‘Where are we going, anyway?’ he asked impatiently.

It was then that Robyn saw a discreet wooden sign pointing right. ‘Purley Hall’ it read, and there was a handwritten sheet of A4 paper tacked on underneath. ‘Janeites this way!’

They turned into a driveway which could easily have stretched the length of Robyn’s whole village back in Yorkshire. There were fields on either side and it was lined with mature trees.

Robyn was almost on the edge of her seat as the driveway opened and the grand front of Purley Hall greeted them.

‘Oh!’

‘What’s wrong?’ Jace asked.

‘Nothing! Nothing at all,’ Robyn said.

Jace tutted and brought the car to a screeching halt, its tyres firing up a shower of gravel as he parked - almost parallel but not quite - next to a black Jaguar.

‘Someone’s got some money,’ he said.

‘Yes. Apparently, some people have,’ Robyn said, wondering what that must be like.

Robyn got out of the car and looked up at the house. The front was in shade now and there was a great cedar tree to the left, shading tennis courts and casting its shadow across an immaculate lawn, its branches sprawling out like dinosaur limbs. A set of croquet hoops had been left out on the lawn and, beyond that, Robyn spied a bright blue swimming pool.

She looked up at the house once more, awestruck by the size of its windows - which were just as large as the great door - and the triangular pediment at the top which soared into the blue sky above.

‘Right,’ Jace said, interrupting her thoughts, ‘I’m off to the pub.’

Robyn did her best to hide her relief. ‘What are you going to do with yourself this weekend?’

He shrugged. ‘Come and see you.’

‘Oh, but you can’t!’ Robyn said. ‘I mean, there are activities all day and you’d be bored stupid by them.’

‘All right, all right, I get the message. I’ll call you, okay? You’ve got your mobile, haven’t you?’

Robyn nodded.

Jace leant in to kiss her and gave her bottom an affectionate squeeze. Robyn blushed. It wasn’t seemly to have one’s bottom pinched at a Jane Austen conference.

Jace hauled her suitcase out of the boot of the car and handed it to her. ‘I won’t come in,’ he said.

‘Best not,’ Robyn said.

‘I’ll give you a call.’

‘Okay,’ Robyn said, watching as he got in the car, did a boy racer manoeuvre on the immaculate driveway, and disappeared. As soon as he was out of view, she took her mobile out of her handbag and switched it off.

Warwick had arrived a little earlier than predicted but had been welcomed by one of the event organizers and shown to a very nice room upstairs which looked out over the gardens to the river and fields beyond. Nadia had worked wonders at getting him a room in the house at the last minute and he marvelled at the beauty of it. There was an enormous bed in a rich dark wood, with a pretty yellow bedspread. Four fabulously plump pillows caught his eye and promised a sweet slumber that night.

He looked around the room and a mahogany dressing stand inset with a porcelain bowl in blue and white caught his eye. He admired the workmanship and knew that such a piece of furniture would have been very common in a Regency gentleman’s bedroom - it was just the sort of room one of his heroes would inhabit although he was also glad that he had a modern en-suite with power shower - a luxury denied to his characters. Jugs and bowls just didn’t cut it in the hygiene stakes any more.

A crystal vase of yellow and white roses stood on the deep windowsill and scented the room with their delicate fragrance. The walls were painted in a shade Warwick recognized as verdigris - a willowy green that was in keeping with the period of the house and gave the room a wonderfully fresh feel. It was a beautiful room.

But Warwick wasn’t at Purley Hall to stand admiring his bedroom. He had to register and see if Katherine had arrived yet so, quickly changing his shirt, he checked his reflection in the mirror - more out of fear that something might be out of place than for vanity - and headed down the grand staircase to where a table had been set for registration.

‘The dreaded name badges,’ Warwick said to himself. He wouldn’t have time to create yet another pseudonym for himself now, he thought. He was to be Warwick Lawton this weekend. His fate was sealed.

There were about a dozen people around the registration table and more were arriving by the minute. Warwick stood back at a respectable distance and watched the goings on. As a writer, he was used to observing and his height gave him the advantage of being able to see everything. There was an elderly lady by the table and the young girl on reception was quizzing her about her name badge.

‘Norris?’ the girl said.

‘Yes,’ the lady with cloudy white hair said. ‘Like in Mansfield Park.’

‘Doris Norris?’

‘Yes,’ the lady said with a cheery smile. ‘I know what you’re thinking. It’s not very likely, is it? But I wasn’t always a Norris, you see. I was Doris Webster. Perfectly normal. But then I met Henry Norris and had the misfortune to fall in love with him. So here I am - Doris Norris.’

The young girl grinned and Warwick could see that she was doing her very best not to laugh. He watched for a moment as Doris Norris pinned her name badge onto her pink cardigan but then a young woman by the door caught his attention. She had long blonde hair which corkscrewed down to her waist. Her face was pale with perfect features set into a slightly anxious expression as if she was asking herself, what do I do now? She was wearing a pretty white dress dotted with daisies and her feet were encased in a pair of silver sandals. Warwick watched her as she looked around the hall, tiny white teeth biting her lower lip, and there was a part of him that wanted to go and help her -to take her bag and say, come this way, but the writer in him stayed perfectly still and watched.

That was one of the things about being a writer - one always stood slightly apart, listening and watching. It was hard to tell, sometimes, if one were really alive, for life seemed to be happening to everybody else and yet the writer’s lot seemed to be one of permanent stillness. Had Jane Austen felt like that? he wondered. With neither husband nor children of her own, had she felt that her role had been to watch others? And had that made her happy? Her books made other people happy, that was unquestionable, but had they made her happy?

Warwick shook his head. He might well be at a Jane Austen conference but he wasn’t ready to get all philosophical just yet. He wanted to have some fun. He wanted to see Katherine. He could feel his pulse accelerate at the thought of seeing her for the first time. She wouldn’t know who he was so he couldn’t call out to her across the room. He would have the chance to watch her. Wasn’t that his favourite role? He could get to know a little bit about her before he said hello.

He smiled. He certainly had the advantage in this relationship, he thought.

‘My wheels seem to be jammed,’ a voice suddenly boomed across the hallway.

Warwick’s eyes fixed on the sort of woman who could only be described as a battleaxe. She had an enormous bosom which was thrust out before her indignantly and a face which seemed to be carved out of angry granite. Warwick watched as she struggled with her suitcase and decided that he’d better do the gentlemanly thing and offer some assistance. He was in training for a hero, after all, wasn’t he?