The Trouble With Emma. Katie Oliver
to come to London,” he observed, his eyes raking over her with detached but disconcerting thoroughness, “I’d know you were country born and bred straight away. Muddy shoes, clothes serviceable but lacking any discernible style, the faintest whiff of the barnyard…”
My wellies, she remembered suddenly. She’d meant to take them into the back and clean them, but had left them in the front corner of the shop instead.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, and turned away to fetch the boots, her face hot with embarrassment.
He raised his cup for another sip of coffee. “Better a diver’s watch to mark one out than an unpleasant smell, I think. Don’t you agree?”
Emma glared but didn’t spare him a reply as she snatched up the offending boots and carried them into the back. By the time she’d washed and dried them and returned to the front, he was gone.
***
At half three that afternoon, Emma returned home and set her umbrella in the stand and threw her boots in the corner. The rain had finally stopped after nearly four days and the sun was out.
She only hoped daddy had remembered to let Elton outside…
As she set her handbag down on the hall table and made her way towards the kitchen, she heard the rise and fall of voices. Martine and her father must be discussing the menu for Lizzy’s welcome home party on Sunday.
But the sight that greeted her when she came to a stop in the kitchen doorway left her speechless.
“Lizzy! You’re back!” she exclaimed, and catapulted herself into her sister’s arms. “I didn’t see your car.”
“Hugh parked around back. It’s good to be home again.” Laughing, Elizabeth drew back to study her. “Em? You’re not crying, are you?” She reached in her pocket for a tissue. “I’ve barely been gone for a fortnight.”
“I missed you,” she retorted. “We all did.” She dabbed at her watery eyes. “I won’t apologise for that. Hello, Hugh.”
He gave her a self-conscious smile. “Hello, Emma. It’s good to see you again.”
“Are you staying at Cleremont?” Emma asked her sister. “How long will you be here? You’re not going back to London straight away, I hope?”
“Yes, we’re here until Monday, and no, not straight away,” Lizzy answered, and hugged Emma once again. “Lord, I missed you!”
Emma was about to join her father and Lizzy at the table to demand all the details of their honeymoon trip to Cornwall when she suddenly became aware of someone, arms folded against his chest, standing silently by the kitchen counter…
…someone in a cashmere sweater and dark-washed jeans, with a diver’s watch strapped around his wrist.
“What are you doing here?” Emma asked.
He met her eyes. If he was bothered by her abrupt manner, he gave no sign. “I might ask you the same thing.”
“Emma, this is Mark Knightley,” Lizzy said into the sudden, awkward silence, and glanced between the newcomer and her sister with a questioning expression. “He and I worked together in London. Mark, this is my sister, Emma.”
He nodded. “Miss Bennet.” He glanced down at her espadrilles. “I see you dispensed with the wellies. Good move on your part. But I’m afraid you still wouldn’t pass as a Londoner.”
“Good,” she retorted. “I wouldn’t want to, if Londoners are all as ill-mannered as you.”
Lizzy glanced between them, her brow crinkled in confusion. “I’m sorry – do you two know each other?”
“We met,” he answered her, his eyes still on Emma’s, “in the bakery, in Litchfield.”
Although his expression gave nothing away, Emma was certain she saw a trace of amusement lurking in his dark blue eyes.
“So you found us,” she said. Her words were cool. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew my sister when you came into the shop this morning? I might’ve been more forthcoming.”
“How could I possibly have known Elizabeth was your sister, when you wouldn’t volunteer your name, much less give me directions to your house?”
Emma scowled. Score, and point to Mr Knightley. “Why are you here?” she demanded.
“Oh, Emma, you’ll never believe it,” Lizzy cut in, her eyes bright with excitement. “It’s the most amazing thing!”
“What is?”
“Mark is here,” she told her sister impatiently, “because he works with that television programme, Mind Your Manors. And –” she leaned forward to clasp Emma’s hands in hers. “He came to tell us that Litchfield Manor’s been chosen to appear on the programme!”
For perhaps the first time in her life, Emma Bennet found herself at a loss for words.
“Oh,” was all she could manage.
“Production won’t start for a few more weeks,” Mr Knightley told her. “I overheard Lucy discussing it with the production team and I thought –” he glanced at Lizzy. “I thought you’d want to know right away.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said, and turned to Emma. “But I didn’t know anything about it. Did you, Em? You don’t seem very surprised.”
“Oh, I am. I’m…stunned,” Emma confessed. “I sent an email and asked to have Litchfield Manor put on the telly, but I never dreamt it would actually happen.” She looked at Mark Knightley with wary curiosity. “How are you connected to the programme?”
“Writer,” he replied, “associate producer, and general dogsbody as the occasion warrants.” His smile was brief. “We’ve a very small budget, so we all wear more than one hat.”
“I can scarcely believe it.” Emma sank down into a chair next to her father and shook her head in disbelief. Her eyes widened. “Ten thousand pounds! We can fix the roof, and repair the stair treads, and replace the dining room wallpaper –”
“Simon and Jacquetta will take a look round first and provide their recommendations,” Knightley said. “You should hear something official from Lucy in the next day or two.”
“I know you told me you planned to contact the programme,” Mr Bennet said to Emma in wonderment. “But I didn’t suppose we’d actually be chosen!” He turned to Mark. “Doesn’t Mind Your Manors normally feature more impressive family piles? Places with – oh, I don’t know…Elizabethan knot gardens, and dozens and dozens of chimneys?”
“Usually. But not always. The problem with those grade-I and II listed properties is the English Heritage regulations. It makes doing anything subject to permissions and delays and reams of paperwork. Litchfield Manor may be modest in size, and it may not be listed, but it has historical appeal, as well as a charming country setting.” His glance came to rest on Emma. “It’s bucolic, if a bit of an anachronism.”
Before she could lob back a suitable retort, Lizzy turned to him.
“My sister and father are having a party to welcome us home on Sunday.” She met her new husband’s eyes and blushed. “Hugh and I just got back from our honeymoon.”
“Congratulations.” He came forward to shake Hugh and Lizzy’s hands in turn. “My best wishes to you both.”
“Why don’t you join us?” Lizzy ventured. “I’d love to see you. Give us a chance to catch up.”
He hesitated. “That’s very kind. But I’m afraid I’m returning to London this afternoon.”