The Trouble With Emma (17 page)

The past week’s filming had gone fairly well, she thought, despite the constraint between the two of them. Her father had risen admirably to the challenge and his years of delivering sermons behind the pulpit made him an unexpected natural in front of the cameras. Simon and Jacquetta were pleased; the director was pleased; even Tom avowed that Mr Bennet was ‘ace’.

But the fact that they stood to lose a couple of days’ worth of filming due to the upcoming bank holiday, not to mention the schedule changes and rewrites her absence caused, had done little to alleviate Mark’s irritation with her. They’d barely spoken except to say ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’; their only contact was a silent exchange of script pages each day.

It was beyond tiresome.

“I’m glad I caught you,” Mr Knightley said now.

“I wish I could say the same.”

He let out a short breath. “I’m sorry. I deserved that, I suppose. I’ve been a prat this week, haven’t I?”

She pressed her lips together but didn’t answer.

“It’s nothing to do with you; I had no right to behave the way I have. I wanted to apologise, and –” he stopped. “And to see if you’re free for lunch.”

“Lunch?” Her eyebrow rose skyward. “But what about filming? What about the
schedule
?”

He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Thanks to your father, we’ve got what we need for the moment. We’re back to London for the holiday weekend tomorrow and we won’t return until Tuesday. No filming.” His dark blue eyes met hers. “You’ll finally get your wish and be rid of me, at least for a few days.”

“I’ve no wish to be rid of you, Mr Knightley,” Emma said, and relaxed her lips into a smile. “When you manage to be civil you’re not half bad. Apology accepted.”

“Thank you. What about lunch? Are you free?”

“Actually,” she said as she moved to close the door, “I am. If you just give me a few minutes to close up and settle the till, I’ll be right with you.”

Chapter 31

The Clever Clam restaurant overlooked the bay and, although the lunch rush was over, was still fairly crowded as Mark and Emma found seats at a table on the terrace.

“This is my favourite seafood place,” she informed him as she picked up the laminated menu. “Good food, unpretentious atmosphere, fried
everything
, and reasonable prices.”

“So I won’t see little squiggles of garlic foam decorating the plate? No tasseled menus or tiny portions?”

“Lord, no. None of that nonsense here! They give you a mound of fried clams and chips in such massive proportions that you’ll never finish them all. But it’s fun to try.”

“I’ll consider myself warned.” He studied the menu. “I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning, so who knows? I might just surprise you and devour every last deep-fried scrap.”

“They have a breakfast plate,” she told him, and leaned forward, “the Eggstravaganza. It’s a full English with six eggs, bacon, fried bread, toast, two bowls of beans, blood pudding, chipolatas, and fried mushrooms and tomatoes. Oh – and pancakes, too. If you finish it off, it’s on the house, and you get your picture over the till.”

“Good God…you’d need the money you saved to pay for a cardiologist, I should think. Has anyone ever managed it?”

Emma shook her head. “Perhaps you’ll be the first.”

“Not me.” He mock shuddered. “Healthy eating all the way…except for a pint or two now and then, of course.”

“Of course.”

The waitress arrived and they placed their orders, along with a request for a bottle of white wine. “Be right back with your wine and the bread basket,” she chirped as she took up their menus.

“I was thinking,” Mark said as she left, “about last weekend. You never got to see the Tate Modern.”

“No. As I recall, your offer to take me last Sunday was withdrawn when you had to babysit your nephews instead.”

“Nick and Colin.” His smile was rueful. “We spent Saturday night in sleeping bags on my living room floor, eating pizza and popcorn and watching horror films until the boys passed out. My sister would
not
have approved.”

“It sounds brilliant.” Emma paused as the waitress returned with their wine and bread. “I’m sure you spoil them both lavishly and let them do whatever they like.”

“Isn’t that what an uncle’s meant to do?” He poured wine, first into her glass, then his, and set the bottle aside. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

The wine was crisp and light, and after only a couple of sips on her empty stomach Emma reached for a roll and broke it in half. “Share?” she offered.

“Thanks.” He took the bread and bit into it. “Since I have no babysitting requirements facing me this weekend,” he went on, “I wondered if you might like to try again, and visit the Tate with me on Saturday. Perhaps make a day of it. If you’re not busy.”

“I’m not.” She hoped her surprise at his invitation didn’t show on her face. “I’m free as a bird.”

He lifted his brow. “Well, then –?”

“Well,” Emma mused, enjoying the novel sensation of keeping Mr Knightley just a tiny bit off kilter, “since you bailed out on me last time, I don’t know if I should risk it. You might let me down again.”

He leaned forward. “I promise you, Miss Bennet, I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you. I should hate to face your wrath if I did. Are we agreed, then?”

“Yes, I’d like that, very much. Shall I meet you at the Tate? What time?”

They arranged to meet at the museum entrance at ten o’clock on Saturday morning.

“Are you sure that isn’t too early?” he asked. “After all, it’s a holiday weekend; the traffic –”

“I’ll borrow my father’s car and come up tomorrow. I can stay the weekend with Lizzy. I’m sure she won’t mind in the least.”

“I’ve a better idea. Why don’t we share my hire car? It’ll save you leaving Mr Bennet stranded for the weekend with no car. And I can pick you up at your sister’s and bring you back.”

She shot him a quick glance. Two and a half hours spent in the confines of a car with Mr Knightley, she decided, could be either heaven…or hell.

“I’m working on Tuesday,” she pointed out.

“And we resume shooting on Tuesday, as well.” He paused. “We can come back on the Monday afternoon. Unless…” his expression closed up. “Unless you prefer to drive yourself and I’m being a pushy, clueless git.”

Emma laughed. “I’d love to ride to London with you…if you’re sure it’s not an imposition.”

“Not in the least,” he said. “I’m driving up in either case; we might as well go together. If we leave in the morning, before noon, we’ll have plenty of time to beat the traffic.”

“That’s perfect.” She traced a finger around the stem of her wine glass. “If you don’t mind my asking – what had you in such a foul mood this week? And feel free to tell me to mind my own business if I’m overstepping,” she added quickly.

He shrugged. “Based on my recent behaviour, it’s a perfectly reasonable question.” He paused. “Just the usual job stuff, I suppose – long hours, no budget to speak of, endless bickering between Simon and Jacqui, living out of a suitcase for nine months of the year…it wears thin at times.”

“I can certainly understand that.”

“The majority of the houses we visit are owned by the most obnoxious, rude, clueless idiots you could possibly imagine. They refuse to take Simon’s advice; and they refuse to face the reality of the situation – that it takes a great deal of effort, not to mention money, to maintain a country house. It isn’t easy; yet they all want a quick fix.”

Emma lifted her brow. “And so you thought it was more of the same when I swanned out the door on Tuesday morning without so much as a by-your-leave and left you – and your schedule – completely in the lurch.”

“The thought did cross my mind,” he admitted. “Yes.”

“Then you have my sincere apology, Mr Knightley. I was running late for work and I admit I was a bit…rude.”

“You told me to get stuffed, as I recall.”

Emma felt a flush warm her cheeks. “I did. Sorry.”

He smiled. “No harm done…I suppose I deserved it. As Tom said, you put me in my place. Ah – here’s our food.”

The server arrived balancing a large tray of fried clams, chips, and slaw salad on her shoulder, and Emma’s mouth began to water. “I didn’t have breakfast either,” she admitted. “I’m
ravenous
.”

They settled down to their lunch with great enthusiasm, and spoke of inconsequential things as they ate; and Emma reflected, as she laughed and listened and shared bits and bobs of information with Mark Knightley, that it was quite the most pleasant meal she’d had in a very long time.

Chapter 32

“Lizzy,” Emma said cautiously as she rang her sister that evening, “I have a huge favour to ask.”

“I’ve already introduced you to Mark,” she answered. “My job is done.”

“Actually…he’s the reason I’m calling,” Emma admitted. “I’ve been invited to the Tate Modern with him on Saturday and I’ve said yes.”

Her sister squealed. “That’s wonderful! What sort of flowers shall you have for your wedding bouquet? I’m thinking freesias and white roses. Although I must admit, peonies and lily of the valley are very nice for a bouquet, too. And Home House or the Roof Garden are both excellent venue possibilities for the reception –”

“Lizzy, stop, please.”

She paused. “OK. Sorry, I got a bit carried away. What’s the favour?”

“I’ve agreed to come up to London with Mark tomorrow afternoon,” she said, choosing her words with care, “since he’s coming back for the long weekend anyway, and I wondered if I might stay at yours until Monday.”

“Emma,” her sister said, exasperation in her voice, “you know you’re welcome here any time you like, no need to ask. Of course you must come and stay with us! I should be insulted if you didn’t. Unless, perhaps,” she added, “you told me you were staying over at Mark’s, instead…”

“Please,
stop
.” Emma was glad Lizzy couldn’t see the blush her words caused. “We barely know each other.”

“But you like him,” she prodded. “And he obviously likes you, or he wouldn’t offer to bring you up here and share his Aston with you for two-plus gruelling hours.”

“It’s a hire car, not the Aston,” Emma retorted, “and it only makes sense for us to ride up together. Saves on petrol.”

Lizzy snorted. “Right. Because you’ve always been
so
ecologically minded.”

“All right…yes, I do like him,” she confessed. “Very much. But it’s early days, and I don’t want to jinx things by reading too much into his invitation. He’s only making it up to me after he bunked off to babysit his nephews last weekend.”

“Which is another tick in his ‘excellent potential’ box. He’s good with children, so I’m guessing he has at least some experience with changing nappies and cleaning baby sick off his shirt and all the rest.”

“Good to know,” Emma retorted, “but not terribly romantic.”

“This is the potential father of your children we’re talking about, Em,” Lizzy reminded her. “These sorts of things are
very
important.”

And as she rang off a few minutes later, smiling despite herself at her sister’s excitement, Emma took her weekend bag down from the closet, and began to pack.

***

On Friday morning Emma had time for a quick breakfast with her father before she and Mark left for London. Her bag was packed and she looked forward to getting away from Litchfield for a couple of days.

The fact that she’d spend her Saturday with Mark Knightley had nothing to do with her anticipation, of course.

She’d just buttered her toast when Mr Bennet remarked, “I’m sure Lizzy will be very pleased to have you stay again, and so soon after your last visit. Will she see very much of you while you’re in London?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Emma met his eyes over the rim of her teacup. “I’ll be staying with her all weekend, after all, and…oh.”

He obviously thought she meant to spend the majority of her time with Mark, and very little with Lizzy and her husband.

“Mr Knightley and I are going to the Tate on Saturday morning,” she told him, “and then I expect we’ll have lunch together. I plan to spend the rest of my time with Lizzy. By Monday morning I’m sure she’ll be glad to see the back of me.”

“I doubt that. Your sister adores you, and she always has, whether you realise it or not.”

“I miss her,” Emma admitted. “It’s so quiet around here with her gone, and Charli at school.”

“Quiet?” He looked at her with upraised eyebrows. “Since that blasted production crew took over, there’s not a dull moment to be had in this place. Good thing I’m no longer writing sermons or I should never have a moment’s peace to compose my thoughts.”

“More tea?” she offered, and stood.

“Yes, please.” He held out his cup. “Mr Knightley seems a pleasant young man. Intelligent. Well spoken.”

“He’s very nice.” Emma offered nothing further as she refilled his cup and returned to her seat. “When he’s not being a moody git.”

“Speaking of which,” he went on, choosing his words with care. “Perhaps I’ve misread the situation…but it seems to me that you and Knightley were barely civil to one another this past week. I should think the atmosphere on your ride up to London will prove rather…frigid.”

“We’ve patched it up.” She fidgeted with her spoon. “To tell the truth, it’s partly my fault. I haven’t exactly made things easy for him.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He annoys me, I suppose. He’s always so sure of himself, so convinced he’s right. It’s tiresome.”

“Are you interested in him, Emma?”

She let out a short, exasperated breath. “Not you, too! Lizzy’s already chosen my wedding venue and the flowers for my bouquet. Yes, I’m interested in him,” she went on irritably. “I like him. I enjoyed having lunch with him yesterday, and I expect I’ll have a nice time at the museum tomorrow. But we’re friends. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry.” His expression was contrite. “I only want you to be happy, Emma, nothing more. If Mr Knightley makes you happy, and you enjoy his company, then that’s good enough for me.”

“Thanks.” She got up and carried her cup to the doorway. “I promise, if things should go further than one or two dates – which I
very
much doubt – you’ll be the first to know.”