Milkshake

    By Natalie-Marie

    Section I, Next Section

    Chapter 1

    Posted on Tuesday, 15 March 2005

    What a gorgeous man! DING DONG, DANGER, DANGER obscenely sexy man, entering café. Is it legal for men to be that good looking? Please somebody pass me a fan! Whoa, look at that tan... yummy, those broad, delicious shoulders God, what would I give to stroke and ... Stop it! Elizabeth Bennet please, control your urges you are a respectable, important person. You are the head editor of The London Tribune, not some whore! He could just be a crazy man, living on the streets! What sort of person are you to go around and think about having intimate relations with a random stranger? Is that a natural reaction? Yes? NO, Lizzy! No! What would you mother say? Ha, now there is an amusing thought!

    "ELIZABETH BENNET YOU AWFUL CHILD! WHAT WILL BECOME OF US? OH, MY NERVES! KITTY, FETCH MY SMELLING..."

    "Lizzy? LIZZY? Wake up!" My twenty eight year old sister Jane woke me out of my reverie and lascivious thoughts. We were sitting in a coffee house when HE came in. I couldn't speak. He was such a gorgeous fine ... man. Man wasn't really the sort of word that I should have described him as. Gorgeous physical beastie. Don't ask ... Well, since your curiosity was ignited and you did ask so politely, "Beastie" is a word that me and my best mate Charlotte made up to describe gorgeous, handsome, sexy, beautiful, irresistible, mouth watering, appealing ... well, I think you get the point. This guy had dark brown hair, was six foot, very broad and muscular and yet slim, he had chocolaty brown eyes and very cute dimples. I just wanted to go over there and eat that...

    "Elizabeth? Have you been listening to a word I have been saying?"

    "Yes, Jane." I half lied. I had actually turned off after the ninth time she had mentioned Charles Bingley. "Rich, Gaaawgiiious and single." According to my mother. Yes Jane, I was listening when you told me Charles' favourite meal. Oh and of course I was interested when I found out that he wears a size ten shoe. I was on the edge if my seat when you mentioned that he has his hair done at Jeremy's and to top it ALL, that he had sixteen cousins, two of whom were called Harry. Honestly, how do these sorts of things come up in conversation? "Charles, old chap how are? How's business going? Excellent, glad to hear it. Lovely day today, isn't it? I really want to kiss you! Oh, and by the way, what size feet do you have?" Please, she had only known the man for a week!

    "Anyway, Lizzy," she continued as I prayed that the dreaded "C" word not be inserted into this monologue, but alas, there was not God (Or, maybe there was and Charles Bloody Bingley had programmed him) "You will never guess what Charles did yesterday, Lizzy! Charles well he..." (My mind went to sleep at this point) "Haa, it was so funny." (It woke up, hoping that was the end) "Lord, Charles next he," (I went again) "Charles is so ... Charles ... Charles ... Clarles ... Crhales. AAAAAAAAAA Charles, Charles, Charles, Charles, Charles, Charles, Blah Blah BLAH!!!"

    The name had been repeated so many times that it had worn out and was screeching inside my head. CHAAAARRRRLLLLESSS. Anyway, Jane and I were sitting in Holloway coffee house, waiting for Charles. I was getting sick of waiting. I mean for somebody who is supposedly amazing and heaven sent; he certainly had a talent of being late. I was going to meet Jane's boyfriend of six days for the first time today. After having been given enough information to write a three hundred page illustrated biography on the man, I felt it was time to meet the poor thing. That was when the beastie walked in. I felt slightly flustered, you know like when the sexiest teacher that you have had a crush on for years walks over to your desk and whispers. "You're so talented at Italian, Elizabeth. You sound delicious." Not that I have ever had any such experiences but well, you know. Like when you are a childish schoolgirl and you get your first kiss. Suddenly the temperature rose up in the room by at least 15 degrees!

    After the Beastie had bought his cappuccino, (glad it wasn't tea, I could never stand a man who drank tea) he went and stood outside. He was waiting for somebody and I hoped it wasn't his girlfriend/wife/mother. He was well dressed, not at all shabby. He had a nice pair of jeans on, with a blue polo neck. YUMMY! I was sitting there, one eye watching him, and the other eye watching Jane so that I knew when I should nod and agree that Charles' hair is just the perfect shade, not too blonde and not too brown. It was brilliant how I could make this sort of assessment without actually meeting the man. Slightly suspicious though!

    Jane didn't care. Well, either that or she was too busy dreaming about Charles's beautiful brown shoes (size 10). (Personally, I have always hated brown shoes. Thank God the Beastie was wearing black ... Not that I'd looked.) I have always loved my sister Jane. She is such a great companion, she always tells you that you look fab or that you have definitely done the right thing in dumping a slimy Billy Collins. (Very long story, not enough time to relate, too busy dreaming of Beastie) She is the sweetest person and she always thinks well of everyone. I had moved out of our childhood home when I was eighteen. Jane was twenty and had still stayed at home. I had studied English at Oxford and after getting my degree, moved to London. A year later, Jane moved the fifty miles difference between us, saying that she didn't like me living here alone. (I secretly thought that she too had finally got sick of my mother and her moaning.)

    Jane is a primary school teacher. I always knew that she would be something like that. I don't have the patience with little monstrous children but she is so calm and serene. I am a naturally stubborn and competitive person. We are complete opposites. Jane is blonde, short and very slim. I am a brunette, tall and have a fuller figure. We don't live together, but always make sure we meet up on Saturdays.

    This particular Saturday was a typical wintry one. It was cold and damp and most people had taken their coats that had been untouched all summer and put them on. I was sort of interested in meeting this man who had captured my sister's heart but I was a bit miffed that it meant we had had to walk there in the freezing cold.

    "I'm just popping to the ladies for a sec, Jane." I said, glad that she had paused to take a breath in describing Charles' divine fingernails. I got up and almost ran, for the fear that Jane would start again. Don't get me wrong, I love my sister but when she is in love, and I am not and I am getting a full Bingley family history, I am very thankful to my bladder.

    As I was walking back from the ladies toilet, having taken slightly more time than I ought, I saw my sister being entertained by two men. I was glad that she had mentioned that Charles had hair "not too blonde, not too brown" otherwise I wouldn't have been able to distinguish them. One was quite obviously Charles Bingley. I mean THE Charles Bingley. Excuse me while I faint ... Oh, I'm ok. The other was Beastie. I mean THE beastie. For a very split second, where I had forgotten that Charles' hair was "Not too blonde and not too brown" I thought that my sister was going out with the Beastie! I was ready to laugh. (The fact that I might have been eyeing my sister's boyfriend's derrière was quite an amusing thought.)

    "Lizzy, there you are!" my sister sang. She sounded like a younger version of my mother. "Elizabeth Bennet, there you are. Have you been climbing trees again? What will I do with you?" The voice with a slight patronization in it. OK, everyone I haven't got a boyfriend! I haven't slept with anyone for six months! That doesn't mean I am a failure that deserves to be looked down on, does it?

    "Hiya Jane."

    Beastie turned around to look who she was talking to and his face was...well it was nothing. There was no expression on his face. It looked like he didn't even want to be there. I was at least expecting a smile or a greeting but no, absolutely nothing. Well if that's the way you want to play it, Beastie.

    "Lizzy, this is Charles Bingley and his friend, Will Darcy." Oh, so beastie did have a name. I thought I would stick with Beastie though, it had a ring. Plus, it suited him in more than one sense. "Hi there." I said in an almost bored and indifferent tone. I wasn't really indifferent though, he did have a really great body.

    "Hello." He replied very stiffly.

    "Hey, Elizabeth." Said Charles. I turned to him and almost burst out laughing. He had the most ridiculously large grin that I had ever seen! He and my sister were staring at each other. It looked like a staring contest. It was making my eyes go blurry.

    "So," I asked Beastie. "What do you do?" He looked very shocked that somebody as inferior as ME should have the nerve to talk to him. I was becoming amused by him. The expression on his face was so unreadable I didn't know what to make of him.

    "I own a company." Oh, I know, let's see if we can say the shortest sentences possible, maybe then she will get scared away by my piercing glare. He obviously didn't want to be there and he didn't want to talk to me so, I did the usual "me" thing. I carried on talking to him. "Oh, really. What is it called?"

    "Darcy cooperates and co."

    "I see. What do you do in it?"

    "What do you mean, Miss Bennet?"

    "I mean, Mr. Darcy, what type of company is it?"

    "It's a law firm."

    Jane interrupted here to ask if we wanted some more drinks. Everyone did so I offered to help her carry them. "So, Elizabeth. What do you think of Charles?" um, let me see. Apart from the obvious lack of rational thinking when she is around, the fact that I have said no more that three words to him and that he wears size ten brown shoes, "Yes, Jane, he is very nice."

    Whilst Jane was paying, I took the drinks back to the table. Charles was talking to Beastie and I couldn't resist listening.

    "Will, you have got to get a life, man. You are thirty one and you haven't had one serious relationship." Really, not one Beastie? Well I would be glad to assist...

    "Neither have you, Charles. Jane hardly counts as long term." Fair point Beastie.

    "Will, what about Elizabeth?" this seriously got my attention. Jane was still paying so I didn't feel guilty about eaves dropping.

    "What about Elizabeth ... Charles, please she too below me. What does she do? God, she works in a café like this no doubt. The first thing she asked me was what I did, i.e. how rich are you? She certainly isn't as pretty as her sister, she is unintelligent and she is young and probably does drugs. I don't want a woman anything like her."

    Charles certainly didn't know what to say but I certainly did. Well maybe I overreacted but I walked straight over to him and said, "Well, Mr. Darcy you undoubtedly are the charmer. You are damned lucky that Jane has got the coffee, not me." He looked at me a little bit ashamed but as if to say, "What the hell are you talking about?" And since he had asked me so politely and had been so kind, I showed him exactly what I meant. I poured my strawberry milkshake right down his jumper. The whole café was watching as I grabbed my bag and walked straight out. It really was a shame that a man who was such a meanie had such a great butt.

    Chapter 2

    Posted on Friday, 18 March 2005

    Ok, so I'm far from suggesting that I am a perfect human being but, surely I deserve some sort of respect. I was very insulted. I had never been so insulted ever. I had always tricked myself into saying "Ha, I don't care what other people think of me!" but knowing that beastie had come to that sort of incorrect conclusion about me made me upset and slightly worried. But all those lessons with my mother had actually paid off! She had told me: "Elizabeth, never let a man know that he has hurt you." And to be quite honest, I think that that was one of the most sensible things that she had ever said.

    I got home to my little one bedroom apartment and did nothing. I sat there just thinking. "She is unintelligent and probably does drugs" came to my mind and I just burst out in hysteria! What a pompous, ridiculous statement to come out with. "I have just met you, you have brown hair, green eyes, are reasonably tall, I have said ten words to you and I have decided that you do drugs!" The only possible way that he could have concluded that would have been if I had said in those ten words: "Hiya Will! You wanna met me out back for some crack!" Even that was eleven words. The phone started ringing and I picked it up with...

    "Hello, Elizabeth Bennet, the drug addicted stupid, mercenary, waitress speaking, I would love to help but I am busy snorting some cocaine at the moment."

    "Pardon me?" came the voice of my brilliant mate Charlotte, who was obviously quite shocked at my description of myself. (Felt a slight sense of relief that not everyone views me as Will Darcy does!)

    "Hiya Charlotte! How are things?"

    "Pretty good thanks. What was that all about Lizzy?"

    "Well I was just about to meet Jane's new boyfriend down in Holloway..."

    "Wait," she interrupted voice dripped with mock sarcasm, "You mean THE Charles Bingley? Size ten feet and all?"

    "Yes but BROWN SHOES!"

    "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" she screamed in a manner which a passer by may have thought was a brutal murder. "She has to get out ... that's a sin."

    "I know," I responded, "But I am afraid that Jane is too far in now ... We will just have to hope that in between the conversations about his family tree and his feet that she might mention the idea of taking him shopping for a more respectable colour."

    "Anyway, what happened with the drugs gal? I thought that you had got rid of those!" Charlotte was joking. Honestly. I may be slightly opinionated, mad, loud, sarcastic and bossy but I would certainly not take drugs. Well ... maybe not the illegal drugs.

    "There was this really sexy guy. And when I say sexy I MEAN sexy! The tan was just right, the shoulders so broad and delicious..."

    "Beastie factor?" she questioned me in a very suspiciously interested way.

    "Oh, a definite 90. Without a doubt the best looking man I have met this year."

    "So what was wrong with him?" It had to be asked. No matter what sort of qualities men have, there is never the right proportion on the opposite side. If you are gorgeous you are arrogant and vain, and if you are lucky enough to find a man who isn't vain or arrogant for a start you are extremely fortunate and secondly, he is bound to be a disgusting looking person. Well, at least in my own personal experience with men. But then that wasn't very exciting or particularly varying. They were all after the same thing. And we all know what that was.

    "He is a mate of Charles and was chatting with us ...Well, hardly chatting. He is arrogant, proud, disagreeable and very conceited. He looked down at me like I was a child and visibly shook when I had the unbelievable nerve to start a conversation. When I went to get drinks, he was asked about me by Charles and said that I was young, unintelligent, unemployed, that I did drugs, that I was after his money, that I wasn't pretty ... Need I continue?"

    "What a b*****d!" came the response I was expecting. The great thing about girls is that they cheer you up. Friends know exactly what to say and when to say it.

    "Yeah he was! Beastie in more than one sense of the word." I laughed because it was really funny! What the hell did I care for the opinions of a man that I would never meet again? Nothing! He was about as much interest to me as a pair of Charles Bingley's shoes! He was good looking and that was it. I viewed him like I would a movie star. It had always annoyed me when girls in school would go, "I'm going to the premiere and I am gonna see ______ (Insert currently sexiest film star here) and then he will fall in love with me and we will get married and have twenty children." And then I would hit them on the head and say: "Wake-up, loser! ______ doesn't give a s**t about you! He doesn't even know WHO YOU ARE!"

    "So what was this guy's name?" Charlotte asked me.

    "William Darcy or something."

    "Oh My God, THE WILLIAM DARCY! OH. MY. GOD."

    "CHARLOTTE," I screamed down the phone scared for my friend's sanity, "You are scaring me. Next thing I know you will be screaming "SHUT UP" down the phone like some psycho teenager."

    "Don't tell me you haven't heard of William Darcy, Lizzy?"

    Of course I had heard of him. I was sick of bloody hearing of him. I was really p****d off of hearing of him. Frankly, the conversation with Charlotte was not helping me in my current state of trying to forget his sexy looks, his harsh words and his nasty personality. It was like trying to be a celibate and then going to a strip club! What a complete waste of time.

    After having a customarily boring Sunday, watching "Antiques Road-show" and some depressing, unpopular drama called "The Affair!" (DUN DUN DUUUUUUN!" where a woman who is very manically depressive because she has reached the age of 24 and she STILL hasn't got married, advertises for marriage, gets married and her husband cheats on her. What a HUGE surprise! I got up on Monday morning, a day where I usually just want to wallow my life away lying under the duvet, scoffing chocolates and drinking insanely huge amounts coffee and I actually felt very eager to go. I had had a crap weekend, Saturday consisted of being insulted by one the supposed "Most eligible bachelors in London" and Sunday was a day where the 24 hours just refused to pass. It must be a truth that if you continuously check your watch, eager for the time to fly by, then your watch has some sort of cult against you and decides that it will decrease its rate of minute passing by half, EACH TIME YOU LOOK AT IT! At least that is how I felt.

    I actually dwelt on the idea of committing suicide but I realised that no one would actually miss me hugely and they would be very overjoyed at my death. And I am such a ridiculously selfish person that I decided I would prefer for other people to be depressed about my still being alive that to let them be happy at my death. So I didn't take an overdose. Mean, aren't I?

    I decided to start afresh. I would become a new person. I was going to eat healthily, stop drinking, go to the gym three times a week, find a new romance, keep up with all my workload and generally be a more pleasant and less sarcastic person. I stopped fooling myself when I told my plans to my brilliant gay secretary, Kyle. He actually laughed in my face. Laughed. In. My. Face.

    "YOU! Oh, Lizzy! You have made my day! You on an "I refuse to drink" campaign?"

    "Just remember that I hold the right to sack you, Kyle." I warned very annoyed with his opinion of my lack of ...Willpower.

    I had hired Kyle as soon as I had made it to the editor position. All the people who I had to talk to were old, balding (or already bald) and just plain boring. I had worked with Kyle back in department I first started out in, the Politics section (Lord knows why Kyle was there, he didn't even know who Tony Blair was.) Anyway, I really needed someone to cheer up the mood in my office so I appointed Kyle. Fun he was, but he always got the work that I asked him to do done. He always reminded me when I had an appointment with someone and always took me for a cocktail when I had had a s**t day.

    Gay men were the only ones that I could trust. If I was depressed, I could go to Kyle knowing full well that he would not try to feel me up whilst hugging me as the straight ones always did.

    "Ms Bennet?" came the urgent voice of the junior accountant, "Sorry to interrupt but its important." It bloody well better be, I thought. Kyle and I had just been discussing whether it was about time that I had a facial.

    "Yes, what is it Robert?" I said in a slightly more irritated expression than was actually necessary.

    "Half of the paper's account has been wiped ... Amounting to a loss of over 100 million pounds and it's been redirected to a personal bank account."

    Holy s**t. was my first thought. Holy s**t was my second.

    "Have you tracked the bank details down, Robert?" I asked.

    "Yes, the account belongs to a Mr. Greg Khamicow."

    "Who is that?" I questioned. Why the hell would this Greg guy steal from our accounts and come to think of it, how could he? The person who did it would have to have been an employee.

    "Right, Robert I want a list of all the people employed by us who are not here today and you will need to inform Mr. Thepale (the owner of the paper) as to the events a.s.a.p."

    As Robert left the room and I braced myself for a day at work which would inevitably have to be rewarded with a very large vodka, I couldn't help the recollection in my mind of a Greg Khamicow but I just couldn't think where. That really p****d me off.

    Chapter 3

    Posted on Tuesday, 22 March 2005

    When I was 21, young, fresh and just out of Oxford, I had begun my work at the London Tribune. It was an exciting job that involved photocopying the work for grumpy old men, fetching them coffee and wearing a sadistically short skirt to please them. But eventually, as some of them retired or died, I had a chance to prove my work was quite brilliant. When one of the very important men within the politics section was away for three weeks, I was given the opportunity to show off and I took on his work load. I worked my butt of during those weeks and that ended with me being recognised within the section and then two years after I had joined the paper, I was given a promotion and became the head of politics.

    That really cheesed some people off i.e. the certain people that had been committed and had worked with the company for over ten years. I suppose I would have been annoyed if when the chance came to get the job, someone young enough to be my daughter got the place I was expected to get.

    I did however make some good friends. These consisted of Kyle, Charlotte and G. G worked within the office section of the paper, working out numbers of papers sold, profit and deliveries necessary etc. G was called G because ...Well I don't know really apart from the fact that he was called George. I don't think he really liked his name, it made him feel pompous and old. It turns out he was a pompous twit anyway. I promised myself that I wouldn't think about what he did again but every now and then, it comes back and it is just as painful. G wasn't discreet in his displays of affection for me. He made it clear when I joined the paper that he wanted to go out with me. I was really still young then, and very immature. I had been used to the quiet life and though not 'inexperienced' with men, I had never had the attention of a man of 26 before. He took serious advantage of that. He was able to worm me into a state where I felt that I needed his protection in order to survive. I hated that feeling. I was always a very confident and loud person and for the year in which we were an item, I felt very trapped.

    It took until Charlotte and Kyle realised what was happening before I broke it off. They showed and explained to me what I had become, how I was kind (like I wasn't before) and what a b*****d he really was. He became dominant and jealous over my every move. I would have to ask him before I went out. He was ruining my life and I was seriously worried. I was 23 and deep down; I wasn't looking for any serious sort of relationship. When I broke up with him, he raped me.

    God, way to go, Lizzy! Drop a bombshell on everyone. 'Elizabeth Bennet, the strong, resilient, hardy, loud, mouthy Elizabeth was actually a very vulnerable and affected person.' I guess he was trying upset me and it worked. He hit me in the worst way. My whole life was shattered, but instead of sitting down and crying like a normal person would have done, I did nothing. I have still done nothing; have still told no-one. I remember it only as a time of my life that was awful and that I will never, ever allow a man to treat me in the same way that he did, ever again. I felt used and also that I whole year of my life had been wasted. A whole year that can not be relived. He took away my personality.

    For two years, I sat in work actually working (something that I rarely do now!) I concentrated on everything and took my life very seriously. I didn't have to deal with G because he was sacked from my department. I behaved gravely, only occasionally allowing myself to have a good time. For those two years I didn't have a relationship with anyone besides my computer and my good old English thesaurus.

    My life consisted of getting up on weekdays at seven in the morning, going to work, staying in the office until seven, getting the train home and then going to bed. That was it. I woke up every morning feeling tainted by his touch. He still had control over my life even though I hadn't seen him for two years. Realising that was the key to forgetting him and his harsh actions. I still don't understand why he did it but I have learned to move on. It wasn't the actions that he did. I wasn't afraid of sleeping with him; we had had a very intimate relationship up until that point. It was the idea that through my screaming, my genuine tears and my whining, the pained expression I knew was on my face and the pleading to him as he pressed me against the wall and hit me, through all of this grief, he still managed to cause so much pain to somebody who he supposedly loved and who had loved him devotedly for that past year. That was George for you the arrogant, violent ... George Wickham...

    G E O R G E...W I C K H A M

    G R E G...K H A M I C O W

    What an idiot I had been! Anagrams were George's favourite pastime. He would constantly leave little puzzles for me and I would be forced to pretend that they actually did take me half the day to word out when in reality, V E L O O U Y I took me 2 minutes to determine said "I LOVE YOU"

    The policeman that walked through my office door about ten minutes after Robert walked out was mightily good looking. It seemed to be in my good fortune that this was the second stud muffin I had met in two days. He certainly wasn't up to beastie's standards but...woof! I gave him a quick once over and decided that the 'damsel in distress' routine worked for Snow White, Sleeping Beauty and Humpty Dumpty! (I would certainly not object to being rescued by all the kings horses and all the kings men provided they were wearing tights) and that it would work for me!

    "Ms Bennet, I am Sergeant James Leighton."

    "Sergeant, I am just soooooooooooo pleased that you could come so quickly ... Those 999 operators are certainly doing well!!!" He gave a very forced laugh and me a strange look and I decided that my 'I am naturally blonde ... Honest," was going to fail with this one.

    "Yes, Ms Bennet, we do try. Now, am I correct in my understanding that..."

    I was enjoying the way that he was pacing the room as he spoke. It was very manly and it seemed he was marking his territory. Elizabeth, concentrate please ... I wonder if he is married? NO! No thoughts like that please! All the practice of listening to Jane speak without actually listening to the Bingley Biography was really paying off. I was able to give the impression of actually listening whilst putting all my attention on not falling over as I leaned over and the inevitable wedding ring on his 4th finger.

    That day was full of disappointments. Firstly the only nice and sexy man I have EVER met ended up being married. (Always a bad sign, you can never trust the committed ones...or the uncommitted ones for that matter ... Or men full stop.) Then there was the small problem of the only person in my workplace that I have to treat with respect, the owner of the paper. He is the one who never comes in to work unless there is a crisis i.e. the company have lost over £100,000,000 and generally sits on his arse at home or goes fishing, or golfing or goes to Aston. Anyway, today he came. I wasn't expecting him to be mad with me, how could he? It wasn't as if it was MY fault, I was only the editor; I didn't run the business part of the company I just decided what went in the paper and 'which angle' we were going for. The executives of the company that were supposed to do that were mostly the ones that played golf with Mr. Thepale and I never saw them.

    Mr. Thepale discussed the situation with the police and seemed to imply to them that it was him that had worked out the anagram. He explained the past record with regards to George and said that he had been let go about four years ago. Like he had remembered that. I was the editor for three months before he remembered my name. That just goes to show how mad the rich can be. How is it possible that you run a company and you don't know the name of the very person that almost makes or breaks the success of the paper? He doesn't decide what goes in the paper, I DO! For all he could know, I could get one of the dumb, blonde canteen staff to write a story about the time they followed a rainbow to find some gold, or maybe to do one on the strange mystery of why their goldfish died when it hadn't been fed for weeks. Memo to self, Elizabeth. If ever you need a pay rise, just threaten Mr. Thepale on a story on the rights of goldfish to a clean tank and constant source of food. Like they would care! They would realise their tank was dirty, forget it after two seconds, remember they hadn't been fed, forget a moment later and then realise the tank was dirty.

    The police (including that very fine James who at a future date I might have an affair with...if only I knew his number ... Oh, wait 999?) told us that they would do their best to find Wickham. They would be able to retrieve the money by closing the account and giving him a notice saying that they were taking the money and if it was legally his, to come and discuss it with them. James had said that criminals rarely did that because once they had been found out; they would just go into hiding.

    Charlotte came by my office at 4:30 just as I was completing my column for the week (which actually contained many hints about how much I disliked robbers). I looked up from my work and sighed. Charlotte gave a little laugh at me and sat down. She was a short person. We always looked very odd together. Charlotte was only five foot one and I was at least five ten. 'Little and large' they always called us! This fact made us ideal shopping partners because both of us had such problems finding clothes that fit us well and didn't cost such an amount that could feed a third world country. She was not an ugly person but she was plain. (I was allowed to say this!) Her hair was just brown and no matter how many times I tried to persuade her to go to Debanams to 'get her colours done' and add a bit of life to her hair, she refused point blank. There was nothing distinctive in her looks. Most people have something about them that is the main feature of the face. For me, it is my eyes. For Jane, it is everything.

    "Lizzy, you must have had a really awful day," she said in a way that reminded me of the time I used to scrounge cash off my father.

    "What do you want, Charlotte?"

    "Nothing, Elizabeth ... You are a marvellous friend, you know Liz. Will you go shopping with me? I have a date. You have such excellent taste."

    That's it; pile on the praise and sympathy. I love it when people do that. 'Ellllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllizabeth' is what I normally get from my mother when she is going to ask me if I will do her a favour. "Yes mum," I would reply. Then she would say "Do you love me?" and I would say, "Of course I do, Mum." Then she would ask her most parroted comment of the decade, "Have you got a boyfriend yet? Because you do really need to hurry up and get married, dear. I don't want you ending up like Charlotte now, do I?" I would protest at this that Charlotte is only 33. "Yes, but Lizzy, you need to find yourself a man and settle down now, get married and have some lovely little children." Christ, she had wanted me to settle down and have children since I started my periods when I was eleven. "Well, if you can't find anyone for yourself then I will have to it for you. Those Muslims certainly know what they are doing. Their parents chose them a husband and that's the end of that. Now, what about Billy Collins ... Elizabeth ... Elizabeth ... Are you still there ... Elizabeth Bennet? Come back to the phone at once ... How dare you hang up on me ... Andrew? Your favourite daughter has hung up on me, not so brilliant now is she now ...What are you doing, Andrew those cakes are for the dinner party with the Phillips's ... What do you mean vulgar? That's my sister you are talking about ... (Click).

    Chapter 4

    Posted on Saturday, 26 March 2005

    I was glad that I went shopping with Charlotte. Sometimes life is just crap and you just want to forget all your hardships. Like the fact that you are ugly and unappealing to anyone. That you are 26 and you haven't had a serious relationship excepting one which ended on very horrible terms. Also the fact that you could soon be out of a job due to the fact that the company you work for has been robbed of a huge sum of its savings and this could mean that you embarrassingly end up moving in with your sister or worse, your parents. I decided that it was fair and correct to say that I deserved a break. Even if it was only for an hour.

    Charlotte had looked great in every outfit that she had tried on. It would have certainly been enough to impress the twit that she was going out with. Billy Collins had never, ever stopped pressing his attentions on me. I was very stupid in ever accepting the one date that we actually did go on. I felt rather sorry for him and that was the biggest mistake. I told him after I had spent over three hours ...THREE HOURS alone with him that I wasn't 'looking for a relationship' even though I was very desperate. Almost that desperate but not quite. What I really felt like saying was, "Thanks ever so much for the offer, Bill but in fact I would rather bite off my own toenails (and yours for that matter) and then eat them than I would go out with you for more than...half a minute. But, unfortunately, I didn't get to see his reaction to that. Though, he would probably think I was trying to turn him on and then take off his shoes. He has this uncanny ability to think that whatever you are saying is a joke and that you actually mean the exact opposite. Why? Comes to my mind! Even after he had proposed to me in the middle of the frozen food section in the middle of tesco's and I refused him very politely and then not so politely and then thrown a bag of frozen peas at his head, he still didn't get the hint.

    Charlotte had managed to make him forget about me by asking him out on a date. Also, my father was of assistance. I told him of the unfortunate tesco proposal and he decided to talk to Billy about it himself. He said something along the lines of "Elizabeth has always told me it is her great desire to become a nun and I believe that I couldn't possibly give my consent to her marrying, even if she did love someone very much it would be totally against my beliefs. So I think that it is safe to say that you are wasting your time. However, if you speak with my wife I am sure that she will be able to find an adequate replacement."

    So, Charlotte bagged Billy Collins. Although he was pompous, rude, conceited, annoying and etc. I understood her desire to date and get out more. My mother's words did have truth in them and Charlotte was very unlike me. I would have been quite content to have been the loved, maiden (though not quite), single aunt to all the mini Bingley's with little brown size ten shoes. Charlotte was the sort of person who was going to marry anyone at a certain point in her life, just for the sake of marrying. So who was I to deny her fun at her old age of 33? Though I still found it difficult to associate the words 'Billy' and 'fun' in the same sentence ... except maybe "Billy is not fun," but I don't think that counts.

    I got home at about six thirty. Home is a little apartment about a 15-minute walk from the centre of London. I like to think that it is very cool and snazzy though I am probably the only that thinks so. It is homey and warm and full of delightful little trinkets that I have picked up from my life and also presents from other countries. Every thing is in the main room apart from my bedroom and the bathroom. A little kitchen is in the main room, where I attempt to go all out and cook fancy meals when I can't even manage beans on toast without setting the smoke alarms off. This usually brings the next-door neighbours out. There are four of us on my floor. Mr. and Mrs. Gandagee are hardly ever seen. They inhabit the apartment furthest away from me. Mr. Edwards is a sheer joke. He comes storming out of his room with his shiny bald head muttering words like 'stupid girl' 'hire a cook' 'intelligence of a rabbit' 'trying to work' and then starts banging on my door cursing and swearing that I will 'regret' my inability as a cook. I would finally answer the door and the conversation would go something like:

    "Mr. Edwards, to what do I owe this great pleasure?" The alarms would still be ringing in the background.

    "You, are disturbing my work ... don't you know that this is..." At this point, I would secretly look over his shoulder whilst trying to maintain a serious look on my face and then see Jessica. She is the only other single woman in my apartment block (unless there are others hiding from me). We have a good relationship and always chat in the evenings (she occasionally cooks for me). I haven't known her as long as I have Charlotte but nevertheless, she is quite brilliant. She a year younger than me, and works in Gucci, which makes her a brilliant friend to have when you want discounts in that ludicrously priced shop.

    When I look at her at this moment I am quite positive that she will be mouthing Mr. Edward's words. "...Very important work for the government," they would both be saying only Jessica in silence. I had heard this lecture so many times. It wasn't my fault that I couldn't cook. I had tried learning but ... Anyway; this man was the death of me. When I first moved into the flat, about four years beforehand, I had wondered why he wasn't married. You don't see very many single men in their 60's these days. It didn't take long for me to realise why he remained unmarried.

    After a lengthy stricture he would finally storm away with the words, "One day, girl, I will get you kicked out here. If you disturb me again, I will be back." I would feel like saying, "Ooh, I'm really scared!" He'd then turn around, see Jessica and grunt something along the lines of 'women' or perhaps 'nuisances' and then he would go back into his room. Jess and I would wait ten seconds, then look at each other and then burst out in hysterics.

    On this particular November day, I didn't burn down the building with my tragic cooking. I was feeling pretty ill and down. Even Billy Collins had a date. I sat on my sofa wishing that my life resembled 'Eastenders' so that perhaps I might witness a killing or two, become pregnant and kill the child's father or maybe end up dying in a car crash. Anyone's life had to be more exciting than mine. I ate about three tubs of ice cream and six mars bars. I was contemplating a seventh when the phone buzzed and I jumped up from my makeshift tent (under my duvet on the floor).

    "Elizabeth Bennet," I spoke into the phone, trying desperately not to sound excited at the prospect of having a phone call. It was usually some company trying to sell me new windows or take out a mortgage on a house that I didn't even have.

    "Lizzy!" came the far, far too happy response of my sister.

    "Hiya Jane." I said a little bit too dejectedly.

    "How are things? We haven't spoken in ages." Two days, Jane. Two days. Your head was probably so full of Brown shoed Bingley that you didn't even realise that I was there.

    "They're good thanks ... Well, apart from the fact that the company has been robbed and all."

    "Yes, I heard about that, Liz it must be horrible, you have so much work to do already." I doubted at that. Deciding that I needed a facial or that I should try blind dating or something hardly constituted as 'work'.

    "Yeah, it has certainly happened at a bad time."

    I felt like I was having a conversation with my solicitor and any minute now we were going to begin discussing the weather. Falling in love with Charles Bingley had definitely changed her and I wasn't sure if it was for the better. Or maybe I was just jealous.

    "Hmm..." she replied.

    "Just cut to the chase, Jane."

    "Ok then. Charles told me why you left the café in a mood and I wanted to tell you that William is sorry."

    "Jane. I couldn't care any less. I got over his remarks about an hour after he said them and I doubt very much if he was sorry. Men like that just aren't the sort to apologise to anyone. It would mean admitting that they were in the wrong."

    "Well, I might have added the sorry ... But I'm sure that he is sorry."

    "Whatever Jane. It's not like I'm going to see him again."

    "Umm ...well..."

    "Jane, what have you done now?"

    "He is coming to my birthday party in two weeks this Saturday."

    "What birthday party? Where? When? How?"

    "It's at Charles' house, Netherfield. On Saturday 26th November. I don't really know how."

    Great. My sister's birthday was turning into some sort of black tie event where Charles could introduce her as a training-trophy-wife to all his posh work colleagues. My mother would be there and as usual, she would be eyeing up all the men and calculating their annual income in her mind, my sister Mary would bounce up and offer a karaoke, unaccompanied and out of tune and I would sit in the corner alone, with nothing but a glass of wine to keep me company, wishing that I could be anywhere, including on a date with Billy than being in company with my family. Though, if I was very, very lucky, it would be fancy dress and Beastie would come in tights. Being Humpty Dumpty would have its advantages. "That sounds marvellous, Jane, I cannot wait." I seriously exaggerated.

    "Good." She said, obviously very pleased. "Oh, and by the way, Lizzy, you know the extra long weekend that we both took off?"

    "You mean this weekend?" I questioned, wondering what excuses she would pull up this time.

    "Well, Charles has invited me to go to his county house up in Yorkshire. There is a bunch of us going and he wants to introduce me to his sisters. Do you mind terribly if we postponed our trip to Wales?"

    Jane and I had planned to go to Wales walking across some of the mountains but even though I was insanely jealous, I had to admit that compared with the exciting prospect of dreary and rainy old Wales, I would rather spend four days in luxury with a rich and kind, dreamy boyfriend. I had this undeniably strong feeling that Jane and Charles were the real thing. They had been going out for only three or four weeks, but I wouldn't have been very surprised if she had told me that they were going to be more than just boyfriend and girlfriend.

    Chapter 5

    Posted on Wednesday, 30 March 2005

    The next day at work went in a very similar way to the previous one. No progress had been made on tracking down George Wickham, though the police now had the results to the fingerprint tests which showed that it was George. So, they had been quick and successful in determining who the criminal was but I was quite certain that they would have a tough time in finding him. George was not the sort of person who would willingly be caught by the police.

    At lunchtime, Charlotte was going to give me all the details on the apparently 'delightful dinner' as she had called it. I was wondering whether Billy had drugged her and she wasn't actually in her right mind. I went to fetch the coffee and the cakes from Starbucks. That was our usual order. We always took it in turns to get the food, even though I had countless people at my disposal that would have quite willingly gone and got me a new car, let alone a coffee.

    I was just thinking about how cold it was on the street and I looked at my attire and realised that I was wearing one of the thinnest skirt/suit combos that I owned. The blue pinstripe one was a favourite of mine and I was constantly being flattered whilst wearing it by young graphic consultants; the type of I'm-fresh-out-of-college-and-out-to-pull-an-older-woman guys who really wanted a promotion. The jacket of my suit was flapping in the wind and as I turned the corner I was about to close it up so that the little tight white t-shirt I was wearing underneath might stop freezing me when I felt a huge bump and a soaking wet patch creep onto my chest.

    "Oh, I'm sorry," was the apology I received from a man. I looked up saying, "That's okay..." I looked into the eyes of a certain Beastie that we all know. I suddenly felt the urge to shout at him and said, "... Just watch where you are going next time, Mr. Darcy. I don't know many women who wish to go back to the office after lunch with a huge orange juice stain on their tops." I ever-so-discreetly mentioned the fact that I worked in an office and was hoping that he would ask me what I did. I tried to ignore the fact that he couldn't keep his eyes off the length of my skirt. Fine, it was short but that was no reason to gawp.

    "You weren't exactly looking either, Ms Bennet." He said it more to my chest than my face.

    "Yes, but I wasn't carrying orange juice, so the consequence of my lack of attention to my direction would only have been a slight bump, not a full fruit shower." I replied curtly, very pleased with my amazing ability not to look at his broad shoulders, or how marvellous he looked in the suit, or how handsome his face was, or how tanned his arms were ... Obviously, I had to have given him a tinyonce over. But, it was only a glance. Honest.

    "Ok. Allow me to apologise most sincerely for my most erroneous error in spilling this on you. If you wish, I could call you a taxi, so that you could go home and get changed."

    Now he was just taking the p**s. 'Erroneous error' who did he think he was? The Pope? Please! That would be the sort of thing I would say as a joke but I looked at his face and he was completely serious.

    "No thanks, Mr. Darcy. I have a huge amount of work to do. Firstly, I have to go to my supplier down in the back alleys so that I can get some heroin for one of the customers at the café that I work at. Then after that, the strip club have ordered me for two hours ... You should go, it's their special tonight: pay for a lap dance and get another one free. Oh, and after that, I will need to go home and get my nurses outfit on. I have a regular tonight who prefers it when I wear the kinky nurse costume. Was it him that liked that? Oh no, it can't be Steve, he likes the schoolgirl ... Well; if you ever require some assistance then you know where to find me. But then, my methods probably aren't classy enough for you. Ciao."

    I looked at his startled reaction as I bid my adieu with a very determined stroke of the little finger down his middle. I shouldn't have said it. I was being almost being as immature as him. But I couldn't resist it. I smiled to myself as I strolled down the street, doing up my jacket completely so that the stain was invisible. I felt brilliant and it wasn't until I got back to Charlotte's room coffeeless that I remembered why I had even gone out.

    Charlotte didn't even laugh when I told her. I mean, I was sure that it was highly amusing. Just to see the reaction on his face, I would have paid a huge amount of money. I wondered what was up with Charlotte. I knew that she was trying to take life slightly more seriously than she had been doing, but she was taking it to the other extreme. I didn't know what Billy had said to her, but whatever it was it had worked wonders on Charlotte's humour. It seemed to have vanished. Her comment was "Elizabeth, aren't you old enough to stop playing games and getting revenge? It's very immature and that sort of comment was unnecessary."

    I wasn't enjoying this subject. Every time someone mentioned Beastie then I would instantly set out to work on not thinking about his body parts, but I inevitably did and that sort of thought didn't impress me. I asked Charlotte how her date went last night. She. Would. Not. Shut. UP!

    "Oh, Lizzy! It was just perfect. I don't know what you were on about when you described Bill, but you have totally the wrong impression. He was so courteous and polite, flattering my dress (I told him that you helped me pick it and he then added something pleasant about you and asked me to pass on my regards and to find out how it was in the nunnery; something that I didn't understand but assumed was a joke between you.), he was explaining about his work, his very kind and agreeable boss, Lewis DeBourgh, he told me about his favourite foods, where he grew up..." GOD, did he actually LET HER SPEAK??? He sounded exactly like I had described him as. Pompous, conceited, arrogant and self-absorbed who precisely was she trying to fool? She wouldn't stop praising what I considered his flaws, though, "...Well, you know when you have conversations with people and there are awful losses for conversation, there was never one point in which that happened..." I can well believe it. I'm surprised that Billy wasn't on some sort of machine that actually pumped air into his lungs! "...The food was good, we sat and he explained about his family and what they all do. He is quite a talkative person I suppose and that made me feel more at ease. He had no problem with just chatting with me; in the end...Lord it was so funny..." Ooh, WHAT! Please tell me quickly before I burst open and die out of sheer excitement, "...We got asked to leave by the management because he had been talking so long...and then we decided to go for a walk in Hyde Park..."

    Well, that lunchtime proved interesting and entertaining! The talkativity of Billy had obviously worn off on Charlotte. She wouldn't let me go. I was beginning to wish that I was actually doing work! I was thankfully saved by Kyle who had already had this lengthy monologue with Charlotte and was happy to save me with the news that I had an urgent phone call. It was lucky that he did save me and it was also lucky that I hadn't eaten lunch because Charlotte was just about to explain when she went to his house 'for coffee' and my mind really didn't want to think about that.

    It was Jane on the phone. It annoyed me when she called when I was at work. Not that I was busy or anything, but she could at least have called Charles if she was desperate for a chat. I actually guessed that she was just rubbing in the fact that she only had to work until three and that the rest of us were stuck until half five.

    "Lizzy, I just remembered that I hadn't told you how it was that Charles and I actually met! How silly of me to forget."

    How silly of me to think that I could have gone this long without finding out the exciting story. Spare me, please God. I'll be good; I promise that I will go to church every single Sunday! I will never ever speak of my mother in a rude or ungrateful way; I will even be polite to Beast ...William. I promise. I tried the old 'I-wish-I-could-listen-but-I-have-so-much-to-do-routine' but it didn't really work.

    "Elizabeth, Kyle told me that you and Charlotte were discussing her date with Billy Collins and that I would probably be saving you."

    Well ... who would I rather hear more about? Charles Bingley or Billy Collins. That actually required some thinking. Billy was very annoying and ridiculous, but Charles was annoying too. I practically felt that I was going out with him, too. Jane had garbled on for hours and hours and that bugged me about him. Perhaps I was just green-eyed. I had the secret knowledge that I was going to end up as a lunatic and a spinster, with no friends and no life beyond my laptop. I would be rich, but I would have no one to spend all my money on, I would never get to see the look of pure love directed at me when someone would say the words 'I do.' I am so awful though. So contradictory. I said that I would be happy to be the lovable, lonely aunt that everyone visits at Christmas, but now I am saying how jealous I am of everyone who is in love. The truth is that I don't know. I always used to take the mick out of people that wanted to 'find themselves' but in reality I was so insecure and lonely. I was surrounded by many friends and relations but I desired so much to meet with a person who understood me completely, who loved me for who I was and the experiences I had been through, not some guy who thought I looked good on his arm at dinners with the law firm and then a day later would be with some whore in a hotel.

    Jane was so lucky to have met with such a person. I don't dare venture my opinion on Charlotte ... Apart from the fact that she is obviously head over heels for Billy and, to face the truth, there has to be someone that likes him and I was just glad that that someone wasn't me.

    "Well, Lizzy," Jane continued, "It was four weeks ago today!"

    I sighed in a manner of astonishment. It was clear she expected some sort of response from me. "I was walking around across the bridge in Piccadilly and then I looked over and saw Charles on the other side of the road our eyes met and it was love at first sight!" OH Please! Give me a break. What happened next Jane? Did he cross through the cars, through blistering winds, risking his life and then come over and say something cheesy like 'do you believe in love at first sight? Because I can walk past again if you like'?

    "And then, Lizzy he walked across the road, dodging all the cars, it was raining and windy ... It was so heroic! He came over to me and said 'did you hurt yourself when you fell from heaven!' It was so sweet and romantic!"

    Sometimes, I seriously believe that I am the only sane person in this world.

    Chapter 6

    Posted on Sunday, 3 April 2005

    She left me. Jane, I mean. She left me with the prospect of dreary mountains and rain and in company of several million sheep. I was all alone in a not-so-cool-any-more flat whilst my sister was being waited on hand and foot. I decided to stay in London. Faced with the choice of that, staying with my menopausal, screaming, banshee-like mother or maybe going to Wales, I found the decision was not difficult. I woke up on Saturday and it was raining. Always a bad sign is the rain. I felt glad that I was not planning to go to Wales. I was going to have a relaxed, simple weekend, maybe do a spot of retail therapy, get my nails done, and generally having a pleasant time.

    An hour later, I was in work. I had so much to do, and I couldn't bare the idea that I was shopping whilst all this work was piled high on my desk. Honestly, I really was trying. The police still hadn't found George. A part of me was relieved. I really wasn't looking forward to the day that I would end up meeting with him again. He was really my least favourite person in the world. The police were pretty useless though. James had been a bit of something to look at, whilst listening to old, balding men droning on about the 'best way to find Wickham'. Seriously, guys. Do you think that that sort of nonsense is going to work? Every minute that they spent planning was wasting another minute. George wasn't going to wait around.

    After spending a decent hour reading through drafts I braved myself for the ultimate task. I was trying to teach myself to not be disappointed when I opened my email inbox and it contained messages from places that were trying to trick me into wasting £100. It was so infrequently that I ever got emails from people I wanted to stay in touch with that I was usually quite pleased to see one from Billy Collins. That certainly is desperation.

    I was lucky today though. My inbox contained a message from a real person, not a system operated nonsensical piece of crap.

    TO: Lizthewhizz@hotmail.com
    FROM: MrsVanGogh@yahoo.com

    Hiya Lizzy!

    How are things going down in London? I have been hearing all about Jane's new romance from the horse's mouth. What is Charles like really? Apparently he is the perfect man! Does such a thing really exist? Anyway, I will be out of here four weeks before Christmas and I'm staying with Mum and Dad. I know that you're really busy and everything, but come and see me so we can catch up.

    Love you loads,

    Xxx Kitty xxX

    Kitty is 19. She is my youngest sister and is living in Liverpool, where she is attending the NLAA. She is an amazing artist and is doing a degree in art so that she can be a teacher. I hardly ever see her so I thought about it and then decided that a trip to Hertfordshire in three weeks time would be necessary. Mary would also be back. Mary is my 23 year old sister. She has the disadvantage of being the least pretty, the least interesting but the most annoying of the family of Bennets. When we were growing up, she would constantly try to beat me at piano recitals only to embarrass herself when I came in first and she came last. She had spent the last 2 years working in Albania, her mission being to try to stop world poverty single handily.

    The phone rang. I was certainly popular today. "Elizabeth Bennet," I cooed like a parrot on steroids.

    "Ms Bennet, I tried you on your mobile, but it was off so I called here instead." That's great, old chap ... But who are you?

    "May I ask who is speaking, please?"

    "It's detective superintendent Farns."

    "Oh, Mr. Farns, how can I help you?"

    "We've got him, Ms Bennet."

    "I'm sorry?" I said confused momentarily. I had never spoken to this man before but now he was calling me and expecting me to understand him.

    "George Wickham has been found."

    Oh, now I understand. I failed to understand, though, why he was telling me this. It seemed as if he was getting the praise for this work when he had had nothing to do with the investigation. Why were men like that? They got less important people to do the work for them, but then tried to make it seem as if it was them that found out the cure for the bloody common cold.

    "That's brilliant, Mr. Farns. May I ask where he was?"

    "He was hiding in the hotel of a close associate, Mr. Young."

    "That is very good news, sir. What do we need to do now?"

    "Well, as I have explained to Mr. Thepale, the paper will need to press charges against Mr. Wickham, then get a good law firm onto the case, they will get together all the evidence and personality witnesses etc and take him to court."

    So, G would get what he deserved. The money had been found in his account, his DNA was all over the cheques and the computers involved. He had no way out this time. The company would press charges. They would do the things that I wouldn't and this time, he wouldn't get away with it. The day had gone from a horrible day, to a brilliant one in the space of half an hour.

    After calling Mr. Thepale at his golf club, where he said to leave it to him to find a lawyer, -'he knew plenty of them'- I went to the shops for some serious retail therapy. My figure isn't the easiest to flatter, I am very tall, but unlike most tall people, I actually have a waist. The clothes designed for tall people are generally the sorts that are worn by models that are just all leg and no real body. I wouldn't say I was fat, but I have more 'curves' than the rest of my height brand. However, on this occasion, I was able to find a nice cocktail dress, suitable for Jane's P-O-S-H birthday party that I was required to attend. I forked out £120 at Debenhams, but it was worth it. For once, (without any unnecessary arrogance) ... (only the necessary) I had found something that really did make me look nice without looking overbearing or like I had just walked off the street. So William Bloody Darcy could put that in his pipe and smoke it. The dress was deep green, strapless and touching the floor. The assistant had said that it 'brought out the colour of my pretty eyes', but I think that she was just excited about a commission. It was quite tight and low cut, but not in the I'm-revealing-all-my-assets way.

    I had received my formal invitation to Jane's party. I didn't really understand what was so special about her twenty-ninth. It wasn't like the big 3-0, or anything. Anyway, I was finding it difficult to think of a present for her. I knew that it should be simple, but with this Charles guy, she could have whatever she wanted. I mean, she was very far from poor, but he would just buy her the world if she asked for it. In the end, I settled for a pretty necklace that I had found on the internet. I usually despised internet shopping, being the sort of person who really believed that people were trying to rip me off, but this was such a lovely piece of jewellery, with little pink diamante studs, that I couldn't resist.

    On Sunday, I was very lucky. I received a total of three phone calls. One from my mother, telling me that she was very disappointed not to see me in church and that the young curate was asking after me ... AGAIN! I tried to explain that getting up at six in the morning on a Sunday in order to travel 60 miles to church was not the most exciting of prospects. She refused this statement with a: "Lizzy, that's the problem with you. You are not willing to make an effort with ANYTHING. If you were, you would be married with three kids by now. It's all your fault. Jane might be married now, if only you hadn't conspired against me and lead her to the devil. I can find you a perfect husband; you don't need to worry about it, dear. You and I have such similar personalities..." OH MY GOD!!! PLEASE GOD NOOOOOO! I refuse to believe that. I may be mad and crazy but ... OH my GOD! I am turning into my mother. That's why no-one wants to marry me. They think that it is in the genes. It's me, my DNA is cursed. In thirty years I will be just like her. Please help me. There goes my chance of ever having a family. All because of my bloody mother.

    Charlotte called me next. It seemed that in the whole 5 days in which we had not spoken more than just in passing, she had just so much to relate to me. It was all based around her new favourite topic of conversation. I'll give you a clue, it has the biggest ego on the planet, never shuts up and it begins with a 'B' and it ends in an 'Illy.' Any thoughts? Well, I can give you thoughts. I can write novels on the current love interests on my two closest friends. Perhaps that is the obvious way of knowing if you are in love with someone. Perhaps you know every non-important detail of that person's life. But whatever else you might know; the eventual decider is the shoe size. Billy is a nine, Charles is a ten. Jane and Charlotte told me those details after they had been in the relationship for no more than a week. It was scary.

    She related to me each of their four dates (including the one that I already knew plenty about). On the day after their first date, Billy had turned up at the office with a bouquet of daisies for Charlotte. Yellow daisies to put in a yellow room. How very tasteful and thoughtful.

    "So, Charlotte," I said after listening to about an hour of this riveting topic. I was very glad that she was paying for this call and not me. "Are you going to Jane's party on the 26th?"

    "Oh, yes ... only two weeks to go!" She had said that as if it were something that she was going to count down on her calendar.

    "What is the huge excitement for, Charlotte?"

    "Well, you know what is going to happen, don't you?"

    Um ... NO? We are going to have cake ... I mean caviar, dance, drink wine and give presents. Is that being very naïve of me to think that even at a POSH party, they still celebrate?

    "I have no idea what you are on about," I replied trying not to sound annoyed at the fact that every one knew what was happening except for me.

    "He is going to propose."

    WHAT? What the hell was she talking about? Who the hell was she talking about?

    "Who is?"

    "Charles ... duh!"

    "But Charles is going out with Jane, why would he propose to you? When did you meet..."

    "Not to me, silly. To Jane!"

    "How do you know that?"

    "Well," she said excitedly. She sounded very pleased about telling her theory. She had obviously had plenty of time during her dates with Billy in which to think about the marital status of someone that she had never met. "Think about it, Lizzy. He has gone out of his way to make this a special night for her, invited all his family and all her family. He has got caterers and design specialists and God knows what else, just for her. He knows that she is the one, and he doesn't want to waste any more time without her."

    Honestly, the hypocrisy of some people is mad. One week of dates and suddenly 'single, spinster, Charlotte' thinks that she knows all the secrets to men ... Billy Collins couldn't even be classed as a man. "Char," I tried to reason with her, "They have known each other for three or four weeks. I don't think he would be contemplating marriage, just yet."

    But she was adamant. She wouldn't change her mind and still believed that she was right and that because I was 'single' that I didn't understand. Personally, I felt like saying, 'I would rather be a single celibate my entire life than be threatened with a marriage proposal from Billy.' I then remembered that I had received a proposal from Billy and so kept my mouth shut.

    Mr. Thepale also rang. He was telling me that he had spoken with a few friends and found a brilliant lawyer who had never lost a case. "Great, sir!" I responded.

    "Yes, well, Elizabeth he is coming in to the office to discuss matters with you at around ten thirty tomorrow. Don't worry about preparation; it's quite an informal meeting."

    "Will you be there, sir?"

    "No, unfortunately I have a meeting in Birmingham."

    Yeah right! More likely, it's the meeting for the PAAGC (pre-amateur-ageing-golf-club). He could be such a liar sometimes. He couldn't care about the law case. He had got back his money and that was the end of it.

    "Ok then sir, I will speak to you about the meeting after I have met the lawyer."

    "Right then, Ms Bennet. Cheerio and see you soon. Bye bye."

    "Bye ... Oh and Mr. ..."

    It was too late, he had hung up and I had only just remembered that I didn't know the name of the lawyer. C'est la vie, I told myself, it will be fine. What a first class idiot I was to think that.

    Chapter 7

    Posted on Thursday, 7 April 2005

    Some people in life are blessed with just pure damn luck. Some people are so unlucky, that it is almost ridiculous. I most certainly am classed with the latter. I mean, I may not be the most pleasant of people, but I think that by now, I have had my fair share of s**t.

    Monday, surprisingly, started very well considering that I should have had the day off and instead had to go to work and meet this balding, ageing lawyer to discuss the 'strategy' that we would use. I managed to get up on time, grab a taxi (something that usually takes hours) and get some coffee. I suppose that they were the signs really. On a day where everything had started well, I should have known that it was all just going to turn around and snap, like an elastic band into my face.

    "Ms Bennet?" came the voice of the substitute receptionist over the intercom, (Kyle was at a gay rights convention in New York. Bloody inconsiderate timing if you ask me). "There is a man to see you." Well, at ten twenty five, he had very good timing. I hated men that were late and you would then have to pretend that you had only been waiting for five minutes, when in reality it had been an hour.

    "Ok, let him come in."

    I decided that the best impression would be of me being very serious and a very conscientious, hard-working person. I went up and got some files to put in the cabinet. I heard the door knock and open. I said something like, "Sorry, just a second," and heard an incredibly sexy voice reply, "Ok," I smoothed down my skirt, turned around, holding out my hand whilst saying, "Hello, I'm Elizabeth B..." Only to look straight into the eyes of an equally stunned Beastie.

    "You?" I questioned, a little bit too pointedly.

    "Ms Bennet ... I didn't know that you worked here. I was looking for the editor; I must have the wrong room."

    WRONG ROOM? WRONG ROOM? Who the hell did he think he was? I was furious. You would have thought that he would have learnt to be polite in front of me by now.

    "I'm sorry, Mr. Darcy," I said sweetly, "I'm afraid that you must have the wrong building there are no editors at the prostitute headquarters. This is the room where I give the girls my first hand knowledge!"

    "Ms Bennet, I know that you are joking so if you could please direct me to the room of the editor, I would be very obliged."

    Joking? That's all he had to say? He wouldn't even apologise! Well, I would just make him.

    "Mr. Darcy, I'll make a deal with you." I sat down very seductively crossing my legs and trying not to laugh at his very disturbed face. "I will tell you where the editor is, if you apologise for the rude comments that you made not so long ago in Holloway."

    He looked a bit unsure for a moment, as if he was deciding whether to just turn around and find his own way round.

    "Ok, Ms Bennet, I am truly sorry for the words that I said; they were wrong and unfounded."

    SCORE, SCORE! One-nil to Elizabeth! I felt that he could do with a little bit more of a put down. "Is that all, Mr. Darcy?"

    "You aren't a druggie and are not an ugly person..." (Seeing that I wasn't saying anything) "Ok and I made a mistake and judged you incorrectly. Now, please direct me to the editor."

    "Of course, take a seat."

    "What?"

    "Don't you mean pardon?"

    "What?"

    "It's rude to say what, say pardon."

    "Pardon?"

    "Take a seat."

    "I thought that you were going to show me the editor's room."

    "You've found it already."

    "What ... Pardon?"

    "I'm the editor."

    The look that crossed his face was worth three thousand words. I wished it would have been acceptable for me to have taken out a camera and get a picture. I really wanted it framed. I wondered if I had security cameras in my office. I would check later and then try and nab a copy of it to frame. I think that that had finally shut the beastie up. Two-nil to Elizabeth Bennet, mastermind and genius.

    "I'm sorry?"

    "I, Elizabeth Bennet, drug addict and prostitute am the editor of this paper."

    "For how long?"

    "I don't know, 15 months?"

    "Oh," was about all he could say.

    Somehow, we managed to worm our way out of the awkward silence by beginning a discussion on George. Beastie explained how George had admitted to the actions but that he had only done it because he had been unjustly fired three years before and money was tight.

    "I will need to get in touch with the person who fired him," Beastie said to me.

    "Um, that was me," I replied in an very unlike me, sheepish manner

    "What were the grounds that he was fired for?"

    "The chief accountant and I both felt that he was not much use for the company. He had been seen speaking to females of the company in very suggestive ways and also because he would get half the work that the other junior suppliers would do."

    "That seems fair. What position were you then?"

    "Head of Politics," I responded. At this point, I was considering what a wanton woman I actually was. I really hated this man. I hated my bad luck in being stuck with him, but I could not help but feel very, very hot next to him. He was irresistible. He looked even sexier in his work suit and made me feel very self conscious and flustered. I tried to control my urges, but it was so difficult.

    "Well," Beastie said after we had been discussing the past for about half an hour, "It seems that we have very strong case here that needs very little work. Wickham has admitted to the crime, the only thing that we need to convince the jury of is that he wasn't wrongly fired and that he just needed an excuse. I will call Mr. Thepale and explain all that and also call you later in the week to discuss how everything is going. I will need a list of all the people employed by this company in the last 6 years, if you could forward that to me, it would be marvellous. I need to speak with everyone about the goings on here, when Wickham was still working here, just for background."

    "Of course," I said very politely, having decided there was no reason to be rude when he was actually helping me. "Thank you very much, Mr. Darcy."

    "It's a pleasure, Ms Bennet." He turned to leave and he opened the door and then added, "Oh, and I really am sorry about all the nasty things that I have said, about everything. You really are an amazing woman." He left before I had even understood what he said.

    Jane called over that evening. I was surrounded with paperwork, trying to make a list of all the paper employees for Mr. Beastie. Part of me was tempted not to do it, but then he may have thought I was incompetent so I decided to do it ... Just for him. Jane had just got back from her terribly romantic weekend away with Charles and his sisters, and his mother, and his three pet goldfish. (I now knew that they were called 'Goldie, Golden Eye and Goldfinger' which I thought was very, very sad.) They had gone horseback riding every day and for long romantic strolls. Jane didn't realise how much she was depressing me with all her happiness. I knew full well that she was afraid of horses and that every time I had to persuade her to go with me that she had been scared so much she had run back home. With Charles, though, it was obviously very different.

    "His sister, Caroline is coming to my birthday party. She said that she wouldn't miss it for the world!"

    "How old is she?"

    "Thirty-two."

    "That's great, Jane. Do you want anything to drink?"

    "I'll have some water."

    "Since when do you like water? I thought you hated it?"

    "No, Lizzy that was you."

    What? My sister was turning into Charles's ideal wife; the sort of woman who would clean his size ten shoes and iron his shirts. She was practically rehearsing the part, but I didn't think that Charles would propose soon, like Charlotte had said. I thought that if he did propose, it would be after he had known her for years and had got the approval of his third auntie's brother's cousin-in-law twice removed. He struck me as the sort of person who wouldn't do anything unless he had checked it with about five different people.

    "Charles said that William is working with you now."

    Why did she have to bring that up? Was it actually possible that I could go a whole day without hearing of him mentioned? Maybe it was my unluckier fate. God had decided that my life was already so crap that it wouldn't matter if he doled out some more. Maybe all these signs were the fact that I was destined to be his wife and clean his shoes ... But, maybe we would have servants. Being honest, the idea of spending my life with someone who looked like William Darcy was far from a disgusting one. Who wouldn't want to look at that fine figure? But, he has the personality of a fish. He thinks he is so brilliant, just because he is rich and owns half of the country. Just because he is gorgeous and clever, he thinks that he can treat everyone like he wants to. He treats them all as if they are below him and he is so goddamn proud! On second thoughts, I hate him so much. He is rude and arrogant and I hate him. I would never, ever, ever marry that b*****d.

    "No, Jane," I replied after my little interlude, "He is working for me. I have employed him." That was actually quite a pleasing thought. I could fire the twit if I thought that his head enlarged too much.

    "Oh," she replied, disappointed that she couldn't think of anything else to say about my lack of polite relationship with Beastie. "Charles says that he is a very good lawyer."

    "Jane, a good lawyer isn't needed. William is going to work from the office. This case is almost pointless. Wickham has admitted to it, but we have to give evidence so that his punishment can be decided."

    "Lizzy, have you told Will about ... you know ... that you went out with him for two years?"

    "Jane, how is that relevant?"

    "Well, they might bring it up as a reason that you ended his contract with the company. They might say that when you fired him it was because it was just after you had broken up and you didn't want to see him at work."

    Jane didn't know about what really happened with Wickham. No-one knew apart from him and me. No-one knew and I was determined that it would stay that way. I had got over this stuff long before and even the thought of seeing George again was making me queasy. Changing the subject sounded like a good idea.

    "Don't be silly, Jane, you know that's not true and Will is such a good lawyer. Anyway, I told him what happened ... So, tell me more about the moonlight dancing..."

    "Oh, yes, there is so much to say. I hadn't even begun!"

    I had listened to it for over half an hour, but anything was more welcome than the subject of G. I smiled in the right places, laughed when it was necessary and added an appreciative gasp when the time seemed right. I have always been good at hiding my emotions, but I have never met with a person who had bothered to get the truth out of me. Never met with a person who has bothered to try.

    Chapter 8

    Posted on Thursday, 14 April 2005

    "Elizabeth Bennet," I answered the phone with. I couldn't remember a time when I hadn't answered the phone with that. I didn't know why I did it, and it was hardly relevant, but I always liked the person on the other end of the phone who it was they were speaking to.

    "Elizabeth!" Came the voice of a person that I had hoped I would never hear again.

    "George ... How the hell did you get my number?"

    "You know me, Elizabeth. I have contacts everywhere. I have people watching you now."

    I looked around my room, suddenly very paranoid and worried. Breathe, Elizabeth, breathe. He is locked up in prison, he cannot get you. He will go down for theft and everything will be just as fine as it was before. Yeah right!

    "George, I know that you are locked away, where you belong."

    "Lizzy, you know that I needed that money. If you hadn't fired me, then none of this would have happened."

    "You b*****d," I hissed down the phone, "You know full well that you deserved to be sacked. Four women filed complaints against you; you were always late and never did any work."

    "Not true, Liz. I know the real reason you sacked me. You didn't want to see me anymore. We had broken up and you couldn't handle seeing me every single day."

    "G, you know damn well why we were finally over. What you did was appalling. If I hadn't been so kind as to not press charges, you would have been locked up for the past three years."

    "Elizabeth ... That was a bit of fun. I know that you enjoyed it really."

    "Shut up. You went against what I said. You raped me, George."

    "Really, I knew that you were just playing hard to get."

    "Don't you dare, G. I will tell the police and they will add it to your charges."

    "You wouldn't. They wouldn't believe you, Lizzy. And besides, you know I have plenty of people that owe me favours."

    "Leave me alone. If you call again I will tell the police that you are threatening me."

    "No you won't. That would mean that you would have to relate our entire relationship. I know that you are far too proud and dignified to tell everyone what I did. People would pity you and I know that the last thing you like is people's pity. Telling what happened would ruin me and you."

    "P**s off, George, and leave me alone."

    "I'll see you on the 5th and we'll see who comes out of that trial better."

    I hated that man. He was right. I didn't want to tell anyone what had happened. I had told Beastie that I only knew Wickham professionally and that we had never spoken more than a few words. I wanted to get my revenge on George but doing so would mean admitting to the whole world that I had been a victim.

    The trial was in two weeks time. I had to go to it. I was going to have to testify as to why George was fired. I wouldn't have to lie. He was justly fired and I had all the proof and the backing from other people that I wanted but I was petrified that someone would bring up my relationship with George. I had lied to William. SO WHAT, Lizzy? What do you care for his opinion? He was still as stuck up and arrogant as ever. We would speak every now and then on the phone, or he would come into the office and update me on everything. He would never say more than a "Hello," or a "Good morning" to me. All he discussed was the trial. He didn't once look me in the eye and he looked so uncomfortable in my presence. He never called me "Elizabeth," no matter how many times that I asked, he insisted on calling me "Ms Bennet." He was cold and so formal with me. I saw him with Mr. Thepale and he was the complete opposite. I kept trying to think about what it actually was that I had done to offend him so much. I guessed that he was annoyed at the fact that he had it wrong about the whole drug addict thing but apart from that? I was always completely civil to him. I came to the conclusion that he disliked my openness and impertinence. I always said what I thought and always regretted what I said after I had said it but then never actually apologised.

    I sometimes regretted that part of my character. I was never the most popular girl in the school because of my cleverness, but I was blessed with quite a lot of friends. The sort of people who wanted to be my friends were the ones that couldn't think for themselves and who needed someone more confidant and popular to stand up for them, but personally, I have always disliked that fact that just because I could stand up for them, it meant that they didn't try for themselves. This was one of the reasons that I hadn't told anyone about what happened with George. I was the strong one; I was the rock who would never be insulted by what people said. Well, so far, I have proved to you quite the opposite.

    Maybe that is why I have such strange thoughts. Believe it or not, this is actually how my thoughts run. I doubt that others' thoughts are quite so complex or well, plain ridiculous. With every other thought that I have, I am contradicting the previous one.

    I had to get out of the office. It was freezing cold, but I needed a break from that room. I walked around the streets carrying a warm cup if coffee which was warming my hands more than any other part of my body. As I walked past one of the many countless banks, I heard someone shout my name.

    "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

    I turned around and saw my sister almost chasing me down the street with a very reluctant ...Tangerine. This ... woman was dressed from head to toe in orange. She was wearing an orange t-shirt saying "fcuk" and an orange miniskirt with NO tights. It was almost December and she was almost naked. She probably wanted to show off her nice figure, which I admit was one that I wished I had but really, it was practically freezing. She was the same height as me (which is very tall) but looked taller because she was slimmer than me. Her hair was jet black, which made the orange seem even more ... Orange. The only ugly feature about her was her very large nose.

    "Lizzy! We have been chasing you for a mile!"

    "Who is this?" said the orange woman, with an air of decided disgust.

    "This is my sister, Elizabeth. Lizzy, this is Charles' sister, Caroline."

    "Hi there, Caroline," I said, instantly deciding that she and Mr. William Beastie would make an excellent couple.

    There was a very painful moment of silence in which Jane and I looked at each other and then I tried to see past Caroline's upturned nose which was so large that I couldn't even see her eyes.

    "Shall we go and eat somewhere?" my ever-sweet sister asked. I agreed whilst Ms Tangerine said, "I can't eat."

    I almost laughed. What a stupid thing to say. It was almost like saying "I can't talk!" I asked her why and she very grudgingly and forcefully looked past her nose and said, "My dietician says that I must only eat twice a day. At twelve when I get up and at seven at dinner parties. It's one now."

    "Why do you have a dietician, Caroline?" Jane asked, trying to keep the newfound conversation going, "You aren't overweight or under, you're a perfect size!"

    Ms Tangerine smiled faintly at that and then commented that it was better to be safe than to be sorry. I was still wondering why she only got up at twelve! We found a little bench to sit on that was away from all the smokers in London because Queen Tangerine disliked being near smokers.

    "So," I cooed, "What do you do, Caroline?"

    "What do you mean?"

    "Where do you work?"

    "I don't work. I have enough money to live for the rest of my life without ever working. Thank God!"

    OK, that was rude. I hoped that I was never that rude to people. I also hoped that I never looked that orange. She was so obviously annoyed with being in the presence of Jane let alone me. I wondered how she had managed to ever get like that. God knew that if I ever ended up being that obnoxious, even for one day, my father would have got it out of me within the week.

    When I got back to the office, I had a phone call with Sir William Beastie.

    "I've got a final before-court meeting with all the official people this afternoon, Ms Bennet. Is it ok if I call in tomorrow to discuss the final details?"

    "Yes, that's fine."

    "Ok."

    Very, very, very painful moment of silence ...You know the ones! We get them all the time and never seem to find a sensible way out of them. Maybe I'll write a book on that...Yes, good plan.

    "Are you going to Jane's party thingy on Saturday?"

    "Yes."

    Ok, I tried! What more can I do? I start conversation, and he just shuts it down like a broken bloody computer! See what I mean about being slightly...um, what's the word I'm looking for? ANNOYING!

    "I met Charles's sister this afternoon." Second time lucky? If it was third time lucky, he could p**s off.

    "Oh, she's quite nice."

    "How long have you known her?"

    "20 years." NICE? NICE after twenty sodding years? I had known her an entire twenty minutes and had already decided she was someone that I would never wish to share a lift with, let alone twenty years. Though, maybe she was nice, if only in the company of people that she actually wanted to impress and be nice to.

    "Well, I got the impression that she was rather conceited." Ha ha, how ironic, conceited, just like the twit that I am talking to is!

    "She can behave differently with the people she is with, but don't we all?"

    Well done, Mr. Beastie, an entire 14 words ... Wait a minute! You have one hell of a nerve. What the hell is wrong with me? Why would someone not want to be polite to me? What a prejudiced and nasty person.

    "I am very sorry then, Mr. Darcy, that I am an unsuitable person, with far too much of a middle class air about me to satisfy her notions of a person with whom it is acceptable to talk to. Maybe I resemble some sort of waitress in a café or similar."

    "Ms Bennet, I..." SHUT UP! I'M ON A ROLL!

    "But then, sir, perhaps I am talking to the wrong sort of person. There is no point in discussing my many faults with someone who has no faults at all. You remind me of Mary Poppins, 'Practically perfect in everyway!'"

    "Where ever did you get the notion that I was a person without faults?"

    "Oh, please, Mr. Darcy! Aren't you the humorous one? It's in your manner, you have nothing wrong with you and don't you know it? Everyone I have spoken to about you has said the same, 'Oh, that William Darcy isn't he just your idea of a perfect man? He has absolutely no faults at all!'"

    Ok, so I made that last bit up, but it was so obvious that he thought he was faultless. That was his true fault. Well, apart from being downright arrogant, haughty, aloof, rude, selfish, conceited and all the other words that you could find if you searched for 'proud' in the thesaurus.

    "It isn't actually possible for anyone to be perfect, but I have always tried to avoid having those weaknesses that I see many of my companions with."

    "And I don't, Mr. Darcy?"

    "That isn't what I said."

    "Oh, I apologise. I was concentrating on listening to your speech on how everyone else is useless and how you have perfected the art of being perfect. But, ARROGANCE comes directly into my mind when thinking of you. Or maybe pride is a better word to describe you. But then, in your head, pride probably is a good thing. Just like in your world, the fact that you have enough money to improve the lives of hundreds of thousands of little starving children in Africa doesn't actually bother you in the slightest."

    "I certainly don't think that pride is a bad thing if that is what you are asking."

    "I suspected nothing less of you, Mr. Darcy. If you were vain and rude, you would be here trying to explain how vanity and rudeness are in fact signs of perfection."

    "That is madness, Ms Bennet."

    "Is madness a good or a bad thing, sir? Before I decide whether I should be insulted by your last remark, I need to verify whether madness is one of the qualities that you admire."

    "From where does your need to prove me wrong spring, Ms Bennet?"

    "It springs from you. If you weren't so determined to make yourself seem so brilliant and everyone else like s**t, then perhaps I wouldn't be tempted to annoy you."

    "You aren't annoying me in the slightest! But, I might add that I believe your eagerness to get your own back of me is because I hurt your pride when I mistook you for a prostitute."

    I hung up on him. B*****d.

    Chapter 9

    Posted on Wednesday, 20 April 2005

    The day had finally come. The ballroom was splendidly decorated with all sorts of birthday accessories. As I walked into the room that was probably 6 times the size of my apartment, I barely recognised the few relations of mine that were actually there. It was undoubtedly the most elegant and extravagant event I had ever attended. People had all gone out and bought new dresses for the occasion -my male relations were all wearing a tux, even my father had been forced to, and I was struck with a sense of being completely out of place.

    I was sure that the dress which had looked very pretty in contrast with my light green bedroom was now horribly clashing with the gold and yellow walls and the bright lights of the chandelier. (Yes, I did say chandelier.) So, this was Charles's house? No wonder his tangerine-like sister didn't work. Mum had told me that he was rich, but he was practically royalty.

    I desperately searched the room for Jane and found her on Charles's arm as he was making the rounds of the room. She looked heavenly. She was wearing a gold satin dress (obviously to blend in with the walls). Satin rarely looked good on anyone, even the thinnest of people, but this dress, from the top of her shoulders, to the floor, flattered her beautiful figure to the highest degree. I was immediately jealous that she looked so perfect and then chastised myself for being so mean to my sister, who deserved her share of happiness.

    But what had happened to my share of happiness? I couldn't think of any event within the past seven years that I was truly happy about. And yet, George was really the only thing that I could complain about. I woke up out of my musings when I saw Billy and Charlotte look at me. They were looking disgustingly loved up and made me want to hide. I walked over to where my parents were, out of sheer desperation.

    "Elizabeth, my child, I haven't seen you for so long."

    "Dad, how have you been?"

    "Pretty bad, really," he said dejectedly. I had always been my father's favourite, and I instantly felt very bad for having not seen him for such a long time. For the first time I had ever seen, he was starting to look old. He was only 53, but was looking tired, more like 70 years old, and as if life was at the end. "But, I have nothing to complain about. Anyway, how are you? Trial's not too far away!"

    "Nope, I'm not looking forward to it very much."

    "Of course you aren't."

    I looked around, with another of those awkward pauses looming, wondering from which point in my life I ever found it difficult to converse with my father. "So what do think of this place then?" I asked, turning back to my father after meeting the eye ... or rather glare of William Darcy.

    "It's impressive. Jane will like living here."

    I smiled and looked to where my father was gazing; at one of the sweet, longing looks between Jane and Charles as they stood on opposite sides of the room.

    "I agree, it does seem very likely, doesn't it?"

    "Almost certain, my dear."

    I saw Sir Beastie looking at them curiously and when he had finished and he had obviously come away with the impression that their romance was very, very serious, and he looked my way, I gave him a look that said, "You DARE split those two up and I will kill you." He gave me another, "I-couldn't-care-less-what-you-say-because-I-am-far-more-important-than-you" look.

    My father saw this death threat and said to me, "Who is that, Lizzy?"

    I gave my father my attention again and replied, "THAT, is William Darcy. A genuine proud twit."

    "Isn't he the lawyer for your company? You should be grateful to him; I heard that he is doing it for free."

    "The only reason that he is doing it for free is because his father was indebted to Mr. Thepale or something. He has enough money to buy the entire company; I doubt that it is necessary for him to be paid."

    "How is he so rich? I know that lawyers are well paid, but..."

    "He owns the law company, but I think that he only works in his spare time. His family has been rich since the 1800s! He is a member of the British aristocracy, no doubt. No doubt."

    "He looks at you a lot, Lizzy."

    I gave my father the look that I had perfected since I was three years old. The raised eyebrows, the arched forehead and the unspoken question look on my mouth. It meant, "Oh, please, what are you on?"

    "Mother," I reluctantly walked slightly towards her and gave her a peck on the cheek. She was dressed in a blue, shiny dress, which gave the effect that she was trying to look about 20 years younger than she was, but succeeded in making her look about 20 years older.

    "How have you been, Mum?"

    "Very, very ill, Lizzy!"

    "Oh no! What has been wrong?"

    "My nerves, darling, my nerves. Doctor Jones told me that I was doing too much and I said, 'don't be silly, doctor! I am fine'..."

    "Mum," I interrupted, "I think that the doctor does know best."

    "Nonsense, darling. I said to him that it was all you girls that had been doing it to me. If I had all four of you married and settled, then I could spend the rest of my days in peace. As it is, I am constantly trying to find new men that you may like. I fail to see what was ever wrong with lovely Billy over there but now you are too late and those artful Lucases have stolen him."

    I was saved from making a response because the next people to enter the room were three that I hadn't seen for ages, three that -after Jane and my father, I probably loved the most. The entire room went silent as the adorable child of the elder two of the three screamed, "Elizbet!" and watched in silence as the little two year old, dressed all in pink, stumbled and tripped her way through the crowd and jumped up on me.

    Some of the expressions on the faces of some of the people in the room were excellent. They looked like they were saying to themselves, "What a naughty child, she should know better. And that woman, well..." One of those was Caroline the Tangerine, someone who was yet again wearing one of those orange ensembles. She was looking at the girl around me as if she was a piece of vermin and needed to acquire some more mature manners. Please, she was two! Some of these people needed to loosen up! They were taking things far too seriously. I thought it was sweet that she wanted a hug off her big cousin.

    Ed and Maddy Gardiner made their way over to me in a slightly less exuberant way. Their daughter, Emily was still attached to my neck, attempting to strangle me ever-so-politely, as she had been taught to be. Ed and Maddy were my uncle and aunt, Ed was my mother's younger brother. Though he was a lot younger than my Mum, he and Maddy had married pretty late in life anyway. I admired them for that. They met each other when they were 22, but waited ten years before they married. They were now both 38 and the wait that they had before they had married had done nothing but convince them they were right for one another. Emily was the sweetest and most beautiful little girl that I had ever met. She had little blonde ringlets, gorgeous soft skin, rosy pink cheeks and eyes that were like mine. Enjoying the company of Emily was the thing that sometimes made me scared that I would never have a child to adore and dote upon.

    As I spun my cute little cousin around in the air, I saw the face of Beastie looking very displeased. Well, I was sorry if my cousin and I hadn't the strict formality of celebrating that he was accustomed too, but he was really bugging me. He hadn't even called me back after his meeting thingy. Like I really cared, but still, it was annoying. I guess it was because I called him names. Hee hee! I put Emily on the floor and knelt down -careful of my dress- so I was level with her.

    "How have you been, Miss Emily? Have you been behaving so when Father Christmas comes in a month you will get lots of presents?"

    "Yes, Lizzy."

    "That's a pretty dress you're wearing, did Mummy buy it for you?"

    "No."

    "Who did?"

    "YOU!!!"

    "NO! ME? I don't think so, Emily."

    "Yes, you did."

    "I think I'm going to have to tickle you now!"

    "NOOOOOOOOO!!!"

    My cousin laughed as I tickled her silly and then picked her up and put her on my shoulders and said, "Look, Emily, you are taller than Daddy!"

    "Yeah!"

    She toddled off after I had put her down so that she could give her cousin Jane her birthday present. I sat down as the music and dancing commenced and chatted with my aunt and uncle.

    "Emily adores you, Lizzy."

    "I think it is so sweet, Aunt Maddy."

    "It is," replied my uncle.

    "What have you been up too, then?"

    "Certainly, our lives have not been as exciting as yours, Elizabeth! A high court trial eh?"

    I laughed and said something along the lines of the fact that it was far more boring than everyone seemed to think it would be. I seriously failed to see the excitement, I would be on the stand for a couple of minutes, tell them that Wickham was a waste of space, that I had never had more than a conversation with him, explaining that he was sacked because he got no work done, and that was the end of it. The only added bonus would be that I could see how Darcy was as a lawyer. I couldn't wait. The idea of him in a wig was appealing (in the non sexual sense!). Oh dear, speak of the devil.

    "Ms Bennet, will you do me the honour of dancing with me, I really need to speak with you."

    "Mr. Darcy, that tends to be what ... conversations are for." He looked very annoyed. "Alright, then. If I must."

    "Thank you."

    "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" by the Darkness was playing. That was fine, a nice fast, lively song. However, I had this premonition which just happened to be correct that the second we got onto the dance floor, the song would change. And it did.

    What have I got to do to make you love me?
    What do I do when lightening strikes me?
    And I wake to find that you're not there?
    What have I got to do to make you want me?
    What have I got to do to be heard?
    What do I say when it's all over?
    Sorry seems to be the hardest word.*

    What have I got to do to make this song shut up and this horrid dance to be over? The feeling of Beastie's arms around me was not a nice one. I hated the power and hold that he had over me. It was driving me insane. I needed to find a preoccupation. "So, how have you been, Mr. Darcy?"

    He seemed to have woken up from being asleep. I wondered if his head had been leaning on my shoulder because he had been asleep. That was why his eyes were closed.

    "Fine, thank you."

    Ok, that was that. I was bugged off, because Charlotte, Jane, Maddy and my mother were all giving me winks and secret smiles. In return, I was giving them evil glares. People that I had never met before were winking and nudging each other. These were the people that Charles had obviously invited to introduce Jane to. The funniest thing, though, was probably Queen Tangerine's face. I had obviously hit a nerve here. I had something to my advantage.

    "Mr. Darcy, what is wrong?"

    "Nothing," he lied in a very useless-man-type way.

    "There was something that you wanted to speak to me about."

    "Was there?"

    He had become very, very dazed. I questioned if he was feeling ill or something. He seemed to have lost all his senses. "Sir, I believe that it was very important. Perhaps it was to do with George Wickham?" That certainly made him jump back into reality. It was weird; it was as if he had been in a trance all that time. He moved away from me, and although still holding me, was not pressed next to me anymore. His body was something that I felt the loss of.

    "Yes. I was wondering, Ms Bennet, why it was you lied to me?"

    I was going to speak ... Well, not speak just stall until I could think of a decent excuse. I knew what he was referring to. He had a look in his eye that was a mixture of anger, hurt and sheer annoyance. He interrupted my fish like expression and said, "Ms Bennet. The only thing that has arisen from your stupidity in not telling me that you and George Wickham were very intimate for two years is a serious inconvenience on my part. The defence can use this to their extreme advantage, and though I doubt it is true, may suggest that it was you who assisted George in his robbery. I thought that you were a more sensible and realistic person than this has proved you to be. You were exceedingly ridiculous and silly in doing this. I hope that it doesn't come to your own disadvantage. But, I don't even understand what you were trying to hide ... I get it. He broke up with you ... That is why you fired him. How obvious. I only hope the defense doesn't discover it."

    The tears in my eyes that were threatening to fall. They say that only thieves and children run, I was neither, but that evening I ran to my car and went straight home. When I got home, I realised that I hadn't even wished Jane a happy birthday.

    *Sorry seems to be the hardest word ~ Elton John and Bernie Taupin

    Continued In Next Section

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