Page 76 of Me and Mr. Darcy

For the first time I notice she’s holding a cigarette-holder, and taking a lipsticked puff, she blows a perfect smoke-ring that can only come with years of practice.

‘Nobody pays any attention to an old woman like me.’

Trust me, there’d be more chance of paying less attention to a tap-dancing monkey than Rose.

‘No way,’ I protest. ‘You’re always the centre of attention.’

‘Always,’ echoes Maeve and I catch a flash of wistfulness. Not for the first time do I wish I could share what Ernie confided in me. I have no idea what lies Spike told her, but she’d feel so much better if I could tell her the truth, if I could explain why she shouldn’t believe him. But I can’t. I promised Ernie.

‘Men are fascinated by you,’ she’s now saying.

‘Were,’ corrects Rose, waving a gloved hand dismissively. It comes to rest on my shoulder. ‘I’ll let you into a secret, my dear,’ she continues, leaning closer. ‘When I was a child I used to wish that I could be invisible. That I could go wherever I wanted, do whatever I wanted, and nobody would pay any attention to me. Oh, the freedom I believed it would bring—’ She breaks off to laugh bitterly and take a glug of champagne, leaving behind a thick magenta smudge of lipstick on the rim of her glass. ‘Well, mark my words, I got my wish, Emily, dear. It came true. That it certainly did.’ Waving her glass, she gestures around the room, across the vista of people milling around, engaged in a flurry of introductions, conversations, flirtations. ‘When you get older nobody notices you any more.’ She turns to me, her heavily powdered face close to mine. ‘You simply disappear,’ she whispers, clicking her fingers. ‘Poof.’

I open my mouth to argue, but she silences me with a painted eyebrow.

‘When I was your age I would walk into a room and everyone would notice me. Every single person would turn their head to look at me. Every man was captivated. Every woman fascinated.’ Taking a puff from her cigarette-holder, she turns from me to gaze back at the room. ‘I was quite something in those days.’ She drains her glass and waggles it in the air, wanting a refill. Being ignored, she sighs heavily. ‘Now I’m lucky if I can get the attention of a waiter.’

‘Ladies . . .’

We’re both distracted by the sound of a voice. Being held aloft above the crowd are a pair of hands, two full champagne glasses in each, and as they approach I see their owner, Spike. At least I think it’s Spike. He looks so different. Unlike the rest of the men, who are either in tuxedos or full Regency costume, he’s wearing a black moleskin suit, black shirt and black tie, which make his hair look even blonder and his eyes even bluer. Reaching us, he begins passing around the drinks to appreciative noises. He reaches me last.

I haven’t spoken to him since Ernie’s shock revelations yesterday. He wasn’t on the sightseeing tour earlier, and to be honest, I’d been relieved as I’ve got nothing to say to him. I’m still angry at how he treated Ernie, how he’s upset Maeve, but I can’t break Ernie’s confidence. And so I’ve got to just pretend everything is normal and be civil. Cold but civil, cold but civil, cold but—

‘Would you like some champagne?’

He offers me a glass, but I shake my head.

‘No thanks, I’m not really drinking tonight,’ I reply stiffly.

‘Fair enough.’ He nods, then adds appreciatively, ‘Nice dress.’

‘Nice suit.’ I nod back, my voice tight. Although his shirt is slightly creased and his jacket bears evidence of a hairy pet, he looks much more groomed than usual, though he still hasn’t shaved and what was once stubble is now definitely a beard.

There’s a pause and I’m painfully aware of Maeve, Rose and Miss Steane, all standing around with their drinks, watching with interest. Honestly, they’ll be breaking out the popcorn next.

I fidget uncomfortably. Talk about a stilted conversation.

It limps along painfully.

‘You did something to your hair,’ I remark. Usually it’s an unruly mess with bits sticking out all over the place, but tonight he’s gelled it into submission. In fact, it actually looks quite stylish. Well, apart from the tufty bit he’s missed at the back, I notice.

‘So did you,’ he replies, and gestures to the tiny little butterfly clips I used to clip up my hair.

I touch it self-consciously. ‘Um . . . yeah.’

I got the idea from Stella. I’ve seen her wear her hair like this and it always looks really pretty and casual, with all these little tendrils hanging loosely down at the sides. Only have you any idea how hard it is to make tendrils look tendrily? And not as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards and you have clumps of hair sticking out all over the place?

But of course I don’t want Spike knowing I’ve made a really big effort, so I reply nonchalantly, ‘Yeah, I couldn’t be bothered washing it.’

And then immediately regret it. Shit. Why did I just say that? I now look like trailer trash. I cringe. Great. Britney in a balldress.

For a brief moment Spike seems taken aback, and then his mouth twitches with amusement. ‘Is that so?’

Annoyance rankles. I’m trying to be cold but civil, not make him laugh. ‘It’s the shower,’ I snap. ‘The attachment thing on the tub doesn’t work properly. I can’t get the shampoo out. It goes hot, then cold, then scalding hot again . . .’

I can hear myself prattling like an idiot and I’m furious with myself. Just shut up, Emily. Shut up.

‘You need to turn on the hot first, then add the cold,’ suggests Maeve helpfully from the sidelines.