Chapter 4

Istride down the main street in Lacock village, my group following me like little ducklings. I shoot a glance at Brenda and Pippa. Homicidal ducklings.

"Isn't it pretty?" I call to the group, and they all nod. Lacock is beautifully quaint against the winter sky with its half-timbered houses crowding over the road. It's not hard to imagine one of Jane Austen's heroines walking down the streets. "The Red Lion was used as the Assembly rooms in Pride and Prejudice. Some of Downton Abbey was filmed here, as was The White Princess, Cranford, and The Other Boleyn Girl. It's magic for makers of historical films because the cottages haven't been modernised, so there are no pesky twentieth-century extensions or television aerials to outrage the history buffs."

I stop outside the tea shop where we're booked for afternoon tea. I open the door, standing back, ushering them through, and giving the waitress Sally a wave. She shows us to our table, and as the others remove their coats, I take off my long coat leaving me in my breeches, shirt and waistcoat. The sight of the latter with its ornate embroidery usually makes me happy but not today.

Once seated, they peruse the menus chattering happily.

"Where's Darcy?" Joan asks me.

"Oh, back at the hotel. He'll take your bags in, get the rooms sorted, and then meet us with room allocations and keys. What did you think of Lacock Abbey? Isn't it beautiful?"

"Oh, very pretty." She waves a careless hand. "But we're dying to ask you a question."

"Go ahead. I'm sure I'll have the answer if it"s about Jane Austen. I've read every book that's been written about her."

"What's going on with you and Darcy?"

I blink. "I beg your pardon?"

She nods, and her friends lean in, looking remarkably similar to a production of Macbeth I once saw. They're just missing a cauldron and some iambic pentameter. "We've been watching you over the trip, and we think you're meant for each other."

Maggie leans over the table. "Ooh, are you on about Freddie and Darcy?"

They nod. "Exactly," Liz cries. "They're perfect for each other."

I bite my lip. "Did you know that Jane Austen brewed her own beer?" I say desperately, but they're not having it.

"She's not as interesting as you two," Joan says.

"Sacrilege," I say faintly. "Please don't tell the Jane Austen Society."

I look at David for help, but he's munching on a piece of bread, looking happy and content in his carb fest. Yvonne and Grant, meanwhile, are frowning at Pippa, who, in her quest to avoid her mother, has planted herself between them and is glaring at her mother on the opposite side of the table.

"Oh, don't mind Brenda and Pippa," Joan says briskly. "They've been like this since we did the Darling Buds of May bit of the tour."

"But what's the problem?" I say, leaning forward. "I'm dying to know what's caused it. Was it a man or –" My ideas fail as I raid my store of knowledge of soap plots. It's extensive, so it could take some time.

"Pippa borrowed Brenda's coat and left it behind in a pub."

I blink and sit back. "And that's it?"

"Some people feel very strongly about things," Joan says airily. "Now about Darcy. What a beautiful young man." They all nod.

"That hair," Dorothy sighs. "Like he's been standing on a cliff looking out to sea."

"I'm pretty sure he'd jump off it if he heard this conversation," I mutter.

"And his eyes. Amber's such a lovely colour. And his are sometimes dark and sometimes light. The light is usually when he's looking at you. Does the colour change with his moods?" Liz enquires eagerly.

I groan, and Joan wags her finger at me. "I want to help you, Freddie. You remind me of my youngest grandson. He completely misses things too."

"I don't think I'm missing anything," I say quickly. "Well, at least I'm sure I haven't. What exactly am I supposed to have missed?"

Joan looks at her friends. "Just like Bobby." They all nod, and she turns back to me. "Well, Darcy fancies you, doesn't he?"

"What? No, of course, he doesn't."

She gives me a knowing smile. "You really don't know?"

My heart starts to pound. "He doesn't. We're just friends. Best friends."

"Well, dear, I have good friends who look at me like that, but they tend to be my two gentlemen callers who are friends with benefits, if you know what I mean."

I'm trying really hard not to. "You have friends with benefits?"

"Of course. Such fun, and then they go home, and I don't have to pick up after them, wash their socks, or even cook their dinner. Everyone should have one. I'm lucky to have two, although not on the same night. I must leave time for watching Countdown."

"Well, Darcy and I aren't –" I falter at the idea of being friends with benefits with Darcy. We've got the best friends thing down pat, so that would just leave us time to concentrate on all the lovely benefits. My brain shorts out for a second, and then I recall myself. It still wouldn't be enough for me. I want everything with him.

"Ooh, shush, girls. He's coming," Dorothy cries, and I look up to see Darcy walking down the street. He's put on his navy peacoat and wound a scarlet scarf around his neck, and his dark curls are being blown around by the wind. His long legs eat up the distance, and it's startling to see him after that conversation, like seeing a stranger in my friend's body. I feel my face flush.

The door opens with a jingle of the bell, and the ladies immediately greet Darcy as though he's Engelbert Humperdinck giving a private concert.

He looks a little unnerved but gamely ventures over. He hands me an A4 envelope. "The keys and list of who's sleeping where." He pauses. "You okay?"

"Fine," I squeak. "Just fine. So fine." I make my mouth stop talking as Dorothy giggles.

Darcy looks a little confused, but he's been friends with me for far too long to be freaked out by odd behaviour. "You look a bit hot."

"Oh well, you know."

He licks his lips, and my thoughts scatter. "Not really, but that won't worry me too much with you."

I laugh much too loudly. "Oh, you are funny." Shut up now, my brain is screaming, but my mouth sadly isn't listening. "Funny and such nice hair."

"Pardon?"

"Erm. I said I wish people wouldn't stare."

"Okay." He smiles at me affectionately. "This is because you haven't had tea yet, isn't it? You always get a bit scatty."

I nod and then do it again for good measure until Joan elbows me.

"Stop doing that. You look like a dog on the back seat of a car," she whispers.

Darcy takes his coat off, the muscles in his shoulders shifting and distracting most of us at the table apart from Grant and Yvonne, who are holding hands over the glowering Pippa. Darcy gestures to our waitress. "Please, could you get Freddie a pot of tea, Sally?" he says, giving her his big warm grin that makes his eyes crease in a spectacularly attractive way. "And a cream cake. He hasn't eaten yet, so his sugar's low."

He looks cautiously at Yvonne and Grant, who are now kissing, stretched across the table, while Pippa stares militantly over their heads at her mother. His eyebrow rises at me in query, and I roll my eyes. Finally, I see the moment he decides it's not worth commenting on, and he sits down and then looks around the table where everyone is staring at him. "Alright?" he asks cautiously.

Everyone nods frantically. "Oh yes," the ladies chorus, but Joan leans closer to me.

"You're starting to see now, aren't you? Keep watching him, and he'll look at you."

"Of course, he will," I say softly. "He's my friend."

"He's not looking like a friend, though."

I hold my breath, and she's right. Because I'm actually watching him rather than trying to hide how much I love him, I see the moment he looks over at me. His face is soft, his eyes yearning, and he freezes when he sees me watching. Our eyes seem to meet and cling, and the whole restaurant vanishes into a haze.

Then Grant announces that he's sure he and Yvonne need some alone time, and the real world intrudes, but when I look over, I notice Darcy's breathing has picked up. I want to drop my gaze, but I swallow hard and carry on watching him. He hesitates and then gives me a smile I've never seen before. It's blinding and so hopeful that it makes my eyes hot.

"I'm usually right, dear," Joan says. "But remember, friends with benefits doesn't just have to mean sex. The benefits can include no toenail clippings on the carpet and endless hot water."

"I think I'm in enough of that as it is," I mutter.