The Trouble With Emma (16 page)

“Would you bring another cup for our guest, please?” Emma’s father asked her. “And some more biscuits are in order as well, I think.”

Maureen?
Emma gave a brief nod, too overcome with shock at this latest development to speak, and turned to go. When had her father and that nosy Mrs Cusack gotten to be so…friendly?

“Yes, a cup of tea would be lovely,” the woman told her now, and beamed over at Mr Bennet. “Just the thing.”

Emma left, fuming as she made her way down the stairs and back into the kitchen. The nerve of the woman! Coming in and marching up the stairs without a by your leave, as if she owned the place…

“I hope you don’t mind,” Jacquetta said as she breezed into the kitchen to pour herself another cup of coffee, “but I let your neighbour, Mrs Cusack, in just now. She was looking for your father.”

“She found him,” Emma said, and took down another cup and saucer from the cupboard and set them down on the tray with a rattle of china.

“He’s a lovely man, Mr Bennet,” Jacquetta went on. “So courtly and attentive, with such wonderful, old-fashioned manners. One seldom finds those qualities in a man these days. At least,” she added cheerily as she breezed back out, “not unless he’s gay...”

Chapter 29

Emma carried the tray back upstairs and paused just outside her father’s study.

“ –niece of mine is such a clever girl, you know,” Mrs Cusack was saying. “Not only is Isabella putting herself through school and learning to design hats; she helps me with my accounts and balances my chequebook for me. I don’t know what I did before she came to Litchfield.”

You bounced a lot of cheques, according to Boz
, Emma thought uncharitably.

“Well, then, you’re very lucky. Miss Fairfax is not only a clever young woman, but a considerate one as well,” Mr Bennet said. “She’s a credit to your sister and her family.”

All hail Saint Isabella
…

“I’ve brought Mrs Cusack’s tea,” Emma said, pushing her thoughts, like the door, aside as she entered the study and banged the tray down.

“Thank you,” Mr Bennet said. “Did you bring more biscuits, Emma dear?”

“I did.” She poured Mrs Cusack a cup and handed it over, and set the plate of biscuits down in front of her father. “Oh – by the way,” she added, her words casual, “I saw Isabella earlier today when I was walking the dog.”

The woman looked up with interest as she spooned sugar into her tea. “Did you? I hope you stopped to say hello.”

“I did. We only spoke for a few minutes, unfortunately. She was in rather a hurry to leave. She said you were waiting on her at home.”

“Really? Well, that’s odd.” Mrs Cusack drew her brows together in bewilderment. “I haven’t seen Isabella since she left this morning. And goodness knows, I’ve not been waiting on her to get back.” She eyed Emma. “What else did she say?”

“Actually, it was all a bit…awkward.” Emma pretended to hesitate.

“Awkward? Whatever do you mean?” Mrs Cusack set her spoon aside on the saucer with a rattle of silver.

“Oh, I’m sure it was nothing,” Emma assured her. “She was up at Crossley Hall just a little while ago when I got there, talking in the back garden with Mr Churchill. They had their heads together and looked rather serious.”

Mrs Cusack’s face registered surprise, then puzzlement. “I can’t imagine why. They scarcely know each other! They only met at your father’s garden party last week.”

“I’m sure it was nothing,” Emma said again, and turned to go. “No doubt I misread the situation, thinking they were in the middle of an argument. But as you pointed out, they barely know each other.” She paused by the study door. “Perhaps you might ask Isabella about it the next time you see her. I’m sure she can clear up the confusion.”

“Yes,” the woman said, plainly flustered by the news. “Of
course
she will. I’ll do that.”

With a polite nod, Emma left, shutting the door behind her, and went back downstairs.

Take that, Saint Isabella
.

Tom passed her in the downstairs hallway. “You look like that cat,” he observed, and cocked his brow.

“Oh? And what cat do you mean?” Emma asked.

He grinned. “The one that swallowed the canary
and
got the cream. Devonshire, too, by the look of it.”

With another grin he left her standing there, and went into the library in search of Simon.

***

On Tuesday morning the rest of the production crew arrived to begin the first day of filming. Emma showered and dressed and hurried downstairs to grab a coffee and let the dog out before she set off to work at the bakery.

She opened the kitchen door to see several vans and cars parked in the grass by the side of the house. Elton immediately launched himself forward, barking and straining against his lead at the sight of so many unfamiliar people invading his domain.

“Oh, Elton, do stop,” Emma said crossly, and tugged him away. “You’d best get used to it.”

Chaos reigned indoors as well as she led the dog back into the kitchen a few minutes later. Cables crisscrossed the floors. The director and cameramen were in the hallway, discussing camera angles as Tom adjusted the lights. Simon and Jacquetta emerged from the library, scripts in hand, in search of coffee and clarification on their dialogue.

“Have you seen Mark, darling?” Jacquetta asked as she wandered into the kitchen and topped up her mug with more coffee. “I desperately need to ask him a question.”

“I haven’t, sorry,” Emma said as she took the dog off his lead and grabbed her keys. It looked like rain so she decided to borrow her father’s car and drive. “I’m off to work. Happy filming,” she added as she scribbled him a note and left it on the table.

“Shooting, darling,” Jacquetta corrected her, distracted as she frowned down at the pages in her hand. “It’s called a ‘shoot’.”

Emma bit back a sharp retort and turned to go. Although she’d never admit it, she was glad to escape the
Mind Your Manors
madness for a few hours and felt almost guilty, leaving Mr Bennet to deal with it all by himself.

Almost.

She brushed past Tom and squeezed between the director and an assistant and made her way to the front door. But as she flung the door open, she found herself facing the unexpected sight of Mark Knightley.

“Oh! Mr Knightley,” she said, and stood – rather stupidly – staring at him. He looked casual but fit in jeans, T-shirt, and trainers…very different to the man in the bespoke suit she was used to seeing. “Come in.” She stepped aside to let him in.

He stepped inside the hallway and eyed her handbag and keys. “Where are you off to, Emma? You’re not leaving us, I hope?”

Was it her imagination, or did he look a bit…cross?

“I’m just on my way to work.” She held up her keys. “Surely you remember…Weston’s Bakery? The site of our memorable first meeting, where you insulted me five minutes after we met, and said I reeked of the barnyard –?”

His eyes narrowed. “But today’s the first day of filming. You
are
aware of that, are you not? Are you telling me you won’t be here?” His expression was thunderous.

All right
, Emma thought,
it wasn’t my imagination, then
. Mark Knightley was indeed cross with her. Very cross, judging from the murderous look in his eye right now.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” she retorted. “Like you, I have bills to pay, and a job helps me to do that. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be off now.” And she brushed past him to leave.

“Do you plan to see your way clear to being here tomorrow, Miss Bennet?”

Oh, dear. She’d gone from ‘Emma’ to ‘Miss Bennet’ in the space of a few minutes. Surely that wasn’t a good sign.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” she said evenly, “and Friday as well, and my father will be here every day. If that doesn’t suit you, Mr Knightley, then I really don’t know what to tell you.”

“You
wanted
this,” he reminded her, his words sharp. “You requested that Litchfield Manor be featured on the programme, and you were lucky enough to get your wish. Do you have any idea how long the wait list is?”

Emma bristled. “I’m sure it’s very long…longer than the queue for Boz’s doughnuts will be, if I don’t leave and open the shop up soon.”

“You realise the scenes will have to be rewritten, and the shooting schedule altered to accommodate your absence?”

Emma shrugged. “Sorry.” But she wasn’t sorry, not in the least, particularly not if he intended to be so beastly about it all. “I’m normally home by half past two. Can’t my scenes be filmed – or, shot, or whatever you call it – then?”

“You haven’t left us with much choice, have you?” He scowled and brushed past her to the library. “Have a good day, Miss Bennet,” he flung over his shoulder.

“Get stuffed, Mr Knightley.”

As she re-shouldered her bag and turned to leave, Tom emerged from the kitchen with a mug of coffee in hand and cocked his eyebrow.

“Guess she told you, mate, didn’t she?” he observed as Mark strode by.

“Get stuffed, Tom,” Knightley said, succinctly.

And on that note, Emma made her escape, and got in the car and left for the bakery.

Chapter 30

On Thursday the bakery was filled with customers queueing to buy treats for the upcoming bank holiday weekend. Business was so brisk that Boz and Viv could scarcely put the cream horns and raspberry tarts out for display before they all sold out again.

“What a day!” Emma declared as she finally flipped the sign to ‘Closed’ and locked the front door at half past two. “I’ll hear the sound of the till opening and closing in my sleep tonight.”

Viv snorted. “So will Boz, I reckon, but that’s a sound he likes. Reminds him of all that money he’s makin’.”

There was a knock on the door, and the two women looked up, startled. “I’ll take care of it,” Emma sighed, and wondered who had the audacity to knock when the sign plainly stated they were closed.

“We’re not open,” she said firmly as she opened the door. “We’ve just closed for the day – oh, Mr Churchill!”

He gave her a lopsided but charming smile. “I wonder if I might beg you to let me come in and buy a couple of boxes of scones – which I’m told are delicious, by the way – for the workmen. Mrs Fenning hasn’t time to make them and insists hers aren’t half so good as yours.”

“Well…I don’t know,” Emma said, and hesitated. “We really
are
closed at the moment –”

“It’s OK, Em,” Boz called out, wiping his hands on a floury cloth as he appeared from the back. “Let ’im in.”

“All right. Please, come in.” She smiled at Mr Churchill and swung the door wider, then shut and latched it after him. “What would you like?” she asked over her shoulder as she went back behind the counter.

He waited as Viv and Boz returned to the back and leaned forward to rest his arms against the glass countertop. His smile was gone and his eyes were serious on hers. “I’d like to talk to you, if I may.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Of course.”

“I don’t want you – or Martine – to get the wrong idea about what you saw up at Crossley Hall the other day. Miss Fairfax and I were having a slightly…heated conversation, and I wanted to explain.”

“It’s really none of my concern,” she said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. “No explanation necessary. After all, we had no business lurking on your property, or traipsing around unannounced through your garden…”

“On the contrary, you’re always welcome at Crossley Hall, Emma.” His smile was warm. “It’s just that things are a bit…sensitive just now. Isabella is assisting me with a very important business venture at the moment. She has a strong financial background, and my PA quit last week, and, well – to be frank, I need her help just as much as Miss Fairfax needs the money.”

“I see.”

“She has a partial scholarship to Central St Martins, but there are other expenses. Her family has very little money, so my offer of a temporary job came at a most welcome time.”

Emma nodded. “So you’re helping each other.”

“Exactly. I knew you’d understand.”

“You really didn’t have to come all the way to the bakery to tell me that, you know,” she admonished him. “I wouldn’t have said anything to anyone.”

Except perhaps
, she thought with sudden misgivings,
to mention it Isabella’s aunt
.

“I really do need to buy some scones,” he admitted, and smiled. “Have you any left this late in the day?”

She bent down to examine the display case. “Just about enough for a dozen, I think. And we have a few butter cookies left.”

“I’ll take them – the lot. And this time,” he added as he withdrew a Barclaycard, “no large bills and no need for you to make change.”

“Thanks.” Emma turned away and began boxing up the scones. “To be honest, as busy as we’ve been today, making change wouldn’t be a problem at all.”

“Yes, with the bank holiday coming up I can imagine you’re busier than usual. I’m off to London in the morning for a few days. I won’t be back until next week.”

“Is that why you’re treating the workmen to scones?” she teased as she put his boxes on the counter and took his card. “So they’ll crack on while you’re gone?”

“You’re a clever woman, Emma Bennet.” He signed his credit receipt with a messy scrawl. “Too clever by half – you’ve got me all figured out.”

“Not entirely,” she said as she returned his card. “But I’m working on it, Mr Churchill.”

“James.” He looked at her with mock sternness. “After all, we know each other’s darkest secrets now.” His eyes crinkled in amusement as he picked up his boxes. “Surely that should be enough to put us on a first-name basis?”

Emma laughed as she followed him to the door and let him out. “Point taken. Goodbye, James. See you next week.”

“I look forward to it. Have a good weekend, Emma.”

“You too.”

She waited as he left and was just about to latch the door behind him when she heard someone call out her name.

“Emma! Hold up, please.”

She glanced up to see Mark Knightley crossing Mulberry Street and striding purposefully towards the shop. His face was set in a grim expression. Although she had a sudden urge to slam the door and lock it before he arrived, she eyed him warily and waited.