Page 127 of Love ad Lib
She opened the door.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.’
Henry stood as the crowds entered, snapping his heels together and bowing his head.
‘Forgive me,’ he began, as officiously as he could manage. ‘I was not expecting visitors.’
Libby advanced on him, trying to contain her grin as many of the guests sighed with appreciation behind her.
She dropped a curtsey. ‘We apologise for the intrusion, sir, however these honoured guests have come many miles to view such an impressive collection.’
‘Ah, yes.’ He held up the book in his hand. ‘Cicero. He once said “a room without books is like a body without a soul”. May I welcome you all to the soul and, I believe,heartof Foxbrooke Manor.’
Luckily Henry knewwhere all the best books in the library were and brought out the huge atlases, which contained fantastical drawings and descriptions of mermaids and sea monsters. Being Mr Darcy was easy. All he had to do was retreat behind a wall of indifference and let Libby lead the conversation.
The tour had already been going for two hours and no-one seemed to be flagging. The final stop was the kitchen, where Perry had discovered a mob cap and paired it with a vintage white apron. She taught the group how to make sugar biscuits, passing around old wooden stampers, each one containing a few nails embedded in the design to punch holes in the biscuits and stop them bubbling up when being cooked. Once the biscuits were in the oven, she passed around the batch she’d produced earlier and an enormous pot of tea.
It was midday by the time they led the party back to the entrance hall where Estelle was waiting.
Libby took their praise and thanks in her stride, but Henry was mute, relying on firm handshakes and nodding to convey his pleasure. She appeared energised by the performance, while he needed a stiff drink and a lie down.
He glanced to his right as his parents wandered around the corner. His father was bleary eyed and dishevelled, the antlers and furs still intact, his mom and mammy equally worse for wear. Henry caught Estelle’s eye and she moved the tourists on whilst he dashed to cut their parents off.
Arthur scratched his hairy belly as he approached. ‘What’s all this then?’
‘The monthly tour.’
‘Already? Time bally flies these days.’
‘Dad, you forgot to book the tour guide.’
‘I did?’ His father pulled a face. ‘I can’t be expected to remember everything at my age.’
Henry’s patience was wearing thin. ‘Dad. You’re fifty-four, not ninety-four. Put it in your diary.’
The last cars were moving down the drive. Libby remained by the entrance, waving, as Estelle stormed over.
‘I don’t even know where to fucking start,’ she screamed.
Henry took a step backwards, as did all three of his parents.
His sister was vibrating with anger, her hands shaking, her lips pale.
She gestured at the house behind her. ‘Do you like this place?’
‘Er—’ Arthur began.
‘Well start saying your goodbyes, because thanks to you bunch of idiots, we’re going to lose it.’
‘What?’ Vivienne looked at her husband. ‘Arthur?’
His dad shrugged in response. ‘Don’t know what Estelle’s talking about, darling.’
‘Wanna know why the last estate manager left?’ Estelle fumed. ‘Well, no fucking surprise it was the same reason we lost the one before that and the one before that. It’s because you never listen. Any of you. You change your mind at the drop of a hat, turn down ideas that might actually make money, and embrace ones that never will.’
‘The parties make a tidy profit,’ Arthur protested.
‘Oh yes,’ replied Estelle sarcastically, her hand on her hip. ‘Just about enough to compensate for the abject failure of naked yoga classes, naked country-dancing and naked body-painting.’
