Page 44 of Love ad Lib
‘Oh, just tickety-boo.’
‘I’m sorry I haven’t made it to Lucas’s show tonight. Things have been a bit, er, crazy at work. How is it?’
She stifled her scream. ‘Fine. Look, I know I should have given you my answer sooner, and I apologise for messing you around—’
‘Libby, you haven’t messed—’
‘Is it still on?’
‘What?’
‘The job offer.’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’
‘I’ll do it. I’ll be your fake girlfriend.’
9
Libby sat in the passenger seat of Henry’s car, knees together, hands resting demurely on her lap as he drove them out of London.
‘So, who are you again?’ he asked.
‘I’m Elizabeth “Libby” Bennet,’ she replied, the words feeling strange in her mouth.
Despite supposed social mobility, class consciousness still pervaded every strata of British society, and one’s name and occupation were some of the quickest ways to be pigeonholed and judged. ‘Fletcher’ was resoundingly lower-class, and ‘Liberty’ not only shared that status, but—according to Giles’s sister—was what a third-rate reality TV star might be called.
‘And you’re not an actress, you work in publishing?’
‘Yes, like India’s sister, Savannah. She’s my avatar.’
‘Er… she’s blue?’
Libby clapped her hand over her mouth as she snort-laughed. ‘Oh my god, that’s hilarious!’
The corner of Henry’s mouth twitched. ‘So, I’m guessing she doesn’t live on Pandora?’
‘Not when I last checked… Savannah is who I’m basing Elizabeth Bennet on. She’s the perfect type, went to Godolphin girls’ school, then Oxford to read English. Her godfather owns Winterblossom Press, so he gave her a job there.’
Publishing houses were, for the most part, owned and run by the upper-middle and upper classes. If you loved books and were named Saskia, it was highly likely you’d find yourself working at a literary agency,Tatlermagazine, or Winterblossom Press before you left to marry someone called Tarquin.
India’s parents were lovely and indulged their daughter’s passion for acting even though they didn’t understand it. However, in their social circles, there was always a slight bias that set publishing above acting, as if somehow the stage were still synonymous with lower-class living and prostitution. It didn’t make a difference to Libby that Henry’s mother was a model and actress. His mom was also a Duchess, so could do what she liked. And anyway, Libby wanted to be the kind of fake girlfriend that Henry wanted to be with, someone like his last date, Elizabeth.
‘And we met at a book launch for… hang on. Polly Hart?’ Henry asked.
‘Yes, for her latest release,Springtime Kisses and Daffodil Wishes at the Little Cornish Cupcake Café on Mermaid’s Cove.’
‘Jesus,’ he exhaled. ‘I’m never going to remember all that.’
‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to. That’s all part of your charm. You accidentally congratulated Polly for writingSummer Wishes and Dandelion Kisses at the Little Cornish Cottage. Which, incidentally, is almost the same title as a book she brought out last year.’
‘And you stepped in and recommended I check it out?’
‘Yes. Then we got chatting about books in general andPride and Prejudicein particular.’
