Page 53 of Stuck

“Trust me, no!” she exclaimed. “Mum is not a fan of nature—and Dad was never much more interested. Longbourn was idyllic, but in hindsight, they didn’t look after it well. The gardens were overgrown and the outhouses run-down. But my sisters and I loved it. We were always outside, riding our bikes, building forts, having bonfires, playing in the stream. And there was a farm nearby. The farmer used to let us ride in the tractor with him at harvest time. So there was plenty to inspire my fascination.” She turned in her chair to face me more fully. “What about you?”

“Farming has been my whole life. I grew up watching my father run Pemberley. Much of what I know, I learnt from him.”

“He must have been an excellent teacher, judging by the success of your company.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the compliment. “He was a hard taskmaster, but he could be incredibly patient too.”

“Is that where you got your soft side?”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “You think I have a soft side?”

“Um… you’re here, aren’t you? What would you call that, community service?”

I shook my head. “I’ve been called many things in my life, but not many people would describe me as ‘soft’.”

“That’s because you take pains to hide it, so they’ll all leave you alone.”

Before I could put into words my surprise that she really did know me better than I thought, the old man in the seat on her other side shifted, knocking her elbow, which in turn shoved her injured hand against her knee. She gasped loudly and grabbed for my arm with her good hand, gripping it tightly while her pain passed—and I’d had enough. I gently detached her fingers and stood up.

“I’m going to speak to someone.” It wasn’t a lie, only a slight equivocation. “I’ll be back in a minute. Sit tight.”

I walked towards the reception desk, directly past it, and out of the waiting room into the corridor beyond, taking my phone out of my pocket and hitting call. Bingley answered with such a chipper voice that I laughed bitterly before I could stop myself.

“What’s up?” he asked, doubt creeping into his voice.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘what’s up’?” I retorted, too infuriated to censor myself.

“Eh?”

“Why aren’t you here yet?”

“Where? Hang on.”

I heard him excuse himself from someone and a chair being pushed across the floor, and rage consumed me as I realised he was still at his bloody dinner.

“Okay, talk to me, Darcy. What’s happening?”

“I’m at the hospital. With your girlfriend.”

“You’re what? What’s happened? Is she okay?”

“You don’t know?”

“Know what? Darcy, what’s happened to Elizabeth?”

This was too bloody weird. I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath, trying to dispel my anger. He wasn’t here because he didn’t know. And now he was freaking out, and the need to switch from furious to reassuring was giving me whiplash.

“There was an accident at the office, and she cut her hand. It’s not serious, but it needs stitches, and we’ve been waiting a long time. She said you were on your way. She rang you hours ago.”

He swore then covered the phone and said something urgently to someone—his family, presumably—that I couldn’t hear. Unmuffling the speaker, he asked, “Which hospital?”

“Royal London.”

“I’m on my way.” He hung up before I could ask him what the hell was going on.

I pocketed my phone and walked slowly back to Elizabeth. She watched me approach and must have known something was wrong because she looked as guilty as she had on Wednesday, when she’d been trying to stop me finding out about her father.

I lowered myself back into my seat. “You didn’t tell Bingley you were here.”