Mr. Darcy Goes Overboard (2 page)

At lunchtime, Mr Bennet did indeed venture to the Yacht Club and there, just as Mrs Bennet had predicted, was the young man in question, sitting in the window, having a quiet gin and tonic whilst earnestly tapping away on his laptop. Mr Bennet introduced himself as Mr Bennet, and the young man leapt to his feet and shook hands.

'Delighted to meet you, Mr Bonnet.'

'Bennet.'

'No, I'm Bingley. Mr Bingley.'

'And I'm Mr Bennet.'

'Who then, sir,' asked the beaming Mr Bingley, 'is Mr Bonnet? I am new around here and not familiar with the names.'

'There is no Mr Bonnet.'

'How strange! I'm sure you mentioned him earlier. Perhaps he is a shy fellow, but I would be pleased to meet him, as I have few acquaintances in Salcombe. But what a splendid place it is, is it not Mr Bonnet?'

'Bennet.'

'Oh, Bennet! Bonnet! Such similar names. It must cause you quite a confusion.'

Mr Bennet found the young man in question most amiable and discovered that his new acquaintance had quite a unique and captivating understanding of the world. On the effect of a credit crunch, the young fellow enthused that as far as he understood, it was a fabulously healthy cereal, that employing hedge fund managers was the only way to keep the rabbits out of one's vegetable garden, and, from what he had seen so far in Salcombe, the bottom line seemed jolly attractive. Mr Bennet was rarely so entertained and invited Mr Bingley round to a barbeque that very evening, an invitation which the young man, having no acquaintances in the vicinity, accepted with alacrity.

***

The hot summer's day, meanwhile, had passed in the usual Salcombe manner for Mrs Bennet and her five daughters. After breakfast the girls had set out for town, armed with regulation jute bags to gather supplies for a picnic. Lizzy and Jane had queued at The Upper Crust for six deliciously soft dough rolls sprinkled with sunflower seeds, whilst Lydia and Kitty had gone round to the deli to buy slices of ham and little quiche pies. The younger girls were seriously delayed by a detour into Cranch's, the sweetie shop, where they spent a good fifteen minutes holding little plastic baskets and selecting with plastic tongs fizzy cola chews, luminous green snakes, rainbow crystals, and pink shrimps, before exiting, clutching pink-and-white-striped paper bags of goodies. Mary, meanwhile, remained back at 3 Island Street in the front room, where passers-by could peer in and see her swotting for her AS exams. She perched her physics textbook in the window so people could see that she was a girl of intellectual substance, not one to be drawn into softy subjects like media studies--the very thought! The baffled frown on her face showed the intense challenge that such a mission as physics could present even to the brightest student.

The picnic at last prepared and packed into outsized waterproof bags printed with strawberry patterns, the little party was ready to venture out to the beach.

Beaches at Salcombe are either a little distance from the centre of town, North and South Sands, or across the estuary--or
dendritic ria
, as Mary had once discovered and enjoyed correcting anyone ignorant enough to get the distinction wrong--where lie the glorious ribbons of golden sands known as Fisherman's Cove, Small's Cove, Mill Bay, Sunny Cove, and, for those with boats, The Bar.

Visitors delight in the fun of the ferries to get about from the town to the beaches or even up to Kingsbridge. The sturdy Salcombe to South Sands ferry ploughing back and forth, with its gaily fluttering flags and packed with holidaymakers waving buckets and spades, who have the added pleasure of disembarking onto a fine sea tractor to ensure a dry landing on the beach, is a regular sight. Many locals and holiday house owners, however, have invested in some sort of craft to take them from beach to beach at their leisure. So it was a pleasant hundred-foot walk to the wooden jetty where
Angelica
, a twelve-foot grey inflatable, dearly loved by the Bennet family, was patiently waiting, that the girls and Mrs Bennet headed, laden with one large wicker picnic basket, three Cath Kidston-patterned picnic bags, buckets, spades, cricket kit, rugby ball, tennis ball, towels, swimming gear, handbags, books, magazines, newspapers, windbreakers, and life jackets. Mrs Bennet liked to think of herself as 'good in boats.' Her inability to start the six horsepower engine, distinguish a bowline from a clove hitch, or cast off did not deter her from barking instructions. Transferring her weight from the pontoon and down into the bouncy boat always caused
Angelica
to lurch alarmingly and cause a slight heart flutter in Mrs Bennet's bosom, but she was game and shouted and bossed the girls around so efficiently that she had a hand to help her from the pontoon, a hand to catch her into the boat, a hand to steady her posterior onto the thwart, and a hand to pass her the overflowing and very unseaworthy handbag that accompanied her everywhere.

Lizzy pulled at the engine, and, after two attempts, it chuckled into life. 'Cast off! Cast off!' shouted Mrs Bennet imperiously. 'Oh look! There are the Lucas's in
Fly-By-Night
. Yahoo! Yahoo! I say, Marcia, yahoo! Wave girls! Wave!'

The Lucas family were sailing by in their splendid Salcombe Yawl, a traditional wooden boat with two masts--main and mizzen--much beloved by Salcombe society.

'Oh I say! Frances! Yahoo!' echoed Mrs Lucas, spotting the overloaded
Angelica
. 'Wonderful news! Charlotte's "A" level results!'

'What did you say?' cried Mrs Bennet across the water, standing up as if she could get a little closer by doing so. 'Go over to
Fly-By-Night
, Lizzy! I can't hear what Marcia is saying.'

'She's like, trying to tell you how brilliantly Charlotte has done in her "A" levels,' interjected Kitty mischievously.

As Mrs Lucas's official best friend, Mrs Bennet would naturally want to share in such happy news, but her girls were expecting results, too. It could be awkward.

'Sorry, Marcia! Can't hear you. Catch up later!' shouted Mrs Bennet, adding the command, 'Head for the beach, Lizzy!' to which Lizzy responded with such alacrity that Mrs Bennet, caught off-balance, was pitched headfirst across the bows, her legs shooting up into the air in a most unladylike fashion and her handbag flung skyward. The girls could not help but dissolve into peals of laughter, fortunately catching the airborne bag, saving it from a watery grave. The whole incident would have been forgotten if it had not been splendidly caught on camera by a passing professional photographer in a speedboat, who specialised in capturing those magical family moments. Later that day, Mr Bennet, recognising his wife's legs, her handbag, and his merry daughters on display in a picture in the photographer's shop window, was so taken by the artistic merit of the shot that he ordered a large print immediately, which gave him much cause to chuckle for many years to come.

Mrs Bennet and handbag now recovered, the party continued on their voyage across the estuary, dodging lasers, toppers, and luxury cruisers, reaching Mill Bay without any further adventure, where Lizzy skilfully drove the boat to shallow water, and Lydia and Kitty leapt out in bare feet, screeching and laughing partly at the coldness of the water and partly for the benefit of some fit young men in Jack Wills pants. Within five minutes, the little party had joined another fifty or so families on the beach, shielded by colourful windshields, with picnics at the ready, books to read, the sparkling sea before them, and nothing much more to do than chill out. Bliss.

***

As they settled down on multicoloured beach towels to read, or in Lydia's and Kitty's case, to gossip, Mr Bennet clad in his customary long navy shorts, pale blue shirt, and panama hat appeared, unnoticed, and stood behind the windshield, gazing at the hectic scenes of boating antics before him.

'Oh, if only Mr Bennet would go and visit Mr Bingley! Marcia is bound to connive to snatch the young man for one of her daughters. I am sure of it!'

The outburst came from Mrs Bennet, who had been lying on the beach, fretting over the day's events.

'If you are so sure it is a shame, I have wasted my time chatting to Mr Bingley,' said Mr Bennet. The sound of his voice with no sense of his body caused Mrs Bennet to shriek in alarm, 'Mr Bennet!'

Catching sight of him over the windshield and assured it was not a ghost, she proceeded, most anxiously, to quiz him.

'What do you mean you have been chatting with Mr Bingley?'

'I mean I have been chatting with Mr Bingley. A delightful young man who will be joining us for a barbeque this evening!'

This was too much for Mrs Bennet to take in all at once! Joy overwhelmed her, and words for once failed her. Instead, she leapt up and, to the delight of the beach, as one onlooker said, 'gave the poor chap a right smacker!'

Mrs Bennet and the girls spent the morning discussing what the barbeque would consist of, only to be quashed in their enthusiasm by a message received on Mr Bennet's phone from young Mr Bingley, informing them he had made a diary error and would in fact be in Dartmouth that evening and unable to join them. Mrs Bennet was most vexed and commented that she hoped he was not going to be one of those young men who was constantly flitting from one thing to another and could never be trusted to make up his mind. Her anxieties, however, were assuaged when Mr Bennet read out the remainder of the message.

'Soz, Mr Bonnet, but will be back 2 Salcombe 2morrow with friends on 62ft yacht
Pemberley
. All invited for drinks. Bingley.'

'A sixty-two-foot yacht! He must be a very wealthy young man!' exclaimed Mrs Bennet in delight, quite forgetting her anxiety about his flightiness.

Discussion now transferred from the barbeque to what one should wear for drinks at noon on a sixty-two-foot yacht.

'I shall wear like my new pink sundress from Fat Face,' declared Kitty. 'Although I have only worn it like once, I have seen many a young man turn their heads to stare at me.'

'In horror,' concluded Lydia.

'Beast,' retorted Kitty tearfully. 'Mother, tell Lydia not to be so mean.'

'I think you look most fetching in pink, Kitty dear,' said Mrs Bennet, 'and, Lydia, you must wear your yellow satin with the little matching bandanna.'

'Yellow, Mother? Joke on!' retorted Lydia. 'No, I will wear Kitty's pink. I look so much more glamourous in it than she does!'

'What! Have you, like, dared to try it on?' Kitty sat up in horror.

'Only once--and it suited me perfectly.'

'Really. How childish you girls are,' interjected Mary. 'I, for one, will not be taking up such an invitation. I have my physics and my future to consider.'

'Whateva,' snorted Lydia, and the conversation continued in such a vein for some time.

The eldest two Bennet girls took the opportunity to slip away and enjoy a deep, meaningful conversation while strolling along the beach.

'How Lydia and Kitty go on,' laughed Jane.

'They drive me to distraction,' replied Lizzy, picking up a smooth, flat pebble and skimming it across the calm sea. 'But you, Jane, why, you have the patience of an angel.'

Jane smiled, unable to think of a response. Lizzy continued teasingly. 'But even angels may wish to fall in love and marry, Jane. Have you considered what you will wear tomorrow, for you are surely the prettiest of us all and by far the sweetest natured and have the most chance of landing a prize catch.'

'Oh, Lizzy. How you tease me. I have given it very little thought, but now you come to mention it, I think I will wear my pale blue.'

Jane laughed, and the girls, reaching the end of the beach, scrambled over the rocks to consider the matter further whilst poking around in the rock pools.

***

In the event, Mr Bennet was diverted by business matters and was unable to join the party venturing out to drinks on
Pemberley
, so the girls (including Mary who persuaded herself that a few hours in constructive leisure may refresh her mind and therefore be beneficial to her studies) went accompanied only by their mother. Mrs Bennet was vexed that Lydia had insisted on dressing in her seriously short shorts, but apart from this, was in good spirits as they left the safety of the shore and travelled over the estuary waters in
Angelica
to where they understood
Pemberley
to be at anchor. Unfortunately, Mrs Bennet had misunderstood Mr Bennet's directions, and, by the time they had putt-putted up the inlets to South Pool, then Frogmore, and practically all the way to Kingsbridge with no sign of the magnificent
Pemberley,
Mrs Bennet was becoming agitated.

'Oh, Lord! We are so late! It will be teatime before we arrive. We will make such a terrible impression!' At that moment, Lizzy's mobile rang. It was Charlotte Lucas.

'Oh, Lizzy! Thank goodness you have answered. Listen, I am at a drinks party on a yacht and have just overheard the delightful Mr Bingley saying how disappointed he is that your family is not here. He has heard much of your reputation as hotties and was looking forward to judging for himself! Are you not coming?'

'Hotties!' Lizzy laughed. 'Yes, Charlotte--we are intending to come directly, but I fear we are lost--or at least
Pemberley
is lost to us!'

'What?' interjected Mrs Bennet. 'Is Charlotte Lucas already on board? Trust Marcia to think only of her own daughter! Find out where the yacht is. Hurry, Lizzy! Hurry!'

'Mother, please! The line is poor enough. I can barely hear dear Charlotte.'

In time, Lizzy managed to hush Mrs Bennet, ascertain the location of the yacht, and instruct Lydia, who was at
Angelica'
s helm, to head in the right direction.

***

There was much shrieking and wobbling of the boat as the girls disembarked from
Angelica
and climbed the wooden stepladder to board
Pemberley
. And what a splendid yacht it was indeed: sixty-two feet long--or an inch or so more--with fine varnished decks, polished brass instruments, two masts that seemed to touch the sky, furled round with the whitest of sails. All this was enough to take one's breath away, but what captivated the girls most--and Mrs Bennet the very most--was Mr Bingley. Mr Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance and easy, unaffected manners. He seemed equally captivated, waving away the Bennets' apologies for being late, and helping each one on board with delight. One could not help but notice his sharp intake of breath on first beholding Jane and how he took a little longer helping her on board and how his eyes followed her every move and how attentive he was to her every possible requirement for a drink or perhaps a little shade or to ensure she did not suffer from too strong a breeze or was not made giddy by the gentle rocking of the boat.

Champagne was served, and all was jollity and delight. Mr Bingley introduced his visitors to his sisters, Cazza, Lulu, and Hattie, who attempted civility before taking out their towels, lying down towards the bows, closing their eyes, and busying themselves with sunbathing. Mrs Bennet, so put out initially to find Mrs Lucas already on board, soon fell into discussion with her dear friend, and both agreed that Mr Bingley was the perfect young man.

'To think,' whispered Mrs Bennet, 'that such a young man should own not only Netherpollock but also such a fine yacht.'

'Oh, Mrs Bennet! You are mistaken. Mr Bingley may own Netherpollock, but he does not own this yacht. No. That honour goes to his good friend Mr Darcy!'

'Mr Darcy! And who is he?' asked Mrs Bennet, most puzzled.

At that very moment, Mr Bingley seemed to come out of his entrancement with Jane and called in a loud voice, 'I say, Darcy! Do come and join us! We have guests! Darcy!'

All eyes looked to the front of the yacht where stood a tall, dark figure no one had previously observed. Now hearing his name, the gentleman in question turned and immediately drew gasps of admiration from all the ladies, thrilled by his fine, tall person, his impressive physique set off perfectly by a fabulously British blue-and-white-striped cotton shirt with sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, muscular arms, dark blue shorts revealing strong, muscular legs, handsome features, noble mien, and the fact that circulated almost immediately that his fortune was tenfold that of Mr Bingley's.

'Oh, Lord!' exclaimed Mrs Bennet in an excited whisper on receiving this news. 'He is far handsomer than Mr Bingley. He would make the better husband!'

Bingley clambered forward over the deck to speak with urgency to Darcy.

'Come, Darcy. I must have you join our guests. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better join us.'

'I certainly shall not. There is no woman aboard whom I would wish to waste my time with. And you are talking to the only handsome girl.'

'Oh, she is the hottest tottie I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty and, I dare say, splendidly agreeable. Do let me introduce you.'

'Which do you mean?'

Turning round, Darcy looked for a moment at Lizzy, who was perched on the cabin roof, and catching her eye, momentarily withdrew his own.

'Boo that! She is tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt me. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.'

With that, Darcy turned away and continued his brooding stare out over the estuary. Bingley, perplexed by his friend's stupid behaviour, clambered back over the deck to further enjoy the company of those in the cockpit. Lizzy, who had overheard Mr Darcy's remark, felt he was indeed a proud and unpleasant man, so was not hurt and enjoyed regaling the story to her friends.

The drinks party drew to a close, and the Bennet family returned without further incident to 3 Island Street, where the rest of the day was spent recounting the events aboard
Pemberley
. Mr Bennet was told, if not once but a thousand times by Mrs Bennet, how delightful Mr Bingley was, how he admired Jane, and how he favoured her above all others, and only when Mr Bennet protested that he had heard enough did Mrs Bennet look for another avenue for her story and recount the outrageous behaviour of Mr Darcy. 'He is the rudest, most pompous, stuck-up, conceited, high and mighty, self-important, snobbish, arrogant big head one could have the misfortune to meet!'

'You did not like him, then?' suggested Mr Bennet.

'Like him?' retorted Mrs Bennet, incredulous. 'Oh, Mr Bennet, how you tease me! You know I would happily have wrung his neck and thrown him overboard.' And with that, Mrs Bennet flounced out of the room, and Mr Bennet was left once more, grateful for silence and solitude.