The Other Lizzie Bennet (Little Duck Pond Cafe #44)
CHAPTER ONE
As I stepped out of the Little Duck Pond Café, a single snowflake floated down from a blue sky and brushed against my cheek. I glanced over at the clouds stacked along the horizon. The forecasters had been right. There was snow on the way for January and I, for one, wasn’t complaining!
Snuggled in my scarf and padded coat, I paused to take in a cautious breath of the frozen, crystal-clear air.
Then – with my mug of steaming coffee warming my hands – I crossed the lane and walked onto the village green.
I had an hour for lunch, which would include nipping over to the Sunnybrook village store.
But after a morning of clearing tables, chatting to the customers, and baking scones in the heat of the kitchen, a little peace and tranquillity out here was just what I needed.
The sudden roar of an engine made me look up, and I followed the progress of a mean-looking red sports car slung close to the ground, as it braked and pulled into the side of the high street.
Two people got out. A man and a woman. As I watched, they seemed to be having an argument over the roof of the car.
I smiled to myself. One of the nice things about Wyatt and me – we’d been together for just over a year – was that we rarely argued.
We’d met in a pub the Christmas after I’d graduated as a mature student of thirty-seven, and when our paths had crossed again not long after that, I’d agreed to a date – and that had been that. We were an item. A bit of an odd couple, really.
Wyatt was a gregarious, extrovert actor and aspiring celebrity, who could charm the birds from the trees with his confident and engaging smile.
And then there was rather quiet, bookish me!
I liked my shiny, caramel blonde hair and my green eyes, but ‘average’ was probably how I’d describe my looks in general. And that was fine. I wasn’t keen on standing out from the crowd anyway.
My personality was very different to Wyatt’s, but they did say that opposites attract. And so far, it seemed to be true – for us, at any rate.
Wyatt was bringing me out of myself. He’d even managed to persuade me to take part alongside him in an upcoming ‘Regency Romp Festival’ at nearby Brambleberry Manor, celebrating author Jane Austen.
As soon as I’d agreed to do it, I’d started quietly regretting it!
But Wyatt seemed to have faith in me. And I told myself it would be good for me to do something different for a change – something that was well out of my comfort zone.
It helped that Jane Austen was one of my favourite authors, so I’d have been buying a ticket for the event anyway.
As I walked across the village green towards the duck pond, I was keeping a fascinated eye on the arguing couple. She was glaring at him across the car roof, arms folded, and it looked as though she was digging her heels in about something.
A single duck was paddling across the surface of the pond as I settled down on the bench there to drink my coffee. It was all so picturesque.
Let’s have a selfie, Lizzie!
Hearing Mum’s voice in my head, I grinned to myself. That’s what she’d be saying if she was here with me now.
There would be no time for simply sitting and relaxing and ‘smelling the roses’. Vanessa Bennet would never dream of wasting an opportunity to promote herself on social media, and to be fair, she seemed to be doing rather well, modelling fancy clothes and handbags for several local fashion brands.
Mum was currently a slave to TikTok and forever rushing off on another ‘photo shoot’, as she liked to call them.
‘It’s more than earning money. I’m flying the flag for the more mature career woman,’ she’d insist, as she admired herself in her latest designer outfit in the full-length mirror or drove off in her prized mint green Fiat 500 to find a suitably chic background against which to pose.
(The duck pond here would be perfect for a ‘relaxing weekend in the country’ vibe – the jeans-boots-and-fake-fur-gilet look, perhaps?)
I was glad Mum seemed to be forging a new life for herself.
We’d lost my lovely, gentle-natured dad six months ago and we all missed him so much.
A flood of emotion welled up inside thinking about him but I swallowed it down, blinking away the tears and focusing on the duck. I’d named it ‘Daffy’ in my head and it was sailing back and forth across the pond, looking quite agitated.
The water must be perishingly cold. But I’d read only the other day that ducks had a layer of downy feathers to insulate them, topped by waterproof feathers to keep the heat in. So Daffy was probably coping with the sub-zero temperatures better than me.
‘Oh, Lord, where the hell are you going, Dante?’
A woman’s sharp voice intruded on my thoughts, and I glanced up to see the arguing couple walking my way.
At least, the man was. The woman was gazing after him in exasperation, and as I watched with interest, she dusted something off her cream-coloured coat and lifted one foot to examine the sole of her boot.
She had striking, long dark hair and she looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else but here.
The man was tall with dark hair and as he strode across the green, his navy coat was flapping open. Hearing her furious question, he stopped and turned.
‘You could have warned me,’ she called.
‘Warned you about what?’ he barked.
‘That we’d be hiking in the countryside.’
‘This is a village green, Arabella. It’s hardly a hike.’
‘Well, it feels like it to me. And you just never know, do you?’
‘You never know what?’
‘Well, what you’re going to be stepping in. Cows live in the country, for heaven’s sake.’
The man’s eyes widened in sarcastic disbelief and I stifled a snort of laughter.
He’d clearly decided that ‘as the crow flies’ was the quickest route to the café.
Although to be fair to his glamorous companion, her high-heeled boots probably weren’t the most ideal footwear in which to cross a rather muddy village green.
With a resigned air, he walked back towards her.
And as my eyes followed him, they suddenly caught a movement in the reeds that were growing at the side of the pond.
Was that another duck?
Sitting up straight, I strained my eyes to see, and my heart gave a wallop in my chest as I suddenly spotted what looked like a tiny duckling emerging onto the grass.
I held my breath, watching it as it tried to move, but it seemed to be bumbling around in circles on the grass and straying ever further away from its mum . . .
I glanced swiftly over at the newcomers, who were apparently bound for the café.
What if the man were to step on that precious little duckling with his big plates of meat? ‘Arabella’ and her stiletto-heeled boots would be even worse!
He currently seemed to be indicating the best route for Arabella to take in order to avoid the non-existent cow pats. And now she was relenting and allowing herself to be shepherded along.
They were coming our way.
Jumping up from the bench, I scurried the few feet to the edge of the pond.
You weren’t supposed to touch birds unless it was an obvious emergency, but this very definitely was.
So I gently scooped up the soft little ball of feathers and glanced across the pond, looking for Daffy.
She was swimming towards me, and in my eagerness to reunite mum and baby, I took a big step forward – and my right foot slid straight down the slippery edge of the pond into the silty mud below.
The shock of the freezing water made me gasp and I slightly lost my balance, although I remained clinging gently to the fluffy ball of feathers for dear life.
Bending at an awkward angle, one leg in the pond, I set it free and after a brief flap about in the water, the little duckling regained its composure and sailed over to join its mum.
The tension in my shoulders melted away.
I felt so relieved as I watched them glide away together across the pond that I lost my concentration and somehow my balance as well.
Swaying forwards, I made a hopeless attempt at grabbing for some reeds to steady myself, but to no avail.
Gravity pulled me forwards and my other foot splashed into the pond.
Shocked, I tried to turn around to get myself out again but it was easier said than done.
My feet were half stuck in the mud, and with a panicky shriek, I lost my balance altogether and tumbled backwards into the murky green water.
My first instinct was to scramble upright before I was completely soaked. But a millisecond later, I felt the freezing water invading my knickers and knew it was useless.
‘What on earth is that strange woman doing?’ came an imperious voice.
From my beached whale position, flailing around in the silty depths and struggling to get up, I turned my head to see the glamorous Arabella staring at me in horror from just a few feet away.
‘I thought village idiots were the stuff of folklore, but apparently not.’ She gave a scornful laugh. ‘Is she taking a swim do you think?’
Her companion was peering over at me as if I was a creature from another world who’d just plopped like a giant haddock into his view-finder.
The very last shreds of my dignity vanished into the frozen air.
There was no point pretending otherwise. I was basically taking a bath in smelly green slime. In public. And I felt like crying.
But it was all so ridiculous, I suddenly surprised myself by snorting with laughing instead. And after that, I couldn’t stop.
Knowing I had an audience gawping at me just seemed to make it funnier, and pretty soon, I couldn’t work out if I was trembling with the cold or shaking with my attack of the uncontrollable giggles.
Weak with hysterics, every time I tried to heave myself out of the thick, sludgy mud at the bottom of the pond, I could get only so far up.
It felt like a giant industrial hoover was sucking at my pants and dragging me back down again .
. . and the idea of that made me giggle even more helplessly . . .
‘Do you need some help down there?’
The deep male voice seemed so close to my ear, I flinched. Brought back to my senses, I turned round, half-expecting to find he’d waded in right behind me.
The man called ‘Dante’ was standing at the edge of the pond, bending and offering his hand.
‘That’s so chivalrous of you, darling,’ called Arabella. ‘But I think what we need is a crane.’
‘A crane?’ he snapped, half-turning.
‘Something to winch out heavy objects? It looks like she’s completely stuck. And I can’t imagine why she’s laughing like that. Do you think she’s escaped from somewhere?’
‘At least I know that cows don’t usually live on village greens,’ I called, annoyed by her description of me as ‘a heavy object’ and very possibly deranged.
‘Give me your hand,’ ordered the man, sounding crosser than ever.
The sharpness of his tone made me pull back. ‘Um . . . it’s okay. I can manage, thanks.’
‘Well, you quite clearly can’t,’ he snapped, as another desperate lurch upwards only landed me in another repeat of the pants-sucking scenario – much to the hooting amusement of Arabella.
She was observing with her arms folded, enjoying the whole spectacle but making sure to stand well clear of the splash zone.
Her glee was annoying – but it was his attitude that was really putting my back up. He’d offered his assistance – but in such a stern and obviously irritated way, it was clear he didn’t really want to help. I’d get out without that kind of ‘assistance’.
The last thing I needed was some macho man with a superior attitude scowling down at me and telling me what to do.
Lurching upwards again, this time I managed to grab a bunch of reeds and haul myself up to a standing position. Then I squelched my way to the side and clambered out onto the grass, panting slightly. It was hard to believe how much wet clothes actually weighed when you were wearing them.
‘Oh, it’s the Loch Ness Monster!’ Arabella was loving this. ‘Is that green slime, do you think? Or is it her normal complexion?’
Even her stern-faced companion seemed to find this amusing. His lips twitched suspiciously. ‘You’ve got some . . .’ He indicated the spot on his own face. ‘Look, I apologise for my rude companion. I’m Dante and this is Arabella.’
I wiped some disgusting slime from my left cheek, straightened up and said with as much dignity as I could muster, ‘I’m Lizzie. And actually, I wasn’t taking a swim. I was reuniting a duckling with its mother.’
‘Oh, bravo! How very good of you,’ called Arabella with a sly smile. ‘I expect you wear Jesus sandals and crochet muesli in your spare time as well, do you?’
There was a sudden flapping of wings and the ducks were taking off from the pond. They flew so close to Arabella, she jumped back with a hysterical shriek. (It was childish, of course, but I was cheering inside as I headed back to the café. Go, Daffy!)
‘Well done,’ said her partner in crime as I walked past him, my shoes making embarrassingly loud squelching noises.
I glanced back at him suspiciously.
Did he mean the duckling rescue? Or was he being sarcastic?
And what sort of a stupid name was Dante, anyway?