FicWad

Part 3- ‘…The art of making love…’

‘This is not going to work…’ Harry’s producer threw up his arms in obvious disdain. ‘Harry I’m telling you this is hopeless…’

Harry was tired. This was the second month into filming and the problems that had already arisen were numerous, this scene the principal. It was the first declaration of love from Rupert for Celia, and had Harry hoped that his stars, Lizzy and Darcy, would deliver the same intensity and passion that marked their scenes together during audition, he was sorely mistaken.

It was easier to make war than love, as the song went, and Harry was pulling out what little hair he had left. Lizzy and Darcy seemed reluctant to get past their dislike of each other.

They spoke the words well enough; the scene played out beautifully until they were required to touch. Darcy then appeared reluctant, and worse, Lizzy clearly radiated disgust. But Harry refused to give up.

His producer, Billy Farren, was of a less tenacious nature. ‘Look Harry, it’s still not too late, we could easily replace her…bring in a more established girl…’

‘No…! Of course it’s too late this late into production, to bring about a complete turnaround now would be disastrous, we’ve already lost time, and not to mention the cost…you know that. Besides, I don’t want to replace anybody. They are perfect…’

‘Oh, come on, Harry! Are you watching the same two people…?’

‘Yes…and I’m telling you, there is something between them…chemistry…something electric, I can see it…’

Billy scoffed, ‘Yeah…That’s not really the point, is it…let’s only hope you can make them see it as well…’

‘I can…and I will… I’m not giving up on them on yet….’

Billy was suddenly struck by a thought. ‘Look Harry this wasn’t like that commercial is it, you know that time you got drunk and took up that bet on casting the first two people you saw…?’

Harry became defensive. ‘Hey…that only happened once, alright? And I was really drunk…’

‘Okay…it’s your call…’

Harry nodded, and called out, ‘Places, people! Get ready to go again…’ A final touch of make up and adjusting of the costumes and the scene was ready to be played out again.

Rupert’s hands shook as he worked and the lines he had drawn on the canvas could have been better done by a rank amateur. But really it could not be helped, Celia looked…my God, he thought, she is beautiful…

Aware that he had stopped drawing all together and now was just staring stupidly, he dropped his pencil and walked purposefully over to her.

She refused to look up.

Rupert had known it would be beyond temptation for them to be left alone. He had tried to make some excuse to her father to avoid exactly this situation, but he trusted him.

Lord Grayson had welcomed Rupert, a destitute painter, into his home, and treated him with more dignity than Rupert was ashamed to admit he deserved. This trust, solemn as it was, and solemnly placed with him, he was about to violate.

What a violation it would be…he loved her, he loved Celia…beyond reasoning, beyond doubt and beyond promises to an old man more trusting than was wise.

He fell at her feet, and still she did not acknowledge him as she sat in that pose favoured by wealthy ladies: dress billowing outwards and with a book in hand, wishing to look more studious and better read than they really were. He dared not speak; she looked at him at last…and smiled.

‘I am no artist sir, but I believe you would find a better prospect from where you stood…’

‘The view is perfect from here…Celia, you would be enchanting from every angle; if I never saw it again, this fair prospect would remain with me forever…’

Celia laughed unintentionally and he looked hurt. ‘You have chosen the wrong vocation sir; with such pretty words…surely you ought to have been a poet…?’

‘It would not matter what I was or am, nothing I could ever paint or say would match you…Celia…’

He whispered her name again and again, and taking the hem of her dress kissed it reverently. She was all seriousness now.

‘Then I am sorry for you, sir; it must be a cruel punishment indeed to be plagued with such a poor opinion of one’s talent…’

He stared at her wide-eyed, not wishing to understand. She continued and every word was a twist of the knife she plunged into his heart.

She took her dress out of his hands. ‘You had better finish your portrait sir…from where you stood before…’ Her coldness was unmistakable. He took her advice and, rising slowly, walked back to the canvas. He carried on, every stroke with his pencil a sweeping, angry gesture…he hated her!

‘And…cut!’ Harry leapt out of his chair and, walking over to Lizzy, tried to smile... ‘Okay, that was better, but…’ He stopped short. The poor girl was looking tired. He had forgotten this was her first film and she was not used to the punishing schedule. She had not yet developed the stamina required for such an ambitious project; he felt sorry for her.

‘Okay…let’s call it a day. We’ll move on to the family scenes with Lord Grayson and Celia tomorrow…’ He looked down at Lizzy and, placing a hand on her shoulder, tried to reassure her, ‘You’re doing fine…don’t worry.’


Lizzy sat in her trailer utterly depressed. She was still in her costume; the girl who had been assigned to help her undress and return the costume safely was late.

She endeavoured to remove the make up herself. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she knew exactly what was wrong, and why scenes with Darcy were proving difficult.

Aside from her dislike of the man, it was the startling conclusion which she had reached after the party. Sleep had been an impossibility after Marcie’s words, and as she tossed and turned, she suddenly realised the meaning behind the significant looks they had exchanged, the confidences they shared. Of course, it was all so clear…Fitzwilliam Darcy and Marcie Hicks were having an affair! What else could have been meant by her, ‘desire and expectation’…it was all so clear.

Now she found it impossible to be on set with the two men. Every moment spent with Darcy increased her anger at his dishonesty and cruelty towards the man he regarded as a friend. And Harry…poor Harry, she could barely look him in the eye.

Lizzy in desperation had called Jane, who had promised to come tomorrow. She smiled when she thought of her sister; there, at least, was the promise of some happy prospects. Jane had been spending a lot of time with Bingley, and Lizzy was delighted for them both.

Bingley was not at all like his friend. A starker contrast could not have been made: he was kind and gentle, and generously humoured. Darcy, on the other hand, was mean and resentful, and so full of…deceit.


Darcy stood in the doorway watching her intently; they were setting up the table again for the family scene. Lizzy sat on one side of the actor who was playing Lord Grayson, smiling and laughing in the most engaging fashion.

He was aware of the little pangs of jealousy he felt at her easy, friendly manner with just about every one else involved in this film, that was, everyone except himself. Towards him she continued cold and indifferent, a manner which in turns thrilled and frustrated him.

It alarmed him, all the little things he noticed about her: the way she played with that same strand of hair when she was nervous, how she tilted her head to one side and smiled wistfully, and all the things he had picked up and retained in memory from her conversations with others. He knew they were a family of five sisters of which she was the second; that her parents had both been theatre actors, and that her father was in fact in a play; even that her favourite colour was green.

His pleasant reverie was uninterrupted by a figure appearing at his side. He smiled warmly and pointed out the point of his interest. ‘Is it me, Bingley…or does Collins get slimier every day…?’

Mr Collins, as he preferred to be known, was the resident history expert: an authority on the period in which The Framed Rose was set, and therefore perfect to advise Harry on the authenticity of his production.

He had been called in at the start and almost at once set about falling in love with the leading lady. His attentions towards her were painfully obvious, and soon became the butt of everyone’s joke on set. Lizzy tried hard and unsuccessfully in turns to ignore and dissuade it, but Collins proved as resilient as he was annoying.

He hovered about her even now, straightening out the set pieces on the table and laying a hand on Lizzy’s arm as he did so. She was obviously uncomfortable with his familiarity but much too good natured to say so.

Bingley smiled, feeling sorry for Lizzy. ‘You’re right…I didn’t think it was possible, but I think he’s sunk to a new low…’

‘Well, it’s good to have you back; do I have to ask where you’ve been…?’ Darcy smiled knowingly and watched Bingley blush.

‘It’s nothing like that, we had a nice time…Jane is…Look, we went to the zoo yesterday alright? That’s all…’ he stammered.

Darcy laughed at his awkwardness. ‘To the zoo…Well, Bingley, you really know how to show a girl a good time…’

‘What…?’ he cried defensively.

Everything was in place now, and Harry called everyone but the actors off the set. ‘Silence, please…’ he bellowed.

The scene was only beginning to get going when a couple of voices could be heard giggling. The next moment a shrill, excited sound behind Harry piped up. ‘She’s very good, isn’t she…She gets it from my side of the family you know…’

It appeared so suddenly and so close that Harry was startled out of his chair. Once over his initial shock, he began to shout, ‘Who the hell are you…What is this woman doing here, this is a closed set…Get her out of here…!’

Darcy and Bingley, amused by the scene, peered closely; the cause of Harry’s foaming at the mouth was apparently a middle-aged woman. She wore the most ridiculously loud, flamboyant clothes and an obscenely large, brimmed hat complete with an abundance of purple feathers. The thing on her arm remained a mystery, though.

‘What is that…?’ Darcy asked an equally bemused Bingley.

‘I think it’s some sort of dog…’ he replied.

‘Is it alive…?’

Lizzy had likewise heard the commotion, but she realised in horror the voice arguing with Harry before she actually turned to see, was familiar…and heavens…! Yes she was right…instant recognition of the woman angrily wagging her finger at the director, and furthermore of the two giggling voices shamelessly flirting with the light technician, resulted in Lizzy letting out a tortured a moan and dropping her head on the table, convinced she was going to die of shame.

‘Oh no, Jane….what have you done…’ she murmured into the tablecloth.


‘I’m sorry, Lizzy...I won’t blame you if you never forgive me…’ Jane pleaded her case with her sister. They had retreated to her trailer, bolting the door behind them.

‘That’s something I’m seriously considering right now Jane…what were you thinking, telling her…bringing her here…with Kitty, Lydia and even Mary in tow?’

‘I’m sorry...’ Jane repeated, ‘but you know what mother is like…she cornered me, she knew you had gone up for some big project…and then she kept asking and asking, believe me Lizzy she just wouldn’t stop…’

Lizzy softened her tone, ‘Poor Jane…it’s a good thing they don’t trust you with state secrets…’

‘I could withstand the worst torture very well, but we both know mother is positively sadistic…when she starts to lament on her nerves, and how poorly she is used by everyone…’ They both laughed, thoroughly reconciled.

‘Unwelcome guests aside, I’m glad you’re here, Jane. There’s something I want to talk to you about…’ Lizzy poured out all her fears and suspicions regarding Darcy and Harry’s girlfriend. Thoroughly expecting a sympathetic ear, she was surprised when Jane burst out laughing.

‘I’m sorry for laughing Lizzy, but it’s ridiculous…they’re not having an affair...!’

‘Really…you know that for sure..?’

Jane shook her head, ‘Lizzy, she’s nearly old enough to be his mother.’

‘So…? She’s nearly old enough to be Harry’s mother…she is still a very attractive woman…’

‘Trust me Lizzy, they are not having an affair…I would know, Bingley would have said something.’

‘Oh..?’ Lizzy smiled slyly at her.

‘There’s no need to smile like that Lizzy…, but he’s so open and honest he wouldn’t have kept such a thing to himself.’

Lizzy at length complied with Jane’s better sense, and admitted perhaps she had read too much meaning where there was none, and looked for a sordid explanation where a perfectly innocent one existed.

She reached up and hugged her sister, ‘I’m so glad to have you back…’




After a frantic ten minutes in her trailer composing herself and being consoled by Jane, Elizabeth and her sister emerged and returned to the set they had left in a hurry.

Harry, thoroughly defeated by their mother, sat languidly in his chair, fed up and self pitying; he offered Lizzy a withering look as she caught his eye.

Mrs Bennet stood talking with Mr Collins. Lizzy surveyed the scene and cringed. She noted the miserable creature held tentatively on her mothers forearm, and turned to Jane.

‘God, Jane, that thing is still alive…?’ She referred to the small Yorkshire terrier dog.

Jane smiled sympathetically, ‘You mean the rather ironically named Warrior? And, yes, the old mutt is still alive, just not kicking as much…’

‘Somebody ought to put that poor thing out of its misery…’

‘Don’t worry; he doesn’t bite as much as he used to, lack of teeth…’

They approached their mother and Mr Collins slowly. Lizzy had no intention of hearing what they could possibly have to discuss. ‘Mother, may I speak to you for a second?’ She smiled pleasantly at Collins, who grinned rather stupidly in return.

‘Miss Bennet, I was just telling your mother what a pleasure it was working on this film. The presence of a certain party has certainly served to heighten the pleasure…’

Lizzy, although smiling, could not help but wonder if it was possible he was getting slimier by the day.

‘Pray excuse us, Mr Collins…’ Lizzy was forced to take her mother by the arm, careful not to touch the poor excuse for a dog, and carry her away.

Mrs Bennet began in her shrill, breathless way almost at once. ‘Lizzy, why you didn’t tell me you were working with Darcy? In fact, I wonder why Jane didn’t tell me…I would have been down here straight away…’ Barely a breath later and she was off again. ‘Do you know he’s from a long noble, line of actors…He has the largest theatre in Derbyshire, the world famous Pemberley theatre…Lizzy he’s worth thousands…’

Lizzy sighed, ‘Thank you mother, for that entirely mercenary approach…’

Mrs Bennet was not actually listening; she was busily envisioning white dresses and churches… ‘It’s even better than Jane’s Bingley; Lizzy, you could do a lot worse than marry Darcy…’

‘Marry…!’ Lizzy practically choked on the word. ‘Mother, you have barely known Darcy for five minutes. I have known him for a little longer and am convinced it has been too long already…Believe me, you may put away any romantic notions you have there…’

Mrs Bennet was disappointed and persisted, until Lizzy repeated some of what Darcy had stated about actresses in general, and then Mrs Bennet was as offended and disgusted as Lizzy had expected a former actress to be.

Still, she was not one to be put off a single thought quite so easily and seeing Collins yet hovering, had no qualms substituting one potential bridegroom for another. ‘Well what about Collins, then? He’s no looker, but he’ll do well enough for you…besides, for some reason, he’s quite taken with you…’

Lizzy had spent too long deadening herself to her mother’s often thoughtless comments to be hurt. ‘Thank you mother…I love you too…’

As her mother chose not to understand, she turned the conversation to her father and his absence.

Mrs Bennet was equally as scathing on that point, ‘Oh, he has rehearsals…that play is apparently far too important to come support his daughter on her first film…’

Lizzy could not hide her disappointment. Her father was one of the few men whose opinion she truly valued, and he was not here to offer it.

She knew her mother’s resentment stemmed entirely from jealousy. She had no doubt, had her mother still been receiving offers for parts in plays, her rehearsal would have proved equally more important than Lizzy’s first film.

Leaving her mother in the trusted presence of Jane, Lizzy hurried away to find her absentee sisters. She had a fair idea as to where the first two would be, and as the sound of their ceaseless giggling pointed out, she was right. They were still standing with various members of the lighting crew, who appeared delighted with some female company at last.

Lizzy was greeted with positive resentment as she took both her sisters and dragged them away. ‘For God’s sake, Lydia, Kitty…the lighting crew, those sad beings…When are you two girls ever going to show some class…?’

Mary was discovered as they were passing; Lizzy picked her up just in time, as she was about to offer another lecture on the issue of classic books being mauled by substandard film adaptations to yet another unsuspecting victim.

Having finally gathered her clan, Lizzy ushered them off the set and through some side doors. She spied Darcy, sitting in a chair, watching them whilst pretending to read a newspaper; she thought she saw him smirk superiorly and at once grew angry and ashamed.

Once safely outside, Lizzy asked her mother about her plans. ‘Well…’ she began in hope, ‘I guess this is a flying visit…I’m sure you have to get back home, you’ll have a long drive…hadn’t you best be going...?’

Mrs Bennet laughed that shrill laugh of hers, ‘Don’t be silly, Lizzy! We’re staying for a while yet…You know your Aunt Philips has a boarding house not a couple of miles from here…no we’ll be here almost every day.’

‘Oh, good…’ were all the words Lizzy could muster between gritted teeth.