Poor Maria was in a state of great anxiety as she rummaged through her kit bag, desperately trying to find something suitable to wear for the evening’s entertainment. Lizzy was pleased with her recent Jack Wills purchases: a pink-and-white-striped shirt, which she wore with the sleeves turned up; a 100 percent cotton, mini-fit, antique denim skirt, which sat low on her hips; a thick, heavily buckled leather belt. Mr Collins was happy that she looked, if anything, a little relaxed for the occasion, as it was important not to outdazzle Lady Catherine.
Rosings on the Rocks was everything Mr Collins had boasted. Set in a concrete frame with steel bracing, it had an excess of glass-curtain walling with unrivalled views of the estuary.
“The structure,” explained Mr Collins, “is expressed as an ornamental order, the style high-tech modern. It has an unapologetic modern façade, combining a jagged profile in an elegant concrete frame that is braced by gunmetal grey and stainless steel rods oozing an airy spirit full of honesty but not lacking in bravado.”
Lizzy was amazed by Mr Collins’s erudite description and, for one horrible moment, thought she might have misjudged him, but Lottie soon explained: “A speech he has practised for some time,” she whispered. “Architecture Week magazine. Different building but surprisingly appropriate.”
At that moment, a tall, powerful woman appeared on the balcony. She was dressed in skintight black jeans, a black strappy top embroidered with “Brrr” in diamanté. Her dyed blond hair was piled high, her nails painted blood red, her feet adorned with high-heeled golden slippers.
“Collywobbles, dahling!” she called. “Here you are at last and with all your little friends. Come on in! The Bloody Marys are waiting!”
Lady Catherine condescended to kiss each and every one of her guests on each cheek—twice, as Mr Collins recalled.
“Now you must be little Maria,” she cooed. “What a babe! Lottie, dahling—you never told me your little sis was so cute!” And to the delight of Mr Collins, she went on in this vein, welcoming all her guests.
“Now, Collywobbles—who is this?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“And how old are you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“You surely would not expect a lady to reveal her age, madam,” replied Lizzy.
“Oh! Quite a feisty number, I see,” retorted Lady Catherine, maintaining her good humour even if she did feel put out by Lizzy’s reply. “Come on. Let’s eat. We have lobster tonight. I have my own pot, of course. Does your family have a pot, Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“No. I am afraid we do not have a pot. And please do call me Lizzy.”
“Not a pot! I pity you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”
At that moment, Lizzy noticed a rather large, overweight girl lazing around on a leather poof. To her surprise, she was introduced as Miss de Brrr. Her eyes were fixed on her Wii, and she failed to join in conversation once all evening. Lizzy smiled to herself. She felt Miss de Brrr would indeed make the perfect partner for a certain gentleman.
Mr Collins was in his element admiring the view, the golden statues of King Charles spaniels with their diamanté collars, the Maria Theresa chandelier, the abstract paintings by Gotspod, and being quite overcome—and off-balanced—by the black-and-chrome revolving stools that they sat on to eat cracked lobster from a high chrome-and-blackened glass table.
“It’s all bulletproof, of course,” pronounced Lady Catherine as Mr Collins admired the glass curtain for the umpteenth time.
“And I always wear a bulletproof vest,” she continued. “In my position, you can never be too careful. Do you wear a bulletproof vest, Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“Rarely.”
“That is very foolish.”
“I find it hard to accommodate under a bikini. Do you wear a bikini, Lady Catherine?”
The audacity of this remark made other members of the party draw sharp intakes of breath.
“You are a bold and foolish girl, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but I will excuse you this once, as you clearly are new to such company as occurs at Rosings on the Rocks.”
An awkward silence followed, broken only by Maria getting a small amount of shell stuck in her throat. She began to cough and then choke. She fell from her rotating stool and lay on the white carpet, spluttering and gasping for breath.
“She is choking,” remarked Lady Catherine.
“It must be a bit of shell stuck in her throat!” exclaimed Lizzy in great anxiety and leaping off her stool to assist.
“It could not be shell,” declared Lady Catherine. “Our lobsters never have shell that would make you choke. It must be something else. Perhaps one of those cheap baubles she is wearing round her neck has come loose, and she has swallowed one. Yes. That is what is making her choke. Believe me. I am always right in these matters.”
By this stage, Maria was unable to speak and had stopped coughing and, more alarmingly, stopped breathing. Lizzy proceeded to carry out the Heimlich manoeuvre—giving her five subdiaphragmatic abdominal thrusts, alternating with five back blows to remove the obstruction—whilst the others continued with their cracked lobster and discussed what Maria might or might not have swallowed, with Lady Catherine continuing a powerful argument why it could not be one of her lobsters at fault. As Maria slipped into unconsciousness, Lizzy turned her on her back, requested a 999 call—though nobody heard—and placing the heel of her hand just above Maria’s waistline, proceeded to give four upward thrusts. Lady Catherine was just saying, yet again, how her lobsters could not have caused such a problem—in fact, they were renowned for being the safest lobsters in the estuary—when there was a horrible gurgling sound from Maria and a cough that seemed to come from her very soul. A hard, brittle object shot out of her mouth and landed with a tinkle on Lady Catherine’s plate. It was quite clearly a piece of lobster shell.
“You see!” cried Lady Catherine in triumph. “I was right. It is lobster shell but not from one of my lobsters! You must have had a lobster sandwich for lunch, Maria, and a bit of shell got lodged in your teeth and you just happened to swallow it while you were eating my lobster!”
Lady Catherine pincered the offending shell between two sharp red nails and held it aloft for closer inspection.
“Most definitely not one of my lobsters! I knew I was right. I always am in such matters. Now who would like some Rosings on the Rocks ice cream for pudding? We have quite the best ice cream you will have ever tasted. It is made for me by Ollie James, a chef of great repute, who heard me discussing my ice cream one day and was so impressed he begged me for the recipe and now sells it by the boatload.”
By this stage, Maria had regained consciousness, and Lizzy was advising her to rest. But Maria, though a frightened rabbit by nature, was also very fond of ice cream and recovered sufficiently to join the party for pudding.
Thus a successful evening was rounded off with much thanks from Mr Collins and his party and an announcement by Lady Catherine on what the weather would be on the morrow.