William Darcy accidentally overhears details of the present Elizabeth has bought him for Christmas.

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A Driven to Distraction Christmas vignette

You may want to peek at the glossary for this one.


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Born to be Wild

There’s a horrible guilty feeling you get, deep down in the pit of your stomach, when you’ve done something wrong. Like discovering a secret or unintentionally listening to an answer phone message not meant for your ears. It takes a few seconds for the reality of the situation to sink in and then … damn.

Elizabeth was going to kill me.

In my defence it wasn’t altogether my fault. After all, I was the first one home and I saw the red light blinking on the machine. What was I supposed to do, ignore it? No, I pressed the button and listened to the message, never thinking for one moment that it might be something private.

As I balanced my helmet on the hall table a bright smiley voice sang through the speaker. I imagined pigtails and a lollypop. She was probably a Butlin’s redcoat in a previous life, all chirpy and up-beat with a plaster-cast smile.

“Hi, Mrs Darcy, it’s Lola. Just a courtesy call to let you know I’ve placed the order for your Harley Davidson. It’ll take a couple of weeks, but it should arrive in time for Christmas. I’ll contact you again when it comes in. Meanwhile, if you have any questions just give me a bell. Bye!”

Our first Christmas together as a married couple and she’d bought me a Harley? I knew it wouldn’t be for herself. They were way too heavy for her to handle safely and her shorter arms would never reach the handlebars. Besides, she loved her little Ninja, always defending it against any hint of a slur — as Richard had once discovered to his cost.

Elizabeth noticed a few weeks ago that I was in the market for a new bike. Well, not so much noticed as complained about the piles of brochures falling off the end of the coffee table. The Duke is great, don’t get me wrong, but I’d done a shed load of miles between Pemberley, London and Longbourn before we married. We’d spent almost half our courtship out on the road with her pressed up close against my back, riding pillion. I’d accepted it was time to trade my 1098S in for a newer model but I’d never once considered a Hog.

Not to say I wasn’t excited about the prospect of a Harley for Christmas. Who wouldn’t be? The infamous uneven firing patterns of the two-cylinder v-twin engine sounds like it’s spitting nails into an oil drum. A real man’s bike. Just the sort of present Elizabeth would think of.

Although I’d spoiled her Christmas surprise, she didn’t have to know. I would just make sure I looked suitably shocked on the day and everything would be fine. Meanwhile I stared guiltily at the answering machine, its red light no longer flashing. I couldn’t do anything about the knowledge now inside my head but I could, at least, lose the evidence. It was only a courtesy call. I held the button down for a second until the machine said: “Message deleted.”

Done. And just in time, as I heard the crunch of gravel under tires. I peeked around the window frame as a sleek flash of orange rounded the corner.

My wife had brought her work home again.

Our Hertfordshire cottage was a mish-mash of architectural styles and periods. It was nothing to Pemberley, of course, but near enough to my offices, and those of Bennet Vehicle Sourcing, so neither of us had a nightmare commute. We still rode up to Derbyshire most weekends and I hankered after turning the stately pile into a real family home one day, with a bunch of kids sliding across the gallery parquet or rolling scooters along the old servant’s corridors. Banishing my childhood memories back to the good old days, I wove my way through the narrow hallway into the kitchen, opening the back door just as Elizabeth turned off the engine.

As I walked towards her, the driver’s side swung out and upwards. “Don’t they make cars with normal doors anymore?”

Elizabeth’s eyes glinted with suppressed mirth. “Dihedral doors take up less space.”

I glanced warily at the hunk of carbon fibre and glass suspended above my head as I crouched under it to welcome her home.

“Like it?” she asked when I released her lips.

“Always. I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t.”

“Not the kiss … this.” She waved her hand around the vehicle.

I shrugged, quashing the urge to grin. “It’s just a car.”

She punched my shoulder so hard I had to grab her arm to stop from falling. “It’s a McLaren MP4-12C.”

“So what happened to giving cars beautiful names, like the Murciélago … the Diablo … the Allegro…?”

“Says the man who rides a telephone number.”

I knew when to stop pushing, no matter how much fun it was to wind her up. “Have you driven one of these before?”

“No, it’s new. Want to come for a ride? We can take it up the lane to the church and back.”

“Okay.” I pulled the door closed then ran around to the passenger’s side as the engine roared into life. With my height — and wearing my riding boots — it was a bit of a struggle to make myself comfortable. However, once I’d repositioned the seat we were set and Elizabeth hit the accelerator, spitting loose gravel across the driveway as she headed towards the gate.

I ran my fingers along the glossy centre panel, fiddling with the radio. “What’s this one selling for then?”

“Just under £170,000, around the same price as a Ferrari 458.”

“Do they come in any other flavour, or just marmalade?”

Knowing better than to encourage me she nudged her toe down and the car leapt forwards, its mid-mounted engine rumbling behind my head. “That’s a 3.8 litre twin turbo V8, producing 600 bhp.” She twitched a lever with her fingertips and the car changed up a gear. “It has a seven-speed seamless shift gearbox, which works using these paddles, like the McLaren Formula One cars.” As she continued to perfect her sales pitch, Elizabeth kept her eyes on the road as we rolled and dipped through the winding country lanes, past the grey stone church and back towards home.

No matter what jokes men might make about women drivers, I’d never had one qualm about being a passenger when she was behind the wheel. I trusted her with my life. Why the hell not? She already had my heart, my fortune and sole ownership of all the most useful parts of my body.

Elizabeth checked her speed as we cruised between the gateposts and around the back of the house, parking inside the spacious garage we’d built to protect the valuable demonstrators she often brought home. In the darkness her next words sounded rich and sultry, like melting chocolate. “So … what do you think?”

The naughty minx knew exactly what I was thinking. Listening to her talk about torque ratios and carbon-ceramic brakes affected me no less now than it had when we first met. It wasn’t that I got off on technical specs but the way Elizabeth could purr about launch control … well, it left me with no control at all.

I unfastened my seatbelt and allowed my hand to wander across the console between our seats, gloriously devoid of inconvenient gear stick or painful handbrake. “It’s very nice,” I said as my palm caressed her thigh through the soft wool of her black business skirt.

“Mmm … I thought you might like it.” She leaned closer, breathing heavily as her eyes dropped to my mouth and she ran the tip of her tongue across her lower lip, sending my pulse rocketing.

I groaned and drew her closer, pushing my fingers through her silky chestnut curls as I captured her with another searing kiss. Her mouth opened, inviting me in as she wrapped her arms around my neck, locking her fingers as though she never intended to let me go.

A tiny portion of what was left of my brain calculated the available space inside the ridiculously low cockpit before urging Elizabeth across onto my lap. It took a few minutes but our months of practice paid off. Just as I thought … a perfect fit. As my nimble fingers worked on the delicate buttons of her blouse, surrounded by the erotic scent of la nouvelle voiture, it occurred to me that this was the one perk I would miss once we lived permanently at Pemberley.  

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I’d almost forgotten about the answer phone message by the time Christmas arrived. I say almost because it came back to haunt me whenever I pored over the Harley adverts in my favourite glossy magazines.

I wondered which model Elizabeth had picked out for me. The sporty Roadster? The Classic Forty-Eight? The showy Wide Glide? When I’m out on the road my bike is a part of me; man and machine melded together as one. Normally I wouldn’t have chosen anything without at least sitting on it to see how it felt. There was a niggling doubt in the back of my head that I might not like what she’d chosen, but I resolved not to allow any disappointment to show. When my wife unveiled that gleaming motorcycle on Christmas morning I was determined to be the happiest, most appreciative husband in the world.

Christmas day arrived and I woke in the most perfect of circumstances, spooned against my gorgeous wife; my perfect pillion partner. Her legs were tangled between mine while my hand had found its own home as Elizabeth’s warm flesh filled my palm. I lay in a pleasant haze, listening to her slow steady breaths as my body came to life incrementally.

I sensed when she began to stir and ran my lips across the sensitive skin behind her ear, stopping to nibble on her delicate earlobe. She rewarded my patience with a soft sigh as she stretched, her skin sliding across mine, teasing already tender areas beyond endurance. By the time she’d done moving Elizabeth was facing me across our down-soft pillows, one hand grazing the stubble on my cheek as the other rounded my hip. I smiled down into her sleepy eyes. “Good morning, love.”

She ran her fingers across my lips before replacing them with her mouth, and for a few minutes I was lost in her. When the need for air forced us apart, she whispered, “Merry Christmas, Will.”

“Santa has been checking his list.” I raised an enquiring eyebrow. “Have you been naughty or nice this year?”

“That all depends on your point of view.” The tips of her nails scraped across my stomach, tensing my muscles in a bittersweet way.

Laughing, I wrapped her leg around me until I couldn’t bring her any closer. “Nice is such a bland, boring word. You deserve a better adjective. Hmmm, let me think…”

Waking for the second time that morning, my repletion was only tempered by the loss of my enchanting mate. I rolled out of bed and followed the sound of running water into the en suite. Hearing Elizabeth humming as she washed her hair, I decided to leave her in peace and wandered back to grab some clean clothes on my way to the other bathroom. Passing the window I peeked around the curtains, curious where she might have hidden my present. We’d been out on the Ducati the night before and there was no sign of a Harley when I’d returned it to the garage. So where was it? I felt like a kid again, searching for hidden gifts in my parent’s wardrobe, unable to stand the suspense.

I showered, dressed and followed the smell of coffee downstairs to the kitchen. As we shared pancakes and kisses across the table she seemed unusually subdued but I put it down to her worrying what I might think of my new toy.

Hadn’t she learned that I adored everything she did?

After a few minutes Elizabeth jumped up, an over-bright smile on her face. “Would you like to see what Santa brought last night?”

I grinned as I captured her in my arms and pulled her close. “Thank you, but I’ve already enjoyed my present.”

“Please, Will. Can we open the presents before Georgie arrives?”

Her tone suggested she was more concerned about my reaction than I’d guessed. I kissed away the hint of a frown on her forehead. “Of course.” I gestured to the door. “Lead on, Macduff.”

A seven foot Christmas tree dominated the cosy living room. Actually, the rooms here were a good size and only seemed small to someone used to the epic grandeur and inadequate heating of Pemberley’s stately salons. Elizabeth had covered the tree with tasteful, rustic decorations and presents huddled together beneath the lower branches like clumps of sticky toffee. Most of our gifts were silly joke presents — after all, what did you buy a couple who already had everything they wanted?

I’d spent a good chunk of my fortune in an exclusive lingerie shop in the back streets of Paris, although there was a question mark over who would enjoy my purchases the most. Elizabeth had bought me a neat little DV Camera, something I was determined to put to good use.

Richard had mentioned during his best man speech that he wouldn’t allow us to turn into a “pair of boring marrieds” and it seemed he was living up to his promise. Ripping the silver paper I found a personally annotated copy of the Karma Sutra, with suggestions and anecdotes culled from his playboy past. Elizabeth blushed as she opened a black wooden box containing a pair of fur-lined handcuffs and a whip with feathers attached to the end. What could she do with that? Tickle me into submission?

As I fished my last present out from under the tree I watched Elizabeth fiddling with a scrap of wrapping paper, her thoughts clearly miles from the sapphire earrings that lay discarded nearby. I crawled across the carpet and drew her into the crook of my arm. “You’re supposed to be so overwhelmed by my generosity that you show your gratitude with an afternoon of hedonistic pleasure in front of a roaring fire. If you need a laugh we can even try out Richard’s present.”

This time her smile appeared more relaxed and natural. “Let’s save that for later. There’s one more present to open yet.”

I schooled my face into what I hoped would be a suitably inquisitive expression. It ought to be. I’d been practicing in my shaving mirror for the last week. “Oh? Where is it?”

“Behind the sofa.”

What? I know the female population generally feel that men have an inflated view when it comes to size, but I couldn’t be so wrong as to think a full sized Hog would fit behind our low-backed three-seater.

Elizabeth pulled the chair forward and dragged out an odd-looking shape draped in a festive red tablecloth. I snagged the material and pulled it away, genuinely surprised at the object revealed beneath.

I touched the handlebars and the small wooden motorbike dipped forwards then back. “I think it might be a bit small for me, love,” I said after a few moments following the motion of the rocking Harley.

She bit down on her lip before admitting, “It’s not really yours to keep. You’re just looking after it until the new owner comes along.”

Although I tried for nonchalance my hands began to shake and my heart beat seemed louder in my chest, recalling the sort of excitement experienced when riding the Duke or pleasing my wife. I only hoped I wasn’t jumping to any conclusions. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “And how long will that be?”

She focussed on the red ribbon she’d tied into a bow above the headlight. “Oh, I’d say six and a half months, give or take—”

At that moment Elizabeth squealed … not unreasonably, given that I’d scooped her up into my arms, squeezing her as hard as I dared. I’d lost all control over my facial muscles by this point. My smile must have been so manic that only a little bit of face-paint could have turned me into a clown.

Once I calmed down I sat her on my knee, dotting kisses on her cheek, her nose, in her hair. I usually considered myself an eloquent man, but the overwhelming happiness trapped the words in my throat. Still, I had to say something. “I love you so very much right now.”

Elizabeth’s relief at my calm acceptance was evident in her eyes — those smiling, bright, beautiful eyes I adored so much. “I love you too but we’ve never spoken about having kids. I wasn’t sure…”

“I might not have mentioned children, but I’ve certainly thought about them. If he … or she … looks like their mother, they’ll be the most beautiful baby in the world.” Then the questions started to flow. How did she feel? When did she find out? Had she seen a doctor? How had her mother reacted?

“You really think I’d tell my mum before you? Being so close to Christmas I thought it would be the perfect gift.”

An understatement of epic proportions. “It’s amazing news. I couldn’t be happier. Only …”

The reality of my situation had just sunk in. I was going to be a father. Children, I’d been informed in the past, came with baggage — quite an extraordinary amount of it, considering their size. And no way would all that equipment fit on the back of a Duke, even if I added panniers.

“What?”

I sighed. There was no avoiding it now. “Looks like I will need your professional services one more time. I seem to be in the market for a car after all.”

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