Jane Actually

asked.
    “We had another confirmation,” Melody said. “Elton John will be there. Sir Elton John. I’m going to meet Elton John.”
    “Who?” Jane asked. “Oh, the musician. But I am more excited to meet Andrew Davies. 2 I have a mind to take him to task for a few liberties, but mostly to thank him. I have seen him talk several times, but was never able to ask my questions.”
    “Elton John will be there? Really? Who else, the queen?” Mary joked, ignoring Jane’s comment.
    “No, she can’t make it,” Melody said, “but we might get Charles and Camilla. Doesn’t really matter. I’m going to meet Elton John.”
    . . .
    They spent the day at the Savoy, met there by Mr Pembroke’s counterparts at the London Random House office. Melody went through the latest guest list and saw names from the mayor of London to Oscar winning actors to the prime minister. She made some last minute suggestions to move up people from the Jane Austen Society of the UK to the head of the receiving line.
    She also learned of the extensive efforts to make the event accessible to the disembodied. The hotel had already installed AfterNet hotspots in the lobby and most of the ballrooms and conference areas in a recent renovation. She made sure that Jane was already registered to join all the chat rooms, an oversight that embarrassed the hotel and Mr Laurence from Random House.
    Mary and Jane were taken on a tour of the hotel and acquainted with where they would stand. Afterward, Mary was taken to the hotel spa, much to the amusement of Jane. She found Mary’s male masseuse quite shocking. Mary found his ministrations very soothing. About 4 pm, a hairstylist and makeup artist took Mary away to provide her with a mountain of curls and the appearance of not wearing makeup. By half past six, Mary was ready.
    . . .
    Mary almost staggered at the crescendo of camera flashes. She briefly felt Melody’s hand behind her back as they watched the next guest approach. Mary thought she heard Melody whisper “Darcy!”
    Mary, at twenty-five, thought he looked very handsome but older than she’d expected. Mary stepped forward to greet him. Just behind him stood a beautiful woman she knew to be his wife.
    Mr Laurence confirmed this in his introduction, “Miss Austen, may I introduce you to Mr Colin Firth and his wife, Livia Giuggioli.” Then Mr Laurence stepped back, leaving Firth, his wife and Mary alone.
    His expression seemed unusually grim, like a man annoyed that people were laughing and he couldn’t understand the joke, and then she realized that he was briefly in character.
    She curtseyed and extended her hand, which he took and bowed over, his head almost coming close enough to kiss her hand. The camera flashes lit the room like daylight.
    As he straightened, he smiled and in that smile, Mary was momentarily lost. She’d only been vaguely aware of him as a movie star before becoming Jane’s avatar, but since then, just as everyone had, she’d accepted him as Darcy. She felt herself falling under his spell.
    “It is a very great honour to finally meet you, Miss Austen. I have you to thank for making my career,” he said.
    “On the contrary Mr Firth, I believe I owe you even more,” she replied with a regal nod. “I am sure I had only a middling sort of popularity before your efforts.”
    He chuckled at her joke and she thought,
Wow, this is fun. We’re both hamming it up.
    “May I introduce my wife, Livia,” he said, his voice almost lost in the buzz of the crowd and the whir of the cameras. Firth put his hand behind his wife’s back and brought her forward and together Mary and she curtseyed, again to an explosion of light.
    “You do know you’re the only woman I share him with. He stayed up late with you last night,” she told Mary.
    “That is very generous of you. May I sign those?”
    Mary pointed to the two copies of
Sanditon
Mrs Firth held. As Mrs Firth presented them, someone, doubtless one of the many Random House employees, took them from her. He handed one copy to Mary with a pen.
    “Write: To Colin Firth, whose good opinion I hope never to lose. A devoted fan, Jane Austen.” Mary did as she was bid and guessed that Jane had prepared that in advance.
    She handed the copy back to Mrs Firth, who looked at the inscription and gave it to her husband, who smiled all the more broadly after reading it. Mary was given the next copy to sign.
    “Write: To Livia Giuggioli, whose generosity of spirit is matched only