Bridget Jones's Diary (Bridget Jones 1)

'I expect we'll see you all at the Turkey Curry Buffet.'

This is what happened next:

Mark Darcy took me to Hintlesham Hall for champagne and late Christmas lunch, which was v.g. Particularly enjoyed freedom to pour gravy onto Christmas turkey for first time in life without having to take sides about it. Christmas without Mum and Una was a strange and wonderful thing. Was unexpectedly easy to talk to Mark Darcy, especially with Festive Julio Police Siege Scene to dissect.

It turns out Mark has spent quite lot of time in Portugal over the last month, in manner of heartwarming private detective. He told me he tracked Julio down to Funchal and found out quite a bit about where the funds were, but couldn't cajole, or threaten, Julio into returning anything.

'Think he might now, though,' he said, grinning. He's really v. sweet, Mark Darcy, as well as being rocky smart.

'How come he came back to England?'

'Well, sorry to use a cliche, but I discovered his Achilles' heel.'

'What?'

'Don't say 'what,' Bridget, say 'pardon,' he said, and I giggled. 'I realized that, although your mother is the most impossible woman in the world, Julio loves her. He really loves her.'

Bloody Mum, I thought. How come she gets to be the irresistible sex goddess? Maybe I should go to Color Me Beautiful after all.

'So what did you do?' I said, sitting on my hands to stop myself shouting 'What about me? me? Why doesn't anyone love me?'

'I simply told him that she was spending Christmas with your dad, and, I'm afraid, that they'd be sleeping in the same bed. I just had a feeling he was crazy enough, and stupid enough, to attempt to, er, undermine those plans.'

'How did you know?'

'A hunch. It kind of goes with the job.' God, he's cool.

'But it was so kind of you, taking time off work and everything. 'Why did you bother doing all this?'

'Bridget,' he said. 'Isn't it rather obvious?'

Oh my God.

When we got upstairs it turned out he had taken a suite. It was fantastic, v. posh and bloody good fun and we played with all the guest features and had more champagne and he told me all this stuff about how he loved me: the sort of stuff, to be honest, Daniel was always coming out with.

'Why didn't you ring me up before Christmas, then?' I said suspiciously. 'I left you two messages.'

'I didn't want to talk to you till I'd finished the job. And I didn't think you liked me much.'

'What?'.

'Well, you know. You stood me up because you were drying your hair? And the first time I met you I was wearing that stupid sweater and bumblebee socks from my aunt and behaved like a complete clod. I thought you thought I was the most frightful stiff.'

'Well, I did, a bit,' I said, 'But . . . '

'But what. . . ?'

'Don't you mean but pardon?'

Then he took the champagne glass out of my hand, kissed me, and said, 'Right, Bridget Jones, I'm going to give you pardon for,' picked me up in his arms, carried me off into the bedroom (which had a four-poster bed!) and did all manner of things which mean whenever I see a diamond-patterned V-neck sweater in future, I am going to spontaneously combust with shame.

Tuesday 26 December

Have finally realized the secret of happiness with men, and it is with deep regret, rage and an overwhelming sense of defeat that I have to put it in the words of an adulteress, criminal's accomplice and G-list celebrity:

'Don't say 'what,' say 'pardon,' darling, and do as your mother tells you.'

January – December