Saving Grace (12 page)

In many ways, her mother dying when Grace had just turned twenty-four should have been a relief. Certainly, relief was the first emotion she felt. But that relief quickly gave way to guilt. A guilt that continues to inform her life today; a guilt that has been behind almost every decision she has ever made.

The kind of difficulties Beth experienced, Grace understands, and knowing this, her heart softens even further for this young woman who has so unexpectedly entered their lives. Grace couldn’t help her mother, but she can help the women at Harmont. And she can also help Beth.

A
t 3.26 a.m., Grace is wide awake. Again. She hasn’t slept most nights over the past couple of weeks. It could be that she is worried about the event at Harmont House, or could simply be, as she suspects, middle age. Tonight she realizes she has been dreaming about Patrick. How odd, after all this time, to find her unconscious mind going to her childhood friend.

Lydia was not in the dream, but perhaps this is a sign that she needs to call her. It has been a couple of months since they spoke. Might it mean, she wonders briefly, that she should call Patrick? But they have only seen each other less than a handful of times in years, Patrick’s career taking him all over the world. The last time she saw him it had been strained.

Eton mess! That’s why she is thinking of Patrick. He was the first person to talk about a dessert she had never heard of – a froth of whipped cream, strawberries, and meringue – which she came to love. That must be why he was hovering in her subconscious.

Either way, it is time to call Lydia. She will. In the morning she will. In the meantime, how to go back to sleep when she is so very wide awake?

She doesn’t like taking pills, but has resorted to sneaking Ted’s Ambien, so desperate is she to break the pattern of waking up at 3 a.m. to go to the bathroom and finding that by the time she climbs back into bed, her mind is fully awake and sleep is no longer an option.

Perhaps the lack of sleep helps explain her moodiness. Or perhaps that too is middle age. Life is running smoothly again, thanks to Beth, in a way it hasn’t for ages. Grace has nothing to worry about, yet frequently she finds herself irritated.

It must just be lack of sleep, she tells herself, climbing out of bed and walking into the bathroom, reaching for the medicine cabinet above Ted’s sink. I will surely be back to myself soon.

N
o one would have believed it was possible to create a garden out of a wasteland in just under a week. Between Grace, Sybil, Jennifer and Beth, not only have beds been built and planted, but turf has been donated and laid to create a perfect green lawn, boxwood balls edge the grass, and hydrangeas given to them by Linda McLellan, one of their most important patrons, spill their blue flowers over the edges. Inside, the dining room table is crammed with vases stuffed full of peonies, waiting to be moved onto the hired tables as soon as they arrive.

The garden at Harmont House looks beautiful. The chef is busy setting up his demo area outside and Sybil is putting the finishing touches to the garden. Inside, the kitchen is covered with aluminium trays and baking sheets, carefully wrapped in cling film, filled with delicious food created by Grace.

‘Where is Wondergirl?’ Sybil calls. ‘Shouldn’t all the hired equipment be here by now? I thought they normally drop off the day before. We’ve only got two hours to go and I’m in a panic. How are we going to set the tables?’

Grace admits this is pushing it, but Beth has assured her everything will be fine. ‘They’ll be here any second,’ she says. ‘We can manage it.’

‘We have to plate all these tarts, and right now we have no plates,’ grumbles Sybil. ‘I’ve heard of cutting it fine, but this is ridiculous.’

‘Calm down, Sybil,’ Grace says, mostly to stop herself from panicking. ‘Why don’t you come with me and help brief the ladies on waitressing. They want me to go over what they have to do one more time. Don’t worry.’ Grace forces a smile as she walks into the kitchen, forgetting about the stress when she catches sight of the residents of Harmont House done up in all their finery, including, in some cases, extravagant hats that are usually reserved for church. Their excitement is contagious and Grace cannot help but give each of the women a tight hug. Some of the women have been here almost a year, others as new as three weeks, but Grace loves each and every one as if they were her sisters.

‘This is for you,’ she says, beaming at them as she wipes away a tear. ‘This is all to help each of you get back on your feet and reclaim your lives.’

‘Wow!’ Grace turns to hear Sybil whistle as Beth walks into the kitchen. Sybil claps her hands together. ‘Look how beautiful you look!’

Beth gestures to Grace. ‘I have Grace to thank. She gave me these clothes! I feel like a princess!’ She twirls, taking a bow at the end as the ladies in the kitchen applaud. ‘I love them all,’ she says to Grace, hand on her heart, as Grace smiles, agreeing how lovely the clothes look on Beth.

When she had offered the clothes to Beth, she hadn’t thought there would be much that Beth would choose, plus there was no doubt Beth was bigger than her and that many of the clothes – the tight, fitted jackets in particular – would not fit her.

But here Beth is, in the Lanvin jacket and grey silk skirt. Grace had never thought to put those two particular items together – she always wore that particular jacket buttoned up, with camel trousers, but it does indeed look wonderful on Beth, who is wearing it loose, casual and has teamed it with a chunky shark’s tooth necklace. It looks better than Grace could ever have expected, not least because up until very recently this jacket, surely, would not have fitted Beth, would have been, at least two sizes too small.

‘You’re so tiny!’ Grace exclaims. ‘I never realized we were exactly the same size. In fact, I think you’re smaller than me.’

‘I wasn’t,’ Beth reassures her, her face serious. ‘I’ve been on a huge diet.’

‘You look incredible. Not that you needed to lose any weight.’

‘I did to fit into your clothes!’ Beth laughs. ‘And I’m so glad I did. I feel like a new person. Actually, I feel like you, only the ugly version.’

‘Beth!’ Grace instantly reprimands her. ‘Are you kidding? You’re beautiful.’

‘I’m okay,’ Beth says. ‘But I’m not you. I’ll never be you.’

‘And nor should you be.’ Grace is gentle. ‘You’re perfect as you are.’

A
s Grace tries the party hire place yet again, having already left a number of messages, she realizes there is something bothering her. She cannot quite figure it out. It is a feeling of being unsettled and she knows it has something to do with Beth, with Beth in her clothes, but still she cannot put her finger on it.

The phone is answered! Finally! A human voice!

‘This is Grace Chapman. I’m wondering what time our tables and chairs will be arriving. The event starts in two hours and there’s nothing here. We’re all starting to get a bit panicky.’ Grace forces a laugh.

‘Hold on a minute, Mrs Chapman. Let me see what’s going on.’ There is a pause. ‘Mrs Chapman? Are you there? We have the event down for next Thursday, the twenty-eighth.’

‘What?’ Grace’s voice is a shriek. ‘No! I filled out the form myself. It’s the twenty-first. It’s
today
! It’s in two hours!’

‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Chapman, but we definitely have it as the twenty-eighth. Twelve round tables of ten, one hundred and twenty bamboo chairs, white linen tablecloths, one hundred and twenty white dinner plates, salad plates, dessert bo—’

‘Yes! I know what I ordered! But it’s today! It’s now! What am I supposed to do? You have to send it over now. We can start the event later, but we have to have it today.’

‘I’m so sorry, Mrs. Chapman, but that’s impossible. Our warehouse is in New Jersey and there’s no way we can get you anything today I’m sorry.’

‘But . . . how did this happen? I filled out the form myself. This isn’t my mistake.’

Deeply apologetic, the woman at the party hire company taps a few buttons on the computer. ‘It looks like the date was changed on the fourteenth. By phone.’

‘No!’ Grace insists, on the verge of tears. ‘I didn’t call. The date was never changed. Oh God. What the hell am I supposed to do?’

‘W
hat?’ Sybil just stares at her as the horror dawns. ‘How did this happen?’

‘I have no idea.’ Grace is almost babbling. ‘But what the hell are we supposed to do? We have a hundred and twenty people who have paid a fortune for a sit-down lunch and there’s nowhere to sit down, no tables, no plates, no cutlery.’

‘Oh Jesus.’ Sybil moans, burying her face in her hands. ‘Maybe we can bring the dining table into the garden and use it as a buffet and people can stand.’

‘What about plates?’ Grace says. ‘Napkins?’

‘Paper and plastic. Not very elegant, but what else can you do? Maybe we can get hold of those nice square plastic plates. At least those are a bit nicer. Where’s Beth. Let’s send her. She’s resourceful.’

‘Beth!’ Beth turns at the sound of her name and walks over as Grace watches her, frowning.

‘Beth? There’s been a major screw-up with the party hire. They have the wrong date. They thought it was next week.’ Grace’s voice is quivering with shock.

‘What?’ Beth looks shocked. ‘But I confirmed by email on the thirteenth and confirmed the date.’

‘You never telephoned?’

‘No! Why would I telephone? I can forward you the original email if you’d like to see it.’

‘Never mind. What matters now is trying to salvage this mess. We’ll stay here and move what tables we can outside, but you need to find plates, flatware, and glasses. If we have to do paper we will, but please try and find something more elegant. I can’t believe how much we charged for the tickets and we’re having people stand around eating with plastic knives and forks . . .’ Grace groans at the thought.

‘Don’t worry.’ Beth lays a hand on her arm. ‘I’ll go now and see what I can find.’

T
he event was not the elegant affair Grace had imagined. The few guests who decided to stay were left standing in the burning hot sun, their heels sinking into the grass, for three hours. They ate their fig and camembert tarts and poached salmon with sweet pepper confit off X-Men paper plates, with Pinkalicious napkins, drank their Prosecco and peach nectar drinks out of oversize red plastic cups.

There were, according to Beth, no white paper plates or napkins. The only things available given the time constraints were these children’s plates. Grace has no idea how this is possible – did everyone in the entire Palisades/New Jersey area suddenly decide to have a party today and buy all the white paper goods? But she has no time to question. It was a disaster in her eyes the minute she knew the hired equipment wasn’t going to turn up. The fact that they are eating off Wolverine’s face doesn’t make it any worse, only more ridiculous.

Grace Chapman, known for her elegant, stylish parties, her gatherings always the most sought after in town, is today a laughingstock. The
New York Times
is here, covering the event, which had thrilled Grace – the more attention for Harmont House the better – but she knows full well the story will now focus on the terrible aspects of the event, rather than the importance of the cause.

There was a mass exodus after the cooking demonstration. Standing on grass in heels was just too uncomfortable, and they were expected to eat standing too? Well. It was far more comfortable to run to one of the little restaurants nearby. They had already paid, had done their bit, and anyway, who would ever notice?

Had one or two left, no one would have known, but almost half the people snuck out of the event, leaving sixty-seven good sports who happily bid on the silent auction, but still didn’t manage to raise anything near the amount they’d all anticipated.

Grace has been fighting tears all day. Throughout the event she has forced a smile, despite the mortification threatening to undo her. She cannot believe how disastrous an event it is; cannot believe how badly it has gone wrong, how humiliated she is.

Her reputation as a hostess is now something of a joke. Not that it should matter. At the end of the party, she walked past two women she knows vaguely from town and overheard them whispering about how awful it was, how Grace should be ashamed of herself, charging a hundred and fifty dollars a ticket to stand in the sun and eat oily salmon off children’s paper plates.

As the event finishes, Grace takes some chairs back into the living room, hoping she might be able to stay there, won’t have to go out and face anyone any longer, for her pretence at laughing it off is now almost impossible to maintain and she is on the brink of tears.

‘Grace? Are you all right?’ She looks up to see Clarissa Moore, a tall, elegant blonde in the doorway, concern etched on her face.