Saving Grace (35 page)

Home, she thinks to herself, listening to Patrick’s breathing down the line. With Patrick I am home.

‘I’m sorry,’ Patrick says eventually. ‘About the money, about everything. Even though we suspected she was after the money, but still. It must have been a shock to find out that had happened.’

We, thinks Grace, melting at the idea of her and Patrick still being a “we”, shaking her head to dislodge the thought, because thoughts like that, at this stage, will not lead her anywhere good.

‘It was,’ Grace says. ‘According to Clemmie, she’s been a complete nightmare. By the sounds of it she’s ruined Ted’s life.’

‘And other than Ted, how are you?’

‘Thinner,’ laughs Grace, for it is true. Her body is shrinking back to her usual size, and vain as it might be to admit the pleasure this is giving her, it is nevertheless true. ‘And better, generally. I take no pills now, at all, and I look back at all the crap that doctor had me on and I’m stunned that I ever allowed it to happen.’

‘You weren’t yourself.’

‘Clearly. So now, drug-free, with a whole new life, all things considered I have to say I’m doing pretty well. It’s hard to be home without being “home”, but I’m trying to be accepting of the fact that this is the start of a new life. Whether I wanted it or not is irrelevant. This is how it is, and the more I can accept that, the easier it seems to be. But how are you, Patrick? How is life back in LA?’

‘Crazy. And fun. And as surreal as ever. We’re going into pre-production of the next movie, which will film in England, so I’ll get to see more of Mum. Other than that, same old, same old.’

‘I miss you,’ Grace finds herself saying, shocked at the words that hang in the air.

‘I know,’ he says. ‘I miss you too. You’re doing what you need to do. You’ve found your life again.’

‘Right,’ Grace says, wondering suddenly if she has found her life; if, in fact, this is a life she wants at all.

G
race checks her phone to make sure the date is right, then looks again at the poster on the wall. Yes. This is the night Ted is speaking at Barnes & Noble on the Upper East Side. This is the venue that always attracts the biggest crowds, standing room only, long queues of people waiting to have their books signed.

In the event room at the back, there are a handful of men dotted around the room, clutching copies of Ted’s new book. Not three hundred, as has been the case in the past. Not even thirty. She counts them. Thirteen.

How the mighty fall.

She wasn’t sure she would come, worried that she is close to stalking Ted, but she can’t let go, has a burning need to see them together, to see how they are with each other with her own eyes.

Sybil does not know she is here. Grace told Sybil she was having dinner in the city with friends, because Sybil would not approve. She is not a fan of Beth, but sees her multiple times a week, thanks to Beth’s taking over Grace’s role at Harmont House.

‘Is she doing everything I used to do?’

‘She’s nothing like you, if that’s what you’re asking,’ said Sybil. ‘She doesn’t have the relationships with the residents. They don’t actually like her very much, so she hasn’t bonded with anyone. She’s efficient, though. She doesn’t cook there like you used to, but seems to cook at home and bring it in. I suspect it’s because she doesn’t want to spend much time with the women. I also suspect they know that too.’

‘So how is the food?’ Grace couldn’t help but ask.

‘Uninspired, but perfectly edible. Meatloaf, meatballs, teriyaki chicken. The residents say everything tastes the same. They miss your food, and they miss you.’

‘Have you seen her with Ted?’

‘Only by mistake, in town. I haven’t socialized with them, Grace. I wouldn’t do that to you. How are you feeling now? Are things getting any easier?’

Grace nods. Sybil does not know that Grace cannot go to sleep without obsessively thinking about Ted and Beth, picturing them together, wondering how their life is, unable to imagine how different their relationship must be to Ted’s relationship with Grace.

I always thought Ted was a bully, thinks Grace, browsing through the bookshelves downstairs, but perhaps I need to look at my part in it. Surely one can only bully those who allow themselves to be bullied. There’s no question of him bullying Beth; she is very definitely the one in charge.

Would our relationship have been different had I not been so passive? she wonders. Could I have been any different than I was? My mother was aggressive, a bully, she thinks. No wonder I cast my husband in that same role; no wonder I lived most of my married life with exactly the same trepidation and fear I lived with as a little girl.

How do you change if you have no awareness? she thinks. There is no doubt she has changed; she is a very different person from the one who ran barefoot from the hospital, crying in pain and fear. The Grace of today has an inner strength the old Grace may have had, but it was buried so deep she certainly had no idea of its existence.

There is a word floating around her consciousness. “Safety”. The feeling of safety she had on the phone with Patrick the other day, the feeling of safety she had in England.

I deserve to be safe, she suddenly thinks, startled, unsure as to where this came from.

I deserve to be safe.

The words whisper in her head and settle in her bones. Grace closes her eyes for a few seconds, feeling a strength and serenity she doesn’t remember feeling before.

And then, propelled by some invisible force, Grace finds herself turning to watch Ted and Beth walk through the store, Beth unrecognizable, dressed as she is in Grace’s elegant clothes, appearing more sophisticated, more grown-up than Grace would ever have believed possible, the dumpy, plain girl she once employed long since disappeared.

The manager comes to greet them, Beth clearly seducing him with that winning smile. Grace inches closer to try and hear the conversation.

‘I think it’s the weather,’ the manager says. ‘We always have a terrible turnout when it’s raining.’

‘That’s it?’ Beth says sharply as she sees the empty chairs in the room. ‘Did you not publicize it?’

‘Don’t worry.’ Ted lays a hand on her arm, which she brusquely shoves off. ‘I actually prefer the smaller events, more intimate, gives me a chance to get to know my readers.’

Grace knows this is not true, that nothing enrages Ted more than a small turnout at an event. His arrogance hides a deep insecurity, but now that everything he has always feared has actually come to pass, it seems he is dealing with it far better than Grace would ever have thought.

‘This is just ridiculous,’ huffs Beth. ‘What a waste of time.’

She comes across as imperious, grand. Everything that would alienate whoever was left of Ted’s readers.

This room will fill up, thinks Grace, standing well out of eyesight. We have twenty minutes to go. This latest book may be bad, but he has long-standing fans, people who adore him.

And even more suddenly, she realizes she doesn’t need to be there. She has seen them together and, for the first time in months, a sense of closure settles on her shoulders. The only insight she has gained is that she doesn’t need to be there.

It’s time for Grace to go home.

She picks up a copy of Ted’s book. She has avoided it until now, but suddenly she knows it is time to read it. She will be able to read it without dissolving in pain with every page.

There is one person in front of her in the queue. She pays, and then Grace is at the front. The salesgirl looks at the book, eyes widening with excitement.

‘You know he’s here? Ted Chapman! Right now! In the store! You could have the book signed!’

‘I know,’ Grace says. ‘It’s fine. I’m in a hurry.’

‘The event hasn’t started,’ insists the girl. ‘I could run over and get it signed for you now.’

Grace turns and looks over at the empty room, at a career gone sideways, and shakes her head. ‘Really. Thank you, but no.’

‘Grace?’

Grace turns, an expectant smile on her face, to see Beth staring at her in horror.

‘Hello, Beth,’ she says, silently congratulating herself on her calm. ‘You look well.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Beth’s voice is cold. Superior. It makes Grace smile.

‘I was just passing,’ she says. ‘I saw Ted had a reading and, well, I thought it was high time I read the book everyone’s talking about, although I understand the reviews have been . . . mixed.’

‘It’s jealousy,’ Beth says. ‘The media can’t stand his success.’

‘Maybe,’ Grace says. ‘Although “success” is a relative term, isn’t it? The publishing business is so fickle these days, but I’m sure the next book will be wonderful.’

‘Why are you here?’ Beth says. ‘Why are you really here?’

‘I’m leaving, don’t worry.’ Grace takes a breath. ‘Do you know, I’ve been dreading bumping into you. I’ve spent months and months demonizing you, but actually, I’m looking at you tonight and I now see you as terribly sad. I met Emily Tallman, by the way. She was very open about your influence on their lives. I don’t think you can help it. I think you are probably propelled by a desperate need for money, or power, and that destroying people’s lives comes very easily to you because you feel no remorse. You came very close to destroying my life, but I got it back. From what I understand, you’ve spent whatever little money was left, and word on the street is that Ted’s going to be lucky if he signs a publishing deal at all. If he does, there won’t be any money in it. I’m sure that’s the last thing you anticipated.’

Beth’s face is set in fury, but Grace is no longer frightened.

‘You wanted my life?’ says Grace quietly as she leans towards Beth. ‘My dear, you can have it.’ And, leaving the book on the table, the sales assistant open-mouthed, she walks out of the store.

T
hey don’t talk divorce. Not yet. Separation is the first step, putting the house on the market, for all that they have left is in the house, which they can no longer afford.

Beth disappears. One morning Ted wakes to find all traces of Beth gone. He phones Clemmie in a panic, who phones Grace as soon as she is off the phone with her father.

‘Can you believe it?’ says Clemmie. ‘Can you believe she did that?’

‘Yes,’ says Grace, who has been counting the days.

T
ed moves into the barn for Grace to come back home, at least until the house sells. They do not eat together, have little to do with each other, although Ted has started to find excuses to wander up the garden path and ask Grace a question. She ought to feel irritated, she thinks, but instead she feels, mostly, nothing.

‘He’s trying to win you back,’ says Sybil one afternoon over tea with Grace, after Ted has just popped his head in the back door.

‘I know,’ says Grace. ‘He’s like a different man. If only this had happened twenty years ago.’

Everything about the way Ted treats Grace these days is different from how it was before. He is sweet, solicitous, gentle. When he does come up to the house, he follows her with an adoring gaze, his eyes filled with a gratitude that makes Grace want to scream.

Ted is finally the sort of man who could be a partner, she thinks, wryly. He asks how she is every day and truly seems to care what her answer is. He offers to help, to do the chores that Grace has never enjoyed, mundane things that he never would have lowered himself to do before – putting gas in the car, going to the supermarket for milk.

‘I have changed,’ he said to her just this afternoon as Grace was starting to get ready for Sybil and Fred to come for dinner. She hadn’t been ready to entertain, but Sybil is family, and she is making individual truffled porcini and Gruyère tartlets, a tenderloin of beef, and a fig and apple compote with homemade ginger ice cream.

She has chopped the celery, the carrots, the onions, is cooking them slowly in oil, ready to add the seared meat and the aromatics, and realizes that suddenly, on this chilly day, in her cosy kitchen, she is enjoying cooking again.

It was one of the hardest things about the medication. It stole the one thing she had always been passionate about – gathering people in her home, or Harmont House, and feeding them. The foods she craved when she was on the drugs were carbohydrates and sugars, the more processed, the better; she lost the energy to cook and even when her energy started to come back, the will hadn’t.

But here she is, this afternoon, searing the meat in hot oil, removing it from the pan when it is golden brown, replacing it with the rest of the vegetables, the stock, the wine, with a smile on her face. She wipes her chopping board clean as she has been taught to do, washes her hands, yet again, then takes the eggs from the bowl on the counter and starts cracking them into a bowl, separating the whites from the yolks, measuring out the milk and cream, the sugar, the finest vanilla essence, grating the ginger and finely dicing –
brunoise
– the crystallized ginger to fold into the ice cream. She tips the ginger and sugar in a pan, adding a couple of tablespoons of water, and cooks slowly before adding the milk and cream. Whisking furiously all the while, she holds the pan high and adds the liquid to the whisked egg yolks, stirring constantly, pulling it straight off the heat when the mixture perfectly coats the back of a spoon.

Through a sieve, she adds the mixture, the vanilla, before putting it straight into the freezer. She should have made this yesterday, the day before. But she has made last-minute ice creams before, and even if it isn’t as firm, as chilled as she would like, it will still be the perfect accompaniment to the fig and apple compote she made first thing this morning.

Ted walks in as she is sieving the ice cream, watches her silently, wanting to have her full attention, but she can’t give it to him, busy trying not to splash a drop. He clears his throat, waiting for her to turn, moving forward until he is right behind her in order to make her stop what she is doing and look at him.

‘I have changed,’ he says. ‘And I am sorry. How can I prove it to you, Grace? How can I show you that I am not the same man? That I deserve forgiveness. This whole separation thing is ridiculous. We belong together, Grace. You know that and I know that, and I will do anything, Grace. Anything to have you back.’