Mallory blinked. She turned to Maxwell, who examined the contents of the tray.
‘My God, that’s uncanny!’ he said, looking back up.
‘How can you do that?’ Mallory asked.
Grace shook her head, her cheeks colouring. ‘I don’t know. It’s a rather useless talent, actually.’
‘Go on,’ Mallory pointed to the next larger tray. ‘Do that one.’
Again, the tray was uncovered for a minute and then re-covered.
Grace flashed Mallory a smile. ‘Do I get another drink for this?’
‘Absolutely!’
‘A small black leather notebook and a gold pencil; a ball of twine; two horn buttons probably from a sweater . . .’ Again, Grace proceeded to reel off another twenty objects, in great detail, with eerie accuracy.
By now a small crowd had gathered around them.
‘What’s she doing?’
‘She doesn’t even need to write them down!’
‘She’s cheating!’ someone shouted out.
‘Impossible!’ Mallory turned on them. ‘She’s never even played the game before.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ someone else chimed in. ‘This is a set-up.’
‘Have you hired her, Maxwell? Is this a joke?’
‘Absolutely not,’ he assured them. ‘Everything’s on the up and up.’
‘Like your candidates?’
A roar of laughter.
The crowd continued to swell.
‘Make her do another one!’
‘Make it harder this time!’
Grace reached out for Mallory’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ she whispered.
‘We can’t go now. You’ve been accused of cheating. It will look like you’re guilty. Besides, you’re winning,’ she added with a grin.
Phillip Maxwell was enjoying the high drama of the occasion too.
‘Fine,’ he agreed, tipping the contents of one of the trays out on the counter. ‘We shall give this young woman a real challenge!’ He whispered in the ear of one of the waiters, who hurried away, returning moments later with an evening bag ornamented with black jet beads.
Maxwell held it up with a flourish. ‘My wife Vanessa’s handbag, ladies and gentlemen! Who knows what mysteries lurk in its dark depths!’
Laughter.
‘There is no possible way that this girl could know the contents – not even I know the contents and, quite frankly, I’m not certain I want to!’
More laughter and a smattering of applause.
‘And just to up the stakes, this time I’ll uncover the tray for only half a minute! Now, turn around,’ he instructed Grace, who did as she was told, turning to face the crowd of people who had gathered behind her. She could hear Maxwell emptying the handbag, arranging the objects on the tray.
Finally he gave her the go-ahead.
Mallory took her by the shoulders. ‘Are you ready?’
Grace nodded.
Mallory turned her round and Maxwell unveiled the tray. After only thirty seconds he covered it again.
‘Your time starts – now!’ he said, looking at his stopwatch.
Grace concentrated. ‘A linen handkerchief with the letters “VM” embroidered in one corner in white silk thread; a green enamel and gold powder compact; a tube of Hiver lipstick; an alligator change purse; a small tin of Wilson’s headache pills; a silver cigarette case; a torn Cadbury’s wrapper with half a piece of chocolate; an empty matchbox from the Carlisle Hotel; a ticket stub for the seven-twenty showing at the Regent Cinema in Edinburgh; a latchkey; a mother-of-pearl and gold cigarette lighter . . .’
She stopped, her face suddenly draining of colour.
‘A mother-of-pearl and gold cigarette lighter,’ she repeated slowly, ‘with the words “Always and Evermore” engraved on the side.’
The crowd burst into a round of enthusiastic applause.
‘It’s amazing!’ Maxwell raved. ‘Absolutely incredible! How could you even see what was engraved on that lighter?’
But Grace didn’t seem to hear him. ‘I’m sorry, you said this is your wife’s handbag?’
‘The very same,’ he beamed back at her. ‘Another round of applause for our champion, ladies and gentlemen! I’ll be renaming this stall
Mrs
Memory from now on!’
Cheers and applause.
Unseen hands clapped Grace on the back as she pushed her way through the crowds, desperately searching for the exit.
‘Well done.’
‘Very impressive.’
‘What a clever girl!’
Head pounding, palms sweating, she felt unreal, as if she were moving through the distorted landscape of a dream; her mind shrinking in on itself, focusing down to a single terrible point.
It couldn’t be true.
It couldn’t.
She could see the door now. It was only a few steps away.
‘Well, you certainly showed them!’ Mallory caught up with her. ‘Where are you going?’ She took her arm. ‘Hold on a moment, I’m going to buy you a drink . . . Grace, what’s wrong?’
‘Let go of me.’ Grace pulled away. She made it through the doors and just managed to get clear of the pavement before she was sick.
‘Good God! What’s all this? A case of nerves?’ Mallory dug around in her evening bag and handed her a handkerchief. ‘Easy does it. And mind you don’t get it on your shoes.’ She stepped back gingerly. ‘Or mine.’
When Grace had finished, she wiped her mouth, sinking on to the front steps.
‘Do you think it was something you ate?’ Mallory sat down next to her.
‘No.’
‘Maybe you had too much champagne? Perhaps it was the tarts. Oh dear,’ she frowned. ‘I had them too.’
‘Mal . . .’ The words stuck in Grace’s throat. ‘That’s my lighter.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘It belonged to my father. It’s one of the only things I have of his.’
‘What lighter? What are you talking about?’
‘The lighter on the tray.’
It took Mallory a minute to place it. ‘Really? What’s it doing in Vanessa’s handbag?’
Grace looked across at her. ‘There was a matchbox as well. From the Carlisle Hotel.’
Mallory stared at her blankly.
‘The Carlisle Hotel is in Scotland, Mal. So is the Regent Cinema.’ Her voice tightened. ‘Along with my husband.’
‘You mean . . . oh.’ Mallory finally got it. ‘Oh. I see.’
Grace rested her head against her knees.
It was a beautiful, crisp night. Inside, the band played, laughter soared, the party reached a glittering frenzy.
Outside, they sat in silence.
After a while, Mallory stood up. ‘Come on, darling. It’s cold. I’ll drive you home.’
Grace got up too. ‘I want it back.’
‘What?’
‘The lighter.’
Mallory stared at her in horror. ‘Grace, be sensible! Let it go!’
‘It was my father’s.’ Grace’s voice was steely. Mallory had never seen her so determined. ‘It’s the only thing I have left of his.’ She opened the door. ‘I want it back.’
Mallory stopped her, barring the way with her arm. ‘Then I’ll get it. Do you understand? Let me deal with it. You’ve had a terrible shock and you can only make matters worse for yourself. But right now, darling,’ she took Grace firmly by the shoulders, ‘I’m taking you home.’
‘I wish you’d let me go with you.’
Three days later, Mallory was standing in the front hallway at Woburn Square again, this time watching as Grace buttoned up her mackintosh and adjusted her hat in the mirror.
‘I’ll be fine.’ Grace pulled on her gloves.
Mallory looked worried. ‘I’m not so sure. Besides, my French is better than yours.’
‘A cat’s French is better than mine,’ Grace smiled. ‘Anyway, I appreciate you driving me to the airport.’
Grace opened the door and stepped outside, into the misty early morning fog. Mallory followed, taking the suitcase. She fitted it into the boot while Grace locked up the house. Then both girls climbed into Mallory’s car, a blue Aston Martin DB2.
‘Have you even spoken to him?’ Mallory asked.
‘Not really. I told him I had some unexpected business to attend to in France.’
‘And that was all?’
‘Yes. I didn’t go into the details.’ Then she added quietly, ‘And he didn’t ask.’
‘Humm.’ Mallory took in this final bit of information.
Matters were worse than she’d suspected.
She started the engine. ‘I don’t like you going on your own.’ Lurching into traffic, she pulled out directly in front of a slow-moving milk float. ‘It’s all so sudden. And, well, you’ve had a dreadful shock. Tell me again what they said when you rang the lawyers in Paris.’
Grace sighed. They’d already been over this half a dozen times.
‘I spoke to a man named Tissot. I told him I thought there must be a mistake, that they’d clearly sent the letter to the wrong person. But he was insistent. He said he was certain the information was correct and that I should examine the will and see for myself.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t understand you.’
‘No, he understood. His English was quite good.’ Grace shifted. ‘By the way,’ she tried to sound casual, ‘were you able to get it?’
‘It’s in my handbag.’
‘Do you mind?’
‘Go ahead.’
Grace opened Mallory’s handbag and took out the mother-of-pearl lighter. She wanted not to ask the question but couldn’t help herself. ‘What did Vanessa say when you asked for it back?’
Mallory concentrated on the road. ‘Nothing. She just gave it to me.’
‘Nothing?’ This wasn’t at all what Grace had expected. ‘Well, what did you say?’
Mallory made a sharp turn, narrowly avoiding hitting the back of a number 19 bus. Bracing herself, she took a deep breath. ‘I told her that I believed she had something that didn’t belong to her and that I would appreciate it if I could have it back, on behalf of the original owner.’
‘Oh.’
Grace had imagined something more heated; for sides to be taken, honour defended. The polite civility of Mallory’s interchange felt like a slap in the face.
Mallory sensed this. But she didn’t want to tell Grace the truth; that Vanessa had barely even acknowledged the request at all. In fact, her nonchalance had been nothing short of magnificent.
She’d merely raised a black eyebrow. ‘Oh? And what might that be?’ she’d asked coolly.
It was Mallory who’d been embarrassed, unable to meet her gaze. ‘A lighter,’ she’d mumbled. ‘With mother-of-pearl on it.’
Vanessa had obligingly searched through her handbag, handing the lighter over with an easy, open smile. ‘One hardly knows where one picks these things up!’
That was it.
No guilty looks, no pretend surprise. If anything, Mallory was the one left feeling apologetic for taking up her time.
It only struck her later that Vanessa didn’t bother to ask to whom the lighter belonged.
She didn’t have to.
Still, Grace’s disappointment hit a nerve. Mallory knew she’d been unable to rise to the occasion. And to her shame, part of her had even been secretly impressed with Vanessa’s subtle blend of poise and audacity.
‘What did you want me to say?’ Mallory’s voice was brittle.
Grace looked out of the window. ‘I don’t know.’
She was being unfair to Mallory. She’d got the lighter back, after all.
Grace slipped it into the pocket of her coat, where she often kept it; within easy reach. It had already begun to wear a hole in the silk lining.
‘It was bloody awkward, I can tell you. We were at the Royal Horticultural Society Spring Luncheon,’ Mallory added, as if that made her efforts more heroic. ‘Do me a favour. Light me a cigarette, will you?’
Grace lit two.
They smoked for a while.
Mallory turned on the radio, moving from one station to the next, then turned it off again.
The tension remained.
Soon she reverted to her favourite subject. ‘So, what are you going to do about Roger anyway?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Bloody fool!’ Mallory exhaled. It was easier to talk about his failings than hers; they were, after all, so glaring. ‘Men are so stupid, you just want to strangle them.’
Grace said nothing.
‘What was he thinking of?’ She was building up momentum now. ‘Or was he thinking at all? I doubt it. How could he do this to you?’
Grace turned the lighter over and over again in her pocket, feeling the reassuring weight of it in her hand. ‘It’s not entirely his fault, I suppose,’ she said quietly.
‘Not his fault?’ Mallory turned to look at her. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
Grace paused, shifted uneasily. ‘There are other factors, Mal. Things you don’t know about.’
‘What factors? You can’t possibly be defending him.’
‘I’m not. Not really.’
‘It sounds like you are.’
‘It’s just . . . well, the thing is . . .’ Grace stopped. She longed to confide in someone. And sitting here, side by side with Mallory in the car, felt safe; she wouldn’t have to look directly at her . . . she could just say it. ‘Our marriage has been difficult for some time.’
Mallory looked at her. ‘What are you talking about?’
Grace avoided her gaze. ‘The truth is, I’m something of a disappointment to Roger.’
‘A disappointment?’ Mallory felt her temper soar. ‘He’s the one who’s a disappointment! Why, there was a time when you could do no wrong – he used to worship you!’
Mallory’s use of the past tense stung Grace’s ears – used to.
She took another drag for courage. ‘I became pregnant, Mal. When we were first married.’
‘What? You never told me.’
‘I didn’t tell anyone. The truth is, I got pregnant before the wedding.’
‘Oh.’ She blinked at Grace in surprise, as if seeing her for the first time. She didn’t seem the type – so controlled and naïve.
‘And then I lost it,’ Grace added numbly.
‘Why didn’t you ever tell me? I could’ve helped you.’
‘Because it was over before it had really begun. Four months in, I woke up in terrible pain. There was blood . . . everywhere. It was a dreadful night.’
‘I’m so sorry, darling. But you know,’ Mallory added gently, ‘that’s not uncommon with the first try. Sometimes it takes a few goes before you last full term.’
‘Yes, but there won’t be any more tries,’ Grace said quietly. ‘There was an infection; it scarred me. I can’t have children.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘But have you been to see a doctor?’ Mallory pressed.
‘I’ve been to see three.’