Echoes of Grace

by Caragh Bell

‘Don’t give it a thought,’ she replied. ‘If they’re all as nice as Master James, then it will be a pleasure.’

  William punched Laura in the arm. ‘Move over, you hog. This back seat is cramped enough.’

  ‘You’re too tall,’ she grumbled. ‘Now, stop pushing me or I swear!’

  ‘Shut up, you two,’ said James cheerfully, hopping into the driver’s seat. He repositioned the rear-view mirror and saw the reflection of his mother locking the front door of the house. Her head was wrapped in a scarf and her handbag swung from her arm.

  Laura patted James’ shoulder and handed him a CD. ‘Please play my music, Jiminy,’ she pleaded. ‘Please!’

  William pulled her backwards. ‘No way!’ he yelled. ‘It’s going to be the real Slim Shady, I’m afraid.’ He thrust a CD over James’ shoulder.

  ‘No!’ she shouted venomously. ‘I’m sick of him. James, why does Will get to play CD commando? We’re listening to the Spice Girls! End of.’

  ‘Never!’ William grabbed the CD from James’ hand. ‘There’s no way I’m driving to the end of the country listening to that.’

  Gloria sat into the car. ‘Pack it in, you two,’ she ordered. ‘No more arguing.’

  ‘But, Mum!’ cried William.

  ‘Gloria!’ Laura protested.

  ‘Not another word!’ Gloria was firm. ‘I have a CD I would like to play.’ She rummaged in her bag. ‘Ah, here we are: Doris Day.’

  ‘Say again?’ William looked alarmed.

  ‘A movie icon.’

  James smirked. ‘Doris Day it is then,’ he said, slotting the CD into the stereo.

  ‘Mum!’ wailed Laura in despair. ‘I really wanted to hear “2 become 1”.’

  ‘Drive, James,’ said Gloria, ignoring her daughter completely. ‘We need to get on.’

  Aurora gazed longingly out of her bedroom window. The drive up to the house remained empty. There was no sign of the Dixons. She had been waiting all morning for them to arrive.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked Maggie for the tenth time.

  ‘Still too early, my lovely,’ said Maggie, smoothing the duvet on the bed. ‘Not long now.’

  Aurora sighed. She couldn’t wait to show Laura her doll’s house and the beach. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d had proper guests. Sebastian and Cressida’s wedding had been in London so the old house had not seen a celebration since Grace and Henry’s wedding ten years before. There had been no big christening for Aurora; Henry had deemed it inappropriate so close to Grace’s death. Instead, a short ceremony in the chapel had taken place with just Maggie, Conny, Mary and Baby Freddie. A bemused Henry had held the small bundle and cried silently as the priest poured holy water over her dark head. George and Sebastian had opted to stay at school, claiming that they were too busy revising for exams.

  Aurora wiped the condensation from the old pane and bit her lip. Please arrive!

  ‘Seb wants some drop scones, little ’un. I got to get me back to the kitchen.’ Maggie paused at the door. ‘Are you ’ungry?’

  ‘No, Maggie. I’ll keep watching,’ she answered, placing her chin in her hands. ‘I’ve nothing better to do.’

  The sky was a dark grey with a thin cloak of cirrus clouds. The winter did not afford much light, so she craned to make out a black dot in the distance. It gradually got nearer and nearer, its engine noise growing louder as it came.

  ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed when she realised that it was James’ car. ‘Oh!’ She scrambled to her feet and raced down the stairs. ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ she yelled. ‘They’re here!’ She jumped down the steps, two at a time, nearly crashing into the giant plant at the base of the staircase. ‘Daddy!’

  ‘My God, can you please shut up?’ George appeared at the top bannister, his hair tousled. ‘Some of us are still asleep.’ He glared at Aurora who cowered backwards at the sound of his voice.

  ‘Sorry, George,’ she mumbled, red-faced.

  He scowled and turned on his heel.

  George Sinclair was thirty-two years old and had mourned when Thatcher left Downing Street in 1990. He was of medium height with dark hair, a slight paunch and a large nose that was slightly too big for his face. Where Sebastian resembled Henry, he took after his mother Marcella. Unmarried, finding a wife was not high on his list of priorities. George Sinclair thought only of himself. He didn’t do romance or flowers. He certainly didn’t do nice.

  He ambled back into his childhood bedroom, the belt of his tartan dressing gown trailing on the floor. His room reeked of stake cigarette smoke and half-empty glasses of whiskey were discarded here and there. He glanced at his gold watch and decided to go back to bed for a while. There was no point getting dressed too early. No doubt the ground floor would be overrun with that family and he didn’t want to engage with them.

  A banker by trade, George’s life was filled with corporate events and meetings; long hours in the office and an unhealthy diet. He disliked the gym and preferred instead to follow the racing from the comfort of his flat in Chelsea. Smoking was his greatest pleasure and he was known to have the odd cocaine-fuelled night after a long week. He had successfully avoided calling to that woman’s house at Christmas, feigning a flu and staying at home. Seb had done his duty and for that he was grateful. Now, he had to meet them but at least he was on his own turf. He could disappear upstairs and avoid them as much as possible.

  He climbed back into bed and pulled the blanket over his head. Another few hours of sleep was just what he needed.

  Aurora burst into the study to find her father typing.

  ‘They’re here, Daddy!’ she said breathlessly. ‘I saw the car.’

  He brightened immediately. ‘Ask Maggie to put the kettle on. I expect that they’ll be peckish after such a long journey.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said.

  Sebastian didn’t even acknowledge Aurora when she burst in announcing their guests’ arrival.

  Maggie had filled the kettle right away. She had scones and homemade jam ready to serve.

  ‘I’ll have another couple of those pancakes, Mag,’ ordered Sebastian. ‘Just cook them for longer this time. I thought they tasted quite doughy.’

  ‘No problem, Master Seb,’ she said mechanically. ‘Comin’ right up.’ She poured some batter into the pan and swirled it. ‘Will I make some for your wife too?’

  Sebastian snorted. ‘Good God, no. You know she doesn’t eat flour. She will probably have that apple in that bowl. Perhaps a grape or two.’

  Maggie said nothing. Cressida’s eating habits were alien to her, but incomers were always a bit strange. She found Seb’s wife cold and haughty; however, she wasn’t paid to like these people. Cressida reminded her of Marcella, Henry’s first wife. She had been a cold woman and had passed this hauteur on to her sons.

  Henry pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped out into the cold air. He was wearing brown slacks, a cream Aran jumper and a peaked hat over his grey hair. His blue eyes creased when he smiled in salutation.

  ‘Welcome to you all!’ he shouted over the roar of the engine.

  Aurora appeared at his side, her long hair braided, wearing a navy mini-dress with black tights.

  James turned off the ignition and hopped out. ‘Happy New Year, Sinclairs! Great to be back.’ He shook Henry’s hand vigorously and, picking Aurora up, he swung her around.

  ‘Put me down!’ she squealed in delight.

  ‘Wowee!’ said William, craning his neck to look at the huge house. ‘This is like a National Trust house.’

  ‘Crikey,’ said Laura, equally shocked. ‘I didn’t expect this.’

  Henry ushered them inside. ‘Go and warm yourselves by the fire. I’ll tell Maggie to bring the tea.’

  Laura’s eyes widened as they entered the drawing room. The walls were lined with books and the carpets were like tapestries. Huge portraits hung on the walls – most of them looked like stuffy old men in suits but there was one of a woman. Laura peered closer. It was a stunning image of a beautiful dark-haire
d lady wearing a white dress.

  ‘Will,’ she whispered loudly, nudging him. ‘That must be Aurora’s mother. Blimey, they’re like twins.’

  William nodded in agreement. ‘Twins,’ he echoed.

  Maggie arrived in, laden down with a large tea tray. James jumped up the minute he saw the old lady and offered to carry the tray.

  ‘Thank you, Master James,’ said Maggie gratefully, handing it over to him. ‘I’ll just get the scones, I will.’ She scurried off and closed the door behind her.

  ‘They have a real maid,’ whispered William, wide-eyed. ‘Imagine that at home!’

  ‘Imagine,’ repeated Laura, equally astounded.

  It felt like they had entered another world: a world from years ago. Laura gazed at the expensive art and ancient books. Even the chairs looked antique – embroidered armchairs with golden legs. Henry looked right at home in the old house – it suited him. He had seemed out of place in the Dixon household – his old-fashioned clothes and plummy accent just didn’t fit. However, here he was in his proper surroundings.

  James placed the tray on a sideboard and began to unload its contents, admiring the beautiful tea set and the silver cutlery.

  ‘My sons are here,’ said Henry. ‘Seb and his wife Cressida . . .’

  ‘Yes, we know them,’ interjected Laura, making a face at Gloria who glared at her.

  ‘And my eldest son, George.’

  ‘That’s great, isn’t it, kids?’ Gloria forced a smile. ‘Let’s all muck in and I’m sure we’ll get on very well.’

  ‘What time is the party starting?’ enquired James, looking out the huge drawing-room window. ‘I’d like to take some photos before we lose the light.’

  ‘Around eight,’ answered Henry. ‘Maggie has help coming from the village and we are to have a sit-down meal in the hall.’

  ‘Have you invited many?’ asked Laura.

  ‘No,’ answered Henry. ‘Just Marcella’s brother Gordon and his wife Helena.’

  ‘Marcella?’ William looked confused.

  ‘My late wife,’ explained Henry. ‘She was from these parts.’

  Aurora skipped over to Maggie who had reappeared with a plate of golden scones, already spread with homemade jam and clotted cream.

  ‘Shall I serve, Maggie?’ she asked.

  ‘You may, little ’un,’ answered the old lady. ‘Let’s give Master James some right away – ’ee looks famished, ’ee does.’ She winked.

  James laughed. ‘I’ve been dreaming of your cooking, Maggie. I won’t say no.’

  Sebastian appeared just as they were finishing their tea. Laura and William smiled tightly. James just nodded curtly and turned his back. Gloria made the biggest effort, holding out her hand to greet him. His blue eyes narrowed as he regarded her. He found it hard to disguise his dislike. Her London home had been bad enough, an apt reflection of her social class. He still shuddered at the thought of that cheap Van Gogh print framed in the hallway and the dog hair plastered over every available surface. Predictably, she looked out of place in his ancestral home.

  ‘Cressida has a headache,’ he began stiffly, shaking her hand limply. ‘She wants to sleep it off upstairs.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Gloria sympathetically. ‘I have some Panadol if she’d like some.’

  ‘She’s fine,’ he said curtly. ‘Every time we come down here she develops some sort of ailment. It’s becoming quite a bore.’ He strode over to the fireplace, his hands in his pockets.

  ‘Tea?’ asked Henry. ‘I can ring for Maggie and get a fresh pot.’

  ‘No, I’m sick of tea,’ he retorted.

  There was an uncomfortable silence. James glowered and focused on the branches of a larch tree that were bending slightly in the wind. He couldn’t hide his dislike for Henry’s son. Gloria had warned him to keep his temper in check. They were on Sinclair turf now and she would not abide rudeness of any sort.

  ‘Where’s George?’ asked Sebastian, taking a seat by the fire and crossing his long legs. ‘He took a bottle of Glenfiddich from the bar last night. I warned him to take it easy but when has George ever listened to anything?’

  ‘I saw him,’ said Aurora helpfully. ‘He told me to be quiet.’

  ‘Maggie is waiting to make him breakfast,’ continued Sebastian, ignoring her completely. ‘Is it me or has the old thing gone a bit gaga?’ He threw his eyes to heaven. ‘She seemed a bit distracted this morning – not that she was ever that scintillating.’ He swept an imaginary piece of fluff from the chair. ‘I had forgotten how much her accent and that dialect annoys me. Anything but the Queen’s English is just so frightful for one to engage with. If I hear ‘my lovely’ once more!’ He shook his head.

  Aurora’s face grew dark and she watched her older brother intently. Was there any limit to his nastiness? How dare he speak about her beloved Maggie that way? She was probably subdued because she found him intimidating. She could just imagine him sitting at the big scrubbed oak table, demanding his breakfast rudely.

  James sensed her anger and walked over. ‘Come on, Borealis,’ he said quietly. ‘Let’s go for a walk. I want to take some photographs.’

  Laura and William jumped up too. ‘Why don’t we all go?’ they suggested in unison. Anything to get away from Sebastian. The atmosphere had become decidedly cold since his arrival.

  ‘Yes, let me show you the beach,’ said Aurora, brightening. ‘There’s a cave where the smugglers hid years ago. Freddie showed it to me before.’

  ‘Right, get your jackets,’ said James, taking Aurora by the hand. ‘Let’s get going.’

  Sebastian examined his manicured nails. The house would definitely be more peaceful with all those children out of the picture. Again he despaired over his father’s lack of foresight. This Gloria was just not suitable. Nor were her overbearing family. He had expected a proposal over Christmas and was gratified when it didn’t come to fruition. Maybe the old chap had seen sense. He doubted it, but it was a possibility. He and George had their speech all planned out. They would convince their father in no time that any notions he had about Gloria Dixon were unsuitable and inappropriate. Henry needed to learn that you could have fun without having to put a ring on a finger. His secretary had taught him that. She was the perfect distraction and Cressida had no idea. Her voluptuous body was a welcome change from the thin angular shape of his wife. She didn’t tell him what to do and was incredible in bed. Fun.

  Henry needed to understand that he could have fun without expectations.

  Chapter Ten

  The waves crashed on the shore and sent salty spray into the air. Laura squealed in horror.

  ‘My hair!’ she wailed. ‘I straightened it this morning.’ She tried in vain to keep her blonde locks contained.

  William picked up a stone and tried to skim it on the water’s surface. His hair blew into his eyes and his jacket billowed out behind him.

  ‘This place is ace!’ he yelled over the wind.

  James knew what he meant. It felt like they were on the edge of the world. The sea stack he had photographed the last time stood steadfastly in place, bracing itself against the power of the relentless sea. When the sun began to set, it created a silhouette against the silver horizon – a giant piece of rock cut off from the mainland.

  Aurora raced out to the water’s edge and screamed as the sea nearly caught her out.

  ‘Come on, James,’ she shouted. ‘Let’s play again.’

  ‘Are you having a laugh?’ he laughed. ‘I ended up like a drowned rat the last time.’

  Laura grimaced as the wind whipped past her. ‘Is my eyeliner running?’ she called to William, pointing to her face. ‘I mean, do I look like a panda?’

  William shrugged. ‘You look as scary as ever,’ he replied seriously.

  ‘Bite me,’ she retorted, sticking out her tongue.

  ‘Come on!’ cried Aurora. ‘Let’s go to the cave.’ She ran off in the direction of the cliff, her long hair streaming out behind her.

  Laura shov
ed her hands in her pockets and followed. William was already halfway there, his long legs loping after the little girl. James focused the lens of his camera on ripples of sand near the water’s edge. He snapped repeatedly, taking shots at different angles. The film in his camera was black-and-white which would work well with the fading light.

  Aurora stopped outside a big craggy entrance at the base of the cliff. The rough sides of the cave glistened with seawater and were covered in sporadic green lichen and periwinkles. The sand was darker in the shade; it had a waterlogged appearance and their feet sank down into its depths as they walked in.

  ‘This is a very long cave,’ Aurora said seriously. ‘No one has ever gone right in.’

  ‘Yeah, right!’ scoffed Laura.

  ‘No one has ever tried,’ insisted Aurora, her brown eyes wide. ‘Smugglers would hide in here and some say that there’s lots of treasure buried in there too.’ She could almost see Freddie as he told her about it the first time they had ventured inside.

  ‘Treasure?’ said William. ‘Now we’re talking.’

  ‘Come on!’ Aurora disappeared into the dark depths.

  William plunged after her.

  ‘Come on, Laura!’ Aurora called.

  Her voice sounded far away. Laura shivered. There was something unnerving about the lack of light. The cave seemed like an eerie place. Slowly she put one foot in front of the other. The daylight was sucked out as she advanced, leaving a damp, cold feeling and a smell of rotten seaweed.

  ‘Where are you?’ she yelped fearfully as she stumbled slightly.

  ‘We’re just in here!’ came Aurora’s voice from the recesses.

  ‘I can’t see!’ cried Laura in panic, feeling her way along the cold wall. ‘Will? Aurora?’

  There was a strange silence within the high black walls. The sound of the waves had diminished and all that was left was a trickling sound as water escaped from the rock above. She could hear voices but they seemed to be miles away. The acoustics in the cave were strange and the weirdest sounds were amplified. Her foot sank down into a hole in the sand and she jumped backwards, terrified. Her sock was sodden and she could feel the water in her black ankle boot.