Echoes of Grace

by Caragh Bell

  Ophelia made a face. ‘I’ll give it a miss then, no offense. I can’t imagine a close-knit soirée with Mr. Debussy.’

  ‘He’s not so bad . . .’

  ‘Maybe to you.’ She scowled. ‘He treats me like an annoying insect he wants to step on.’

  ‘Oh, Lia, don’t be like that. Think of the champagne!’

  She shook her head vehemently. ‘Not a chance. Anyway, there’s more of a chance of something happening if it’s just you there.’ She bent her head to look out the small window in the corner. ‘I think that I see a moon. Maybe a few stars. It’s looking romantic out there. High chance of getting lucky.’

  Aurora giggled. ‘I doubt it.’

  Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Three loud raps.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Ophelia, bounding over. She yanked open the old oak door to find no one there. Poking her head out, she glanced up and down the corridor. It was empty. ‘Hello?’ she called. A dark shadow moved to her right and she whipped around. Peering into the gloom, she called again. ‘Hello?’

  No answer.

  ‘Just close the door,’ said Aurora, putting on her black heels.

  Ophelia was about to do as instructed when something caught her eye on the ground. She bent down and picked it up. ‘Someone left some flowers on the threshold,’ she announced, holding a small bunch of red flowers wrapped in purple tissue paper.

  ‘More flowers? Just put them with the others.’

  ‘There’s a card.’ She handed it to Aurora. ‘Open it.’

  Aurora took the small card out of its envelope. Someone had written ‘For Aurora Grace’ in black pen. She felt her pulse quicken. Very few knew her second name. She turned it over but the back was blank.

  ‘They don’t look very expensive,’ Ophelia went on, pointing to the crude string holding the tissue in place. ‘Maybe that’s why someone dropped them and ran.’

  Aurora tore the paper away. The flowers in her hand were like little bells, with rose-red and purple petals and multiple deep-pink stamen hanging down. She touched one gently. It was identical to the flower she wore almost every day. Rushing over to her handbag, she pulled out her belongings. She had stashed her jewellery in a small pocket before the show. She pulled out the necklace: the one her mother wore.

  ‘Look,’ she gasped, ‘look, Ophelia!’

  She held out the pendant and the flowers. The necklace was a uniform silver colour, but the real flowers were bright and exotic. She looked at the card again. For Aurora Grace. Someone had left them there and run away. Someone had knocked so that she would find them.

  ‘Did you see anyone outside?’ she asked, running over to the door and opening it wide. The corridor was empty. ‘Lia! Did you see anyone?’ Her tone was desperate.

  Ophelia shook her head, shocked by her friend’s reaction. ‘They were on the ground and I almost stood on them. What’s going on?’

  ‘I don’t know! I don’t know what’s going on. All I know is that this means something.’

  Ophelia rubbed her arm. ‘Hey, you’re overreacting. Come on, you’re just tired from the performance. It’s just a crappy little bunch of flowers.’

  ‘There’s a link!’

  ‘It’s certainly strange . . . but, look, forget about it for now – you need to calm down. Come on, Bertie will be waiting.’ She handed Aurora her coat. ‘Let’s get out of here and get a stiff drink.’

  Aurora closed the door after them in disappointment. Whoever had left the flowers was long gone.

  Ella walked out of the theatre into the cold night. The stars were visible in the sky which was rare for the city. William followed her and pulled his coat tightly around him.

  ‘Would you like to get a drink somewhere?’ he said casually.

  Ella shook her head. ‘Not really, Will. I’m exhausted.’

  His face fell for a moment. ‘Oh . . .’

  She reached out and rubbed his sleeve. ‘Thank you so much for bringing me here tonight. I loved the play. Your little sister is a star.’

  William could feel her slipping away from him. She leaned up and kissed his cheek.

  ‘So, call me and we’ll do lunch again someday.’ She waved and turned around.

  ‘Ella!’ he called and she stopped. ‘Can I walk you home?’

  She paused for a moment and then turned to face him. ‘No, Will. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘It’s no problem. I can go home via Chelsea.’

  She shook her head firmly. ‘I’m fine. You stay with your family.’ She blew him a kiss. ‘Stay in touch.’

  Then she was gone.

  William kicked a can on the street and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He thought it was going well and then she had pulled back.

  With a heavy heart, he started to walk home, his thoughts filled with her.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Bertie’s house was an old Georgian mansion near Belgravia. He had instructed his butler to chill some Cristal and to prepare some sushi for his guests. They took his private car from the theatre: Justin and Aurora were the only guests in the end. Laura had cried off saying that Christian was tired and had to catch the red-eye to New York the next day, William had gone home, Henry and Gloria had never planned to socialise and Justin’s parents, Richard and Caroline, had said their goodbyes as well. Aurora was secretly relieved; she didn’t want crowds or noise. Her brain was whirring and her thoughts filled with the little red flower. When she had mentioned it to Justin, he had switched off, changing the subject mid-conversation. He had no interest in jewellery or wildflowers. Terrified of boring him, she decided to keep her mouth shut. Justin liked when they talked about him or his plays.

  James would understand . . . James would listen . . ..

  Bertie filled three flutes of champagne and handed two of them to the others. Aurora gazed at the expensive art on the walls and the white furniture. The floors were marble and there was a stained-glass door leading out to a large garden with a heated pool. In the corner of the room was a Steinway complete with a velvet-covered stool. Above that, there were dozens of framed photos: Bertie with Bill Clinton, Bertie with Nelson Mandela, Bertie holding his Oscar, Bertie kissing Princess Anne. It was like a Who’s Who of the celebrity world.

  Justin flopped down on the white couch and sipped his drink. ‘So, what did you really think?’ he asked Bertie directly.

  His uncle put his hand on his heart. ‘I loved it, my boy. I swear to you. I think this one will catapult you into the bigtime. Especially with this goddess at your side.’ He blew a kiss at Aurora. ‘I’ll tell everyone I know to book tickets. You should sell out for months. Then, with any luck, you should get a run on Broadway.’

  Aurora gasped. ‘New York! I’ve always wanted to go there.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll love it,’ said Bertie. ‘It truly is the city that never sleeps. I’m always popping over for this and that. If you’re there, we must meet, my darling. For cocktails and what not.’’

  Justin held out his glass for a refill. ‘Will you stop flirting with my leading lady? That’s my job.’

  Aurora glowed with pleasure.

  ‘Well, you’d better improve your wooing skills. I haven’t seen much evidence tonight.’

  Privately, Aurora agreed. She had expected far more attention than this. Justin had barely spoken to her, let alone flirted with her. He seemed to be in a daze, deep in thought and withdrawn. She walked over to the couch and sat down next to him.

  ‘Did I do a good job?’ she asked with huge eyes.

  He turned to look at her and they stared at each other.

  ‘You were sensational,’ he said softly. ‘As I’ve said a million times, you are my true muse.’

  She smiled and settled in beside him. The champagne started to take effect and she felt relaxed and at peace.

  ‘You’re so like your mother, you know,’ said Bertie, draining his glass. ‘I remember Grace Molloy and her wonderful voice. We all trucked around together in the old days.’
<
br />   ‘Did you know her well?’ Aurora asked.

  ‘Oh, quite well. She was so witty, your mother: the life and soul of any party. She and Michael would duet together.’

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘Oh, Michael Ball, back in his Marius days. He was so dishy then.’

  ‘Anything else?’ she asked pleadingly. ‘I know so little about her.’

  ‘Well, one time I took her to see Swan Lake,’ said Bertie wistfully.

  ‘You took my mother to the ballet?’

  ‘Of course. She was the most beautiful woman in London. I just had to make a play for her.’

  ‘Did you succeed?’ she asked, fascinated.

  ‘Not at all. She shot me down in her charming way, saying that her heart belonged to another.’

  ‘Daddy,’ said Aurora logically.

  Bertie raised an eyebrow. ‘It would seem not.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This was before she met Henry, before she moved back to Ireland.’

  ‘So she was in love before Daddy?’ She sat up straight. ‘With whom?’

  Bertie sipped his champagne, debating what to say. ‘No one I know,’ he said eventually.

  ‘You do know! Tell me.’

  ‘Well, there was this one chap. He wrote poetry and plays. He was a director back then and we were all in the same circle.’

  ‘So why do you think Mummy was interested in this man?’

  ‘There were rumours and gossip. He was married, you see.’ Bertie reddened. ‘I shouldn’t speak of such things, forgive me.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re mistaken,’ she said firmly. ‘Mummy was so in love with Daddy that she gave up the theatre and moved to Cornwall.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I must be thinking of someone else.’ Bertie got up and took a seat at the grand piano. ‘Let’s see if you inherited her talent. It will only add to your charm.’ He played couple of scales and straightened his shoulders. ‘What shall we perform together? Something challenging. Let’s see . . .’ He played the intro to The Phantom of the Opera. ‘I saw your mother play Christine on stage,’ he said over the music. ‘With her dark hair and that white dress, she was incredible. How she hit those high notes, I’ll never know.’

  Justin took out his phone and checked the twenty messages. ‘You go ahead, Aurora,’ he said, typing some replies. ‘Sing a few ditties to keep him happy. You know how I feel about musicals.’

  Aurora got to her feet and took off her heels. Barefoot, she ambled over to the Steinway and waited for her cue. ‘Will you sing the Phantom’s part?’ she asked and Bertie nodded.

  Thank God Susie Thompson had given her those tapes all those years ago. She had devoured them, pretending to be Fantine one day and Eva Peron the next. Over and over she had practised, her voice resonating around the old house.

  Bertie nodded at her to begin. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. Her voice wobbled slightly at the beginning, but then gained in power.

  Bertie felt shivers go down his spine. Aurora’s voice soared over his thundering piano and climbed higher and higher. He sang his part to the best of his ability but he was an actor not a singer. After two verses, he realised that he was seriously outclassed. On and on she sang, her soprano reaching the top notes effortlessly. She seemed lost in the music, her body swaying slightly as she performed.

  ‘Justin!’ he whispered loudly, trying to get his nephew’s attention. ‘Justin!’

  Justin looked up from his phone and Bertie yanked his head in her direction. They were nearly at the end where the Phantom urges Christine to sing. Taking a deep breath, she tackled the aria, the key climbing all the time.

  Justin started to take notice, watching Aurora’s enraptured face. How did he not know that she could sing? She had never mentioned it in her auditions. Bertie was right, she was off the scale.

  The song ended. Aurora came back to earth and opened her eyes.

  Bertie clapped slowly and then his clapping got faster and louder. ‘Bravo, my girl! You’re wonderful, just wonderful!’

  Justin walked up behind her and put his arms around her waist. ‘You never said that you could sing.’

  ‘You never asked,’ she replied simply.

  ‘May we do another?’ Bertie clapped his hands in excitement. ‘This is like having a doll to play with. Let’s try some opera.’

  ‘May I use the bathroom first?’ Aurora asked.

  ‘Of course. Down the hall, second on the left.’

  She walked away.

  Bertie refilled his glass. ‘My word, Justin! She’s an excellent actress, but I think that she’s a better singer. That was stupendous.’

  Justin nodded. ‘I’m not really into musicals but I can see that she’s special.’ His expression darkened. ‘I don’t know what to do, Bertie. Things are complicated.’

  His uncle nodded knowingly. ‘I can see exactly what you mean. She’s like a young teenager around you. You know that if you make a move, she will be yours in a moment. However, you don’t want to risk losing her if things don’t work out.’

  ‘I’m practical,’ agreed Justin. ‘If things go sour, which inevitably they will, she might leave me. I’m not sure it’s worth it.’

  ‘Oh, I think she’s worth it.’ Bertie’s face softened. ‘She’s absolutely beautiful. I know what I’d do.’

  ‘You’re an old goat,’ said Justin drily. ‘Don’t think I don’t realise that you would seduce her in a moment.’

  ‘But of course!’ He laughed. ‘She ticks all the boxes. Hell, I’d marry her if she sang to me every day.’

  Justin frowned. ‘What should I do?’

  ‘Follow your heart, my boy. Enjoy yourself. No one knows how things will work out.’ He patted his back. ‘Just hurry or I’ll do it for you.’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The following Tuesday, Aurora went to work at the flower shop as usual. The performances were from Thursday to Sunday night, so she only worked Tuesday and Wednesday at the moment. She was still on a high from the weekend. Bertie’s house had been so much fun, what with the singing and the champagne. Then, after her tenth song, she had felt lightheaded and Justin had ordered a cab to take her home. One kiss at the front door and that was it. She couldn’t understand it. He seemed to fancy her yet something was always holding him back. On New Year’s Eve, he had been drinking heavily. That was why he had suggested sex upstairs. Since then, he had oscillated from attentive to introverted and she was finding it hard to figure out.

  Bertie, on the other hand, had been very attentive. He gave her his private number, insisting that they meet again very soon. She liked him, despite his inappropriate flirting. He made her laugh and was very complimentary. When she listened to him talk about her future like fame was a given, she almost believed it. She had never felt so close. This was what she had dreamed of; she had yearned for this since she was a little girl.

  ‘Hello, beautiful,’ said Marianne with a huge smile on her face. ‘I have my tickets booked for Friday night. Make it your best performance yet!’

  Aurora smiled warmly. ‘I’ll give it my all,’ she promised. ‘Do you have good seats? I can upgrade you if not.’

  ‘I’m about five rows back, I think. That should be fine.’

  She inserted some white lilies into a stainless-steel container and added some greenery. Aurora took off her jacket and looked at the order book.

  ‘Shall I get started on Mrs. Granger’s centrepiece?’ she asked.

  Marianne nodded. ‘Please do. I have a couple of funeral wreaths to finish.’

  They worked in silence for a while, both concentrating on the job at hand. A customer arrived and left again without buying anything. The main street was quiet for a Tuesday, probably because of the rain teeming down outside. London had a reputation for being grey, especially in winter.

  ‘Marianne?’

  ‘Yes, lovey?’

  ‘May I show you something?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Aurora opened her bag and pu
lled out the bunch of flowers Ophelia had found at her door. They were crumpled now from being in her bag, their petals wilting and drooping.

  ‘Do you recognise this flower?’ she asked, laying them on the table.

  Marianne picked up the bunch. ‘Vibrant little things, aren’t they?’ she mused carefully lifting the petals and examining the stamen. ‘They’re fuchsias.’

  She walked over to her computer and typed ‘fuchsia’ into the search engine. Pictures with identical flowers popped up immediately.

  ‘There,’ she said in satisfaction. ‘It says fuchsias were so called as a tribute to the botanist, Leonhart Fuchs. They come from South America.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Aurora, puzzled. ‘I thought they were native to here.’

  ‘Wait!’ Marianne scrolled down. ‘The fuchsia grows wild along the hedges of Cornwall and also Ireland, particularly in West Cork where it has now become the symbol of the region.’

  Aurora brightened. ‘In Ireland? Really?’

  ‘Yes, look!’ She tilted the screen towards her and pointed to the emblem. ‘Why are you so interested?’

  Aurora put her hand down her blouse and pulled out her necklace. ‘This belonged to my mother. She wore it all the time.’

  Marianne peered closely at it. ‘Oh, it’s a fuchsia!’

  Aurora nodded. ‘Then, on opening night someone knocked on my dressing-room door and then ran off, leaving that bunch of fuchsias on the ground.’ She bit her lip. ‘I think that there’s a link.’

  ‘A link to what exactly?’

  ‘To my mother.’

  Marianne scratched her head. ‘It’s a coincidence, I’ll give you that – and it’s an odd choice of flower for a bouquet . . .’

  ‘But that’s not all.’ Aurora sat down on a chair. ‘There was a card with the flowers. It had For Aurora Grace on it. No one knows my second name.’

  ‘No one?’

  ‘Well, not anyone here. I’ve never mentioned it.’ She twirled her necklace around. ‘Now there’s a link to Ireland. My mother was Irish. What if someone is trying to tell me something?’