Saving Grace

by Jane Green

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘The American Association Library dinner? Usually I love nothing more than seeing everyone, but tonight I don’t want to go.’

  Grace stares at her. ‘Tonight? Is there a reception first?’

  ‘Of course!’ Molly peers at her. ‘Grace? Do you want to go? I can get your name on the list if you do.’

  Grace pauses. ‘I don’t know that I want to go exactly, but I want to see it with my own eyes, however painful it might be. I won’t stay for the dinner, but I’d love to be a fly on the wall for the reception.’

  ‘A fly on the wall? With that blazing red hair?’ Molly lifts an eyebrow. ‘You know there are some remarkable washout sprays at the drugstore if you really do want to go incognito.’

  Grace smiles. ‘I don’t know that that’s altogether necessary. I’ll just do my hair differently, I’m sure that’s enough. God, Molly. Thank you.’ Grace wraps her arms around Molly in a warm hug. ‘I know there’s more to this story. I just have to find out what it is.’

  ‘You were the best thing that ever happened to that man. He’ll come to his senses, Grace. He has to. You can see he’s regretting it already. At least, you’ll see for yourself tonight.’

  BEST CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES

  INGREDIENTS

  200g butter

  150g white sugar

  120g brown sugar

  2 eggs, beaten

  2 teaspoons vanilla extract

  300g plain flour

  1 teaspoon baking soda

  1 teaspoon salt

  320g chocolate chips

  Preheat oven to 180°C/gas mark 4.

  In a large bowl cream together butter and brown and white sugars until pale and fluffy. Add eggs, a little at a time, beating well with each addition. Stir in vanilla.

  Combine flour, baking soda and salt. Gradually stir into the creamed mixture. Finally, fold in chocolate chips.

  Place rounded spoonfuls on greased or silicone baking sheets.

  Bake for 8–10 minutes until light brown. Place on wire rack to cool.

  Thirty-seven

  ‘You really don’t think he’ll see me?’ Grace adjusts her hair in the mirror of her hotel room, turning to look at Clemmie, lounging on the bed.

  Clemmie takes in her mother. ‘I don’t think he’ll recognize you. You wouldn’t normally wear clothes like that, and you definitely wouldn’t ever put your hair in a top knot.’

  ‘It’s the best I can do. I’ll stay out of the way, but I do need to see them for myself. I want to see what everyone’s talking about. I need to see just how he is with her, whether he loves her . . .’ She trails off as Clemmie’s face falls. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk about this with you. It’s completely inappropriate.’

  ‘It’s fine, Mum. Who else are you going to talk to? I’m just so happy you’re back.’ Clemmie slips her arms around her mother and leans her head on her shoulder as Grace strokes her back.

  ‘Me too, Clemmie. Me too.’

  People have already started arriving, filing up the front steps of the hotel. Grace thought being early would mean she could avoid people she might know, but that might not be the case. In a long, almost Gothic black dress for the occasion, her hair swept into a top knot, her face overly made up, with glasses, she does not look like the Grace Chapman people expect. Were you to study her, you might think she bore a resemblance to Ted Chapman’s wife, but that would be all.

  She waits nervously in the corner of the banqueting hall as the room starts to fill up, half turned towards the room, already beginning to see faces she knows. The editor she worked with years ago in publishing, a publicist who had once worked on one of Ted’s books.

  There are so many people she knows, but in the corner, hiding behind her brunette hair and glasses, she is there, but removed; an impartial observer.

  The room starts to fill, people shouldering their way through the crowd, raising their glasses up high so they don’t spill, when there is a palpable buzz, a whisper that runs through the room.

  ‘Apparently,’ Molly whisks over, whispers in her hair before disappearing into the crowd, ‘they’re here.’

  Instantly Grace feels nausea rise. She squeezes through the crowds, her eyes catching Beth. How could she not see Beth, in a low-cut sparkly evening gown, pale grey chiffon dotted with silver sparkles, a train behind. Her hair is piled up on her head as if she is going to a ball, and huge diamonds – oh God, could those be real? – sparkle in her ears.

  But it is not the outfit that has Grace open-mouthed. It is Beth’s attitude, her confidence, her regal bearing. She is swanning in, thinks Grace. What happened to the shy, quiet, rather plain girl she had taken on? Nothing is left of her tonight. Beth has metamorphosed into a butterfly, one who sweeps through the room, laughing as everyone flocks to her, all paying homage to the queen bee.

  And she is the queen bee, thinks Grace. Ridiculously overdressed, ridiculously bejewelled, she nevertheless has every eye in the room.

  Where once they couldn’t wait to gather around Ted, now it is Ted who shuffles in the wake of this radiant creature.

  Ted. A sharp stab of pain as Ted appears. Clemmie was right: he looks ancient. Weight has dropped off him, leaving him pale and gaunt, and so very much older than he looked when she left. A handsome, charismatic man, all of it seems to have left him as he ambles behind Beth, shaking hands.

  He still has his trademark scowl, thinks Grace, although as she watches, the scowl leaves his face from time to time, during which he looks simply bemused. Grace cannot tear her eyes away from him as, suddenly, he turns and looks through the crowds and straight at her.

  She inhales sharply, as his face changes. Confusion, then delight and bewilderment, as he starts to make his way towards her.

  With her head down she moves away from Ted as fast as she can, scooting out an exit door as her heart threatens to pound right out of her chest. And right behind her, having watched it all, is Molly.

  ‘He saw you?’ Molly pants, out of breath with unfamiliar exertion.

  ‘I think so. Yes. I didn’t mean for that to happen.’

  ‘Maybe he just thought you were a familiar face?’ Molly says. ‘Maybe he didn’t realize it was you. I have to say, Gracie, you don’t look like you.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Grace quickens her step as they round the corner on the way to where their car is parked. ‘But I didn’t want to take a chance.’

  ‘She’s quite something, isn’t she?’ Molly says. ‘Talk about overkill. She looked like she was accepting Best Actress at the Academy Awards.’

  ‘But she’s beautiful, isn’t she? Everyone was staring at her.’

  ‘Because they couldn’t believe how ridiculous she looked!’ says Molly. ‘All the women were incredulous. She looked like a little girl playing fancy dress – Cinderella, you will go to the ball!’

  Grace laughs, despite herself. ‘You’re right. She did look like Cinderella.’

  ‘Except it wasn’t a ball. It’s a damned Library Association dinner. It isn’t even black tie! What was she thinking? Ridiculous dress. Ridiculous girl.’

  ‘Thank you for making me feel better.’

  ‘Was it awful? Seeing them?’ Molly peers at Grace with concern.

  ‘No. I think perhaps that’s the most awful thing about it. I thought I’d be furious with Ted, or devastated, or . . . something. But I just felt sad. I don’t know if it’s sad for him, or for us, or for everything that’s happened. I had always seen Ted as this pillar of strength. He was my rock, the man I thought was capable of anything. And tonight . . .’ She pauses, remembering his shuffle, his frailty, the hopeful delight when he caught sight of her. ‘Tonight he just seemed pathetic. He wasn’t the man I was married to. It just made me desperately sad. And I want to make it better for him. I want my husband back.’

  Thirty-eight

  ‘You must stay as long as you want,’ says Sybil, ushering Grace into large bedroom of her guest suite, stacks of fluffy white towels on the bed
, fresh flowers on the dresser. ‘You know that, yes? Grace? That you must consider this your home.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Grace’s eyes fill with tears as Sybil stands looking at her.

  ‘Oh, Grace!’ she says quietly. ‘I’m so relieved you’re still you. I’ve been so worried. You know that Beth told everyone who would listen that you were crazy She said you had these unbelievable tantrums and rages, that she and Ted were terrified of you, that you were completely different from your public image. I knew she was lying, of course, but . . .’

  ‘I know,’ says Grace. ‘She’s very credible. I’m not sure how she does it, but I know her story sounded good. It’s okay, Sybil. It’s okay if you weren’t sure.’

  ‘I’ve been feeling so guilty.’

  ‘You don’t have to. I would have wondered too. Who knows what really goes on behind closed doors, after all.’

  ‘But you’re my closest friend! How could I have questioned you?’

  ‘Syb. It’s okay. I forgive you.’ She forces a smile from Sybil before hugging her, watching as Sybil quietly exits the room.

  Clemmie had offered to have her mother stay, but there was so little room, it would undoubtedly go sour within a few days. Grace couldn’t continue staying in a hotel and phoned Sybil largely because she missed her. As soon as Sybil heard Grace was in a hotel, she drove over and collected her, insisting Grace move in to the guest suite. Had it been anyone else, Grace would have declined.

  Sybil’s guest suite is the entire floor above the garage. With two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchenette, and doors opening to a deck at the back, it is private, luxurious and isolated. It is the perfect place in which Grace can heal and hide as she figures out her next move.

  Back in Sparkill, at Sybil’s, so close to Sneden’s Landing, Grace has no idea what her next move should be. In England everything felt so far away, and there was Patrick, who proved a godsend in making her feel loved and distracting her from what would be waiting for her when she had to make the inevitable return home.

  Now that she is here, the events of London have receded. It is hard to know what she was thinking, allowing herself to be swept up in a romance with Patrick, and yet it is clear to her that his presence was the determining factor in her recovery.

  Back home, she doesn’t think of him much. Her thoughts are consumed with Ted. And Beth. And Ted and Beth. She doesn’t know where this has come from. It wasn’t that long ago that when she thought of Ted she felt little other than sadness and pity, but in the weeks since that sadness has turned to anger, and that anger to obsession.

  I want my life back, she thinks. I want to get rid of Beth. I want to be waking up in my house, working at Harmont House, carrying on where I left off before my life was stolen from me.

  Ted isn’t perfect, far from it, but seeing him has opened something up in her heart that she thought was permanently closed.

  We are all flawed, she thinks. We make mistakes. It is easy to see how Ted was seduced by someone so young, so manipulative, so charming when she wants to be. Easier still to see how the veneer must be starting to wear off, how he must miss his old life; his old wife.

  Sybil had peered at her earlier when they were sitting at her kitchen table, chatting.

  ‘You want him back?’ She was frowning. ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace. ‘I want my life back.’

  For the last few months Grace has become accustomed to driving small cars through narrow, winding streets. How quickly she had forgotten the size of the cars here, looming, monster SUVs, weaving in and out of the lanes on I-95, as she zips along in Clemmie’s Volkswagen Bug.

  Her phone vibrates on the seat next to her, and carefully, trying not to take her eyes off the road, she accepts the call, dropping the earpiece twice as she tries to untangle it and place it in her ear.

  ‘Hey, you.’ It is Patrick, and her heart breaks open into a smile.

  ‘Hey, you,’ she says, marvelling at how safe she feels just hearing his voice.

  ‘I wanted to find out how the event was last night,’ he says. ‘Did you see them? Did they see you? Tell me everything.’

  And she does.

  ‘I think you’re incredibly brave,’ says Patrick. ‘And enormously clever. I’m glad Molly is there with you and clearly on your side. What a complete mess. I just hope you find out what you need to find out today, and that Ted will actually listen.’

  ‘Seeing him yesterday was very hard. I don’t recall ever seeing Ted look vulnerable before. I had a sense,’ Grace says carefully, unsure that she should be saying this to Patrick, ‘that he misses me. He was clearly discombobulated when he saw me, and he did see me. I am quite certain he knew it was me. But there was also delight. Before he had a chance to check his emotions, I saw delight.’

  As she speaks, Grace recognizes she still has loyalty; she still cares. This is her husband of over twenty years. Whatever betrayal has happened, whatever infidelities there have been, he is still her husband. She does not want to see him destroyed.

  They talk for a long time. About everything. And nothing. Hitting traffic in Stamford, Grace reluctantly says goodbye, turning off the motorway and taking the back roads. Through Darien, the pretty water town of Rowayton, through Norwalk, and on until they are finally winding through Pequot Avenue in Southport, Grace delighting in the gorgeous old homes as she checks the GPS for where to turn to reach Emily Tallman’s house.

  When she couldn’t get hold of her by phone days ago, Grace went back to Anne, who arranged this meeting. Emily didn’t want to talk on the phone, she said, but they could meet; she would tell her everything.

  Past the churches, under the railway tracks, she turns into the pretty village of Southport and pulls up outside the Driftwood Diner. She knows who Emily must be as soon as she walks in, a pretty woman sitting at a table by herself, her face drawn and tired.

  ‘Emily?’ She nods as Grace sits, orders a coffee, makes small talk, hopes they will both be relaxed enough to be honest with each other.

  ‘It’s beautiful here,’ says Grace. ‘What an amazing place to live.’

  ‘To live and work,’ Emily says, gesturing across the street. ‘I work in that clothes store over there. And I have a part-time job at the bar next door. It keeps me busy.’

  ‘Being busy is a good thing. Too much time on my hands always gets me into trouble,’ says Grace.

  ‘I’d like to be a bit less busy,’ Emily says quietly.

  ‘This wasn’t always your life, was it?’ Grace says gently as Emily’s eyes fill. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just. . . I Googled you. I know you had a big, beautiful house and I know things changed for you. I had a beautiful house too,’ she says, knowing the only way to get Emily’s story is to tell some of her own.

  ‘I know all about you,’ Emily says. ‘I remember the Architectural Digest piece on your house. It’s beautiful.’

  ‘It is. But I don’t live there anymore. Beth does, or, as you know her, Betsy.’

  Emily snorts. ‘That sounds familiar.’

  ‘Emily, I think you and I might have the same story to tell. Would you mind sharing yours with me? She tried to ruin my life, and now that I know I’m not the first, I’m pretty sure I won’t be the last. I want to stop her from doing this to anyone else and I can only do that if I know your story.’

  ‘My husband took her on,’ Emily says wearily. ‘He was a banker in the city and he had a great job. He was an institutional salesman, but still, he earned a great living and we were happy’ She looks up, meeting Grace’s eye. ‘We were really happy. That’s the thing I still don’t understand. I always thought that people only had affairs if there was something very wrong in the relationship, but there was nothing wrong in our relationship. We were the people everyone looked at and wanted to be.’ She sighs, shaking her head. ‘Things started to change when Campbell left his job. He wanted to do private venture capital. He’d found this tech company that needed help, and he decided to raise the money and buy it, w
hich he did on the side while he was still working, and once they had bought it he decided this was the thing he really wanted to do. That he could leave his paying job and make a go of it. I was totally supportive of him; I knew he’d always wanted to have his own business and it seemed like a great idea. He took a little office in Fairfield and put an ad out for an assistant.’

  ‘Craigslist?’

  ‘I don’t even know. I just know he put ads in a few places and met with a few people, then came home one day saying this girl had been in for an interview who seemed great. Betsy McCarthy.’ Emily involuntarily sneers as she says her name. ‘I remember asking him what she looked like, because, I don’t know . . . maybe I sensed something, but he said she was totally dumpy and plain and that I was so cute to even ask the question and to be nervous. I came into the office just after she started because Campbell wanted me to meet her, and he was right, she was dumpy and plain, and there was no way I had anything to worry about.

  ‘After a couple of months the guy who owned the building Campbell’s office was in decided to sell, so Campbell moved the office into the bonus room above the garage. Betsy came to our house every day and, I have to say, I started really liking having her around.’

  ‘She got involved with your life too? Offered to help? Organized your cupboards?’

  ‘Yes! She did the same to you? That’s exactly what she did. She made herself indispensable and I thought she was amazing. And she was amazing.’ Emily’s expression clouds. ‘The children adored her. She was like this incredible nanny, assistant, friend. Everything. But you know,’ she leans forward, ‘I never wanted to say it out loud, but there was always something I wasn’t sure about. I couldn’t have put my finger on it and I told myself I was being ridiculous. She made herself my friend. My best friend. I was flattered by all the attention. I thought it was sweet.’