The Orchid Girls

by Lesley Sanderson

  Eleven

  GRACE

  ‘You seemed a bit overwhelmed at the book launch, which isn’t like you. I thought it went well. Was everything OK?’ Carrie sips at her cocktail, a pale pink concoction of vodka and raspberries. Her long nails match the colour of her drink, shining under the light as she takes a selfie, pouting.

  My cocktail is green and tastes of apples. The tang of gin is an unusual treat; I’ve been persuaded by Carrie that this is a celebration. But my nerves are too taut to feel like celebrating. Everywhere I look I see red hair, staring eyes.

  She leans back in the comfy chair, smooths her suit skirt over her knees, stirring the pink crystals of ice in her glass. ‘Is it the baby thing again?’

  I seize on her words as the excuse I need, nodding. Richard won’t mention it unless I bring it up, and I remember how reluctant he was to talk about it on the last occasion.

  ‘He isn’t going to change his mind, you know what’s he’s like. His life is planned out for the next five years at least, and so is mine. A baby doesn’t fit into that scenario. Maybe if he loses the election he’ll have a rethink, but I don’t want that.’ I suck some ice into my mouth, welcoming the chill in my throat. ‘And I should be grateful to him for driving my career; the launch the other night was proof of how well I’m doing.’ I remember my excitement at the recent photo shoot, how that enthusiasm evades me now. ‘He’s so busy, I’ve got no right to pressurise him. It’s what we agreed, after all.’ I crunch the ice between my teeth, feeling emotional. I want more than anything to have a baby, but usually I manage to suppress these thoughts; maybe Molly’s appearance is playing with my emotions.

  ‘Jean was talking to me about that missing girl at the launch, how they all know her. I didn’t realise she had done work experience with Richard. That can’t help – it must be tough for him. I wondered if that was upsetting you too.’

  I hide my expression in my glass, letting the drink go down slowly, shrugging my shoulders.

  ‘It is upsetting, and having Richard’s parents involved makes it even more real.’ An image of the girl’s face flashes into my mind, her disconcerting likeness to Charlotte, and a wave of anxiety hits me again. Why are we talking about this?

  Carrie looks concerned and I feel a pang of gratefulness towards her. Getting close to another woman hasn’t been easy for me since I severed ties with Molly, and keeping things from Carrie is the way it has to be. The thought doesn’t help assuage the guilt, and I try to swallow down my anxiety with a long sip of my cocktail.

  ‘Enough of me. Tell me about your new man,’ I say, changing the subject. Carrie’s face lights up with a wicked grin and I can’t help smiling back; her excitement is infectious.

  ‘Second date this weekend. He’s taking me to that new French restaurant in Mayfair. I’m booked in at the salon on Saturday for the full works.’ She sips through her straw, tapping her nails on the glass. ‘You’re so lucky, Grace, married and settled. Dating is so traumatic.’

  She’s right. I’ve got Richard, the most important person in my life, and I have no intention of losing him. Last night flashes into my head, the sex that was rougher than usual, Richard’s rigid jaw as he held me down. Passion, that’s what it was. I push my doubts, Molly’s reappearance and babies to the back of my mind. So far I’ve dealt with every obstacle in my path. There’s no reason this should be any different.

  Molly sends me a photograph early the next morning, when I am restless and unable to sleep. It makes my heart drum loud in my chest, and affirms my resolve to meet with her, put a stop to this. My nerves can’t stand it. It’s a murky shot, light from the flat illuminating me from behind against the purple night sky. I hold my phone low down over the floor, so that the light doesn’t wake Richard, who sleeps sprawled on his back, snoring occasionally.

  Sleep must have claimed me eventually, a deep, dreamless sleep, because Richard has left when I next wake. The face staring back at me from the bathroom mirror looks different and it scares me. Despite my attempts to forget my past with Carrie last night, the features of the girl I thought I’d left buried in Paris are returning. I put thicker foundation on and attempt to cake over her fierce expression, but her eyes blaze back at me. I won’t have those feelings again. I won’t let myself.

  I slide a pod into the coffee machine, watch the dark drips fall into the cup, drink it black. Bitter. Espresso became her drink of choice in Paris, the new Grace. Me, I remind myself. Molly would never have found me in France. There I was in control, confident.

  Richard has changed since we returned from Paris. It began when I moved to live with him in England. Roles were reversed; in France I was on my home territory, I was the tour guide, the one who knew which restaurants to eat at, which cocktail bars to drink at, where to party. He was the one who needed help with the language and sharing my knowledge was fun. I felt in control. But that version of me is no longer required. Now he has a team around him catering to his needs, responding to his whims, at his beck and call. So different to the first time I met him in my favourite cafe, looking out on the wide Parisian boulevard, the smell of tobacco in the air, eating a flaky croissant, my attention caught by the man sitting outside with a copy of Le Parisien newspaper. His thick, dark hair fell over his face as he read, and every now and then he’d put the paper down and look around. He caught me watching him and I held his gaze for a moment, felt a flutter in my pulse. He sent the waiter to invite me to join him for a coffee and when he asked me out for dinner the following night I accepted, despite my resolution not to give into my emotions ever again. I told myself that he was a man this time and he was special.

  Sometimes I wish it could be different, the two of us back together in France. But it can’t be.

  The caffeine does its job and I fire off a text to Molly asking her to meet. The sooner I get it over with, the sooner I can get back to my real life. I’m hoping to see her later this afternoon, when I should be at a meeting that I only remembered last night and for which I’m not ready. I’m letting things slip.

  Richard would go mad if he knew – he arranged the meeting and I can’t mess it up. Simon Farrer is the best designer around; I know what a huge deal this is. I can’t believe I’ve let Molly get to me so much I’d forgotten about it. A few hours’ work should be enough to finalise my first product: ‘Grace’s Cereals, Exclusive to Harrods’. I can visualise the subtle wheat-coloured boxes with sophisticated, striking yellow-and-gold lettering. but I need to get the details down. I need more time. A phone call will make a better impression than an email.

  Simon sounds as if he’s on the move when he picks up my call, blowing sharp breaths into the phone. It’s the first time I’ve spoken to him. I explain, feeling ashamed, that I’d like to postpone the meeting.

  He sucks his breath in.

  ‘My schedule is pretty tight, let’s see. I can squeeze you in tomorrow afternoon. After that I’m in New York until the end of the month.’

  ‘Tomorrow is perfect, thanks so much. And I look forward to meeting you.’

  I take a deep, calming breath when I put the phone down, tension eased. Richard doesn’t need to know I’ve postponed it. Unprofessional, that’s what he’d think. But Simon didn’t mind and I’ll be ready tomorrow. Imagining my product range in shops usually fires me up, but today my thoughts won’t focus. I could look at the prices of Rome flights for our surprise getaway, but I daren’t book anything while this is hanging over me. Every few seconds I pick my phone up, check for messages. Nothing from Molly yet. I expected her to reply immediately. My head throbs. Is this all a game to her? After feeling like I’ve been waiting forever, my phone beeps. It’s her. Of course she wants to meet, what was I thinking? For a moment I allow myself to think back, to remember the turmoil I felt when we saw each other for the last time, not knowing we wouldn’t see one another again. Until now. The phone buzzes and I snap out of my reverie, furious that I’m indulging myself. That’s the old Grace. That isn’t who I am any more.
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  I make sure to get there first. I tap my foot against the table leg as I wait, planning it all out – I want to get this right. Molly brings a gust of wind in with her which ruffles my hair, and I pat it back into place. Her face is flushed, as if she’s been hurrying. The adult version of Molly is becoming familiar to me, the lines drawn on her thin face, the freckles forming clumps over her nose. She looks down at me, hands in the pockets of a creased-up parka, fiddling with something. She used to collect stones to photograph from the beach, loading up her pockets and hiding them from her mum who went mad if she found them in the house. Her dad didn’t mind, he let her stash them in his shed. One of hundreds of memories I have of Molly. The memories I’ve tried so hard to forget.

  Molly hunches over a mug of tea and warms her fingers on the outside, still wearing her parka over a scruffy pair of jeans. She blows down onto the steaming tea. She hasn't looked at me yet. Her red hair no longer looks natural; the scarlet dye is harsh and cheap.

  ‘Hello, Gracie,’ she says.

  ‘Don’t call me that.’ That name doesn’t belong to me any more.

  ‘I shouldn’t have come to your place,’ she says, dragging her hair away from her face. ‘Grace.’

  ‘You scared me, Molly.’

  ‘Do you know how hard it was to find you?’

  ‘That was the idea.’

  ‘It drove me mad, wondering where you were.’ Her tired eyes look like those of a hurt animal. ‘I’m just trying to get through to you. I’m sorry for following you about, but I had to make you talk to me.’

  ‘Why? Let’s leave the past alone. I’ve made a new life for myself. Why can’t you do the same, move on?’

  Something is different about Molly this time. She’s calmer. Sober, I realise.

  Her hurt eyes fix on mine and I look away.

  ‘How comes you’re so normal?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘This is so weird. Seeing you, after all this time. After what happened. Look at you, with your smart clothes, your fancy job and husband. That wasn’t what you used to want. Even your accent sounds different.’

  ‘It was a long time ago, Molly. People change.’

  ‘I haven’t. That’s why I had to see you. I’m pushing thirty, and it’s time I sorted my life out. The only way out is to talk to someone.’

  My breath catches. ‘Don’t you remember the promise we made?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve kept my promise. But I’m not sure I can keep it for much longer. I need to talk.’

  My throat tightens, but I keep my face composed. ‘Is it money you want?’

  She looks upset. ‘I don’t want your money. How could you ask that? I just want to get my shit together.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you can’t.’

  ‘I felt responsible, I wanted to know what happened to Charlotte…’

  ‘Christ, Molly, you know what happened.’ The woman at the next table looks over and I lower my voice, leaning towards her so that Molly alone can hear my words. ‘You have to stop this.’

  ‘How can you be so cold? Don’t you have feelings any more?’

  My tense shoulders feel as if a steel rod is holding them up.

  ‘Of course I do. But bad things happen all the time, that’s life.’

  Molly sighs. ‘Until I sort this out in my head then I can’t move on.’

  I lean forward, lower my voice.

  ‘Look, you couldn’t find me because I was sent away. Michael sent me away.’

  She raises an eyebrow. ‘Michael?’

  ‘He doesn’t deserve to be called Dad after what he did to me. He wouldn’t let me contact you. I was sent to live with my aunt in France. I didn’t want to go. But I took her name, started my life again. There’s no reason you can’t do the same.’

  ‘So that’s why you didn’t get my letters?’

  ‘I suppose it must be, yes.’

  ‘You were everything to me, Grace.’

  ‘We were young. Stop being melodramatic.’

  Molly doesn’t like that, purses her mouth up, glares at me. This isn’t going to work. I’m itching to leave, but I need to ask her before I go. I need to ask the question that’s been on my mind. My pulse speeds up just thinking about it.

  ‘You said you had something on me, you mentioned Charlotte’s bag.’

  ‘Didn’t like that, did you?’

  ‘Are you talking about what I think you are?’

  ‘Might be.’

  ‘This isn’t a game, Molly. Why are you doing this?’

  ‘You know why.’

  She looks into my eyes and for a moment we are swept back to before, when no one else existed. When it was just the two of us. It takes me by surprise and I look away.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to lose.’ She takes a sip of her tea.

  ‘But I have. If you still cared about me you wouldn’t do this. Apart from anything else Richard’s reputation is so crucial right now. His public image is everything to him.’

  ‘Who cares about him? I don’t get it, anyway. Why have you chosen such a public life? After everything that happened?’

  ‘I can do whatever I choose with my life, and so can you. I’m proud of my business and rightly so. I’m not the same person any more, Molly, you have to understand that.’

  My hands are clenched tightly in my lap. Aunt Jenny warned me at the time, said I was taking a huge risk, coming back to England and leading such a public life. But I’d been so relieved to have fallen in love, and with such an ideal man, I’d have done anything for him.

  ‘If it wasn’t for Richard, I would never have come back to England. Sometimes life takes you by surprise. I asked you to destroy the camera. You did, didn’t you?’

  She nods.

  I want to believe her, I have to.

  ‘But somebody else is on to us.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I got this text last night.’ Molly’s fingertips dart over her phone. They’re chewed down, look sore. She gives me the phone, and when I see what’s written, I thrust it back at her as if it’s scalding my fingers.

  ‘Who sent you this?’

  ‘I thought you might have.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. Show me the number.’

  The number is unfamiliar, as I guessed it would be. I put my hands out of sight so that she doesn’t see they are trembling. I need space to think, and I can’t while Molly is with me, unsettling me, clouding my thoughts, reminding me of too much I’d rather forget. The message fades from the screen and my photo appears. She’s got me as her backdrop. My trembling increases. What is going on here? Has she made the text up to mess with my head?

  For a moment we stare at one another, then the cafe door opens and a group of women come in, noisy, laughing. I stand up.

  ‘You’re a mess, Molly. Don’t you dare drag me into it. You’re making this up to get me rattled and it isn’t working. How you live your life has nothing to do with me. You might not care about my husband but he cares about what happens to me. We know a lot of people, so I’d have a good think before you do anything stupid.’ I take a twenty-pound note from my leather handbag, put it down on the table in front of me, snapping the clasp shut.

  ‘Buy yourself another drink. This should cover it. But leave me alone, I mean it.’ I don’t look back as I walk out.

  Later that evening Richard dozes beside me and I’m scrolling through my emails, unable to concentrate. He’d been buoyant when he came home, buzzing with more ideas for me. He’d even cooked, despite the shadows forming under his eyes. When he took me in his arms and kissed me passionately, his pride for me was evident.

  I open Molly’s message again, enlarging the photo she sent of me on the balcony. Was I right to threaten her? How will I know she’s stopped pursuing me? The thought that she could be out there now, watching me, makes me shiver. She said she’d destroyed the camera, but what about the photos we took together? I should have made her be more specific.

 
; Richard opens his eyes and there’s no time to close the screen. He looks at the photograph.

  ‘Is that you?’

  I go to fob him off, then stop. Maybe involving him will help. It could help to talk about it.

  ‘It was sent to me this morning. Remember that woman, the one from school who turned up at the book launch? Molly, her name is.’

  ‘Why did she send it to you?’ He pulls the laptop onto his lap, enlarges the photo. ‘It’s creepy. It was obviously taken in the evening. What’s she doing, hanging around out there? Should we be worried about this?’

  ‘I don’t think so. She’s seen who I am, who you are, and she wants to know me now I’m a celebrity. I’m hoping if I ignore her, she’ll soon get bored.’

  He narrows his eyes. ‘Let’s hope she does.’