Chapter 22
Grace tried not to stare when Alice arrived at work the next day. The carapace of co-ordinated clothing no longer seemed quite so incongruous in their rural bubble, but rather clarified so many little questions that had been in the back of Grace’s mind for months.
‘Hi,’ said Alice simply, hesitating for a second, as though just waiting for Grace to blurt out her secret. ‘Are you excited about tonight?’
‘More nervous than excited, but the dress is just wonderful, Alice, thank you. So even if the evening is a bust, there’s that at least.’
Alice laughed, the shutters lifting slightly. Everybody knew Grace was the soul of discretion, but Alice obviously had morning-after-the-night-before reservations.
‘I’m going to skip out for a bit and get my hair done too,’ continued Grace. ‘Can hardly let the dress down, now can I?’ She gave Alice’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, making the most of this rare moment of privacy. ‘And then you and I are going to have supper together one night and get some plans in motion, okay?’
The feisty, self-sufficient part of Alice clearly wobbled at the very thought; the exhausted part, the solitary part, seemed to recognise a reprieve. ‘That sounds lovely,’ she said.
Grace could only feel relief at her simple capitulation. She had spent half the night tossing and turning, worrying about this wonderful young girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. There had been a certain amount of bravery in letting her in last night, Grace had decided, and she was determined not to let the moment pass. As far as she could tell, there was very little support in Alice’s young life and God knows she needed it more than most. She was certainly adept at putting on a front though.
Grace thought back to her first year at med school, sharing a room with Suzie Rogers. Putting aside all the crude jokes they had made at the expense of her name, she had been Grace’s best friend throughout that awkward freshers’ year and someone she would never forget. Suzie, like Alice, had been a Type One diabetic, and seeing what she went through every night had been quite the eye-opener. The disrupted sleep, the checking and calibrating . . . But Suzie had chosen the opposite path to Alice; she talked about it to her friends, who in turn then found it easier to check in with her, to tease her even, but most importantly, to be there for her on the days when things seemed unmanageable.
Alice? Well, as far as Grace could tell, Alice had her aunt Pru. And as wonderful as Pru Hartley was, she didn’t seem to grasp the severity of Alice’s condition, still turning up with sticky buns and ‘gat-ox’ from the bakery to ‘cheer her up’. And, Grace decided, if Pru really was convinced that all Alice needed to do was to pop to Ikea and ‘unpack’, then clearly she hadn’t been allowed into Alice’s inner sanctum either.
She wondered who really knew what was going on in Alice’s life. Jamie? One of these online ‘boyfriends’ she occasionally spoke about?
What was it about Larkford, Grace thought, that it seemed to collect those who needed to heal? Besides her aunt Pru, she’d never heard Alice mention any family at all and the only friends she referred to seemed to keep in touch via status updates and Skype calls rather than visits – what a miserable generation of lonely kids, she thought. Although to be fair, Elsie the silver surfer was much the same these days. Perhaps Grace herself was the anomaly, spending so much time with ‘tech’ during her working day and for her hobbies that she longed to keep her personal interactions personal?
Speaking of which, her heart gave an involuntary flip as she saw Dan Carter walk past the doorway. Perhaps Alice wasn’t the only one in denial, though, about how their life was actually playing out?
Alice reached into her soft leather handbag and pulled out a velvet box. ‘I thought this might work with the dress?’ she offered, blushing slightly and regaining Grace’s attention.
Grace popped open the box and a fabulous necklace of twisted silver leaves, pearls and filigree lay nestled inside. ‘Alice! It’s beautiful.’
Alice grinned. ‘And you don’t need to worry about breaking it or losing it, it’s really nothing fancy.’
Grace raised an eyebrow in disbelief, the delicacy of the workmanship directly contradicting that statement. ‘It’s far too precious, Alice. Honestly, I’m so grateful for the dress, I couldn’t possibly—’
Alice shook her head. ‘And you say I’m stubborn. Just wear it, enjoy it; it deserves an outing. And if it all falls apart on the dance floor you can blame me, because I made it, okay?’
‘Are you serious?’ said Holly, ambling into the room with a pain au chocolat in one hand and a vast glass of orange juice in the other. ‘You are such a dark horse, Alice Walker!’
Grace nodded, wondering how Alice had managed to have them all so convinced that she was a straight-cut pillar of professionalism and composure. Whilst in reality, beneath every layer there lay another one awaiting discovery.
Alice blushed. ‘It’s just a hobby. I have rather a thing for craft shops, so I had to find a reason to visit!’
Grace smiled at her proudly. Baby steps, small admissions of her vulnerability.
‘Well, I think it’s stunning and, if you truly don’t mind, I’d love to wear it tonight,’ Grace said with feeling.
Holly nodded, the flakes of pastry fluttering around her. ‘God, Alice, if I’d known we had the next best thing to Tiffany’s in our very midst, I’d have been pestering you to make me something for the wedding months ago!’ She flustered then and flushed. ‘Not that I’d be expecting a freebie, and it would probably take months . . .’
Grace narrowed her eyes as she watched Holly dissemble. She’d put money on the table her discomfort had absolutely nothing to do with Alice or her jewellery-making skills. She watched Holly take a long sip of her orange juice and that in itself just played into the wired and weird atmosphere that surrounded her. Where was the omnipresent double espresso? Where was the—? Oh. Grace paused, unable to conceal the smile that spread across her face. She turned away and busied herself answering the phone. All in good time, she thought to herself, all in good time.
Later that day, with her freshly blow-dried hair falling neatly into place and Alice’s necklace resting gently on her collarbone, Grace pulled her front door closed behind her and stepped into the street. She’d already sent Alice a selfie of herself all dolled up and was gratified by the enthusiastic response. It was just as well really, as she was starting to have a little wobble. Somehow, without even realising it, she had agreed to her very first date since Roy had died. She wasn’t sure whether to feel awful that she hadn’t really noticed the milestone, or just plain nervous at how out of touch she might be on dating etiquette.
She swayed slightly for a moment, unaccustomed to such high heels, but under strict orders from Alice that the dress demanded them. The silky fabric billowed for a moment around her legs at a sudden gust of wind and Grace heard a wolf whistle echo between the houses.
‘Come and give us a twirl,’ hollered Taffy from the grass bank outside the pub.
She looked up in confusion. As far as she could tell, Dan and Taffy were lining up rows of Babybel cheeses at the top of the slope.
‘You look absolutely stunning,’ Dan said, as though he couldn’t quite believe it.
Whilst she could admit to being secretly thrilled at the obvious admiration on his face, Grace felt a moment’s pique at the underlying note of surprise.
‘Dare I even ask what you’re up to?’ she said, checking her watch.
Taffy grinned. ‘Poor man’s cheese-rolling. Couldn’t get to Gloucester, so we thought we’d recreate. Look, we’ve got Ben’s Action Men for scale.’
For a moment, Grace couldn’t help thinking that this was so much more appealing than a night of champagne and self-congratulation.
Teddy Kingsley walked over to join them. ‘Daft buggers,’ he said fondly. ‘Blimey, Grace. You scrub up okay! What’s the occasion?’
With a perfection of timing that Grace could only be grateful for, Chris Virtue’s Volvo pulled up beside them. Gentleman that he was, he hopped out and opened the passenger door for Grace, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
Dan stumbled to his feet. ‘Hey, Chris? I have to ask, mate—’ The ‘mate’ had a slightly belligerent tone to it. ‘Who’s funding all this champagne and revelry? Gracie told us about your shindig tonight. Shouldn’t we concentrate on getting that second helicopter up in the air rather than dishing out awards?’
Chris stiffened slightly, giving Grace a tight smile. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. Mate. It’s a sponsored award, so please don’t think we’re just frittering money away. Tonight is about morale. I would have thought you, of all people, would understand that.’
He checked that Grace’s dress was clear and closed the passenger door. Grace looked up and saw the anger on Dan’s face. Whatever his thoughts on fundraising, or even not being invited himself, it seemed rather disproportionate to her.
Grace was almost grateful that Dan couldn’t see the sheer luxury of the country house hotel where the awards ceremony was being held. It would only feed into his assumption that the money could be better spent elsewhere.
For a moment, even with Chris’s hand in the small of her back guiding her towards the sweeping staircase, Grace had the uncharitable thought that, as their inside man – strike that, inside woman – it was probably a good idea to find out the truth of the situation.
‘So, did Dan have a point?’ Grace asked quietly, as she took in the opulent floral arrangements around them, and the waistcoated waiters with silver platters.
Chris shook his head. ‘I can see why he might think that, but honestly, this is one of our most profitable fundraisers – and a valuable boost to morale. We have one corporate sponsor who provides the awards to the various crews and then every table is sold at a sixty per cent profit; the hotel do the catering at cost and we get loads of coverage in the glossy lifestyle section.’ He shrugged. ‘I do get that it’s counterintuitive, to spend money to make money, but a lot of people around here don’t like the idea of suffering for a cause; they won’t run a marathon but are all too happy to contribute an absolute fortune for a little fizz and hobnobbing.’
As they picked up flutes of champagne and began to mingle at the edge of the vast ballroom, Grace couldn’t help but notice several furtive glances thrown her way. Women in particular seemed to spend a lot of time looking at Chris Virtue, their eyes lingering on his broad shoulders as he passed, before flicking down towards Grace appraisingly.
It should have felt wonderful, to realise that she was here as Chris’s guest; he was obviously quite the catch. Not to mention charming to boot, she realised, as his attentive and considerate nature became increasingly apparent. Quite why she couldn’t let go and enjoy herself, she didn’t know.
‘Let’s find somewhere to sit, unless you’d rather mingle,’ he suggested, as Grace’s heels made her a little unsteady on her feet. Collapsing back into a heavily upholstered sofa, with Chris beside her, Grace felt herself begin to relax. The evening so far felt as though it were happening at a remove: the dress, the necklace, even the venue – it felt as though she were wearing a costume and playing a character whose role was as yet unclear.
Chris’s arm around her shoulders provided a little clarification. As did his ever-attentive concern that she was having a nice time, pointing out people from his crew and giving her amusing little back stories for each. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he wanted her to feel as at home in his world as she did in her own.
So why did her thoughts keep returning to Larkford? Was it the little worm of a notion that this might be how Alice felt every day that was proving so distracting? It was easy to be fooled by Alice, and to forget how young she was. Grace wondered how often she too felt out of place, or out of her depth – was that where the need for designer ‘armour’ came in?
Was Alice actually the only one dissembling at work, she wondered, thinking back to Holly’s highly unusual, and therefore suspicious, lack of caffeine? She didn’t dare hope that it meant what she thought it might.
Or was it simply that, for Grace, evenings arsing about in the pub with her colleagues felt so much easier and more comfortable than this overstated luxury? She could certainly identify with Holly’s concerns about Sarandon Hall now.
The invitation from Chris had actually taken her by surprise, and part of her still wondered if she’d been right the first time and this was actually a professional outing, despite all his actions to the contrary. She had no idea how to find her feet in the new dating landscape; the last time she’d been in the market for a boyfriend it was easy: turn up to bar with like-minded students, apply alcohol, repeat as necessary. This? This was a whole new ballgame. And however much she may have protested in The Deli last night, it was now obvious that Chris had singled her out for his attentions and invitation. This was personal.
As their bodies were naturally thrown together by the deepest sofa cushions that Grace had ever encountered, she decided to simply go with the flow. Just because they were having dinner together in public didn’t necessarily make them an item. Or did it?
Chris leaned in further. ‘Would you mind if we went and talked to my boss? I’d love him to meet you.’
His tone, his affection, the gentle way he brushed her hair from her face made Grace’s heart skip a beat. If they had been alone there was no question he would have kissed her. As it was, they escaped the sofa’s clutches and made their way through the crowd to make small talk with the head of Air Ambulance South West. His hand in hers and his smile so intoxicating, it felt a little as though they were going to Meet The Parents.
‘Ready?’ asked Chris.
Grace only smiled; hoping his question was rhetorical.
In her mind, she wasn’t actually sure she was ready for any of this. Or indeed, whether she ever really would be.