Echoes of Grace Page 13

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because he’s an idiot.’ Henry picked up a random cup and took a sip. Realising that he had consumed cold coffee, he spat it back into the cup in disgust. ‘Now the press will be here, asking questions and talking about Grace again. I could kill him.’

  ‘Oh, don’t kill Uncle Gordon!’ she protested in alarm. ‘He brings me sweets and he’s funny.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t,’ said Henry wearily. ‘It’s just sometimes he can be swayed by a pretty face and a free drink.’

  ‘Daddy,’ she began, ‘I went to Mother’s grave today . . .’

  He cut her off absentmindedly. ‘Where did I put my ink pen? I was sure I left it on the mantelpiece.’ He scratched his head.

  ‘But, Daddy,’ she said, ‘can you tell me about her? You never speak about her.’

  ‘Aha!’ he exclaimed triumphantly, finding the pen under a pile of papers. ‘Good work, old boy.’

  ‘Daddy!’

  He stopped in surprise. ‘Yes, my darling?’

  ‘Tell me about Mummy.’ Her cheeks were flushed and her expression determined.

  ‘What? Why?’ He shook his head. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘What she was like. What her favourite book was or if she could cook.’ She shrugged. ‘If she had a favourite chocolate bar, perhaps?’

  Henry said nothing for a moment. Lots of emotions flitted across his face until eventually he spoke.

  ‘She was bright and funny. She loved going for walks by the sea. She adored Romantic poetry and always said that she would have loved to meet Lord Byron.’ He chuckled. ‘She couldn’t cook at all, not even an egg. Thank God we had Maggie.’

  Aurora’s face was enraptured. ‘Maggie gave me this for my birthday. She feels that I’m responsible enough now. She says Mummy wore this necklace all the time.’ She pulled out the silver pendant from under her blouse. ‘Did you give it to her, Daddy?’

  He shook his head. ‘She had that when I met her. I gave her pearls and diamonds but she always insisted on wearing that.’ His face became sad. ‘She never told me why – it must have meant a great deal to her.’

  ‘I love it,’ said Aurora, fingering the flower pendant. ‘Maybe her mummy gave it to her. Or perhaps her daddy.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Maggie appeared in the doorway. ‘Master Seb and Master George have left, sir,’ she announced. ‘I prepared dinner for us three.’ Without a word, she gathered the offending cups and threaded the handles through her fingers. That way she could carry three in each hand.

  ‘Wonderful, Maggie,’ said Henry gratefully. ‘I’m jolly well glad to see the back of them for the moment too. Frightful behaviour all round.’

  Aurora said nothing. George and Sebastian always behaved like that. However, this was the first time her father had seen it. Perhaps Gloria had had something to do with it. Yes, maybe she would change him for the better.

  ‘Try not to worry, Daddy,’ she soothed, pulling at his cardigan. ‘Your wedding news is wonderful. You know what they say: today’s news is tomorrow’s fish-and-chips paper.’

  Henry smiled and kissed her forehead fondly. ‘Now, where did you hear that?’

  ‘Freddie, of course,’ she replied. ‘He knows things.’

  ‘Is it true, Sinclair?’ Freddie’s freckled face looked stricken.

  Aurora nodded. ‘It’s true. We’re leaving tomorrow.’

  They were upstairs, swinging their legs through the gaps in the bannisters.

  Conny had mentioned the news the night before at dinner. Freddie had pushed his plate away, having lost interest in his stew. It was like a suspicion was being realised. He had expected this. However, it didn’t make it any easier.

  ‘Will you visit?’ His voice was barely audible.

  Together their legs moved in unison. One pair was pale and slim, the other muddy and sturdy.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I’ll have to see Maggie, won’t I? It won’t be forever, Freddie. As soon as I’m old enough, I’ll move back here. Wait and see.’

  ‘What about the ’ouse?’

  ‘Daddy’s closing it up.’ She sighed. ‘My toys were packed away today along with my books and my dolls. They’re on the way to London already.’

  ‘Can I visit you, do you think?’

  ‘Of course, silly.’ She nudged him playfully. ‘Daddy and Gloria are building an extension so there will be plenty of room.’

  Suddenly there was a loud knocking on the old front door. It reverberated around the hallway and the children peered down in curiosity.

  ‘I’ll get it, Mr. ’Enry,’ called Maggie, shuffling towards the main entrance.

  ‘Not at all,’ objected Henry, suddenly appearing in the hall.

  He pulled open the heavy door and slammed it almost immediately.

  Glancing behind him frantically, he hissed to Maggie, ‘Where’s Aurora?’

  ‘She’s upstairs with Freddie,’ Maggie informed him, startled. ‘Are you all right, sir?’

  ‘I need to go outside. Keep the children indoors.’

  He opened the door again and walked out into the cold breeze.

  Freddie’s eye met Aurora’s and they scrambled to their feet.

  ‘George’s room will have the best view,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Let’s go in there.’

  They rushed into the room and pulled open the drapes that hung by the bay window. They could see Henry gesticulating madly and shaking his fist. A man stood opposite him, with his back to the children. He was wearing a black hat and a grey scarf.

  ‘Who’s that?’ asked Aurora in wonder. ‘Daddy looks furious.’

  Freddie shrugged. ‘Let’s open the window and listen,’ he suggested. ‘It looks like a big fight.’

  He pulled the latch on the heavy glass and tried to heave it open.

  ‘Help me, Sinclair,’ he said, pushing with all his might. Aurora tried her best, but to no avail. The window remained fastened shut, its ancient hinges in need of oil.

  The man backed away from Henry and started to walk down the driveway, his hands deep in the pockets of his coat.

  Henry shouted at him and he turned briefly. His face was tanned and his cheekbones were chiselled. Aurora felt a jolt. He seemed familiar somehow. She didn’t know why but she felt like she had seen him before.

  Then he turned on his heel and walked off.

  ‘I’d better go,’ he said, backing out of the door. ‘Looks like a bit of drama in the making.’

  Aurora nodded wordlessly. She had never seen her father react like that. She had to know why.

  ‘Daddy! Who was that man?’ Aurora stared at her father questioningly, her hands on her hips. ‘Why were you so angry?’

  Henry walked straight over to the decanter of brandy and poured himself a big glass. He knocked it back in one go and winced as it scalded his throat. Then his hands shook slightly as he filled another.

  ‘Daddy!’ Aurora tugged at his sleeve. ‘Who was that man? Why were you so cross?’

  Henry hung his head. It seemed like ages before he spoke.

  ‘He’s an old acquaintance from Oxford,’ he said quietly. ‘We knew each other years ago – long before you were born.’

  ‘Why did he visit?’

  Henry sighed. ‘I don’t know – I just don’t know.’ He took his glass and sat down by the fire.

  Aurora sat at his feet and rested her head on his knee.

  ‘Don’t worry, Daddy. I’ll protect you.’

  He smiled slightly.

  ‘If he comes back, I’ll tell him to leave right away.’

  Henry moved forward suddenly and grabbed her small shoulders.

  ‘You are never to talk to that man, do you hear me?’ He shook her slightly.

  ‘Stop it, Daddy,’ she said, frightened. ‘You’re hurting me.’

  ‘Promise me, Aurora.’ He forced her to look at him. ‘Promise me that you’ll never speak to him.’

  ‘I promise.’

  He released her immediatel
y and resumed his slumped position. ‘I think it’s time for dinner, my darling,’ he said in a defeated one. ‘Ask Maggie if we should join her in the kitchen.’

  Aurora stood up and kissed his lined cheek. ‘Of course, Daddy,’ she whispered. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too,’ he said fondly, stroking her cheek. ‘More than you know.’

  Later that evening, the rain began to fall once more. Aurora could hear the tapping on the windows as it deluged down outside. All her daddy’s notes and manuscripts had been sent to London, along with hundreds of books. All the paintings and furniture were to be stored away.

  Her gaze drifted to a portrait of Henry’s first wife. Aurora knew little of Marcella, except what Maggie had told her. She knew that she had been quite snobby and mean, and that she had treated Maggie like a slave. She also knew that Seb and George had not liked Grace – they had always made that plain. All her life, she had seen Henry take a step back from their rude behaviour. Maybe he was guilty? Maybe he felt bad for marrying her mother without telling them first?

  She frowned. The fact that he had gone off and got married again must have really annoyed them. She knew little of money but she realised that her father was rich. She had no interest in that, but she could see that the boys did. She admired Gloria for her speech about it; how she had told the world that she loved her father for him and not for his money. Maybe that would keep them quiet for a while.

  When Aurora had asked about Grace’s portrait, Henry had sighed. She wanted to hang it in her new room. He sat her down and took her small hand in his.

  ‘It’s just too large, my darling,’ he explained. ‘It simply wouldn’t fit.’

  ‘What?’ she gasped in horror. ‘I can’t leave it here. I look at it every day.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I can’t leave it here, Daddy. I just can’t!.’

  ‘I shall have it covered up properly,’ he hushed. ‘Then you’ll have it when you have a home of your own.’

  ‘Where? You mean, here in the dark? But she’ll be lonely in the dark. I know she will.’

  He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. ‘She’ll be just fine, sweet child. She’ll be safe in here.’ He put his hand on her chest, just where her heart was located. ‘Grace will live forever in you. Don’t ever be afraid of forgetting her.’

  ‘Just make sure that it’s safe,’ she beseeched. ‘Don’t let anyone damage it.’

  ‘You have my word.’ He shook her hand solemnly.

  Aurora sat on the floor, staring at her mother’s face. She looked like a princess in her white dress. She closed her eyes and willed her brain to memorise it. She understood that it would be a long time before she would see it again. Tears welled up once more, but she blinked them away. She would have to be strong. As James had rightly said, there was far worse going on in the world. That War on Terror for example. Daddy was always ranting about Tony Blair and George Bush.

  Climbing up onto the armchair, she took a closer look at the portrait. Grace’s eyes were brown like hers, but a slightly different shape. Her mother’s eyes were like almonds whereas Aurora’s were wide.

  Maggie had explained that when Grace sat for the portrait she had been pregnant – so, she said, Aurora was in the portrait too but not visible. Aurora focused on the huge diamond on her mother’s left hand – the engagement ring from her daddy. That was locked away until she was older. She couldn’t imagine a stone like that on her small finger but it looked sparkly and wonderful all the same.

  Aurora put her fingers to her lips and kissed them. Then she reached out and touched her mother’s face.

  ‘I’ll never forget you,’ she whispered.

  Grace’s face stared impassively back at the little girl.

  ‘Goodbye.’

  PART TWO

  London 2015

  Chapter Fourteen

  Aurora buttoned up her Mac and faced out into the grey London evening. The Tube had been as packed as ever, filled to capacity with commuters on the home run. Men in suits staring blankly ahead and women with their faces hidden behind magazines. Teenagers with earphones, tapping on their screens. The station was only a five-minute walk from her flat but even this short distance seemed interminable in the driving rain. She paused at the main door of the station and bit her lip. The one day she hadn’t brought an umbrella.

  It was the week before Christmas and she still had most of her presents to buy. She simply had not had time for shopping, what with the rehearsals and her part-time job at the florist’s. The whole family were due home for the holidays. It had been years since everyone had been together. William, who had done medicine at university and was now a doctor at Great Ormond Street, worked long, unpredictable hours. Laura spent her time between London and New York, working for a PR company, and James’ photography took him all over the world.

  Aurora, though based in London, rarely went home to Oxshott. Gloria and Henry had the house to themselves, along with the dogs, Pyramus and Thisbe. Their predecessors, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, had died six years before, followed closely by a heartbroken Bilbo. A devastated Gloria had gone to the Battersea Dogs Home the next week, with Aurora in tow, to choose two new canine additions to the family. Aurora had then named the two squirming puppies after the tragic story of Pyramus and Thisbe who were forbidden to wed due to their parents’ rivalry. She had been studying Romeo and Juliet at the time and could definitely see how Shakespeare had been inspired by Ovid’s sad tale. Henry had been delighted by Aurora’s literary choice. He had half-expected her to call the dogs Beyoncé or Rihanna – certainly not classical names from a bygone age.

  Aurora had not been a typical teenager. Instead of going out kissing boys and trying cigarettes, she had instead opted to join the school theatrical society and the chess club.

  James had been around in the beginning to help her adjust and to defend her from Laura’s sharp tongue. However, his job took him away a lot and Aurora had to fend for herself. She and Laura loved each other dearly but, like all sisters, they fought frequently. Aurora, being a girl, had usurped Laura’s young-sister position in the family and it had taken her years to get used to it.

  She paused to cross the road. A black taxi sped by and splashed her.

  ‘Bugger!’ she said as her black tights were now soaked.

  Henry had set up a small trust fund for her when she had started university and she now used it to pay her rent. Despite having had two main parts in plays by an unknown playwright called Justin Debussy, she was barely making ends meet. Everyone had warned her about show business: there were five months of poverty to one month of champagne. Despite all of this, she adored it. It was in her blood. She never felt more alive than when she was on stage. Justin had a new play about to premiere and she had the main role. The theatre had been so busy practising for opening night in January that she had little or no time for anything else.

  She arrived at an old Georgian house that was situated next to an Indian restaurant. It had a red door with peeling paint and a huge bay window jutting out onto the street. The flat was a two-bedroomed affair overlooking the main high street, boasting a small kitchen and living room. Her own bedroom was on the small side, but it had a bay window with red drapes and she loved it. She shared a flat with her best friend Ophelia Carter: a struggling thespian also. They had moved in together straight after graduation from RADA.

  Shaking the excess moisture from her long dark hair, she took off her coat and hung it on the rack.

  ‘Lia?’ she called, using a pet name she had for her friend. ‘Are you home?’

  No one replied.

  Great. There’ll be enough hot water for a shower.

  Kicking open her bedroom door, she threw off her shoes, one by one, and peeled off her wet tights. The ancient plumbing in their building was temperamental to say the least and hot water was a rarity. She’d had a long day reeling off lines for an increasingly demanding Justin and she yearned for the Christmas break.

  There was no compariso
n between this bedroom and the one at home. As promised, Gloria and Henry had built an enormous extension twelve years ago. Henry’s study had taken up most of the ground floor, with walls lined with shelves of books and papers. Aurora and Laura had been given huge adjacent bedrooms on the first floor. Instead of the four-poster bed in her old house, she had been given a brand-new double with a soft mattress protector and plump pillows. She had covered her walls with posters ranging from Oscar Wilde (her favourite writer) to Lea Salonga (her idol of West End fame).

  However, her present bedroom, as pokey as it was, had real character. The ancient brass bed had a lumpy mattress and the walls were damp in places. All this aside, she loved its authenticity.

  She sat on her bed and looked at the photos she had pinned to the wall. There was one of Maggie on the beach, her lined old face smiling. She barely saw her old friend now. In the beginning, she had made the long journey home to Cornwall every couple of months. James had driven her most of the time, keeping his word. However, as time passed, her notion of ‘home’ became blurred, and soon her new life replaced her old one. Maggie, though cherished, faded into the background.

  Next to Maggie’s photo was a perfect shot of her mother’s portrait. James had taken it as a surprise, just before it had been covered up. He had presented it to her as a welcoming gift, when she had mutinously dragged her suitcase up the path, all those years ago. ‘Now, Borealis,’ he had said softly, ‘a little bit of home.’ It had been the most wonderful present anyone could have given her. Bursting into tears, she had hugged him fiercely and now that photo accompanied her wherever she went.

  To the left of Grace’s painting was one of the whole family at William’s graduation. Gloria looked so proud of her son who had followed his late father into paediatric medicine. William, despite his laidback exterior, had been focused at school and had surprised everyone when he got top marks in his A-Levels. ‘Who knew? Who knew?’ Laura had repeated in disbelief. Now, almost twenty-nine years of age, William was a handsome man with blond hair and blue eyes. The only qualm Gloria had about her second son was the fact that he was a workaholic: it was all work and no play. As a result, he was still single. Aurora met him for lunch sometimes, regaling him with tales of her life at the theatre. More often than not, his pager would buzz and his ciabatta would be left untouched.