Chestnut Street (28 page)

“I see that,” Miss Mack said. “And I’ll help you. Willingly.”

They sat and talked for a while as Miss Mack stroked Lilian’s golden hair, which she could see only as a blur, and she explained to Lilian that the street was zoned as residential and that if there was any complaint that somebody had deliberately gone for change of use and begun a commercial undertaking there, then neighbors would object. There would be no question of a home industry.

And Lilian went home and showed Tim the bank notes and he folded them carefully away for their future, and told her that he loved her. And they would have a wonderful day tomorrow.

Lilian lay awake and thought for a long time about Miss Mack and the man she didn’t marry.

Two houses along the terrace, Miss Mack lay awake for a long time and thought about the generous girl with the big heart who was prepared to regard terminal meanness as a little flaw, like snoring.

Normally Miss Mack did not worry about what would happen in the next thirty or forty years, but tonight she felt an ache to be younger. She wanted to be around and see this lovely girl, Lilian, make a success of her marriage. It didn’t matter that it proved that she had done the wrong thing herself all those years ago.

That was something that Miss Mack did not allow herself to think.

Grace was calm when everyone else was fussing about New Year’s Eve. It all had to do with the fact that she was so very organized. The hotel had been booked for over a year; they would all arrive on New Year’s Eve during the afternoon.

It would be wonderful to get out of Dublin, where everyone else would be frenetic and in noisy, awful places worrying about taxis home.

Grace and her friends would be in this exquisite little country hotel, with its heated swimming pool, its little wood by a lakeside for healthy walks, its legendary menu for a memorable meal to end the millennium.

Her friends said that Grace was a true wonder, so serene in the face of everything that life threw at her, like working for that difficult Lola in the boutique, like being married to that difficult Martin, an accountant so busy that he hardly stopped to notice her at all.

The other couples speculated about her a lot. Was she happy in a life where she seemed to get little appreciation either in the home or outside it? Sometimes they wanted to kill Martin for being so unobservant, for never praising her cooking, for not
admiring her appearance. They also wanted to kill Lola, who took Grace for granted.

And now, when everyone else was dithering about New Year’s Eve plans, Grace had come up with the perfect place for them all to go.

Four couples in their twenties and thirties, no children yet, any of them. They could have gone to any of a dozen parties, but this seemed a much better idea, two nights away in a very prestigious place. Good to talk about; other people envied them. And Grace had made it easier for them; every month she would manage to collect some money from them, and now at the end of the year the whole festivities had been paid for very painlessly. They now felt they were having this lavish New Year’s outing almost free!

“I’m glad we
did
pay her each month,” Anna said to Charles. “We’d find it hard to raise that kind of money just at the moment.”

“It’s only temporary,” Charles said hastily. He didn’t like thinking of the gambling losses that had mounted up so frighteningly. This weekend would be a godsend; he couldn’t think how else they could have seen the New Year in in any style.

“Poor Grace … you know, darling, she does all this fussing and organizing because she literally has nothing else in her life,” said Olive to Harry. Olive was wrongly very contented and even smug about her own life, which she felt was full of people but did not realize was also full of Harry’s girlfriends.

“Oh, I don’t know—fine-looking bird,” Harry said ruminatively. Grace had never responded even mildly to his flirtations and he had hopes that the New Year’s weekend might yield something.

Sean and Judith had spent the last six weeks debating whether or not they would go on the weekend. In the end it always came down to Grace. She would be so utterly disappointed if her dream were to fall apart. They didn’t feel they could let her down, even though they really did need time out together alone. It was
absurd, this loyalty to Grace, when they should be trying to work out whether they would separate after four years of marriage.

“How can we even think of her when our whole future is up for discussion?” Sean asked.

“Right, you can be the one to tell Grace, then,” said Judith, and they knew that they would go on the weekend, like everyone else.

Lola needed the boutique open for a couple of days between Christmas and New Year’s. Lots of business, she said, dizzy women who had nothing to wear for the Punchestown races, they would make a mint of money. Lola couldn’t come in herself, but she hoped that Grace could. Martin hardly noticed that she wasn’t at home.

A lot of four ball games had been arranged at the club; he could always grab a sandwich and soup.

Grace stood in the shop, sold expensive clothes to rich women and thought back on the well-organized but exhausting Christmas with her mother and Martin’s parents and assorted aunts. Why did she do it? she sometimes asked herself. They thought it was easy, that the turkey basted itself, carved itself and created all its own accompaniments. Had Martin enjoyed it all? Hard to know—he said so little these days. They saw each other so little.

Unlike Anna and Charlie … they were always off to the races together or going to poker parties. Never apart.

And even Olive and Harry seemed to be more companionable, Harry often with his arm draped around Olive’s neck. Martin wouldn’t do that in a million years. Everyone knew that Harry had a wandering eye, of course, but Olive didn’t appear to notice.

She wondered had Judith and Sean enjoyed their Christmas? They seemed tense recently, something to do with Sean being offered a job in the Gulf States and Judith not wanting to go. Still, it would all sort itself out at New Year’s Eve.

As she hung dresses back on hangers and filled the till with credit card slips for Lola, Grace thought of the wonderful oasis
she had created for them all on Friday. There would be a light afternoon tea when they had all had their swims and walks, then they would retire to their rooms, all with four-poster beds, and get ready for the feast.

Thinking about beds made Grace wonder whether all the other couples might try out the four-posters before dinner, and make love. It wasn’t likely in her own case. Martin was tired a lot and might well sit in an armchair and read the newspaper or a golf magazine. Still, it would all be wonderful, Grace told herself, as she totted up the day’s takings and rang Lola just before she turned off the lights and headed for home.

“You were right, Lola—much better than we hoped,” she said, reading her boss the figures.

“Thank you, Grace. You’re very good.” Lola did not seem her usual confident self; in fact, she sounded rather down.

“And a very Happy New Year, Lola, and everything.”

“Yes, well …”

Grace didn’t say any more; she had already told Lola many times about their own magical New Year’s plans. She had heard nothing in return. They wished each other well and Grace set all the burglar alarms and went home.

Martin was at the dining table with a lot of papers spread in front of him.

“You’re not working, are you?” she said sympathetically. Imagine—when everyone else was taking two weeks off, he had office stuff with him.

“You were too,” he said, holding out his hand to her.

She was pleased.

“But surely you don’t need to do all this?”

“Well, you’re only as good as your last client thinks you are.” He smiled at her.

Grace loved him so much she wished she were a better, more entertaining wife. But at least she ran his life smoothly for him, and surely that’s what he wanted.

“Oh, there was a message from that hotel we’re going to tomorrow. They wanted us to call; I waited to let you do it.”

Grace was pleased. She knew what it was about. She had asked them to put a New Year’s candle and a half-bottle of Champagne in each room; there was money left over in the kitty for that. They would be ringing to confirm.

She was totally unprepared for the news. Everyone in the hotel had come down with flu—the chef literally could not leave his bed, the waitresses just as bad. The family who ran the place had been advised most sternly by their doctor that it would be both irresponsible and impossible to open. They were so very, very sorry, and of course though naturally every penny would be refunded, they would never be able to apologize …

Grace didn’t hear the end of the conversation. The phone sat in her hand as she contemplated what lay ahead. Everything was in ruins. It was all her own fault. Why had she set out to be the perfect organizer and the one in charge? She had phoned from the kitchen so that Martin would not hear of her little surprise arrangement.

Grace had no idea how long she had sat there by the phone when Martin came out. He knew that something was very, very wrong. Wrong enough for him to pour her a brandy.

“I’ll phone the others,” he offered.

“No. I invited them, I’ll uninvite them,” she said grimly.

“We’ll get in somewhere else,” he said uselessly.

“Sure, Martin … a booking for eight people New Year’s Eve, twenty-four hours’ notice. No problem.”

“So what will we do?” He looked at her. Grace, the unflappable Grace, who had a solution to everything. But not tonight.

“Could we eat at home?” he began.

“I’ve defrosted the freezer.” Her voice was flat.

“There’ll be places open tomorrow.”

“Sure,” she said in this strange voice. “I’ll call everyone now.”

Martin stood by watching helplessly as she spoke in a listless, beaten voice to Anna, and Olive and Judith. He could only guess
at what they were saying at the other end of the line. It seemed to be reassuring. She was suggesting that they all come around to this house the following night at eight o’clock.

“We’ll think of something,” she said in a doom-laden tone before she hung up.

Martin tried to help. “It’s worse for the people with the bad flu,” he began.

“Much,” said Grace. “I’m going to bed now.”

“Don’t we have to plan what we’ll well … um … do?” Normally Grace liked to plan things down to the bone.

“No point,” said Grace. “Goodnight, Martin.”

When she had gone upstairs he rang the couples himself.

“What’ll we do, Charlie?”

“Four to one she’ll be up in five minutes drawing up lists and rotas,” said Charlie, who wondered would they get their money back; it would be very handy.

“What’ll we do, Harry?”

“I don’t suppose we could leave the women to it and sort of cruise the bars—lots of talent out on a night like that,” said Harry hopefully.

“What’ll we do, Sean?”

“Should we all just sit in our own homes and discuss the future with each other?” Sean asked. It was what he dearly longed to do himself. This could be the excuse he had been dreaming of.

In three homes that night they discussed the problem.

“We must be owed a fair crack each—that wasn’t a cheap hotel,” said Charles.

“This is
not
the time to ask for it back,” Anna warned. “Poor Grace is almost certain to be in therapy over all this.”

They knew a dead cert for the races after the weekend. If they had a couple of thousand it would see them right.

Olive and Harry were talking about it all too. Olive thought it was possibly no harm—they were not going to be in a place with people falling out of their swimsuits into Harry’s willing hands.
But she didn’t say this. She said that Grace was quite likely to have a nervous breakdown. Organizing was her only skill, after all. If that was gone, what else remained?

Judith and Sean said now they had all the time on earth to talk, there was nothing to say. So they didn’t have to pack all their clothes and get ready. They didn’t have to face, with what would have been a forced jollity, this group of friends so as not to let Grace down. Now she had been let down by the hotel instead.