Restoring Grace (30 page)

‘But it is better in daylight,' said Grace.
'Let's go up.’

At the top of the stairs
Allegra referred to her notes.
'It's mostly in the west bedroom.
Along here, isn't it?’

Before she knew it, Grace
had followed Allegra into the
room that Edward had used as his
study. She had
managed not to go into it
since he'd left because even the
thought
of it had made her too sad. He had had the walls
lined with bookshelves and had had a huge partners' desk
in the
middle. The shelves were still there, empty now,
arid the heart of the room had gone. What had also gone,
Grace
noted with some surprise, was the sense of desolation the thought of the room
had given her before.

‘Ah, here it is,' said Allegra.

The wood-treatment man had taken away the
skirting board and revealed a substance with the look of grubby cotton wool
branching across the wall like coral.

‘And here's the fruiting body he mentioned,'
she went on.

Together they surveyed the
rust-coloured fungus, which
stuck out into the room like a badly
cooked pancake.

‘
It's very
bad,' Allegra emphasised. 'He says so here.
It's spread a long way'

‘I can see it has,' said Grace, thinking of the
paintings underneath. 'Does it spread rapidly?'

‘It can do, the report says. It also says that
treating it is not for amateurs.'

‘Well, it would, wouldn't it? They want the
work.'

‘Grace, they wouldn't be able to charge people
this
much money for doing something which
people could
do for themselves if they had the right chemicals. And
before you say it, these people are not cowboys.
They
came very highly recommended.'

‘I'm sure.'

‘What's the room underneath here?' asked
Allegra. 'The dining room,' said Grace. 'But I'm sure it hasn't got that far,
or I would have noticed.'

‘And I expect the report would have mentioned
it if it had. This stuff does smell, doesn't it?' she wrinkled her nose
disapprovingly.

‘
So is it a report you've got there, or an
estimate?’

‘Both,
really'

‘
Don't you think we
ought to have a second opinion?
I mean, it's in these people's interest
to find dry rot and
then charge a fortune
for curing it.' Too late Grace realised
that the word 'we' in that context had linked her with
her sister,
which would look as if she'd accepted her verdict and was willing to go along
with her plans.

Allegra shrugged. 'Well, we've seen it for
ourselves, haven't we? But by all means get a second opinion. Just don't expect
me to pay for it.'

‘I can pay for it.' Grace did still have some
pride. 'I'm not destitute, you know, Allegra.'

‘I should think not. You own a house that's
probably worth nearly a million pounds.’

Grace blushed. 'There is
such a thing as land rich and
cash poor. Think of Africa.’

Her sister at last out of her house, and soon
to be out of the county, Grace picked up the telephone to ring Edward about
Demi's computer. While she was waiting to be connected she realised she had
dialled his number
without a trace of
nervousness, something she had never
quite achieved when they were
married.

‘
I really
think she should have a few of her own
things, especially her computer,'
Grace said firmly, after the preliminaries.

‘
Oh?'

‘
She didn't know she was going to college today until
yesterday, but she put in a lot of time and effort making an essay plan and
loads of notes last night.’

Edward wasn't impressed.
'I expect she knew she'd get
into trouble if she didn't do it; it
had probably been set weeks ago.'

‘It would have taken a lot of courage to go
back after
three weeks off. The fact that
she even remembered about
the essay,
let alone tried to write it, means she's taking it
seriously this time.
I read through what she'd done and was very impressed.'

‘
Hmph. I
wonder when her mother last read any of her
college work through,'
Edward muttered.

Grace didn't answer. It was a rhetorical
question, although, according to Demi, Hermia never had time to read through or
take an interest in Demi's work.

‘
I'll bring
the stuff over at the weekend. It might take me
until then to prise the things out of Hermia,' said Edward.

Grace swallowed. 'And the
money, Edward? I love
having Demi, but I can't afford—'

‘I'll set up a standing order. Let me have your
bank details.'

‘
I think
you know them, Edward. They haven't changed.’

‘
Of
course. I'm sorry. I'll sort it out today.’

After Grace had put the phone down, she glanced
at
her watch and decided she just had time
to get to Flynn's house before he left. It seemed important that she should
do so. But fate did not share her priorities and
decided
it was time she got some
fuel, forcing her to confront the
fact
that she'd been running out for a couple of days. The
car didn't
actually stop, but as she headed for the petrol
station, she had only one eye on the road. The other was
firmly
on the petrol gauge.

Thus, when she reached
Flynn's house it was two-thirty,
and there was no car in the drive;
she'd missed him.

It was a lovely house, she was forced to
recognise. He
might have been a property
speculator, but he did it in
a very high-class way. It was even bigger
than Luckenham House and was probably a couple of centuries
younger. There was a circular drive in front and
from
the outside the house looked immaculate – only some
piles of sand, a cement mixer, a wheelbarrow and
a neat
pile of dressed stone to one
side indicated this might
not be the case.

She examined the
jail-sized bunch of keys in her hand
and went through the order in her
head. The scary bit
would be when she had to
rush into the house and unset
the
alarm before it went off. She had about three minutes
and as the house
was strange to her, it might not be enough.

At least it was a cat she was feeding, not a
Rottweiler, and while she knew Siamese could be eccentric, it was
unlikely it would attack, especially as Flynn had
only
just gone.

The three locks in the
front door worked well but as
she was rushing
through the hall in the general direction
of the
kitchen to find the alarm, she realised she should
have had the bit of paper with the number on it out ready.

She thought she would remember it, it was only
four digits, after all, but when she arrived in front of the box she knew she'd
forgotten them.

She searched in her bag for the bit of paper
for an agonisingly long time before she remembered it was on the dashboard of
her car.

A string of words, including the one she hadn't
been able to say this morning, tumbled out of her mouth as
she rushed to the front door, grateful for the
small mercy
that had made her leave it open. She kept it open with her
handbag and flew back to the car.

She was as quick as she could be but still the
alarm burst into hideous song before she could get to it. Her brain fighting for
calmness through the cacophony, she
punched
out the numbers, hoping against hope that this
would be sufficient to stop the noise that was threat
ening, if not to deafen her, to give her tinnitus
for the
rest of her life.

The ringing in her ears went on for seconds
which
seemed like minutes after the noise
had stopped. She was
sweating and praying the alarm wasn't connected
automatically to the police station. Her mouth had gone so
dry she couldn't swallow and her heart was
pounding as
if she'd been fleeing for her life.

Grace was not the sort of person who, when
given someone's keys and a cat to feed, would then go round
the house, or help herself to the drinks cabinet,
but after
the shock of the alarm a
glass of water seemed essential.

The kitchen was like
something out of a magazine, or
a catalogue for
very expensive fitted kitchens. It had shiny
stone
worktops, dozens of cupboards, and a stone floor which felt suspiciously warm
beneath her feet. He prob
ably had under-floor
heating. 'What a namby pamby
thing
to have,' she said aloud, wondering where on earth
she might find a
glass.

Then she
found a note.

*

Dear Grace,
I'm sorry I couldn't be here to welcome you, but I had
to rush off I hope you find everything OK. Perhaps
when
I get back I could feed you in payment for you feeding
my cat? Best, Flynn PS It's not crucial what time you feed her: there are
always dry biscuits down so she won't starve; but
she likes
her sachets freshly opened or the floor cooks it.

*

She chuckled and then went back to her search
for a
glass. Although there were two sinks,
there was no
drainer with a mug or glass conveniently in view so she was
forced to open a cupboard. And then several more cupboards, until at last she
found something she could drink out of.

After the water had made it possible for her
tongue to move about in her mouth again, and her breathing had
steadied to something approaching normal, she set
about
finding the cat food and the cat.

She was just wondering
whether finding the cat would
involve a search
of the whole house, a by-product of
which would be
a thorough inspection of it, when a loud
yowl
from behind her made her jump more guiltily than any burglar.

‘
Oh, there
you are,' she said, as casually as she could,
in case the cat could
somehow guess her thoughts and later relate them to Flynn. 'Now all I have to
do is find your stash of food and give you some. OK?’

The cat rubbed itself
against her legs, implying no one
had spoken to her or fed her for
days. As she knew this
was not true, Grace
regarded the cat sceptically while she
scratched under its chin. 'It's
all very well being affectionate, but could you be useful too and lead me to
the pantry? Where your food is?' she added helpfully.

The cat
flung itself on to the floor and clawed at the
air round Grace's legs, as if catching invisible butterflies.
Grace
moved away, left the luxurious kitchen and found the pantry.

‘
This is a fabulous house,' she told the cat as she
squeezed jelly-covered chunks of meat into a dish
marked
'Cat'. 'Allegra would love it.’

It was only after she had
completed the ceremony of
the alarm and
the keys and had driven away, leaving the
cat
twitching the tip of its tail, did she acknowledge that she quite liked it too.
Luckenham House was beautiful, but after Flynn's mansion, it did seem a little
Spartan. And, apparently, about to be demolished by dry rot.

Chapter Twelve

‘
We must get on and organise a wine tasting,'
said Ellie when she got back from Bath, allowing Grace to make
beans on toast for supper. Totally exhausted, she
was still
bubbling over with enthusiasm, although she'd spent most of
the day humping rubbish about and sweeping floors.

‘What's the huge hurry?' Grace shared the beans
between three pieces of toast, wondering if there'd be enough. 'I want to get
Graham to come and bring his magazine friend. I don't suppose I could arrange
that without a bit of notice.'