Playing Grace (7 page)

Gilbert stirred him up again. ‘Even when your office isn’t locked it’s a bind.’

‘Now, look—’

‘Perhaps I could just fill it from the toilet.’ Gilbert grinned. ‘Not the actual lavatory, of course, but the hand basin. If I tilted it to get it under the taps …’

Gilbert was acting out the extreme difficulties this would present when Alistair said very slowly and very softly, ‘If you do not put that kettle down, I will take it and shove it right up—’

‘I think there’s probably enough water in there already for two cups, Gilbert,’ Grace said hastily. ‘I’m not bothered about having anything.’

Gilbert gave her a little bow as if to underline how accommodating she’d been and what a pain Alistair was.

‘So, happy now, Gilbert?’ Alistair asked. ‘Good. Well, if it’s not too much trouble, perhaps you’d keep quiet from here on in, let Grace and me sort out this great big stinking mess?’

Gilbert raised his eyebrows at the tone, but carried the kettle back over to the wooden table.

‘I’m sure it’s not a mess, Alistair,’ Grace soothed. ‘I will ring the electricity company. I’m presuming you haven’t done that?’

‘When have I had the time?’

She did not say,
during the two-hour lunch breaks you seem to be taking these days
, and she ignored the way Gilbert was rolling his eyes, secure in the knowledge that with his back turned to Alistair, he would not be seen.

‘If we pay by direct debit,’ Grace said reasonably, ‘then this bill is obviously a mistake. If we don’t, we’ll simply send them a cheque, explain the problem. There’s no way the electricity is going to go off.’

At that moment there was a clunk and the lights went out.

Alistair bellowed into the darkness, ‘I was right, but oh no, you wouldn’t have it. And now look.’

‘She can’t look, it’s gone dark,’ Gilbert said from somewhere near the wooden table and there was a stumbling noise and then an ‘Ow, bugger,’ which Grace hoped wasn’t Alistair attempting to find Gilbert and grab him by the throat. The sound of china hitting against china suggested Gilbert was trying to move around too.

‘Stay still, both of you,’ she said, ‘you’re going to hurt yourselves. Let your eyes get used to the gloom. And Gilbert, did you just switch the kettle on?’

‘I did. And then the lights went out … Ah.’

‘It’s tripped the switch on the fuse box, that’s all. There’s obviously something wrong with it. Nothing to do with the red bill.’ She started to feel around her desk until she reached the drawers. Pulling open the middle one, she extracted a torch and, when she had turned it on, shone it first at Alistair to make sure he was still upright, and then at Gilbert. ‘Unplug the kettle, will you?’ she said, ‘I’ll just go and turn the electricity on again. I’ll only be a couple of seconds. Don’t move.’

She picked up her chair and, carrying it and the torch, made her way slowly back out into reception. The electricity box was high up on the wall just outside the front door and soon, by climbing on the chair, she had opened it and
found the switch that was in the ‘off’ instead of the ‘on’ position. She flicked it back up and there was that clunk again, and then light. She blinked at the brightness and closed the front of the box.

When she got back to her office, Gilbert was sitting on the edge of her desk with his trouser leg rolled up, examining a red mark just below his knee.

‘Desk or easy chair?’ she asked.

‘Both,’ he replied.

Alistair appeared to have calmed down. ‘Thank you, Grace,’ he said and looked shamefaced. This was the nice Alistair, the one who, although frustrating to work for, made up for it by being kind and funny. The other Alistair appeared to have melted away into the dark.

She put the torch carefully back in the drawer exactly where it had been lying before and held her hand out for the papers. This time Alistair gave them to her and she put them on her desk and flattened out the creased evidence of all the waving and fretting to which Alistair had subjected them.

A quick skim over the figures left her none the wiser, and then something caught her attention.

‘Alistair, this bill isn’t ours. It’s not even for anyone in this street. Saracen Place, that’s quite a hike away.’

Alistair came and looked over her shoulder.

‘But the bill came to me.’

‘When? I’ve never seen it. I’d have noticed if it had been hanging around since the end of August. Where did you find it today?’

‘My in tray.’

‘This isn’t making sense. Your in tray has been cleared out many times since August.’ She didn’t say by her. ‘When I had a quick peek last, you were more or less up to date.’

Alistair picked up the papers again. He was frowning, but as Grace watched she saw a tiny relaxation in the frown as if he’d just had a thought.

‘Unless …’ he said, ‘unless it was among those papers I found at the bottom of my briefcase. You know the briefcase I take to the Chamber of Commerce meetings? I haven’t used it since the last one and I was clearing it out ready for yesterday’s meeting and … yes … I remember taking some papers out of the bottom of it and placing them on the floor.’ He beamed at her. ‘Yes, that’s probably it.’

Grace knew that was the best explanation she was likely to get. Asking him how he’d managed to open someone else’s post, continue to think it was his, file it in his briefcase even though it was a red bill and then wipe its existence completely from his mind was pretty pointless. She just hoped that the people in Saracen Place weren’t still groping around in the dark because of him.

‘Perhaps I ought to take a look at those other papers that were in your briefcase as well,’ she said.

He nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, of course, Grace. Good idea. I’ll get them now.’ Another smile and he trundled from the room.

‘That,’ Gilbert said, rolling down his trouser leg, ‘was a classic, even by Alistair’s standards. He’s getting worse.’

‘Shh.’

When Alistair came back, he was not holding any papers but he had put on his coat. The offending briefcase was clutched to his chest.

‘There’s not another Chamber of Commerce meeting now, is there?’ Grace asked, staring at it.

Alistair appeared to be ignoring her. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said brightly. ‘Can you just hang on till I get back?’ He called across to Gilbert. ‘You too … as you’re here anyway.’ He started to leave the room.

Grace followed him. ‘Those papers, Alistair, remember you were going to fetch them?’ But the front door was already closing behind him.

Back in Grace’s office, Gilbert had taken up residence in the easy chair again. ‘Marvellous. Now I’ll have to wait for him and I’ll end up rushing around to get Vi’s supplies. And he’s forgotten all about my payment.’ He gave her a sly smile. ‘I don’t suppose, Grace, that you could take a look?’

Over the next twenty minutes, Grace sorted out where Gilbert’s payment had been messed up, and when she tried Alistair’s office door and now found it open, left him a note on a large piece of paper about the new cheque he needed to write for the outstanding amount. On the floor was what she assumed were the other papers he had found in that briefcase. She sifted through them and the in tray to make sure none of it was toxic. She answered a couple of letters on Alistair’s behalf, putting them in envelopes ready to drop in the postbox on her way home. She checked the answer phone and dealt with what she could, leaving Alistair another larger note about a couple of things that only he could sort out.

In the kitchen she emptied the fridge of everything looking past its best, put it all in the bin and then, carrying the full bin-liner through to the reception area, left it near the door to take downstairs when she went out. She walked back through to her office to give Mrs Macintosh, the New Zealander, a quick call to see how her husband had got on at the emergency dentist and, finally, she pulled down the blinds on the two windows overlooking the street and had a bit of a clean around with the duster and polish kept in her drawer next to the torch.

‘For goodness’ sake, Grace,’ Gilbert said, ‘just sit down and relax. Have a cold cup of tea. You do not get paid to
do all this extra stuff. Remind me again how many hours of office admin are in your contract?’

Grace didn’t answer.

‘All I can say is that Alistair hit pay dirt when he found a woman as dedicated to order as you are.’

‘We’ve talked about this before, Gilbert,’ she said, carrying on with the polishing. ‘I’m not necessarily doing it for Alistair. I like things to run smoothly, be in the right place. Anything else makes me feel unsettled.’

‘Never think of initiating a coup though, Grace? Storming his desk, taking over the company? You could run it better than he could with your eyes closed.’ Gilbert did a camp pause. ‘Actually, I think that is how Alistair runs it most of the time – eyes closed, fingers in ears, brain up his—’

‘Don’t be daft, Gilbert.’

‘Or looking for something else, something with a bit more power? Yes,’ he lowered his voice, ‘you could set up a rival company. I’d come and work for you like a shot. Bet quite a few of the other art guides in London would too. I can see it now.’ Gilbert swept his hand through the air in an exaggerated arc. ‘Guided by Grace. Got a certain ring to it, don’t you think?’

‘No, I don’t. I’m perfectly happy pootling around here. Suits me, Gilbert. I like the routine.’

She didn’t know if that sounded a bit defensive, but the
soothing strains of Mozart emitting from Gilbert’s phone distracted him. His face suggested he was anything but soothed.

‘Ah, what fresh hell is this?’ he said in a weary tone before answering it. For a long time he said nothing, and when he did it was obvious he was really having to fight to get even one or two words out.

‘No … I did tell you he would be coming … Yes, we discussed it … to read the meter. He should have had an identification thing round his neck … well, that’s all right then … no, what? Wait … so he hasn’t read the meter? Well, yes, it could have been forged … but … No, I’m not cross … just … look … I’ll be back soon. Yes, I’ll remember.’

‘Another day in Paradise,’ he said, coming off the phone, and Grace tried to head off what threatened to be a return visit from the black cloud of Vi by wondering aloud what was so urgent that Alistair had to leave as quickly as he had. It was almost furtive. And why did they have to stay until he got back?

‘Perhaps he’s gone to see a man about a Doge,’ Gilbert said laughing hysterically and then apologised immediately. ‘Too long spent in the Venice rooms this afternoon.’

They batted a number of increasingly daft ideas about before deciding that it was probably something mundane
– perhaps he was picking up proofs of the new leaflet from the printers and wanted them to stay back to check them over?

Which was when they heard the door downstairs slam.

‘Brace yourself,’ Gilbert said, and they sat and waited for Alistair to climb the stairs. They heard the door to the reception area open and Alistair say, ‘Just through here.’

‘He’s got someone with him,’ Grace whispered.

Gilbert laughed. ‘Bit heavy-footed for a fancy woman.’

The door was flung wide.

‘Ah, here you are.’ Alistair seemed very jovial. ‘I’ve got someone I’d like to introduce. Someone who’s going to bring a bit of new blood to the team. Here he is: Tate Jefferson.’

Before she saw him, Grace knew it was going to be the guy with blond hair. And here he was: striped trousers, evening dress jacket, rubber wristbands, biker boots.

‘There you go, Gracie,’ he said, giving her a double thumbs-up, ‘told you we might bump into each other again.’

CHAPTER
5

‘It’s Grace, not Gracie,’ she said, but Tate Jefferson gave no indication of having heard her. She was going to repeat it, but decided she could not summon up enough politeness to make it sound anything less than aggressive. She smiled serenely instead, as if she were pleased to see him again, but her heart was somewhere at the back of her throat and her mind already laying out the framework for a coping strategy, some way of minimising the presence of this disturbing, memory-stirring, testosterone-exuding man grinning away at her.

She continued to smile serenely as Alistair made a speech about how it was a new era, how he’d had to think hard about ways to widen the company’s appeal and how Tate (boyish slap on the blond guy’s back) would attract a completely different group of clients.

‘Tate,’ Alistair said, laying down his briefcase, ‘will do more cutting-edge tours, show people the up-and-coming
artists – even the ones no one has heard of yet. It’ll be contemporary, in your face, challenging.’

He rocked back on his heels and executed a weird kind of swing at an invisible baseball with an invisible bat which Grace assumed was a movement designed to make him seem go-getting and modern. It was as embarrassing as watching your dad grooving his way on to the dance floor at a wedding.

There was the slightest of double-takes from Tate at Alistair’s puzzling body language, and then he turned his attention back to Grace. Suddenly his hand was out towards her for shaking. It was the hand with the silver ring.

She took it graciously and refused to listen to any of the nerves in her body and what they were shouting at her. One shake and she would drop this unsettling hand, but its owner seemed quite happy to let it linger round hers.

‘What’s Tate short for?’ she asked, trying to pull her hand free. ‘Mutate?’

‘Grace!’ Alistair said, but her words had the desired effect on Tate: she felt him let go of her hand as he laughed.

‘Gracie’s pissed with me,’ he said, turning to Alistair. ‘We had a run-in earlier. You know you suggested I tag along on a tour, see how they’re done? Well, I tagged along with Gracie.’

‘Grace.’

‘And, well, cut to the chase, we didn’t see eye to eye.’

‘Ah,’ Gilbert said getting up. ‘So you’re the obnoxious, opinionated American Grace was telling me about.’

Tate looked down at his boots and then back up at Gilbert.

‘Yeah, guilty of that.’ He did not look guilty at all. His hand was out again and Gilbert came over and shook it with every appearance of being amused.