Saving Grace (31 page)

‘So?’ Sybil asks finally. ‘I’ll drop you at Clemmie’s, go and do the errands in the city I need to do, then we’ll go home. How does that sound?’

‘Perfect.’

There is, finally, a comfortable silence, broken after a few minutes by Sybil looking slyly at Grace: ‘Don’t you want to tell me more about Patrick?’

Grace arranges her features into an expression of nonchalance. ‘What about Patrick?’ Don’t blush! thinks Grace. Not now. For God’s sake, don’t blush. Nobody knows about Patrick, and Grace is convinced that is for the best. She takes a deep breath and wills herself to stay calm. ‘What about him?’

‘Wasn’t there something going on between you?’

‘What on earth would make you think that?’ Grace feigns surprise. ‘We’re very old friends,’ Grace says lightly. ‘He’s like a brother to me.’

‘But he’s in love with you, isn’t he? At least that’s what it sounded like from your emails.’

‘I don’t think so,’ tries Grace, who doesn’t sound convincing, even to herself. ‘He did always have a crush on me when we were young,’ Grace deflects. ‘It hadn’t occurred to me he still did, but maybe you’re right.’

‘So, nothing happened in England between the two of you?’

Grace thinks back to her time with Patrick, feels a flutter of lust and loss that is instantly discombobulating.

‘Nothing happened,’ she lies smoothly, swiftly changing the subject. ‘Syb, there is something I want to ask, and I wanted to ask you face to face. I need you to tell me what Beth was saying about me. I know you don’t want to tell me, but now that I’m here, I really need to know what I’m dealing with.’

Sybil turns to look at her friend. ‘What’s the point?’ she says. ‘It’s only going to hurt you.’

‘I need to know, Syb. It won’t hurt me, I promise.’

‘I’m sure you already know most of this. She said you were crazy. That’s basically the brunt of it. She told the board at Harmont House, and it seems anyone else who would listen, that you’re bipolar and she and Ted tried to have you committed, but you escaped. That you had these unbelievable tantrums and rages, that she and Ted were terrified of you, that never has there been such a discrepancy between a public image and the private person.’

‘Wow.’ Grace shakes her head. ‘She really did a number on me.’

‘She did. Have you come back to get revenge?’

Grace laughs. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think it’s revenge that I want, but I do know I need to get things resolved. I just don’t have any idea how.’

‘M
um!’ Clemmie rocks in her mother’s arms, hands clasped tightly behind her mother’s back, squeezing her mother as the two of them stand wrapped so close, it looks as if they will never let each other go.

‘Clemmie,’ croons Grace, smelling her daughter’s hair, feeling it soft on her cheek. ‘My baby girl. My love.’

Clemmie steps back to look deep into Grace’s eyes before clasping her again, releasing her only after Luke clears his throat.

‘Hello, Mrs Chapman.’ He steps forward. ‘You probably don’t remember me, but we met once at a gala.’

‘Of course I remember you!’ Grace laughs, putting her arms out and giving him a loose, easy hug. ‘Not to mention that I’ve heard so much about you, I feel as if I know you.’

‘I’m glad you’re home. Clemmie has missed you a lot.’

‘She knows,’ Clemmie says, putting her arm through Grace’s. ‘Can I show you the apartment?’ Grace moves with her past the foyer.

‘I’ve been desperate to see what it’s like. Oh, Clemmie!’ Grace takes in the French doors that separate the living room from the bedroom, the breezy white curtains at the window, the white flokati rugs on the floor. ‘It’s so stylish! And cosy! I love it!’

‘I know! Right?’ Clemmie proudly brings her mother in, showing her the tiny black-and-white-tiled bathroom, the galley kitchen that, Clemmie proudly says, has actually been cooked in!

‘A New Yorker who cooks!’ Luke says. ‘Wonders will never cease.’

‘I am my mother’s daughter.’ Clemmie smiles. ‘Everything I learned, I learned from her.’

‘You’re a lucky fellow, that’s all I can say,’ says Grace as they go into the living room and sit down in front of a tray of fresh lemonade and chocolate chip cookies Clemmie has prepared.

‘You look amazing,’ Clemmie says, curling up on the sofa next to her mother, taking her mother’s hand and playing with her Russian wedding ring, the ring Grace has always worn on the third finger of her right hand. She looks into her mother’s eyes. ‘You look like you again. Only . . . happier.’

Grace laughs. ‘I feel like me again. It was a rough time, having that misdiagnosis, then feeling like I truly was going nuts. I’m glad it’s all over. I’m glad I’m back to almost feeling like myself.’

‘Almost?’

‘I don’t feel the same as I did before,’ Grace says. ‘It might just be timing, that my body still has to adjust to having been pounded by those heavy-duty drugs, but I have a feeling I won’t ever go back to being exactly who I was before. I can’t even explain it. Some of it is probably a good thing.’

‘I had no idea,’ says Clemmie.

‘I know,’ says Grace. ‘Neither did I. I thought my entire life was coming apart, but I think I just realized that sometimes the thing you think is going to ruin your life is the thing that saves you.’

‘The thing you think is going to ruin your life being Beth?’ Clemmie’s eyes flash.

‘It’s not just Beth. It’s the whole bipolar thing . . .’ Grace takes a deep breath. ‘Clemmie, I’ve never told you this, or your father, but part of the reason this was so awful was that my mother was bipolar. She was what was then called a manic depressive, and the one fear I have always had was that I would somehow turn out to be like her.’ Grace looks down at her hands to see they are shaking. For over twenty years she has been terrified her husband or her daughter might find out, and now that she has just confessed, she realizes it is as if a huge black cloud has finally lifted from her shoulders.

Clemmie just stares at her.

‘There are very few people who know. Your father doesn’t know. I’ve always carried such tremendous shame about it, I tried to keep it a secret. And of course, when that diagnosis was given to me, it was as if my greatest fear was coming true – that I would end up like my mother.

‘And I think that’s why, even though I was so certain he was wrong, but it’s why I thought he might be right. My mother never accepted treatment. She was an alcoholic, and mentally ill, and it killed her. I thought that if it was true – and I know there is a genetic component, which is why I was so scared – but if it was true, I could have a different outcome if I was treated. But I don’t have it, Clemmie. You know that, don’t you? I never had it.’ Grace is smiling now, unable to believe the levity she feels from having confessed. What is it that they say, she thinks, about you being only as sick as your secrets? I should have done this years ago, she thinks. What was I so frightened of?

Clemmie nods. ‘I didn’t know what to believe,’ she says. ‘Dad was so clear that you were ill, but nothing I read about bipolar sounded like you. Yes, you were obviously depressed, but there was no mania, no grandiosity, none of the things that signify the duality of it. And now that I’ve really seen what’s going on with Beth, I know she’s behind it all. You weren’t crazy. You were right all along. About everything. It’s a nightmare. She’s a nightmare . . .’ Clemmie’s words rush out of her. ‘She’s completely taken over everything and she’s distancing Dad from everyone, even me, and she’s spending all your money and I can’t believe any of us believed her. We have to stop her, Mum. We have to do something. Dad is totally miserable, but he doesn’t know how to get out of it. His book comes out next week, and normally he’s doing tons of interviews, but it’s been really quiet, and I think he’s nervous.’

‘Have the magazine reviews come out?’

Clemmie winces. ‘A couple. And they were terrible. “A shadow of his former self,” they said. “Weak, and insubstantial.” He’s pretty devastated, and now we’re dreading the
Times
review. And you heard he fired Molly? Beth is apparently now acting as his agent. It’s going from bad to worse.’

Grace shakes her head. ‘There was a lot banking on this book,’ she says quietly. ‘Publishing is not what it was. His agent confided that the publisher wouldn’t do another deal if this book doesn’t do well. I’m sorry. I’m sorry things are going badly.’ She looks up at Clemmie. ‘This must be so hard for him.’

‘What are we going to do?’ says Clemmie. ‘We have to do something.’

‘Let me call Molly,’ says Grace, any trace of jet lag disappearing. ‘Maybe she has some insight. I can tell Sybil to go home and I’ll get a car there later. Let’s see what we can find out.’

M
olly Sullivan is, has always been, larger than life. A bleached blonde, always in some variation of a red jacket, dripping with gold jewellery, she has a heart as big as the ocean, is regularly caricatured on the literary blogs, represents some of the biggest names in the business, is both feared and admired, in equal part, by the publishers she deals with on a daily basis, and is unreservedly adored by all her authors.

‘No one has ever left me,’ she is fond of saying, and it is true; her loyalty and love for her authors is unquestionable, her ability as a dealmaker unparalleled. She represents few of the younger authors – they want to be represented by someone sexier, younger, someone with their pulse on social media – but the old guard loves her, know they can rely on her to always have their backs.

Her office is in the centre of town and Grace nervously enters the office she used to know so well.

‘Grace!’ Molly flings her arms around Grace, holding her at arm’s length before pulling her in to squeeze her so tightly, Grace actually struggles for breath.

‘Gracie!’ murmurs Molly again, and when she pulls back, Grace can see the genuine emotion in her eyes. Molly may have represented Ted, but she came to know the whole family, came to love everyone as much as she had once loved Ted.

‘You look wonderful!’ Molly says, clearly surprised.

‘You expected me to be a raging crazy mess?’ Grace asks, a smile hovering at the edges of her lips.

‘Well, yes. I rather did. That’s what that
Beth
would have me believe. You do know that, Grace, yes? I’m not telling you something you don’t already know, because, dear God, I would never want to hurt you.’

‘It’s okay, Molly. I know. Clemmie told me everything today. Beth is a very smart girl who is incredibly devious. I have this feeling she orchestrated everything from the beginning, but of course I can’t know that for sure until I try and figure out why.’

‘Oh, I’ll tell you why,’ sniffs Molly. ‘She’s an evil golddigger. I knew it the first time I met her. She spent the whole time pretending to be deeply concerned about you, explaining how ill you were, and I just found myself sitting there thinking, Grace? Grace has a mental illness? Surely I would have known that, sometime over the almost twenty years I have known you. Surely there would have been some hint if that were true.’

‘And Ted said nothing.’

Molly purses her lips. ‘It’s very clear to all of us who know Ted that he is completely under her spell. Now we think he’s just terrified of her, but he has made his bed and will just have to lie in it. Apparently she’s talking to anyone who will listen about how they’re planning on self-publishing, with her as the editor. It’s all a complete disaster. Do you know, he didn’t even have the guts to fire me? She did it! Can you imagine? After all these years together, everything we’ve been through, I get a phone call from her one afternoon telling me she – this
nothing
– is taking over as his agent. Can you imagine? Not to mention that this book is just not ready. It needs a huge amount of work. The publisher tried to tell him, apparently, but Beth has “edited” it, and Ted refused to listen. When I told him, I got fired. I don’t know if you’ve seen the early reviews, but they’re terrible. Grace, his career is just heading down the tubes with this girl.’ Tears of rage fill Molly’s eyes. ‘And I . . . I’m so hurt, Grace. So hurt! They’re going to be there tonight and honestly, I haven’t seen him since all of this happened, and I’m dreading it.’

‘Tonight?’

‘The American Association Library dinner? Usually I love nothing more than seeing everyone, but tonight I don’t want to go.’

Grace stares at her. ‘Tonight? Is there a reception first?’

‘Of course!’ Molly peers at her. ‘Grace? Do you want to go? I can get your name on the list if you do.’

Grace pauses. ‘I don’t know that I want to go exactly, but I want to see it with my own eyes, however painful it might be. I won’t stay for the dinner, but I’d love to be a fly on the wall for the reception.’

‘A fly on the wall? With that blazing red hair?’ Molly lifts an eyebrow. ‘You know there are some remarkable washout sprays at the drugstore if you really do want to go incognito.’

Grace smiles. ‘I don’t know that that’s altogether necessary. I’ll just do my hair differently, I’m sure that’s enough. God, Molly. Thank you.’ Grace wraps her arms around Molly in a warm hug. ‘I know there’s more to this story. I just have to find out what it is.’

‘You were the best thing that ever happened to that man. He’ll come to his senses, Grace. He has to. You can see he’s regretting it already. At least, you’ll see for yourself tonight.’