Saving Grace (9 page)

Instead she is quickly pulling dates from the shopping bag. They are supposed to be for Harmont House, but instead she will give them to Ted, slicing the dates in half to add a fresh sage leaf, wrapping them in prosciutto and popping them in the oven for ten minutes. These are his favourite, and his hunger will not be helping his mood. She will head back out to the barn with the nibbles, and the glass of Scotch, before running into town, at rush hour, to wait as a printer laboriously churns out the five hundred or so pages of his manuscript.

She won’t be back for ages. She has been in service to other people all day long and is not about to stop now.

Ted, engrossed in his computer, looks up briefly and thanks her for the Scotch, eyes lighting up at the dates, flashing her his most charming smile, unaware of the impact his fury has had. Always has.

Grace loves him, but she is tired.

She loves him, but she cannot manage him by herself.

It is only when she goes back to the house, Ted’s disc in her hand, to gather her things, that she remembers Beth. Beth! The sweet young woman who was a friend of Clemmie’s. Wait. She isn’t a friend of Clemmie’s, but perhaps of Luke’s? A friend of
someone’s
, at any rate. Why else would she have been at their table? And Ted liked her! Why hasn’t Grace called her? She pauses by the phone, excited suddenly, unable to process why on earth she hadn’t set up an interview as soon as she got home from the event.

Dialling the number, she is part relieved, part disappointed when the call goes to a machine.

‘Beth? It’s Grace Chapman here. We met at the gala the other night and chatted a bit about you possibly helping us out as Ted’s assistant. I’m so sorry I didn’t call earlier, but if you’re still available, I’d love to set something up. Maybe you could even come in and do a trial. I always think that’s the best way to see if someone’s a good fit . . . I’m sorry, I’m babbling. Give me a call back, and let’s have a chat and see if we can figure something out. Thank you. Have a good evening.’

Feeling the weight of a thousand problems leave her shoulders, she heads out to the car.

A
t quarter to eleven Grace looks out the window and frowns. She is so immersed in measuring out the ingredients for the marinade for the chicken she is making today, she has totally forgotten she had anything else planned.

An old burgundy Subaru pulls into the driveway, surely Beth. She isn’t supposed to be here until eleven; Grace was planning to use these fifteen minutes to finish off writing cheques.

The bills have been piling up for weeks. Last night, when the phone rang and it was an automated message saying their cable was about to be disconnected due to non-payment of bills, Grace realized how disorganized things had become.

Ellen had paid the bills. When her mother first got sick and Ellen grew more distracted at work, Grace found a bookkeeper, thinking that if the bills were taken care of, Grace might perhaps be able to take care of everything else, but it didn’t work out, and the responsibility fell back to Grace, who was fantastically disorganized. She was able to pretend to be organized. For about two weeks. Then bills would get opened in the kitchen instead of the office, put down on the countertop, where they would stay until the cleaning lady swept them into a neat pile, stacked the catalogues on top, where they would be promptly forgotten about for weeks. Sometimes months.

Grace’s irritation at Beth arriving fifteen minutes early for the interview quickly dissipates when she realizes bill-paying need never be this disorganized again.

The doorbell doesn’t ring. No knocks on the door. Grace goes again to the window and sees that Beth is not getting out of the car yet. Grace will walk out and welcome her in. Suddenly, she wants Beth to like her. To like them. She wants Beth to fall in love and take the job.

‘I
’m so sorry I’m early.’ Beth climbs out of the car as soon as she sees Grace walking over. ‘I was so worried about being late I thought better to be early, but I didn’t want to disturb you.’

‘It’s fine. Come in. Did you find it okay?’

‘I follow wherever my iPhone tells me to go,’ says Beth. ‘I don’t even bother looking at the road anymore. I just follow the blue line.’

I like her, thinks Grace, as she laughs. ‘Why don’t I show you around?’

Grace chats away to Beth, not really sure whether this is how she is supposed to interview. She suspects she ought to be sitting down and firing questions at Beth, but isn’t sure what to ask; she figures it will work just as well to show her around and explain what needs to be done as they go, as she remembers.

‘This is my little office.’ Grace leads her into the tiny room, not much more than a cupboard, off the kitchen, embarrassed suddenly at the piles of papers, at the utter mess.

‘Oh God,’ she winces. ‘Now you can see what a disaster I am.’

Beth smiles gently. ‘It’s all fixable,’ she says. ‘I’m an expert at getting filing systems going. I’ll have this whipped into shape in a day.’

‘If you do, I may have to steal you for myself.’

‘That does lead me to something I’ve been thinking about ever since you phoned,’ says Beth. ‘Is the job your husband’s assistant? Or is it more of a family, household thing? I adore the idea of working for your husband, particularly as I’m such a big reader and I’ve followed his work for years, but I’m not very good at just doing one thing. I know it sounds odd, but I’m much happier when I’m multitasking, and happier still when I’m so busy I barely have time to think. I know when we met at the gala you said it was for your husband, but I could really help you in here. And don’t take this the wrong way, but your pantry is in desperate need of some organization.’

Grace squints at her. ‘Are you absolutely sure you’re not heaven-sent?’

Beth laughs. ‘That’s what my old boss said! Did you get the references I sent?’

‘I did,’ says Grace. ‘I just haven’t had a chance to call them yet.’

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ Beth says. ‘But I realize that mobile number is really old and I have a feeling they may have changed it. If there are any problems, just email her. She’s much easier to get hold of by email anyway. Is there another office in the house where your husband works?’

‘He’s in the barn. Let’s take him out some iced tea.’

T
ed is in the wing chair by the fireplace, notebook balancing on his knee as he makes notes for his next novel. He has always made notes the old-fashioned way, scribbling on a legal pad with a particular Pilot pen. Any other pen, any other kind of notebook and it just doesn’t work. For many years he wrote his novels in longhand, and for a while dictated them to Ellen before she brought him into the twentieth century by teaching him to use the computer.

He looks up as Grace knocks and opens the huge doors that line one wall of the barn, the dachshunds running in between her legs, Beth behind her, putting the notebook aside as he notes the tray.

‘Darling, you remember Beth from the gala? We’ve been having a long chat and she’s fantastically organized and full of energy, not to mention experience!’ Grace hears herself selling Beth, tailing off only when she sees Ted is merely gazing at Beth, assessing her, not really listening to Grace.

‘Are you a reader?’ Ted peers at her.

‘Oh, yes! A huge reader. I just finished the new Richard Beattie.’

Ted cocks his head. ‘And? What did you think?’

‘Honestly? I thought it was overwritten. And smug. I loved
The Longest Journey
, but since then I think his writing has become worse and worse. This felt like an MFA student desperately trying to please his professor.’

There is a pause before Ted barks with laughter. ‘Good God!’ He chuckles, looking at Grace. ‘She’s right! She’s absolutely right!’

Even Grace is impressed. Ted has had a long-running feud with Richard Beattie, which has been hinted at occasionally in some of the more literary magazines, including a piece over ten years ago in
The New Yorker
, but most people wouldn’t know that. Most people would have no idea of how much Ted despises Richard Beattie, that the perfect way to Ted Chapman’s heart is to stick a knife through Richard Beattie’s.

Ted shakes his head. ‘So who
do
you like?’

‘Other than you?’

Ted nods a gracious assent as Beth reels off a list of Ted’s peers, including what she thought of their most recent books. Her appraisals are honest and fair, and seemingly completely in line with Ted’s views, his face lighting up with delight as she continues talking.

Grace sits back, studying her. She still has no idea how old Beth is, but is guessing early thirties; perhaps thirty-five at the most. She is pretty, in a completely unassuming way. No one could pull Grace aside and whisper, did she really think it was a good idea having Beth as an assistant for Ted? Wasn’t she worried?

Beth is not someone who inspires that kind of worry.

And yet, there is something entirely unexpected about her. She looks as if she might bury herself in light women’s reads, the kinds of books that sell by the shedload, are in every airport bookstore but are rarely reviewed by the publications that fall over themselves to review Ted Chapman.

Grace would never have expected her to have not only read every one of the serious literary tomes to have been published over the last three years, but to be able to discourse so cleverly about them.

Truly, she wonders, is there anything this girl can’t do?

Ted is, as indeed is she, charmed and disarmed. Her organizational skills have yet to be put to the test, but thus far she is passing the personality and intelligence test with flying colours.

‘So?’ Ted turns to Beth, obvious delight in his eyes. ‘When can you start?’

‘Now?’ Beth laughs, before turning serious. ‘I just moved here from Fairfield, Connecticut. Literally, last week. I’ve just finished unpacking in the new house in Northvale, and I really don’t have anything left to do today other than a few errands.’ She turns to Grace. ‘I could help organize your office, if you’d like.’

‘Really?’ Grace doesn’t know what to think. ‘I’d love it, but we still need to talk about salary and things like that. Holiday entitlement. How we pay you.’

‘Why don’t we figure all of that stuff out on Monday? I can see that you need help and I’m here to help. At the very least, let me do your pantry. How about that?’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And while you’re here,’ Ted chimes in, ‘I’ve got a pile of signed books that need to be sent out to various charities.’

‘Perfect. I can stop at the post office on the way home.’

G
race has made ginger and honey chicken, braised endive, and sticky rice tonight, with a hazelnut peach meringue. She doesn’t make rice very often these days, particularly as they are both attempting a low-carb diet, but every now and then she needs to treat herself, needs to treat Ted. Meringue is his favourite, and his delight earlier, at walking into the kitchen to find her whipping egg whites, has put a spring in Grace’s step.

‘Cheers.’ Ted raises his glass to Grace as she sits down opposite him at the kitchen table. ‘Why does it look so good in here?’ He looks around, frowning. ‘Were the cleaners in today?’

Grace shakes her head. ‘It was your new assistant, Beth! She said she’d just help with the pantry, but she hit the entire kitchen like a whirlwind. You have to see the pantry! She threw away everything out of date and organized everything else beautifully. Then she tidied up the entire kitchen and wanted to stay to do all the bill-paying, but I sent her home.’

‘You didn’t want her paying the bills?’

‘I do want her paying the bills, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hand our chequebook over to someone on their first day. She actually offered to take it home with her and do it from home, but I just couldn’t.’

‘Why?’ Ted cocks his head. ‘
Do
you think there’s something untrustworthy about her?’

‘Not in the slightest!’ Grace quickly says. ‘She seems like Mary Poppins. And her reference was great.’

‘Just one?’

‘Yes. She emailed me back right away. Beth really does seem perfect. I’m quite sure she’ll take over the bill-paying next week, probably on Monday, but I am aware we don’t really know anything about her . . . I really didn’t want her taking our chequebook home.’

‘I think that’s very wise. So your instincts are good? You, Grace, have always had tremendous instincts about people.’

Grace pauses. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I have nothing bad flaring up, but . . . well. She’s unexpected, isn’t she?’

‘In what way?’

‘In that she isn’t who she appears to be. She looks so . . . uncomplicated. Given her plainness and . . . simplicity, I would have presumed her to be married, to live in a house with lots of fluffy white things, pillows and lacy sheets, to treat herself to chocolates on the weekend, and read romantic novels. But she clearly proved me wrong on that count. I wonder how else I’m wrong?’ Grace laughs. ‘I’ll say this for her, she seems to be unexpected in entirely wonderful ways.’

‘Hear hear,’ Ted says, raising his glass. ‘Even the way she came in to collect the books was quiet and confident. She seems to know exactly what she’s doing. I like that. There was no hesitation. She strikes me as a girl who has a lot of common sense.’

‘I think so too,’ Grace says. ‘Thank God! Thank God we’ve finally found someone who may make our lives easier. I feel a bit like this is the first day I have actually been able to breathe.’ Grace raises a glass in a toast. ‘To easier lives,’ she says, feeling a levity that has been missing since the day Ellen left.