suddenly draining of colour.
‘A mother-of-pearl-and-gold cigarette lighter,’ she repeated slowly, ‘with the words “Always and Evermore” engraved on the side.’
The crowd burst into a round of enthusiastic applause.
‘It’s amazing!’ Maxwell raved. ‘Absolutely incredible! How could you even see what was engraved on that lighter?’
But Grace didn’t seem to hear him. ‘I’m sorry, you said this is your wife’s handbag?’
‘The very same,’ he beamed back at her. ‘Another round of applause for our champion, ladies and gentlemen! I’ll be renaming this stall Mrs Memory from now on!’
Cheers and applause.
Unseen hands clapped Grace on the back as she pushed her way through the crowds, desperately searching for the exit.
‘Well done.’
‘Very impressive.’
‘What a clever girl!’
Head pounding, palms sweating, she felt unreal, as if she were moving through the distorted landscape of a dream; her mind shrinking in on itself, focusing down to a single terrible point.
It couldn’t be true.
It couldn’t.
She could see the door now. It was only a few steps away.
‘Well, you certainly showed them!’ Mallory caught up with her. ‘Where are you going?’ She took her arm. ‘Hold on a moment, I’m going to buy you a drink … Grace, what’s wrong?’
‘Let go of me.’ Grace pulled away. She made it through the doors and just managed to get clear of the pavement before she was sick.
‘Good God! What’s all this? A case of nerves?’ Mallory dug around in her evening bag and handed her a handkerchief. ‘Easy does it. And mind you don’t get it on your shoes.’ She stepped back gingerly. ‘Or mine.’
When Grace had finished, she wiped her mouth, sinking on to the front steps.
‘Do you think it was something you ate?’ Mallory sat down next to her.
‘No.’
‘Maybe you had too much champagne? Perhaps it was the tarts. Oh dear,’ she frowned. ‘I had them too.’
‘Mal …’ The words stuck in Grace’s throat. ‘That’s my lighter.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘It belonged to my father. It’s one of the only things I have of his.’
‘What lighter? What are you talking about?’
‘The lighter on the tray.’
It took Mallory a minute to place it. ‘Really? What’s it doing in Vanessa’s handbag?’
Grace looked across at her. ‘There was a matchbox as well. From the Carlisle Hotel.’
Mallory stared at her blankly.
‘The Carlisle Hotel is in Scotland, Mal. So is the Regent Cinema.’ Her voice tightened. ‘Along with my husband.’
‘You mean … oh.’ Mallory finally got it. ‘Oh. I see.’
Grace rested her head against her knees.
It was a beautiful, crisp night. Inside, the band played, laughter soared, the party reached a glittering frenzy.
Outside, they sat in silence.
After a while, Mallory stood up. ‘Come on, darling. It’s cold. I’ll drive you home.’
Grace got up too. ‘I want it back.’
‘What?’
‘The lighter.’
Mallory stared at her in horror. ‘Grace, be sensible! Let it go!’
‘It was my father’s.’ Grace’s voice was steely. Mallory had never seen her so determined. ‘It’s the only thing I have left of his.’ She opened the door. ‘I want it back.’
Mallory stopped her, barring the way with her arm. ‘Then I’ll get it. Do you understand? Let me deal with it. You’ve had a terrible shock and you can only make matters worse for yourself. But right now, darling,’ she took Grace firmly by the shoulders, ‘I’m taking you home.’
‘I wish you’d let me go with you.’
Three days later, Mallory was standing in the front hallway at Woburn Square again, this time watching as Grace buttoned up her mackintosh and adjusted her hat in the mirror.
‘I’ll be fine.’ Grace pulled on her gloves.
Mallory looked worried. ‘I’m not so sure. Besides, my French is better than yours.’
‘A cat’s French is better than mine.’ Grace smiled. ‘Anyway, I appreciate you driving me to the airport.’
Grace opened the door and stepped outside, into the misty early morning fog. Mallory followed, taking the suitcase. She fitted it into the boot while Grace locked up the house. Then both girls climbed into Mallory’s car, a blue Aston Martin DB2.
‘Have you even spoken to him?’ Mallory asked.
‘Not really. I told him I had some unexpected business to attend to in France.’
‘And that was all?’
‘Yes. I didn’t go into the details.’ Then she added quietly, ‘And he didn’t ask.’
‘Humm.’ Mallory took in this final bit of information.
Matters were worse than she’d suspected.
She started the engine. ‘I don’t like you going on your own.’ Lurching into traffic, she pulled out directly in front of a slow-moving milk float. ‘It’s all so sudden. And, well, you’ve had a dreadful shock. Tell me again what they said when you rang the lawyers in Paris.’
Grace sighed. They’d already been over this half a dozen times.
‘I spoke to a man named Tissot. I told him I thought there must be a mistake, that they’d clearly sent the letter to the wrong person. But he was insistent. He said he was certain the information was correct and that I should examine the will and see for myself.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t understand you.’
‘No, he understood. His English was quite good.’ Grace shifted. ‘By the way,’ she tried to sound casual, ‘were you able to get it?’
‘It’s in my handbag.’
‘Do you mind?’
‘Go ahead.’
Grace opened Mallory’s handbag and took out the mother-of-pearl-and-gold lighter. She wanted not to ask the question but couldn’t help herself. ‘What did Vanessa say when you asked for it back?’
Mallory concentrated on the road. ‘Nothing. She just gave it to me.’
‘Nothing?’ This wasn’t at all what Grace had expected. ‘Well, what did you say?’
Mallory made a sharp turn, narrowly avoiding hitting the back of a number 19 bus. Bracing herself, she took a deep breath. ‘I told her that I believed she had something that didn’t belong to her and that I would appreciate it if I could have it back, on behalf of the original owner.’
‘Oh.’
Grace had imagined something more heated; for sides to be taken,