‘What did you just call me?’ I ask as Simon comes over to me.
‘Quality —’
‘No, before that, when you said my name. Did you call me Gracie?’
‘Er… I think I might have done. Why, don’t you like it?’
I smile up at him. ‘No, it’s not that, it’s… someone once told me that’s what the love of my life would call me one day. I thought it might be someone else for a while, but now it must mean you!’
‘Then that person was a very wise man indeed.’ Simon kisses me, and for the first time since I saw Charlie earlier, I feel myself relax. ‘I love you, Gracie,’ he murmurs in between kisses.
‘And I love you too,’ I reply, my doubts vanishing as if they’d never been here at all.
If Remy said it was so, it must be.
Dear Grace,
I’m so glad I’ve alleviated your doubts.
The one who called you Gracie is the one for you. And it is he who will make you happy in the future.
Enjoy your evening with him and your other admirers.
Love, Me x
Twenty-Four
Sandybridge Hall looks magnificent again tonight as we arrive along its pretty tree-lined drive in a taxi. We’re not the only ones; ahead of us I see a steady stream of cars and cabs pulling up on the sweeping gravel drive next to the house, either dropping their passengers and heading off down the drive again, or disappearing around the back to park.
A fancy-looking doorman opens my cab door; he’s wearing a military-inspired scarlet suit, and he has a matching cap with a black patent peak.
‘You weren’t here when we came for dinner last night,’ I say, smiling.
He tips his hat at me. ‘No, miss, I’m only here for the festivities tonight. Just doin’ me bit for the charity!’
‘Lionel!’ I exclaim, recognising him. ‘How have you been?’
‘I’m well, Gracie, very well. Gotta help my boy out on his big night, haven’t I?’
‘Simon, this is Danny’s father,’ I say, introducing them.
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Simon shakes his hand.
‘So this is the fella who’s stolen our Gracie’s heart,’ Lionel greets Simon. ‘When’s the big day?’
‘You’ve heard?’ I ask, surprised.
‘I think the whole of Sandybridge knows – your mum has been telling everyone!’
I shake my head. ‘We only told her last night!’
‘You know how gossip travels here, Grace.’ He turns to Simon. ‘There once was a time I thought Gracie here might have become my daughter-in-law.’
‘That was a long time ago now, Lionel,’ I cut in hastily. ‘A lot of water under the bridge and all that.’
‘Yes, my dear, so there has been. Oh, duty calls!’ he says as another cab pulls up next to us. ‘I’ll see you two later. I’m losing the uniform once everyone is here and changing into my Sunday best!’
‘See you later, Lionel,’ I tell him and we begin climbing the stone staircase up to the main entrance.
‘So, you and this Danny…’ Simon asks. ‘It was quite serious then? And there was me worrying about Charlie, when all the time there was another man I should have been watching out for.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I tell him. ‘You don’t need to worry about any of the men in my life – except my dad perhaps, but you seem to have won him over!’
‘Your tickets please – madam, sir,’ asks a man I don’t recognise.
I open my bag and pass them to him.
‘Have a wonderful evening, won’t you,’ he says, nodding at us. ‘And spend big! It’s all for charity!’
‘I’ll do my best!’ Simon says, saluting him.
We walk through into the house, but tonight we carry on past the restaurant where we’d had such a delicious meal last night, and head for the ballroom at the rear of the house. There are a lot of people milling around in the foyer of the hall tonight, and as I check out the ladies’ outfits I can’t help but remember the time Charlie and I had snuck in here, and I’d imagined ladies of the past wafting around in their ballgowns, ready to dance with their latest beaux. Or even waiting hopefully to get their dance card marked by the suitor of their choice.
But tonight it was 2001 and the dresses, although pretty, had a little less fabric, and probably a lot less colour than their counterparts of the past. No one would have been seen in black at an event like this in the old days; it was seen as a colour of mourning. But tonight it seems to be the colour of choice for men and ladies.
‘Drink?’ Simon asks, noticing a table outside the ballroom with complimentary glasses of fizz on it.
‘Yes, please. I’m parched!’
‘Back in a mo then,’ Simon says, and I watch him weave his way through the crowds.
I look around the room at all the guests enjoying themselves, but surprisingly I don’t recognise many folk. There are more than a few locals here tonight. Most of the people standing around sipping glasses of champagne and chatting look quite wealthy, and the voices I can hear are either loud – new money – or cultured – old.
I look for Charlie but I can’t see him anywhere. I don’t really know anyone else that’s going to be here tonight other than Simon, and of course our host for the evening, Danny, and I haven’t seen him yet either. I feel a bit awkward, standing in the busy room on my own, so I decide to head over to a large board in the corner, with a table plan for dinner pinned to it.
I look for our names, and I’m pleased to discover Simon and I will be sitting together – always a relief! Then I look to see who else is on our table: Charlie – that’s good, at least that’ll give him a chance to get acquainted with Simon. There’s a few people I don’t know, and then I see Danny and his wife Rebecca are sitting with us too – great! I haven’t seen them in ages. Last I heard, Rebecca was expecting their first baby.
‘Hello, Gracie!’ I hear a deep, familiar voice behind me.
‘Danny! How are you?’ I ask looking down at him.
‘Still in this old thing!’ he says, rolling his eyes. ‘But me and the chair are on very good terms these days.’ He pats one of the wheels.
‘It’s so good to see you again,’ I say, leaning down to give him a kiss.
‘Mmm, you smell exquisite, as always!’ Danny says, holding me down at his level for a moment. I look into his eyes and I’m surprised to feel a jolt as we gaze at each other.
Danny obviously feels it too so I quickly stand up again.
‘How’s Rebecca?’ I ask swiftly. ‘Is she here?’
‘She’s good, thanks. Yes, she’s about somewhere, you won’t miss her – she’s the one who looks like she’s wearing a huge mountain of flowers draped over her front.’
‘Danny!’ I admonish him. ‘She’s pregnant!’
‘Yeah, don’t I know it! She’s eating us out of house and home right now. I’ve warned the catering staff not to let her near the buffet in case it disappears.’
I shake my head at him. He’d never change – always the first with the funny quip or joke, usually at someone else’s expense. But it was always in jest, there was no intention to hurt anyone. His accident may have rendered his legs useless, but it had never dented his spirit. If anything, I think he’s got worse since being in the chair. He’d certainly used it to his advantage when flirting with the ladies in the aftermath of his accident. That is, until he met Rebecca, a no-nonsense girl from Yorkshire who’d been helping out at one of his fundraisers. Rebecca knew just how to put Danny in his place, and frequently did so, much to his obvious delight.
‘Grace?’ Simon appears next to us with two glasses of fizz, and passes me one. ‘Oh, you must be Danny,’ he says.
‘Yeah, the chair gives me away every time!’ Danny says cheerfully. ‘Which one is Danny? Oh, the one in the wheelchair of course!’
‘Gosh, sorry,’ Simon falters, his cheeks hot, ‘I didn’t mean… it’s just… Grace has told me so much about you, you see,’ he finishes, sounding much more like
his usual self.
‘Has she now?’ Danny’s eyes twinkle, and I know what’s coming. ‘Has she told you about the time when we were seventeen and we skinny-dipped off Sandybridge beach at midnight?’
Simon looks at me, his eyes wide.
I give Danny a mock glare. ‘Ooh, you don’t change, do you?’ I shake my head at him good-naturedly.
‘Nope! Same old Danny!’ He grins at me. ‘Seriously, though, I hear congratulations are in order. When’s the big day?’
‘Thank you, but we don’t know that yet. We’ve not been engaged long.’
‘I hope your proposal was romantic, Simon. Grace loves a bit of romance, don’t you, Gracie?’
‘Er…’ Simon is thrown again.
‘Simon proposed in our favourite restaurant in London, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Simon nods. ‘I had the waiter bring the ring in Grace’s favourite dessert.’
‘Viennetta?’ Danny asks, his eyes innocently wide. ‘Do they do those now?’
‘Not my favourite dessert when I was fifteen, Danny! My tastes have changed a bit since then.’
‘Sticky toffee pudding then?’ Danny asks, trying to keep a straight face.
‘It was a Belgian chocolate mousse actually,’ Simon says, not seeing the joke. ‘The chef baked it specially with the ring inside a tiny oven-proof box.’
‘Smooth!’ Danny winks at me.
‘Talking about me again!’ Charlie says, appearing behind Danny’s wheelchair.
‘Hey, man!’ Danny holds his hand out to Charlie. ‘How’s things?’ They give each other one of those cool-dude grippy handshake things.
When did those two get so friendly?
‘Good, good. Looks like everything is going well tonight.’
‘Yep, thanks to you!’
What are they talking about now?
Puzzled, I look between them both.
‘Ah, Gracie doesn’t like the fact she doesn’t know something!’ Danny taunts me.
Charlie looks at me now too. He grins. ‘What’s up, Grace? Do we have a secret you don’t know about?’
‘Ah, let’s put her out of her misery, Charlie,’ Danny says, grinning too. ‘Her pretty face doesn’t suit a frown. Charlie was the one who helped me get Sandybridge Hall for this fundraiser tonight. He knows someone in the company that owns the place.’
I look at Charlie. ‘Do you?’
He nods. ‘Yep, they owed me a favour so when I asked if a friend of mine could hold a ball here for his charity, they agreed.’
Danny lifts his hand and Charlie high-fives it.
‘Sorry,’ Charlie apologises, looking at Simon. ‘You must be Grace’s fiancé. We haven’t been introduced properly – I’m Charlie.’
They shake hands much more formally than Danny and Charlie had.
‘Good to meet you, Charlie. Grace has told me a lot about you.’
Charlie pulls a face. ‘Ah, that’s never good.’
‘In this case it is. I’m quite jealous, standing here next to you two, you know? You’ve known Grace so much longer than I have. You probably know so much more about her.’
Charlie and Danny look at each other and grin.
‘Well…’ they both say at the same time. And Danny rubs his hands together.
‘Where shall we begin?’
Twenty-Five
Eventually, Charlie and Danny run out of embarrassing stories they can tell Simon and we part ways, ready to go in for dinner.
‘Sorry about all that,’ I tell Simon as we’re shuffling along with everyone else feeding into the ballroom. ‘I had no idea those two got on well enough to spend a full fifteen minutes thinking of hilarious anecdotes about me!’
‘That’s OK, it was fun. I’m old enough and wise enough to know much of that was embellished on their part.’
Actually none of it had been. Charlie and Danny had told all the stories exactly as they had happened. But Simon didn’t need to know that!
We all sit down to a delicious five-course dinner, and the boys behave themselves; this has much to do with Rebecca being around to keep Danny in check. Then just before dessert is served, Danny wheels himself away from the table and up a special ramp to a small stage.
The person who has set the microphone up for Danny obviously hadn’t realised he is in a wheelchair, because it’s set far too high.
Danny being Danny makes a joke about this as soon as the mic is lowered, and at once puts everyone at ease.
‘Welcome, everyone!’ he says into his mic. ‘As you all know, we’re here tonight for one of three reasons. One, because your wife made you come along…’ A few titters of laughter spread across the room. ‘Two, I made you come along…’ More sniggers. ‘Or three, because your conscience did!’ A few people applaud.
‘Most of you will know,’ he continues, ‘that I set up the Lucas Foundation seven years ago in 1994, after I had my own accident in which I lost the use of both legs.’
I look around the table. Rebecca is watching Danny lovingly, willing him to do well with his speech.
‘In fact my accident happened here, in this very room.’ He gestures around the room. ‘I was only twenty-two years old when it happened. Twenty-two. I was in the prime of my life, ready to take on the world. But the world had other ideas, and it bit back.’
I glance at Charlie; he’s watching me.
‘But I had news for the world, I wasn’t about to roll over and give up on life.’ Danny pauses and looks out into the audience; he has them in the palm of his hand. ‘Becoming disabled when you’ve been able-bodied isn’t the end; in fact, for most, it’s only the beginning; the beginning of a whole new way of life. A life that is different – yes. More challenging – definitely. But also so much more rewarding than it ever was before. This, ladies and gentlemen, is what the Lucas Foundation is all about: we try to give the help, hope, and most importantly life back to those that need us, and we do it when they need us most.’
More applause.
‘I won’t hold up your lovely desserts any further, except to say that just by being here tonight you’ve already done a great thing – you’ve donated to a wonderful cause, and already you’ve helped to make someone’s life that little bit brighter. But if you really want to help us; if you really want to put a smile on someone’s face and give them their life back – albeit a new one – then our auction, ladies and gents, our auction is for you! You’ve all seen the stupendous lots we have listed in the catalogues on your tables – and if you haven’t, then look now, before all the fun begins. Above all, dig deep and bid high – very, very high! Goodnight!’
Danny does a little bow, then he quickly wheels himself off the stage and back to our table.
‘You were amazing, darling,’ Rebecca says, struggling to her feet her bump is so big.
‘Don’t get up, you daft thing!’ Danny says, wheeling himself into his vacant space. ‘It took you long enough to get down there in the first place!’ He reaches over and kisses Rebecca on the lips. ‘Was I OK?’ I hear him whisper. Rebecca nods and kisses him on the cheek.
‘That was quite some speech,’ Simon says across the table. ‘Well done.’
‘Cheers, mate.’ Danny nods at him. ‘Appreciate it.’
‘You were good, Dan,’ Charlie says, getting up and coming around to the other side of the table. He pats him on the shoulder. ‘Very good. Back in a bit,’ he says to the rest of us. ‘I’ve just seen someone I need to talk to on another table.’
I smile at Charlie, and he smiles back, but does his smile fade slightly as I feel Simon’s hand rest on my shoulder? No, I must be imagining it. I thought Simon and Charlie had got on fine tonight; surely there wasn’t still tension on Charlie’s part?
‘Do you think your mate Charlie likes me?’ Simon whispers as soon as Charlie has left the table.
‘Yes, of course he does. What’s not to like?’
‘Ah, only I get the feeling I’m not his favourite person in the world.’
‘But he must be with couples all the time.’
‘It’s not only us, is it? It’s Danny and Rebecca too. We all grew up together.’
‘I guess… You’re sure it’s not more than that?’
‘No, honestly. Everything with Charlie will be fine. Just give it time.’
The auction is a great success. Danny has obviously chosen the right people to come to this ball tonight, because some of the lots go for amazing sums of money.
My donated lot of a one-on-one guided tour of the V&A Museum goes for £1,000, and Charlie’s lot – to have a new biscuit from the Lighthouse Bakery named after you – goes for a staggering £3,700.
‘The next item,’ the auctioneer calls, ‘is this beautiful late nineteenth-century oil painting of dogs in a large kitchen. It’s called Waiting for Dinner. Can I start the bidding at one hundred pounds?’
‘Oh, I love that painting,’ I whisper at the same time as Simon says, ‘I have a client who would pay big bucks for that. She loves dogs.’
So do I, I think, as the bidding quickly races up; especially ones that look like my Wilson. There are a variety of dogs in the painting: as well as a Labrador, there’s a King Charles spaniel and a Jack Russell, all waiting for their dinner in a Victorian kitchen. But the one that has caught my eye, and the one that looks the most likely to get first dibs on the bowl of food that’s sitting on the Victorian kitchen counter because he stands higher than any of the others, is the Irish wolfhound that reminds me so much of Wilson.
It’s a popular lot, and the bidding is soon well out of my league. I wish I could ask Simon to buy it for me, but I can’t; he obviously has a client who will pay twice as much again as the bidding is at right now, and he’ll make a healthy profit.
So I watch and listen to the painting make lots of money for Danny’s charity, which is wonderful, but I can’t help feeling a little sad that it will be going somewhere I will never see it again. A lot of Simon’s clients are American; the dogs will probably end up in a bar in Texas.
Letters from Lighthouse Cottage Page 18