On the way out she asked the girl on the front desk if they’d upped security at all and she just shrugged.
Despite that, she felt more grounded as she neared the office again, still sad but calmer, and she managed to laugh when she saw Gilbert skulking about outside. She guessed he was working out how to get inside without Bernice spotting him.
‘Ah, Grace, dear girl,’ he said holding out a hand to her which she took. ‘Thank you for yesterday, with Violet. I don’t suppose you’re any the wiser about what she wanted?’
‘No,’ Grace lied. ‘Come on, let’s get you upstairs.’ She made a big show of waving at Bernice as she passed the door, allowing Gilbert to sneak unseen behind her.
‘So, you here for anything in particular?’ she asked him when they reached the office.
‘Just to make sure you’re all right. Not just about the robbery but about Tate as well. I knew you two didn’t see eye to eye, but this argument in the gallery …’
‘It was about something and nothing,’ she assured him, feeling ashamed for lying twice to Gilbert in such a short space of time. She moved the conversation along to other things and as they sat and chatted and Grace worked, it felt like the old days, the days before Tate.
Alistair came into the room at one point, gave a start when he saw Gilbert, and deposited a sheaf of papers on Grace’s desk. ‘When you’ve cleared up these bits and pieces, you can head off,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you meant to be seeing Mark tonight?’
‘Probably. I’m waiting for him to call.’
‘Well, I’d head off early whether you hear from him or not. There’s nothing that won’t wait till tomorrow here and you ought to take it easy. You’ll still be in shock.’ Alistair was fiddling with his tie, scraping something off it with his nail. ‘Besides, I’m off to a meeting myself in a minute, and I’ve absolutely no intention of coming back afterwards.’
‘What meeting is that?’ Gilbert asked.
Alistair stared at him. ‘Subcommittee, looking into how we can capture more of the Asian market.’
‘Has anyone suggested a big net?’
‘No, definitely won’t be back,’ Alistair said, ignoring Gilbert. ‘Might actually get to treat Emma to that meal.’
Grace presumed he must mean it this time, dangerous to use the same lie twice. But where was he off to now?
Gilbert must have been thinking the same because when Alistair had gone he said, ‘Asian subcommittee meeting, my eye. He’s off for a spot of afternoon sex. Here, look at this.’ He was on his feet, rooting around in the filing cabinet. ‘I put it away in here,’ he explained, a furtive look to his blue eyes. ‘It’s the one place Alistair never looks.’
Gilbert pulled out a posh carrier bag, the kind made of stiff card and with cord handles. It was shocking pink and, in places, quite grubby.
‘Found it in the kitchen bin last week,’ he said, placing it on her desk.
‘What were you doing in the bin? And why’s it now in the filing cabinet?’
‘It’s evidence. Exhibit A. It says Julietta’s on the side, see?’
‘So, he’s been buying Emma underwear. That’s allowed.’
Gilbert shook his head. ‘I saw him through the window, Grace. I was going to tap on it, really embarrass him. Childish, I know, but, heigh-ho, small pleasures. The thing is, dear girl, the stuff he was buying was … quite substantial.’ Gilbert made a vague wafting motion towards his chest while scrunching up his face. ‘I mean, I’m the last person who can profess to be an expert on … these things, but even I could tell it was the wrong size.’ He leaned forward. ‘It’s all pointing one way. You were out with Emma last week – did she say anything?’
‘Nothing at all. They seem very happy.’
Gilbert was obviously disappointed.
‘I’ll put that back in the bin, shall I?’ she said, whisking the bag away from him. This was getting worse, hard for them all to ignore. Every time she remembered her conversation with Emma she felt awful. It wasn’t a seat for the garden he was buying, it was expensive underwear and God knew what else. In the kitchen she pushed the bag right down to the bottom of the bin.
Gilbert read a magazine while she worked her way through the papers Alistair had left, checked on the next day’s bookings and ran off some spreadsheets showing how many tours had been carried out that month, along with a breakdown of payments.
As the last spreadsheet churned out of the printer, Tate walked through the door. Today he had on a white T-shirt and a black waistcoat and black trousers with loads of zips. Over it all was his greatcoat, the collar up, and she felt the pull of that slide that had started when she first saw him.
‘Yo,’ he said, ‘look what I’ve got.’ From his coat he extracted a large stick. ‘It’s a rainmaker. Guys in that band that plays round by the tube let me have it.’ He tipped it one way and then the next, and whatever was inside it did make a noise as if it were chucking it down with rain.
‘Why did they give it to you?’ Gilbert asked, leaping up and taking it from him.
‘Helped them out – bit of a slow crowd, got them dancing.’
‘Conga, was it?’ Gilbert said, tipping the stick forwards and back and jiggling his hips.
‘Something like.’ Tate was looking at her. ‘You want a go on it, Gracie?’
‘No thanks.’ She crossed her arms.
‘OK, OK.’ He stepped back to avoid a particularly enthusiastic shake Gilbert was giving the stick. ‘So, how are you feeling?’
He was talking to her in the same concerned way as yesterday, suggesting that they had moved closer together out in that courtyard as he’d helped her rinse the tear gas from her eyes.
She was going to kick them apart again with a few well-aimed pieces of English politeness.
‘Perfectly fine. Absolutely. Good night’s sleep. Right as rain.’
‘If you’ll pardon the pun.’ Gilbert shook the stick more violently.
‘How about you? Are you well, Tate?’ She gave him a toothy smile.
He wasn’t looking kind any more, but mainly hurt, possibly disappointed, and there were definite overtones of being hacked off.
‘So we’re back to that again, are we?’ he said, plonking himself down on her desk. ‘Shields up, get back in your basket, Tate?’
‘Now, now, children,’ Gilbert said in the way that someone does when they know there is an argument in the offing. He stopped shaking the stick and laid it tentatively on Grace’s desk.
The phone rang and Tate reached it before Grace could. ‘Yeah, right here,’ he said and passed it to her. ‘It’s Martin.’
‘Mark,’ she snapped, taking the phone from his hand. Gilbert got up and tactfully went out of the room, but Tate stayed put and just before she turned her back to him, she saw him move the vase of flowers towards the edge of the desk.
‘Sorry, Grace,’ Mark said, ‘I was going to ring you earlier, but the day’s just got away from me. I’m not going to be able to see you before I go – company’s put me on an earlier flight. It’s a pain. I’m really sorry, Grace. I wanted to see you, after Monday’s upset, you know, but catching this flight’s going to be tight as it is. I’m hacking towards Heathrow right now, and I’ve got to return the hire car …’
‘It’s OK, Mark. It can’t be helped. Don’t worry.’
‘Look, it’s not long till I’m back again. We’ll have a rematch of last weekend. My treat.’ A pause. ‘I do … I do miss you, Grace, when I’m not with you.’
Grace hadn’t even put the phone back down when Tate said forcefully, ‘So, everything since the robbery just a mirage then? ’Cos I could have sworn we had a breakthrough. You shouting at me in the gallery, letting me help you, showing how upset you were about the icon. Real emotions, the real Gracie. And now, today, we’re back to this.’ He did an impersonation of her earlier toothy smile, which was at odds with how hard his eyes looked.
She didn’t answer and he shook his head. ‘Jeez, I don’t get you at all. Next time perha
ps I’ll just leave you to flail around and stop breathing. Go for the easy life.’ She could see his chest was rising and falling rapidly and then he tipped his head back as he did when he smoked, but this time it was just a breath he blew in the direction of the ceiling. ‘OK, OK,’ he said when he lowered his chin, ‘It’s as we were then. Me being a pain in the ass, you acting your butt off. But don’t you ever get tired of this, Gracie?’
‘It’s Grace,’ she said firmly, and in one sudden movement he got off the desk and she had to grab the vase of flowers before they wobbled off the edge.
‘You can come back in now, Gilb,’ he shouted. ‘The lovebirds have finished on the phone.’ He gave the flowers a scathing look and walked over to the nearest pile of rocks and gave them a kick. Grace watched them scatter.
Gilbert didn’t actually tiptoe into the room, but he moved tentatively, especially when he had to pick his way through the rocks. There was a quick check on both of them before he said, ‘So, are you seeing Mark this evening, Grace? Everything … everything all right?’
‘I’m not seeing him, but everything’s fine.’ She registered that she was still holding the vase and put it back in the middle of her desk. ‘He’s having to go back earlier than he thought.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Gilbert said.
‘No, not really.’ Tate was looking at another of the pile of rocks as though he were going to kick that one too. ‘See, that’s how Gracie likes it. Nice and cool, so everything stays frozen in place.’
Gilbert regarded the flowers and the floor.
‘I’d better go,’ Grace said.
Tate jabbed at a runaway stone with the toe of his boot and then brought back his foot and aimed a kick that sent it spinning towards the skirting board and then away under her desk. It should have made him seem like a sulky boy, but it was too raw for that. ‘Yeah, you run along,’ he said, ‘Just keep running, ’cos we gotta be going too.’
‘We?’ She looked at Gilbert.
He nodded. ‘Yes, we’re going to scout out some possible locations for Tate’s filming. And Tate’s going to introduce me to some more of his friends afterwards – other artists, musicians. We might go on to a club as well.’ Gilbert had started his speech obviously worried about why Tate was kicking rocks around the office, but was now looking increasingly excited.
‘Why don’t you come along, Gracie?’ Tate said, his tone dry. ‘It’ll be fun and we all know how much you enjoy fun, don’t we?’
Gilbert was obviously not tuning into the negative body language both Grace and Tate were now displaying, or maybe he was trying to pour oil on troubled waters. ‘Oh, yes, do come, Grace,’ he said. ‘It would be lovely to have your company. I can’t remember the last time I went out on the town!’
Where Gilbert saw only enjoyment ahead, Grace saw danger. Or did she feel excluded again and jealous for something she didn’t even want to be part of? Whatever her motive, she asked quite possibly the worst question she could.
‘Does Violet know you’re going out tonight, Gilbert?’
Gilbert’s expression stiffened. ‘Yes, she does. She’s not my keeper, Grace. And I’ve told her to get used to me going out a lot more.’ He actually sniffed. ‘It’s time I did some different things, and if you don’t mind me saying, Tate is right: it will be fun and you might benefit from getting out of your rut once in a while too. Might stop you trying to organise other people’s lives.’ He was pointedly not looking at her. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and freshen up.’ He left the room in the direction of the toilet, bizarrely taking the rainmaker with him.
Grace felt as if she’d been slapped in the face. Tate’s handiwork again.
She knew he was watching her as she cleared her stuff away, her throat feeling lumpy and thick. She should just leave without saying anything, but she thought once more of Gilbert out on the town. She raised her head and registered that Tate wasn’t smiling.
‘You will keep an eye on Gilbert, won’t you?’ she said. ‘He’s right, he doesn’t go out much.’
He was looking at the rocks again but lifted his head long enough to say tersely, ‘What, you think I’m gonna’ pump him full of drink and drugs and let him walk home along the railroad tracks?’
‘No, of course not. It’s just he … he’s …’ She wanted to say, he’s getting really fond of you, I can tell, and it’s going to end in tears. ‘He’s quite a softie.’ She didn’t know what on earth she meant by that so she wasn’t surprised to see the lacerating look Tate gave her.
‘Gilb’s a grown-up,’ he said, pointing at the door through which Gilbert had gone. ‘And you don’t have to look after everyone like some freakin’ mother hen. The world won’t stop spinning if you take your eye off it. Things won’t descend into chaos just because you’re not there to keep everything under control.’ He raised his chin. ‘Why not just concentrate on keeping yourself buttoned up, huh? Leave other people to go grab hold of life if they want.’
She didn’t rise to that, just left without even saying goodbye to Gilbert. It was only as she reached the bottom of the stairs that she realised she needed to lock up if Alistair wasn’t coming back. Perhaps she should lock the pair of them in, which would keep Gilbert out of harm’s way.
She pushed open the door to Far & Away.
‘Still no Esther?’ she asked.
‘Been in for a bit and gone again. Off to the dentist’s. Says she’s having her teeth whitened.’ Bernice’s expression showed what she thought of that.
‘Right, well … couldn’t do me a favour, could you? Tate and Gilbert are still upstairs and Alistair isn’t coming back. Would you lock up for me when they’ve gone? I’ll get the key back from you in the morning.’
Bernice held her hand out for the key and as Grace passed it over she saw there was a brochure about China on her desk. The hurt she felt at Gilbert’s words, the way Tate was making her feel, the frustration with her family, suddenly a great messy plume of it escaped from under the lid she had forced on it. ‘China,’ she heard herself say, ‘there’s a coincidence. Gilbert’s suddenly become quite interested in China and he’d love if you’d have a chat with him about it, but he’s too shy to ask. Perhaps if you’re not too busy … before he leaves this evening?’
Bernice was delighted. ‘Course I can. Daft old devil, he only needed to ask. Let’s see,’ she was moving to the racks of brochures, gathering new ones into her arms. ‘Yeah, here we go. And Sol’s coming by in a minute – he’s actually been to China. We’ll both go and see him, we can lock up after.’
Grace left Bernice amassing more brochures and chattering away to herself, and outside in the street saw Sol heading her way. He had a long fencepost under his arm.
‘Going jousting?’ she said and Sol said gravely, ‘No, it’s a fencepost.’ That was Sol: quiet, kind and completely humourless.
‘See you,’ she said and moved hurriedly along the street. Another bit of rebellion, but this time for a good cause. And the lid was back on all that stuff with Tate, firmly back on, just like the lid on that biscuit tin.
*
Alistair stood on the other side of the street in a spot he was sure was out of sight if anyone looked out of the window of Far & Away or Picture London. It might still be possible to see him from the top floor, but his ex-father-in-law was away, would be away for two weeks. Something to do with an operation. Alistair hadn’t asked any more details.
But something was wrong. The lights on the first floor should be off by now. Why was anyone still there? He’d told Grace to go home early. Bloody conscientious Grace.
This wasn’t fair. He’d banked on this gap between Grace going home and him having to catch the train. Just an hour or two at tops, just long enough to see her again. He felt shivery and didn’t know if it was from standing in the cold or sheer, bloody frustration. He glanced at his watch. If that light didn’t go out in the next twenty minutes, it would be too late. Not enough time. She couldn’t get herself there and then away again i
n that time. It would all be rushed. Tawdry.
He walked around the block for a while so people wouldn’t see him loitering, but when he returned to his spot he knew it was no good. All he could do was go in, make some excuse about having to come back for some papers and stow his latest present for her in the cabinet. He took the box out of its carrier bag and placed it in his coat pocket. The carrier bag he scrunched up and put in the rubbish bin between the dry cleaner’s and the bookie’s. Just don’t let Grace try to talk to him or he couldn’t promise to be kind.
Crossing the street, he took his boiling frustration in through the main door.
CHAPTER 26
Grace was dreaming of phone calls. So many, all lined up behind each other – Mark, Aurillia, her mum, her dad. All wanting an answer.
She jolted awake. A phone was ringing. She reached out her hand for the bedside table but it wasn’t there. More fully awake, she remembered she did not have a bedside table because she didn’t have a bed. She got out from under her duvet on the sofa and fumbled around in the sitting room. Light on, eyes screwed up, she located her mobile.
‘Gracie!’ It was Tate’s voice and she felt spooked enough hearing his voice so close when she was only wearing a large T-shirt and no knickers that she crossed her legs and held the phone away from her ear. She could still hear him. Maybe if she just cut him off …
Had he rung her up to shout at her about dropping Gilbert in it with Bernice? Gilbert. She saw the time on the phone. Half past one.
She put the phone back to her mouth. ‘What’s wrong? Is Gilbert all right?’
‘Kind of. Got a bit of a situation here.’ There was a cough and she could tell this was killing him. ‘Gilb went for it big time. He’s drunk quite a bit … I mean, even by British standards he’s pretty full.’
‘Where is he now?’
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