The Temptation of Gracie

by Santa Montefiore

  In the next-door bed was a girl in the year below Anastasia whose mother was on her way from Suffolk to pick her up. Anastasia had listened to their telephone conversation with mounting irritation. The mother was obviously a neurotic fusspot, she decided, asking ridiculous questions: Was she drinking enough liquids? Was she warm enough? Was she comfortable and had she been able to sleep? Then she had asked to speak to the nurse and had gone over every detail again. By the end of the call Anastasia knew the minutiae of the girl’s condition and longed for the silly woman to arrive and take her daughter away.

  Anastasia hadn’t even spoken to her mother. She had texted but it had been her father who had telephoned the school and arranged to fetch her, but only after the doctor had come to see her at 2 p.m. and signed her out. Her mother clearly wasn’t worrying about her warmth and comfort. She’d texted this morning to tell her that Daddy was coming and that there was an M&S cottage pie in the fridge in case she wasn’t back in time to cook supper. Anastasia knew she wouldn’t be back in time. She never was. She picked up her smartphone and began to play a mindless game to pass the time.

  ‘I’m so excited I’m going home,’ said the girl in the next-door bed. Anastasia didn’t respond. It was an unwritten school rule that younger girls did not speak to older girls and Anastasia was not only in the year above, but considered by most to be quite intimidating. But the girl went on regardless. Perhaps she believed sick bay to be a kind of neutral territory, Anastasia thought grudgingly. ‘Once when I was sick Mummy came to get me and I lay on the sofa with the dogs for a week watching telly while she brought me hot chocolate and biscuits. It was heaven!’

  Anastasia didn’t look up from her phone. ‘Well, when I was suspended for smoking, my mother was on a business trip abroad so I didn’t even see her.’

  ‘Who looked after you?’ the girl asked, and Anastasia was cheered a little by the amazement in the girl’s voice.

  ‘No one. I looked after myself.’ Which wasn’t entirely true because her father had stayed home, but if she revealed that detail the story would lose its clout. ‘I’m an only child of working parents. I’ve had to learn to be independent.’

  ‘I suppose you were lucky not to have been expelled.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Anastasia said with a shrug. ‘Wouldn’t have been too bad. I’d rather fancy going to a sixth form college in London, but Mum doesn’t want me at home.’

  Anastasia grinned into her smartphone as the girl seemed to dry up and the conversation came to an abrupt end. They spent the following hour in silence, Anastasia on social media, the girl reading a book, which annoyed Anastasia too because not only did she have a mother who made her hot chocolate, but she was reading a highbrow novel, and seemingly engrossed in it. She was much too wholesome for Anastasia’s comfort. Then the girl’s mother appeared and swept into the room like a tornado of goose down. ‘Darling, are you all right? I’ve been so worried about you.’ She embraced her child, holding her close and stroking her hair. Anastasia glanced up from her phone to see the girl’s arms around her mother’s big coat. She swallowed the rising jealousy and went back to her phone, telling herself that she’d hate it if her mother smothered her like that. ‘Come on, let’s get you home where I can look after you and make you well again,’ the mother said in the same voice she had probably used when her daughter was little. Then, as the girl was dressing, the woman turned to Anastasia. ‘You’re not going to languish here, are you?’

  ‘Nope, my dad’s coming to pick me up,’ Anastasia replied politely. She hadn’t expected to be spoken to.

  ‘That’s good. Not very nice being sick at school. Home is the best place for a speedy recovery.’ She turned back to her daughter. ‘Well done, darling. Now, got everything?’

  ‘Yes,’ the girl replied, picking up a floral overnight bag. She smiled at Anastasia. ‘I hope you get better soon.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Anastasia replied. She couldn’t very well be mean-spirited in front of the mother. ‘You too.’

  For a while the room was empty and quiet. The rain had stopped but the wind continued to moan through the bare branches of the plane trees that shivered in the cold. Anastasia felt empty too, and forlorn. That mother had brought something warm and tender into the room, but now it had gone. She imagined the girl lying on the sofa with her dogs, watching television in front of a boisterous fire, eating biscuits and drinking hot chocolate. She imagined the mother would sit with her and check her forehead every now and then with the back of her hand. Every time she was ill, which wasn’t often, Carina made her feel like an inconvenience. She’d once heard her parents arguing in their bedroom on the floor below hers. Carina had been complaining that this was the worst time for Anastasia to be sick, as if Anastasia had chosen it on purpose, because she had important meetings she couldn’t miss. Her voice had risen with anxiety as she went through all the things she had to do and the people she had to see. Rufus had offered to remain at home and look after the patient, as he had affectionately called her, and her mother had ended the conversation by grumbling that once again she was cast as a bad mother because she had a job that demanded one hundred per cent of her time, whereas he could pick his up and put it down as he wanted. Anastasia imagined that argument had been replayed last night when they’d received her text. Well, she thought defiantly, I might be an inconvenience, but I’m a sick inconvenience so I’m not going to waste away at school just to make Mum’s life easier.

  A beam of bright light shone through the curtains as a car turned into the forecourt. She sensed that was her father and her annoyance dissolved at the thought of going home. When the nurse came in to tell her that it was indeed her father who had come to collect her, she had already dressed and was sitting on her bed with her overnight bag packed.

  Rufus gave Anastasia a big hug before throwing the bag over his shoulder and setting off down the corridor. Once in the car he patted her knee with his big hand. ‘Poor old you,’ he said in his usual jovial voice. Rufus was positive about everything, always. ‘We’ll get you well again.’

  ‘I feel rotten,’ Anastasia complained.

  ‘Of course you do. That sanatorium is enough to make a healthy person sick. You’ll feel better at home.’

  ‘Don’t suppose Mum’s there,’ she said, hating herself for caring.

  ‘I’m afraid she’s—’

  ‘Got a meeting,’ Anastasia interrupted. ‘What’s new?’

  ‘Well, I’m home and we’re going to have cottage pie together.’

  ‘Good. My throat feels like it’s made of sandpaper.’

  ‘Do you want me to stop at a garage and get you a hot drink?’

  Anastasia looked at her father steadily. She felt a wave of gratitude and relief. ‘Yes please,’ she replied. ‘And a biscuit?’

  It was late when Carina put her key in the lock. She’d been to two parties and a charity dinner all the way out in the East End of London, and was now not only a little tipsy but exhausted. She stood at the door of her house but didn’t open it. She knew Rufus was inside with Anastasia. The lights were on in the upstairs bedrooms. They would have had supper together and both would have silently cursed her for being absent.

  Since Carina had learned that her mother was taking herself off to Italy she had felt a growing sense of disquiet. An uncomfortable weight, like a stone in her conscience, reminded her of her refusal to do what was right. And it seemed she couldn’t do right by anyone at the moment. Her mother made her feel like a bad daughter, her daughter made her feel like a bad mother and Rufus made her feel like a bad wife, all because she had a very demanding career. How did other women manage it? How did they succeed in making the people around them feel valued? How did they find time to share? She didn’t have time even for herself.

  Carina reflected that it wasn’t so long ago that Anastasia had been caught smoking and suspended. The girl didn’t do a scrap of work at the massively expensive school they sent her to, and was going through that grunting, negative stag
e that so many of her friends with teenage daughters complained of. Was it so very surprising that she didn’t jump into the car the minute Anastasia got flu and demanded to be taken home? As for Gracie, she was a grown-up. If she wanted company in Italy she could invite Flappy to go with her, or one of her other friends. She did have friends, Carina reflected, or Flappy would not have telephoned in a panic. Carina wouldn’t allow herself to feel guilty about her mother. And Rufus? He claimed to understand her, so understand her he would just have to do, and be a little more tolerant while he was at it!

  Yet, as she pushed open the front door and walked into the hall, she still felt that uncomfortable feeling in her conscience, despite the arguments in her favour.

  The mirrors on the walls and the polished oak floor gleamed in the golden light of the chandeliers, which raised her spirits a little. She cast her mind back to the cottage where she had grown up and considered how far she had come. She was proud of her ascent from small-town girl to big-city success, although it hadn’t come without a great deal of effort. She had worked hard to build her business and transform herself into a better version of the person she had been. Not a day went by when she didn’t appreciate her beautiful home and the glamorous social life she had acquired. The trouble was, having spoken to her mother, she was reminded of her humble roots and that made her uncomfortable. She felt guilty for having turned her back on them and resentful for feeling guilty. She did not want to remember that she had humble roots. She wanted to be who she was now.

  She hung up her coat and tossed her handbag onto the marble-topped island in the kitchen. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, almost afraid to go up and face her husband and daughter. What was she afraid of? she asked herself. Two cross people or discovering that they were doing very well without her. She began to climb briskly.

  She found them lying on the bed in the master bedroom, watching a movie – or rather, Rufus was watching the movie while their daughter seemed to be more interested in her smartphone. Anastasia didn’t look anything like as sick as Carina expected. Her face looked a little flushed, to be sure, and her eyes were perhaps a touch on the glassy side, but had she been very ill she would have taken to her bed. Carina deduced that she had a heavy cold rather than the flu, and was slightly irritated that she had managed to manipulate them into bringing her home.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ she said and gave a small wave from the doorway. She didn’t want to catch her cold by kissing her. She certainly couldn’t spare the time to be sick.

  Anastasia didn’t lift her eyes from the phone. ‘Hi,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Come and join us,’ said Rufus, patting the bedspread. ‘We’re watching The Princess Bride.’

  ‘Well, you’re watching The Princess Bride. Anastasia is on social media,’ retorted Carina.

  ‘I’m not on social media,’ Anastasia corrected her grumpily.

  ‘I think you should go to bed, Anastasia,’ said her mother. ‘If you’re sick you shouldn’t be up and about.’

  ‘I’m not up and about. I’m lying on your bed.’

  ‘I think you should be lying in your bed.’

  Rufus looked at his watch. ‘Your mother’s right. It’s nearly midnight. Off to bed, darling.’ He leaned over and kissed her cheek. He’s clearly not worried about catching her cold, Carina thought resentfully. Rufus switched off the movie with the remote.

  ‘Night, Dad,’ Anastasia replied, getting up. ‘Night, Mum,’ she added as she passed her and shuffled through the door.

  ‘What a day I’ve had,’ said Carina, stepping out of her shoes.

  ‘Anastasia seems all right. She’s got a temperature, but I’ve given her Nurofen and it’s gone down. She’ll feel better tomorrow, after a good night.’

  ‘Great,’ Carina replied, absent-mindedly. ‘She doesn’t look too bad,’ she added, to show that she too was concerned. ‘Thank you for picking her up.’

  ‘You don’t need to thank me. That’s what fathers do.’

  ‘Most fathers are too busy,’ she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  ‘No one is too busy for the important things.’

  Carina was too tired to take offence. She turned to him suddenly. ‘Why do you love me?’ she asked.

  Rufus frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m a horrible person. I’m a bad mother, a bad daughter and a bad wife. What’s there to love?’

  Rufus smiled indulgently. He seemed to have endless patience and energy to be positive. ‘You don’t stop loving someone because they’re too busy to make time for you. I love you because you’re you,’ he said simply.

  Carina was not satisfied. She wanted something more concrete to hold on to. ‘But what is that? What is me?’

  ‘I know what you are, but perhaps you need to make time to find out for yourself. You’ve spent twenty years on the run. Why don’t you just stop running for a moment and look about you.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve drunk too much.’

  ‘It’s made me sad.’

  ‘No, the wine hasn’t made you sad. You were sad already, the wine has just let it out.’

  Carina nodded. ‘I’d better go and say goodnight to Anastasia.’

  ‘She’d like that,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think so, but I’ll go anyway.’

  When she opened her daughter’s bedroom door, the lights were off. Anastasia was a mound beneath the duvet. Carina walked over and bent down to pat her. ‘Night night, darling.’

  ‘Night,’ came the muffled response.

  ‘I hope you feel better in the morning.’

  ‘So do I.’

  Carina made to leave the room when the mound moved. ‘I hear Granny is going to Italy on her own.’ She poked her head out of the duvet.

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘Daddy told me.’

  ‘Well, we’ve been worrying about her.’

  ‘Then I think you should go with her,’ Anastasia urged and Carina heard herself reply, ‘If I do, then you’re coming with me.’

  There was a long silence as each was as surprised as the other by Carina’s response. Then Anastasia finally spoke in the dead tone of a person accustomed to being disappointed. ‘Pigs might fly,’ she said and pulled the duvet over her head.

  There was something terribly shocking to Carina in the way her daughter had so readily and automatically written her off that she was left reeling in the doorway. Her response suggested, in its pessimistic tone, that she had never given her daughter time or attention. As she closed the door, Carina wondered whether the girl was, in fact, right.

  If there was one thing Carina relished, it was a challenge. Provoked by her daughter’s lack of faith in her, she was now determined to prove that she was a mother who could be counted on.

  The following morning, being a Saturday, Carina went for a run around the park before Rufus woke up. The rain had passed in the night and now the sky was a freshly washed duck-egg blue. The tarmac path glistened beneath her running shoes and the weak winter sun rose slowly in the eastern sky, causing the raindrops to sparkle prettily on the bare trees like little Christmas lights. Carina was feeling positive. She had made her decision and the uncomfortable feeling in her conscience was now replaced by a buoyant sense of doing the right thing. She’d go to Italy with her mother and Anastasia. She could work from there. After all, with internet and her computer her absence would hardly be noticed by clients or employees. She’d delegate what she could and take care of the rest from Tuscany. Rufus would be happy she was doing as he suggested, Anastasia would get a week’s holiday in the sun and her mother would not have to go on her own, which would have made her father happy too. It was a win-win for everybody concerned. She could do seven days, she reasoned. Seven days; and then things would return to the way they were.

  As she was running back up the street towards her house, who should be walking towards her with her overweight basset hound waddling a
t her booted feet but Diana Cavendish, her mother-in-law. Carina removed her earphones and waved. Diana smiled. Even in a headscarf and coat she looked glamorous. ‘Look at you!’ Diana exclaimed. ‘You never stop!’

  ‘It’s a beautiful day,’ Carina replied. ‘And I can never lie in anyway. There’s always too much to do.’

  At seven-thirty in the morning Diana was wearing a full face of make-up. She was a handsome woman with eyes the colour of gunmetal, high, pronounced cheekbones and a long, straight nose. Her pedigree was unmistakable even before she opened her mouth and released the clipped consonants and lazy vowels of the upper class. ‘Quite right. If you lie in, you miss the whole morning,’ she said.

  ‘Anastasia’s home. She’s got the flu,’ Carina told her.

  ‘Gracious, poor girl. I hope you don’t catch it.’

  Carina laughed. ‘I don’t have time to catch the flu.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want it either, so don’t bring her over until she’s better. Just give her my love.’

  ‘I’m taking her to Italy in April, with my mother. I thought it would be nice for the three of us to spend some time together.’

  Diana’s reaction was gratifying. ‘Aren’t you a good girl!’ she exclaimed, sending Carina’s spirits soaring. ‘What a lovely thought.’

  ‘I don’t get to see my mother very often.’

  ‘Well, she does live awfully far away,’ said Diana sympathetically.

  ‘Rufus has told me I need to take a break.’

  ‘You do work terribly hard. Really, modern girls like you put an awful lot onto their plates. I think we had it much easier in our day.’ The overweight basset hound spotted another dog across the street and pulled on its lead.