Grace leaned her head against the window frame.
It must be nice to have a job. A neatly arranged desk. A well-organized filing cabinet. And most of all, purpose.
Now that she was married, her days had a weary open-endedness about them; she floated like a balloon from one social obligation to another.
Roger took each engagement very seriously. Did you speak to anyone at the Conservative Ladies Club luncheon? Whom did you sit next to? Tell me who was there.
He was uncannily skilled at dissecting hidden meaning behind every interaction.
They put you at the first table, near the front. Thats good. Make certain you write to Mona Riley and thank her for the invitation. Perhaps you could arrange an informal dinner? Or better yet, invite her for tea somewhere and see if you can wangle a dinner party out of her. It would be better if they asked us first. One doesnt want to seem eager.
He was counting on her to grease the wheels, only Grace wasnt much of a social mechanic. And she lacked any pleasure in the game.
Still, she needed to hurry, she reminded herself, if she didnt want to keep Mallory waiting.
Opening the bedroom door, she called down the steps to the housekeeper, who was cleaning downstairs. Mrs Deller!
Yes? came a voice from the kitchen, two flights below.
Would you mind terribly bringing me a cup of tea, please?
Yes, maam.
Grace hurried into the bathroom, splashed her face with cold water and dabbed it dry, examining her features in the mirror. She really should make more of an effort buy some blue eyeshadow and black liquid eyeliner; learn to pencil in her eyebrows with the bold, stylized make up that was all the rage. Instead, she patted her nose and cheeks with a bit of face powder and applied a fresh coat of red lipstick. Her hair was long, just below her shoulders. Without bothering to brush it out, and with the deftness of much practice, she arranged it into a chignon, pinning it back with hairpins. Downstairs the doorbell rang.
Damn!
Of all the times for Mallory to actually be on time!
Flinging open the wardrobe doors, Grace grabbed a blue shantung silk cocktail dress and tossed it on the bed. She stepped out of her tweed skirt and pulled her blouse up over her head without undoing the buttons.
Where were the matching navy shoes?
She scanned the bottom of the wardrobe. Bending down, she felt the heel of her stocking begin to ladder up the back of her calf.
Oh, bugger!
Unfastening her suspenders, she could hear Mrs Deller answering the door; the soft inflections of womens voices as she took Mallorys coat. And then the steps of the old Georgian staircase creaking in protest as Mallory made her way upstairs.
Grace yanked a fresh pair of stockings from her chest of drawers and sat down on the edge of the bed to put them on.
There was a knock. Its only me. Are you decent?
If you consider a petticoat decent.
Mallory poked her head round the door. Her deep auburn hair was arranged in low curls and a string of pearls set off her pale skin. Havent you changed yet? Its already started, Grace!
Grace hooked the tops of her stockings and stood up. Isnt it fashionable to be late?
Since when are you concerned with whats fashionable?
Grace pivoted round. Are my seams straight?
Yes. Here. Mallory handed her the cup of tea she was carrying. Your housekeeper asked me to give you this.
Thank you. Grace took a sip as Mallory rustled across the room in her full-skirted evening dress, perching delicately on the edge of the armchair, so as not to crease the fabric.
What have you been doing all afternoon, anyway? Mallory chided.
Oh, nothing. Grace didnt like to admit to sleeping during the day; it felt like the thin edge of the wedge. And what about you? What did you do?
Ive only just got back from the hairdressers an hour ago. Mallory turned her head, showcasing both her lovely profile and the result of their handiwork. I swear, Mr Hugo is the only person in London Ill let touch my hair. You should go to him. Hes a miracle worker. Have you got spare a ciggie?
Just there, Grace nodded to a silver cigarette box on the table. She took another gulp of tea and put it down on the dresser.
Just there, Grace nodded to a silver cigarette box on the table. She took another gulp of tea and put it down on the dresser.
Mallory took one out. What are you wearing tonight?
The blue taffeta.
Old faithful! Mallory smiled, shaking her head. We have to take you shopping, my dear. There are such beautiful things out at the moment.
At thirty, Mallory was only three years older than Grace but already established on the London social scene as one of the fashionable young women. Married to Graces cousin, Geoffrey, she tried to take Grace under her wing. However, Grace proved frustratingly immune to her instruction.
You dont like this dress? Grace asked.
Mallory shrugged. Its perfectly fine.
Grace held it up again. Whats wrong with it?
Its just, oh, I dont know. You know what Vanessas like. Everythings always cutting edge, up to the minute. The very latest look of 1956
Which is remarkable because its only 1955, Mal.
Thats exactly what I mean! Shes ahead of her time.
Yes, but I dont have to compete with Vanessa, do I? We cant all be trendsetters. That woman has far too much time on her hands and far too much money.
Perhaps, but nobody wants to miss one of her parties, do they? You need to start entertaining properly too. Tonight will be a good opportunity to steal some names from Vanessas guest list. Ive got a little notebook and pencil in my handbag if you need it.
Oh God! Grace shuddered. I cant bear the thought of it!
Honestly! Mallory rolled her eyes. What did you do up in Oxford for entertainment anyway?
My uncle is a don. We had people round for cauliflower cheese and played bridge.
How ghastly! Mallory laughed. Youre going to have to get over this aversion to speaking to other people if you want to be an asset to your husband. Hes not going to be promoted on his good looks alone, she smiled. You havent got a light, have you? Do you like this? She stood up, twirling round, showing off the full skirt of the deep red off-the-shoulder dress she was wearing. Its new. From Simpsons.
Very fetching. Grace stepped into her navy dress. Theres a lighter in there, isnt there?
Mallory rifled round in the cigarette box. Not that I can see. Here. She popped the cigarette into the corner of her perfectly rouged mouth. Let me do you up.
Grace stood in front of her while Mallory zipped up the back of her dress. Roger mustve taken it. Were always losing lighters. That ones my favourite though. Ill kill him if hes lost it.
Mallory tugged at a good two inches of fabric that should have been fitted closely to Graces waist. This is too big. Youve lost weight again. There was an accusatory tone in her voice.
Grace crossed to her dressing table, opened a drawer and took out a box of matches. She tossed them to Mallory, who caught them midair, with the hidden athletic reflexes of a childhood tomboy. Light me one too, will you?
With pleasure. After all, you are my date tonight.
Thank you for that. Grace caught her eye in the mirror and winked, as she put a pair of pearl clips on. It wasnt lost on her that Mal was actually trying to help her. It was good of you to invite me.
We cant have you wasting away while Rogers out of town. Mallory lit two cigarettes and passed one to Grace. Besides, its not often I get to ditch my husband for someone who actually listens to what I say. He cant bear Vanessa anyway, thinks shes a bad influence.
Is she?
Of course. Mallory picked up a pamphlet lying on top of a stack of books on the table. Whats this?
Nothing. Grace wished shed had the foresight to put them away now. Just a schedule of classes.
The Oxford and County Secretarial College? Mallory flipped through; it naturally fell open to the pages Grace had already dog-eared. Advanced Typing and Office Management? Bookkeeping? She made a face. Whats all this about?
You never know, Grace slipped on the navy pumps, it might be quite helpful. Roger may well open his own offices one day. I could be a valuable asset to him; organize his appointments, type letters
But Grace, you have a job, Mallory pointed out. Youre his wife.
Thats not a job, Mal.
Mallory flashed her a look. Really? I wonder if youve read the fine print on your marriage certificate. Its up to you to create a home, a family, a vision of where you all fit in the world and where youre going. Think about it the childrens schools, where you spend the weekends, your entire social circle its all down to you. She put on an exaggerated accent. Oh, the Munroes? Of course I know them! Isnt she wonderful? Her son is at Harrow with our eldest. And I love what shes done with the house, dont you? Mallory took another drag, tossing the leaflet down. Believe me, Ducky, you have a job. Besides, this place is in Oxford. How many times do I have to remind you that you live in London now?
Yes, but the courses only last a few months.
A few months? Are you mad? Whats Roger supposed to do while youre gone? Mallory exhaled. Honestly, you should learn something useful in your spare time.
Like what?
I dont know The whole idea of self-improvement was alien to her. Flower arranging. Or the harp, perhaps.
The harp? Whats useful about a harp?
Mallory thought a moment. Its soothing. Isnt it? And you get to stroke something between your legs in public!
Good God, youre depraved! Grace laughed. Ill tell you whats soothing rearranging a filing cabinet, ordering new stationery or getting the books to balance.
Grace Mallory threw her hands up in despair. Do you listen to anything I say? Honestly, youre not in Oxford now. And Ill tell you a little secret, she dropped her voice to a stage whisper, men dont like clever wives, they like charming ones!
No! Grace gasped in pretend shock. You dont think Im charming?
Malloy rolled her eyes. Youre delightful. Im only saying
I understand, Grace cut her off. Mallory wasnt about to be persuaded. Every time they met, she had new suggestions for enhancing her homemaking skills; talents she clearly felt Grace was lacking. Why should tonight be any different?