Playing Grace Read Online Free PDF Page A

gone. By the end of the day the irritating American would be no more than a memory, filed away by force of will on her part, the emotions he had stirred up pushed back down again.
    When it was time for the tour to end, Grace took her group slowly back down to the gallery entrance. Some of them had further questions, either about the art they’d seen or other tours her company offered. There were questions about London too: how to get to a particular theatre; requests for recommendations about authentic pubs. Mr Macintosh needed some advice about an emergency dentist. Grace was not one of those guides who got sniffy about being asked to supply this kind of information – she saw it as an opportunity to build up some brownie points forLondon and Londoners; small kindnesses that might be remembered in the face of whatever truculent waiter or gobby taxi-driver was encountered later.
    After that it was time for goodbyes. The Baldridges were, unfortunately, already booked on her ‘The Nation’s Best-Loved Paintings’ tour at the National Gallery next week. Other people she was unlikely to see again. She had a feeling she’d always remember the Tuscellis, though, especially Gisella, who even now was acting as if Grace had personally ruined any chance of her future happiness.
    Hands were shaken, tips were handed over, and Mrs Hikaranto also gave Grace a paper wallet and an origami crane.
    ‘How was Norman?’ Lilly asked when Grace had seen the last member of the tour out of the double doors. The question was accompanied by a customary jerk of the head towards the upstairs rooms that always made Lilly look as if she were trying to dislodge something stuck in her ear.
    ‘He—’
    ‘Sitting down with his eyes closed?’
    ‘Well …’
    ‘Worn out. Caught him asleep yesterday. That new wife, Lavinka, Ludmilla, whatever she calls herself, she’s always wanting this new and that new. Running him ragged.’ Theenergy Lilly had brought to that speech caused a piece of hair to work itself free from the artful arrangement on her head and she poked it back into place with a finger before smoothing first one and then the other eyebrow. After that, the finger did a quick check along her bottom lip and Grace knew that if she were not standing there, Lilly would be getting out the hand mirror she kept under the desk and reapplying her lipstick. Lilly frequently refreshed her make-up, swivelling to face away from the gallery door to do it, which did not make it any less noticeable. Whereas in the morning she simply looked like a woman of a certain age putting on a good show, as the day wore on it began to seem as though the make-up was wearing her.
    Grace had overheard guides with other companies referring to Lilly as ‘The Painted Lady’ and once, a guide who had suffered under the sharpness of her tongue, had called her the ‘The Daubed Drab’.
    Grace refused to laugh or smile at the nicknames, feeling that women who worked in a largely male world had to stick together. Unfortunately Lilly herself did not always buy into that view.
    ‘It’s all right with your hair,’ she said, poking at her own again. ‘Your hair’s so neat it stays exactly where you put it. But mine’s full of life, see.’ Lilly was smoothing downher jacket, giving the cuffs of her blouse a tug to get them to peek out from under the sleeves of her jacket. ‘And this uniform, well, it’s not cut right for a figure like mine.’ She looked over at Grace. ‘Designed more for a boyish figure really. You’d have no trouble with it.’
    ‘Thanks,’ Grace said as pleasantly as she could, but her face must have showed some kind of negative response to those backhanded compliments because Lilly added, ‘Nice get-up though that, Grace.’ She waved a manicured hand at Grace’s suit. ‘And how do you get your hair so glossy?’
    ‘White vinegar in the final rinse.’
    Lilly nodded. ‘Suppose you need that shine on it or a cut like that could look a bit