Those moments had been the very best of him, of their relationship. A sense of loss made her put the memories aside for another, more private, time.
She looked over to Smith and stiffened. She sensed that those hooded eyes were seeing through her social smile and her carefully observed manners. He knew, she suspected, that she was exhausted, tense, and lonely. Did he know that she despised the dinner she'd allowed her mother to order for her, too?
"Grace," her mother said sharply.
She turned her head. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?"
"I asked after Ranulf."
Grace's hand tightened on her fork. "Oh, he's well."
"Your husband is such a marvelous man. Did you know he wrote to me?"
"When?" She tried to keep her face smooth. Unlined. Pleasant.
Inside, she was wondering why in the hell Ranulf was reaching out to her mother. Now that they were separated, he should keep to his own family. She made a mental note to talk with her lawyer about it.
"The letter arrived last week. He said that he was going to be in town and that the three of us should get together." The disapproving tone, the one that made Grace's shoulders tighten like a vise around her spine, came back. "I assumed you would have brought him tonight."
"He was busy."
"Well, I did call on short notice. "Will you send him my regards?"
"Of course."
"Now tell me, when will you be having children?"
Grace choked on the fish. Coughing, she fumbled to get a napkin to her mouth.
Her mother didn't miss a beat. "Your one-year anniversary is coming. It's time, don't you think? Your father missed the opportunity of knowing his grandchildren. I don't want the same thing happening to me."
Grace took a sip of water. And another one. "I'm busy with the Foundation right now. I can't—"
An impatient hand waved away her words. "Let Lamont run the place. That's what your father really wanted."
Grace's eyes flared. Slowly, she put her glass down. "What did you say?"
"You can't honestly think he'd want you cooped up in that dreary office all the time. That's why he cultivated Lamont. Besides, what could you possibly know about running the Foundation? I was talking to Charles Bainbridge the other day, pointing out to him that you were really under too much stress. You need to be taking care of Ranulf right now, not worrying about business. Charles agreed."
Grace felt the blood drain from her face. Bainbridge was the chair of the board and the leader of the men who were rallied against her.
Her mother looked concerned. "Darling, you're not eating. Is the fish not to your liking? I'll summon Edward."
As her mother began to lift her hand, Grace rushed in, "No, no, the salmon is fine."
In the silence which followed, she tried to get her temper under control.
"Mummy, how could you do that?" she said quietly.
Her mother looked up in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"
"How could you undermine me like that? "
"Good Lord, are you talking about Bainbridge? I did you a favor. You really can't handle the responsibility—"
"I will be the one to decide that."
Carolina Hall froze. As her mother's expression turned icy, Grace fought against being submerged in her mother's censure.
"I find that comment and your attitude most ungracious."
Grace took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, Mummy. But I know I can be what the Foundation needs and I want a chance to prove it. You going behind my back to Bainbridge is not helping me accomplish my goals." As her mother stared hard at her, she played her only strong card. "Besides, do you really want someone other than a Hall running the Foundation?"
That got through to Carolina. Slowly, the thaw came.
"You and your father were always alike. Once he got it into his head he was going to do something, nothing could sway him. I still believe, however, your focus should be on Ranulf and the family you will have with him. That's how I was with your father and look at how successful our marriage was. Don't you want that kind of accomplishment?"
As if marriage was a game to be won, a playing field on which to triumph over others.
All things being equal, Grace thought, she'd rather have a good partnership than something worthy of a social trophy.
She made an effort to change the subject. "Mummy, did you know we're going to do a tribute to Father at the Gala this year?"
"Ah, lovely. You know, your father started the tradition of the Gala."
"I know." Grace kept most of the exhaustion out of her voice.
"It was in 1962 that he first came up with the idea. We had the first one in our own home..."
When their plates were cleared, the waiter asked if they would like dessert.
"None for us," her mother answered. "Just coffee. Black."
Grace was wishing they could have skipped the coffee when her mother said, "You don't look well."
"I don't?" She picked up her water glass again and rationed what she drank. She wanted to save the last inch or so in case her mother dropped another bomb and got her choking again.
"No. And you've seemed very distracted tonight. You haven't been sleeping, have you?"
"I've been busy."
"Do you grieve for your father?"
The words were so quiet, Grace almost didn't hear them. She looked up in surprise.
"Yes, I do. I miss him tremendously."
The coffee came with the check. Carolina carefully drew her signature on the bottom followed by WH 1. She lingered with the pen in her hand, staring down at the slip of paper. Her eyes drifted upward, coming to rest on the candle that burned on the table between them.
"You and he were always so close. You worshiped him. I can remember, when you were a little girl, I found you in his closet once. He'd been gone for a week or two on business. You'd gotten into his clothes, had put yourself into one of his suits. You had a necktie around your neck that almost reached the ground. You must have been five or six."
Grace smiled sadly. "I remember that. You were furious because I wasn't allowed in your bedrooms."
"Was I? I don't recall. What I remember was your explanation. You told me that because he was gone, you needed to do his job for him, but you didn't have anything suitable to wear. It was really quite charming."
Her mother's eyes misted over, the smallest of changes, easily missed. Grace reached across the table for her mother's hand. She was surprised when they remained linked for a few moments.
"You always looked up to him," her mother murmured. "Your faith was enviable."
Grace frowned. Enviable? What an odd way to put it, she thought. Especially coming from her mother, who had made it her life's work to support the man.
Carolina pulled back, put the pen down, and lifted her coffee cup to her mouth. She blinked in quick succession a number of times.
"Do you miss him?" Grace asked quietly.
"Of course. I lived with the man for forty-six years. One gets used to having them around. How is your coffee? Mine is a little cool."
Grace sighed. She never drank caffeine late at night and had no intention of trying whatever had been placed before her.
"Mine is fine," she murmured.
"Which reminds me," her mother said. "We're closing up Willings late this year because of your father's death. I want you to come to Newport for Columbus Day weekend."
"Alright."
"You and Ranulf will come together." Her mother's eyes sharpened over the rim of her cup.