Grace tapped her champagne flute against the child's brightly coloured plastic cup.
'Happy birthday, Great-Granny Grace!' The little girl's sapphire eyes stared up at the elderly woman, whose eyes were an identical brilliant blue despite her age.
'Thank you, sweetheart.' Grace leaned forward, lowering her voice. 'Would you like a little sip of this instead of that apple juice?' she said, pointing to her fizzing glass. The little girl's eyes widened as she reached out.
'Am I allowed?'
'I think a tiny sip would be perfectly acceptable,' Grace whispered conspiratorially.
'No it would not!' Large hands appeared on the child's shoulders. 'Granny, you're incorrigible,' said the young man, laughing as he swept the little girl up in his arms. 'She's only four.'
'Your grandpa used to let you drink his brandy.' Grace was laughing too. 'You once downed a whole glass.'
'And look how I've turned out!'
'Very well, I'd say,' Grace said, smiling. 'You know you're my favourite grandchild.'
William glanced behind him at the assembled throng of people in the drawing room. 'Don't let the others hear you say that.' He lowered his voice. 'They all think they're your favourite.'
'Well, you are definitely the best artist.' She pointed to the painting that was propped up on a chair beside her. 'You've captured this house perfectly: all the flowers in the garden and the sea, even my studio.'
'I must have inherited your creative genes, Granny.' He gestured at the watercolour landscapes that lined the walls of the opulently furnished room, then he looked down at the little girl in his arms. 'And this one is pretty good with a felt-tip pen and a tub of glitter.'
'Did you like my birthday card?' Grace's great-granddaughter pointed to the mantelpiece that was filled with cards.
'Yes, I did darling. It's absolutely gorgeous. Is that me with all the purple hair?' The little girl nodded.
'I think the hairdresser may have overdone it with the lavender rinse.' Grace patted her immaculately set curls.
'It is quite bright, Mother.' A tall woman in an elegant red dress appeared beside the young man. She held a champagne bottle in her hand. 'But when you get to ninety I think you're allowed to have any colour hair you like.'
'Isn't William's painting of the house fabulous, Katherine?' Grace gestured back to the framed picture on the chair.
'You haven't had my gift yet,' said Katherine, topping up Grace's glass with champagne. 'It will be your best present of the day.'
Grace raised her eyebrows. It was so typical of her daughter to be competitive, even with her own son. Though William didn't seem to mind. He put his arm around his mother.
'When are you going to give it to her, Mum?' 'Soon,' Katherine replied. 'But first I'd better go and tell the caterers to bring out the cake.'
She walked away, her skirt swishing as she moved briskly over the Persian rug. William sat down on the sofa beside Grace, the little girl on his lap.
'Here we go, Granny: stage two of Operation Ninetieth Birthday. I hope you're enjoying your special day.'
Grace sighed. 'I said I didn't want a fuss, but your mother insisted on all of this.' She waved her hand around the room full of people, decorated with yards of bunting and balloons. 'But it's very kind of everyone to come all this way.'
William took her hand in his. 'Well, none of us were going to let such a momentous event go by without having a celebration.'
'It's not that momentous: so many people get to ninety now.'
'But so many people aren't nearly as loved as you are.'
Grace felt her face flush and turned her head away so William didn't see her cheeks turn pink with pleasure.
She looked out of the French windows across the garden. In the distance the wintry afternoon sun glittered on the silk-smooth surface of the sea. She thought of Gordon. Her eyes, still damp from all the laughter, suddenly filled with tears. Even after twenty years she missed her husband every day.
'She's crying,' the little girl whispered loudly to her father. William squeezed his grandmother's hand. 'Are you thinking of Grandpa?' 'You know me so well, William.' Grace took a handkerchief from the pocket of her velvet suit and wiped her eyes. 'I so wish he was here to see all this.' Her voice shook as she gestured again around the room.
There were three babies: two big and bouncing, one tiny, barely a week old, named after Grace. Several older children in sparkling party clothes were running around the room throwing balloons up into the air, while silent teenagers lolled in the armchairs, eyes locked on the screens of their phones.
A group of adults stood around the remains of the buffet, chatting about house extensions and holidays in exotic places. To Grace it seemed like yesterday that they had been the ones running around the drawing room.
Now they too were turning grey.
Katherine, ever the older sister, even in her early seventies, was busy instructing her two brothers to lift the lid of the Steinway piano so that the birthday singing could begin.
Grace smiled: the brothers still did what Katherine told them to do, despite one being a retired professor and the other a high court judge. Her eyes glanced around the room again, marvelling that she and Gordon could have created such a clan.
'Look what you and Grandpa produced.' William had read her mind again. 'Imagine if you two hadn't met – none of us would be here. Even this beautiful house wouldn't exist.' He pointed to the painting on the chair. 'This would just be a picture of an empty field on a Cornish clifftop.'
Grace laughed and shook her head. 'Someone else would have snapped the site up for development,' she said, turning toward the sea. 'Who could resist that spectacular view?'
She never grew tired of looking at it, or painting it. That was why Gordon had built her an artist's studio in the garden, with a huge window looking out across the bay.
'But no one else would have built a house as stunning as this,' William said. 'Or had the life that you and Grandpa shared here. You were the perfect couple – everyone in the family says that.'
'Don't make me cry again,' said Grace, patting her cheek with the handkerchief. 'It took me ages to make up my wrinkled old face this morning, and I don't want it spoiled for the professional photographer your mother has invited.'
'It's a gorgeous face, Granny. You are just as beautiful as when you were young, inside and out. Grandpa was a very lucky man the day he bumped into you on that tube station platform. Very lucky indeed.'
Grace looked back at the sea. It was no longer smooth. White-crested waves were agitating the surface, while on the horizon dark clouds had gathered, blocking out the sun.
Grace twisted the handkerchief between her fingers as William's words echoed around her head. She had been the lucky one: lucky to have met Gordon; lucky to have had a wonderful family and a beautiful home; and especially lucky to have made it this far in life without being found out. She took in a breath, determined not to think of the past on this special day, though it was always hard, especially on her birthday. She couldn't help but wonder if there were celebrations going on somewhere else.
'Are you OK, Granny?' William asked. 'You look far away.' Grace forced a smile. 'I'm quite all right, thanks.'
'Come along everybody,' called Katherine, clapping her hands. 'The cake is on its way. We all need to gather round to sing.' After the cake had been cut there were the photographs. Endless arrangements of the generations standing around Grace. The photographer had insisted she should sit in one of the Rococo chairs she and Gordon had bought from a Paris auction house.
'I feel like the queen,' Grace said. She was passed the new baby to hold while the entire family were told where to stand for one final group shot.
'You are the queen!' everyone cried in unison, smiling and laughing as the photographer clicked away.
'And now the presents.' Katherine disappeared into the hallway.
'I don't need any presents,' Grace protested firmly.
'Announcement!' William called out to the room. 'Presents for Granny need to be returned. I hope you all kept the receipts.'
'Well, I'm not returning mine,' said Katherine, who had reappeared with a small rectangular box tied with a ribbon. 'I've been so excited about giving you this, Mother.'
Grace took the box, wondering if it could be a book. She hoped not. Her eyesight was getting too poor for small print and her mind too tired to concentrate on a story. Maybe it was some jewellery?
'Go on, open it,' Katherine insisted. 'You might want to do it right now.'
'Do what?' Grace looked at her expectant daughter.
'Just open it, then you'll see.'
Grace pulled at the ribbon, which fell away in a slither of satin onto the floor.
'I've told everyone what it is,' Katherine added as Grace picked at the tape on the expensively thick wrapping paper. 'They all think it's a wonderful idea.' A murmur of agreement went around the assembled group.
'Everybody's doing this sort of thing now,' someone said.
'The perfect gift for the woman who has everything,' said someone else. Grace pulled back the paper to reveal a cardboard box. She squinted at the wording on the front. 'I think I need my glasses to read it.' Katherine plucked the box from her hands, just as the first rumble of a thunderstorm made everyone jump.
'It's a DNA test!' Katherine announced, unperturbed by the unexpected noise. 'You always say you know nothing about your family because you were so young when your parents died. You never know, we might be related to royalty!'
A flash of lightning illuminated the room. Everyone turned to look outside as rain began to hammer against the windows. Had they not been looking away, they might have noticed that despite her carefully applied make-up Grace's face had turned pale.
'What's wrong, Granny?' William turned back to his grandmother. The others were now talking about the rarity of thunder in January, and soothing the children who were frightened by the storm. 'You're looking a bit off colour,' he said, taking her wrist in his hand and feeling her pulse.
Grace put her other hand to her chest. 'I'm just, I'm just...' She struggled to get the words out. She tried to take a deep breath but found she couldn't.
'Let's get you to your bedroom,' William's brother said. 'You must have overexerted yourself, maybe a bit too much champagne.'
Both men helped her from the chair. William led the way through the door to the hallway. They crossed the marble floor and Grace could feel her heart thumping in her chest. She saw the heavy oak front door and longed to pull it open and run out of the house, far away. If only her legs didn't feel so weak. As her two grandsons supported her while she negotiated the sweeping staircase she could hear Katherine following them behind.
'I can't understand it,' she said, as if Grace wasn't there. 'She seemed so well. Do you think it was the thunder? Maybe it's given her a shock.' Grace knew it wasn't the thunder: it was Katherine's gift.
In the bedroom her grandsons helped her out of her jacket, then laid her gently down on the embroidered quilt. They eased off her shoes before covering her with the mohair blanket she kept at the foot of the bed. Grace's watercolours lined the walls: seascapes, flowers, portraits of the children when they were young. They were all just a blur to her.Someone pulled the heavy velvet curtains across the window.
Grace closed her eyes. She could hear the rain lashing outside, the wind howling and, far beneath the clifftop garden, the crashing of the waves against the rocks.
One grandson placed a cool flannel on her forehead, the other was feeling her pulse again. Katherine was talking about calling an ambulance.
'There's no need for that,' said William. 'Just let her rest.' Behind her closed lids Grace's eyes throbbed. Her mind whirred. She remembered the TV programmes she always turned off with shaking hands.
She recalled the phone-ins on the radio about family secrets being uncovered and emails arriving with unexpected news.
Every day the postman's van brought trepidation, and the ringing phone brought panic as she lifted the receiver. She had always feared the past would catch up with her, though she hoped she'd left it far behind in that dark Welsh valley.
Katherine was talking to her sons. 'She shouldn't be living down here on her own. There's a lovely home near Truro, I've heard it even has its own hairdressing salon.'
'There's no need for a home,' said William. 'Granny will be fine.' Grace didn't care, they could put her in a home in Truro, they could put her in a home in Timbuktu, just as long as they didn't insist that she spit into the small plastic tube in the DNA test kit.
Somewhere downstairs a baby started to cry. Grace put her hands over her ears.
'What is it?' William sat down by her side.
The baby's crying grew louder. Grace didn't know what to do. She felt hot tears flowing down her face.
'Granny? Are you in pain?' She pressed her hands against her ears harder and twisted her head from side to side. She could see the tiny body on the bloody towel, arms reaching out, a cry so loud she feared the neighbours would hear.
'The baby!' She was breathless.
'It's OK, Granny, it's only little Grace. I expect she wants her feed.' Grace felt her mind drifting between reality and dreams.
She was in a different bedroom. Torn curtains at the broken window, snow piled up against the glass. She lay, cold and shivering, on a thin mattress, staring at the ceiling. The damp stains blurred as each new spasm of excruciating pain took hold.
She sudddenly heard the reassuring voices of her grandchildren. The room was warm and the familiar smell of hairspray and Chanel No.5 was a comforting reminder of where she really was.
Grace lay very still and tried to concentrate on the voices around her, but something was dragging her away, pulling her back. She was tumbling into that other world now, the one she had tried so hard to leave behind.
Grace saw her father, his face angry and black from the mine. She heard the lilt of her mother's voice and felt the cold, hard shilling in her hand.
'Here, Meredith, take this for bread and milk before he drinks it.'
She remembered the long, twisting terrace of cottages, the large imposing chapel. Then Grace fell into a deep sleep and saw nothing at all.
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