Then Mallory spotted the Mr Memory stall, manned by Phillip Maxwell himself in a top hat and tails, and became even more excited.
‘Look! We used to play this game all the time as children.’ She grabbed Grace’s arm and dragged her across the hall. ‘I’m an expert at this. Come on. I’ll go against you, one on one.’
‘I’ve never played.’ Grace stared at the row of increasingly larger trays lined up on the stall counter. Each was covered with a cloth. ‘What do you do?’
‘It’s the easiest thing in the world, ladies!’ Phillip Maxwell tipped his hat, giving them an exaggerated bow. ‘Each tray has upwards of fifteen objects on it. I remove the cloth for a minute, cover it again, and you have another minute to record as many objects as you can remember. The person who’s able to remember the most objects correctly is the winner.’
‘That’s all?’ It sounded straightforward enough. ‘All right, Mal. You’re on.’
Phillip Maxwell handed them each a pencil and a piece of paper. ‘Now, you can’t begin writing your answers until the tray has been completely re-covered, understand? Ready, steady, go!’
He lifted the cloth, timing the minute with a stopwatch, then replaced it.
Mallory began furiously jotting down her list.
Grace, however, didn’t move.
‘Time!’ Maxwell called. ‘Pass me your papers!’
Mallory handed hers across then looked at Grace. ‘But you haven’t written anything.’
Grace smiled. ‘I don’t need to.’
‘Oh really? And why is that?’
‘I remember,’ Grace said.
Maxwell and Mallory exchanged a look.
‘Well, go on then!’ Mallory crossed her arms in front of her chest. ‘Prove it!’
Grace took a deep breath. ‘One thimble; four needles of various sizes stuck into a pincushion in the shape of a green tomato; a small red rubber ball; a box of Bromo; two shillings, one heads side up, one tails; a glass ring, emerald cut; a letter opener with an ivory handle; a letter addressed to the leader of the Labour Party, unopened; a tortoiseshell comb; a leather hunting flask; a bill of sale from Ogden’s bookshop in Bloomsbury for two books, totalling one pound, two shillings; a folded road map for Dorset; a used packet of Chesterfields; a token from a fairground ride; a china salt shaker in the shape of a duck; a nail file; and a teaspoon with the letters “VM” engraved on the handle.’
Mallory blinked. She turned to Maxwell, who examined the contents of the tray.
‘My God, that’s uncanny!’ he said, looking back up.
‘How can you do that?’ Mallory asked.
Grace shook her head, her cheeks colouring. ‘I don’t know. It’s a rather useless talent, actually.’
‘Go on,’ Mallory pointed to the next larger tray. ‘Do that one.’
Again, the tray was uncovered for a minute and then re-covered.
Grace flashed Mallory a smile. ‘Do I get another drink for this?’
‘Absolutely!’
‘A small black leather notebook and a gold pencil; a ball of twine; two horn buttons probably from a sweater . . .’ Again, Grace proceeded to reel off another twenty objects, in great detail, with eerie accuracy.
By now a small crowd had gathered around them.
‘What’s she doing?’
‘She doesn’t even need to write them down!’
‘She’s cheating!’ someone shouted out.
‘Impossible!’ Mallory turned on them. ‘She’s never even played the game before.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ someone else chimed in. ‘This is a set-up.’
‘Have you hired her, Maxwell? Is this a joke?’
‘Absolutely not,’ he assured them. ‘Everything’s on the up and up.’
‘Like your candidates?’
A roar of laughter.
The crowd continued to swell.
‘Make her do another one!’
‘Make it harder this time!’
Grace reached out for Mallory’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ she whispered.
‘We can’t go now. You’ve been accused of cheating. It will look like you’re guilty. Besides, you’re winning,’ she added with a grin.
Phillip Maxwell was enjoying the high drama of the occasion too.
‘Fine,’ he agreed, tipping the contents of one of the trays out on the counter. ‘We shall give this young woman a real challenge!’ He whispered in the ear of one of the waiters, who hurried away, returning moments later with an evening bag ornamented with black jet beads.
Maxwell held it up with a flourish. ‘My wife Vanessa’s handbag, ladies and gentlemen! Who knows what mysteries lurk in its dark depths!’