When Evie returned to the Whitmans’, she asked the maid to bring her some milky tea in the small sitting room off the library. She needed to be alone to think. She felt nauseous and wasn’t sure if it was the result of too much champagne the night before, the gin at Lil’s, or the thought of all the obstacles that still stood in her way.
But she hadn’t yet sat down or collected her thoughts when the door opened and Thomas walked in. He stopped when he saw her. ‘Evelyn. I didn’t realise anyone was here.’
Evie sighed. How quickly one changed from being one thing to another. From Evie to Evelyn. From Tommy to Thomas. From wonderful possibilities to rigid formalities. Last night must have been a dream. The workings of a splendid city on her foolish and impressionable mind. Perhaps everything she wanted was foolish and she should stop now before she lost too much.
The door opened again and in swept Charlie. ‘Evie!’ He crossed the room in a second and kissed her on the cheek.
Evie’s hand moved to the place where his lips had touched her. She felt nothing. Not a stir, not a flutter, not a quiver of excitement. It was so different to how she’d felt last night when Thomas took her arm and walked with her up the steps of the Vanderbilt mansion, and when he’d held her hand as they strolled along Fifth Avenue. She realised that Thomas was looking at her and that he might think she was touching her cheek because Charlie’s kiss had affected her. She pulled her hand away, but Thomas had already turned to the window.
‘You can help us celebrate tonight,’ Charlie said. ‘Mother’s putting on a dinner party. It’s a bit last minute so we’ll probably only get fifty guests.’
‘What are you celebrating?’ Evie asked.
‘Getting rid of Tommy.’ Charlie laughed and patted his brother on the back in a show of fraternal affection. ‘Father decided today. Tommy’s off to London next week to set up our European operations. Time to expand, and Tommy’s the man to do it. He won’t be back for a couple of years, so we thought we’d farewell him in style.’
Two years in London? ‘Two years is a long time.’ What a silly thing to say. Evie sat down on the sofa and sipped her tea, which was now cold. ‘What a wonderful opportunity for you.’ But she mightn’t have said anything, because Thomas still wasn’t looking at her.
‘Thank you. I’ll leave you two to talk,’ he said. He left the room without a smile. Obviously the only person feeling jolts when they touched was her.
Charlie took a seat opposite her and stared at the teapot as if he had no idea that tipping it up would cause the tea to land in his cup. ‘How have you been amusing yourself?’ he asked.
Evie hadn’t the strength to resist his expectations, so she picked up the pot and poured for him, unconcerned when some of it landed in his saucer. ‘I’ve been shopping.’
‘The perfect New York occupation. You’ll have to wear your new clothes tonight.’ He smiled at her indulgently.
His smile made Evie say something she knew she shouldn’t. But she had to see how somebody from her old life would react when she told them what she was doing. ‘I’ve been looking at medical schools.’
Charlie laughed. ‘And I’ve been down to the docks looking for work.’ He reached over and took Evie’s hand. ‘I know my beautiful Evie isn’t going to give her life away to books. Just as I’m not giving mine away to manual labour.’
‘I want to help people, Charlie. Why is that such a bad thing?’
He put his cup back down in the saucer. ‘Do you remember that woman by the river?’ he asked coldly. It was a tone Evie had never heard him use before and his contempt made her wonder what else she didn’t know about him.
‘Of course I do.’
‘She was one of the Radcliffe students who came across to Harvard for the medical school courses. Waste of time really, since neither Harvard nor Radcliffe award medical degrees to women.’
‘I know that,’ Evie snapped, forgetting, in her anger, to ask how he knew so much about Rose.
‘There was talk that she had an affair with a fellow at Harvard. He turned her away, of course; how could he believe the child she was carrying was his?’
‘There’s a very tenuous moral to that story: if you go to medical school, you’re likely to end up dead by the river. I’m sure there are other women who’ve been to university and had more success.’
‘What about the Butterfield’s daughter? She has a degree in mathematics but the only thing she has to add up now is the number of men lining up to marry her younger sister. No man wants to marry a woman who can calculate the down payment on an Oldsmobile quicker than he can.’
‘You’re being ridiculous.’ Her head started to pound with the realisation that Charlie was behaving exactly the way she’d feared, the same way her parents would; they’d absolutely refuse to let her stay in New York to attend summer school. Right now Evie was too tired from her late night and her day with Mr Childers to argue any more. It was easier to revert back to being the Evie that Charlie expected her to be, for now.
‘The university plan is a far-fetched one,’ she admitted. ‘Coming to New York has shown me that.’
Charlie nodded. ‘Your father thought that coming here would put you off the whole idea.’
Evie resisted the temptation to get up and walk out of the parlour and back to the Village to bunk in with Lil, where everything was said to one’s face and deals weren’t done behind one’s back with all the finesse of a bootlegging thug. At least now she knew what Charlie really thought. It hurt a little, but not as much as it ought to have. She sank both rows of her teeth into the flesh on the inside of her mouth, biting off all the words she wanted to shout at him. Because she had a favour to ask, and now that Thomas was leaving she couldn’t think of anyone else who might be able to help. ‘Let’s not quarrel. Please? I want to ask you something.’
‘Anything.’
If only that were true. ‘Could you make some enquiries about the baby? Apparently it was taken to New York. I want to find out if it’s all right. It’s been bothering me.’
Charlie patted Evie’s arm as if she was five years old. ‘Of course.’
This time, Evie couldn’t swallow the words. She stood up. ‘You’re not going to, are you?’
‘I just want to look after you, Evie. More than anything.’
Charlie stood too and leaned towards her. She was struck by how different he looked to the picture of him that she carried in her mind. His face was paler and the skin on his cheeks looser than she remembered. She suddenly understood that it was the tanned, blond, lean and always outdoors Charlie of a few years before that she held so dear.
With impeccable timing, the clock on the mantelpiece struck seven in a flurry of circling porcelain figures. ‘I need to dress for dinner,’ she said. She stepped away before his face could get any closer to hers.
Back in her room, Evie sat down at the dressing table and wrote a letter to the Foundling, the orphanage the nurse had mentioned. She enquired whether a baby born in Concord on June seventeenth was in their care and if any assistance, financial or otherwise, was needed. Every night she dreamed of the baby, its eyes on her, watching her leave. She had to locate it. ‘Please,’ she whispered as she sealed the envelope. Then she put on her new dress and shoes and went downstairs.
She was in no hurry to see Charlie again and so she drifted along the halls, taking the circuitous route past the outer rooms of the house, rather than through the middle to the drawing room. There were so many lovely things to see, beautiful Flemish tapestries from the eighteenth century, their blues and reds still bright, warmed by the last rays of the day that fell gently through the skylight above. The buttery Siena marble lining the floors and the walls was lustrous, and the fountain near the entrance was ornamented with lotus flowers, water hyacinths and floating candles. She was walking past Mr Whitman’s study when she heard Thomas’s voice. ‘Don’t be too hard on Charles while I’m away.’
She stopped. If she stood by the fountain with her back to the study, s
he could pretend to be looking at the flowers, rather than eavesdropping.
‘He’ll amount to little more than a prankster if he doesn’t start to do some work.’ Mr Whitman’s concern carried out to Evie in the hall. ‘I’ve let him go, thinking he’d sow his oats and then settle down to study, but …’ The sound of a sigh and Evie imagined Charlie’s father sitting in a chair, hand rubbing his chin as he worried over his younger son. ‘I’m starting to think he’s lazy.’
‘Me being in London might be good for him. He’ll have the chance to step up.’
‘I hope he takes it. Spends his time trying to be more like you rather than being resentful.’
‘He might surprise us all.’
Mr Whitman harrumphed. Evie studied the lotus flowers for a moment, part of her mind marvelling at how many petals each flower was able to accommodate, while another part considered envy. Envy grew piece by piece, petal by petal, until it was so large it was all you could see. Evie knew this, because she had once envied her sister’s ability to please their mother.
‘Evie?’
She whirled around. Thomas stood outside the study door.
‘I remember that dress dancing up a storm last night,’ he said. ‘Would you rather be at a boring dinner party or back at Chumley’s?’
I’d rather be here, because that’s where you are, thought Evie. But she said, ‘Your parents’ parties are always fun.’
‘Let’s find out.’ Thomas held out his arm to Evie, who took it gladly, feeling the thrill of the night before rush back over her, and they made their way towards the drawing room together. Then they saw Charlie approaching.
‘I’ll take Evie in,’ Charlie said. He was holding out his arm for her and Evie could feel the tension between the two brothers. It would be yet another petal to add to Charlie’s jealousy if she didn’t take his arm. So she did. And Thomas let her because, as Evie now knew from her eavesdropping, he looked out for his younger brother, even if Charlie had rarely been heard to utter a kind word about him.
After that, Charlie was insistently by her side. He brought her a glass of champagne, a napkin, a morsel of food, and another champagne because he thought she’d finished the first. She could feel his fingernails biting through the fabric of her dress but she had to stand politely beside him as he showed her off to everyone in the room. The men looked her over and tilted their glasses at Charlie, hardly bothering to speak to her.
Eventually they found themselves back beside Thomas. Evie gripped her champagne glass a little tighter; she wanted to reach out and loosen his tie, take his hand and run away to a place where the saxophones blared, where they could lose themselves on a dance floor. Thomas smiled at her and the room fell away; it was as if the music stopped, voices hushed and movement halted.
‘Who’ll look after business here while you’re in London?’ Evie asked, desperate to have one more conversation with him before he left.
‘Tommy’s just a vice to Father’s president,’ answered Charlie, as if the question had been directed at him. ‘So it’ll be business as usual, with the old man in charge. But when I graduate next year, maybe it’ll be me running the bank. The only thing I’ll need then is a wife by my side.’ As he spoke, Charlie pulled Evie towards him.
It was an announcement. The plan for Evie and Charlie spoken aloud. By saying it in front of so many witnesses, Charlie had made it impossible for Evie to tell him how she felt. She wished he’d take his hand off her. Most of all, she wished Thomas hadn’t heard.
Thomas tipped his glass at her. ‘Good luck,’ he said. Then he walked away.
Evie had to leave the room. There were too many thoughts swirling around in her head and the champagne wasn’t helping. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, drawing away from Charlie. She was walking down the hall in the direction of the bathroom when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned, half furious, expecting that Charlie had followed her, and half hopeful, wondering if Thomas might have.
It was Mrs Whitman. ‘Come with me,’ she said.
Evie let herself be led upstairs to Mrs Whitman’s private sitting room. It was decorated in the softest shade of duck-egg blue, and as Evie walked across the thick carpet she felt as if she was floating on a pond in springtime. It was so different from the sensation that always overcame her in her mother’s room, which was like a gilded cage, full of oversized mirrors with gold frames, little tables scattered like birdseed around the room, candlestick holders that were no longer used but were preserved as some kind of romantic keepsake of pre-electric times, and the Lalique and Baccarat perfume bottles her mother collected.
Evie was overwhelmed by a feeling like homesickness, but it wasn’t home she yearned for. It was a motherly embrace she craved. If only she could crawl into her mother’s lap and tell her everything: about medical school, about Charlie, about New York, and maybe even about going to a speakeasy with Thomas. Instead she sat down and felt her eyes fill, because she knew that would never happen. She couldn’t tell anyone how she felt; Viola would faint, her mother would be speechless, her father would lock her up, Charlie would scold, and she didn’t know Lil well enough to laden her with so many burdens.
‘You look as if you’re trying very hard to enjoy yourself but aren’t really,’ Mrs Whitman said, passing Evie a handkerchief.
‘I’m sorry. The party is lovely.’ Evie wiped her eyes, blew her nose and tried to hide her sadness, to show Mrs Whitman that she really did appreciate everything she had done for her.
Mrs Whitman took hold of Evie’s hands. ‘I’m very happy to listen.’
At this invitation to finally speak, everything rushed out. ‘To get into medical school, I need to go to summer school for six weeks. But I’m certain if I tell my parents, they’ll say no. It’s not their fault they think the way they do. They’re not mean or unkind; they just don’t understand that the world is changing. So I’d rather do the work and see if I’m accepted into medical school before I say anything to them. Then they might be persuaded. But I’m supposed to be going home next week, and I don’t know what to do about any of it.’ And Charlie has turned out to be less than I expected. Whereas Thomas has turned out to be more. Two things she couldn’t say aloud to their mother.
‘What if I telephone your parents and ask that you stay on with me for the six weeks? I’ll tell them I’ve so enjoyed your company that I’d like you to stay for the rest of summer. Which is true.’
‘Oh no, you can’t do that. You wouldn’t want to if you knew …’ Evie hesitated, wishing for a moment that she had no morals and could selfishly take what she needed. But she couldn’t lie to someone who’d already done so much to help her. She forced herself to go on. ‘Charlie hasn’t asked me but he said something downstairs that makes me think he might. I can’t marry him. I’m so sorry. And I know I should have told you earlier, but I’ve only just realised it myself.’
Mrs Whitman squeezed Evie’s hands. ‘Don’t apologise, my dear. It’s the right thing. You wouldn’t have made each other happy, no matter what Charles thinks. You want a different life to the one he wants.’
‘I understand if you’d prefer not to help me now, though.’
‘Nonsense. I’d be more likely to refuse to help if you had said yes to him. I want him to marry someone who loves him. And I want the same for you.’
What a strange and wonderful place the world was. Evie kissed Mrs Whitman’s cheek. ‘Thank you.’
‘Be gentle with Charles when you tell him. He isn’t good with having his feelings hurt. Especially if Thomas is the one who –’
The door opened and Evie jumped up, thinking it might be Charlie and wondering what Mrs Whitman had been about to say. Evie’s mood lifted a little when she saw Thomas’s face. He stopped when he saw his mother and Evie. ‘Sorry, I was trying to escape the fuss.’
Mrs Whitman smiled at her son and beckoned him in. ‘Your father is having the celebration for you that he wished he could have had when he established the bank thirty years ago.’
&nb
sp; Thomas kissed his mother’s cheek and Evie saw again how well they understood one another, that the son’s ambitions for business success were supported by his mother. She realised again how precarious her own position was without support, with her secret tucked away like a hanky in her pocket.
‘How was your meeting with Mr Childers?’ Thomas asked Evie.
‘Astonishingly good for making me realise how many holes there are in my education. The Swiss Cheese Academy of Concord, it should be called, not the Ladies’ Academy.’ Evie sighed. ‘And next week, I’m supposed to be back in Concord.’
‘You’re going back?’ Thomas frowned.
Evie could see that he thought she’d given up. She could also see that her giving up bothered him. The differences between Thomas and Charlie, differences she used to laugh over, now seemed anything but laughable.
Mrs Whitman interjected. ‘I’m trying to convince Evie to stay with me so we can get her through summer school.’
‘I can’t let you get involved. My mother would …’ Evie stopped, because she honestly couldn’t imagine what her mother would do if she found out that Mrs Whitman and Evie were colluding on a project that could make Evie unmarriageable. ‘Stab you with her sewing needle, perhaps.’ For the first time that night, Evie laughed, as did Mrs Whitman and Thomas.
‘I’d like to help,’ Mrs Whitman said. ‘Please allow me.’ She spoke as if Evie would be doing her a favour by agreeing.
‘But if I’m staying in the house and Charlie is too …’ Evie paused, glancing at Thomas, who probably still thought she wanted to marry Charlie. ‘Won’t that be awkward?’
Mrs Whitman also looked at her elder son, who seemed puzzled by the direction of the conversation. ‘It won’t be awkward,’ she said. ‘Charles has finished his examinations, so his father is sending him on a tour of the bank’s east coast branches. You won’t need to see him after you’ve refused him.’
Evie blushed furiously at Mrs Whitman’s unequivocal words. Now Thomas knew. Would he care? ‘Thank you,’ she said to Mrs Whitman.
A Kiss From Mr Fitzgerald Page 8
