A Kiss From Mr Fitzgerald

by Natasha Lester

  ‘That doesn’t sound good. Anything I can do to help?’

  Mrs Whitman patted her arm gratefully. ‘You can try to keep George occupied in conversation and his attention directed away from Charles. You always manage to lighten George’s mood.’

  ‘I thought Charlie was away for a couple more weeks?’

  ‘He’s supposed to be. But he’s come home early. He told his father he’d learned everything he needed to know after visiting the first two branches of the bank. Heaven only knows what he’s been doing for the rest of the time he’s been away.’ Mrs Whitman sighed and Evie saw that beneath the always warm exterior lay a woman who spent her life managing the intricacies of being married to a successful man who had one successful son and one son who always felt second best. ‘And his father told Charles he was an idiot and that Thomas would never have offended the branch managers by telling them he had nothing to learn from them. Of course he’s just frustrated with Charles, but …’

  ‘But he would have hurt Charlie badly all the same.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And in the middle of it all, you have to put up with a gaggle of Lockharts around your dinner table.’

  Before Mrs Whitman could answer, her eyes moved past Evie, and her worried frown was replaced with a polite smile.

  ‘Evelyn darling!’

  Evie would know her mother’s voice anywhere. She turned and received her mother’s kiss, wishing she wouldn’t always put one hand on Evie’s shoulder to keep her at a slight distance. Hang decorum! They hadn’t seen one another for nearly two months. Evie tried to put her arm around her mother but before she could, Mrs Lockhart whispered in her ear, ‘You have some explaining to do.’

  Evie flinched. Her parents must have received the letter.

  Then her mother smiled and said something surprising. ‘Luckily we’ve had some good news to make up for your foolishness. So we’ll celebrate tonight and deal with you tomorrow.’ She raised her voice. ‘Evelyn, you’re not dressed. Hurry up.’

  ‘I’ll just be a minute.’ Evie raced to her room. Good news. What good news? Had her parents found out what she had been doing in New York? And instead of coming here to tell her to stop, were they here to congratulate her? It was a faint, and probably fanciful hope. Because her mother had also said, I’ll deal with you tomorrow. Was she referring to Charlie? Or medical school? Evie changed her dress slowly, making sure to choose one that would please her mother. As long as she stayed in her room, she didn’t have to find out which scenario was the right one. But then she remembered that she’d left Thomas’s letter and her reply in the sitting room. Damn. She didn’t want anyone to find them. She buckled her shoes and slipped downstairs, past the dining room where she could hear that everyone was already gathered, to the far end of the hall.

  When she pushed open the door, she couldn’t believe what she saw. Charlie. Reading her letter. Reading Thomas’s letter. Both of which would confirm, in his mind, the accusation he’d hurled at her during that last, angry exchange.

  ‘Can I have those?’ she asked coldly.

  Charlie turned to Evie, his face hard with anger. ‘I thought you said there was nothing to tell about you and Thomas. But you both seem to have such a lot to say to each other.’ He held out the letters, indicating that she should come and take them.

  She walked across to him warily, half expecting him to snatch them away and hide them behind his back, but instead he put his hand on her arm.

  ‘Charlie, please don’t.’ She pulled back but he didn’t let go.

  ‘I was right,’ he said. ‘You traded up.’

  ‘I haven’t traded anyone for anyone. The reason I don’t want to marry you has nothing to do with Thomas. And Thomas and I are just writing letters to each other, nothing more.’

  ‘“I often wish you were here, so I could talk to you too”.’ Charlie mimicked Evie’s words. ‘Is that what you say to every man you meet?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Just the special ones.’

  Evie took a deep breath. She reminded herself that he’d just had a confrontation with his father that would have cut him to the quick. And now on top of that had come these two letters. She softened her voice. ‘You’re hurting me, Charlie. Please let go.’

  Rather than releasing her, he caught hold of her other arm and made her face him, holding her so firmly she couldn’t move. His breath hit her full in the face and it smelled like too much wine and too much whiskey. He propelled her towards the door and pushed his back against it to make sure no one could enter. Evie shivered, suddenly feeling cold despite the summer night.

  ‘I thought I was one of the special ones,’ Charlie said. ‘Once upon a time. But you never said anything like that to me.’

  Fear made Evie’s breath quicken. She couldn’t get enough air. Why was he holding her so tightly? Why was he standing against the door? She tried to pull her arms away but it was just like that time at the river when she realised how much stronger he was than her.

  Then he lowered his face to hers. Oh God. He was going to kiss her, and given the way his fingers were digging into her flesh, she knew there would be nothing of love in what he did.

  Charles’s foul, wet mouth pressed against hers and his tongue tunnelled between her lips. She gagged and tried to twist her head away. But he took both her wrists in one of his hands behind her back and pulled her arms up higher until she thought they might snap. With his free hand he groped at her breasts, pinching her. Then his hand slipped down and lifted her dress until he found her thigh. Evie squirmed, frantic now. She couldn’t call out, let alone scream and howl like she desperately wanted to. Why didn’t someone come to find them?

  She shifted her leg away a little but he grabbed hold of her thigh and squeezed so hard that tears stung her eyes. His mouth was still squashed against hers, making sure she couldn’t utter a sound. She felt as if she was standing outside her body, watching herself on the verge of ruin, being kissed in a way she never wanted to be kissed, being touched with such violence and hatred that she wanted to shout, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I will marry you, I’ll do anything if you just stop! She managed a single ‘Please!’, but he swallowed it with his mouth and it was clear to Evie that there was not a thing she could do to get away.

  She was trapped. Trapped by his awful lust, which she could feel jabbing against her hip. She was the woman by the river. She was the one at the mercy of a man. She was the one about to get into trouble she hadn’t asked for, trouble she didn’t deserve.

  The hand under her skirt moved inside her knickers. That was when Evie stopped moving. Her body froze. She stopped crying. She stopped thinking.

  ‘I’ll see if he’s in here.’ It was Viola’s voice, coming from behind the closed door.

  Viola! Help me! Evie wanted to cry out. But Charles reacted first. He pushed Evie away and jumped forward. She fell to the floor, knocking the brandy glasses off the table. The sound of shattering glass rang out.

  The door opened and Viola came in.

  Charles’s face was flushed. He was panting. Spittle shone on his lip. One of his hands was clenched, as if he still had Evie’s thigh in his grip. Evie was shaking, crouched on the floor, her face turned from Viola in an attempt to hide the shock and the pain and the tears.

  ‘Evie?’ Viola said. ‘What’s going on?’ Her tone was accusatory, as if it was Evie who had been doing something wrong.

  And Charles always had the right words for any occasion. ‘Your sister was asking me why I hadn’t yet proposed marriage to her. She became upset when I told her it wasn’t ever my intention to ask for her hand.’ His voice was controlled.

  Viola walked over to Charles’s side and smiled up at him with devoted eyes. And Evie knew then that Viola would never believe her, let alone help her. Nobody would believe that Charles Whitman had tried to force himself on Evie while his guests drank champagne further down the hall. Her face was awash with tears. She looked like the guilty one, the one who was
out of control. Whereas Charles looked proud, as if he knew that even though he hadn’t been able to finish what he’d started, he’d won. Evie had been thoroughly beaten.

  Before Evie could escape, Charles put his head through the door and summoned the butler. ‘Call everybody in here.’

  Evie’s whole body shook uncontrollably. She had to leave. At the very least, she had to see if she could stand. With her hands braced on the table, she pulled herself to her feet just as her parents and the Whitmans came into the room.

  Mrs Whitman noticed Evie’s face and gave her a concerned look. Mrs Lockhart was beaming, and Evie wondered how it was possible that her mother could be so oblivious to her daughter’s anguish.

  A fork rang against crystal. It was Charles, getting everyone’s attention. What was he going to say? Evie cringed against the table.

  ‘I have an announcement to make, now that we’re all here,’ he said, glancing at Evie. ‘This is one of the happiest days of my life.’

  Evie took a step back.

  ‘I must be the luckiest man alive to have a woman so incomparable agree to spend the rest of her life with me,’ Charles continued.

  What? Evie struggled to make sense of what was happening.

  Charles looked directly at Evie as he spoke. ‘I’m proud to announce my engagement to Miss Viola Lockhart.’

  Viola smiled as if she’d caught herself a king.

  ‘No!’ said Evie. Everyone looked at her.

  ‘But … but …’ Evie stopped. What could she say? That Charles had tried to do unspeakable things to her and she didn’t want him doing anything like that to her sister? The pent-up tears began to pour down her cheeks and she knew she looked exactly like a spurned and jealous lover.

  ‘Evelyn,’ her mother snapped. ‘What is wrong with you?’

  ‘Evie’s been feeling unwell all day.’ Mrs Whitman stepped in, and Evie had never been so grateful to be rescued in all her life. ‘She made such an effort to come down to dinner but I think she should really be in bed.’

  ‘It’s not every day that one’s sister gets engaged.’ Mr Lockhart’s lips were pressed tight with disapproval.

  ‘Please?’ Evie whispered.

  ‘I think it’s for the best.’ Mrs Whitman swept Evie through the door before her mother could protest.

  ‘Oh, my dear,’ Mrs Whitman said when they were in the hall. ‘Are you upset about Charles and Viola?’

  Evie shook her head. She wouldn’t allow herself to speak because she could never tell Mrs Whitman that her son was the worst kind of man.

  ‘You’ve had an extraordinary few weeks. My prescription is bed rest for tonight so you’re at your best for the interview tomorrow. I’ll handle your mother. And I’ll do my best to pretend I’m happy for my son and your sister.’

  ‘Why is he marrying Viola?’

  ‘That’s a very good question. He seems intent on proving himself, but in all the wrong ways.’ Mrs Whitman hugged Evie. ‘Now go upstairs to bed. Try not to think too much about the interview.’

  Evie nodded. She slipped upstairs and closed the door of her room. Her legs collapsed and she slid down the wall, onto the floor. Another sob escaped loudly, too loudly, so she swallowed it and all the rest that wanted to come pouring out.

  Rose’s face flashed before Evie’s eyes. Rose’s desperate, lonely face. And it made Evie so angry to remember what had happened to Rose while the father of her child had suffered not at all. It turned Evie’s wretchedness to fury. ‘Damn you, Charles Whitman,’ Evie whispered. ‘Damn you if you think that’s the way to get rid of me.’

  This was her reason to stay, the reason that Mr Childers said she had to find. Charles’s attack meant she had no choice but to become an obstetrician. Because Evie would know, every time she saw a shamed and pregnant woman walk into the hospital, that it could so easily have been her.

  Chapter Nine

  Evie hardly slept that night. The next morning, her eyes were circled with shadows and her face was red and puffy. Powder helped very little. She tried to concentrate on her interview with the dean, on her one and only chance to be admitted to the Columbia College of Physicians and Surgeons. But other problems were demanding her attention. She couldn’t stay in the Whitmans’ house any longer. Not with Charles here. Where would she go? And should she warn Viola what her future husband was really like? She decided to walk to the college rather than take a taxi. The fresh air would calm her down. She stood up to leave but the door to her room opened.

  ‘Evelyn!’ said her mother, billowing into the room, followed by Mr Lockhart. ‘What fun we can have now that we’re all in New York. We’ll be able to find a dress for Viola and a dress for you for the wedding. I might even see if the stores of Fifth Avenue have something for me. We’ll plan a date for late autumn, I think. November would be ideal.’

  Mr Lockhart placed his hand on his wife’s arm to quiet her and turned to Evie. ‘Last night you didn’t behave like the lady I know you to be. It was your sister’s engagement announcement and you were in bed. It made you look petulant, which I know you are not.’

  Mr Lockhart lifted Evie’s chin so she had to tear her eyes from the floor and look at him. He smiled at her, benevolently, and Evie’s lip trembled. ‘What we need is to find one of Charles’s friends for you. Then you can forget about Charles and be happy for your sister. Charles didn’t behave like a gentleman should, so I can see why you might be upset. When he asked me for Viola’s hand, he told me that you understood his preference for your sister. But I can see now that he was wrong, and I’m sorry for it.’

  Evie sniffed back tears. How could she even begin to tell her father how mistaken he was? Besides, he was being kind to her, and what she needed right now was a little kindness. ‘Thank you,’ she said, deciding it would be simplest to go along with his assumptions. She kissed him on the cheek, wondering how she could get her parents to leave the room. It was only half an hour until her interview. But then the door opened again and in came Viola.

  Mrs Lockhart beckoned Viola over. ‘You haven’t shown Evelyn the ring.’

  Viola held out her hand. Her finger was bejewelled with a diamond that could light up Broadway.

  ‘It’s impossible to miss,’ said Evie.

  ‘It’s from Tiffany,’ said Viola.

  Evie’s heart sank. Charles wouldn’t have given Viola the same ring he’d bought for Evie, would he? But it wasn’t Viola’s fault if he had, so Evie tried to be nice. ‘I hope you’ll be happy. But I have somewhere to be in half an hour, so if you let me finish getting ready, we can talk later. We’ll have afternoon tea.’

  ‘But we’re going shopping!’ Mrs Lockhart exclaimed.

  ‘What if you and Viola go this morning and I’ll come next time?’ Evie said, wishing everyone would leave her alone, because her fragile facade could crumble at any moment and she needed to leave now or she would be late.

  ‘Charlie told me that Evie’s been going to summer school.’

  There was utter silence in the room. Evie was filled with cold and bitter hatred for her sister. Who was probably filled with cold and bitter hatred for Evie, if she believed what Charles had said last night, that Evie had been begging Charles to marry her when Viola walked in on them.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Mrs Lockhart, with disbelief.

  It was time to come clean. ‘I have been going to summer school. Because I want to be admitted to medical school. Are you happy now, Vi?’ Evie asked her sister. ‘You got the prize and I’m the black sheep. Let’s leave it at that.’ She turned back to her parents. ‘My interview with the college is in twenty-five minutes. I have to go. You can shout at me about it later. Please?’ Evie took her father’s hands in hers. She tried to look chastened and apologetic. He’d been feeling so sorry for her only a moment before. But the look on his face was anything but sympathetic now.

  ‘How dare you lie to me all this time,’ he said coldly, withdrawing his hands. ‘How dare you spend the money I gave you to enjoy N
ew York on summer school. You’ve been dishonest – worse than dishonest, because you haven’t just lied, you tried to convince us that things were going well with Charles when they were not.’

  He was right. She had been deceitful. She had lied and cheated and dissembled. And not just once, but over and over again. She turned away, unable to face her father’s gaze.

  Through the window, on the pavement below, Evie could see two women, one older and one younger, walking along Fifth Avenue. It was like watching herself and her mother, out strolling for the purpose of being seen. The two ladies noticed nothing beyond themselves: not the finger-bone tree branches ringed with late and faded blossoms or the girl hurrying past in a Bergdorf’s uniform with a frown on her face because perhaps she was late for work and perhaps she cared about that. The older woman was smoothing her cuff, ironing out a wrinkle as fine as the smile lines that would adorn her face if she forgot herself and had a momentary lapse into humour. Evie knew that a wrinkle in a sleeve could be the biggest trouble in one’s day, because she’d witnessed such fussing over trifles at home. No one would speak of a woman dying by the river, but much ado could be made out of a misplaced button. Why did she care about losing the approval of a family whose lives were filled with such trivial concerns? Because they were her family. They were supposed to love her no matter what. If they couldn’t love her in spite of what she chose to do, then who would?

  She turned back to the room. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I knew you’d be surprised. But can’t you be proud as well? I can show you my summer school grades. They’re among the highest of all the students’. Of all the male students’. I’m good at this.’

  ‘How can we be proud of something that will make you a pariah?’ Her mother shuddered.

  ‘The world is changing, Mother. There are women all over New York who work and take care of themselves.’

  ‘Those women are typists and laundresses and teachers. They are not doctors.’