A Kiss From Mr Fitzgerald

by Natasha Lester

  ‘Why don’t you tell us about life in Greenwich Village?’ Charles said, cracking the claw of his lobster with the practised hand of an executioner.

  ‘Never visited?’ Evie asked.

  ‘Wall Street and the Upper East Side keep us happy,’ Charles replied smoothly.

  ‘Where do you live?’ Viola asked, curiosity getting the better of decorum.

  ‘In a boarding house. I share with a friend. Life is cheaper that way.’

  ‘The cheap life has its charms for some people,’ said Charles. ‘Cheers. Here’s to the family reunion.’

  Evie noticed her parents hesitate before picking up their glasses, but it would be rude to ignore the toast so they raised the goblets to their lips and drank thirstily, appreciating the liquid part of the action rather than the sentiment.

  Mrs Lockhart began talking pointedly to Charles, and Viola used the cover of their conversation to ask Evie, ‘Do you actually help at a hospital? Or do you just go to lectures?’

  Evie thought she heard something in her sister’s voice, a new pensiveness that made her question sound genuine rather than mocking. ‘I help at the hospital a little. Today I saved a woman’s life.’ As Evie said it, she realised it was true. If she hadn’t badgered Francis about Mrs Latimer’s blood pressure, the woman would probably be dead right now. Despite the battles she had to fight every day at the hospital, and her regular defeats, she was making a difference. She smiled. ‘It’s hard work but I love it.’

  Mr Lockhart cleared his throat and Evie realised he’d been listening to her. ‘What happened?’ There was a gleam of interest in his eyes although his face was still stern.

  ‘I don’t think it’s suitable conversation for a dinner party.’ Charles’s words seemed to lift the trance that had settled on Viola and her father, to bring them back to themselves.

  ‘You’re right,’ nodded Viola, looking over at her husband.

  In spite of her sister’s smile, Evie thought she didn’t look happy. But Evie didn’t ask. What was the point in speaking? Charles would block her at every turn.

  The rest of dinner continued with stilted conversation that studiously avoided her. Thomas still didn’t appear. And Charles was making Evie wait through the whole of dinner for the denouement.

  After dinner the ladies withdrew, in the old fashion, to the drawing room. Rather than sit down with her mother and sister, Evie excused herself to go to the bathroom. Viola gave directions, adding, just like her old self, as if the person asking questions at the dinner table had been an apparition, ‘Your nose doesn’t need any more powder.’

  ‘But your face, on the other hand, could do with a touch of rouge. Pregnancy is making you look decidedly peaky,’ Evie replied.

  Mrs Lockhart pressed her lips together and patted Viola’s hand. It was just as it had always been, Evie in trouble, Viola and her mother in agreement. Evie understood that she had not been forgiven, not by any of her family. But perhaps she deserved it. She could only imagine the gossip and whispering that must follow them everywhere – that Evie had thrown her life away to become, of all things, a medical student. Nobody in Concord, nobody in Viola’s circle, would ever have contemplated that such a thing was possible, let alone in any way desirable.

  She trailed down the hall, her attention caught briefly by the library, but after seeing an entire shelf full of the gloom of Thomas Hardy, she moved on. Then she heard her name, spoken by her father. She stopped near a door that was not quite closed, and listened.

  But there was silence for a dozen ticks of the clock. A chinking of ice in a glass. The ting of the decanter lid being replaced. The gulp of swallowed brandy.

  Then Charles’s voice. ‘I’ll do what I can to help you with this business.’ Another swallow. ‘People should always be in your debt, don’t you think?’

  Which was an ominous sign for Evie, given Charles’s interest in paying her college fees.

  The door opened. Evie had just enough time to continue walking, as if she’d only just come down the hall. Her father didn’t see her as he huffed out of the room, but Charles did.

  ‘Evie! Just the person I want to talk to. Brandy?’

  ‘Thank you.’ Evie entered Charles’s study, which had been decorated in red velvet and yet more dark wood. The head of an animal hung in the centre of each of the four walls: a moose, a bear, a stag and a bison.

  ‘Shot them yourself, did you?’ Evie asked, nodding at the heads.

  Charles laughed and remained sitting behind his desk. ‘I don’t dirty my own hands with sport.’

  ‘Except with me.’

  ‘Is that what they teach doctors, to jump straight to the business at hand?’

  ‘Only with those who waste our time.’

  ‘So you’ll accept my offer? The College of Physicians and Surgeons won’t want a Follies whore as part of its student body. And Viola and I don’t want the embarrassment of somebody we know recognising you.’

  ‘I think I’m unrecognisable from the girl I used to be, Charlie.’

  ‘That’s true. But I can’t run the risk. And you don’t have to repay me in cash, if that’s what’s worrying you.’ He stood and began to walk towards Evie.

  A sickening vision of the kind of interest Charles would expect on his loan passed through Evie’s mind. She swallowed her brandy to shut out the memory of his finger reaching for her nipple last night at the Follies. How the hell was she going to get out of this one? She’d come with no plan and now she was euchred.

  Being combative hadn’t worked, so she tried honesty. ‘I have no other way to pay my fees. I have to work at the Follies.’

  ‘I’ve offered you another way.’

  ‘I can’t accept it.’ Evie hesitated. She hated herself for what she was about to say, hated having to appeal to vicious, cruel Charles, but she’d run out of ideas and he was standing right in front of her now. ‘We used to be such good friends. For the sake of that, please forget you saw me at the Follies.’

  Charles laughed joylessly. ‘Friends? Back when you promised to marry me and then threw me off, not just for my brother, but to be a laughing-stock? Nobody quite knew which was the best part of the joke, but everybody knew the joke was on me.’

  A movement near the door caught Evie’s eye. A man stepped into the room, and Evie found that, in spite of the conversation she was having with Charles, she couldn’t help but smile. Thomas had come after all. He smiled at her too, and as soon as he did, Evie knew it was a mistake. That Charles would notice.

  ‘You two seem pleased to see each other.’ Charles poured another brandy and offered it to his brother, who declined with a shake of his head, leaving Charles standing in the middle of the room with his arm outstretched.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Evie,’ said Thomas.

  ‘You too.’

  ‘I hope I haven’t interrupted anything,’ said Thomas, looking at Charles.

  ‘You have,’ said Charles. ‘We’ll be in the drawing room shortly.’

  Instead of leaving, Thomas sat down in the chair behind Charles’s desk. He picked up a pen, examined it, and then put it down as if he found it lacking. ‘You wouldn’t believe who I just saw,’ he said.

  Charles looked annoyed at having his grip on the conversation loosened. ‘Should I care?’

  ‘It was Ada Griffin,’ said Thomas. ‘She was walking along Fifth Avenue. I told her I was on my way here and she was so interested in seeing you that I almost invited her to come along. Perhaps I’ll bring her next time. Viola would love to meet her, seeing as she’s such a pal of yours. Wouldn’t you ordinarily be seeing her at this time of night?’

  As if the room wasn’t already decidedly chilly, the air suddenly hit freezing point. Evie shivered. She had no idea who Ada Griffin was, but at the sound of her name Charles had turned his back on his brother.

  ‘You can forget about the business we were discussing.’

  At first Evie thought Charles was talking to Thomas. But then she realised he was talking t
o her. He was letting her go. Somehow, she’d won that round.

  ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed at Thomas before she slipped out and left the brothers to whatever it was they were discussing. She didn’t bother to stop in at the drawing room. Instead, she let herself out of the house and extended her arms into the warmer air outside.

  Thomas had managed to hand her a victory this time. It would give her an excuse to see him again, to thank him. But Evie was also sure it was a mere delay, that there’d be another round to fight with Charles soon.

  A voice she loved hearing called her name. Thomas hurried to catch up to her. ‘I’ll take you home.’

  ‘I thought I’d walk.’

  ‘Then I’ll walk with you.’ He fell in step beside her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Evie paused. ‘Is Ada Griffin Charles’s mistress?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does Viola know?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Nor do my parents. Otherwise they’d probably cut off some of his funds.’

  ‘So now he hates both of us.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘I wish I wasn’t the reason for it.’

  ‘Evie, even though he’s my brother, you’re worth a thousand of Charles.’

  Evie had to look down at the pavement to hide her smile. But she said, ‘I’m a showgirl with the Ziegfeld Follies, Thomas. That hardly makes me someone to admire. And I want to be an obstetrician, which most people think is even more scandalous than dancing on a stage in my corset. I’m sure your clients at the bank would think so.’

  ‘But I don’t.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I know you and I respect why you’re doing it. More than that, I hope you succeed.’

  ‘So in spite of the fact that you shouldn’t, you still want to walk me home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Evie couldn’t help laughing. ‘Of all the people to sit with in an apple tree and plan a disreputable future, I don’t think I could have chosen better.’

  ‘It was your apple core that chose me, not you. It was a very good shot.’

  Evie laughed again but stopped when she realised that Thomas had taken her hand, that she was walking along Fifth Avenue on an evening spotlit by a round full moon, hand in hand with a man she’d been unable to stop thinking about for nearly three years. It made her shy, and perhaps Thomas too, because they walked together in silence for several blocks, a silence that was loud with questions. Should she let him walk her home? Should she tell him to find someone more suitable than her? Or should she just enjoy the moment, her hand in his?

  Before her doubts could make her thank Thomas politely and hail a taxi, she said, ‘Tell me about London.’

  ‘London was … a city you’d like. I worked in an office building that looked out onto Westminster, so I was surrounded by the palaces and churches where all the kings have walked. Then I’d go out into the streets at lunchtime and see a row of policemen standing guard in front of the Bank of England and I almost wished they were wearing courtiers’ clothes so they looked more a part of the city. And I’d sit in St James’s Park and write letters to you.’

  ‘Whereas I’d write my letters to you at the dressing table at the New Amsterdam Theatre during intermission. Now you know why they were always spattered with rouge. Your story is much more –’ Evie cut herself off. She’d been about to say ‘romantic’, but worried that that would sound presumptuous.

  Thomas stopped walking. ‘I might have to go back to London in a month or so.’

  At his words, Evie tightened her grip on his hand, as if that would prevent him from leaving. ‘Why?’ she blurted.

  ‘To finish up some business. It would only be for a few weeks this time I hope. I had to come back now because of …’ Thomas hesitated and then said diplomatically, ‘the situation with my father and Charles. But I was in the middle of a deal with some English lords and I’ll have to go back to see it through.’

  ‘English lords?’ Evie teased to cover up what she really wanted to say, which was Please don’t go away again! ‘It’s times like this when I realise there’s another world spinning in parallel with mine, where people keep their hands a lot cleaner and babies are definitely not the outcome.’

  Thomas laughed. ‘I want to see you again, but tell me if the back and forth to London is more than you can put up with.’

  ‘You put up with what I do. It’d hardly be fair if I couldn’t return the favour.’ Evie smiled and realised they were facing each other, within kissing distance. Even though she was no longer the inexperienced girl she’d been the last time they were together, she felt skittish because Thomas mattered to her so much more than any other man ever had. Instead of stepping closer she said, ‘Look.’

  She pointed to a woman carrying a wicker basket filled with steaming, just-baked pretzels. ‘I’m ravenous. I couldn’t stomach much of dinner.’ She led Thomas over to the pretzel woman and pulled some coins from her purse.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Thomas said.

  ‘Allow me,’ Evie said with mock grandeur. ‘They’re a penny each. Which I bet you didn’t know.’

  ‘I didn’t.’ Thomas took his pretzel and bit into it.

  ‘I bet you also didn’t know that the Times once said it wasn’t fitting for a bank president to be seen munching a pretzel.’

  Thomas laughed. ‘You’re making that up.’

  ‘I’m not! Pretzels are saloon food meant for those of us who live downtown.’

  ‘Well, bank presidents don’t know what they’re missing. What else are you going to show me on our impromptu tour of the city?’

  ‘That’s it for tonight. You’ll have to see me again to find out more,’ Evie said boldly.

  ‘I will.’

  Thomas looked at her, his eyes dark with desire and the effort of restraint. Evie bit her lip. God, she wanted to kiss him. Hang restraint. She reached out to him, her face turned up towards his.

  ‘Evie! I thought it was you!’

  Evie whirled away from Thomas to see Lil and Leo running towards them.

  ‘We missed you!’ Lil’s greeting for Thomas was effusive and she kissed him on both cheeks. Evie wished she’d been as daring. Thomas and Leo shook hands, clearly pleased to see each other.

  They all walked back to Minetta Street together, and as much as Evie rued the kiss she didn’t have, she was still ridiculously pleased that Thomas had not once let go of her hand. Thomas told them more about London, and about visiting Paris. About attending the wondrous exhibition of modern and decorative arts that had been so full to bursting with unusual ideas it was impossible to do it justice with words. Evie was glad to listen, to find out more about this man who was the only person who’d ever made her feel like Times Square on New Year’s Eve – alive with the possibility of what the future might hold.

  In the flurry of goodbyes when they reached the boarding house, Evie found herself cheek to cheek with Thomas. He held her there for a moment and she was sure she heard the intake of his breath when she put her hand on his chest to balance herself.

  ‘I’ll see you soon,’ he whispered, before he and Leo walked back across to Fifth Avenue.

  Evie could have stood there all night, watching him and dreaming of what might happen the next time they were together.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Charles was banging on the door, he was coming after her, coming to finish what he’d started in the sitting room two and a half years ago.

  Evie’s eyes flew open. She’d been dreaming. Charles’s presence was imaginary, but the banging on the door was real.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Evie asked Lil, both of them fumbling awake, grappling with sheets that seemed to be pinning their bodies to the bed, fingers tussling with the inside-out sleeves of robes that caught on their arms like persistent admirers.

  Evie gave up on her robe and turned on the lamp before opening the door wearing just her pyjamas.

  ‘Can you help us?’ begged a girl in a bedraggled coat. Evie
recognised her as someone she’d seen in the neighbourhood.

  ‘What is it?’ Evie asked as Lil came up behind, having beaten her robe into submission.

  ‘Mum’s having another baby. But it’s bum first, she reckons, ’cause it won’t come out, and the ambulance must be coming from California, it’s taking so long. I heard you’re learning how to be a doctor who gets babies out.’

  ‘I’m only a student.’

  ‘But Mum’s been going at it since yesterday. She’s in bad shape.’

  Evie could hear the panic in the girl’s voice. She checked the clock. Four in the morning. New York was determined to make her an insomniac. She found her stethoscope. Then she and Lil followed the girl down the stairs and into the apartments next door; a woman’s screams could be heard from the entry. The landing was abuzz with people who’d come out to see Evie, as if she was the feature at the picture theatre.

  ‘She’s the doctor I told you about,’ she heard whispered as she ascended the stairs.

  ‘The dark one?’

  ‘The blonde.’

  ‘Oh.’ This was said as if Evie had been found wanting. It did nothing for her confidence, and she realised that, much as she hated Dr Kingsley, she wished he was here right now. Anything rather than be alone with a mother whose baby was possibly presenting as breech. Hopefully the ambulance would come and Evie wouldn’t have to show everyone how little she knew.

  The apartments were yet to be redeveloped into à la mode Greenwich Village living, and the sight of the grim, poky room made Evie wish that more women would give up the practice of birthing at home in spite of the doctors’ cavalier treatment of them. The sheets on the bed were dirty with grime that had long preceded the bodily fluids of birth. It was grime that spoke of the difficulty of washing bedsheets in a two-room tenement housing seven people and with no laundry facilities. The room was barely lit by a single uncovered bulb that dropped a puddle of light on the floor. Evie could just see the woman on the bed, who was flushed, sweaty and breathing rapidly. She needed help. Evie felt her anxiety, for the woman and the situation she was in, increase.