A Kiss From Mr Fitzgerald

by Natasha Lester

  Evie strode on ahead, furious, with Lucille in her arms, following Mary through the doors. She could sense her mother and father trailing several feet behind. When they reached the Palm Court and Viola stood up to wave, Evie glared at her sister. Then she turned to her parents. ‘These are my daughters, Mary and Lucille. Adopted from the Foundling.’

  She directed the last sentence at her father, to make sure he knew. He lifted his eyes to her and Evie almost took a step back. Because she saw that her father was now an old man. The past two years had not been kind to him, and his back was stooped, his face whiskered with grey, and his hair had vanished from his head. More than that though, his eyes were receding, settling back into his skull as if they couldn’t bear to look upon the world in which he’d cast aside so many dear things.

  Mary was lucky, Evie thought, that her father had given her away to live a better life than the one she would have had with him. And Evie was so blessed to have Mary as her daughter. She could not regret for a moment what her father had done.

  ‘I thought Mary needed a family,’ Evie said. ‘And we’re all very happy.’

  Her father nodded and Evie knew he understood. He’d get away with what he’d done because Evie had taken responsibility for it. But while Evie could sleep at night with a clear conscience over Mary, he would always be haunted by the child he’d never know. Mary was his penance and Evie’s godsend. Her anger at her father disappeared; how could anyone be angry with a man who deserved only pity?

  ‘This is Mr and Mrs Lockhart,’ Evie said to her daughters. ‘Say hello, girls.’

  ‘They have the same name we do,’ Mary marvelled.

  ‘They do.’ Evie looked at her mother and said, ‘I couldn’t write to you any more, because it was impossible not to write about them. I knew you’d disapprove.’

  But her mother surprised her. She held out her hands to the girls, face soft with folded skin and with an expression that looked a lot like affection. ‘Perhaps you’d like to sit beside me for a moment.’

  Mr Lockhart shook his head slightly at his wife, but Mrs Lockhart said, ‘I think we’ve let this go on long enough.’ She sat down with Mary and Lucille and began to ask them the kinds of questions one didn’t really ask a child, such as did they enjoy visiting the Plaza?, but Evie knew her mother was trying and that was better than anything.

  She was about to give her niece a kiss and find somewhere to sit that was not too close to Viola, who she was still cross with, when somebody said her name. ‘Evie.’

  She turned around. ‘Charles,’ she said, and they regarded each other like boxers before a fight. But she realised that Charles, too, no longer warranted her hatred. He was another man whose choices had left him with nothing, even if he didn’t know that yet. ‘I think the idea is for us to pretend to be nice.’ She held out her hand.

  ‘You still think that all I want is to shake your hand?’ he said under his breath, staring at the cup and saucer in his hand as if wishing it contained something stronger than tea. He turned away and strode to the bar, which was serving nothing other than lemonade, and shouted at the bartender as if Prohibition was all his fault. Evie sighed. It seemed that neither of the Whitman brothers would ever forgive her.

  The pianist began to play ‘I’m Nobody’s Baby’. Evie tried to ignore the words and was thankful for the tap on the shoulder from none other than William Dunning, not a bell-boy any more, but wearing a badge that proclaimed him the Assistant Manager.

  She kissed his cheek. ‘You got what you deserved,’ she said, nodding at his badge. ‘I still have that white dress you know.’

  He blushed to the tips of his ears when she kissed him. ‘I’d hoped you would have what you deserved too, but you look as sad as you did the last time you were here.’

  ‘Perhaps I did get what I deserved,’ she said, squeezing his hand. ‘I have another favour to ask.’ She pointed to Charles. ‘Can you make sure he doesn’t spoil our party?’ she asked, anxious for William to move away before the memories attached to him – being lost in a kiss with Thomas in this very room – made her feel more overwrought than she already did.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, and she watched as he expertly led Charles to a far away table and distracted him with a box of cigars.

  Evie relaxed a little. Everything would be all right. These were all things she would have had to face eventually. Perhaps Viola was right to make her deal with them at last. She walked over to her sister. ‘Haven’t you been busy organising this?’ she said to Viola.

  Viola grinned the same way Evie used to smile at Viola when they were younger and Evie had outwitted her sister yet again. Evie was bemused to see the tables so turned. ‘We have Emily and Mary and Lucille now,’ Viola said. ‘Time to stop thinking of ourselves and think of what’s best for them.’

  ‘When did you get so wise?’ Evie sat down beside Viola, determined to hold onto the wonder of being close to her, the joy of having two children, and the pleasure of being able to freely visit her niece.

  ‘We have to let some cats out of their bags before they run out of air. Emily needs her cousins.’ Viola waved at two people coming in through the doors. The waiter placed a teapot and a plate of sandwiches on the table in front of them.

  At the same time, Lucille pulled on Evie’s skirt. ‘Mama?’

  ‘Yes, darling?’ Evie lifted Lucille onto her lap. Mary climbed up on the other side.

  When Evie looked up and recognised the two people Viola had waved to, she had her children arranged around her in a delightful tableau from which she could not escape. The people walking towards the table were Mabel Whitman and Thomas.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ‘Viola!’ Evie hissed. ‘What are you doing?’ What was her sister thinking inviting Thomas? How awkward for everyone, and how unbelievably awful for her. Evie picked up her purse. She could not stay. Could not bear to look at Thomas and know she could never, ever have him. That he was Winnie’s now. But she was stopped by her sister’s hand.

  ‘Stay.’ Viola was silent a moment, and when Evie saw the sadness in her sister’s eyes her anger melted away. ‘This is my thank you. For looking after Mary,’ Viola said as she moved away.

  Mrs Whitman and Thomas were standing in front of her now. She tried to compose herself. She would let the girls eat some cake and then they would go, she decided quickly. For safety, she’d sit near Viola. Thomas wouldn’t have to speak to her once he’d said hello. She gently moved Lucille off her lap and stood, hoping to get the uncomfortable greetings over with, gripping her purse so that she wouldn’t have to shake Thomas’s hand. Touching him would discompose her utterly.

  ‘Evie. Lovely to see you again,’ said Mrs Whitman. She looked friendly, at least, and Evie was grateful for the politeness, even if perhaps it was forced. ‘And Mary and Lucille, if I remember correctly,’ Mrs Whitman continued.

  Mary nodded solemnly and Lucille copied her sister.

  ‘I’ll go and speak to your parents, Evie. They look a little lost.’ Mrs Whitman rustled away before Evie could stop her.

  That left Thomas and Evie in the Palm Court at the Plaza Hotel once again, but this time with two children watching on. And with no chance of repeating that glorious kiss. She wondered for a moment if he was remembering it too, then dismissed the thought. The only kisses he would think about now were Winnie’s, a thought that cut Evie to the quick.

  ‘Who are you?’ Mary asked before Evie could say anything.

  ‘I’m Thomas,’ he said gently, and Evie’s hand just about strangled her purse at his tone, which only made her see more clearly what a wonderful father he would have been.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Thomas.’ Mary held out her hand to be shaken, and Evie couldn’t believe that at such a moment the usually reticent Mary would be so talkative.

  ‘What’s your sister’s name?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Lucille,’ Mary offered eagerly.

  Lucille, ever the imitator, held out her hand too. To Evie’s consternati
on, Thomas took it in his and bent down playfully to kiss it. Mary and Lucille dissolved into giggles.

  Evie had to sit down. She willed herself to get through the next hour, to appear as if she was enjoying herself, and to not look at Thomas, not even for one second.

  ‘Are you a friend of Mama’s?’ Mary asked, clearly delighted at this new acquaintance who seemed so much like a prince from a storybook.

  ‘I’ve known your mama for a very long time. Since she was about as old as you.’ His voice was still warm, and Evie almost wished he would revert to the coldness of their last encounter, anything other than remind her so accutely of what she’d given up.

  ‘Really?’ Mary looked at Evie as if unable to believe that Evie could ever have been so small. ‘What did she look like then?’

  ‘Much the same. Beautiful. And fearless. Except I think she’s more careful now than she used to be. Because she has you and your sister to think about.’ Thomas looked at her then and Evie felt her heart cleave.

  She fixed her gaze on the teacup. Something wet landed on the saucer. A single teardrop.

  Lucille tugged on Thomas’s trouser leg. Mary interpreted. ‘She wants you to pick her up.’

  ‘No,’ whispered Evie, looking up. But it was too late.

  Thomas bent down and gathered up the little girl in the frilly white dress. He held her in his arms, all blonde curls and big dark eyes. Lucille clapped her palms against Thomas’s cheeks, marking each of them with a red spot the size of her hand. Then Thomas and Lucille both turned to look at Evie with eyes that were exactly the same. It was bittersweet and beautiful and Evie wished they would stay like that forever.

  She found herself telling the truth for the first time in so long. ‘You said I didn’t trust you, but I did what I did because I trusted you. I knew what you’d do if you found out the truth. And I was fighting. For you to be free to be the person you were meant to be.’

  Before Thomas could reply, Mary asked, ‘Where’s your wife?’ She looked around for another person to complete the princely picture.

  ‘I’m not married,’ Thomas replied, at the same time as Evie said, ‘Thomas will be married soon.’

  Thomas sat down beside Evie with Lucille still in his arms. ‘Winnie’s parents placed the engagement announcement in the newspaper. But I’m not marrying Winnie.’

  ‘Don’t marry me for our child, if that’s what’s holding you back.’

  ‘I won’t marry you for our child.’

  That was it then. The end. It was the first and last time Evie would ever see Thomas with their child in his arms.

  But then came the most surprising words of all. ‘When you were standing in my office, I had to hold onto my desk to stop myself reaching out to you. I’ll never feel for anyone what I feel for you. But I didn’t know or understand then what you’d done. Viola explained everything yesterday. That it was all for me. And for Lucille. So, I won’t marry you for our child,’ he repeated. ‘I’ll marry you because I love you.’

  Thomas leaned forward, reaching over Lucille’s head, and kissed Evie in the Plaza Hotel for the second time in their lives and once again without regard for who might be watching. As his lips touched hers, Evie knew that what she’d once dreamed of, a kiss from Mr Fitzgerald, the casual kiss so sought after in one of his novels, was a hollow thing. What she had now with Thomas was a kiss she would never tire of, a kiss she wanted to lose herself in every day of her life.

  Thomas pulled back a little to let Lucille in, to let Mary in. He said to Evie, ‘It was always you.’

  The New Yorker, June 20th, 1927

  NEW YORK society was agog today as one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, bank president Mr Thomas Whitman, married obstetrician Miss Evelyn Lockhart. The bride wore a sleeveless black and white Lanvin gown covered in sequins to a point just above her knee, where the dress fluttered away like two long and dazzling butterfly wings to trail along the ground. I declare the gown will become the most copied dress of the season, despite Miss Lockhart’s scandalous profession. Fashion always trumps scruples, in my opinion.

  Miss Lockhart’s two adopted daughters sprinkled the church with white rose petals for the bride to swing her heels through on the way to the altar. The two blonde cherubs made a beautiful picture with their adoptive mother, although I suspect a few gasps could be heard from the Victorian antiques in the back when the little girls preceded Miss Lockhart down the aisle. But this is 1927 and who cares for antiques these days?

  In spite of the gasps, the sky didn’t fall down and banking stocks continued to rise. Perhaps Mrs Evelyn Whitman has demonstrated that you can be a successful woman whose vocation it is to help others and still marry your Prince Charming – and if he truly is charming, he will not mind a jot if his wife continues to work as a doctor, thus helping to make the world a better place to be. And that one can adopt and raise two orphaned children who are now heirs to a whopping fortune, in true Dickensian style. I believe it’s called philanthropy – thinking about the good of others, rather than always worrying about what others think of us.

  As the car left the Plaza Hotel, bound for Newport, the newly wed Mr and Mrs Thomas Whitman could be seen necking in the back with such passion that I wouldn’t mind betting theirs is the kind of love that will well and truly last a lifetime.

  – LIPSTICK

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to those institutions who keep archival material, without which this book would be much the poorer. To Stephen Novak, Head of Archives and Special Collections at the Columbia University Medical Center, thank you for your assistance. In these archives I found the invaluable papers of Leoni Neumann Claman, comprising notes recorded by Claman in 1923 as she sat, one of a handful of women, in the lecture halls of the Columbia College of Physicians and Surgeons.

  Many divisions of the New York Public Library provided assistance and archival materials, especially the Lionel Pincus and Princess Firyal Map Division, the Theatre on Film and Tape Archive, the NYPL Digital Gallery, and the Billy Rose Theatre Division, which gave me access to the papers of Billie Burke, Florenz Ziegfeld’s wife. These provided me with a huge amount of information about the Ziegfeld Follies in the 1920s. The archives of The New Yorker, especially the advertisements of the time and Lipstick’s columns, were a terrific source of information about daily life in the city.

  Many books have also proved useful. For information about New York in the 1920s, I used The Encyclopedia of New York edited by Kenneth Jackson; Daily Life in the United States, 1920–1940 by David E. Kyvig; Flapper: A madcap story of sex, style, celebrity, and the women who made America modern by Joshua Zeitz; The Historical Atlas of New York City by Eric Homberger; and the wonderful catalogue of Berenice Abbott’s photographs, Changing New York. For information about the Sloane Hospital for Women, Harold Speert’s The Sloane Hospital Chronicle was invaluable. For information about obstetric practices at the time, I referred to Brought to Bed: Childbearing in America, 1750–1950 by Judith Walzer Leavitt; Lying-In: A history of childbirth in America by Richard and Dorothy Wertz; The Management of Obstetric Difficulties by Paul Titus; and Dr Joseph DeLee’s controversial article ‘The Prophylactic Forceps Operation’ first published in the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology in 1920. For information about the Ziegfeld Follies, The Ziegfeld Touch: The life and times of Florenz Ziegfeld, Jr. by Richard and Paulette Ziegfeld and Ziegfeld by Charles Higham were useful. Finally, Emily Dunning Barringer’s account, Bowery to Bellevue: The story of New York’s first woman ambulance surgeon, was fascinating. The 1925–26 Columbia University catalogue provided me with information about the requirements for entry into the College of Physicians and Surgeons at the time.

  To my wonderful writing group, Dawn Barker, Amanda Curtin, Sara Foster and Annabel Smith: thank you, not just for providing much-needed feedback on my first draft, but also for being there throughout the highs and lows of getting this book published. Thanks also to Liz Byrski and Vanessa Carnevale for your feedback
on an early draft.

  Biggest thanks of all to my amazing agent Jacinta di Mase for being the first person to make me believe in this book and for all her invaluable advice. To Rebecca Saunders, thank you for being the best publisher a writer could wish for, and to everyone else at Hachette, where I feel very lucky to have found a home.

  And to all of the wonderful readers who talk to me every day on my blog and on social media, thank you for being a part of this journey, for making me feel that writing isn’t a lonely business, for making me want to keep writing more books to share with you.

  Finally, as always, to Russell, Ruby, Audrey and Darcy, all my love and thanks.

  Author’s Note

  A Kiss from Mr Fitzgerald is a work of fiction. However, many of the events and circumstances described in the novel are based on fact.

  First and foremost, Dr Joseph DeLee’s ideas about birth as a pathological process which damaged women, and his prescription of sedation, ether, episiotomies and forceps as necessary for every birth, were fundamental in governing the way obstetrics was practised at the time. For more information about his philosophies, please see his article ‘The Prophylactic Forceps Operation’, first published in 1920 in the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology.

  The Sloane Hospital for Women and the Columbia College of Physicians and Surgeons are both real institutions. The first group of women to graduate from the college did so in 1922. None of the characters in this book from the college or hospital, including Evie, are based on real people. Virginia Kneeland Frantz is mentioned as the first woman from the College of Physicians and Surgeons to gain a surgical internship, and this is fact.