by Trisha Baker
"That's too bad."
"Are you still going?"
"Of course."
"What will Johnny think?" Johnny Devlin was Maggie's fiance. He'd been wounded in France and had come home three weeks ago.
Maggie frowned and lit another cigarette. "I don't have to answer to him. And anyway, who says he has to know I'm going by myself? He's up at Harvard this weekend on an admissions interview."
Bridie opened her second bottle of beer. "Maggie, is there something wrong between you and Johnny?"
Maggie took a strong pull of her cigarette before answering. "I don't know. It's just that he's different now. Since he came home, sometimes it feels like we've got nothing to talk about."
"Are you getting cold feet about the wedding?"
Maggie hadn't wanted to think about this, but now that the question was in front of her, she felt she had to answer it. "I think I am. But I don't know what to do. Should I break off our engagement?"
"Give it a little more time," Bridie advised. "It could just be that you have to get used to each other again."
"Maybe," Maggie replied. "Let's talk about something a little more upbeat—like what I'm going to wear tonight." Maggie didn't want to think about Johnny anymore. She just wanted to go to Pauline's party and have some fun.
When the butler opened the door to admit Maggie to Pauline's three-floor Fifth Avenue apartment, the first person she saw was Pauline's mother, Evelyn Manchester. "Maggie, how nice to see you again!" Evelyn swooped down and kissed the air in front of Maggie in that curious fashion rich people had. "You look wonderful, darling."
"Thank you." Maggie knew she looked pretty tonight. She was wearing a violet gown that had lace shoulder straps, a fitted waist, and a full-skirt that was four layers of rayon and purple taffeta. Maggie thought the color went well with her flame-red hair, which she had put up in a French twist.
Maggie looked around the party. "Where is Pauline? I don't see her anywhere."
Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Oh, she's in love with my guest of honor, and got so tongue-tied she ran away to hide in the parlor. You know how bashful Pauline is."
"Well, if she likes the fellow, shouldn't she be down here talking to him and not cowering in some room?"
"I couldn't put it better myself. Maggie, be a dear and go upstairs and drag my daughter back down here."
When Maggie opened the door to the parlor, Pauline looked up and wailed, "I'm in love!"
"So I heard," Maggie said wryly. "Who is he? Your mother said something about him being the guest of honor."
"Oh, he and Mother have some sort of business deal. He's new to the country and she's throwing this party to introduce him to New York society. Oh, Maggie, I've never seen such a gorgeous man in my life!"
Maggie started lifting pillows off the chintz sofa and bibelots off the mantel. Pauline frowned. "What are you doing?"
Maggie turned around and lifted her hands up. "Pauline, I don't see any gorgeous guys around here."
"Well, he's downstairs."
"Really? Then shouldn't you be there too? For all you know, some other girl is downstairs with him while we're wasting time talking. Come on, let's go!"
"I can't," Pauline whined. "I got so nervous when Mother introduced us that I couldn't say a word. I just can't go back downstairs."
"I know what you need," Maggie told her.
"What?"
"Booze! I'll go back downstairs and get you a drink to take the edge off—something strong. We'll have a drink and then you'll go back downstairs before your mother has a heart attack. Deal?"
"Well…"
"Great!" Maggie said. "Now, what do you like to drink?"
"Martinis."
At the bar, Pauline's cousin Kippy Greenwood accosted Maggie. He had lank black hair, pimples, and was too skinny. He had been coming on to Maggie for two years without success.
"Hey, Maggie," he slurred, "you gonna have a drink with me?"
"Buzz off," she replied disinterestedly. "And how many have you had? You smell like a distillery."
"What's the matter with you?" Kippy demanded. "Rich, good-looking guy like me comes on to you… a girl should be flattered."
"A girl would be flattered if a rich, good-looking guy came on to her… You're another story."
"What makes you think you can talk to me like that?" Kippy put an expression of aristocratic disdain on his face. It did not go at all well with his obvious state of inebriation. "You're just some cheap Mick girl my cousin invited to a society party."
Maggie got the drinks from the bartender (a martini for Pauline and a scotch on the rocks for her), thought about leaving, and then decided to give Kippy a piece of her mind. She didn't notice the man who was watching their argument with a great deal of interest.
"There's nothing wrong with being Irish, you lout," she told Kippy. "But there's plenty wrong with using your money and connections to cop a four-F while the real men are fighting overseas."
Kippy flushed and grabbed her arm. "Take that back."
"Let go of me!"
Kippy smirked. "What are you going to do about it?"
Maggie drove her spike heel into his toe. Kippy yelped in pain, grabbing his injured foot. "You little…"
A man grabbed his arm from behind. "Apologize to the young lady."
Kippy and Maggie looked at the stranger. Maggie thought she had never seen such a good-looking man in her life. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and elegantly dressed in a tuxedo. He had tousled chestnut-brown hair and his amber eyes seemed to pierce through Maggie. What mesmerized her most was his presence. He made everyone else at the party fade into the background. It was almost like the rest of the people were black and white, but he was in Technicolor.
Kippy said petulantly, "Make her apologize. She stepped on my foot."
The man turned Kippy around very slowly, and said in a soft whisper that seemed laced with iron, "Young man, I do not ask people to do things twice."
As Kippy stared at the stranger, he lost all the color in his face. He turned around and mumbled, "I'm sorry, Maggie."
Maggie simply nodded her head.
"Now leave us," the man commanded and Kippy responded like a dog fresh out of obedience school.
After Kippy left, Maggie found her voice again. "Thank you."
"There's no need to thank me—now I have you all to myself." The man smiled at Maggie. His whispery voice sent shivers down her spine. He has a strange accent, she thought. Maybe British, but something about the way he speaks is a little odd.
That remark made her uneasy—it did not come across as flirtation. "I have to leave," she told him.
As she turned to leave, she felt his hand on her shoulder. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Maggie looked back at the bar and saw her drinks. She grabbed them.
"Are you sharing those drinks with a sweetheart?" the stranger asked her.
"Well, no, with a girlfriend, but I do have a, um, sweetheart—but he's not here now." Maggie was babbling. "I have to go. Maybe I'll see you later." She left the bar, cursing herself for sounding like some simpering fool. What was wrong with her? She'd met plenty of handsome men, and she hadn't behaved like some simpleminded idiot. But there was something very compelling about that man…
Maggie reached down and gulped her scotch to soothe her nerves. When she reached the stairs, she turned around and saw that the stranger was still staring at her. Maggie turned around quickly and hurried up the stairs.
When she got back to the parlor, Pauline asked, "What took you so long?"
"Oh, that moron of a cousin of yours tried to put the make on me… again. Here's your drink." Maggie put the martini on a marquetry table near Pauline.
"I'm sorry, Maggie. I've told him to leave you alone."
"Don't worry about it. You might, however, want to warn him to lay off the sauce. He got fresh and some guy nearly punched him out."
Pauline's eyes became as big as saucers. "You mean two men fought over yo
u? How romantic! You're so lucky."
Maggie rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't exactly call it fighting—more like the second fellow was just being a gentleman. As for lucky—if you want men to duel over you, honey, you're going to have to leave this room and attend your very own party. So finish that drink and let's go downstairs."
"But, Maggie," Pauline whined, "you don't understand. I'm scared I'll look like an idiot in front of this fellow I like."
"Look, Pauline, just flirt with the man."
"How do you flirt?"
Maggie restrained herself from sighing. Pauline was the classic wallflower. She had dull dishwater-blond hair, plain features, and was gangly and flat like a boy. Plus that frumpy gown she had on! It was black rayon with a straight A-line cut that did nothing for her. You would think with all her money Pauline could buy better clothes. To top it all off, the girl had no personality.
Maggie chose her words carefully. "You saw Gone With the Wind, right? When you're with this man, just pretend you're Scarlett O'Hara. Laugh at his jokes, tell him how wonderful he is, and make sure you dance with him. When you're dancing, tell him he's the best dancer you've ever known and make sure you gaze into his eyes."
Pauline looked doubtful, and Maggie had to admit it was a stretch. Still, what was she supposed to say? If this guy is anything to look at, he's not going to give a stick like you the time of day. Maggie gave her a reassuring smile. "Come on, enough dillydallying. It's time to go downstairs and sweep this man off his feet."
"Maybe a cigarette first," Pauline suggested timidly.
"No," Maggie said firmly. "If you want a cigarette, get the guy to light it for you."
On the way downstairs, Maggie asked Pauline, "What's your fellow's name?"
"Lord Baldevar."
Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Lord Baldevar? So when you get married and become Lady Baldevar, can I still call you Pauline?"
Pauline giggled. "Oh, Maggie…" Then she stopped and blanched. "Oh my God, there he is!"
Maggie looked, and her heart dropped into her shoes. Pauline's Adonis was the man who had rescued her from Kippy. He noticed Pauline staring, and walked over to them.
"Pauline, you must tell your mother what a wonderful party this is for me." Lord Baldevar kissed Pauline on the cheek. "Won't you introduce me to your beautiful companion?" he said, gazing at Maggie intently.
Pauline pouted. "This is Maggie O'Neill," she said gracelessly.
Lord Baldevar grinned slightly. "Miss O'Neill and I have already met," he said, reaching for Maggie's hand. Automatically she put it out, and he kissed her hand. When his lips made contact with her hand, Maggie (to her disgust) shivered. Her reaction did not go unnoticed by Pauline, who glared, or Lord Baldevar, whose grin widened. Maggie thought he looked like the Cheshire cat.
"When did you meet Maggie?" Pauline demanded.
Before he could reply, Maggie told Pauline, "We met at the bar before."
"Oh." Pauline seemed slightly mollified. "You know, Maggie's engaged to a war hero."
Maggie had to grin at that pointed bit of information. The band started playing a waltz.
"A waltz!" Pauline shrilled. "I just love waltzing!" She looked at Lord Baldevar expectantly. Maggie winced. Didn't the girl have any sense of timing?
"I'm sure you can find someone else here who shares that desire," he replied, not taking his eyes off Maggie.
Pauline flushed, and her lip quivered. Before she could say anything, her mother came by.
"There you are, Simon. Girls, I'm afraid I must steal him away for a few minutes. I want him to meet Senator Hale."
Once Lord Baldevar and her mother were out of earshot, Pauline turned on Maggie. "How dare you!"
Maggie frowned. "How dare I what?"
"You're trying to steal Simon away from me. I saw the way you were looking at him!"
Did you see the way he was looking at me? Maggie mused to herself. "Watch yourself, Pauline," Maggie warned.
"No!" Pauline shrieked. "I think you should leave!"
Who did Pauline think she was talking to? Maggie decided that Pauline needed to be taught a lesson. She gave Pauline her sweetest smile. "I'll be happy to leave—after one dance." Maggie brushed past Pauline, and headed over to Lord Baldevar and the senator.
Maggie tapped Lord Baldevar on the shoulder. He turned around and his eyes seemed to light up at the sight of her. "Yes?"
Maggie's heart was pounding and her throat was dry. "Would you like to dance?" she asked bluntly—no use beating around the bush.
Lord Baldevar bowed low—an old-fashioned, courtly gesture. "I would be honored," he told her. "Please excuse me, Senator." He took Maggie's hand and led her to the dance floor.
Fortunately, the band left off the boring society music and started playing "It Had to Be You."
After they danced for a few moments, Lord Baldevar told Maggie, "You're breaking my heart."
"What?" She was startled.
"Are you only dancing with me to spite Pauline?"
Maggie glanced over to where the thunderstruck Pauline was watching them. She caught Pauline's eye and grinned wickedly. Then she turned back to Lord Baldevar. "You must admit it's a pretty good reason."
He pulled Maggie a bit closer to him. "Tell me how you met Pauline. You don't seem to have much in common."
"We both volunteer at the USO—dance with soldiers, organize blood drives, that sort of thing."
"Poor soldiers." Lord Baldevar sighed. "Risk your life defending your country and your reward is a dance with Pauline Manchester."
Maggie giggled. "That isn't very nice, Lord Baldevar. True, but not at all nice."
"I insist that you call me Simon."
"If you'll call me Maggie."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Maggie doesn't suit you. Is it your full name?"
"Well, no. My name is Meghann, for my mother. But everyone has always called me Maggie."
"I am not everyone. Meghann is perfect for you—beautiful and a bit unusual. But, Meghann, I'm still a bit disappointed in your reason for asking me to dance."
"What would you like it to be?"
Simon smiled and pulled her very close to him. "For the same reason I am dancing with you—that you find me utterly irresistible."
Maggie had no reply for that. Instead, she looked up and wondered what was happening. She'd never felt like this. She'd never danced with a man and wanted to put her hands through his hair or wanted to stroke his face…
"If you keep looking at me like that, I won't be responsible for my actions," he warned.
Maggie flushed, dropping her eyes.
Simon tilted her chin up with his hand. "I didn't want you to stop."
The song stopped, and went into a rumba. Simon pulled her off the dance floor. "Don't you find this a rather dull party, Meghann?"
"Exceedingly," she told him. "But I'm leaving now. I'm persona non grata, you see." She inclined her head to where Pauline was tearfully complaining to her mother. Evelyn Manchester glared pure daggers at Maggie.
"Then I must leave too. I'm certainly not letting you out of my sight," Simon told her. "Take me on a tour of your city."
"Now?"
"Why not?"
"You're the guest of honor," she protested.
"At a party that is boring me to tears. That is the privilege of extreme wealth, Meghann—I may do whatever I please. Shall we?"
Before Maggie could say yes, no, or maybe, Simon had already pulled her down the stairs, and retrieved his coat and her purse from the maid.
"B-but," she stammered while they waited for the elevator. "I-I'm engaged and…"
Maggie was standing against the wall, and Simon put his arm on the wall above her. He was leaning dangerously close to her. "I am rather saddened to hear that you are engaged. Soon the time for an adventure like tonight will be long gone for you. Wouldn't you like one adventure before you're married?"
Maggie heard herself say yes.
"Wonder
ful," Simon told her. "Now, tell me where you're taking me."
"To the ferry."
"Where?"
"The Staten Island Ferry," Maggie explained. "When it pulls away from the city, you can see the skyline. Of course a lot of the buildings are observing the dimout, but there are still plenty of lights and it looks beautiful at night. And best of all, it only costs a nickel."
"I assure you money is no object, Meghann. But the ferry does sound intriguing. Let's hail a taxi!"
* * *
CHAPTER TWO
« ^ »
I can't believe I'm on a date with an English lord, Maggie thought as the cab made its way downtown. What about Johnny? Then Maggie decided that there was really no need to call this a date—she was simply being friendly. Hadn't she been friendly to all those GIs at the USO dances? This was the same thing. Simon was new to the city and he'd asked her to show him around. There was nothing wrong with that.
Sure, her conscience told her snidely. Tell me another one.
Oh, be quiet, she replied. I haven't done anything wrong.
Yet, it told her.
Stop that, she said firmly, and turned to Simon. "What do you do?" she asked him.
"So it's true," he smiled. "Americans are utterly preoccupied with occupation."
"Well, that's what happens when you have to earn a living," she retorted. "We aren't aristocratic, idle rich who sit around inheriting money and doing nothing."
The cabdriver laughed. "She got you there, Mac."
"So she did," he replied. "While I am not 'idle rich,' I'm afraid I'm a rather boring businessman. I own some factories, land, make acquisitions—that sort of thing."
Maggie really hoped she had only imagined the way he looked at her when he said "acquisitions."
"And you, Meghann? How do you spend your days?"
"I volunteer at the USO, but I already told you that Let's see. I work at a munitions plant. They let me have tonight off. And I also take classes at Hunter College. I'll probably transfer to Radcliffe in the fall," she stated with a touch of pride.
Before Simon could inquire further, the cabdriver piped up. "What do you need college for? You're a girl."
