Lord Furness and Beth circled once more and he looked over Beth’s shoulder, his pale eyes crinkling as he smiled.
“...Wife died, had to be—oh, five, six years ago? He’s been alone ever since, though not for lack of trying. Half the women in St. James would give their left arms for a shot at him.”
The song ended and Reggie slowed, tucking his hand into his waistcoat as a red flush of exertion rose in his cheeks. His thick neck bit at the edge of his straight collar; Thelma knew there would be a line there, red and raw, when he removed his collar points at the end of the night.
“I’ll be straight with you, Thelma. Gloria knows you’ve been unhappy—well, no wonder, given that shark you married. She frets about you. It would mean so much to her if you made an effort to rebuild yourself. If you’ve caught Furness’s eye...” Reggie pulled a cigarette case from his pocket, his gaze steady, “Well. Worth a shot, don’t you think?”
* * *
They left the dance floor, drifting slowly, almost accidentally, toward Lord Furness and Beth.
“Good evening,” said Reggie. “Ah, a slower number, much more my speed. Beth, would you do me the honor?” He held out his hand and Beth dithered for a moment before accepting, a slight slump to her shoulders as Reggie pulled her away.
Thelma’s stomach lurched as Lord Furness shifted closer. She had enjoyed their dinner-table conversation, but now, knowing the hope that Gloria and Reggie had placed on them was disconcerting. And the wealth... She’d known Furness had money, but what did it say about her that, since hearing the figures, he’d become so much more attractive?
“Dreadful music, this,” said Lord Furness. “I know of a cracking group playing at a club across town... Reggie wouldn’t mind, would he?”
Thelma looked across the room. Reggie was making a concerted effort to distract Beth, while Gloria, in defiance of the song’s tempo, was dancing the Charleston with Hannibal de Mesa.
She frets about you.
At the end of the evening, Gloria would clasp hands with her husband and take an elevator to the top floor of the Ritz, kiss her beautiful daughter good-night and spend the early hours in Reggie’s arms. Tomorrow, she would take Thelma shopping for dresses made of fabric that would slip through her fingers like water, the Vanderbilt name all the capital she needed to live a life of comfort.
Thelma let her hand drift across the bar-top, as close to Furness’s as she dared. “I shouldn’t think so,” she said. “Give me a minute.”
Furness beamed. “I’ll get my coat,” he said, and Thelma dashed to the dance floor.
Gloria knew what Thelma had come to say. “Furness?” she said, barely missing a step.
“Can I take your cape?” asked Thelma.
Gloria laughed. “Tell him if you lose it, he’ll have to buy me another.” Hannibal lifted his arm and Gloria whirled under it, the beaded fringe of her dress whipping as she moved.
Thelma met Furness in the hotel lobby, his coat slung over his arm. “Ready,” she said, drawing close. He put his hand on the small of her back. “Where to, Lord Furness?”
“Please,” he said, “call me Duke.”
Three
Little Gloria let out a squeal of joy as Thelma and Gloria entered the nursery.
“Up!” she commanded, holding out her pudgy arms. Gloria lifted her out, offering her cheek to the toddler before setting her down on the carpet. Thelma lowered herself to the ground as well, arranging the hem of her dress while Little Gloria pushed herself up on unsteady legs and lurched toward the toy chest.
Across the room, Nurse Kieslich watched Little Gloria’s tottering procession.
“Am I to assume that you are pushing back Little Gloria’s luncheon? It’s to arrive in twenty minutes, and if you insist on disrupting her schedule—”
“It’s disrupting, is it, for me to spend time with my daughter?” Gloria shut the wicker lid of the toy chest and sighed. “Very well, then, it’s disruptive. Little Gloria will have her luncheon in forty minutes. Thank you, Kieslich, that will be all.”
She turned her attention back to Little Gloria. “Well?” she said, dangling a toy rabbit in front of her daughter. “How was it?”
Thelma smiled, pulling a set of building blocks from the toy chest. “He’s very nice,” she said. Duke had seemed determined to fit the whole of Paris into a single night, taking Thelma from club to club until her feet ached in protest. They’d ended the night at the flower market, strolling hand in hand as they watched merchants open sidewalk stalls, lifting armloads of sunflowers, peonies, freesias, iris and lavender from the wooden flatbeds of small trucks in the dim half morning, lining tulip-filled tin pots on cobbled street corners. Later that morning, she’d awoken to the biggest bouquet of roses she’d ever seen, six dozen at least, set in a display that looked more suited to the hotel lobby than her bedroom.
Thelma smiled. “No,” she corrected herself. “He’s very keen.”
“Do you think you’ll see him again?”
“He certainly hopes so,” said Thelma.
“That’s not an answer,” replied Gloria, grazing the rabbit’s ears against Little Gloria’s fingertips.
“I know,” said Thelma, “I just—it’s the money, Gloria, I don’t know if I can—”
“Why ever not?” said Gloria.
Thelma hesitated, passing a block from hand to hand. “He’s lovely...but is it terrible for me to say that the most attractive thing about him is his wealth? When I think of what Mamma—”
“Mamma would turn backflips if she knew—mind, she doesn’t notice much these days beyond the baby. Isn’t that right?” she said, addressing Little Gloria. “Your Naney loves you—and it’s suffocating your daddy and me!” She pulled the child into her lap, who kicked at the air with slippered feet. “For all her faults she’s right, you know,” she continued. “Reggie and I—well, for all that he’s a spendthrift, we’ve got his family to take care of us. You can’t live on charity forever, Thelma—goodness knows Papa can’t afford to help you, and Reggie and I are already supporting Mamma. If Furness is showing interest in you, don’t you think you ought to give him a chance?”
“It seems disingenuous,” said Thelma. “And after Junior...”
“Furness is Junior’s opposite in every way,” said Gloria. “Your husband was one of the most reckless men I’ve ever met, and from what I’ve heard Furness is an even keel. He’s a good prospect, Thelma. He’s already made money—he already has children. You won’t have any surprises, and that might be a good thing. Comfortable.”
Thelma smiled, thinking of the roses. “We got on awfully well last night,” she admitted.
“See? There you are. Like can become love,” said Gloria. “You’ll see him again? Good. He’s invited us to dinner tonight.”
“So soon?”
“He spoke to Reggie this morning. A man like him—he’s not going to waste time,” said Gloria. She got to her feet, but as she straightened she swayed alarmingly, blood draining from her face.
“Gloria?”
She gripped the side of the crib, squeezing her eyes shut. Thelma stood to steady her; pressing a hand against Gloria’s forehead to check for fever.
“It’s all right,” said Gloria, but Thelma led her to a rocking chair, as Little Gloria shifted across the carpet in search of more building blocks.
“It’s getting worse,” said Gloria. She leaned forward, her head between her knees. “Since the delivery.” She opened her eyes as color slowly flooded back to her cheeks. “The doctor says it’s heart attacks. From the diphtheria. Not much to be done for it, I’m afraid.”
“Deep breaths,” said Thelma. Gloria inhaled through her nose, letting the breath out with a hiss. “We’ve got time.”
Behind her, Thelma could hear Little Gloria scuffling about on the carpet. She let out a whimpering sound, wavering on the edge of te
ars—well, she’d have to wait, thought Thelma, focusing her attention back on Gloria as the door swung open.
Mamma walked in with Nurse Kieslich, carrying a luncheon tray. “Why is Little Gloria alone?” she said.
“Gloria had one of her attacks.”
“There we are, caro—upsy daisy,” said Mamma, lifting Little Gloria from the floor. She quietened, snuggling against Mamma’s chest. “Well, seeing as you’re poorly, you might as well go and have a lie-down. Kieslich has Little Gloria’s meal. It shouldn’t sit.”
“We had asked for more time with her,” said Thelma. “Another twenty minutes.”
“Nurse Kieslich explained the situation to me and I quite agreed with her. Children need schedules,” said Mamma. “You know when her playtime is.” And with that Gloria and Thelma were dismissed.
* * *
“Better?” asked Thelma. She had brought Gloria into the sitting room and settled her onto a daybed with a blanket over her legs.
Gloria nodded. “Truly, though, it’s getting worse,” she said, her face knotted with tension. “And when I think of Reggie’s troubles...”
Thelma exhaled. She’d had her suspicions about Reggie’s health: his red face; the broken veins. “What do the doctors say?”
Gloria played with the hem of the blanket, knotting loose threads together. “We came back from Vichy two weeks ago—the doctors in Newport recommended he take the cure,” she said. “He wouldn’t stay. Said it didn’t take.”
Thelma watched Gloria worry the blanket, her brow furrowed. “The doctor called me while he was in treatment,” she said. “He said I had a right to know if Reggie wouldn’t tell me himself. He’s got—cirrhosis of the liver, I think it was called. Too much rich food, too much drinking. Not enough exercise...”
Thelma’s stomach dropped at the mention of cirrhosis. “Well, that can be fixed, can’t it?” she said. “Rest and fresh air—”
Gloria laughed bitterly. “Have you met my husband?” she said. “I love him dearly, truly I do, but he would choose wine over air. The doctors say he’s only got a few more years if—if he doesn’t change his habits.”
“So change them,” said Thelma. She could feel a quiet sort of panic setting in—at Reggie’s diagnosis, and at Gloria’s quiet resignation. “It’s his health, Gloria, you can’t afford to take risks.”
“That’s why we extended our trip,” said Gloria. “Reggie agreed—a change of scenery, a few months away from the Newport crowd, they’re all as bad as he is. But you saw him last night, drinking and carrying on... He was coughing up blood the other day, Thelma. Blood.”
Thelma hesitated. “You’re sure?”
“He tried to pass it off as a nosebleed, but he’s a terrible liar. I don’t think he can do it, Thelma. I don’t think he’s taking this seriously at all. And me with my heart...” Gloria began to cry; she looked too small against the cushions of the daybed, too young to have such worries. “What will happen to Little Gloria if—if—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Thelma. She shifted from the armchair to the daybed, collecting Gloria into a hug. “Nothing’s going to happen. It won’t come to that.”
“Won’t it?” said Gloria. “Watch him at dinner, Thelma. Watch him, and you’ll understand why I worry I’ll be a widow by the time I turn twenty.”
* * *
“A daughter in the nobility—well, it would make up for Consuelo’s faults,” said Mamma. She had called on Thelma and Gloria as the maids served afternoon tea, sinking into Reggie’s armchair with a restless Little Gloria in her arms. The mere mention of Thelma and Gloria’s elder sister was enough to cast a shadow on her face: two years earlier, Consuelo had divorced a French count to marry a diplomat’s son.
“Mamma, I’ve met him once,” said Thelma.
“And look at the impression you made on him,” Mamma replied. “This is an opportunity—give him reasons to believe you would make a good wife. Read a newspaper—you’ll want him to think you’re worldly.”
Thelma took a madeleine from the tea tray, balancing it on the edge of her plate. “And would you like me to grow two inches as well, so that he can kiss me more easily?” she said. Beside her, Gloria hid her laugh behind a hasty cough.
“He’s tall?” Mamma replied. “Wear your sister’s highest heels.” Little Gloria squirmed free of her grasp and thumped across the room; for once, Mamma let her go. “When you ran off with that Converse fellow I thought you were ruined,” she said. “All I had worked for, wasted on that reprobate...” She trailed off and watched Little Gloria kneel to open the back of a splendid doll’s house. “When you divorced him, I was sure you’d never be accepted into society again. It’s why your father and I let you run off to California. Society has a looser sense of propriety there.”
Thelma’s face grew hot, and she lowered her plate with the uneaten madeleine to the table.
“Quite frankly, I’m astonished he’s showing an interest even after Reggie told him you were a divorcée,” said Mamma. She leaned back and settled her hands above the rise of her stomach. “And I’ll tell you this—another opportunity won’t come along easily. Wealthy men don’t look far for distractions. Think carefully about the advantages Lord Furness would give you.”
“Surely it’s not quite as dire as all that,” said Thelma, feigning bravado. She wished Gloria wasn’t in the room; she wished Kieslich wasn’t listening. “I can take care of myself—”
“Can you?” Mamma had taken to drawing her eyebrows on higher than they naturally sat; she would have looked ridiculous, if she wasn’t so unnervingly stern. “Your father and I have our differences, Thelma, but I know how expensive your divorce was for him. Do you expect to live on Gloria’s good will? Or are you planning to train as a secretary?”
Thelma looked down. She’d tried, in California—she’d made pictures, posed in magazines, turned up at all the right parties—but Hollywood hadn’t wanted her, not on her own terms. She could have stayed, she supposed, and found herself some elderly studio executive, following the path of a thousand young starlets into vanity projects that would never make it into theaters, filling the family coffers with cheaply set jewels from new-money admirers—and still Mamma would be there, telling her she’d failed.
“Well,” said Thelma, not bothering to hide the bitterness from her tone as she looked up. “We know Gloria and Reggie can’t support us both.”
She could feel Gloria staring at her but held Mamma’s gaze, waiting for the rebuke. Then Mamma sighed.
“No,” she said. “They can’t.”
Thelma couldn’t bring herself to respond.
“Think about Furness’s wealth. And his title—what that might do for you. You would be able to move to Europe permanently, and leave the stain of your divorce behind you.” She reached forward and took the madeleine from Thelma’s plate. “Think about that—then tell me a little effort wouldn’t be worth your time.”
Four
Thelma slid into the back of the motorcar, reaching up to ensure that her jeweled headpiece hadn’t gotten dislodged by the movement. Beside her, Gloria reached over and batted Thelma’s hand down.
“You’ll ruin it,” she said as the chauffeur pulled away from the curb. The expansive lights of Place Vendôme gave way to the narrower streets of Rue de la Paix, storefronts glittering as they passed. Ciro’s wasn’t far, but Thelma was glad they’d driven. It gave her a few moments to collect herself.
Thanks to Gloria’s intervention, Thelma was wearing an intricately patterned dress with a zigzag hemline that brushed the backs of her knees. She’d borrowed Gloria’s spectacular pearl necklace—a gift from Gloria’s mother-in-law, so long that, even though Thelma wound it twice around her neck, it still fell below her waist.
The motorcar turned onto Rue Daunou, the sidewalks closing in further as they rolled down the cobbled street. They stopped outside the bri
ghtest building, light spilling out of square windows and splashing onto the sign out front. Even within the confines of the motorcar, Thelma could hear the pulsing beat of an orchestra.
The chauffeur parked at the curb, and as Gloria stepped out she waved: Reggie was standing on the street corner.
“Came out for a breath of fresh air,” he said, taking a final puff from a blunt cigar. He had come to Ciro’s from a poker game at a nearby club; Thelma wondered how he’d done, but his expression betrayed neither victory nor defeat. In the yellow glow of the restaurant’s lights, Reggie looked sallow, his complexion the color of antiqued paper; but he grinned nonetheless, dropping his cigar stub onto the curb. “Furness is inside.”
Gloria twisted her hands around the strap of her handbag. “The doctors told you not to smoke,” she said, “Did you—”
“Quite all right—stuffy inside, that’s all. I got a bit light-headed.” Gloria looked unconvinced; Reggie laughed and kissed the crown of her head. “I’m right as rain, my dear. Now, we’re being rude—Furness is in there alone.” He settled Gloria’s hand in the crook of his right arm and offered his left to Thelma.
The restaurant was alive with sound, a five-piece band leading dancers, packed elbow to elbow on the dance floor, in a waltz. Couples nearly bumped into each other as they sought to avoid the tables closest to the dance floor, where unlucky diners snatched their cocktails out of the way of fringed hems and the tips of tailcoats. Reggie was right: it was stuffy, sweat and cigarette smoke overpowering the smell of roast beef as waiters laden with dinner plates weaved past. Surveying the room, Thelma was grateful for Gloria’s insistence on wearing a new dress: the women dripped with jewels and beading, feathered headpieces and filigreed bangles, cocktail rings with stones the size of thumbs.
The Woman Before Wallis Page 3