Another Woman’s Husband

by Gill Paul

  Wallis laughed. ‘That’s not a bad idea. I need to find some way to make my fortune.’

  They soon slipped into an easy friendship, similar to the one of old, but more guarded. They were no longer teenagers, but thirty-year-olds with emotional scars they did not wish to probe. It was fun trying on each other’s clothes, gossiping about the marriages of former acquaintances, shopping in Fifth Avenue, getting their hair done, and lunching at upscale restaurants, where Wallis toyed with a fillet of fish or a lamb chop but seldom ate much. If they dined at home, she flirted with Jacques but Mary no longer felt annoyed by it. It was a game, and Jacques was perfectly capable of returning her compliments without leaving any doubt about his devotion to Mary.

  They both enjoyed hearing her stories about the Far East, and one evening, Wallis told them about the sing-song houses, where young girls were trained in the art of love. ‘Win and I visited an establishment in Shanghai,’ she told them. ‘We were led into a sumptuous room with mahogany furniture and gold lattice decorations, where we sat as the girls were led in. They wore very simple silk frocks in either blue or red, and you could clearly see they wore nothing underneath.’

  Jacques and Mary were agog. ‘Did they speak any English? Did you talk to them?’ she asked.

  ‘They all learn a bit of English so they can entertain English guests, but one was more fluent than the others and Win quizzed her about the special techniques in which they are trained.’ Her eyes glittered; she was clearly enjoying the effect she was having on her audience. ‘She told us of a tantalising style of massage called fang-chung, of the erotic dances they learn, and of a special muscle technique called the Singapore Grip.’

  ‘I’ve heard of that,’ Jacques interrupted, leaving Mary to wonder what it was and where he might have come across it. She still brooded about the women he had known before they met, but he hated to talk of the war years and changed the subject abruptly if she ever brought them up.

  Wallis continued: ‘The girls parade in front of invited guests, then they retire to private rooms on the upper floor with the customer who has chosen them for the evening.’

  ‘My goodness, how fascinating!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘What kind of girls do you think they are? I suppose they come from very poor families.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Wallis said. ‘Some well-to-do families send their daughters there to learn ways of pleasing their future husbands. All the girls are very beautiful, with shy expressions, like so.’ She mimicked a girl with head bowed, looking up sideways through her lashes.

  Mary wondered if Wallis had learned seduction techniques herself but did not like to ask. ‘I would love to come to a sing-song house with you, Wallie. What adventures you’ve had!’

  In company, Wallis sparkled as only she could, but when they were alone, Mary noticed that she was tired and guessed she was not sleeping well. She winced in pain sometimes, and most of all Mary could sense loneliness deep as an ocean. Her old feeling of protectiveness returned as strong as ever: poor Wallis with a broken heart, a failed marriage and no family money to fall back on, because Uncle Sol still firmly refused to support her. She had a small allowance from Win, but her position was horribly vulnerable.

  ‘You must come here whenever you like,’ Mary told her. ‘Treat Washington Square as your second home.’

  Over the summer and fall, Wallis took her at her word and visited every few weeks. She spent Thanksgiving with them, and Mary thought it only fair that she invite her for Christmas as well. No one should be alone at such a time, and Jacques never seemed to mind Wallis’s presence. Mary suspected he was relieved that Wallis kept her entertained, taking the pressure off him so he could spend time with some French and Italian friends he had made in the neighbourhood.

  On the evening of Christmas Day, the three of them, along with various family members and friends, were drinking cocktails when the maid came into the room to announce a visitor: ‘Mr Simpson to see you.’

  Mary rose with pleasure to greet him. ‘I’m so glad you could join us. Is Dorothea not with you?’

  ‘Sadly she is unwell, so I have left her at home with the girls. I had to come and bring you this gift, Jackie.’ He handed over a bottle of Scotch whisky.

  Jacques hooted with laughter. ‘Bourbon versus Scotch. We must have a head-to-head contest some evening.’

  ‘If ladies are permitted, I should very much like to join you,’ Wallis butted in. ‘Do we drink shots of each, turn about, until we fall off our chairs?’

  Jacques introduced her to Ernest and he gave a slight bow.

  ‘We shall have to agree the rules of engagement,’ he smiled, ‘but you would be welcome.’

  ‘What is your line of work, Mr Simpson, when you are not tempting folk to imbibe the demon drink?’ Wallis fixed him with her most scintillating gaze, and he sat in the chair next to her to tell her he worked in shipping.

  ‘Do you have a job I could apply for in your shipping office?’ she continued. ‘I’m a poor single woman in need of money and qualified for precisely nothing. I can’t type, can’t sew, can’t wait table, and I’m not terribly good with numbers. But I need to earn around seventy-five thousand dollars a year. Might you have a position for me?’

  They all laughed. ‘I shall certainly ask around,’ Ernest promised.

  ‘What a wonderful suit!’ she exclaimed, stroking his lapel. He was wearing a double-breasted pin-striped suit with a waistcoat underneath. ‘Do I detect English tailoring?’

  ‘Savile Row,’ he replied. ‘The same tailor my father uses and his father before him.’

  ‘I love your British traditions: all the pomp and ceremony, the rules and standards. It’s terribly civilised.’

  ‘I agree,’ Ernest said. ‘I’m very proud of my English half.’

  As he explained to Wallis about his fluctuating nationality, Mary watched them with narrowed eyes. Wallis was unleashing her charm, making him feel as though he was the most interesting person in the room and she simply had to hear every word he uttered. She leaned closer, her face artfully tilted. Just like the sing-song girls, Mary thought. She didn’t like it; Ernest was her friend and she didn’t want to share.

  After an hour, Ernest stood up, announcing that he must return to his invalid wife. Mary reached beneath the Christmas tree, where she had wrapped a novel entitled The Sun Also Rises, by the journalist Ernest Hemingway, to give him as a Christmas gift. They met in the hall as he was putting on his coat, and she handed over the parcel.

  ‘I do hope you like it,’ she said, feeling shy all of a sudden. ‘I was most impressed by the honest style of writing.’

  He spoke warmly. ‘If you enjoyed it, I know I shall too. We have never yet disagreed over a book, have we? Thank you. I shall treasure it.’

  Eight days later, just after the New Year, Wallis announced that she was going out.

  ‘Are you seeing one of your friends from Europe or from China?’ Mary asked.

  ‘No. In fact, your Mr Simpson has invited me to luncheon. I think he may have been trying to find work for me.’

  Mary was shocked. ‘He’s a married man, Wallie. You can’t have luncheon together without a chaperone. Word travels around Manhattan faster than you might think, and you’ll get a reputation.’

  Wallis gave her a pitying look. ‘Oh Mary, it’s 1927, for goodness’ sake. Men and women can have friendships without anything more being read into it. I like your Mr Simpson and I didn’t think you would mind if I saw him again.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You seem to be cosy with him yourself. I saw you giving him a package on Christmas evening.’

  Mary blushed. ‘We both like reading, and we often exchange books.’

  Wallis smiled. ‘That’s all right then. Now, shall I wear the blue frock or the amber?’

  Wallis was gone for over three hours and Mary paced the house in a sour mood. She did not mind sharing her home, her wardrobe or her female friends with her, but this was too much. It was true that she was very fond of Ernest herself, but the differ
ence between her and Wallis was that she could be trusted.

  Chapter 19

  New York, February 1927

  MARY WAS SURPRISED WHEN DOROTHEA SIMPSON telephoned asking if she might call on her. They had never seen each other alone before, although their relationship was always cordial when the two couples got together.

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ she replied.

  Dorothea was shown into the drawing room, greetings were exchanged, tea was served, and as soon as the maid had left the room, she got to the purpose behind her visit.

  ‘I’m sorry to bring my troubles to your door,’ she began, ‘but could you please do something to rein in your predatory friend?’

  Mary paled. What had Wallis done now?

  Dorothea continued: ‘I came home from a shopping trip yesterday afternoon to find Wallis in my house with my husband wearing one of my blouses.’ Mary gasped, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. ‘She claimed a cup of coffee had got spilt on her blouse and Ernest insisted on lending her a fresh one.’

  ‘Wallis doesn’t drink coffee . . .’ Mary said slowly, trying to work out what must have happened.

  Dorothea’s tone was almost hysterical. ‘Do you have any idea how much time she is spending with my husband? If I telephone his office in the afternoon, he is never there. In his pockets I find tickets to lectures, art galleries and concerts, and he is certainly not attending them with me. There are receipts for luncheons and – you won’t believe this – I found a ticket from the Savoy dance hall dated for an evening three weeks ago when I was in hospital.’

  Mary remembered telling Wallis about the dance hall and felt furious with her. What was she playing at?

  ‘I’m sure it is all perfectly innocent,’ she said, trying to remain calm. ‘Wallis enjoys male company but she would never dream of fooling around with a married man.’

  Dorothea’s tone was scathing. ‘She might be able to pull the wool over your eyes, but not mine. I am sure that they are “fooling around”, as you put it.’

  Mary blushed scarlet. She could feel the heat in her cheeks and temples, right up to the roots of her hair. She didn’t want to believe it – couldn’t bear to.

  Before she could reply, Dorothea continued: ‘Your friend has a reputation for pursuing married men. Stories filtered back from China about an Italian count by the name of Galeazzo Ciano. And there was talk that she was over-friendly with Herman Rogers while staying with him and his wife . . .’

  Mary held up her hand. ‘Stop! Please . . . I am surprised you listen to tittle-tattle. I know Wallis better than anyone, and while she is naturally flirtatious, she would never cause any harm.’

  ‘She has already caused harm. Had my health been better, I would have confronted her myself, but I do not have the strength. So I am asking you to tell her from me: Ernest might toy with her for a while, but he will never divorce me. He loves his girls too much.’

  ‘Of course he wouldn’t . . .’ Mary breathed.

  ‘And if she doesn’t back off, I will blacken her name in New York society. I’ll make sure the news reaches her family in Baltimore and will personally tell the judge who presides over her divorce case. Don’t doubt that I am capable of this.’ Dorothea was shaking with anger. Her tea sat untouched on the table beside her.

  ‘I feel responsible for introducing them,’ Mary apologised. ‘I’m sure it’s not what you think, but I will have a word with Wallis. I know she will be horrified to hear that her actions have hurt you.’

  Dorothea shook her head, in a way that implied she thought Mary impossibly naïve.

  On this visit, Wallis was staying in the Upper East Side with Mona Van der Heyden, a new friend, so Mary telephoned and asked if she might call round for a word. She found Wallis fixing her hair, preparing to dine out.

  ‘Who are you dining with?’ Mary asked, perching on the edge of the bed. ‘Anyone I know?’

  ‘I’m introducing Mona to Gerald and Sara Murphy, a couple I met in China. They live on the French Riviera but are here for a few weeks, and I can’t wait to see them.’ She smiled at Mary in the mirror, drawing her comb firmly across her scalp to straighten the centre parting she always wore these days.

  ‘Are they connected in New York society?’ Mary asked.

  ‘I believe so. Her mother’s family are Shermans, direct descendants of the Civil War general.’

  ‘Very impressive. And the Van der Heydens have a wonderfully grand house. You are clearly becoming well established in the city.’

  Wallis wrinkled her nose. ‘I wouldn’t say so. Lots of Social Register types won’t invite me because of the divorce.’

  Mary saw her opening. ‘I came to warn you that Dorothea Simpson thinks you are having an affair with her husband and is threatening to spread the rumour around New York society. I thought I should tell you because gossip travels like wildfire. She is also threatening to inform the divorce court in Warrenton, and to get word to your mother . . .’

  She tailed off, surprised by the lack of reaction. Wallis continued fixing her hair without her expression changing one iota.

  ‘Ernest tells me their marriage has been dead as a stuffed dodo for over a year. They have nothing in common; she never wants to go out or do anything except lie on a sofa.’

  ‘Dorothea has poor health. I’m not surprised she doesn’t want to go out. But surely it’s not true, is it?’ Mary had a knot in her stomach: please let it not be true.

  ‘I’ve been seeing him, yes. And he’s in love with me.’

  The words slipped out, shattering Mary’s illusions. Her mouth fell open.

  ‘Oh don’t look like that. It’s not my fault he’s in love with me. It wouldn’t have happened if his wife hadn’t neglected him so.’ She put the final pin in her hair, then reached for a lipstick in a gold push-up case.

  ‘What about the children, Wallis? His girls, Audrey and Cynthia. He can’t leave them.’

  ‘I’m not asking him to.’ She smeared red lipstick onto her top lip first, then the bottom, and pressed them together, peering in the mirror to check for smudges. ‘That’s his choice, not mine.’

  Mary’s chest was tight with horror. ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘No.’ Wallis cocked her head to one side. ‘But I like him. Perhaps I could love him in time.’ She swivelled to face Mary. ‘You don’t mind, do you? You, me, Ernest and Jackie all get along so well. We could double-date. It would be fun.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried about the gossips ruining your chances of getting a divorce?’

  Wallis shrugged. ‘What are they going to say? That Ernest and I are close friends? That’s true. Anything more, I will deny.’

  Are you going to bed with him? Mary wanted to ask. It was on the tip of her tongue, but something stopped her. Would Wallis lie to her? Did she want to know the truth?

  Wallis came over and put an arm around her. ‘Your conversation with Mrs Simpson must have been very awkward. I’m sorry for that. But I have done nothing wrong.’ She kissed Mary on the cheek, then wiped away the lipstick mark with the edge of her finger. ‘You worry too much.’

  She glanced at the clock and announced she was late, then grabbed her evening cloak and bag from a chair.

  ‘Please will you stop seeing him?’ Mary begged, standing to follow her down the stairs. ‘For me?’

  Wallis laughed affectionately. ‘Goodness, you have become a prude, darling. Come now, I must dash.’

  The knowledge of Wallis and Ernest’s liaison burned inside Mary like poison. She did not tell Jacques of her discovery because he had rather a French attitude to affairs and she suspected he would make a joke of it. To her, it felt like a betrayal on both their parts. She had believed Ernest to be the perfect gentleman with impeccable moral standards, but it seemed she was wrong; she knew Wallis was a flirt but had not thought her a husband stealer. She was disappointed in both of them and could not face seeing them for the time being.

  Some weeks later, however, she arrived at a cocktail party and spott
ed Ernest standing on the other side of the room by some floor-length drapes. She felt a wave of anger and resolved to have a word. Without planning her next move, she grabbed a cocktail, swallowed a gulp for courage, then made her way across.

  ‘It’s such a long time since we’ve seen you, Ernest. I hear you’ve been very busy of late.’ She smiled, but there was an edge to her voice.

  ‘Indeed. I don’t know where the time goes. You’re looking ravishing, if I may say so.’ He smiled broadly and bowed his head.

  She took another slug of her cocktail. ‘It’s good of you to spend so much time with poor Wallie while she is going through her divorce. I know she appreciates it.’

  He cleared his throat, refused to meet her eye. ‘It’s a difficult period for her.’

  ‘I’ve known Wallis since we were at school together and it’s remarkable how little she has changed. Back then she used to collect beaus the way other people collect stamps, just for the hell of it.’

  Ernest’s face froze and he glanced around, hoping for rescue, but Mary was in full flow and not about to stop.

  ‘Men always fall in love with her. She’s got that mysterious something: sex appeal, I suppose you’d call it. But as soon as she senses she has captivated any man, she gets bored. I’ve seen it happen time and again. She doesn’t mean to hurt them, of course, but she has left a trail of broken, bloodied hearts all the way from here to China. It’s quite a talent.’ She smiled at him. ‘I wonder if I could ask you to fetch me another gin and lime? This one seems to have evaporated.’

  He grabbed her glass and disappeared like a shot. When he returned with her replenished glass, he brought their hostess with him so she did not have a chance to continue on her theme. No matter; she’d said enough. She felt terribly disloyal to Wallis, but told herself she was only thinking of Ernest and Dorothea’s children. She was doing them a service.

  A few days later, Wallis telephoned, clearly annoyed. For a moment Mary worried that Ernest might have repeated what she had said, but it wasn’t that.