by Amber Brock
“You find scandal everywhere you look,” Caroline scoffed. “He told her he’s from London, and specifically from Westminster.”
“But wouldn’t breathe a word about his family,” Poppy continued. “Mrs. Longacre—Vera’s mother—said she had never heard of any Hallan family in Westminster, and she knows the city like she was born there. She said so.”
Caroline frowned. “That is true.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes. She’s been to London a couple of times, she doesn’t know every soul in town,” Vera said.
“But I’m sure she knows all the best families. And he wouldn’t give her his grandmother’s name, don’t you think that’s odd?” Poppy focused her full attention on Vera, with an intensity that made Vera ill at ease.
“So then he doesn’t come from one of the best families, he never said he did,” Vera replied.
“And there was another thing. Something he let slip to me.” Poppy calmly stirred her tea, reveling in the attention of the other ladies. A few of them actually leaned forward, straining for her secret.
“Well? What did he tell you?” Caroline asked.
“He’s in love with someone.”
“That’s all?” Vera asked, pressing her hands into her lap to hide her rising concern. “He’s a young man, of course he’s in love with someone.”
Poppy stared at her for a beat too long. “Someone he shouldn’t be in love with, I think.”
“Ladies, gossip is for the weak-minded. I don’t think we need to discuss this any further,” Vera said.
The other ladies wilted a bit in their seats, clearly disappointed to be stopped from speculating about the artist’s illicit love. Vera was less concerned about that than she was about Poppy’s line of thinking. Why was she introducing the idea that Hallan was not who he claimed to the others in the building? She had not liked being spurned. Vera worried now that Poppy might have a mind for revenge.
Chastising Poppy in front of the others would only make Vera look severe, but something had to be said. That evening, before she dressed for dinner, she rode the elevator down to the fifth floor. As the doors slid open, she hesitated, recalling Poppy’s pointed look at tea. Vera pushed the image from her mind. Vera had dealt with far more intimidating people than Poppy.
A weary-looking woman in a faded black service dress answered the door and led Vera into the comparatively cramped drawing room. She sat on the sofa and removed her gloves, declining the offer of a drink. Poppy came in a few minutes later, her steps hesitant.
Poppy perched on the edge of the armchair nearest Vera. “How lovely to see you, Vera, I wasn’t expecting the pleasure. Did Sophie offer you a drink? She didn’t, did she? Honestly, she—”
“She did,” Vera said. “Thank you, but no. I don’t have long, but I wanted to speak with you about tea today.”
Poppy cocked her head. “Oh?”
“I won’t mince words—I find gossip tawdry and distasteful. A woman of good breeding avoids it. When she cannot avoid it, she puts it to rest. And, frankly, I didn’t appreciate you insinuating what you did about my mother. She had no intention of exposing some secret about Mr. Hallan. She appreciates forthrightness. She fairly demands it. And Mr. Hallan is an ill-mannered man who dodged her questions and toyed with her.” Vera clasped her hands on her knee and hoped her stern look masked the thrill she felt at saying his name. “Have I made myself perfectly clear?”
An odd glint sparked in Poppy’s eye. “But there is something strange about him, don’t you think?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. Speculation is idle. I advise you to avoid it in the future, if you wish to be judged good company in this community.”
“It’s not speculation that he’s in love with some woman. I think it’s someone in the building.”
Vera had to put a stop to that line of thinking. She let out an exaggerated sigh. “I didn’t want to have to bring this up, but…do you think your dissatisfaction with Mr. Hallan might have something to do with the discussion the two of you had in Montauk?”
Poppy sucked in a breath. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“I saw you in my mother’s house.”
“He tried to seduce me,” Poppy cried. “I told him I’m not that kind of woman.”
“That’s not what it sounded like you said at the time.”
“How dare you? I love Julius, I would never do something like that.”
Vera stood, clutching her gloves. “I’m sorry to upset you. I merely wanted to make plain to you how I feel about gossip.”
“You have.” Poppy stood, too. “You’ve made yourself quite clear. And now I think you’d better go.”
“Of course. But please. Consider what I’ve said.” Vera left Poppy in the drawing room. In the foyer, she waved off the maid’s effort to beat her to the door, and let herself out. She hoped what she said would be enough to stem Poppy’s enthusiasm for spreading rumors. She did not like to have to throw the indiscretion in her face, but the situation seemed to require it. Still, the issue was likely far from settled by Vera’s reprimand. Poppy might feel she had defense enough with her lie about Hallan’s “seduction.” There might be nothing that would quiet her now.
The next morning, after Arthur left, Vera took the back exit from the penthouse to the stairs. She had decided that the wisest course of action would be to avoid the elevator. Better that the elevator operator not see her regularly stopping at the second floor. People in the building had enough to talk about as it was.
Hallan met her at the door of 2A.
“Not too taxing of a trip I hope,” he said, closing the door behind him.
“Are your servants out?”
“I gave them both the morning off. Might as well do that every day, not much for them to do with just me here.”
“I tried to talk Ida out of a valet, but she insisted.”
He reached for Vera. “You ladies do spoil me so.”
She kissed him, drawing back with a little throaty sound of satisfaction. “So?”
“So?”
“I called. What will you tell me about yourself today?”
He tugged on her hand, pulling her down the hall toward and through the bedroom door. “That wasn’t exactly the arrangement as I recall it.”
“Oh, wasn’t it?”
“Look, I’m a gentleman, I’d never insist, but…” He sat on the bed and patted the blanket beside him.
She stood over him and ran her hands over his chest. “You’re no gentleman, Mr. Hallan.”
“I don’t suppose you’d start calling me Emil, would you?” He grabbed her waist and pulled her down onto the bed with him, and she squealed. She pushed herself up onto her elbows as her face warmed.
“I wanted to talk to you about—” She paused, unsure how to word her request. “We ought to…be careful. When we’re…together. We should have thought of it the other morning, but that’s as much my fault as anything—”
He held up a hand and nodded. “You don’t need to worry. I’ve been to the chemist. The pharmacist. It’s taken care of.”
She sighed, relieved. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.”
“I’m a thoughtful man.”
“Speaking of being careful, I think you ought to know, it seems Poppy hasn’t taken too kindly to you turning her down,” Vera said.
Hallan shrugged. “Who wants to be rejected? I’m sure she doesn’t like it. She’ll recover.”
“You may want to make amends with her. At least be friendly.”
“Why are you so concerned?”
Vera untangled herself and sat beside him. “At tea yesterday, she brought up the conversation you had with my mother and Arthur. She seems to be trying to imply you’re not who you say you are.”
He shook his head. “All of you are so suspicious, just because a man doesn’t go around shouting every detail of his life.”
“You know very well you’ve been unusually quiet about yourself. Now it seems Poppy
is trying to use that to get some sort of revenge.”
He sat up and squinted at Vera’s hair, locating a hairpin and pulling it out. “It’s of very little concern to all of you where I come from, or who my grandmother was. I’m here to paint.”
Vera stood. “Yes, you’ve said that. But that’s just it. It’s of concern to me who you are, if we’re to continue this…this…”
He stood and crossed his arms on his chest. There was an amused glint in his eye. “Affair? You can say the word, Vera.”
“Yes, all right, this affair.” She laid a hand on his forearm. “You must tell me who you are. Please.”
“I’ve told you, I will,” he said, his tone softer. He sat on the bed once more, and she allowed him to continue taking down her hair.
“One little bit every day, that’s hardly anything.” She tilted her head. “So, it was only you and your grandmother, then?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “Me, my grandmother, and my brother. Peter.”
“Is Peter still in London? Did he go to Paris with you? How old is he?”
Hallan removed another pin, then sat, turning it over in his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t want to play games with you. I hope you’ll understand when I say that I can’t tell you any more. Not now. It’s too painful, and I’m not ready to tell everything. Especially not to you. I’m afraid the hurt will ruin this joy.”
Vera studied her hands in her lap. Maybe she had guessed right that night on the street. He must have experienced something too terrible to speak of; so many men had. In her mind, Hallan’s past, his childhood, education, and home, floated behind a gray mist that obscured her view. She wanted to know every part of him, to threaten never to see him again unless he told her everything. But she could not be so unkind as to insist that he revisit something horrible just to satisfy her curiosity. So she did not press further.
“Did you tell Poppy you’re in love with someone in the building?” she asked.
He chuckled softly. “I’m careless, not foolish. Why? Did she say I did?”
A sour taste rose up the back of Vera’s throat. “Not exactly. She added the building part herself. But she said you told her you’re in love with someone.”
“I thought it would be the kindest way to let her down. When she came after me in Montauk.”
“I think you should have found another excuse. Or at least said it was someone from home. She brought it up to the other ladies yesterday.”
“Oh, she thought it would be something interesting for them to talk about. I’m sure they’re all bored of the usual teatime subjects. Don’t worry, Vera.” He guided the last pin from her hair and combed through it with his fingers. “There, that’s better.”
She turned to him, and his calm gaze comforted her a bit. Maybe she was being silly. After all, she had suspected the worst when he would not let anyone see his work in the pool room, but her father’s coolheaded assessment made more sense than any of the wild ideas her mind had produced. Her shoulders relaxed. Hallan wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her, and she abandoned herself again to his body and bed.
Hallan dozed beside Vera as she watched the trees sway outside the window. Their leaves would soon begin to darken, and the cooler air meant summer was leaving at last. The heft of Hallan’s arm around her waist anchored her, calmed her. She rolled over to face him, and he blinked dreamily.
“I should go,” she said.
He pulled her closer. “Never.”
She tapped his arm playfully. “But you have to work.”
“How do you know that? You haven’t seen the pool room. I could be done.” He grazed her shoulder with his lips. “It could be a masterpiece.”
She unwound herself from his arms. “I’d wager it’s not. Done, I mean.”
“You’re right. You’re always right.” He propped himself up on one elbow. “Stay. We’ll have dinner. We’ll fall asleep together.”
“What would the servants think if I stayed out all night, with no notice?”
“I doubt very much they would care at all. Though I suppose Arthur might object.”
She pulled her slip over her head. “Arthur is in Philadelphia. He won’t be back until tomorrow evening. Though I’m not sure he’d notice if he were here.”
“That’s it then,” Hallan cried, sitting upright. “Give your staff the night off, let’s bash around your place. I’d love to get a taste of the high life.”
“Don’t be silly. They would think it was strange, all of them being let off the same evening. They’d have to wonder what I was up to.”
“They might. For a minute. Until they started rejoicing at a surprise night off.”
Vera could not believe she was actually entertaining the idea. Since she was technically mistress of the house, all servants except Arthur’s valet were in her domain, but surely one of them would let slip to Arthur something about their free night. And who would cook? Clean? Refill the decanters and press Vera’s clothes? Then again, it was only one night. They would all be back to their tasks in the morning. The very idea was the height of folly, but the thought of an entire evening with Hallan pressed on her. His warmth in her bed. Someone to kiss her good night. A smiling face in the morning.
“All right. You go paint, I’ll inform the servants.” Vera hooked her earring into her lobe, inwardly pleased at Hallan’s widening eyes. “Shall we say sevenish? I’ll have Gertrude put out something cold for dinner.” She twisted her loose hair into a bun and held out a hand for a pin.
“You’re joking with me.” He picked up a pin from the bedside table and gave it to her.
“Not a bit.”
He leaned forward. “I’ll see you at seven.”
Vera walked back up the stairs to the penthouse with a leaden stomach. She should never have agreed to have Hallan stay the night. Even if the servants could be counted on to keep their free night to themselves, someone from her social circle might pop by. Or someone looking for Arthur. Or her mother. Vera shuddered. Leaving the door unanswered would not be an option. Everyone expected her to be home, or Evans at the very least.
She entered through the kitchen to find Gertrude chopping vegetables. The cook startled at the opening door.
“Madam, is everything all right?” she asked.
“Yes, fine, thank you.” Vera steeled herself. She had to get the words out before language failed her entirely. “I’m glad I found you. I’d like you to lay out a cold supper tonight. A good bit, please, I’m fairly famished. And then—well, when that’s all done…you may have the night to do as you please.”
Gertrude frowned. “Madam?”
“I mean you are released for the night. Beginning at five thirty. You are to report back at the usual time in the morning.”
The cook stared at the carrot under her knife for a long while. “Yes. Yes, madam, as you like.”
“Thank you,” Vera said. She strode out of the kitchen into the hallway, where she stopped and took a few deep breaths. When her lightheadedness had passed, she went in search of the other servants to inform them. Though her little speech got easier with each repetition, each person reacted to the news as Gertrude had: with a thoughtful silence and a look of confusion. All except for Evans, who merely nodded and said, “Yes, madam.”
Once the job was done, she went to the library to think through solutions to her worst-case scenarios. If Arthur found out, she could simply say she wanted some quiet and solitude. He would think it eccentric, but of all people he would understand the appeal. Unexpected guests would prove more difficult. Though no one but her mother would outwardly question Vera answering her own door, anyone who might come knocking would be appalled to see her do it. But then, it had been ages since anyone dropped by unannounced. Once again, Vera was worrying over a most unlikely occurrence, and she poured herself a cocktail to ease the thoughts out of her mind.
At six o’clock, she walked from room to room. The only sign of anyone was the meal Gertrude had laid out on the tabl
e. Some bread, cheese, a little salad. All the food would hold up well until it was time to eat. Evans had brought up a bottle of red and a bottle of sparkling wine, and both sat on the sideboard with a few clean glasses.
Hallan knocked on the kitchen door as instructed at a few minutes after seven. He held out a wrapped parcel with a silver ribbon around it.
“Some chocolates for the hostess,” he said.
Vera smiled. “Why, thank you. What a thoughtful caller you are.”
“I hope they’re the kind you like.”
“I like all chocolates.” She set the box on the counter and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Are you hungry? I’ve had dinner laid out, and there’s wine. Or we could have a cocktail first, if you’d rather.”
He gave her a light kiss on the lips. “I’d love a cocktail and a tour. I want to see all of this place.”
She tilted her head. “It’s an ordinary home, I’m afraid.”
“Then you and I have different definitions of ordinary.”
She led him to the library to pour their drinks, then around to each room in turn. Their tour was an uncomfortable reminder of the night she had wandered the house, drinking and contemplating her pretty toys. A new vase had appeared the next day to replace the one she had smashed, and it now stood full of damask roses.
Hallan exulted over the paintings, the Roman statuary, and the rug hanging from the wall. The pieces seemed to come alive for her again, as she imagined seeing them through his eyes. His face was aglow as they sat down in the dining room to their meal.
“What a thing,” he said. “To surround yourself with such treasures, to have the means to get whatever you want.”
She raised an eyebrow. “After we eat, I’ll show you my favorite item.”
“It’s not any of the ones I’ve seen? It must be marvelous.”
“I think so.”
“Is it the crown jewels? A piece of the true cross? The Holy Grail?”
“Don’t be clever. It’s nothing like that, but it’s my favorite all the same.”