If I Were You

by Lynn Austin

  Audrey barely knew what she was doing as Eve led her around to the rear of the town house and up the servants’ stairs. She could hear Mother singing in the hallway, the servants shushing her. She wished she had never seen her mother kissing that man or overheard the ugly truth. How could she ever face her mother again?

  “I would like you to leave,” Audrey told Eve when they reached the bedroom level.

  “Are you sure you want to be alone? Don’t you need a friend to—?”

  “No. I don’t need your pity or . . . or your stupid strawberries. Just go away and leave me alone.” She closed the door in Eve’s face, then sank to her bedroom floor in a heap. Nausea overwhelmed her. Eve and all of the other servants had witnessed Mother’s disgrace. They all knew the truth about her. Did Father?

  Audrey wanted to shrivel up and die. Her body shook as she wept tears of shame and humiliation. Then another, darker emotion gradually took control. Rage. For as long as Audrey could remember, Mother had lectured her about proper social behavior and keeping up appearances and being in control of one’s emotions. No matter how hard Audrey had worked to please Mother, she had never quite measured up. And now it enraged Audrey to see her mother’s secret life exposed. She longed to run far, far away, to be someone other than Lady Rosamunde’s daughter, to live a different life.

  And yet . . .

  In spite of what she now knew, something deep inside Audrey still hungered for Mother’s approval. She ached to know she had done well, had obeyed all the rules, impressed all the right people. Most of all, she longed to see pride shining in Mother’s eyes when she gazed at her.

  Audrey hauled herself up from the floor. She dried her eyes, lifted her chin. Perhaps her own success in London’s social world might one day atone for her mother’s disgrace. And earn her love.

  6

  LONDON, DECEMBER 1936

  Eve lifted the heavy flatiron from the kitchen range, tested it with a drop of spit on her finger, then gingerly pressed out the wrinkles on her blouse, fearful of scorching it. “I could finish this in a jiffy with an electric iron,” she muttered to her roommate, who was washing clothes on the scrub board. Neither of them could afford laundry service at the boardinghouse.

  “Why can’t Mrs. Russell spend a shilling or two and modernize this place?”

  “I know! It’s like living in the last century. We don’t even have—” Eve paused when the telephone shrilled in the front hallway. The lively chatter in the boardinghouse parlor also stilled as the girls listened, each hoping the call was for her.

  “Eve Dawson! Telephone!”

  Eve grinned and parked the heavy iron on the stove before hurrying to the phone. “It’s a man,” the girl who had taken the call whispered. She handed over the receiver. Eve couldn’t imagine who it might be.

  “Hello, this is Eve.”

  “Hello, beautiful friend of my sister. Alfie Clarkson, here.” If Eve had been given a hundred tries, she never would have guessed Alfie. Goose bumps prickled on her arms. “I’ve been kicking myself these past eleven months for misplacing your telephone number,” he continued, “but I just now found it. I realize you likely have dozens of men queuing up at your door, but my fraternity has a formal event at the Savoy on December 10, and I would love to take you.”

  His words were too much for her to digest, especially in the middle of a boring workweek and while doing a mundane task like ironing. Alfie Clarkson, the heir of Wellingford Hall, was inviting her on a date. To the Savoy! He might as well have been King Edward, inviting her on a trip to the moon.

  “Hello? Eve? Are you there?”

  Her surprise came out as a burst of laughter. “Sorry. You caught me off guard. The Savoy is very posh, isn’t it? Are you trying to impress me?”

  “Oh yes. Very much so. Will you come? I realize you don’t know me very well, but I’m certain Audrey will provide a character reference.”

  Eve laughed again. She was certain Audrey would be appalled and would do whatever she could to stop them. Eve longed to accept his invitation. If the mere sound of his upper-crust voice on the tinny phone sent a shiver through her, what would spending an entire evening with him be like? Yes, she very much wanted to go. But could she pull it off—faking fancy manners, pretending to be a wealthy socialite? What would she wear? The nicest dress Eve had was the one she wore to church every Sunday. The Savoy was intimidating all on its own, let alone for a formal event. She tried to picture Alfie Clarkson walking up the crumbling boardinghouse steps in his tuxedo to collect her and couldn’t. She needed to charm him into falling in love with her before he learned the truth about her—because she would surely give herself away the moment she tried to hobnob with the aristocrats at the Savoy.

  Eve threaded the telephone cord through the stair rails and sat down on one of the steps to steady herself. “I don’t need a character reference, Mr. Clarkson. I’m perfectly happy to accept your invitation.”

  “Wonderful!”

  “But since we’re practically strangers, I think we should have tea together first and take a stroll in the park so we can get to know each other a little better before our big night at the Savoy.” She winced, aware that she had just asked Alfie Clarkson on a date. The chatter in the lounge had stopped. Eve pictured the other girls straining to hear, gasping at the mention of the Savoy—and at her audacity for suggesting a date for tea. They all knew she didn’t have a steady bloke. Eve held her breath, releasing it only after she heard Alfie chuckle on the other end.

  “I must say, Eve Dawson, you are a marvelously mysterious woman. Now I want to meet you more than ever. Where do you suggest we have tea? And when?”

  “How about Sunday at three in Piccadilly Circus? We can meet beneath the statue of Eros.” Would he be shocked by her boldness in meeting beneath the god of love?

  “Done,” he said. “Sunday at three. Au revoir.”

  Eve could barely concentrate on the vicar’s sermon on Sunday, her mind a swirling, churning mixture of excitement and fear. Dating Alfie Clarkson was the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to move up in the world. It might be the only step up she would ever get.

  The winter day turned out to be cold yet sunny, perfect for strolling London’s streets. Alfie stood waiting beneath the statue of Eros when Eve emerged from the Piccadilly Circus Underground station. If only the winged god would fire an arrow and make Alfie fall madly in love with her. He stood out from the common crowd, dressed in expensive tweeds and fine leather shoes, but he wore them with casual indifference, as only the privileged class could. He smiled as he greeted Eve, swooping off his hat and bowing to kiss the back of her hand as if she were a princess.

  “Even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said, bringing a surge of warmth to her cheeks. “Shall we go? There’s a tea shop right around the corner.” He resettled his hat on his thick amber hair and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. They started walking.

  Eve struggled to think of something witty and charming to say, but every thought fled from her mind, replaced by the thrilling awareness of Alfie Clarkson. Imagine, Eve Dawson, a common serving girl from the village, stepping out for tea with the young master of Wellingford Hall.

  “How long have you known my sister?” he asked.

  “Since we were twelve. Our mothers have known each other for years. But you don’t want to talk about them, do you?”

  “Fair enough. What shall we talk about?”

  “Well, I’m very curious about something. You must know dozens of girls who would love to go with you to the Savoy. Why did you choose me?”

  He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, grinning as he gazed down at her. “To tell you the truth it was because of your freckles.”

  “Oh no!” Her hand flew to her face as if she might feel them sticking out. “Do they show? Do I need to powder my nose again?”

  “Please don’t,” he said with a laugh. “I noticed your wonderful freckles the day we met on my doorstep. They reminded me of cinnamon on
warm, buttered toast and made you seem very . . . unique.”

  Eve remembered now. It had been a school day, but classes were canceled because of the king’s death. She never wore cosmetics to school—they were too dear to waste.

  “And you weren’t wearing a ridiculous feathered hat like all the other women do,” he continued. “Some hats look as though a bird has perched on the foolish woman’s head.”

  Eve laughed at the picture he drew. She didn’t tell him she couldn’t afford a fancy hat on her typist’s salary. “Somewhere in the world are flocks and flocks of featherless peacocks and pheasants,” she said, “shivering in the cold.”

  “Yes, poor things. I must say the feathers look much better on their original owners.” They started walking again. “I also recall that your hair was blowing free and natural, like it is today, not all kinked up into those silly waves that are all the rage. I knew then and there that I wanted to get to know you.”

  Eve didn’t know how to reply. Should she explain that she couldn’t afford a curling iron or a fancy lady’s maid to arrange her hair? Before she could say anything, Alfie slowed to a halt. “Here’s the tea shop.” He opened the door to a warm, cozy shop with wooden floors that creaked beneath their feet and a scattering of mismatched tables and chairs. The tantalizing aromas of coffee and chocolate filled the air. Alfie chose an empty table near the window and they sat across from each other at a table so tiny their knees touched. Could he feel hers trembling? He was miles above Eve in all the important ways—wealth, social standing, intelligence—and yet he said such lovely, charming things. Would everything change once she told him the truth about herself?

  Eve held on tightly to the thread of conversation as Alfie ordered tea for her, coffee for himself, and scones with jam for both of them. “I daresay not all men would share their opinions on women’s fashions so freely,” she said after the waiter left.

  “I usually don’t. But I already feel as though I can speak my mind with you. You’re different. Not at all like Audrey’s other friends.”

  “How so?” Her pulse quickened. Could he tell she was a common working girl?

  “I can’t imagine any of Audrey’s friends suggesting tea and a Sunday stroll. They’re more likely to suggest champagne and a ride in my automobile.”

  “I grew up in the countryside. A walk in the park is the closest thing there is in London to remind me of home.” Eve would stick as close to the truth as possible as they got acquainted without revealing that she’d once been the scullery maid at Wellingford Hall.

  “So do you live in London now?” he asked.

  “Yes. I finished school last June and I’ve been living here ever since.” She chose the word finished as a subtle reference to finishing school. Let him think what he wanted, for now. It was time to steer the focus away from herself and ask a few questions of her own. “Audrey tells me you’re at Oxford. What are you studying there?”

  He made a face. “Boring things. I’m convinced that universities were invented by fathers to keep their sons out of their hair until they’re ready to hand over their businesses to them.”

  “Is that what you’ll do someday? Work in your father’s business?”

  “That’s his plan. But I’m not ready to settle down yet. I’m having too much fun to spoil it all by going to work every day.”

  Eve smiled as if she knew exactly what he meant. But she couldn’t imagine a life where she didn’t have to work every day—if not as a servant or a typist, then running a home as a wife and mother. She decided to change the subject, consulting the mental list of topics she had prepared ahead of time. “I would love to know what you think of King Edward’s affair with Wallis Simpson. Do you think he’ll marry her?”

  Alfie’s smile vanished. He looked as solemn and serious as Audrey. “The king will create a constitutional crisis throughout the commonwealth if he does marry her. He is the Supreme Governor of the Church of England. A twice-divorced woman like Wallis Simpson is morally unsuitable to be the wife of a monarch—not to mention the mother of his heir. He’s a fool to allow her to control him the way she does. He needs to be rid of her once and for all and get on with the business of ruling Britain.”

  “Does it also matter that she’s a commoner, with no royal blood?”

  “Absolutely. But that’s the least of her many faults.”

  Their food arrived, interrupting them as the waiter arranged cups and plates and cutlery on the tiny table. Eve took a bite of her currant-studded scone and decided it was the best she’d ever tasted. Alfie’s vehemence on the subject left her with few illusions that he would make the same foolish mistake and marry someone from a different class. She faced a choice. She could end this flirtation now before she fell hopelessly in love with him and had her heart broken when he tossed her aside. Or she could go along for the ride for as long as it lasted, enjoying posh dinners at the Savoy, hoping that maybe, just maybe, Alfie would fall in love with her. After all, Alfie’s father wasn’t an aristocrat.

  “What do you think of this mess the king’s gotten himself into?” Alfie asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  “If he marries her, he will shatter all the rules. Anyone could marry a prince.”

  “Exactly! It will be the end of order and tradition in this nation.” He had misunderstood her. It was just as well.

  “I want to know what Wallis Simpson’s secret is,” Eve said. “She charmed two husbands into marrying her, and now she has bewitched the king of England. Do you think she’s beautiful?”

  “Not at all. Especially compared to you.” His smile returned. He reached across the table to rest his hand on top of hers.

  Eve laughed. “Flatterer!” She enjoyed the warmth of his palm and was pleased when he let it linger there.

  “I wouldn’t give up my place at the table for Wallis Simpson, let alone my crown,” he added.

  “Some say King Edward might abdicate.”

  “If he thinks so little of his duty and his heritage as the Sovereign King of Great Britain, then he should abdicate. I say, good riddance.”

  “I like a man who gives an honest answer.”

  They talked of lesser things as they finished their food, then left the shop to stroll through St. James’s Park. The afternoon turned cold as the wind blew off the Thames River, and Eve shivered in her roommate’s coat. “I should go,” she said when she had exhausted her entire list of topics for conversation. “Thank you for tea and the delightful afternoon.”

  “You’re welcome, lovely Eve,” he said with a little bow. “So did I pass the test? Will you come with me to the Savoy next week?”

  “Of course! I already told you I would . . . but I have one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  Her heart hammered. “You have to meet me there.”

  “That’s outrageous!” He tried to look shocked but couldn’t erase his smile. “A gentleman always calls for a lady at her home. He might want to bring her a bouquet of flowers or pin a corsage on her gown. And I have a smashing new car.”

  “Sorry—that’s my condition.”

  He crossed his muscled arms, the fabric of his jacket pulling tight against them. “It almost seems as though you don’t want me to know where you live.”

  “I prefer to remain a lady of mystery awhile longer.”

  “Might you be Cinderella? Will you dash away at midnight and leave your glass slipper behind?”

  “You have a wonderful imagination, Mr. Clarkson.” She briefly touched his arm. “I’ll see you at the Savoy at seven. And thanks again for a lovely afternoon.” Eve waited for him to leave so he wouldn’t see her taking public transportation. She floated down the stairs to the Underground with a smile.

  She liked Alfie Clarkson. Far more than she had planned to. There was no question of guarding her heart against being bruised. Her heart had escaped from her control, fluttering and skipping and hammering dangerously the entire time they’d been together. She couldn’t wait to see how it felt to b
e held in his arms while they danced. And if the touch of his hand on hers had made her melt inside, what would his kiss do?

  Eve just missed a train back home to her boardinghouse. As she waited on the platform for the next one, she changed her mind and crossed the platform to take a train to the Clarksons’ town house instead, hoping her mum would be there—and that Alfie and Audrey wouldn’t be. She found Mum reading in her bedroom on the top floor.

  “What a wonderful surprise, Eve! What brings you here on this wintry afternoon?” They hugged, and then Eve sat on the bed across from Mum’s chair.

  “I need your help. A very respectable gentleman asked me on a date—and it’s at the Savoy. Can you help me find a dress and do something with my hair?” She ran her fingers through it, untangling the snarls the wind had made. She hoped Mum would be happy for her, but she looked worried.

  “Are you certain this man isn’t married? Some gentlemen are scoundrels in disguise and they take pretty young mistresses from the working class when they get bored with their wives.”

  Eve blushed, remembering the warmth of Alfie’s hand on hers. “I know for a fact that he’s single.”

  “Well, even single gentlemen have been known to use working girls for their pleasure and then discard them.”

  “I know,” she said, staring at the floor. “It isn’t serious between us yet. And he doesn’t know that I’m just a working girl. I’m sure that will be the end of it when I tell him. But before I do, I would love to have just one unforgettable night to live like a princess and enjoy dinner and dancing at a posh place like the Savoy.”

  “I understand. But please be careful, Eve. Don’t fall into the trap of envying the rich. For all her money, Lady Rosamunde is a very unhappy woman. I’d rather be poor and happy and in love with an honorable, hardworking man than be rich and miserable.”

  “I’ll be careful, Mum. I want to marry for love.” But that wasn’t entirely true. Wasn’t she already dreaming of being the mistress of Wellingford Hall, dressed in diamonds and furs, with handsome Alfie Clarkson by her side? Yet why choose one over the other? Was it out of the question that she and Alfie might fall in love? Mum had once warned her that Audrey would outgrow their friendship—and she’d been right. Alfie and Audrey were very different, but they were raised in the same household by the same parents. And like Lady Rosamunde, Audrey never seemed to be truly happy. Would that be Eve’s fate if she married Alfie?