A Fine Imitation (25 page)

He touched the loops and curls of her pinned hair. “You always wear it up,” he said softly. “Is it very long?”

“Yes. Not terribly fashionable.”

He sat on the bed, and she sat beside him. He turned her so he could examine her hair once more.

“How many pins does it take to keep it like that?” he asked.

She laughed softly. “Quite a few.”

He leaned in. “Ah. There's one.” He gently worked the pin out of her hair, and a curl dropped to her shoulder.

“Don't take it all down.” She tried to turn to look at him, but he moved her back into place.

“I want to see how it looks. I imagine it's beautiful. Why do you always wear it up?”

“Only little girls wear their hair down,” she said.

“We'll have to keep this between us, then.”

He found another pin, and another. She smiled as lock after lock fell across her shoulder and back. Finally, it was all loose, in a thick curtain that hung to her waist. He combed through it with his fingers.

“It's glorious.” He pushed the hair aside and kissed her neck. “You're so beautiful, Vera.”

She turned to him. “It's been a long time since anyone but you said that to me.”

“Then I'll say it every hour, every minute to make up for their mistakes.” His lips met hers again, and he pushed the slip's strap from her shoulder. He grazed her now-bare breast with his palm, and a shiver ran up her back.

Her need for him took over, and she took off the slip. He undressed, and they lay down. She reached to cover herself with the blanket, but he pushed it away, and admired her pale, slender form, running his hand over her breast, her stomach, and to the inside of her thigh.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he breathed.

“More than anything,” she said.

He shifted so that he was between her legs, and entered her. The sensation was nearly foreign, and she let out a gasp that turned into a moan. His hair grazed her cheek as they rocked together. The delight of him inside her swelled, expanded, and grew until she could not contain it. Her excitement escaped her as she cried out, louder and louder, and he answered her with astounded groans of his own.

This is right
, she thought,
this is right and can never be wrong
.

He whispered in her ear, shapeless words without meaning. They slowed, then stopped, and he rested his head on her shoulder. At last, he moved back over to lie beside her, his hand still idly stroking her cheek.

She laughed, that same sound she had made on the rooftop, from so deep within her she had not known it was still there. He sat up on one elbow.

“I hope nothing is funny,” he said, still a bit out of breath.

“Oh, no, no. I'm happy, that's all.”

“I'm happy, too.”

“Are you?”

His face grew serious. “All I've wanted since the moment I first saw you is this. You, with me. However you wanted me. For you to want me at all.”

She pursed her lips. “I'm glad I make such a good first impression.”

“But I don't want you thinking it's only because you're beautiful. Though you are.” He grinned. “Yes, I thought you were lovely when I first saw you. But it was after we talked in the museum that I knew I was going to fall in love with you.”

The shock of the words surprised her, and she wondered why they should feel so powerful. She had been told she was loved. But when? Had Arthur ever once said he loved her? She struggled through the memory of their courtship, wedding, and honeymoon. The first years of their marriage, when he had still seen fit to touch her. She could not recall, though she recalled the time her mother had asserted that “all mothers love their children” in a fit of Christmas cheer one year. Or her father, who told her he loved her in a whisper as he led her down the aisle. But not Arthur. No memory at all of him saying anything of the kind. The closest she had come to love from someone outside her family had to be Bea. There had been more real love in her friendship with Bea than even in Cliff's boyish infatuation. But that bond had been destroyed so quickly, for such foolish reasons. Maybe Arthur had never said he loved her because he could sense, somewhere deep down, that she was not worthy of being loved.

Vera noticed the hint of confusion on Hallan's face at her long silence and stroked his cheek as the fog of memory lifted away. “That's a very romantic thing to say, but you're not in love with me. You've only known me a few weeks. You don't know who I really am.”

“I only needed a few moments. The light in your eyes when you look at a painting, or a sculpture…I thought, ‘Ah, this is a woman I understand. This is a woman who will understand me.' ”

A little worry tickled her mind. “But I don't know anything about you. You ought to tell me more—”

“ ‘Given the circumstances'?”

“You love to turn my words back to me, don't you?”

He traced her breastbone. “All right, I will tell you one thing about me every day. And that way you'll keep coming to visit me. I know even if you don't care for me, your curiosity won't let you stay away.”

She knew she ought to ask him directly who he really was. Playing some game with him would be childish and foolish. She ought to demand that he tell her everything. But at that moment, she did not want to know the answer. She wanted to enjoy the taste of happiness she had found, if only for the day.

“So, what's my bit of information for today?” she asked.

He leaned over her and kissed her deeply, holding her tight in one arm. Then he whispered in her ear.

“I had never been in the ocean until I went in with you.”

Harry drove Bea and Vera back to school on Sunday alone. Vera was disappointed not to see Cliff again, but they couldn't very well have said a proper good-bye in front of their friends. There would be plenty of time for them to talk in the future. She even began composing her next letter to him in her head as they rode back to campus.

The girls carried their suitcases across the quad, kicking up brittle brown leaves as they made their way to their dorm buildings. Vera's mind was still racing from excitement and lack of sleep, and Bea kept up a frenzied recap of the previous day's excursion.

“New Haven was more posh than I thought it'd be, didn't you think? That dance hall was smashing. And the game…I think I like football. We'll have to go to another game sometime.” Bea sucked in a deep breath of cold air and turned to Vera with a smirk. “And you naughty girl, you kissed Cliff.”

“Nearly kissed,” Vera corrected her, but could not tame her own smile.

Bea slowed her step. “I'll admit, I didn't think you'd ever go.”

“You sure seemed to think so when you were planning it all. Why else go through all the trouble with the letters?”

“But you're so…good. I thought you'd end up being too afraid. Ditch me at the last minute, something like that.”

Vera elbowed her. “And now you know better. I can be as fearless as you.”

“Now I know better.” Bea laughed. “But wasn't it everything I said it would be? Aren't you glad you went?”

“I am. But now I need sleep. I've still got an essay to finish.” Vera stopped at the front door of her dorm building. “Meet me for supper, all right?”

“Sure. See you then.” Bea kissed Vera's cheek, then paused. “You know…you're the best friend I've ever had. I know it hasn't been long, but—”

“I feel the same way.” Vera pulled Bea into a hug. “Go on, get some sleep.”

Vera lugged her suitcase up the stairs to her room. She opened her suitcase but found she didn't have the energy to put anything else away at the moment, so she set it in the corner to deal with later. As she pulled off her coat, she felt something stiff through the lining. She pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket. A note. She opened the paper to find blocky male handwriting.

Dear Vera,

You're the most incredible gal I've ever met, beau or no beau. Thanks for the best night of my life. Well, so far. If you choose me, there are even better nights ahead. Promise.

Cliff

She smiled and tucked the letter into a book on her desk. Still dressed, she stretched on her bed. The weak winter sunlight peeked in through the curtains, tracing the edges of the decorations on her wall with a faint glow. She blinked in and out of sleep as vivid images from the night before played against her eyelids.

The sound of a drum made her sit up straight. No, not a drum, a knock at her door. She reached for her watch. Bea couldn't be here to get her for dinner; it was only two o'clock in the afternoon. Voices rang in the quad. Had she slept through the night? Was it Monday?

She brushed the wrinkles out of her skirt and went to the door. Hazel Weston, a second-year student who sometimes worked at the reception desk, stood on the other side, her hand poised to knock again. Hazel's mouth, a tight line of concern, sent lightning up Vera's spine.

“Is something wrong?” Vera asked, her voice husky and dim.

“Someone is downstairs to see you,” Hazel said.

“Who is it?”

“You'd better just come down.” Hazel turned back for the stairs.

Vera stepped over to the mirror, and her eyes landed on the folded note poking out of the book. Had Cliff come to Vassar to see her for some mad reason? She couldn't think of any visitor that would worry the girl on desk duty as much as a boy.

Her hair in place, she raced down the stairs. The last person Vera expected to see sat in a chair in the foyer.

“Vera. Hello.” Her mother stood, a tightly controlled tower of rage. “Would you like to tell me what you've been up to this weekend?”

Vera did not even mind attending tea that afternoon at Ida Bloomer's, as she allowed her mind to drift back to her stolen morning with Hallan. Her thoughts overwhelmed her, and she wondered if the other women could see her need for him, crawling like an itch under her skin. But they chatted blithely around her, and since Vera never really contributed much, they did not question her silence. But at last, Ida asked the question she had certainly invited everyone to tea to ask.

“So, how was the trip to Montauk? I was heartbroken not to come, just beside myself,” she said, fluttering her lids in a display of her distress.

“I thought it was very hot, even in the evenings, didn't you, Vera?” Caroline said.

Vera snapped her head in Caroline's direction. “Hot. Yes, a bit hot. But the water was cold.”

“And how did Mr. Hallan like it?” Ida asked.

“He seemed to enjoy the house,” Vera said.

“Oh, Vera. You're so discreet.” Poppy looked at Vera over the lip of her teacup.

Vera's mouth went dry. “I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean.”

Poppy turned to the others. “There was a very interesting discussion at dinner the first night.”

“No one needs to hear about my mother's rudeness,” Vera said, each word razor sharp but laced with false friendliness.

“I don't think she was rude at all. She simply wanted to know more about Mr. Hallan.” Poppy cast her gaze around the circle once more. “And he wouldn't tell her a thing.”

“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.”