A Fine Imitation (32 page)

Andrew's grin returned. “Oh. Oh, no, not anymore.”

Stanton passed the card in front of Vera, and she caught sight of a seal and a scratchy signature. Andrew took the card, his mouth wide in something approaching awe.

“It must be simply thrilling,” Caroline Litchfield said. “Following dangerous men all over the city, at all hours of the night.”

Bessie Harper snorted. “Didn't know that was your idea of a thrill, Caroline.”

Caroline ignored the comment, and Stanton shook his head, his weary eyes still friendly. “I'm afraid I don't do much surveillance. Most of the job is writing letters, checking files, that sort of thing.”

This answer deflated Caroline a bit. She clearly preferred her version of Stanton's life. “Then you don't ever have to follow anyone?”

“Well, you don't expect me to reveal all my methods, do you?” He glanced around at the others and lowered his voice. “Trade secrets, you know.”

The ladies tittered and the men grumbled their approval. Martha Keller tilted her head, nearly batting her eyelids at the detective.

“Then I suppose you can't tell us anything you've found about the artist?” she asked. “You must know something by now.”

Stanton shook his head. “Nothing I can say. But when I find something, I'm sure it will get around soon enough.” He turned to Ida. “I understand you're on the opera board. That must be fascinating work. Will you tell me about that?”

Ida's cheeks reddened like a schoolgirl's, and she launched into an exhaustive description of her duties. Vera watched Stanton out of the corner of her eye. She could not help but notice that he, like Hallan, could expertly turn a conversation away from himself.

When they finished the meal, the men adjourned to their cigars, and the ladies to their cordials and chatter. Without Arthur to collect her, Vera would have to disentangle herself at the appropriate time. Fortunately, the other women were engrossed in a conversation about the investigator that she was not part of, and she was able to leave after only a few good-byes.

She rang for the elevator. Before the car arrived, a voice rang out down the hall.

“Mrs. Bellington.” Stanton waved and walked toward her. He had a slight hitch in his walk she had not noticed before, and she thought of him laying a hand on his side at dinner.

“Mr. Stanton. Did you enjoy the party?”

“I did. Mrs. Bloomer is quite a hostess.”

“She is that. You're not having cigars with the others?”

“No, I don't smoke. Besides, I have an early morning.” The elevator doors slid open, and Stanton gestured for Vera to enter. “I wonder, would you mind riding down and walking me out?”

She hesitated. “Surely you don't need help finding your way out?”

He smiled, but his eyes held hers in a firm gaze. “No, it's not that. It's so clear out, I thought we might go for a walk. Have a quick chat?”

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course. Let's.” She stepped onto the elevator, avoiding the operator's eyes. The doors closed, and they rode together to the lobby.

When they walked into the night air, the autumn chill bit through Vera's silk gown, and she flinched. Stanton noticed and draped his coat around her shoulders. They fell into an easy stroll down the sidewalk.

“Thank you,” she said. “So, you have information already?”

“I do. But not the information you've paid me for. I'm still waiting on word from my contacts in Europe.” He scratched the dark stubble on his cheek.

“Then why did you want to talk to—” She stopped short and clamped her mouth shut.

He nodded. “I thought it prudent to advise you.”

Her heart dropped. “You know.”

“Yes, I know.”

“How?”

“Because knowing is my business. It's my livelihood.” He looked across the street. “You had to realize I'd find out sooner or later.”

She pulled his coat tighter around her. “Was it the servants? Mine or his?”

“As I said at dinner, best not to reveal too many trade secrets.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Dinner. Wait until Clarence Bloomer hears about this.”

“That's not the information he paid me for, either. He wants to know who Hallan is, not how he spends his time in New York. I don't see any reason to tell him.”

She shivered. “Why should they care? It's all nonsense. They have nothing better to do than invent scandals.”

“Forgive me, but you said I can speak plainly with you, and I will. They may have invented a scandal in Mr. Hallan's past. I don't know yet if their concerns are valid on that point. But the relationship you have with him will be a scandal, and it will cause you grief. If you continue to see him, someone will find out.”

She lifted her chin. “Don't be ridiculous. I don't plan to continue with him. I know I told you to speak frankly with me, but I think you're speaking a little too frankly about things you don't understand.”

Despite her haughtiness, his words never lost their fatherly warmth. “On the contrary, I only speak this frankly about things I do understand. I've seen this more times than you can imagine, and it never ends well for the wife. No matter what her role in the whole scenario. I want you to consider the possible outcomes, and start settling yourself to achieve the one that benefits you most.”

She took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly through pursed lips. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because there's something about you that's thoughtful. You're an intelligent person. You could be just another woman in another ill-conceived love affair, or you could take care of yourself first. I strongly advise you to begin to think now about how you want all this to end. If it's an escape you're after, some kind of change, there are better choices you could make.”

She did not answer right away. When she finally spoke, her voice was unsteady. “It will end, of course. I plan to end it. I'm not a fool.”

“No. No, you're not.” He lifted a hand in the direction of the entrance. “I've kept you out here long enough. Let's get you inside.”

He walked with her back into the lobby. With some reluctance, she handed him his coat. She had enjoyed its soft, warm comfort. The weight of it had been a bit like having Stanton's arm around her shoulder. She worried she might drift away without it.

“Thank you again,” she said.

“It was my pleasure.” He tipped his hat. “I'll be in touch. Most likely very soon. Good night, Mrs. Bellington.”

Vera's conversation with Stanton shook her. The problem was not that he knew about the affair. He was a savvy man, and he did not seem to think any less of her, as his kindness had proven. She was more bothered by the fact that having an open conversation with someone about her relationship with Hallan confirmed it. Now their trysts were fact, instead of some daydream she could brush away.

The morning after the dinner party, even the spacious penthouse stifled her. She went out for a walk, something she hardly ever did. With no particular destination in mind, she walked down Park Avenue, brushing past men carrying briefcases and secretaries tapping along the concrete in high heels. The cool breeze lifted Vera's spirits, and her head began to clear.

She turned a corner and nearly bumped into a woman who was attempting to walk while reading a newspaper. Vera opened her mouth to excuse herself, but her jaw clamped shut when the newspaper lowered and she saw the woman's face.

For a moment, both women paused. Vera assumed Bea was trying to make the same decision she was. Would they walk on, as they had done every other time they had seen each other in the city, or would they finally speak? Bea took a step to go around, but Vera held up her hand.

“Ah.” Bea tucked the newspaper under her arm. “So you want to talk, do you? After so long. I'd ask about your health, but the truth is, I don't much care.”

Vera nearly took her at her word and let her go, but the slight catch in Bea's voice held her there. “We'll leave the niceties out of it, then.” She glanced over her shoulder. The Angelus building was still in sight. “What are you doing in this part of town?”

Bea's lowered lids suggested she was not impressed. “You mean your part of town? I'm meeting a friend. Other people live around here too, you know.”

“So you knew I was living at the Angelus?”

“Fleming couldn't shut up about his high-class visitor. I pieced it together.”

Vera stepped closer to the nearest building, out of the way of the passing crowd. She lowered her voice. “I saw the news about him. The arrest.”

Bea laughed. “Fleming? He'll be fine.”

“And you?”

“Don't you know me at all? I'm already fine.”

“Why are you still in the city? Aren't the police looking for you?”

“No. They're looking for Bea Stillman.” Bea paused to let the meaning sink in. Her eyes gleamed with defiance. “So this is what became of Vera Longacre. You married Arthur and got everything you wanted. Is it? What you wanted? Ever wish
you
got a new name?”

Vera could hear the questions behind the one Bea asked.
Was it worth it? What you did to me?
She threw her shoulders back. “You lied to me.”

“I didn't lie to you. I just didn't tell you everything. There's a difference. I deserved a new start.” Bea's grin was a flash of the girl from ten years ago. “Now I can get one whenever I like. As a matter of fact, I am leaving the city. Soon. But I'm so glad we had the chance to catch up. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really don't want to take up any more of your valuable time.”

Vera held Bea's gaze. A sudden urge to say everything she would have said on that awful day at Vassar seized her, and she could not move. Bea watched her, studying Vera's face as she struggled. Vera willed the apology to come, but it would not. She wanted to say she had been wrong. She needed to confess. She craved forgiveness, even if she did not deserve it.

Instead, she said, “I had to. You know I had to.”

“Hmph. You ‘had to.' ” Bea cocked her head. “That man I saw you with at the movie theater. I know that wasn't Arthur.” She flicked the newspaper. “Society pages. You and Arthur are all over them, and I've never seen that man with you once.”

Vera shook her head. “No.”

“So? Is that man ruining your life, or saving it?”

“I…” Vera swallowed hard. “I don't know.”

Bea's tight smile was somewhere between amusement and pity. “I hope someday you'll realize you don't always ‘have to.' Good-bye, Vera.”

Vera stood on the corner, unable to watch Bea walk away.

Double-cross. One of those vulgar slang terms she would have chided Bea for using. The word would never pass her lips, especially not now, in the heart of the very act. The proper term to use would be
betray
. Her mother's euphemism for it would be
preservation.
Preserving one's own reputation. Slang, proper, or euphemistic, all versions of the concept applied to Vera's presence in the dean's office.

The kindness of the slender, white-haired woman's eyes did nothing to calm Vera's shaking hands. Two cups of tea sat, untouched, on the table between them. Vera gripped the arms of her chair, grateful that her mother had not been allowed to sit in the office while the meeting took place. Her mother's gloating presence would make the lie harder to say.

“If you could, I'd like you to tell me in your own words what happened.” Miss McCaleb even smiled, but Vera couldn't return the gesture.

“I didn't know Bea made the letters. She told me she'd written to my mother in secret, to surprise me. I thought we had permission.” Vera intoned the words she'd rehearsed in her head in a dull voice. The lie scraped her throat as it came out, but she could not reach for the tea. She didn't deserve comfort.

“Where did you stay in New Haven?”

“She had a friend at a ladies' boardinghouse. Otherwise I would have asked to come straight back. I would have known. It all seemed right.”

“Then what did you say when you saw there was no chaperone?” Miss McCaleb asked.

“I knew it was strange, but she said the school had approved her cousin as chaperone. I thought since he was her family it must have been a special case. And we were staying with ladies…” Exhaustion washed over her. She wanted the conversation to be over. She battled the lump in her throat and put the appropriate level of pleading into her voice. “Bea lied, that's all. She tricked me. I promise. I would never knowingly disobey the school's rules. Or my mother's.”

Miss McCaleb scanned the papers on her desk, then removed her reading glasses. “I want to set your mind at ease. Obviously I can't discuss another student's discipline, but I can say your record these past few years speaks for itself, just as Miss Stillman's speaks for her. This incident has also brought to light some information about her behavior at her previous school…but I won't trouble you with that. We have a very clear picture of Beatrice Stillman. After hearing your two versions of the story, I don't think you have anything to worry about. I'll have my official determination tomorrow morning.” She tilted her head sympathetically. “But please, Miss Longacre, do be careful in the future about whom you choose as a friend.”

Miss McCaleb said a few more things, Vera's mother came in, fears were assuaged, and final pleasantries exchanged. But Vera heard none of it. Nothing after the word
friend
. She lay in bed that night, staring at the blank darkness of the hotel room.
Friend
rang in her head, again and again, silly and empty. Vera couldn't give a thought to whether or not she was a true friend. Not when everything confirmed she wasn't even a good person. Oh, she was a very good Longacre. She'd make a good wife to Arthur, too. A good member of the society to which she was born. But a good person?

No
, she thought.
I made my choice.