A Fine Imitation (26 page)

“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 table. 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.”

Hallan took a bite of his bread. He rubbed a hand on the arm of his chair, and a cloud fell over his face. “Is this where Arthur sits?”

“It is. Would you like to sit somewhere else?”

“No.” He sat up straighter, leaning forward a bit. “No, this is fine.”

After they ate, he rounded the table to her chair and held out his hand.

“What a gentleman,” she said with a laugh.

“Let's go see your favorite,” he replied.

They went up the stairs to the master suite. She watched as he took in the sight of the brass bed, the enormous windows with their heavy curtains, the plush rug under his feet. He turned to her.