A Fine Imitation (33 page)

As the days passed, Vera grew more and more agitated at the thought that, at any moment, news might be traveling across the Atlantic from Stanton's sources. News she did not want to hear. Despite the detective's warnings that her secret would come out, she continued to visit Hallan in the mornings. She could not keep herself away. Stanton was correct to say she could not go on as she had forever, but when she was in Hallan's arms, the need to end the affair never felt as urgent as she knew it should. She tried to forget the awkward interaction with Bea on the street, but every look at Hallan's face reminded her of Bea's question:
Is that man ruining your life, or saving it?
Vera feared the answer was “both.”

She kept up some of her social schedule in the afternoons and evenings, though she declined as many invitations as she accepted. In her absence, something about the teas and card games began to change, so that when she joined them again everything was slightly off. The strangeness eased in like a fog, covering everything before Vera quite noticed it was there. The other women grew colder, their conversations distilled down to talk of the weather or the ballet. At last, she realized they were waiting to really talk until she was not there. They wanted to talk about Hallan, and she was in the way.

She had not been back from Hallan's long enough to take off her hat one morning when a knock sounded at the door. Evans looked at her questioningly.

“I wasn't expecting anyone. Go ahead, though,” she said.

He opened the door to reveal Poppy, who breezed right by without acknowledging him.

“Vera, good, you're home,” she said airily. “Do you have a moment? I'd like to speak to you.”

“Of course. Evans there can take your gloves, if you like.” Vera stared pointedly at the man closing the door.

“Oh. Here.” Poppy yanked her gloves off and held them out to the side, waiting silently until he took them.

“Well,” Vera said. “Won't you come into the drawing room? I was just going to call for a cup of tea. Would you like something?”

“No, thank you,” Poppy said. “I can't stay long.”

She followed Vera into the drawing room and sat on the couch. Vera sat on a chair, more comfortable with the coffee table between them as a buffer.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?” Vera said.

Poppy looked her up and down. “You can save the pleasantries, Vera. You don't need them with me anymore.”

Vera clenched her teeth. “Oh? How's that?”

“I've found out something very interesting about you.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.” A slow, snakelike smile crept across Poppy's face. “It seems the perfect Vera can make mistakes. You see, I know what you've been up to with the artist.”

A pleasant calm washed over Vera. The fear of this moment had plagued her, but she had not once imagined Poppy Hastings would be the one to confront her. Any dread she had was replaced with the usual certainty that she need not fear this woman. She gave a cold smile, and Poppy's smug look wavered.

“How did you find out?” Vera asked.

Poppy sat up a little straighter. “My maid spoke to his maid. I guess they're friends, and they were in my kitchen talking. His maid said something about a woman coming around a lot. Big secret, he always gives her and his valet mornings off. Said the valet told her it was someone in the building, dark hair, very posh.” She sniffed. “Are you going to try to deny it now?”

Vera had prepared several plausible denials for just this sort of occasion, but she would not dignify Poppy's pathetic attempt to frighten her. The woman would not leave Vera's home victorious over her, not for any reason. She kept her tone light and comfortable. “No. I won't deny it.”

Poppy's eyes widened, and she cleared her throat. “Well. Good. Because I knew anyway. You were so wary of him when he got here, then all of a sudden you were defending him. Wouldn't let anyone say a word against him. And I saw how angry you were when he…well, after the incident in Montauk. When he tried to seduce me. And then he ran after you to console you.”

Vera folded her arms on her chest. “Aren't you clever? And tell me, what do you plan to do with this information? I assume you'll tell Arthur. Were you going to phone him, or just drop an anonymous note in the post?”

Poppy opened and closed her mouth a few times before she could get any words out. “I will. I will tell Arthur. Unless you agree to a few things.”

“Oh, so it's blackmail. All right, let's hear your demands.”

Poppy's eyes narrowed. “I want what you have.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You're the one the other ladies look to. They listen to you. Respect you. And now, I want you to respect me. Whenever there's a decision to be made among us, you will defer to me.” Poppy pointed at Vera. “And I won't have you chastising me anymore, either. In public or in private.”

Vera felt a little twinge in her heart at how pitiful the terms were. “Respect is something earned, Poppy. It cannot be gifted or transferred.”

“You'll figure out a way, or I'll tell your little secret to anyone who will listen.”

“And you'll still be a gossip.”

Poppy stood. “You think you're better than me, don't you? Just because you live in the penthouse, and I live on the fifth floor.”

“This isn't about money. There are plenty of vulgar people with lots of money.”

“Are you calling me vulgar?”

Vera rose from her chair and took a few slow steps toward Poppy. “I think you are a rude woman. And ungrateful. I think you are a little girl playing dress-up, and that nothing will ever be enough. You want to take my place? Take it. It won't be enough. There will always be some prize out of reach, some penthouse above a woman like you.”

Poppy's nostrils flared, and she clutched her purse so hard her knuckles turned white. “How dare you talk to me like that? When I know what I do?”

Vera leaned in. “Because I'm not afraid of you. Tell Arthur, if it will make you feel better. Much good may it do you. I'd be surprised if he wasn't more annoyed that you'd bothered him.”

Poppy started to tremble. “I will tell him. I will! I'll tell everyone. I'll give you some time to think it over, because once you realize what this means, I'm sure you'll see things my way. I can ruin you.”

She stormed toward the door and slammed it behind her. Alone once more, Vera sat in the nearest chair, drawing in a deep breath. Why had she made no attempt to deny the affair? She could have at least bought herself a little more time. But she could not let Poppy dominate her. Vera could not conceive of a moment so dark that she would yield to a callow gold digger. Daring her to tell provided a moment of welcome amusement, but now that Poppy's flustered expression was no longer in view, Vera regretted her choice to admit so easily to the affair. She did not really believe Poppy would tell Arthur, at least not directly. He intimidated her too much for her to march up with news of his wife's infidelity. She would, however, take great pleasure in telling the other women as soon as it became apparent that Vera had no intention of deferring to her. That was what Poppy really wanted, and she would give it time to happen. Still, the news would get to Arthur one way or another, and he would make sure her mother knew. Then she would really have to answer for the affair, and they would certainly see to it that Hallan suffered, too. The only question left now was not if, but when.

As Vera predicted, Poppy did not seem to rush to make good on her threat to tell Arthur about Vera and Hallan. Arthur came home from work relatively early the next few evenings, and even dined with Vera twice without saying a word. It occurred to Vera that Poppy had evidence enough to satisfy herself and the other ladies, but maybe not enough to present to Vera's husband as damning proof. The word of a maid and speculation from Poppy would never rattle Arthur. But apparently she had been true to her word about giving Vera time to concede, as no one else acted as if they knew about the affair either. The other women continued to invite her to social events and were cordial as ever in their interactions.

Though Vera knew she was tempting fate, she continued to visit Hallan. She knew she ought to stop. Every night she convinced herself she would not go back, and every morning her feet led her to his door.

One morning she rolled over, tangling herself in the sheets as he sat up beside her. “You've given up telling me things, do you realize that?” she asked.

Hallan toyed with a lock of her hair. “You're too clever as it is. Any more information would ruin you.”

She sat up on one elbow. “Believe me, I know by now you're not going tell me anything of consequence. We've talked about art, poetry, music…but not you.”

He held up his hands. “That is me. Those are the things I care about.”

She sighed and lay on her back. “Poppy knows about us. I should have told you. She visited me the other day. Seems your maid has a loose tongue.”

“You don't seem worried.”

“I ought to be.” She studied the white metal tiles of the ceiling. “Stanton knows, too.”

“Who?”

“The private investigator.”

“Anyone else?”

“Probably. Soon everyone will, at this rate.”

“I hope Arthur's next. Then you can leave with me.”

She swatted his arm. “I've told you, that's not going to happen.”

“But it could. If you wanted to, you could go.”

“I'd need a better reason than that.” She lifted her slip from the chair and dressed as Hallan prepared to leave to work.

When Vera came in from Hallan's, Evans surprised her with the news that she had a caller in the drawing room. She went in to find Stanton sitting on the couch, drinking a cup of coffee. A stack of folded pages sat on the table beside him. On seeing Vera, Stanton put his cup on the table and rose.