I think I’d like to see one of these… What did you call them? A speaksoftly?”
“A speakeasy,” he said, laughing with her. “All right, then. Let’s go find one.” Arthur drove to an ordinary-looking brownstone in midtown, then led Fiona down a flight of stairs to the basement door. A peephole opened after they’d knocked, and Arthur gave his name. A moment later the door swung wide and Fiona heard music and laughter and the tinkle of glasses. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light and see that the entire basement had been converted into a nightclub. The doorman led them to a small table for two in a cozy nook, and Arthur ordered them each a drink. Fiona sipped hers slowly as they talked. She had never drunk alcohol before, but she liked the pleasant, swirling feeling it gave her. The band music was so lively she couldn’t help tapping her feet.
“Care to dance?” Arthur soon asked. Fiona had been watching the other couples. All she had to do was imitate them.
“I’d love to.”
Arthur was a wonderful dancer, so smooth and graceful that she saw other people watching him with admiration. And she felt graceful herself as she floated around the dance floor in his arms. By the end of the evening she longed for Arthur to hold her closer, remembering how wonderful it felt when Kevin held her tightly in his arms. But Arthur was a gentleman, holding her chastely while they danced, kissing her lightly on the cheek when he said good-night to her at the hotel, the way she’d seen upper-class people saying farewell to each other.
“I had a marvelous time,” she told him. It was the truth.
“I didn’t show you much of New York, did I? We’ll have to make another date for next Saturday night.”
“I’d like that very much.”
She was waiting for him in the lobby again a week later. Fiona watched as he strode through the door like he was the lord of the manor, looking all around for her.
“Fiona! There you are!” She loved the way his face lit up when he saw her. It made him look dashing and young. He took both of her hands in his and greeted her with a soft kiss on the cheek. He smelled wonderful. His after-shave permeated his skin and his clothing, and the manly scent was as intoxicating to Fiona as the drink he had bought her at the speakeasy.
“I thought we would go sailing tonight,” he said as they walked to his car.
“Sailing? At night?”
“Well, not exactly,” he said with a grin. “I’ve made reservations for us on a ship that’s anchored three miles offshore. There will be dining and dancing—and liquor is legal, of course, out in international waters.”
“Don’t tell me! Is this another way to skirt around the prohibition laws?”
“Of course—and a very lucrative one, too.” His eyes sparkled as he glanced down at her. “There are hundreds of ships, in fact, anchored off the U.S. coast from Maine all the way to Florida.”
He parked near the river, where a speedboat was waiting to ferry passengers to and from the ship. The air was cool on the ride out from the harbor, and Arthur wrapped his arm around Fiona’s shoulders, cuddling her close to help her stay warm. The ship Arthur had chosen was magnificent, with mahogany paneling in the dining lounge, linen tablecloths, fine china, and crystal chandeliers. They dined on thick steaks and drank wine and gazed across the table at each other.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” Arthur murmured. She smiled, not knowing how to reply.
Later they danced until their feet ached. Fiona didn’t need to drink much liquor in order to feel light and giddy; the lush music, the look in Arthur’s eyes, and the feel of his arms around her were intoxicating enough. She couldn’t imagine how she ever thought he was too old for her. He was so gentle and attentive, always impeccably dressed in bow tie and evening clothes. She loved the way he looked at her with his deep brown eyes and slow, sad smile; loved the warmth of his hand on her waist as they danced or on her back as he escorted her to her seat. He had smooth hands with long, elegant fingers and buffed nails. He held her hand as they sat at their table and sipped drinks, and sometimes he lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. But as he said good-night, he once again kissed her softly on the cheek, leaving Fiona longing for more.
When they had been dating for a month, Fiona finally got her wish. They had gone out to Arthur’s favorite ship again, and after dining and dancing for hours, he led her up on deck beneath a starlit sky. As the glittering lights of New York City flickered in the distance, Arthur took her in his arms and kissed her properly for the first time—not the goodnight pecks on the cheek he’d been giving her when they parted. Not the bruising, fumbling kisses that Kevin always gave her. This was a slow, wonderful kiss that left her breathless. He was a man in complete control, not simply taking something for himself, as Kevin had, but giving Fiona something in return—a man who knew how to really kiss a woman.
“I’m falling in love with you, Fiona,” he whispered when they finally drew apart. He rested his palm on her cheek and brushed her lips with his thumb. Before she could reply, he pulled her close and kissed her again.
As summer turned to fall, Fiona noticed that Arthur never took her to the theater or the symphony or to other society events. He always chose dark, cozy, intimate places where they could cuddle at their table between dances. He never introduced Fiona to any friends or acquaintances. In fact, Arthur never seemed to run into anyone he knew, until one night, as he and Fiona were leaving a speakeasy on Fifty-second Street, a gentleman on his way into the club stopped him.
“Arthur! Where have you been lately? I haven’t seen you in months.” The man reached to shake Arthur’s hand, and Fiona saw a look of surprise on his face when he noticed Fiona holding onto Arthur’s arm. “Oh, hello…” he said to her.
For the space of a heartbeat, Arthur seemed embarrassed. He quickly recovered. “Phil, let me introduce you to my guest, Fiona Quinn, from Dublin. Her father is here in New York on business, and I’ve offered to show her around. Fiona, this is Phil Holmes.”
“How do you do, Miss Quinn,” he said, bowing slightly. “I trust Arthur is showing you the very best of our fair city?”
“Oh, yes. He’s doing a marvelous job.”
“You always get the plum jobs, Arthur.” He nudged him in the ribs and winked. “Sorry, but I have to run. Will I see you and your wife at the mayor’s reception next week?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. Give Evelyn my regards.”
“I will. Good night.”
Mr. Holmes hurried off, leaving behind an awkward silence.
“Is Evelyn your ex-wife?” Fiona asked when they were outside in the street. Arthur nodded solemnly. “And are you really taking her to the mayor’s party?”
“I’m afraid so,” he sighed. “It’s still my duty to escort her to these things. She knows the mayor and all those other society people. It’s not the sort of event she would attend alone—you understand.”
“I’m not sure I do. Mr. Holmes referred to her as your wife. Doesn’t he know about your divorce?” Arthur stopped beside his car, gazing down at his feet, not at Fiona. He looked so uncomfortable that she decided to drop the subject, worried that she had upset him. “I’m sorry, Arthur. You don’t owe me any explanations.”
“Yes, I do, Fiona.” He finally looked up at her, his face grave, his eyes sorrowful. “Our divorce isn’t final yet.”
“What?” Fiona leaned against the car fender to steady herself. She didn’t want to believe that he had lied to her all this time. “Y-you mean you’re still married?”
“Yes… I’m sorry.”
Tears filled Fiona’s eyes. She didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t seem to stop them from falling. Arthur opened the passenger door, then rested his hand on her back, gently guiding her inside. “Please, let’s sit in the car,” he said. “I’d like to explain.”
He walked around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel, but he didn’t start the engine. Fiona looked straight ahead through the windshield
. The corner street lamp glistened through her tears.
“Everything else I told you about my marriage is true,” Arthur said softly. “It’s been over for years. I don’t love Evelyn, and she doesn’t love me. We agreed to divorce some time ago, but now she’s stalling, arguing for more money. My lawyer is handling it. In the meantime, we occasionally attend social events together—to keep up appearances. For the children’s sakes.”
Fiona’s breath caught in her throat as she turned to stare at him. “You never told me you had children.” She felt as if she were onboard a ship in storm-tossed seas and had slipped off the deck into the cold, dark water.
Arthur drew a deep breath, as if he were about to plunge into the frigid water with her. “Yes, I have a son and a daughter. The breakup has been especially hard on them.”
Fiona struggled to get it straight in her mind, to comprehend the truth. “You’re a married man, then? And you’re living with your wife, going places with her—and with me?”
He didn’t answer right away. He reached to take both of her hands in his as he gazed at her. “I’m so sorry if I’ve misled you, Fiona. I wouldn’t blame you for hating me. It was selfish of me not to tell you the truth right from the start. … But I was afraid you would have nothing to do with me if you knew—afraid you’d walk away from me that first evening and I’d never see you again. And I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. Can you ever forgive me?”
She didn’t answer right away, shocked by the knowledge that she’d been involved with a married man all this time. “W-when will your divorce be final?” she finally asked.
“Any day.” He released one of her hands and smoothed her hair off her forehead. “That’s what my lawyer keeps telling me—any day. When I first started seeing you, I thought it would all be over with by now. It should be over. I never imagined that I’d have to continue misleading you this long. I’m so sorry, Fiona.”
“Maybe… maybe we shouldn’t see each other until it’s final,” she said, pulling her hand free. “Especially if you’re still required to attend social events with her.”
Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, as if her words had caused him great pain. “I understand,” he murmured. “I don’t know how I’ll bear it, but I understand.”
He started the engine and they drove back to the hotel in silence.
Fiona felt torn between her conscience and her longing. She knew that what they’d done was wrong, and she felt deeply ashamed that she’d been involved with a married man all this time. But she couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing Arthur again. Even now, all she could think about was kissing him, feeling his comforting arms around her, inhaling his rich scent. But that was wrong—so wrong. The sins of stealing and lying already stained her soul, and now she would have to add the sin of adultery to them. Arthur had a wife and children—two children.
He parked the car near the hotel but didn’t move to get out. Finally he turned to her. “Please… tell me I haven’t lost you forever. Will you let me call on you again when I’m free? Will you still be here?”
“Yes. Yes of course,” she said eagerly. But she realized that she wouldn’t be here. She didn’t live in this hotel. She had lied to Arthur the same way he had lied to her. If she said good-bye to him tonight, he would have no way to get in touch with her after his divorce was final. He could hardly call on her at her tenement on the Lower East Side or pay her a visit in the workshop above Madame Deveau’s hat shop. She saw tears in his eyes as he took her face in his hands and tilted it toward him.
“Let me memorize your beautiful face, Fiona. Until I see you again, it will be like living in darkness with no sunlight.” He ran his hands through her hair, over her shoulders, down her arms. Then he pulled her close for a final, tender kiss. When he pulled away, a single tear rolled down his cheek. “I love you, Fiona. I don’t want to lose you.”
“I love you, too!” she cried as she flung herself into his arms. It was true. In the beginning he had been nothing more to her than a wealthy man who could give her a comfortable life. But now she was genuinely in love with Arthur Bartlett. She wasn’t pretending.
“How long… until we can be together?” she asked as she buried her face against his neck.
“I don’t know. I wish I did. I would marry you now, tonight, if I were free. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Against all her wishes, against all that she’d been taught about right and wrong, she had fallen in love with a married man. She couldn’t help herself. And now she couldn’t bear to be separated from him. In that moment, Fiona made up her mind.
“I don’t want to be apart at all, Arthur—ever. Forget what I said, before. It doesn’t matter if… if you aren’t free yet.”
“Oh, thank you, darling.” He pulled her closer, and she heard his sigh of relief. “Can I see you next weekend, Fiona? Shall we go dancing? Please say yes.”
“Yes, my darling, yes. Next weekend.”
Chapter
25
H appy new year, Fiona!” Arthur pulled her close and kissed her, right in the middle of the dance floor. Fiona circled her arms around his neck to kiss him in return. All around them, people were blowing toy horns and noisemakers, tossing confetti into the air and kissing. A brand new year had just begun—1921—and Fiona felt as though her life was about to begin, as well. A year ago she had been a scrub maid in Ireland; now she was in love with the most wonderful man in the world. The fact that he was spending New Year’s Eve with her and not with his wife meant that he loved her, too. He was telling the truth about his marriage being over.
They danced awhile longer before Arthur said, “All this noise and cigarette smoke are getting to me. Would you mind if we left and went someplace else?”
“Not at all.” He fetched her coat, and they walked out into the snowy night, their arms wrapped around each other, their breath fogging the air in front of them.
They found Arthur’s car, and Fiona sat inside with the motor running while Arthur brushed off the freshly fallen snow. She watched him work, realizing how very much she loved him. Fiona had once thought she loved Kevin Malloy, but this was so much better—like the difference between smelling an orange and eating one. Kevin never talked to Fiona about anything or took her anywhere. He couldn’t even read or write. He smelled of sweat and horses, and his hands were chapped and rough, his fingernails dirty. How could she ever have thought that she loved him? She’d been glad a thousand times over that her father had stopped her from marrying him.
Arthur finished cleaning off the snow and climbed behind the wheel, turning to face her. “Fiona, I don’t want to say good-night yet. But I’m tired of sitting in noisy clubs and smoky cafes. I was wondering if we might go to your hotel suite—but only if your father is there, of course— so we can talk where it’s quiet.” He caressed her cheek, sending warmth through her, even though his fingers were icy cold. She didn’t want to leave him yet, either. But she and her father didn’t have a room in the Chelsea Hotel. She didn’t have to feign disappointment.
“I’m so sorry, Arthur, but it’s impossible. My father will probably be asleep by now. I would hate to disturb him.”
“Well, could I take you to my place, then? Please? Just for a little while longer. I don’t want to end our evening yet. And it’s too cold to sit in the car—you’re shivering.”
“Your place?” she repeated. The shivery feeling that tingled through her had nothing to do with the January air. She stalled for time as she tried to make up her mind. Arthur’s dark eyes looked soft and pleading.
“I have an apartment here in Manhattan. It isn’t far.”
“All right… but I can’t stay too late.” She was already thinking ahead, knowing it would be difficult to make her way from the hotel to her tenement in the frigid weather. It was already past midnight.
Arthur drove carefully through the snowy streets, the wipers swishing rhythmically to keep the windshield clean. He parked near an apartment buil
ding on a quiet, tree-lined street, a few blocks from Central Park. The yellow brick building was six stories tall, U-shaped, with a garden courtyard in the middle and a uniformed doorman in the front lobby.
Fiona felt a stab of disappointment. It was a very nice building—certainly nicer than the walk-up tenements in her neighborhood—but she’d expected Arthur to live in a mansion like Wickham Hall, with dozens of servants.
“Good evening, Mr. Bartlett… ma’am,” the doorman said as he held the door for them.
“Good evening, Charles. How are you?”
“Just fine, Mr. Bartlett. Snowy night, isn’t it?” Charles hurried across the lobby to open the elevator doors for them. “You have yourself a happy new year, now, Mr. Bartlett.”
“Thank you. You, too.” Arthur pushed the button for the fifth floor, and as soon as the doors closed, he pulled Fiona into his arms for a kiss.
She’d never ridden on an elevator before, and she wasn’t sure if the little wave of dizziness she felt was from the ride or from his impassioned kiss. He pulled away as the elevator coasted to a stop and the doors opened. He took her hand and led her down a carpeted hallway to his apartment door, taking a moment to fish his keys from his pocket and unlock it. The hallway was bright and clean, the carpeting thick and luxurious beneath her feet. It was so different from the noisy, smelly tenement hallways where Fiona lived that they might have landed on a different planet.
“Now, where were we?” Arthur said when they were inside. He reached to kiss her again, but Fiona backed away, a little frightened by what she might be getting herself into.
“It’s very dark in here, Arthur.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” He flipped a switch and a ceiling fixture in the foyer came on.
“You live here?” she asked, gazing around. The apartment was very neat and orderly, and the furniture looked brand-new, but she didn’t see any of Arthur’s personal belongings anywhere—there were no books or photographs or bedroom slippers lying around. The place didn’t look livedin. But compared to the grimy, rat-infested apartments where she lived, it was a palace.