Evergreen Falls (32 page)

Then she shook herself. Here she was, judging the silly ladies up in Lady Powell’s sitting room, or Tony’s friends with their lewd nonsense, and she was no better than them. Sniffing Will’s overcoat and thinking of him too fondly. Far too fondly.

She shrugged out of the coat, just as the door swung inwards and Will stepped out.

“Here,” she said tersely, offering it to him.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I don’t mind it.”

He took the coat, smiling at her. “Your brother? He’s well?”

Of course she had encouraged his interest, and none-too-subtly. She had sat in his office and cried about her cheating fiancé. She had let him too far into her life, her heart. If she didn’t want to fall into
the same casual unruliness in which everyone else was indulging, she had to push him back out. “All is well in my life, thank you, Dr. Dalloway. I will let you know if there is anything I need from you, so you need not inquire further.”

His eyes flickered behind his glasses, and she had to swallow down hard. She’d hurt his feelings. It was for the best.

“Good day, then,” he said, pressing his hat on his head and hurrying off to his car.

She stood shivering in the snow for a few moments longer, knowing she’d done the right thing but feeling bereft all the same.

*  *  *

Even with the ballroom divided in half and the fire roaring in the grate, the cold seemed close, gathering in the corners of the room and up in the high ceiling. The candlelight and firelight gave the room a shifting, amber glow. A gramophone had replaced the orchestra, and it gave the room an emptied-out feeling, as though they were the last people left on earth. Flora sat close to Tony, listening as he told the table a story about the day he met the prime minister. Nobody seemed to mind that they’d heard it before: they had all had dinner together so many times it had become acceptable to recycle stories.

Flora glanced at Tony’s hands. They were very clean and tidy; she hadn’t noticed before. Sam’s, by contrast, were pale, with ragged nails and cuticles. Even though he sat at the table, he seemed off in his own world, rocking slightly, thumbnail in his mouth, distracted gaze, messy hair. She watched him a few moments, then saw him straighten and remove his hand from his mouth, his whole countenance becoming light and engaged. She didn’t need to follow the direction of his gaze to know it was Violet who effected this change in him.

Flora turned and watched Violet approach. She was pale but didn’t look particularly ill. The girl worked hard, and Flora admired
that about her. She obviously made Sam happy, and it was the longest any of his love affairs had lasted. For the first time Flora found herself wondering if it would be the worst thing in the world if Sam married a woman like this. If she made him happy—given it was so hard to make him happy—surely that would be a good thing.

Of course, their father would see things differently.

Violet brought out their meals, careful to avoid eye contact with any of them. Flora could see Sweetie eyeing the young woman lasciviously, and she had to turn away. What a horrid ape he was. By contrast, Sam, eyes aglow, watched Violet with gentle affection, and Flora couldn’t help but smile.

After Violet had returned to the kitchen, Flora leaned across to Sam. “You are quite taken with her, aren’t you?”

“Life is a cold, vast ocean without her.”

Flora was well used to Sam’s dramatic turns of phrase; at times ordinary expressions of human feeling seemed beneath him. For once, she didn’t tell him that Father would never approve. For once, she just let him love her.

The conversation turned again. Lady Powell, a few too many champagnes past good sense, was holding forth on the idiocy of book reviewers while Cordelia Wright agreed emphatically about opera reviewers, and Sam’s agitation increased to the point where Flora knew he would soon spring out of his chair and stalk off, wordlessly, to his room and his opium pipe. Sure enough, his meal half finished, he did just that. The others watched him go, Miss Sydney with one eyebrow lifted disapprovingly. Perhaps she couldn’t understand why Sam didn’t ogle her like the others did. However, all were so used to his disappearances that it went unremarked.

The evening wore on, and there was much talk about the weather. Violet came to clear their plates, and Flora noted the disappointment on her face when she saw that Sam had gone.

“Miss,” Lady Powell said, tugging the hem of Violet’s apron, “what is our dessert tonight?”

“Toffee pudding,” Violet answered.

“Oh, none for me,” Miss Sydney said. “I’ll just have tea.”

“I’m having pudding,” Lady Powell harrumphed. “Toffee pudding is my favorite.”

“I feel like something sweet,” Sweetie said. “Are you on the menu, dollface?”

Tony and Miss Sydney sniggered. Violet smiled politely and ignored it. “Only toffee pudding, sir, but I can bring you tea or coffee if you’d prefer.”

Sweetie, either unable or unwilling to read the situation, pressed on with an aggressive glint in his eye. “I’d prefer a taste of you.”

Flora saw a look of weariness come over Violet’s face, and wondered how many times in the past men like Sweetie had made comments like that. Flora had never had to endure such treatment, but for Violet it was probably regular. She remembered that the girl had been ill—ill enough to warrant a visit by Dr. Dalloway—and she spoke up.

“Really, Sweetie, that’s enough. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Sweetie shot back, “Why should I be embarrassed?”

“The girl is obviously not interested in you. You’re an oaf.”

A grim silence descended on the table. Violet kept her head low and scuttled back towards the kitchen with their empty plates.

“Steady on, Flora,” Tony said quietly. Threateningly.

This inflamed her. Flora was not a woman to lose her temper, but week upon week with these people, especially odious Sweetie, had worn upon her nerves. “I won’t
steady on
. The world does not belong to him, nor to you, nor to any of you. We share it. We share it with people like Violet, who has a right to do her job without Sweetie insulting her.”

“Too right!” Lady Powell said, raising her glass.

“I wasn’t
insulting
her,” Sweetie spat. “I was flattering her. She loved it.”

“She did
not
love it. She was embarrassed and probably frightened. She won’t say anything because she’s afraid of losing her job.”

“If she didn’t love it, why was she smiling?”

“She’s paid to smile at you. She probably hates you. Lord knows, I do sometimes. But I suppose you’re used to paying women to be pleasant to you.”

Sweetie turned to Tony and snarled, “Get your woman under control.”

Tony put his hand under Flora’s elbow. “Come on. We’re leaving before you insult anyone else.”

Flora allowed herself to be thrust out of her chair, but shook Tony off as they crossed the dance floor. She noticed Violet lingering at the staff entrance opposite, having witnessed the whole exchange. Defiantly, she gave Violet a broad smile, then held her head high as Tony marched her out.

*  *  *

They were outside her bedroom door before he said a word, and by then Flora had had time to regret speaking so sharply to Sweetie in front of all their friends.

“Really, Flora,” Tony admonished, but gently. “Sweetie is one of my oldest friends.”

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” she said, “but even you must admit he goes on with such rude nonsense. It’s not fit for a table full of well-bred ladies, and it’s cruel in the extreme to lower people like waiters and waitresses, who dare not speak up for themselves. I won’t tolerate it anymore. Speak to him and get him to stop it.” Her heart thudded a little in her chest, but she was glad she’d said her piece.

“I can’t stop him doing anything,” Tony said.

“Yes, you can. He hangs off you. They all do. He’s still here, for goodness’ sake. He could have gone back to Sydney, but he worships the ground you walk on. The level of behavior you overlook is the level of behavior you condone. I should hate to think I am marrying a man who would turn a blind eye to such incivility.”

Tony drew his eyebrows down, and Flora felt a tiny note of alarm touch her heart. But then his anger seemed to melt away, and his eyes crinkled at the corners, and his mouth turned up as though fighting a smile. Then he started to laugh.

She was too bewildered to join him.

“Oh, Florrie, you are
fierce
. How I love you.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and then moved his lips to her mouth.

She breathed out. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Sweetie’s face,” he said, “was priceless. I don’t think he expected in a million years you would speak to him like that. Yes, he had it coming. But please, please don’t do it again.”

“You’ll talk to him?”

“I will talk to him. I will make sure he behaves in your company, and in the company of the other ladies.”

“Thank you, my dear.” She kissed his cheek and turned to unlock her door, but he grasped her wrist.

“May I come in?” he said, and the question seemed heavy with intent.

Flora considered his request. He had asked before, of course, and she had always said no. But at this moment she felt very close to him, her blood was warm and her spirits high. “You can come in for a
little
while,” she said, equally layering her words with hidden meaning. “Understand?”

He smiled and nodded. She unlocked the door and they went inside.

She switched on the lamp next to her bed and stood in the center
of the room, not sure what to do. Tony put his hands around her hips and pulled her close against him.

“Let me kiss you. Really kiss you,” he said.

She offered up her face, and his lips descended hungrily, his tongue darting into her mouth. Liquid heat moved in her groin. She told herself to relax as his hands moved and cupped her buttocks through her skirt, pressing her against him. These were all things he had done before, when she let him.

“Can we lie down?” he asked, close to her ear.

Wordlessly she nodded, and he led her to the bed. He laid her on her back and settled beside her, kissing her fiercely, stroking her hair, running his lips along her neck. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the sensation. There was something wonderful about being appreciated in this way by a man—a handsome, powerful man like Tony. Of course, Tony had appreciated other women this way, too, and the thought made her sad. Wouldn’t it be nicer to be the only one a man had ever been with? She wondered if Will Dalloway would find her as attractive as Tony did.

Her eyes flew open. Where did that thought come from?

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Nothing. Why?”

“You went stiff.”

“Oh. No, I’m fine. Just . . . you know I have trouble relaxing when we . . .”

“You like it, though, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes.”

He teasingly moved his hand onto the curve of her waist, running it up over her hip. “You like that?”

She smiled, nodded.

“You have a beautiful shape, Florrie. Miss Sydney, our beauty queen, is shaped like a pencil. I know it’s the fashion to be thin, but
women should have hips and bottoms. And breasts.” His hand crept up towards her breast.

She pushed it away. “Fresh,” she said gently, smiling.

“You’ll like it. I promise you.”

She closed her eyes. “What I didn’t see didn’t happen.” Her skin prickled in anticipation. She had never let him caress her breasts before.

His warm hand moved smoothly up over her ribs and closed over her left breast. Her heart sped. She tried to be in the moment, and not think of how many other women Tony had done this to.
He loves me. He loves my shape.
Once again, she found herself thinking of Will, if
he
liked women with hips and bottoms and breasts.

Tony’s hand disappeared, then reappeared at the hem of her blouse, pulling it loose and creeping up over her stays. “You are a long way beneath the surface,” he remarked. “I want to touch your skin.”

Boldly, she sat up and pulled her blouse over her head, then lay back down. Closed her eyes. “This and no more,” she said.

He undid the first few hooks on the front of her stays and slid his hand inside. The thought of him touching her there was almost as thrilling as the touch itself. He molded her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and she gasped involuntarily.

“I told you you’d like it,” he murmured.

She sat up, brushed his hand away. “Enough,” she said.

He laughed. “Too much?”

“Too . . .” She couldn’t think of the word. All she knew was that she felt a strong tickling urge between her legs that she’d never felt before, and she was afraid that one more moment of Tony’s touch would make her say yes to anything.

“We’ll be married in a few months anyway,” he said. “It’s snowing outside and so warm in here. You and me, curled up together, in love. Why not let me stay?”

“Because that’s not how I was raised.”

He shrugged, then he kissed her cheek. “You are beautiful, you know, in your own way.”

“And you are handsome, in a way everyone can see,” she said. “But that’s not why I love you.”

He rose as she pulled her blouse back on. “I’ll have you eventually,” he said.

“Yes, you will. But not now.” She deliberately made herself think of Tony with those other awful women, to pour cold water on her warm desire.

He left and she went to her window to watch the snow fall. So much snow. Hours upon hours of it. Surely it would clear overnight. This was Australia, not Switzerland. She would have thought snow rare, though she supposed she didn’t know all that much about mountain weather. The lights of the hotel lit up the flurries. Beyond them were dark streets. Now she let herself think of Will. She wondered if he was standing by the window of his room, too, watching the snow fall out of the night sky. She let herself imagine that he was, and the thought made her smile.

But then she told herself that was enough nonsense, and turned to get ready for bed.