The Dressmaker (16 page)

Stepping into the private upstairs dining room of the Waldorf later that night was like stepping into a red velvet–lined jewel box. It was the most elegant room Tess had ever seen. Her feet—shod now in borrowed shoes—immediately sank deep into the carpet. Waiters hovered. Tentatively, Tess pulled a chair up to the table, inspecting the ironing job on the elegant white linen tablecloth with a practiced eye. She knew the difficulties of ironing linen and lace, and this was meticulous work.

“Does it meet your standards, Tess?” Lucile said, apparently amused at the girl’s inspection. “We are on land now, no rolling deck beneath our feet. Tonight, I intend to enjoy myself. The ordeal is over. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Tess was spared an answer as several friends of the Duff Gordons came bursting through the door, all descending with lavish cries and hugs and kisses. She fingered the wispy chiffon gown Lady Duff Gordon had pronounced that she should wear, feeling oddly naked. What was she doing here under these glittering chandeliers, watching waiters pour champagne into thin-stemmed crystal glasses? Back in Cherbourg, she would be waiting on this table, not sitting at it.

“I feel we are welcoming you back to the land of the living,” said one woman in a low, tremulous voice as she planted a moist lipstick kiss on her friend’s cheek. “Dearest Lucile, we are so grateful you were saved. Look—” She reached back with her hand and pulled forward a dignified-looking gentleman with a very dark mustache. “We brought Jim Matthews to celebrate with us!”

Lucile had already taken a few sips of champagne, enough to bring a hovering waiter to refill her glass, and her color was high. She reached out her hand. This was one of her favorite, most sycophantic fashion writers—a man who always touted her designs. “My dear
friend, I’m delighted to have you here, even though you refuse to take my advice and leave that awful newspaper business.”

“But then where would New York be able to read the best coverage of the latest Lucile designs?” the man asked with a smile, bending to clasp her hand.

Everyone laughed, though Tess noted Sir Cosmo’s eyes narrowing. He became intent on lighting his pipe when he saw her looking at him. With the match lit and the pipe in place, Cosmo was staring disapprovingly at the door. Tess followed his eye.

Pinky Wade was standing there, surveying the scene with interest. She obviously wasn’t intimidated by her surroundings. She wore a nondescript dress that was much too short and stained on the bodice, and her boots were shabby. She had a huge, floppy bag tossed over her shoulder.

“Welcome, my dear, are you staying for dinner?” Lady Duff Gordon swept her with a critical eye. “The girl is a walking clothes disaster,” she murmured to a nearby friend. “Why do women do this to themselves?”

Pinky seemed oblivious. “Absolutely. It’s free, isn’t it?” She smiled brightly at the gathered crowd and plunked down in an empty seat. Spotting Tess across the table, she waved.

“You know her?” Cosmo said, lookly sharply at Tess.

“I met her on the
Carpathia
.”

“That wasn’t a good idea.” His voice was cool.

“We spoke only briefly,” Tess said quickly.

“I understand. But Lucile
did
advise you not to talk with reporters.”

“Quite a dinner you’re having,” Pinky said, cutting in. She beckoned to one of the waiters holding a cheese plate, scooped up a silver spoon, and began helping herself, pleased with the way things were going. Van Anda had been deliriously happy with the material she had picked up on the ship. Her stock was so high in the
Times
newsroom that he told her she could follow the
Titanic
story from any angle she wanted. Which was exactly what she was doing tonight. She glanced at Tess, and felt even more confident of her decision to
keep collecting string on Lifeboat One rather than dumping it into her first story. There was more to learn, she was sure of it, and getting this invitation had been a major stroke of luck. She spread a healthy scoop of Camembert onto a small roll, appreciatively munching away as she looked around the room, not wanting to seem too focused on Lady Duff Gordon. This stuff was good—salty and buttery. She’d try the Fourme d’Ambert next.

Why, Pinky asked herself, was there such a mystique around this flashy woman with the pretentious last name? For someone who loomed so large in the gilded world of the New York rich, she looked very small with her flaming, almost defiantly red, hair. A curious package altogether.

“My dear, I do hope you like the cheese, but we must save room for the delicious filet mignon the chef is preparing for us right now,” Lucile sang out across the table. Her laughter rippled through the dining room—lighter, more girlish than Pinky had expected.

Pinky reached for the Fourme d’Ambert, cutting herself a thick slice. “I certainly will,” she said cheerfully. “So are you going to tell us all about your experience, Lady Duff Gordon?”

“Yes, what happened, Lucy?” implored a woman with a boa wrapped around her shoulders. “Oh, Lucy, tell us from start to finish! How did you survive?”

Lucile cleared her throat, casting a triumphant glance at Cosmo. “My dears, looking down from the deck, hearing the screams of the poor souls below, I won’t deny that I feared those black waters,” she said, her naturally husky voice descending an octave. “It was the most incredible adventure of my life, and it took every ounce of resolve to cheat fate.”

“Just how did you do that?” Pinky asked quietly.

“By keeping my head when others lost theirs,” Lucile replied coolly.

For the next five minutes, she held her audience enthralled. She lamented the incompetence of the ship’s crew, the flimsiness of the canvas lifeboat, the coldness, the fear. She described how, even with the ice water of the sea seeping up through her toes to her ankles, she
managed to hold off the hysterics of the other survivors … and then, in a broken, almost breathless whisper, told of the awful moment when the
Titanic
plunged to the bottom of the sea. “Women and men were clinging to bits of wreckage in the icy water, and it was at least an hour before the awful chorus of shrieks ceased,” she said.

Cosmo cleared his throat, putting a cautionary hand on his wife’s arm. She shook him off.

“I remember the very last cry, a man’s voice calling loudly, ‘My God, my God—’ ” Lucile’s voice broke off. Her hands, quickly hidden, had begun to shake.

By now the small roomful of people had been reduced to tears. Even the waiters were riveted in place, listening, eyes wide, holding plates in midair. Swept away by her own account, Lucile lifted her face to the shimmering light from the crystal chandelier, not even attempting to wipe away the tears trickling down her cheeks.

Tess looked down at her own clenched hands beneath the tablecloth. She could almost taste the salt, the anguish; almost grab on again to the rough, wet sides of her own boat, the telling was so vivid. She glanced up at the faces of the well-dressed men and women leaning forward under the glittering chandeliers, oohing and aahing, tossing in questions at Lucile’s dramatic pauses.

“Oh Lucy, how fortunate that you had the intelligence to devise your escape,” murmured one of the guests. “How brave you were.”

“People were deluded, scoffing that the ship couldn’t possibly sink.” She seemed briefly to be somewhere else, dreaming. The room went quiet. There was palpable relief when she regained her normal authoritative tone. “I saw them pull back from the lifeboats, refusing to board. I hate to say this, but they were idiots. They didn’t use their heads. Those who stayed calm had the best chance to survive.”

“How many in your boat, Lady Duff Gordon?” Pinky asked abruptly.

“We were in the captain’s boat, and we might have been able to take a few more if the crew hadn’t been so disorganized,” Lucile replied.

“Who gave the order to launch prematurely?”

“It wasn’t premature—the ship was sinking, for heaven’s sake.”

“We weren’t the only half-full boat, Miss Wade,” Cosmo cut in, his words clipped tight. “We’ve heard that the loading of passengers was botched across the ship.”

“But yours was the emptiest—makes one wonder,” Pinky said. Her tone was non-accusatory, and her eyes lit up as waiters began serving thick cuts of filet mignon on pink china rimmed in silver. “Wonderful meal,” she said with a nod to Lucile. “Thank you for inviting me.” She began cutting into her meat, as rosy and tender as any she had ever eaten, chewing happily as the others shifted uneasily and played with their forks.

“Are you criticizing me after what I endured?” Lucile demanded.

Pinky wiped her mouth with an impatient sweep of her white linen napkin. “I’m not criticizing you, I’m stating a fact,” she said. “If I understand correctly, you even called the shots in the lifeboat.”

“That’s quite enough on this tragic event,” Cosmo said, cutting quickly into their exchange. “My wife remains distraught, as do I. We hoped you were joining us tonight to share our celebration of life, not to attack.”

With hardly a sound in the room, Pinky put her fork down on the edge of her plate and looked up, gazing steadily first at Lucile and then at Cosmo.

“It’s not enough to celebrate survival,” she said calmly. “There are people downstairs in the hotel lobby, down at the docks, in the tenements on the East Side, who lost husbands and wives and sisters and children, and they have nothing to celebrate. People like you always survive. You owe more.”

Again, silence.

“This isn’t the usual rich-versus-poor story you like to tell,” Jim Matthews said, glaring at Pinky. “Lucy, you’ve told an incredible story, and your behavior was heroic, that’s my opinion. I know Mr. Hearst will want your account for the
Sunday American
. Can we use it? With your signature?”

“I think not—” Sir Cosmo started to say, but Lucile interrupted him with a decisive shake of her head. She would not be cowed by this rude girl.

“Of course you may,” she said.

Pinky pushed her chair back from the table and rose. Somehow she had managed to clean her plate. “That’s definitely brave of you,” she said. “I hope you’ll fill out more details about what went on in your lifeboat. I’m hearing some tales. Good night, all.”

She glanced at Tess, silently answering her surprised look. Yes, she had been talking to others about Lifeboat One.

Tess’s eyes followed Pinky as she threw her bag over her shoulder and marched out the door. No one else here seemed to be paying attention. Lady Duff Gordon was already in animated conversation with one of her friends, and a thin vein of laughter had begun to ripple around the table, clearly at Pinky’s expense. It was as if they were behind glass, safe from the anger of others. Overdressed, caked in makeup. Lipsticked cigarettes in crystal ashtrays, smelling sour. Tess slipped out of her seat and hurried after Pinky.

“Wait,” she said.

Pinky paused at the opening elevator doors. “What are you doing, trying to get your head chopped off? You shouldn’t be following me. She’ll fire you in an instant.”

“You’re right about it not being enough to survive. I wanted to tell you that.”

“Be careful, those are dangerous words. You work for pompous, privileged people who never learn anything. I still don’t know why you’re risking your job. Go back and eat the fancy desserts she’s providing.”

“I’m not hungry.” It was true. The meal tonight might as well have been sawdust.

“What’s taking away your appetite?”

“It’s too soon. And it’s too much.” She could say it—she had to say it, whether it was disloyal to Lucile or not.

“Of course, these people don’t change. Did you think it would be different?”

Tess drew a deep breath. “Yes,” she said simply.

Pinky peered curiously at Tess. For someone who had been a servant in America for no more than a few hours, she was taking some big chances. But her own anger was turning to chagrin. She was an
idiot. She could have learned more about what happened on Lifeboat One instead of taking an easy shot at a puffed-up designer who could see a major disaster only through the prism of her own experience. She should have kept her wits and listened, asking questions, not making stupid speeches.

“I’m not angry at you, I’m the one who made a mess of things. I should have shut my mouth and listened.”

“But you spoke up.”

“So, okay, will you talk to me?” Pinky challenged.

“What is it I can tell you? Everybody did the best they could.” She had said this before, somewhere.

“Oh, I see. Back in the employ of the fabulous Lady Duff. Okay, see you later.”

Pinky stepped into the elevator, letting the doors close behind her.

Flushing, Tess turned to go back to the dining room. She had been dismissed, just dismissed, as if she wasn’t worth anything. She stopped. Lucile, arms folded in front of her chest, was standing at the end of the hall.

“If you do not like my food, I can make other arrangements,” she said in an icy tone. “Is that what you want?”

“I wasn’t hungry,” Tess managed.

“That woman insulted me. Blatantly. And you apparently admired that. That’s why you followed her out here.”