The Dressmaker (37 page)

Nobody had ever given her flowers. Tess took the fragrant bouquet, inhaling the heady fragrance of lilacs and roses.

“The note?”

“Of course.” She flushed as she opened the small envelope tucked into the flowers. “Sherry’s at 10:30?” it read.

“Your response?”

“Please tell Mr. Bremerton I will be there,” she said.

“Thank you; he will be pleased. A car will pick you up.”

She nodded and, somewhat giddily, watched the dutiful Mr. Wheaton walk away.

This time it was a private room, fragrant with the smell of leather-bound books lining the walls. “I want to spend every evening with you,” Jack said, rising from a chair near the door as he shoved papers back into a briefcase. He had a slightly distracted look, but it vanished as Tess came closer. “Forgive me for not bringing you the flowers myself. Work intervened, I’m afraid.”

“Mr. Ford’s automobile?” she asked.

“I don’t want to bore you with business.”

“But I learn things.”

“You’re feigning interest, and I adore you for that.” With ease and naturalness, he leaned over and gently kissed her ear.

“Won’t a waiter come in?” she asked nervously.

“They have my orders. Not until I ring the bell.”

Jack leaned forward, holding her hand and stroking it. His face looked weary; there was a furrow in his brow she hadn’t noticed before that made him look older. But his touch was contained, steady. So sure.

“I have to go to California,” he said.

“Are you coming back?” she asked, her heartbeat quickening.

“Yes, but it might not be for quite a while. I don’t like being away from you.” He cupped her chin and turned it toward him. “You could come with me.”

Tess drew in her breath, shocked. “That’s impossible.”

“Are you sure?”

In the silence that followed, she could hear a clock on the wall ticking. Then his hand tightened on hers. It dawned on her, the realization,
yes—there was a possibility of a different answer. She didn’t want him to go away. She hesitated.

He smiled, leaning back. “I know, Tess, you aren’t that kind of girl. But wouldn’t it be a lark? I could show you a wonderful life out there.”

“I’m sure, but—I have work here.”

“All right, forget that idea. I’m an impulsive man, I suppose. Or so any number of people have told me. But this is different. I knew you were extraordinary from the moment you tiptoed into the
Titanic
’s gym. I wanted to lift you down from that silly camel, but you wouldn’t let me. It was all I could do not to kiss you.” He laughed. “I knew right then that you were the one to change my wandering ways.”

Was he teasing? “I need to go home soon, it’s very late,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound priggish. Looking around the room—the books, the flickering candlelight, the privacy—she realized that he was pulling her closer, but it didn’t feel inappropriate.

And then they were together on a velvet sofa, all pretense to interest in dinner gone. He began smoothing her long dark hair, twining it around his fingers, rubbing it against his cheek, looking baffled when he tried to insert the comb that held it up in place.

“I’ll do that. I can’t leave this restaurant not looking respectable.”

“My preference? Your long hair would clothe you—nothing else.”

She closed her eyes. A man had just said that to her—a man like no other, a man whom she didn’t have to immediately slap and denounce, a man whom she could or could not give permission to say such things. She had that choice, and it was delicious. What was it about this man? His assuredness. There was safety here—is that what it was? No worries, a haven. She closed her eyes and let him kiss her.

So little sleep. Her back ached as she bent over the cutting table the next morning, a pair of scissors poised in her hand. The muslin
version of her dress had worked. The slant of the bodice basting needed to be adjusted, but it looked good. Still, she hesitated. Lying flat before her on the table was the beautifully moldable cream silk she had chosen—a fabric that, cut correctly, would be both soft and substantial. One of the most luxurious bolts of fabric from Lucile’s generous stock. She could not make a mistake.

“Would you like one of the cutters to do this part?” James said gently.

Tess looked up and saw that a handful of Lucile’s workers—seamstresses, cutters, trimmers—had gathered around the table to watch. Several of them smiled tentatively.

She glanced in the direction of Lucile’s office, wondering where she was. She had hurried in and out earlier, murmuring something about a meeting with her lawyers, obviously distracted. Everything was happening at once. She was on her own here, the way it had been when she repaired Lucile’s wedding gown, and that made her apprehensive.

“Thank you, but I think I can do this,” she said. She willed her hand to be still. “Here we go.”

Tess cut into the fabric with a firm motion, allowing the scissors to glide along the pattern lines with only a few stops for adjustments. The fabric was separating beautifully, cleanly. Her confidence grew as she cut the sleeves. She had to trust that she had left enough material for the elaborate tucking she envisioned.

As she cut the last piece, the silence around the table erupted into clapping. “Great job,” James said, beaming. “Takes nerve, the first time you cut fabric like this.”

It did, it did. It was like being on top of a mountain, standing here, still holding the scissors, as the seamstress she had chosen began carefully basting the gown.

“Tess—” James beckoned her over to the other side of the table. “Look at this.” He held up a small curiously made metal contraption.

“What is it?”

“It’s a hookless fastener. Watch.” He pulled at a flat piece of metal, exposing what looked like interlocking teeth, then pulled it back
up, magically closing the space with the teeth alternately connected. “The salesman said you can sew the cloth edges into things like money belts and life vests. What do you think?”

Tess turned the fastener around in her hand, charmed by the ease with which it worked. Would it add bulk to a gown? Hard to tell. It might work, though. She ran her fingers over the tiny rectangular teeth, fascinated.

James’s eyes danced. “Knew you’d be interested,” he said.

It was hours later when Lucile burst from the elevator, marching in with a flower consultant who was busy scratching notes as she threw out instructions. “The flowers must look beautiful under blue lights; bring in
nothing
that turns green or sallow, do you understand?” she said. “I won’t tolerate it. Do not forget the urns; they must be five feet high, no shorter, and—yes?” She glanced impatiently at Tess’s expectant face.

“My gown is cut and basted—would you like to see it?” Tess asked.

“Lovely,” Lucile said with a hasty wave of the hand. “I’ll look later. You’ve worked hard, dear. Take tomorrow off.” And, with that, she and the consultant disappeared into her office.

It was oddly deflating, as if she had somehow been dismissed. Tess straightened her shoulders and beckoned to the model who had just wiggled into the carefully basted dress. “Walk toward me,” she said.

She couldn’t help holding her breath. Yes, the gown moved just as she had envisioned it would—the creamy silk breaking into varying hues, as subtle as a wave breaking on the sand. The sleeves needed extra tucking, but that wasn’t a problem; the material was there. Yet something bothered her.

“How do you feel, walking in this dress?” she asked the model.

Obviously surprised, the model stammered an answer. “I like it—I don’t feel caught up in gauze and lace.” She immediately colored, clearly horrified at her criticism of Lucile’s style.

“That’s all right,” Tess said gently. “I know what you mean.”

“Just one thing, if you’re asking.”

“Yes?”

“It’s a dress for daytime, just right. But I’d hate to catch it in a train door.”

Tess stared at her creation, remembering her ride on the streetcar. She reached over to the table and picked up the scissors. No need to think it through; she knew what she wanted. Within minutes, it was done—eight inches of precious fabric cut from the hem. She’d take ten if she dared.

“It’s going to be ready for the show—I can hardly believe it,” she said to James.

“We never doubted it,” he replied. “Long day, Tess. Time to go home.”

The wind currents outside the Flatiron Building swirled around her as she walked past, sending her skirts billowing. It amused her to see the men loitering nearby in hopes of getting a peek at an ankle or two. A policeman stood at the corner, ordering the oglers to move along, since nobody could do anything about the winds. They wouldn’t need him once women got brave enough to shorten their dresses.

A man was standing on her stoop. Jack? She moved closer, and saw that he held a cigarette in one hand and was restlessly combing back his gold-flecked hair with the other.

No, not Jack.

He saw her and smiled, and she caught her breath. Oh, she had missed that smile.

“Tess.”

“Hello, Jim.”

“Well, it’s done.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I did what I had to do. I tried to tell you in advance, but I guess you knew by then what was up and decided you didn’t want to see me.” His eyes were guarded but steady: so deeply blue. “Anyway, now I’m here to ask what it cost me.”

“Pinky told me you sent me a note, but I never got it,” Tess said.

“You didn’t?” He looked stunned.

“No,” she said. “I don’t know why I didn’t—I thought you just forgot me. Or—”

A light was dawning in his eyes. “Or I had talked to Pinky for her story without telling you?”

“Yes.”

“All I wanted to do was give you a ride around the park in one of those fancy carriages,” he said gently. “And tell you I was going to Washington but coming back.”

“I would have liked that,” she said.

He gave her a rueful smile. “I kept hoping you would show up—those horses knew me pretty well by the time I left. My guess is the Duff Gordons intercepted my note. But at least I know you didn’t stand me up.”

“I owe you more—that wouldn’t happen,” she said quickly.

“Would you have understood? That I had to testify?”

She needed no time to form an answer. “You said what you honestly believed, and that’s more than the others did.” She reached out her hand. “It hasn’t cost you my friendship, if that’s what you mean.”

The look of relief on his face cut through to her heart. She did not want to move, even as he reached out and their fingers touched. Not even when, standing there, he slowly drew her hand to his face, kissing it with undisguised tenderness. Gently, she disengaged, her mind in turmoil.

“Can we walk awhile? Maybe through another park in your nice but less fancy new neighborhood?” His eyes were alight now, not quite dancing but warm with relief.

“Of course,” she said. Her hand had felt so good, held inside the curve of his fingers. She hadn’t anticipated that.

Jim had a long stride, but so did she, when she put her mind to it. He was talking quickly, giving her his impressions of Washington, talking in the rapid way of someone who has been storing up tidbits to share. He stopped as they entered a park and leaned down to pick up a rolling chestnut, then, laughing, tossed it toward a racing squirrel. They had to talk soon.

“I’ve stayed with Lucile,” she said.

“I know. And I don’t blame you.”

Her face flushed and she looked away.

“Stop accusing yourself, Tess.”

“I’m torn—”

“You think you’re the only one? Torn between choices? We all were.”

“Jim, the committee has called her to testify.”

“I guess I’m not surprised. Is she making you choose sides?”

“Why did it have to go this way?” she burst out, her eyes filling with tears.

Jim tossed another chestnut without looking at her. “If you need to pull away from me to keep your job, I’ll understand,” he said. “I can take anything, as long as I know you’re my friend.”

“I am,” she said fervently. “I am, I always will be.”

They walked in comfortable silence until Jim stopped and turned her toward him.