The Dressmaker (40 page)

“He’s had several heart attacks, and each time he gets weaker.” Pinky kept her head down as she cut into a tomato.

“I’m sorry.”

When Pinky looked up, her eyes were unusually bright. “He’s not always easy, but he’s a pretty good father. I give him morphine for the pain. Do you like your salami thick or thin?”

“I like it whichever way you choose to slice it.”

“Thin it is.”

The next few moments passed in relative silence as the lunch was laid out on a table covered with oilcloth. That task done, Pinky put her hands on the back of a chair and looked straight at Tess.

“Sit down. I have something to tell you,” she said.

“About what?”

“About Jim. He’s in trouble.”

Tess lowered herself into a chair, not taking her eyes off Pinky.

“The people who want him out of the way have been digging around in his past, and they’ve discovered an old indictment from the coal-strike demonstrations.”

“What?” Tess almost knocked the bread tray off the table.

“I’m told the police were arresting everybody in sight, clubbing a lot of heads, things like that. When the mine workers fought back, a cop got slugged. Jim was one of the crowd, and a union organizer to boot. Don’t be too shocked; the charges were dismissed a few days later.”

Her hands began to tremble. “So why is Jim in trouble?”

“Because someone managed to reactivate the indictment against him.”

“Someone? Who?”

Pinky didn’t answer directly. “Did you know he’s been subpoenaed for the British hearings?”

“No, he didn’t tell me that yesterday.”

“I guess he had more important things on his mind.”

Tess winced. “Please, Pinky. Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, Tess. But you know how you hurt him.”

Tess nodded.

“Okay. Anyway, that means he’ll have to go back. He’ll be arrested the minute he steps on English soil, and that ‘scandalous’ development will get full play in the British newspapers, shooting down the credibility of his testimony here. Voilà, he’ll no longer be a threat to the Duff Gordons, because who wants to believe a criminal? After the hearings are over, Lady Duff skips off to the next fashion show, the charge will be dropped again, very quietly. Neat package, actually.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I’ve got sources. I’m a reporter, remember?” Pinky’s grin wasn’t quite as easy as usual. Neither of them had touched the food.

“So, Lucile is out to discredit Jim any way she can.”

“Sure. Nobody stands to profit the way she does. And it turns out it
was
her lawyers coaching those crew members when Jim testified. Big law firm here. I checked them out.”

Tess blinked, trying to absorb the news. First, disbelief—then anger—and now, deep inside, fury. Yes, Lucile was capable of this. It was outrageous, imperious—everything. “Does Jim know?” she managed.

“He found out last night; he’s surprised, but kind of stalwart. You know, the British thing about the stiff upper lip.”

“Are you writing a story?”

Pinky paused before replying. “I’m waiting. The minute I write it, it does exactly what she wants it to do. I’d rather wait and see what tricks she’ll try to pull testifying here.”

“You are sure about this?”

“I’m positive, or I wouldn’t be telling you. Eat something.” Pinky shoved a slice of salami between two slices of bread and handed it to Tess. “There’s another possible outcome.”

“What is it?” Tess took the sandwich and bit into it; she couldn’t taste a thing, not with the hard knot of anger engulfing her.

“If somebody with better lawyers on the job than Lady Duff—not an easy find, mind you—manages to quash the indictment before it gets publicized. Stomp it back into the past where it belongs. Guess who’s working on that?” This time her grin was authentic.

“All right, who?”

“The terrific, smart, rich Mrs. Brown. She’s furious. She’s got big plans for Jim, and she doesn’t want to lose him. How’s the sandwich?”

“I can’t taste it.” Tess pushed it away and stood. She paced, unable to stay still.

“You’re pretty upset.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t be? Playing such a dirty trick on Jim, trying to ruin him? I’m furious that she would hurt him.”

Pinky pushed back from the table, too. “Somebody already has,” she said quietly.

They fell into a momentary silence.

“I’m sorry,” Pinky said again. “I guess I like to think you don’t deserve him.”

Tess was too shaken to mount a defense. “I don’t,” she said.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to quit. I will not stay with that woman—I can’t stay there one more day, not now.” The shock of disbelief shredded away; she had no doubts. It wasn’t enough to pay off those seamen for their testimony—no, Lucile was too controlling to settle for that. She wanted all criticism silenced. “I can’t work for her anymore. I’d never trust her again.”

“You can move in here,” Pinky said. “I mean it, you know. You can start making dresses—I even have a sewing machine—and when you make some money you can get your own place.”

“How would I find clients?”

“No problem,” Pinky said buoyantly. “I’ll send everybody I write about to you, and maybe even Van Anda’s wife; she could use some fancier clothes. Tess, it’s a great idea. You don’t need Lucile!”

Tess felt her smile falter. Pinky was so brashly American, all exuberance and confidence. She knew how to defy the rules; maybe there was something to learn from that. There had to be, because she was stepping into a void.

But there was Jack.

Her feet ached from the long walk home. Jack was waiting for her. She took the flowers he held out to her without seeing them. “She’s done something terrible to Jim,” she blurted.

He looked at the flowers, which she had unthinkingly dropped to the sidewalk. “All right, tell me,” he said.

And she did, letting it all spill out, caring not a whit how it sounded, as he listened in silence.

“You care quite a lot about this man’s welfare,” he finally said.

“Of course, I do,” she said. “How can Lucile do this? She’s trying to ruin his life, just as everything is opening up for him. Part of
me can’t believe it, and another part thinks, For goodness’ sake, how naïve can you be, to be so surprised? I—”

“But what is your role in all this?” he asked with something of an edge to his voice. “What are you going to do, Tess?”

“I’m going to quit, of course,” she said, surprised at his question.

“You would walk out before the show? Abandon the chance to show the gown you’re so proud of?” He said it in such a gentle yet probing way.

“Does that make me sad? Yes. But I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice, Tess. That’s what makes life so complicated.”

“Well, this one is mine.”

Jack put out his arms and pulled her close. “Perhaps that means you’re closer now to making a more important choice,” he murmured.

She said nothing, just closed her eyes and waited for the comfort that came with his embrace. Tonight it was elusive, even when she finally noticed the flowers.

Pinky sat in the kitchen for a long time after Tess left. She picked at the salad, rolled a piece of salami between her fingers. Well, she had done what she set out to do. She had set something in motion, and she would just have to see what came next.

“Sarah.”

Oh, for God’s sake, she had forgotten her father’s lunch. She made a sandwich hastily, put it on a plate, and walked into his room. He wasn’t fooled.

“Stale bread,” he said.

“I was thinking.”

“About that young man you’ve talked about?”

Pinky sank heavily onto the bed. “I wish you weren’t so observant.”

“So what’s the problem?”

She hesitated, wondering why she should bother, knowing he was quite capable of falling asleep in the midst of what she wanted to say. “He’s hurting because of Tess.”

“So she dumped him for someone else.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t. Damn it, Sarah, it’s always the same story. Your generation didn’t invent it, you know.” His thin fingers brought the sandwich up to his mouth, then dropped it back on the plate. “I’m tired, think I’ll go back to sleep.”

“Sure.” She stood, ready to leave. She just wanted out of this bedroom, out of this apartment, out of everything.

His hand reached for hers and squeezed, again with surprising strength. “I’m not so drugged up I don’t know how you feel, kid.”

With a rush of gratitude, Pinky squeezed back.

T
he morning light shone weakly through a window in need of washing, but even bright sunshine wouldn’t have lifted Tess’s spirits. She sat on the bed, brushing her hair, pulling through the tangles. One by one. There was no need to hurry. And there was no need to rehearse what she was going to say. She adjusted her hat, weaving the hat pin carefully through the straw, then walked out into her future, whatever it was going to be.

The doors of Lucile’s private elevator opened, inviting her into its exclusive domain. How laughable it was, the idea that being allowed inside a cranky, slow elevator was a mark of privilege. She lifted her skirt slightly, ignored the elevator, and took the stairs.

“Tess, where have you been? Come here!”

Lucile’s voice rang through the loft, turning every head toward Tess as she entered. Billows of silk and wool puffed up from the humming sewing machines, catching the light now streaming through the windows—a wonderful, shimmering sight. A catch in her throat—how she loved this place. She didn’t allow herself to linger. Only a few wondered why, as she walked through the loft to the runway set up for the show, she did not immediately take off her hat.

“My goodness, dear, I’m been dying to see you. Why are you so late? Never mind, just look!” Lucile pointed at a model, who, as if on cue, began to stroll down the runway toward Tess. She was wearing Tess’s finished gown. The richly hued cream silk looked even better than it had two days ago. With a shorter skirt, it bounced, catching
the light, tossing it back into the room, catching it again. It was as she had imagined. Her dress. She had done this.

“It’s absolutely
marvelous
!” Lucile said, clasping her hands. “I fixed that little tuck in the sleeve for you this morning, is that all right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Perhaps it’s a bit shorter than it could be, but my clients can order it any length they want. Tess, you’ve done a fabulous job. It will absolutely be in the show.”

Tess kept staring at her gown, even as Lucile’s praise grew more elaborate. The dress didn’t work, not fully. She stared critically at the bodice, and decided that not only should she have angled the darts more; a square-cut neckline would have been better. It had almost worked.

“It isn’t as good as it should be,” she said.

“Spoken like a true designer, dear. Of course it isn’t perfect, but it’s got a fresh feel to it, and I’m happy. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Why do you look so dour?”

“May we talk in your office?”

Impatiently, Lucile shook her head. “No time—we have much to do. What is it you want?”

It wasn’t an easy thing to open one’s mouth and shatter the lively, bustling mood. “I’m sorry it had to happen this way, but I am quitting,” Tess said quietly.