The Dressmaker (47 page)

“Lucile, I am truly sorry.”

“Never mind, I can see by your reaction that it’s done.” And yet she made no move to leave the office. She began picking off bits of frosting from a cake, absentmindedly dropping them back on the tray.

“I’m not one who likes to revisit traumatic events, as you know,” she said, not quite in control of her voice. “But there is something else to clear up.”

“What is that?”

She straightened her shoulders resolutely. “What happened in the lifeboat.”

Tess caught her breath and waited.

“I did the exact right thing in ordering those men not to go back, and I stand by that. I don’t care what people have to say about an empty boat—one takes care of oneself first.” She paused. “There is something, I suppose, to what Jean Darling was saying. About avoiding blame. About the impossibility of forgiving oneself.” She waved her hand distractedly. “That kind of hand-wringing isn’t for me, but I might as well tell you, somebody did grab at my leg in the lifeboat. Quite a shocking, frightening thing, really.”

“What did you do?” The close air in the room was making Tess faintly ill.

“Will you let me finish? You might want to. I told you, someone grabbed me. I couldn’t see who was pawing me.” It was almost as if she were talking only to herself now. “I thought it was some clumsy seaman. So I pushed him away, as hard as I could. And then I heard a splash.”

Silence. It was several seconds before Tess could respond. “What happened next?” she finally said.

“I called for assistance, of course. He grabbed at me again, and one of the men pushed him away.”

“With an oar?”

“Yes.”

“My God, Lucile.”

“I don’t know who did it, if that’s your next question. It was dark.”

The convenience of night. “You must have some idea.”

“If you’re asking if it was Cosmo, I could hardly believe
that
. And you’ll be happy to know it wasn’t your sailor, because he got up and fought the man who was trying to help me. Almost capsized us. I’ve told you all I know.”

“Why didn’t you say all this when you testified?”

“Are you serious? I would be accused of murder.” Lucile began pacing. “I wasn’t the only one,” she said. “You stand there, looking so shocked; why did I tell you this? There were other … splashes, but I
could see nothing. We wanted to survive—what is wrong with that? What are you going to do now? Tell the world?”

“Oh, Lucile.” She wanted to cry and scream at the same time.

Lucile’s voice was rising, her words coming faster. “Why are those of us who survived to blame? Did we cause that calamity? Do you remember what it was like to watch that ship go down? My God, I couldn’t believe it. Tipped onto its bow like a toy, a toy of nature, a sight like none anyone has seen, and we’re supposed to come out of it unscathed? Go back to civility, men tipping their hats to women, saying ‘after you’ when getting into the lifeboats—what a joke! If there is a God, surely he was amused—how stupid are we to sail the ocean on something built out of toothpicks?
We
were the toys! What is going on in this world?”

And with that cry she stopped pacing. “I find it hard to believe that I was the only one pushing him away, but maybe I was.”

“You weren’t trying to kill the man.”

“Of course not. I simply didn’t want to be touched. At least, that’s what I tell myself.” Her back was to Tess now. That proud, rigid spine, straight—inflexible.

“There was no time to think,” Tess managed.

“Yes, yes, but you notice, of course, that I never told anybody. My character wasn’t any stronger than Jean’s.”

“So why
are
you telling me?”

“Oh, just to clear the air, I suppose. Things always have been a bit murky between you and me.”

“Complicated,” Tess said softly.

Lucile turned at that and gave her a quick, hard smile. “My dear,
all
my relationships are complicated. Good luck to you.”

Tess was suddenly blinking back tears. “You brought me here,” she said. “You gave me a chance. You pointed the way, and I thank you for that.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t get weepy. Really, that’s enough. Goodbye, Tess.”

“Lucile—”

But Lucile turned to the door, opened it, and walked away, leaving Tess in midsentence.

“James!” she cried out, clapping her hands angrily. “Where are you? Get somebody to clean up that tea table, will you? And let’s get these curtains down tonight. Isn’t anybody going to do any work around here except me?”

Tess left the office, walking slowly toward the elevator and Elinor, who was waiting at the door.

“So she told you what happened,” Elinor said calmly. “She did say this morning she wanted the chance to do that.”

“Maybe she’s blaming herself for something she couldn’t have done on her own. She couldn’t have had the power to push that man off the boat.”

“She told me it was Tom Sullivan who wielded the oar.”

“On Cosmo’s order? Or hers?”

“We’ll never know. My guess? That sneaky oaf did it on his own. See how we piece our stories together? To redeem ourselves, I suppose.”

“Why did she want me to know?”

“She decided after listening to Jean Darling’s testimony. Said it was something she had to do. I know she didn’t ask you to keep this private, but I hope you will.”

Tess could only nod. Another choice.

“By the way, Lucile asked me to give you this.” Elinor held out a small velvet bag and put it in Tess’s hand. “She called it a memento. Something about keeping you safe and soothing the heart. She said you would know what she meant.”

Tess slowly undid the strings, her eyes stinging. The moonstone earrings.

“Please don’t say you can’t take them—please don’t do that to her.”

Tess slowly nodded again. “Thank her for me,” she said.

“I hope you know she’s dreadfully sad about losing you.”

“There was much more I wanted to say.”

“So did she, I suspect.” Elinor sighed for a second time. “But what is done is done. You read the future right, if that’s any consolation. My sister can’t change. Do you have any plans? What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, good luck. You know you’re in a small category of people—you survived Lucile.” Elinor said this almost tenderly, taking the harshness out of her words. “Stay in touch, and if you ever need any help look me up. That is, if you ever get out to California.” She paused. “I’ll speak to a few people about finding you a job. I hear the one who calls herself Coco Chanel is hiring. Moving beyond hats quite quickly. You obviously have a future in—what is that expression Lucile hates? I remember—the ‘rag trade.’ ”

Tess smiled. “I’m still very good at buttons, though they’ll soon be out of date.”

“Follow up—it’s a start, anyway. Oh, before I forget—” She pulled an envelope from her bag. “This came for you yesterday.”

Tess’s heart leapt when she looked at the handwriting, each letter so carefully, painstakingly drawn. So her messages home got through. She pictured her mother squinting under the light of a candle as she wrote. Home, a connection to home. She tucked the letter into her pocket to read later, when she was alone.

She stepped into the elevator, catching a last glimpse of Lucile pacing the aisles of the shop, her hair slightly askew, giving orders right and left as the elevator doors closed.

Just as she had begun to understand, it was over. Her thoughts flashed back to the grand woman who had walked the deck of the
Titanic
as if she owned the world. Madame Lucile. Walking beside her, hearing the silky rush of awed whispers left in her wake. Do you know who that is? The most famous, the best, couturiere in the world. To wear her clothes was to be at the pinnacle. And it had all dissolved—all a fantasy.

Tess closed her eyes, opening them only as the doors drew apart on the ground floor. No one hovered—no yelling reporters, no clients. She stepped out of the elevator, feeling herself leaving one dream and entering another. The only reality of the moment was her mother’s letter.

P
inky stood on the sidewalk, looking uncharacteristically diffident as Tess stepped out of the building. All the society guests had vanished, but there were still clusters of hired shopgirls waiting for the town cars, bubbling with giggles about the posh event to which they had been invited at the last minute, with payment, no less.

“You stayed,” Tess said with a rush of gratitude.

“Oh, I thought maybe I’d wait for you. Didn’t think you were going to hang around up there. Want to come to my place for dinner?”

Maybe it was the kindness of the offer, maybe she would have let go anyway, but the tears came.

Pinky looked a little alarmed, but that didn’t stop her from awkwardly patting Tess on the back. “I can’t say I understand what you were trying to do, but you gave better than she deserved,” she said.

“I had to give back something. I owe her a great deal.”

“Was it hard to walk out again? Were you tempted to stay?”

Tess shook her head. “No. I’m not making those compromises anymore.”

“You don’t have to tell me; I can see how she eats everybody up. But your dress looked nice.”

Tess managed a shaky smile; any fashion comment from Pinky had to be a novelty.

“I’m wondering why you got all flustered when you saw Mrs. Bremerton,” Pinky ventured. “Something was happening, and I think I know what.” Maybe that was too blunt, but there it was, out in the open. Things were always better out in the open. Most of the time, anyway.

“You’re a good observer,” Tess said.

For an awkward moment, neither of them spoke.

“I don’t know what you’re doing tomorrow, but would you like to come to the suffragist parade? It starts in Washington Square, under the arch. Have you seen it yet? It’s a beautiful arch.” Changing the subject was not Pinky’s strength, and she was stumbling over her words now in a rush. “Remember I told you about the white horse? It’s beautiful, and the woman riding it has this incredible long hair, so it will be very dramatic; photographers like that. I’m hoping for the front page. Especially if the women raising money for a memorial to the men of the
Titanic
show up. They’re furious because the suffragists are saying the
Titanic
women shouldn’t have been so quick to let the men die instead of themselves. Quite a juicy little story.”

“Pinky, it was chaotic,” Tess said wearily, not wanting to relive it all once more.

“Well, equality cuts all ways. Everything gets political, that’s all I know. So there will be jeers and jokes, but it’s a good thing when women pull together.”

“Thank you, I’ll think about it,” Tess said. Suddenly she envied Pinky. It was easy for her, seeing everything so simply; it must be comfortable to be so confident of choices.

“Why Bremerton instead of Jim?” Pinky said unexpectedly.

“It’s not like that. They’re very different.”

“What does that mean?”

“Are you asking as a reporter or as a friend?”

Pinky had already decided, somewhere around the time that fancy wedding dress upstairs floated past her stupefied vision. “A friend,” she said.

“Jack is—” She groped for the right words. “He’s a magical man from a magical world.”

Pinky looked honestly puzzled. “Where do you go with that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to decide.”

“Well, he’s rich and must be in love with you, so I guess you think you’d be crazy to pass him up. I suppose you want to get married. I thought about that once, and there was this man.… ” Pinky’s voice turned wistful. “But I couldn’t do it. I don’t want marriage—I’d feel like a mouse in a trap.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“Usually it does.” Pinky wasn’t sure how to tell Tess what she couldn’t bear to lose: the thrill of walking into a room, knowing that, as a reporter, she carried an identity that commanded attention, if not respect, knowing the job shielded her from being dismissed or ignored, knowing it gave her access to such a wide variety of worlds, even though sometimes they scared her. “I couldn’t give up my job for anything,” she said. “You have, and that’s brave.”

“What are you saying?”

“You gave up your job for Jim.” And this time Pinky had the sense to say no more. She had seen the look on both their faces yesterday.

The two women stood in silence for a long moment.

“I’ve got a big chicken ready to go in the oven,” Pinky finally said shyly.

“Thank you. But not tonight. I have things I have to do.” Impulsively, Tess hugged her.

“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?” Pinky asked.

“Maybe.”

“If you come, it’ll mean something.”

“Oh? What would it mean?”

“Just an instinct. Bye, Tess.” Pinky turned and walked slowly up the block in the direction of her office, wondering if she was right or wrong. And maybe it wasn’t true that she would give up anything that threatened her job. That didn’t make her safer. Maybe the only thing that mattered was giving up the idea that there was a place to hide. She inhaled deeply; maybe it was time for her to take a risk. Tess had.