WALLIS ARRIVED AT NUMBER 9 WASHINGTON SQUARE looking pale beneath her rouge and face powder. She winced as she slipped off her coat and handed it to the maid, and walked slowly into the drawing room, seeming frail.
Mary was alarmed. ‘What’s up? Have you been overdoing the parties?’
Wallis lowered herself into a chair. ‘It’s such a bore. I had to have emergency abdominal surgery in Seattle, as soon as I got off the boat from China, and things haven’t been right since. I plan to consult a specialist while I am in New York. But let’s not talk of that.’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘How is Jackie? And how are you, my dear, dear Mary?’
Mary lied, saying that everything was fine and dandy. She didn’t feel like talking about her miscarriages, not yet anyway. Jacques’ business was going well, and they often went to the theatre, or to jazz clubs such as the legendary Cotton Club or the recently opened Savoy dance hall in Harlem. ‘Perhaps we should go dancing,’ she suggested. ‘It’s very gay.’
‘I don’t think I am able to dance just yet,’ Wallis said, laying a protective arm across her belly, ‘but I yearn for some decent conversation. I swear, my companions in Warrenton tell the same stories every week, expecting me to laugh raucously each time. I need someone smart and funny, someone to make me think again, and that’s why I have come to throw myself on your sweet mercy.’
‘I will be as entertaining as is in my power. But first I want to ask about you. How was China? And is there a lucky man waiting to walk you down the aisle once the divorce goes through?’
Wallis shook her head. ‘Nix. No one. I am thirty years old and entirely alone in the world. China was an interesting experience, but the Americans and Europeans there all have Win’s problem with their elbows.’ She mimed bending the forearm to pour alcohol down the throat from an imaginary glass.
‘You must be holding out on me,’ Mary teased. ‘You’re the world’s greatest romantic. Surely you would not have stayed away so long if you were not in love?’
Wallis smiled, with a faraway look in her eyes. ‘I was in love before I went. He let me down very badly. But I have found that the ideal cure for heartache is to put an ocean between yourself and the cause of the affliction.’
Mary guessed she was talking about the Argentinian diplomat Felipe Espil. She had heard on the grapevine that he had refused to marry Wallis, and instead took up with a younger woman from a wealthy, aristocratic family. It must have been the first time Wallis had failed to win the object of her affections, and it was bound to rankle.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mary said. ‘But I’m glad you found the cure. Perhaps you should register it at the Patent Office.’
Wallis laughed. ‘That’s not a bad idea. I need to find some way to make my fortune.’
They soon slipped into an easy friendship, similar to the one of old, but more guarded. They were no longer teenagers, but thirty-year-olds with emotional scars they did not wish to probe. It was fun trying on each other’s clothes, gossiping about the marriages of former acquaintances, shopping in Fifth Avenue, getting their hair done, and lunching at upscale restaurants, where Wallis toyed with a fillet of fish or a lamb chop but seldom ate much. If they dined at home, she flirted with Jacques but Mary no longer felt annoyed by it. It was a game, and Jacques was perfectly capable of returning her compliments without leaving any doubt about his devotion to Mary.
They both enjoyed hearing her stories about the Far East, and one evening, Wallis told them about the sing-song houses, where young girls were trained in the art of love. ‘Win and I visited an establishment in Shanghai,’ she told them. ‘We were led into a sumptuous room with mahogany furniture and gold lattice decorations, where we sat as the girls were led in. They wore very simple silk frocks in either blue or red, and you could clearly see they wore nothing underneath.’
Jacques and Mary were agog. ‘Did they speak any English? Did you talk to them?’ she asked.
‘They all learn a bit of English so they can entertain English guests, but one was more fluent than the others and Win quizzed her about the special techniques in which they are trained.’ Her eyes glittered; she was clearly enjoying the effect she was having on her audience. ‘She told us of a tantalising style of massage called fang-chung, of the erotic dances they learn, and of a special muscle technique called the Singapore Grip.’
‘I’ve heard of that,’ Jacques interrupted, leaving Mary to wonder what it was and where he might have come across it. She still brooded about the women he had known before they met, but he hated to talk of the war years and changed the subject abruptly if she ever brought them up.
Wallis continued: ‘The girls parade in front of invited guests, then they retire to private rooms on the upper floor with the customer who has chosen them for the evening.’
‘My goodness, how fascinating!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘What kind of girls do you think they are? I suppose they come from very poor families.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Wallis said. ‘Some well-to-do families send their daughters there to learn ways of pleasing their future husbands. All the girls are very beautiful, with shy expressions, like so.’ She mimicked a girl with head bowed, looking up sideways through her lashes.
Mary wondered if Wallis had learned seduction techniques herself but did not like to ask. ‘I would love to come to a sing-song house with you, Wallie. What adventures you’ve had!’
In company, Wallis sparkled as only she could, but when they were alone, Mary noticed that she was tired and guessed she was not sleeping well. She winced in pain sometimes, and most of all Mary could sense loneliness deep as an ocean. Her old feeling of protectiveness returned as strong as ever: poor Wallis with a broken heart, a failed marriage and no family money to fall back on, because Uncle Sol still firmly refused to support her. She had a small allowance from Win, but her position was horribly vulnerable.
‘You must come here whenever you like,’ Mary told her. ‘Treat Washington Square as your second home.’
Over the summer and fall, Wallis took her at her word and visited every few weeks. She spent Thanksgiving with them, and Mary thought it only fair that she invite her for Christmas as well. No one should be alone at such a time, and Jacques never seemed to mind Wallis’s presence. Mary suspected he was relieved that Wallis kept her entertained, taking the pressure off him so he could spend time with some French and Italian friends he had made in the neighbourhood.
On the evening of Christmas Day, the three of them, along with various family members and friends, were drinking cocktails when the maid came into the room to announce a visitor: ‘Mr Simpson to see you.’
Mary rose with pleasure to greet him. ‘I’m so glad you could join us. Is Dorothea not with you?’
‘Sadly she is unwell, so I have left her at home with the girls. I had to come and bring you this gift, Jackie.’ He handed over a bottle of Scotch whisky.
Jacques hooted with laughter. ‘Bourbon versus Scotch. We must have a head-to-head contest some evening.’
‘If ladies are permitted, I should very much like to join you,’ Wallis butted in. ‘Do we drink shots of each, turn about, until we fall off our chairs?’
Jacques introduced her to Ernest and he gave a slight bow.
‘We shall have to agree the rules of engagement,’ he smiled, ‘but you would be welcome.’
‘What is your line of work, Mr Simpson, when you are not tempting folk to imbibe the demon drink?’ Wallis fixed him with her most scintillating gaze, and he sat in the chair next to her to tell her he worked in shipping.
‘Do you have a job I could apply for in your shipping office?’ she continued. ‘I’m a poor single woman in need of money and qualified for precisely nothing. I can’t type, can’t sew, can’t wait table, and I’m not terribly good with numbers. But I need to earn around seventy-five thousand dollars a year. Might you have a position for me?’
They all laughed. ‘I shall certainly ask around,’ Ernest promised.
‘What a wonderful suit!’ she exclaimed, stroking his lapel. He was wearing a double-breasted pin-striped suit with a waistcoat underneath. ‘Do I detect English tailoring?’
‘Savile Row,’ he replied. ‘The same tailor my father uses and his father before him.’
‘I love your British traditions: all the pomp and ceremony, the rules and standards. It’s terribly civilised.’
‘I agree,’ Ernest said. ‘I’m very proud of my English half.’
As he explained to Wallis about his fluctuating nationality, Mary watched them with narrowed eyes. Wallis was unleashing her charm, making him feel as though he was the most interesting person in the room and she simply had to hear every word he uttered. She leaned closer, her face artfully tilted. Just like the sing-song girls, Mary thought. She didn’t like it; Ernest was her friend and she didn’t want to share.
After an hour, Ernest stood up, announcing that he must return to his invalid wife. Mary reached beneath the Christmas tree, where she had wrapped a novel entitled The Sun Also Rises, by the journalist Ernest Hemingway, to give him as a Christmas gift. They met in the hall as he was putting on his coat, and she handed over the parcel.
‘I do hope you like it,’ she said, feeling shy all of a sudden. ‘I was most impressed by the honest style of writing.’
He spoke warmly. ‘If you enjoyed it, I know I shall too. We have never yet disagreed over a book, have we? Thank you. I shall treasure it.’
Eight days later, just after the New Year, Wallis announced that she was going out.
‘Are you seeing one of your friends from Europe or from China?’ Mary asked.
‘No. In fact, your Mr Simpson has invited me to luncheon. I think he may have been trying to find work for me.’
Mary was shocked. ‘He’s a married man, Wallie. You can’t have luncheon together without a chaperone. Word travels around Manhattan faster than you might think, and you’ll get a reputation.’
Wallis gave her a pitying look. ‘Oh Mary, it’s 1927, for goodness’ sake. Men and women can have friendships without anything more being read into it. I like your Mr Simpson and I didn’t think you would mind if I saw him again.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You seem to be cosy with him yourself. I saw you giving him a package on Christmas evening.’
Mary blushed. ‘We both like reading, and we often exchange books.’
Wallis smiled. ‘That’s all right then. Now, shall I wear the blue frock or the amber?’
Wallis was gone for over three hours and Mary paced the house in a sour mood. She did not mind sharing her home, her wardrobe or her female friends with her, but this was too much. It was true that she was very fond of Ernest herself, but the difference between her and Wallis was that she could be trusted.