MARY WAS SURPRISED WHEN DOROTHEA SIMPSON telephoned asking if she might call on her. They had never seen each other alone before, although their relationship was always cordial when the two couples got together.
‘I’d be delighted,’ she replied.
Dorothea was shown into the drawing room, greetings were exchanged, tea was served, and as soon as the maid had left the room, she got to the purpose behind her visit.
‘I’m sorry to bring my troubles to your door,’ she began, ‘but could you please do something to rein in your predatory friend?’
Mary paled. What had Wallis done now?
Dorothea continued: ‘I came home from a shopping trip yesterday afternoon to find Wallis in my house with my husband wearing one of my blouses.’ Mary gasped, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. ‘She claimed a cup of coffee had got spilt on her blouse and Ernest insisted on lending her a fresh one.’
‘Wallis doesn’t drink coffee . . .’ Mary said slowly, trying to work out what must have happened.
Dorothea’s tone was almost hysterical. ‘Do you have any idea how much time she is spending with my husband? If I telephone his office in the afternoon, he is never there. In his pockets I find tickets to lectures, art galleries and concerts, and he is certainly not attending them with me. There are receipts for luncheons and – you won’t believe this – I found a ticket from the Savoy dance hall dated for an evening three weeks ago when I was in hospital.’
Mary remembered telling Wallis about the dance hall and felt furious with her. What was she playing at?
‘I’m sure it is all perfectly innocent,’ she said, trying to remain calm. ‘Wallis enjoys male company but she would never dream of fooling around with a married man.’
Dorothea’s tone was scathing. ‘She might be able to pull the wool over your eyes, but not mine. I am sure that they are “fooling around”, as you put it.’
Mary blushed scarlet. She could feel the heat in her cheeks and temples, right up to the roots of her hair. She didn’t want to believe it – couldn’t bear to.
Before she could reply, Dorothea continued: ‘Your friend has a reputation for pursuing married men. Stories filtered back from China about an Italian count by the name of Galeazzo Ciano. And there was talk that she was over-friendly with Herman Rogers while staying with him and his wife . . .’
Mary held up her hand. ‘Stop! Please . . . I am surprised you listen to tittle-tattle. I know Wallis better than anyone, and while she is naturally flirtatious, she would never cause any harm.’
‘She has already caused harm. Had my health been better, I would have confronted her myself, but I do not have the strength. So I am asking you to tell her from me: Ernest might toy with her for a while, but he will never divorce me. He loves his girls too much.’
‘Of course he wouldn’t . . .’ Mary breathed.
‘And if she doesn’t back off, I will blacken her name in New York society. I’ll make sure the news reaches her family in Baltimore and will personally tell the judge who presides over her divorce case. Don’t doubt that I am capable of this.’ Dorothea was shaking with anger. Her tea sat untouched on the table beside her.
‘I feel responsible for introducing them,’ Mary apologised. ‘I’m sure it’s not what you think, but I will have a word with Wallis. I know she will be horrified to hear that her actions have hurt you.’
Dorothea shook her head, in a way that implied she thought Mary impossibly naïve.
On this visit, Wallis was staying in the Upper East Side with Mona Van der Heyden, a new friend, so Mary telephoned and asked if she might call round for a word. She found Wallis fixing her hair, preparing to dine out.
‘Who are you dining with?’ Mary asked, perching on the edge of the bed. ‘Anyone I know?’
‘I’m introducing Mona to Gerald and Sara Murphy, a couple I met in China. They live on the French Riviera but are here for a few weeks, and I can’t wait to see them.’ She smiled at Mary in the mirror, drawing her comb firmly across her scalp to straighten the centre parting she always wore these days.
‘Are they connected in New York society?’ Mary asked.
‘I believe so. Her mother’s family are Shermans, direct descendants of the Civil War general.’
‘Very impressive. And the Van der Heydens have a wonderfully grand house. You are clearly becoming well established in the city.’
Wallis wrinkled her nose. ‘I wouldn’t say so. Lots of Social Register types won’t invite me because of the divorce.’
Mary saw her opening. ‘I came to warn you that Dorothea Simpson thinks you are having an affair with her husband and is threatening to spread the rumour around New York society. I thought I should tell you because gossip travels like wildfire. She is also threatening to inform the divorce court in Warrenton, and to get word to your mother . . .’
She tailed off, surprised by the lack of reaction. Wallis continued fixing her hair without her expression changing one iota.
‘Ernest tells me their marriage has been dead as a stuffed dodo for over a year. They have nothing in common; she never wants to go out or do anything except lie on a sofa.’
‘Dorothea has poor health. I’m not surprised she doesn’t want to go out. But surely it’s not true, is it?’ Mary had a knot in her stomach: please let it not be true.
‘I’ve been seeing him, yes. And he’s in love with me.’
The words slipped out, shattering Mary’s illusions. Her mouth fell open.
‘Oh don’t look like that. It’s not my fault he’s in love with me. It wouldn’t have happened if his wife hadn’t neglected him so.’ She put the final pin in her hair, then reached for a lipstick in a gold push-up case.
‘What about the children, Wallis? His girls, Audrey and Cynthia. He can’t leave them.’
‘I’m not asking him to.’ She smeared red lipstick onto her top lip first, then the bottom, and pressed them together, peering in the mirror to check for smudges. ‘That’s his choice, not mine.’
Mary’s chest was tight with horror. ‘Do you love him?’
‘No.’ Wallis cocked her head to one side. ‘But I like him. Perhaps I could love him in time.’ She swivelled to face Mary. ‘You don’t mind, do you? You, me, Ernest and Jackie all get along so well. We could double-date. It would be fun.’
‘Aren’t you worried about the gossips ruining your chances of getting a divorce?’
Wallis shrugged. ‘What are they going to say? That Ernest and I are close friends? That’s true. Anything more, I will deny.’
Are you going to bed with him? Mary wanted to ask. It was on the tip of her tongue, but something stopped her. Would Wallis lie to her? Did she want to know the truth?
Wallis came over and put an arm around her. ‘Your conversation with Mrs Simpson must have been very awkward. I’m sorry for that. But I have done nothing wrong.’ She kissed Mary on the cheek, then wiped away the lipstick mark with the edge of her finger. ‘You worry too much.’
She glanced at the clock and announced she was late, then grabbed her evening cloak and bag from a chair.
‘Please will you stop seeing him?’ Mary begged, standing to follow her down the stairs. ‘For me?’
Wallis laughed affectionately. ‘Goodness, you have become a prude, darling. Come now, I must dash.’
The knowledge of Wallis and Ernest’s liaison burned inside Mary like poison. She did not tell Jacques of her discovery because he had rather a French attitude to affairs and she suspected he would make a joke of it. To her, it felt like a betrayal on both their parts. She had believed Ernest to be the perfect gentleman with impeccable moral standards, but it seemed she was wrong; she knew Wallis was a flirt but had not thought her a husband stealer. She was disappointed in both of them and could not face seeing them for the time being.
Some weeks later, however, she arrived at a cocktail party and spotted Ernest standing on the other side of the room by some floor-length drapes. She felt a wave of anger and resolved to have a word. Without planning her next move, she grabbed a cocktail, swallowed a gulp for courage, then made her way across.
‘It’s such a long time since we’ve seen you, Ernest. I hear you’ve been very busy of late.’ She smiled, but there was an edge to her voice.
‘Indeed. I don’t know where the time goes. You’re looking ravishing, if I may say so.’ He smiled broadly and bowed his head.
She took another slug of her cocktail. ‘It’s good of you to spend so much time with poor Wallie while she is going through her divorce. I know she appreciates it.’
He cleared his throat, refused to meet her eye. ‘It’s a difficult period for her.’
‘I’ve known Wallis since we were at school together and it’s remarkable how little she has changed. Back then she used to collect beaus the way other people collect stamps, just for the hell of it.’
Ernest’s face froze and he glanced around, hoping for rescue, but Mary was in full flow and not about to stop.
‘Men always fall in love with her. She’s got that mysterious something: sex appeal, I suppose you’d call it. But as soon as she senses she has captivated any man, she gets bored. I’ve seen it happen time and again. She doesn’t mean to hurt them, of course, but she has left a trail of broken, bloodied hearts all the way from here to China. It’s quite a talent.’ She smiled at him. ‘I wonder if I could ask you to fetch me another gin and lime? This one seems to have evaporated.’
He grabbed her glass and disappeared like a shot. When he returned with her replenished glass, he brought their hostess with him so she did not have a chance to continue on her theme. No matter; she’d said enough. She felt terribly disloyal to Wallis, but told herself she was only thinking of Ernest and Dorothea’s children. She was doing them a service.
A few days later, Wallis telephoned, clearly annoyed. For a moment Mary worried that Ernest might have repeated what she had said, but it wasn’t that.
‘Ernest has told me he will never divorce his wife,’ she complained. ‘What a flat tyre he turned out to be.’
‘It’s all for the best,’ Mary soothed.
‘Best for whom? Dorothea has no brains, a face and figure like a bison, and they don’t have any interests in common. I simply don’t know what is going through his mind.’
‘He’s not your type anyway,’ Mary told her. ‘Far too boring and bookish.’
Wallis snorted. ‘Anyhow, Aunt Bessie has invited me to Europe for the summer and I’m going to accept. We’ll be staying on the French Riviera, so Gerald and Sara Murphy can introduce me to the “it” crowd.’
‘Darling, you’ll have a gay time. I wish I could come too. If only I didn’t have to look after Jacques . . . Poor dear would be lost without me!’
When she hung up the telephone, Mary remained sitting in the hall chair for several minutes, pleased with herself. Wallis would surely find a new admirer amongst the glamorous set in the South of France, and the threat to Ernest and Dorothea’s marriage would have passed. She had been right to meddle. She just hoped Wallis never found out.