4: Intrusion

“Evie!” Lily pounded on her apartment door. “Are you ready? If we don’t catch a cab soon, we’ll be late.”

Inhaling deeply and calling up patience for her beloved friend, Evelyn opened her apartment door.

“Oh, so you are dressed.” Pushing past her, Lily circled, tugging at the borrowed black dress and pinching at the side seams under Evelyn’s arms. “It’s a bit big—you’re so thin, really—but it’s scarcely noticeable. Must we carry on with the sling?”

“The doctor was most vehement I wear it and rest my shoulder for ten days.”

Lily rolled her eyes skyward, counting on her fingers. “Well, it’s been—essentially seven days already. If it’s not still hurting, today would be a good trial run, don’t you think? You won’t be wearing it to work on Monday, that’s for certain. Can’t have anyone thinking you might be disabled or attempting to garner sympathy in some way.”

Lifting her brows, Evelyn nodded in agreement. “That’s true. Fine. Let me take it off.”

“Oh, don’t bother folding it,” Lily groaned, exasperated, snatching the sling from her fingers and tossing it on the small kitchen table. “Here,” she grabbed Evelyn’s wool coat from the hook on the back of the door and helped her into it, then dragged her out into the hallway between their two apartments.

“And look!" Lily could hardly contain her excitement. "Look what I found for us yesterday at Woolworth’s!”

Resting on the fire escape windowsill were two adorable black felted cloche hats, both with black veils. “Of course they’re last winter’s style,” Lily explained, debating between the two for only a second, then selecting the one with a row of black silk roses looped around the back and ending just above each ear and arranging it on Evelyn’s head, “but no one we know will know that. And I found them on clearance! Only thirty-two cents apiece.”

“Thirty-two cents! Lily!” Evelyn gasped, shocked. “How could you spend so much on hats? That’s an entire day’s meals for us.”

“Pah!” Squashing the other hat on her blonde curly head, this one with a wide satin band tied about it in a flat bow at the back, Lily gave Evelyn a cheeky wink and a smile. “What’s the point of living in a rent controlled apartment if you can’t splurge from your savings once in a while.” Looping her elbow through Evelyn’s, she led them down the three flights of stairs to the apartment lobby.

“The entire point is to have a savings, Lily. What happens if, heaven forbid, something goes wrong? What if one of us gets sick like our parents? Or worse—what if one of us loses our job?”

“Then there’s room in your apartment for two, and it’s still rent controlled,” Lily replied glibly. Rushing down the apartment steps ahead of Evelyn, she stood tiptoe and glanced down the street into traffic. Spying a cab, she stuck two fingers in her mouth and a piercing whistle cut over the traffic noise. Immediately after, she raised her slim hand in the air and waved. “Hurry, Evie. Here’s one right now.”

“Whereya headin’, ladies?” the cabbie asked as Lily slid across the backseat to allow Evelyn room to get in.

“Oh! Here, please,” Lily handed a scrap of paper over the bench seat to the cabbie in front. “Thank you so much. For heaven’s sake, Evie! Close the door or we’ll be late.”

**

The James’ mansion was an impressive stone Tudor baronial style castle with a wide circular drive, surrounded by expansive formal gardens filled with both native and exotic plants and rimmed at the outermost edges of the estate by a towering pristine evergreen forest.

“Oh dear,” Evelyn whispered as the cabbie pulled up behind the row of expensive chauffeur-driven cars lining the circular drive, their uniformed drivers polishing the vehicles with soft cloths or chatting in little clots out of view from the mansion. “We shouldn’t have come.”

“Nonsense!” Leaning around her, Lily opened Evelyn’s door, and with an eager shove, ushered her out. “Everyone at the Trust was invited to pay their respects. You’re entitled to do the same. In fact, after you risked life and limb, they ought to be handing you a bonus. Here,” she handed the fare to their driver. “It’s a funeral. If you can wait an hour, you’ll have the return fare too.”

The cabbie gave her a toothy grin, counting the bills and pocketing the tip. “Not much else I’ll be picking up out here. I’ll take me lunch and wait.”

“Thanks!” Getting out behind Evelyn, Lily looped her arm with her, dragging her along the pea gravel path to the stone walkway and stairs leading to the mansion’s stately and elaborate double front doors. “Really, Evie. It’s just money. We’re here for a funeral. Obviously, they’re as human as the rest of us.”

But Lily’s gentle chastisement was having the opposite effect on Evelyn. Each crunch of gravel underfoot was drawing her closer and closer to people who looked down their noses each day at working people like her and Lily, and Evelyn was disinclined to subject either of them to such haughty scorn. It also drew her closer and closer to a family that had every reason to blame her for Mr. James’ death. What if one of Mr. James' children recognized her? Surely they'd know what had happened, how she'd managed to survive and let their father fall. What could she possibly say to them?

She stopped abruptly, giving her head a tight shake. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Ahead of them, a uniformed butler opened the door for an obviously wealthy couple ahead of them, distractedly catching the woman’s mink stole, carelessly tossed at him with blatant disregard. Again, Evie balked, but Lily dragged harder.

“There’s no going back now, Evie,” she said gently. “You’ll never have another opportunity to pay your respects. It’s a family cemetery. If you cared at all about him, then swallow your own pride and honor him today while you still can.”

The awaiting butler looked them over as they approached but opened the door without hesitation.

“Thank you so much,” Evelyn acknowledged politely, seeking and catching his eyes with hers. For a long second, he stared at her, the same way the delivery boy with the daffodils had, the same way everyone did actually, lost in the strangeness of her eyes before seeing—really seeing—her.

The slightest smile brightened his stern face and he nodded, extending a hand for her coat. “The family is still attending the private funeral ceremonies in the chapel. Feel free to gather and refresh yourselves in the salon to your left.”

Handing her coat to him afterward with a pert 'thank you', Lily linked elbows with Evelyn and dragged her towards the salon and the sounds of milling people. At the entryway, they both froze, but for different reasons.

Small clusters of the New York elite loitered here and there about the lavishly furnished salon, talking, laughing softly and sipping champagne or eating dainty hors d’oeuvres from a generous offering at one side of the room.

“Oh my word." Lily's face split in a grin. "They’re serving champagne. Let’s get a glass.” Releasing Evelyn’s arm, she started into the room, waving to someone Evelyn barely saw.

Shaking her head, Evelyn returned to the front door and the butler who’d allowed them in. “I’m so very sorry to impose. Is there anywhere a bit more quiet I might wait?”

The butler’s eyes slid right, then left, then he jerked his head to a door on his right and whispered, “The conservatory. I’ll knock on the door when it’s time. Shall I collect your friend as well?”

Evelyn gave him a tight smile. “No, thank you. She’ll be just fine on her own. Thank you for your kindness.”

With hurried steps, she darted to the door, and opening it only as much as she needed, slipped inside. The air here was warm and moist, filled with the sweet floral scent of citrus flowers and orchid blossoms. Extending her hands, Evelyn traced the deep green center vein of a humongous glossy leaf. Drawn in amongst the tender exotic plants, she slowly wandered the meandering stone path through the lush indoor garden, stopping here or there to watch a lazy butterfly or to bend, sniffing at a particularly graceful flower.

It was as she neared the south facing windows, she saw Mr. James’ black-draped casket, carried into the family cemetery by the pallbearers and positioned over the hole that would receive his remains after the service. “Why?” she whispered, tears pooling against her lashes. “Why would you do this? I don't understand.”

Evelyn didn’t have long to linger in her thoughts. Behind her, she heard the conservatory door slam closed and the regular clack of dress shoes making long strides on the conservatory’s stone walkway, drawing near to where she was. A low male voice was grumbling and a moment later, she caught the familiar clink of a lighter opening, then the flick-flick-flick of the flint wheel before it caught.

Ducking back quietly, she listened as he inhaled through the lit cigarette, then the clink again as the lighter closed and was pocketed. “Sweet Jesus! Why’s there no brandy in here?” He swore in the smooth purr of the wealthy and elite. “It’s a damn funeral, not a movie production.”

Tucked behind some type of tall wide-leaved palm, Evelyn wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell of smoke, wondering if she stood any chance of slipping out unnoticed and cursing her luck. Perhaps if she just waited. They’d all be going out to the graveside for the interment service shortly anyway. Curious as to the identity of her unexpected companion, she bent a broad shiny leaf, peeking through the foliage between it and its companion's limbs, then caught her breath.

The younger Mr. James—or actually, he was the only Mr. James now—stood facing the conservatory glass, glaring out over the wintering gardens towards the family cemetery as Evelyn had, watching the arrangements for the coffin and generous floral arrangements being made. Pressed and dressed meticulously as ever, but with the same brooding intensity of a trapped panther, he tapped one foot anxiously and took another long drag from his smoldering cigarette.

“Andrew.”

Oh for heaven’s sake! Evelyn let the leaf snap back into place hearing this new voice and quickly checked behind her to make certain she wasn’t visible.

At the sound of his name, Mr. James turned from the glass, taking another drag from the cigarette.

“I’ve asked you not to smoke in the conservatory, Andrew. It’s not good for the plants.”

“If you hadn’t removed the serving tray, I wouldn’t be, Mother,” he retorted, but obligingly dropped the cigarette to the stone floor and crushed it out with his shoe. “I’d have preferred a brandy.”

A brandy!? At this hour? Scandalized, Evelyn peeked out at him again, then shifted slightly so she could see his mother.

Dressed in her funeral black, stiff-spined and austere, with her hair swept up under a wide-brimmed veiled hat, the elderly woman had a pale round face like the moon, somehow wavering as if reflected in a nearly still pond. Evelyn could get an essence of her features, but unlike Andrew James’ striking and extraordinary good looks, or even the gentler but still handsome ones of his deceased brother, nothing about the woman stood out beyond the vague impression of an aging vanishing beauty. In fact, compared to New York's A-list, she was remarkably unremarkable.

“Well? What is it, mother?” He watched as she closed the conservatory door behind her, advancing a few steps closer. “I see. Something unpleasant. Let’s have it then. You can scarcely make anything worse.”

Drawing a deep breath, his mother began, “It’s Charlotte.”

"I stand corrected." Andrew cocked a brow. “She’s here?” When his mother nodded, he shook his head, his expression sour. “She had no respect for Russell when he was alive. Why bother when he’s dead? Thank you for warning me at least.”

“That’s not why I’ve followed you.”

Slumping disinterestedly against the glass, Andrew crossed his legs at the ankles, hitched his arms across his wide chest. “By all means, do tell,” he invited, not bothering to disguise his exasperated sarcasm.

“Charlotte is a widow now—.”

“The only good thing to come of this,” Andrew interrupted moodily. “Her own family disowned her. At last ours can be rid of her disgraceful behavior as well.”

“No. We can’t.”

“And why is that, Mother? Surely you—of all people—have no love for her.”

“Because Russell’s children—my heirs—are involved.”

Chuckling mirthlessly, Andrew shook his head. “How do you figure? The minute this is over, she’ll take off again until God knows when—.”

“And with the children!” His mother’s voice had risen in volume and pitch.

“She’s never taken them before. I doubt she’ll start now.”

Standing, Andrew drifted robotically along the windows, drawing closer to where Evelyn was hidden. Frightened she might be seen, she stood straighter, shuffled deeper into her leafy hiding place and prayed her dark clothes kept her inconspicuously hidden.

“If you’re worried about it, have her institutionalized. God knows you’d find plenty who’d agree to it. And if not, in this economy, I'm certain you can buy someone's agreement.”

With an overloud sigh, as if to restore her patience, his mother continued, “That doesn’t help the children’s circumstance.”

“Then pay her off. It’s not as if she wants either them or to be here anyway.”

At that, Andrew’s mother stepped forward, replying sharply, “I need you to marry her. It’s not open for debate.”

Coughing his disbelief, Andrew whirled, facing her and Evelyn relaxed with a faint sigh as he moved away. “I beg your pardon. What?”

“I need you to marry her,” his mother reiterated firmly.

“Are you mad?” he snarled, his face contorting with his outrage. “I’ve never been able to tolerate that woman I don’t intend to start now, especially not by having her as my wife.”

“Listen! And make an effort to understand,” Andrew’s mother snapped. “Those children have no one now—their father is dead and their mother is unstable. When you marry her, you’ll be their legal parent.” Counting on her fingers as she listed options, his mother continued, “Institutionalize her. Pay her off. Pursue whatever relationships you want until Charlotte finds herself the tragic occupant of a shallow ditch behind some opium den somewhere. I don’t care. But you will marry her. Am I clear?”

Chuckling mirthlessly, Andrew shook his head. “This is absurd. Even if I would consent to this blatant insanity, there's no way Charlotte would.”

“She already has."

The hard words hung interminably in the air between them, uncomfortable as cold shock, even for Evelyn unintentionally eavesdropping in the flora surrounding them.

"I spoke to her first. Even brimming with whatever illicit sauce she’s on this week, she’s still a sight more rational than you.” His mother’s face was set firmly. “The minister will marry you in a private ceremony immediately after your brother has been interred.”

His dumbfounded gaze drifted to his mother’s face, incredulous at what he saw there. “You’re serious. You actually want me to legitimize and marry that—that harlot—the woman who was never faithful to my brother and who I’ve hated from the moment I met her.”

“Just marry her, Andrew.” His mother heaved an exasperated dramatic sigh and pivoting sharply, headed for the conservatory door. “Behave like a responsible adult and do it for the children.”

Evelyn's gaze fell with pity on Andrew James. How could his mother even imply such a thing? Mr. James was like Atlas— only instead of carrying the weight of the word on his broad shoulders, he carried the weight of the Trust, and every person who worked there. Nearly a thousand employees and their families depended on him and the Herculean effort and personal sacrifices he made on a daily basis to keep the Trust not merely solvent, but thriving. To say nothing of what he'd been through trying to save his elder brother. 

It was remarkably unjust and unkind. No wonder he preferred to work constantly. At least at work he was successful, respected, rather than badgered and berated as he was here. Evelyn's heart ached for him.

A few seconds later, the conservatory door closed behind his mother, leaving him alone again amid the foliage. Staring blankly in shock, Andrew reached in his pocket for his cigarette case and lighter. “Sweet Jesus,” he cursed around a cigarette on his lips. “This can’t be happening.” As he clinked the lighter open again, his eyes flicked over the wild collection of overgrown plants and locked on the unmistakable pair watching him in return.

He raised his head and Evelyn drew a shuddering breath, felt her heart begin to pound. He’d seen her!

“I know you’re there,” Andrew said softly yet still imperiously, tucking the cigarette and his lighter back into his pocket. “Come out at once, or I shall come in after you.”

Panicked, Evelyn looked about her for someplace to hide, cast her eyes at the door, desperate to escape.

“Very well.”

In the time it took for her to turn her head, the imposing and haughty Andrew James came around the exotic flora, stopping stiffly directly in front of her. He stared down his straight narrow nose, his mutable eyes bluer and more piercing than Evelyn had seen them before, nearly glowing in his glower. Unable to break his gaze, she stared back, panicked and wishing she could vanish, simply melt like ice, the puddle of her disappearing through the tiny spaces in the stone walkway.

“I recognize you.”

By way of introduction, it was rather poor, but Evelyn supposed when one had only just been caught eavesdropping on a deeply private conversation, one wasn’t entitled to even customary politeness. “I—I—I’m sorry, Mr. James,” she stammered, taking a smaller step back than his as he stepped closer to her, in net effect, narrowing the space between them even more. Growing more uncomfortable by the minute with his imposing figure broad and towering over her like a Manhattan skyscraper, she turned her face away in shame, blushing furiously with a new realization.

Dear God. It was him. The delicious masculine scent that had suffused the car, lulling her into a peaceful contented torpor, it was filling the air around her now, overpowering even the soft sweetness of the citrus trees. It could have only one source.

Had he always smelled like this? Evelyn wondered, unobtrusively trying to breath in more. Of course, she wouldn’t know. Like the rest of the secretaries at the Trust, she spent her time carefully avoiding Andrew James for fear of landing herself in hot water. 

Or worse— on the soup line.

Didn’t get much hotter water than this, she thought wryly. Dear God, what a year this was turning out to be. “I didn’t mean to intrude, sir. You both came so quickly, I couldn’t excuse myself withou—.”

“I asked for neither apology, nor excuse,” he interrupted, lifting her chin with a firm hand and bringing her eyes to his again. “If my mother wanted to have a private conversation, she should have checked to see who else was here. It’s not as if the entire estate isn't crawling and overflowing with gossip mongers here currying favor in the hopes of having more of my family’s laundry to air.”

Though she’d lifted her face as he wanted, Andrew didn’t remove his hand from her chin. Instead, his striking blue eyes drifted to her lips, watching as his thumb traced along the margin of her bottom one, leaving a tingling wake where it passed and increasing her internal tremor.

“If you’ll pardon my failure, miss, circumstances being what they were, I’ve forgotten your name.”

Confused by her mind’s embarrassed and terrified warnings conflicting with her body’s fierce and sudden attraction to his daunting presence, Evelyn laced her fingers together in front of her like a schoolgirl. She swallowed a little hard, as if fearing something Andrew hadn’t brought to bear. “Evelyn Moore, sir.”

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Moore,” Andrew purred, and when her startled eyes flicked up to his, he flashed her an intense and devilishly handsome smile that set a migration of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“I shall speak to you at work on Monday. If you’ll excuse me, miss. I've ridiculous nonsense to attend to.”

She nodded once, a polite acknowledgement. “Yes, Mr. James.”

Without another word, Andrew James stepped past her, his body brushing against hers, triggering a new trembling as he took his leave and exited the conservatory.