If I Had You (12 page)

Alecia had lost any innocence she still maintained about scanty underthings during the excursion. For years, she'd knitted her own underclothes, but now she discovered an erotic, delicate world of satins and crepe. Sybil wanted corselettes to smooth out her shape, but Alecia, after viewing the offerings at a high-end shop, wanted to make a set of step-ins for herself. So elegant, but she couldn't afford a new dress, much less fabric for underclothes. If she ever had an opportunity to undress for Ivan, he'd have to accept her underthings as they were. In some cases, she suspected her hand-knitted camiknickers were nicer than her dresses. She'd made a couple of new sets of underthings in November when she wasn't working.

She had drooled over the black lace negligee Sybil bought herself as a gift. The V-shaped waist and voluminous all-lace skirt took ten years off of Sybil's figure, making her look positively girlish. Alecia wondered if Richard would see it, or Sybil's still mysterious lover.

After Sybil dropped the equivalent of three months of Alecia's pay on underclothes, they went to an exclusive dress shop owned by the daughter of a Peer. They found a black-and-white checked dress with an all-white bodice. Sybil said the fabric looked cheap, which was exactly what she wanted. With white stockings and gloves, she would feel her new character coming to life.

Next, they went to find a hat, though, thankfully, Sybil wore out before she had the idea of looking for shoes. She'd spent over an hour in the milliner's shop alone, and never thought to stop for tea. Alecia suspected that Sybil would be watching her figure very carefully from now on. No more cream teas in the Chinese Suite.

After all that, and nothing but salad and wine for dinner, Alecia did such a rare thing. She fell asleep, clothed, on her bed, at eleven
P.M.
At the time, she'd planned to look through her small wardrobe and pick out something nice to wear to meet her grandfather, as if such a thing existed. She was beginning to hope Sybil would dump her wardrobe and buy new, but of course, Ethel, Sybil's maid, would get those clothes, not Alecia. No, she was forced to rely upon herself for clothing. And she wouldn't be paid until Friday, the same day her grandfather would arrive. Not that he'd expect to find her looking smart. He'd probably rather have her money for the church's roof fund. But she wasn't going to give him one shilling. She needed new clothes. Shopping with Sybil wouldn't bear any fruit for herself, however. She needed a more modest type of store.

With her head spinning along these lines, she'd relaxed her head against her pillow for a moment, before starting her foray into her wardrobe. Her eyes drifted closed and she'd lost her chance to see Ivan that night.

Today had been quieter. Sybil had drifted off to her meeting with the producers, and Richard had been busy with calls after dictating several letters. He'd sent her to a costume shop in the afternoon, but she'd been at liberty after that. Sybil had never returned.

She'd had a hearty meal with Richard, with Sybil gone, then returned to her room since he didn't seem to require company. Often, in the evenings, she'd be mixing drinks for callers, or, if they were alone, playing cards or games like chess and backgammon.

She tidied her dismal wardrobe as best she could, tightening buttons and fixing a sloppy hem. Then, at ten, she considered her meager finances. As soon as her grandfather returned home, she planned to do some shopping of her own. Should she buy a dress pattern and make her own, or buy something ready-made? She'd have to hand-sew, but it would keep her busy, and she liked to have a project for the evenings.

At eleven, she fought back a yawn and went downstairs to hear the music. Even if she beat the trouble of falling asleep, the nightmares came, four nights out of five. The ten-year anniversary of her parents' death was in May. When would she be able to let the tragedy go?

Ivan's broad back in his magnificent red coat was moving away from her as she stepped off the lift. She wanted to call his name but didn't want to make a fuss. Who knew how many people had seen them necking the other night? Instead, she turned down the corridor to the service corridor and went to the nightclub's back door.

At first, she wasn't the only one there. A courting couple sprang apart on the sofa in the corner when she came into view. This was her spot though, and she wasn't about to cede it to them. She simply pretended they didn't exist and focused on the music.

Ivan must have been at the start of his ground-floor round, because he appeared about twenty minutes later. By then, the female half of the courting couple had spoken to her, and she'd ended up sitting with them on the sofa, chatting about music. After a while, they'd danced to the music together.

Alecia stopped midstep, out of breath and laughing, when she spotted him.

“What's this?” Ivan asked in a stern voice.

“Miss Waters is teaching me a new dance called the Charleston. Her friend Mr. Perry is this gentleman.”

“She has only stepped on my toes twice,” said Mr. Perry cheerfully. “Are you going to order us to disperse now?”

“No,” Ivan said. His face transformed. “I want to learn the dance too.”

Miss Waters jumped to her feet. “I'll teach you! Step forward left, step back and tap.” She repeated this several times, watching Ivan. “Now we add swivel motion and arm movements to have you dancing.”

Ivan watched her closely, imitating her until Alecia giggled. He had rhythm, but he was a large and imposing man, and his version of acting like a dandy, with the head wiggling Miss Waters taught him, came across as very comical.

The four of them danced through three of the band's numbers, trading partners and dancing in a line. Ivan and Alecia kept up with the other two, picking up the simple moves they demonstrated.

“Ugh. I think the band is going on break,” Miss Waters said with a pout, when another number didn't start. She adjusted her silver headband.

“Why don't you go to the club?” Ivan said. “You'll be able to teach the dancers in there a thing or two.”

“No money for it,” Mr. Perry said. “We spent it all on dinner. Lovely night though.”

“He's such a big-timer,” Miss Waters said, patting her hair.

Ivan reached into his pocket and handed him two tickets. “Passes to the club, with my compliments.”

“Oooh,” Miss Waters squealed. “Really?”

Ivan smiled. “New dances keep a club hopping. I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't suggest you go in. Do you know where the entrance is?”

Mr. Perry nodded enthusiastically. “I never thought I'd like a Bolshie, but you, sir, are the bee's knees.”

“He's not a Bolshie,” Alecia said. “Not at all.”

“My apologies then,” Mr. Perry said. “Maybe we'll see you around some night.”

“Oh, let me take you shopping, Miss Loudon,” Miss Waters begged. “As soon as your grandfather is gone, ring me up. I'm in the book under my father. Reginald Waters.”

Alecia smiled. “I would love that.”

“I know all the best fabric stores,” Miss Waters cooed, taking Mr. Perry's hand. “Toodle-oo, darlings!”

The couple ran off, full of energy. Alecia grinned at Ivan. “Now that's why I came to London, for a night like this.”

“It's a fun dance. We might be the first nightclub to learn it,” Ivan said.

“I didn't know you had passes.” She gave him a mock pout.

“I couldn't send you in unescorted.”

“Oh, I didn't mean you should have offered me one,” she assured him. “Not at all. I think it's wonderful that you could offer it to them, though. I'm resolved to have a dancing dress soon.”

“I'd love to take you dancing,” Ivan said.

She wanted to squeal with pleasure, but restrained herself. Her hands clutched. “First though, as you heard, my grandfather is coming to town. Tomorrow, in fact. Would you come and have tea with us, here at the hotel? I hope that's late enough in the day that you won't have to give up your sleep.”

“Of course. I'd be honored to meet the vicar.” He hesitated. “Do you think he'll call me a Bolshie too?”

“He'll ask questions. He's a provincial, you know. Not like my parents. But he's a fair man, and of course, you've had no part in anything bad.” She saw him wince. “It's not your fault, what your sister did, and besides, who can say what she did was wrong, really.”

“It didn't do much good,” Ivan said. “And it destroyed our family. I don't have any answers about this complicated business of revolution.”

“You aren't political?”

His cheek twitched. “I'm a survivalist. My sister may flirt with ideals, but I'm the one making sure she has a roof over her head, and all too often, I feed her friends too.”

“There have to be men like you supporting those with ideals,” she said. “Everyone has to eat.”

“Very true.” He smiled suddenly. “I've missed you. Where were you last night? Working?”

They sat on the sofa together and she told him about her night, resting her head on his shoulder. Eventually, his fingers found his favorite spot under her chin and tilted her head so their mouths could meet. He kissed her tenderly, and separated from her far too soon. She wanted to pull him back. She wanted him to court her in earnest.

“I'm being negligent of my duties,” he said. “I need to return to my rounds.”

She nodded.

“I still want to come to your room some morning.”

She waved her hands. “My grandfather.”

“I understand. I can wait. Just don't forget.”

“Sheaths,” she said impulsively. “Sheaths are the easiest.”

He nodded. “I can get those. But I wanted you to decide.”

“For now.” She blushed. They could try other things later, if she really did proceed with him.

He smiled and kissed her again, lingering at the corners of her mouth and the bow of her lips. “I like the sound of that. I can't wait to show you everything I feel. But tomorrow I will be as proper as a doting grandfather would wish.”

She kissed his cheeks, his chin, but he pulled her away, in the manner of removing a clingy cat, before she could touch her lips to his neck.

“This is hard,” he murmured. “I have to go but I'll see you to your room first.”

“Better not,” she said, feeling heavy with longing. “I might invite you in.”

He shuddered. “Then go. I'll watch until you're safely on the lift.”

She walked away, feeling his gaze on her, elated by the way he'd reacted to her brave words. Would she have actually done it? She rather thought she might have.

* * *

The next afternoon, she tried to force her thoughts into the purity of freshly fallen snow as she waited outside the Coffee Room for her grandfather. Cream teas were served in the room in late afternoon for an outrageous price. Her grandfather did like the best in comestibles, and even when the Grand Russe was called by another name it was known for its tea service.

Her grandfather still hadn't arrived when she saw Ivan, somewhat shabbily dressed in his daytime clothes. She wanted to take his coat off and fix the buttons. Didn't his sister take the time to care for his wardrobe?

He saw her and removed his hat and gloves, then came toward her. She wished she could run up and kiss him, but that was behavior for midnight in a service corridor, not here and now. Besides, she saw her grandfather some three yards behind him, distinguished in an old-fashioned top hat, his gray handlebar mustache marking him firmly in the Victorian mode.

Ivan grinned at her. She nodded solemnly at him as he reached her. Thankfully, he was as controlled in his impulses as she was, in the daylight. Quickly, she took Ivan's arm, then turned him around so they greeted her grandfather as a unit.

“Grandfather,” she exclaimed, as he reached her.

When he saw her and smiled, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek, already sandpapery. He smelled like citrus, a scent she always associated with him. He must have eaten an orange on the train.

“Good journey?” she asked.

He patted his chest. “Yes. I've checked into my hotel.”

“You are always so organized.” She realized she was still holding Ivan's arm and dropped it quickly. “I'd like you to meet my friend Ivan Salter.”

She turned back to Ivan. “Mr. Salter, this is my grandfather, Harold Loudon.”

“Father,” he said, offering his hand.

“Mr. Salter,” her grandfather said gravely as they shook. “Russian, are you?”

“Yes, sir. I've been in London for three years.”

“Should we go in? We don't want to lose our reservation,” Alecia said.

The men nodded and she gestured to the hostess, who handed three handwritten menus to a waiter. He took them to a small table in the area where the quartet played at night.

“Where were you raised?” her grandfather asked Ivan after they were seated.

“My parents had a house in Moscow but we mostly lived in the country in our dacha.”

Her grandfather picked his napkin out of its fancy knotted shape. “In the Great War?”

Ivan echoed his gesture. “Too young, sir. I'm twenty-six.”

Alecia winced as she saw the direction this conversation would take. She spread out her own napkin and searched for a way to change the conversation.

“I see. Lost two sons in the war,” her grandfather said. “Alecia's uncles.”

“And her parents, I understand.”

“On the
Lusitania
, yes. Dreadful business, the war. I can't pass by the war memorial even now without stopping for prayer.”