Page 21 of The Rebel of Seventh Avenue

War in Europe was looming, but most were happily ignoring it, believing it could never happen. Orders were still flowing in, parties were on the increase, dresses were always in demand. My customers were starting to change as the suffrage movement gained momentum, thoughtful women wanting to be taken seriously whilst they mixed with men of political influence.

Soon, we were again outgrowing the space in the studio, the salon and the floor below. Now I had fourteen women working for Maison McIntyre, we had a continual flow of work, gaining new customers every week, struggling to keep up with the demand. Yet again we were tripping over each other and in need of more staff.

Mr Franke appeared in the studio one morning, hanging back in the doorway, always reluctant to step in.

‘Miss McIntyre. I need to speak to you on a rather urgent matter,’ he said, trying not to hitch up his trousers, a habit he could never quite break, despite my careful sewing.

‘What can I do to help you?’ Always giving him my best attention, knowing what an effect it had on him, I took him by the elbow and led him into the salon.

‘I must tell you that I am selling this building. We are looking for a buyer just now and I suggest that you will need to move out soon.’ His voice was hesitant, his German accent stronger than usual.

He must have been expecting me to be upset because when I greeted this news with a great smile he responded with a confused frown. ‘How is this good news?’

‘It means that my space problems have been solved,’ I announced.

‘But how? You haven’t found anywhere to move to.’ He scratched his red beard in puzzlement.

‘I will buy this building. Then I will have the use of all three floors and the basement for storage. It’s the solution I’ve been looking for. Thank you, Mr Franke. That’s the best news I’ve had in days.’ I kissed him on the cheek.

His mouth fell open into a perfect ‘o’. I held on to the temptation to shut it with my index finger.

Eventually he managed to say, ‘You can’t buy this building.’

‘Mr Franke. Believe it or not, I can.’

He stared, mouth again open.

‘I just need to find someone to loan me the money. Would you give me a few days to sort that out before you look at any other buyers?’

I had no idea whether this was true or not. Would anyone loan me the money? I knew that women who wished to borrow money needed a man to guarantee her loan. Who would do this?

‘Miss McIntyre. You surprise me every day,’ said Mr Franke and he gave me a shy smile. I don’t think I’d ever seen his smile throughout the whole of my tenancy. Usually his face was sad, as if he had a yoke of burdens that would never be released from his shoulders and being in his company always made me feel melancholic. But here was a smile, so unusual, so unexpected that I could only join in.

That night I arranged to meet Aidan to discuss the finances. A table was booked at Delmonico’s, his favourite haunt. I loved eating there, still feeling the thrill of walking through the door of that fabled restaurant, walking beside the women of the Four Hundred, eating in the same room as Mary Pickford and the Rockefellers.

I was late arriving, leaving Aidan in his seat for too long, rushing up to the ma?tre d’, insisting I make my own way to the table, wanting to greet Aidan without all the fuss of my chair being pulled out, a napkin being placed on my lap, the menu presented with a grand gesture. I approached the table without him noticing me, as he was intent on watching something off to his left. I slowed my pace, noting a look of desolation on his face, and turned my gaze in the same direction to see a couple walking arm in arm to a corner table – Minty Aston and Joe Fitzwarren. Frowning, I continued towards Aidan as he turned to see me. He froze for a moment, as if he didn’t know who I was, before hurriedly producing his usual genial smile, the usual welcoming greeting.

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ I said. ‘So much has happened today that the day ran away with me.’

He wasn’t listening, as his gaze was pulled back to the corner of the room. But Minty was now talking to someone at a different table and her companion, Joe Fitzwarren, was left by himself. He caught Aidan’s eye and he too, momentarily, had that look of desolation, where his cheeks seemed to sag, and his eyes became too bright.

‘It’s not Minty, is it?’ I whispered.

Unable to keep his gaze from Joe, Aidan shook his head almost imperceptibly. ‘They announced their engagement yesterday. He’s a man in need of money and the only way he could see his way out of it was to marry a rich heiress.’ Finally, he tore his eyes from the far end of the room and back to me, a crooked smile on his face, sadness in his eyes.

‘Now you’ll understand why I was sent away, so my dirty little secret could be pushed to the other side of the Atlantic, where I should have been able to keep my unnatural urges to myself.’ His words were thick with emotion.

‘It seems your father has little knowledge of New York.’ I smiled at him. ‘Come,’ I said, holding my hand out to him, ‘let’s celebrate. Now we’re even, neither of us has anything to hide, and we can be true friends.’

Finally I understood why he hadn’t wanted more from me. Relief flooded my body. No expectations. So much easier. Until then I hadn’t realised how much I had unknowingly been resisting the idea of a husband, someone to share my life with.

‘I wanted to ask your opinion about something,’ I said, eager to get onto my finances.

He took a large gulp of his bourbon and swiftly signalled to the waiter to bring him another. ‘Anything for the inimitable Miss McIntyre.’ His voice was a little slurred, as he raised his glass to me and knocked back another mouthful.

Wary of his tone, I continued. ‘The building on MacDougal Street is up for sale. I want to buy it, solving all my problems over space in one go. It means I can stay in the studio and I can finally leave that awful boarding house and move into one of the apartments.’

‘Well,’ Aidan sighed. ‘Congratulations, Miss McIntyre, what good news.’ His words were monotone, with no emotion as he drank more whiskey.

Ignoring his petulance, I carried on. ‘But there’s a problem. I don’t have the money and I’m going to have to borrow it. As I understand it, I may be able to secure a loan, but I will need someone to guarantee it for me, a man. I don’t want to approach Mr Marshall, that would be getting myself into a tangle with his wife, I’d rather not go there. I was wondering if you had anyone you could recommend?’

The new glass of whiskey appeared at the table and Aidan picked it up, swilled it around carefully, watching the swirl of brown liquid. Slowly a smile spread across his face, but it never quite reached his eyes. It made me feel cold, almost vulnerable.

‘I know exactly what we should do, Miss McIntyre.’ His voice was too formal, too reserved, so unlike him. He leaned forward and took my hand. ‘I think we should get married.’

His hand was icy, slightly damp, making me feel as if I was holding a dead fish. ‘Why would we want to do that?’ I asked, staring into those dark-brown eyes, looking for some of that old Aidan Cruickshank mischievousness, thinking perhaps he was joking. But they were stony, hard and without feeling.

‘Isn’t it obvious? It’ll be a marriage of convenience. Plenty have done it before us. A sham to hide my dirty little secret, a financial backer for you. I can guarantee you your money, I can even lend you some if you’d rather, in return you’ll turn a blind eye to my assignations.’ Suddenly he was animated, those dead eyes now sparkling as he pushed his floppy hair off his face.

‘Can’t you see? This is perfect. Those terrible mothers will stop parading those insipid girls in front of me, Mrs Marshall will stop nagging you. She’ll be in her element, organising the wedding, arranging the trousseau, inviting all her friends. We’ll play the couple about town, go to the theatre, be seen in the park, we could even take a place out on Long Island and have our own famous parties. Think about it; we’ll be hiding in plain sight, I can keep seeing my lovers, you’ll have your studio.’ He was fidgeting in his seat like a little boy getting excited about going to the circus.

I swallowed and looked down at my lap, running my finger and thumb along the edge of my napkin, my mind numb at the proposition. I felt as if a cage door was shutting on me.

‘No. I can’t take you up on your offer of marriage,’ I finally managed to say. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

He stilled himself, a frown darkening his face. ‘Why would you say that?’ His voice was too controlled, too measured.

The general din in the restaurant seemed to die away, my hearing only narrowing in on Aidan’s words, as if I was in a shaft where all other distractions were blocked out.

‘I feel I would lose control of my independence, especially my financial independence.’

He blinked and put his head on one side, a slight smile on his face. ‘Why would that bother you? Women shouldn’t expect financial independence.’

Those words felt like a physical blow to my chest, as if I had been winded.

‘Why shouldn’t women be allowed to expect financial independence? I’ve been financially independent since the day I arrived in New York, and I intend to stay that way. I know what dependence feels like and I don’t want to have to go back to that. I’m luckier than the majority of women in my position, but the world is changing, and I’m certain women will become more and more independent.’

He gave a little snort of derision, leaning forward on the table.

‘What do you plan to do with your business? Have you thought about how it might be affected by this oncoming war? Do you think that high-end women’s fashion will be something people care about during a world crisis? Surely, you’re going to need to expand into the wider market, so you can cater for the everyday woman? I think you might find that the frivolity of the couturier may have had its day.’

‘Are you trying to goad me?’ I asked.

‘No, I’m just talking to you as if you were a man.’ His voice had now become patronising, needling under my skin. ‘You need to think hard about expanding your business and how you finance it. I’m giving you the opportunity to have the freedom you’re looking for. Look, my dear.’ He patted my hand, that shallow smile back on his face. ‘This is the best offer you’ll ever get. No one will want to take on Maisie McIntyre. You’re too opinionated, too independent. Men don’t like that.’

If I let Aidan guarantee my loan I would be tied to him until the day I paid it off. If I married him then I would be committed to him for the rest of my life, putting up with his dalliances on the side. I watched him as he picked up his whiskey glass, as his eyes never left mine. I had lied, cheated, stolen and fought for that independence; I wasn’t going to give it up that easily.

My mother had discovered her own freedom when my father left. Despite the hardship and occasional bouts of misery, she was far happier without him. With a clarity that comes when you put on the correct prescription glasses, I knew that I would be better off without Aidan T Cruickshank as my husband or guarantor, however witty, incisive or supportive he may have been.

I stood up from the table, taking care to do it quietly and without fanfare.

‘Thank you for the offer. I will not be taking it up. I will seek financial advice elsewhere.’ I picked up my gloves, turned and waved to the waiter to get my coat.

I walked out onto the street, looking for a cab, but before I could find one Aidan was by my side.

‘Maisie. What are you doing?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ By now the anger was effervescing inside of me.

‘Why are you making life so hard for yourself?’ he pleaded. ‘We could get married. Together we could make your business into something to rival the House of Worth. But you’re throwing that away, throwing aside my help. You can’t possibly know what you’re doing. Nobody will back you, of that I can be sure. Buying real estate, managing money, that’s what we men are good at. You design the dresses for girls. I can deal with the money. Can’t you see, we’d make a great team.’

The temptation to slap him was so great I had to clasp my hands to keep them still.

‘Come back and see me when you’ve learned not to be so patronising. You need a quiet wife who will not challenge you, who will cover up your misdeeds and make you look good. I am too self-sufficient for you. You would hold me down and ask me to do things your way.

‘Maybe your way has some merit, maybe a sham marriage and a financial guarantor could work. I like you; I like you a great deal and I think we work together very well. But I do not want to be obligated to you or feel that I must do things the Aidan Cruickshank way. I need to do things the Maisie McIntyre way.

‘Sorry, Aidan, but there will be no wedding, no cover-up, no happily-ever-after.’

I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, catching the notes of cedar and leather on his neck, closing my eyes, wishing I didn’t have to let them go.