Two Hearts That Could Never Meet novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Her Face, Warmed Up

Millicent finds Lawrence barefoot in a hotel suite with Leona in his shirt and slaps him in the Marlow lobby; Leona claims she is dying and thanks Millicent for keeping her face warm, and Constance's car waits at the curb.

I did not wait until Friday.

I borrowed Roxy's coat, put my gala shoes back on, and took a cab to the Hotel Marlow before nine.

The Marlow is a Thackeray hotel.

The doorman knew my name.

So did the girl at the front desk, who stood up straight the moment she saw me.

"Mrs. Thackeray. Good morning. Is Mr. Thackeray expecting you?"

"No," I said. "Which room?"

She hesitated. For three years nobody in this building had ever hesitated with me.

"The fourteenth floor," she said. "Fourteen twelve."

"Thank you."

I rode up alone and stood outside 1412 for a full minute with my hand in a fist.

Then I knocked.

Lawrence opened the door in his shirtsleeves.

His shirt was untucked. His tie was gone. His feet were bare.

Behind him, on the sofa, a woman sat with a blanket around her shoulders and a cup of tea in her hands.

It was Leona.

She had on a man's white dress shirt, and it was Lawrence's.

I knew it from the cuff.

I'd had a button sewn onto that cuff myself, the week before.

"Millicent," he said. "It isn't what it looks like."

"There's no nurse," I said. "There's no doctor. There's no one in this room but you and her."

"The nurse stepped out. She went for coffee."

"For nine hours?"

"Millicent, listen to me."

"You swore. Three hours ago."

"She couldn't be moved," he said. "She had an attack at two in the morning. I had to bring her somewhere close."

"The Marlow isn't close to St. Anne's. You told me you spent the night at St. Anne's."

He opened his mouth.

I watched him look for the lie, and I watched him not find one.

So I turned around and walked back to the elevator.

"Millicent!"

He followed me down the hall in his bare feet.

He followed me into the elevator, and I let him, because I wanted a witness.

Fourteen floors is a long way down in a glass elevator.

The lobby was full.

A tour group stood by the bags, and a wedding party in the corner was drinking mimosas.

I walked out into the middle of the marble floor.

When Lawrence stepped out behind me, I turned around and slapped him across the face.

It was the loudest sound I've ever made.

His head went sideways.

The wedding party stopped talking.

The manager reached for the desk phone, because for three years the Marlow staff had known exactly what happened to anyone who touched me.

"Don't," Lawrence said, without turning.

The manager put the phone down.

"Your rule, Lawrence," I said. "Your promise. You couldn't keep it for three hours."

"I didn't touch her."

"She's in your shirt!"

"She was cold. Her coat was wet. I gave her something dry."

His hand was still at his cheek.

"I slept in the chair," he said. "Ask the night manager."

"I don't need to ask anyone. I know what a woman who isn't sleeping in a chair looks like."

"Millicent."

The elevator opened behind him.

Leona came out slowly, holding the wall.

She had his shirt on, and a pair of hotel slippers.

Her hair was loose.

Without the white coat I could see exactly what the ballroom had seen last night, only closer.

She had my eyes.

She had my jaw.

She had a thinner face than mine, and a longer nose, and a wide soft mouth that never once looked sorry.

"Please don't shout at him," she said. "He's only being kind."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm dying," she said, quietly, with a little catch at the end.

"I've got about six months. Lawrence doesn't want me to be alone. That's all this is."

Lawrence turned.

"Leona, go back upstairs."

"She's hurt," Leona said.

"I'm not hurt," I said. "I'm furious. There's a difference."

"I know," Leona said gently. "I'm sorry. I used to be the same way about him."

Somebody in the wedding party said, "Oh my God," very softly.

Lawrence said, "Leona. Upstairs."

She smiled at him.

Then she looked at me, and the smile changed a little.

"You wore my face well," she said. "I mean that. Better than I would have. Thank you for keeping it warm for me."

I didn't slap her.

I'd like to say that was restraint.

It was that people were filming.

It was that in that second I understood she wanted me to.

"Lawrence," I said. "Friday's cancelled."

I walked across the lobby.

The doorman opened the door for me before I reached it, with his eyes on the floor.

It was snowing harder. The cab I'd come in was long gone.

A black town car was parked at the curb with its engine running, and the back window slid down.

Constance Thackeray looked out at me, perfectly calm, in her gray silk and her pearls.

"Get in, dear," she said. "You'll catch your death."

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