Across the room, Nurse Kieslich watched Little Gloria’s tottering procession.
“Am I to assume that you are pushing back Little Gloria’s luncheon? It’s to arrive in twenty minutes, and if you insist on disrupting her schedule—”
“It’s disrupting, is it, for me to spend time with my daughter?” Gloria shut the wicker lid of the toy chest and sighed. “Very well, then, it’s disruptive. Little Gloria will have her luncheon in forty minutes. Thank you, Kieslich, that will be all.”
She turned her attention back to Little Gloria. “Well?” she said, dangling a toy rabbit in front of her daughter. “How was it?”
Thelma smiled, pulling a set of building blocks from the toy chest. “He’s very nice,” she said. Duke had seemed determined to fit the whole of Paris into a single night, taking Thelma from club to club until her feet ached in protest. They’d ended the night at the flower market, strolling hand in hand as they watched merchants open sidewalk stalls, lifting armloads of sunflowers, peonies, freesias, iris and lavender from the wooden flatbeds of small trucks in the dim half morning, lining tulip-filled tin pots on cobbled street corners. Later that morning, she’d awoken to the biggest bouquet of roses she’d ever seen, six dozen at least, set in a display that looked more suited to the hotel lobby than her bedroom.
Thelma smiled. “No,” she corrected herself. “He’s very keen.”
“Do you think you’ll see him again?”
“He certainly hopes so,” said Thelma.
“That’s not an answer,” replied Gloria, grazing the rabbit’s ears against Little Gloria’s fingertips.
“I know,” said Thelma, “I just—it’s the money, Gloria, I don’t know if I can—”
“Why ever not?” said Gloria.
Thelma hesitated, passing a block from hand to hand. “He’s lovely...but is it terrible for me to say that the most attractive thing about him is his wealth? When I think of what Mamma—”
“Mamma would turn backflips if she knew—mind, she doesn’t notice much these days beyond the baby. Isn’t that right?” she said, addressing Little Gloria. “Your Naney loves you—and it’s suffocating your daddy and me!” She pulled the child into her lap, who kicked at the air with slippered feet. “For all her faults she’s right, you know,” she continued. “Reggie and I—well, for all that he’s a spendthrift, we’ve got his family to take care of us. You can’t live on charity forever, Thelma—goodness knows Papa can’t afford to help you, and Reggie and I are already supporting Mamma. If Furness is showing interest in you, don’t you think you ought to give him a chance?”
“It seems disingenuous,” said Thelma. “And after Junior...”
“Furness is Junior’s opposite in every way,” said Gloria. “Your husband was one of the most reckless men I’ve ever met, and from what I’ve heard Furness is an even keel. He’s a good prospect, Thelma. He’s already made money—he already has children. You won’t have any surprises, and that might be a good thing. Comfortable.”
Thelma smiled, thinking of the roses. “We got on awfully well last night,” she admitted.
“See? There you are. Like can become love,” said Gloria. “You’ll see him again? Good. He’s invited us to dinner tonight.”
“So soon?”
“He spoke to Reggie this morning. A man like him—he’s not going to waste time,” said Gloria. She got to her feet, but as she straightened she swayed alarmingly, blood draining from her face.
“Gloria?”
She gripped the side of the crib, squeezing her eyes shut. Thelma stood to steady her; pressing a hand against Gloria’s forehead to check for fever.
“It’s all right,” said Gloria, but Thelma led her to a rocking chair, as Little Gloria shifted across the carpet in search of more building blocks.
“It’s getting worse,” said Gloria. She leaned forward, her head between her knees. “Since the delivery.” She opened her eyes as color slowly flooded back to her cheeks. “The doctor says it’s heart attacks. From the diphtheria. Not much to be done for it, I’m afraid.”
“Deep breaths,” said Thelma. Gloria inhaled through her nose, letting the breath out with a hiss. “We’ve got time.”
Behind her, Thelma could hear Little Gloria scuffling about on the carpet. She let out a whimpering sound, wavering on the edge of tears—well, she’d have to wait, thought Thelma, focusing her attention back on Gloria as the door swung open.
Mamma walked in with Nurse Kieslich, carrying a luncheon tray. “Why is Little Gloria alone?” she said.
“Gloria had one of her attacks.”
“There we are, caro—upsy daisy,” said Mamma, lifting Little Gloria from the floor. She quietened, snuggling against Mamma’s chest. “Well, seeing as you’re poorly, you might as well go and have a lie-down. Kieslich has Little Gloria’s meal. It shouldn’t sit.”
“We had asked for more time with her,” said Thelma. “Another twenty minutes.”
“Nurse Kieslich explained the situation to me and I quite agreed with her. Children need schedules,” said Mamma. “You know when her playtime is.” And with that Gloria and Thelma were dismissed.
* * *
“Better?” asked Thelma. She had brought Gloria into the sitting room and settled her onto a daybed with a blanket over her legs.
Gloria nodded. “Truly, though, it’s getting worse,” she said, her face knotted with tension. “And when I think of Reggie’s troubles...”
Thelma exhaled. She’d had her suspicions about Reggie’s health: his red face; the broken veins. “What do the doctors say?”
Gloria played with the hem of the blanket, knotting loose threads together. “We came back from Vichy two weeks ago—the doctors in Newport recommended he take the cure,” she said. “He wouldn’t stay. Said it didn’t take.”
Thelma watched Gloria worry the blanket, her brow furrowed. “The doctor called me while he was in treatment,” she said. “He said I had a right to know if Reggie wouldn’t tell me himself. He’s got—cirrhosis of the liver, I think it was called. Too much rich food, too much drinking. Not enough exercise...”
Thelma’s stomach dropped at the mention of cirrhosis. “Well, that can be fixed, can’t it?” she said. “Rest and fresh air—”
Gloria laughed bitterly. “Have you met my husband?” she said. “I love him dearly, truly I do, but he would choose wine over air. The doctors say he’s only got a few more years if—if he doesn’t change his habits.”