H appy new year, Fiona!” Arthur pulled her close and kissed her, right in the middle of the dance floor. Fiona circled her arms around his neck to kiss him in return. All around them, people were blowing toy horns and noisemakers, tossing confetti into the air and kissing. A brand new year had just begun—1921—and Fiona felt as though her life was about to begin, as well. A year ago she had been a scrub maid in Ireland; now she was in love with the most wonderful man in the world. The fact that he was spending New Year’s Eve with her and not with his wife meant that he loved her, too. He was telling the truth about his marriage being over.
They danced awhile longer before Arthur said, “All this noise and cigarette smoke are getting to me. Would you mind if we left and went someplace else?”
“Not at all.” He fetched her coat, and they walked out into the snowy night, their arms wrapped around each other, their breath fogging the air in front of them.
They found Arthur’s car, and Fiona sat inside with the motor running while Arthur brushed off the freshly fallen snow. She watched him work, realizing how very much she loved him. Fiona had once thought she loved Kevin Malloy, but this was so much better—like the difference between smelling an orange and eating one. Kevin never talked to Fiona about anything or took her anywhere. He couldn’t even read or write. He smelled of sweat and horses, and his hands were chapped and rough, his fingernails dirty. How could she ever have thought that she loved him? She’d been glad a thousand times over that her father had stopped her from marrying him.
Arthur finished cleaning off the snow and climbed behind the wheel, turning to face her. “Fiona, I don’t want to say good-night yet. But I’m tired of sitting in noisy clubs and smoky cafes. I was wondering if we might go to your hotel suite—but only if your father is there, of course— so we can talk where it’s quiet.” He caressed her cheek, sending warmth through her, even though his fingers were icy cold. She didn’t want to leave him yet, either. But she and her father didn’t have a room in the Chelsea Hotel. She didn’t have to feign disappointment.
“I’m so sorry, Arthur, but it’s impossible. My father will probably be asleep by now. I would hate to disturb him.”
“Well, could I take you to my place, then? Please? Just for a little while longer. I don’t want to end our evening yet. And it’s too cold to sit in the car—you’re shivering.”
“Your place?” she repeated. The shivery feeling that tingled through her had nothing to do with the January air. She stalled for time as she tried to make up her mind. Arthur’s dark eyes looked soft and pleading.
“I have an apartment here in Manhattan. It isn’t far.”
“All right… but I can’t stay too late.” She was already thinking ahead, knowing it would be difficult to make her way from the hotel to her tenement in the frigid weather. It was already past midnight.
Arthur drove carefully through the snowy streets, the wipers swishing rhythmically to keep the windshield clean. He parked near an apartment building on a quiet, tree-lined street, a few blocks from Central Park. The yellow brick building was six stories tall, U-shaped, with a garden courtyard in the middle and a uniformed doorman in the front lobby.
Fiona felt a stab of disappointment. It was a very nice building—certainly nicer than the walk-up tenements in her neighborhood—but she’d expected Arthur to live in a mansion like Wickham Hall, with dozens of servants.
“Good evening, Mr. Bartlett… ma’am,” the doorman said as he held the door for them.
“Good evening, Charles. How are you?”
“Just fine, Mr. Bartlett. Snowy night, isn’t it?” Charles hurried across the lobby to open the elevator doors for them. “You have yourself a happy new year, now, Mr. Bartlett.”
“Thank you. You, too.” Arthur pushed the button for the fifth floor, and as soon as the doors closed, he pulled Fiona into his arms for a kiss.
She’d never ridden on an elevator before, and she wasn’t sure if the little wave of dizziness she felt was from the ride or from his impassioned kiss. He pulled away as the elevator coasted to a stop and the doors opened. He took her hand and led her down a carpeted hallway to his apartment door, taking a moment to fish his keys from his pocket and unlock it. The hallway was bright and clean, the carpeting thick and luxurious beneath her feet. It was so different from the noisy, smelly tenement hallways where Fiona lived that they might have landed on a different planet.
“Now, where were we?” Arthur said when they were inside. He reached to kiss her again, but Fiona backed away, a little frightened by what she might be getting herself into.
“It’s very dark in here, Arthur.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” He flipped a switch and a ceiling fixture in the foyer came on.
“You live here?” she asked, gazing around. The apartment was very neat and orderly, and the furniture looked brand-new, but she didn’t see any of Arthur’s personal belongings anywhere—there were no books or photographs or bedroom slippers lying around. The place didn’t look livedin. But compared to the grimy, rat-infested apartments where she lived, it was a palace.
“I live here part of the time.” He moved ahead of her into the living room and switched on a lamp beside the couch. “I rent this apartment in the city so I have a place to sleep when I’m too tired to drive all the way home. Sometimes a meeting lasts too long or the theater runs late… or I drink too much,” he added with a laugh, “and so I spend the night here.” He moved around the room as he talked, switching on another lamp, shrugging off his coat. He helped Fiona remove her coat and hung them both in the front closet. “I have a home in Westchester, where I live most of the time. You understand that my wife and children are living there, too, until the divorce is final. I have an obligation to provide for them. Would you like a tour of the place?”
“Okay.”
He held her hand as he led her around. The apartment was neat and spacious and clean—and smelled of Arthur’s scent. The kitchen was very modern with an electric icebox and built-in cabinets. The tiled bathroom had a sink and a toilet and a claw-footed bathtub big enough for Fiona to luxuriate in. And she wouldn’t even have to haul the hot water first—it came right out of the tap. There were radiators in every room, and the apartment was comfortably warm all over. Fiona thought of the two drafty rooms where she lived with her father, and Arthur’s apartment began to seem like a mansion after all. Even Wickham Hall didn’t have central heating or so many modern conveniences. She imagined living here with Arthur and tears came to her eyes.
“Well, what do you think of it?” he asked when they returned to the living room.
“It’s lovely, Arthur… and so clean.” She realized that it had been a stupid thing to say when he laughed out loud.
“I have Mrs. Murphy, my cleaning lady, to thank for that. Have a seat, Fiona.” He went to the refrigerator and retrieved a bottle while she made herself comfortable on the sofa. “I’ve been saving this for a special occasion. Do you like champagne?”
“I’ve never tasted it.”
“Then you must try some.” He crossed to a bar in one corner of the living room and took out two glasses. His movements were smooth and elegant, and she loved watching everything he did. When the cork came free with a hollow pop, Arthur sat down on the sofa beside her to pour the champagne.
“To the most beautiful woman in New York City,” he said, raising his glass for a toast. “To us—and to a new beginning in 1921.” They touched glasses and kissed, then Fiona took a sip.
“It has bubbles!”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, it’s wonderful.”
By the time she finished her first glass she felt relaxed and happier than she’d ever felt in her life. Arthur poured a second glass for each of them, then took off his tuxedo jacket and tossed it on a chair. He pulled off his bow tie and loosened his collar and cuffs.
“That’s better,” he sighed.
“I’ve never seen you without a jacket and tie,” Fiona said, laughing.
“You look very… content.”
“May I turn off the lights for a minute? I want to show you something.” He stood and switched them off, then pulled the drapes open. From where she sat on the sofa, Fiona could see the lights of New York sparkling like stars against the black sky, with the darker void of Central Park in the distance. Snow still sifted from the sky, making the scene into a fairyland.
“Oh, Arthur! What a beautiful view!” He crossed the room to sit beside her, and they gazed out of the window together, sipping champagne.
“I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with you, Fiona,” he murmured as they finished their second glass.
“I love you, too. I wish we could stay here forever.”
He set both of their glasses on the table and pulled Fiona close, kissing her until she was breathless.
“Wait!” he said, pulling away suddenly. “I just remembered. I have a New Year’s present for you. Let me think… Where did I put it?” He searched his pockets, then stood and started opening and closing drawers to no avail. “Ah, I remember!” he said, laughing at himself. “I left it in here. Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, leading her into his bedroom. The room whirled and swayed as Fiona walked, and she knew she had drunk too much champagne.
“Sit down and close your eyes,” he told her. She sat on the edge of the bed, sinking into its softness. The beautiful bedspread felt luxurious beneath her hand, and she knew that the mattress probably had fine linen sheets on it like the ones she used to scrub at Wickham Hall. There was artwork on the walls, and the headboard, nightstands, and dresser all matched, made with inlays of different kinds of wood. Arthur’s scent was even more powerful in here. Fiona knew she would think of this room, this bed, and weep when she returned to her squalid mattress in the tenement.
“Close your eyes,” Arthur said. Fiona obeyed, her head spinning when she did so. She heard him open a drawer in the nightstand, then close it. He took her hand and placed something in her palm. “You can look now.”
She opened her eyes and saw a black leather jeweler’s box, tied with a red ribbon. She pulled it off and opened the lid to see a beautiful golden ring with a star-sapphire stone.
“It’s a promise ring, Fiona. Please accept it with a promise of my undying love.” He pulled it out of the holder and slipped it onto her finger. “I love you, darling. Happy new year.”
She threw her arms around his neck as her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Arthur! I love you so much!” And she did—more than she ever imagined she would love anyone. “Arthur… Arthur…” she whispered as he covered her face with kisses.
Suddenly, it was as if a tidal wave of love and longing washed over her, and Fiona was lost in the deluge.
The dawning sun woke her up. Arthur hadn’t closed the bedroom drapes. For a moment Fiona didn’t know where she was. Then she saw Arthur asleep in the bed beside her, and she began to cry. What she recalled of last night had seemed wonderful at the time. But now that the champagne had worn off, she felt ashamed and embarrassed. She wondered if he had deliberately planned to seduce her this way, and if she had foolishly fallen into his trap. And she wondered if Arthur would still want her now that he’d had his way with her. She was eighteen years old and he was forty-two—and married. Fiona couldn’t hold back a sob.
Arthur stirred, then woke up and pulled her close. “No… darling, no,” he soothed. “Please don’t cry.”
“What have we done?” she wept.
“Fiona, you know in your heart that we were meant to be together this way. And we will be… forever.”
She struggled to control her tears. This was America, not Ireland. They wouldn’t lock her away with the nuns.
“I wish I could say I’m sorry,” Arthur told her, “but I’m not. And you shouldn’t be sorry, either. I love you, and I know you love me. You’re wearing my promise to you on your finger. Soon, very soon, we’ll be able to be together… always.”
She nodded, unable to reply. Her emotions were a tangled mess of happiness and shame, fear and hope. She couldn’t begin to unravel them all, especially with Arthur lying next to her, holding her.
“I need to go home. My father—” She stopped, afraid to finish. Rory Quinn would murder both of them. She began to cry again.
“Of course. I’ll let you get dressed,” Arthur said softly. He climbed out of bed and went into his dressing room next to the bathroom. Fiona couldn’t stop crying as she hurriedly put on her clothes.
“I’m coming up to your hotel suite with you so I can speak to your father,” Arthur said when he emerged from the dressing room in a suit and tie. “I’m worried that he’ll be angry with you, and I want to explain to him that it was all my fault—that we lost track of the time.”
“And it was snowing,” she added numbly. But as they drove to the hotel, Fiona worried more about what excuse she could give Arthur than what she would say to her father. Rory wouldn’t be at the hotel, of course. How could she explain his absence—so early in the morning on New Year’s Day—to Arthur?
“I think I’d better talk to my father alone,” she said when Arthur pulled his car to a stop in front. “Maybe it would be better if he didn’t know I was with you all night.”
“But I want to take full responsibility—”
“Let me talk to him first. I’ll let you know what happened when I see you tonight.” She gave him a quick good-bye kiss and hurried inside the hotel. As soon as Arthur’s car was out of sight, Fiona took the subway home to her tenement. Rory was waiting for her, pacing the floor, furious.
“Where have you been all night? I’ve been frantic, girl!”
“I’m sorry. Arthur took me to see his apartment. We had a few drinks, and before we knew it, it was too late to wander the streets. He’d had too much champagne and the weather was bad. He thought he’d better not drive.”
“Did that man seduce you? I’ll demand that he marry you if he did!”
Fiona could never tell her father that he had. Rory would have every right to demand that Arthur marry her—but Arthur, of course, was already married. Fiona could never make her father understand that Arthur did love her, that he was going to marry her just as soon as he got his divorce.
“Of course he didn’t seduce me,” she lied. “Arthur is a gentleman. He slept on the sofa. I’m sorry if we worried you, Dad. In fact, Arthur begged for a chance to come and explain everything to you himself, but he couldn’t very well do that now, could he? We don’t really have a room at the hotel, and I could hardly bring him here.”
“Don’t be playing games with me, girl. You’ll ruin all your chances for a decent life if you let him take advantage of you.”
“He gave me a ring—an engagement ring.” She held out her hand for him to see. Rory appraised it with a scowl.
“That isn’t a diamond. I thought he was rich.”
“Arthur doesn’t do things the
conventional way.” She smiled, realizing even as she spoke the
words that it was one of the things she loved about him. Arthur was
very romantic, yet he hated the usual cliche 
s of
romance.
“When are you seeing him again?”
“Tonight.” Fiona glanced around the dismal apartment, remembering the smooth feel of Arthur’s bed linens; the clean, tiled bathroom and modern kitchen; the view of the city and Central Park. And she remembered how Arthur had looked at her with love shining in his eyes when he’d awakened beside her this morning.
“Excuse me, Dad. I need to use to the privy.” She was going to burst into tears any moment if she had to spend one more minute in this apartment, smelling the stench of mildew and chamber pots and filth after spending the night at Arthur’s.
But as she walked past the communal outhouses, disgusted by the rundown neighborhood, her tears fell fast. Even the layer of clean, white snow couldn’t hide the ugliness. Fiona hesitated as she passed the parish church, wondering if she dared to go in. She knew she had sinned. She needed to beg God for forgiveness. But when she pictured Jesus impaled on the cross, dying in agony for her sins, she knew she could never ask such a sacrifice from Him yet again. Her sins had piled too high, the weight of them had grown much too heavy: thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not bear false witness, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house, honor thy father and mother… and now adultery. Nor could she compound those sins by lying to the priest again. The nuns had taught her that Satan was the father of lies.
“If you lie, you sin twice,” the sisters had said. “The thing you’re lying about is usually a sin, and the lie doubles it!”
Fiona hadn’t sinned in ignorance but willfully. She didn’t deserve Christ’s forgiveness. She couldn’t face the priest, the crucifix.
She cried as she walked, shivering in the cold January air. How could what she had shared with Arthur be so wrong, yet be so wonderful?
Rory insisted on coming to the hotel with Fiona when she went to meet Arthur for their date that night. Fiona was terrified. Her father was going to confront Arthur and scare him away. She didn’t want to lose him.
She held her breath as the men greeted one another, and it startled her to realize that her father and Arthur were about the same age. Except for the first night that she’d met Arthur, Fiona had never thought of him as old. He was so vibrant, so exciting to be with. And her father looked a decade older from a lifetime of hard labor.
“May I buy you a cup of coffee, Mr. Quinn?” Arthur asked when he saw Rory.
“Aye, that would be fine.” They went into the hotel coffee shop and sat in a booth. Arthur and Rory both ordered coffee, but Fiona was too sick with fear to order anything.
“I’d like to ask what your intentions are for my daughter,” Rory said without preamble.
“Honorable, I assure you. I know there’s an age difference between Fiona and me, and I’m sure that must concern you. But I’ve given her a ring as a pledge of my good intentions.”
“You intend to marry her?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Shall we set a date for the wedding, then? I’ll have many arrangements to make. And the wedding must be soon, since my business may require us to return to Dublin shortly.”
What a liar her father was. Fiona felt as though she might throw up any minute. She was terrified of being found out—both by her father and by Arthur. She wasn’t sure which would be worse.
“Unfortunately, it’s not possible to set a date, at the moment,” Arthur said. “That’s why I’ve been eager to speak with you. It would help if I knew how much longer your business will require you to stay in New York and when you might be returning to Dublin.”
Rory took a sip of coffee before answering. Fiona knew he was stalling. “I’m not sure when I’m going back.”
“What exactly is your business here, Mr. Quinn—if I might ask? I have many contacts in the financial world. Perhaps we could help you get settled here on a more permanent basis. If it’s a question of financing, I would be pleased to offer a business loan to my future father-in-law.”
Fiona could scarcely breathe, fearing disaster.
“Which bank would that be, then?” Rory asked, as if he did business with dozens of banks. Arthur told him the name. “Aye, that’s a fine institution,” Rory replied. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Bartlett, but I have all the business I can handle, at the moment.” He glanced at Fiona, then down at her sapphire ring. “Perhaps we should keep the date open for now.”
“Thank you,” Arthur said. “I assure you that Fiona and I will set a date as soon as we’re able. I love your daughter, Mr. Quinn. I won’t rest until she becomes my wife.”
Her father finished his coffee and quickly excused himself, as if Arthur’s probes into his business affairs had scared him off. Arthur had won this round. But Fiona couldn’t stop trembling for an hour.