“I grant you New York in winter would not be so pleasant. But all one would need would be a giant fur coat and boots. That's all the Indians used and they were very healthy.”
I smiled. “It would certainly solve my problem, having a very meager wardrobe with no clothes suitable for the city.”
“You must let Gus give you some of hers,” Sid said over her shoulder as she led me down a bright hallway and pushed open a door at the end. The room was intended to be the kitchen, I suppose, as there was a cooker and sink against one wall, but the outside wall had been knocked out and a glass conservatory now extended the house into a pretty back garden full of flowers and ferns. Gus was lounging out there on a wicker chaise, reading The New York Times. She, too, was attired in a robe, only hers was bright purple satin.
“Here she is, as promised.” Sid motioned me to a wicker chair. “I'll go and make some more coffee. The poor child was just lamenting that she has no clothes, so I told her you'd have to give her some of yours.”
I felt myself blushing furiously. “Oh, but I couldn't possibly,” I said.
Gus laughed. “My dear Molly. I have upstairs a whole closetfull of clothes that I never wear. My parents outfitted me for life in society. When I came here I realized I didn't have to conform to their vision of the sweet and innocent young girl, so I started dressing to please myself. But the dreaded garments still lurk in an upstairs closet. You are welcome to help yourself, as I swear I won't be seen dead in them again. Although some of them may be even too adorable and civilized for you.”
Again I wasn't quite sure what to say. I lowered myself to the wicker chair. “What a lovely spot you have here,” I said. “I had no idea that gardens existed in the middle of the city.”
“One of the reasons we fell in love with the house,” Gus said. “I had grown up with a large backyard.”
“And she simply couldn't exist without her flowers and shrubs,” Sid added, coming back out with a coffee tray. “So I absolutely insisted she buy the house instantly.”
“You own this house?” I was horrified at my own rudeness but it just slipped out.
Gus didn't seem to be in the least offended. “Fortunately for me, I had a wonderful godmother,” she said. “When my parents cut me off without a penny, she came up trumps and left me a large settlement in her will.”
“Why did your parents cut you off?”
She looked amused. “They didn't approve of my lifestyle, of course.”
“I don't see what is so wrong with wanting to be a painter, and independent,” I said.
“Nor I, but there is only one path open to young women in their kind of society—you make a good match and link the family fortune to that of another family.”
“And disapproving of me probably had something to do with it,” Sid added as she poured thick black coffee into tiny cups. “I hope you like Turkish coffee. Gus and I went through a Turkish fad last year. We were even wearing baggy pants and smoking a hookah for a while, but we've become positively addicted to the coffee and cigarettes.”
I took the tiny cup she gave me. The coffee was almost as thick as milk pudding, and so very strong. I didn't think that Fd ever become addicted to it as they were, but I managed a brave smile as I sipped.
“Have you had breakfast?” Gus asked and indicated the basket on the table. “Luckily the most divine baker in the world delivers to us each morning.”
I took a crispy roll and spread it liberally with butter and apricot jam. The first bite took away the lingering bitterness of the coffee.
“And now we must give you the tour of the house,” Sid said. She grabbed at Gus's arm. “To your feet, lazybones. As mistress of the establishment it is your duty to lead the expedition.”
“Co-owner of the establishment,” Gus said as she got to her feet. “When will you get it through your thick skull that this is your house as much as mine?”
“It was your money that bought it. Get on with the tour.”
Gus shook her head, smiling. “So damned stubborn,” she muttered as she went ahead of us back into the house.
During my time in New York I had been exposed to the worst of tenements, a refined home of the middle class, a palatial home of the very rich, even a gentleman's bachelor apartment, but I had seen nothing like this. All of these had been furnished in conventional style. There was nothing conventional about 9 Patchin Place. The living room was furnished with Turkish rugs, a lot of huge velvet pillows and low tables. There was a sofa at one end, but it looked rather forlorn and out of place.
“This room is a remnant of our Turkish phase,” Gus said, “but we got into the habit of lounging around on the floor and decided to keep it as it was.”
The dining room was more conventional, except for a huge bronze statue of a Chinese goddess in the corner and some very modern paintings on the walls.
“That's one of Gus's recent efforts. Isn't it heavenly?” Sid asked.