The Angel in the Corner (12 page)

Virginia saw Spenser Eldredge standing behind her. He was wearing a chunky, grey chalk-stripe suit with a white carnation in the buttonhole. He looked serious, as if he were giving someone away at a wedding. A wedding! Virginia came out of her daze and realized what her mother was saying.

‘- I thought it better to tell you all together like this, I know how rumours go about in an office, and I want you all to know the truth – and to congratulate me, if you will. I am going to marry Mr Eldredge. I am very happy about it, and I hope that you will be too.’

Helen’s voice held a theatrical throb. She was enjoying herself enormously. Spenser stood with his head jutting forward, betraying no emotion. What he thought about being exhibited like a prize bull was no more apparent than what the bull thinks.

‘Yes, I shall be leaving you all too soon.’ Dressed in her green Dior for the occasion, with the best jewellery she possessed, Helen floated along with her speech, so word and gesture perfect that it was obvious that she had spent a long time practising before a mirror. ‘I have been here longer than most of you, longer, perhaps, than any of you, with the exception of my dear Judy.’ She flung a hand and a smile in the direction of Judy, who stood four-square in the front row with her feet planted and her arms folded, like a mill-worker at a protest meeting.

‘I just wanted to take this opportunity of thanking all of you who have worked so hard, and I hope so happily with me to make
Lady Beautiful
what it is. To thank you for giving of your best, for your cooperation and your unfailing loyalty, which has meant so much to me during both good and bad times alike.’

‘Save us, the same old stuff.’ Judy looked round to see how the others were taking it, and noticed Virginia. ‘Sorry, Jinny, I didn’t see you.’ Then she saw Virginia’s face. ‘My God,’ she
whispered, ‘didn’t you
know?
How could she do that? What a way to break it to your daughter!‘

‘It’s all right.’ Virginia managed to smile. ‘I knew about it. I knew this was coming.’

She had not known. She had not thought of Spenser as anything more than a temporary meal-ticket at the Savoy; and her mother had not given her the smallest hint. She thought of her telephoning sweetly to Miss Braithwaite: ‘Would you ask Jinny to come along to my office for a moment?’ Helen had planned it like this to give Virginia no chance for argument until the announcement was made, her resignation handed in, even the wedding date perhaps already fixed.

All I’ve got, indeed! Virginia tramped past the Prince’s Theatre, avoiding cars and walkers by instinct, not properly seeing them. Why, if Helen had this planned, had she made such a fuss about Felix? It would have been more natural for her to have grasped at the opportunity to have Virginia out of the way. It could not be all jealousy. She did not need Felix now that she had Eldredge and his estate on Long Island, which would be of much more value to her.

Vanity? Perhaps. That too. Helen was the one who was getting married. She was the queen of the hour. She would not have the thunder of her wedding stolen by a presumptuous daughter coming up with a wedding of her own.

Virginia was to remain a daughter, not to become a rival married woman. Helen wanted everything – everything for herself. She wanted Eldredge, but she wanted to keep Virginia too, to drag her off to America, no doubt, as if she were a steamer trunk, labelled: The property of Mrs Spenser Eldredge.

It would serve her mother right if she ran straight back to Felix and said: ‘Forgive me. I will marry you.’ But perhaps even Felix would have too much pride to be accepted as an afterthought. If he were humbly grateful for the insult, that would be only one more reason why she could not marry him. How disastrous to tie yourself for life to a man you did not want, because of a moment’s pique with your mother.

The moment grew and lasted. As the future became more defined, Virginia liked it less. Her supposition was right. Helen did plan to take her to America. After the wedding, she and
Spenser were going on a trip to Europe. They would then take Virginia ‘home’ to the estate on Long Island – how she hated the sound of it already, with its orchid houses, and its fireplace transported stone by stone from a castle in the Black Forest – and Virginia would complete her education by going to college.

‘But I don’t want to go to college,’ she argued, over cocktails in the bar of the Savoy grill. ‘My education was finished long ago. I’m not a schoolgirl. I’ve got a job now. I’m doing well there. Ask anyone, Helen. Ask Miss Braithwaite. Ask Mr Owen. I’m to be given a chance at subbing next month. I won’t be taken away.’

‘I like that in you, Jinny.’ Spenser leaned forward, the small table dwarfed to the size of a tray by his bulk. ‘I like that determined ambition. That’s going to get you a long way. But not here, my dear. Over in the States, where I can give you every advantage you – excuse me, Helen – never had. If it’s a job you want, though, of course, there’s no need for it, I can get you in anywhere you want. But you must go to college. Everyone does. Bryn Mawr, I think, for you. I always planned that for my daughter, only, of course, I didn’t have any children. My first wife’ – he looked down at his martini – ‘she didn’t care too much for the idea. But now that I have a daughter,’ he smiled benevolently at Virginia, and laid his heavy hand on hers, ‘I shall see all my hopes fulfilled.’

Spenser was becoming as possessive as Helen. It seemed that he wanted to marry Virginia as well as her mother. She went along as part of the bargain. His kindness towards her and his affection, which was growing alarmingly sentimental, made it more difficult for Virginia to oppose him.

He had eaten all the cheese straws and cashew-nuts while he was talking. He clicked his fingers at the waiter. ‘Bring some more of these. They never give you enough. And,’ he circled his fingers over the glasses, ‘another round, as long as you’re coming.’

‘Jinny doesn’t usually have more than one cocktail,’ Helen said, with the sweet smile she used for Spenser.

‘Oh, Helen, I do. What are you talking about? You’ve let me drink what I like for ages. What is this?’ Virginia tried not to sound irritable against the warm family atmosphere the other
two seemed bent on creating. ‘Are you trying to turn me into a juvenile so as to make me do something I don’t want?’

‘But Jinny, of course you want to go to America. You’re just being stubborn. Stubborn and ungrateful.’ Helen, too, had some difficulty in keeping her voice pleasant. ‘It’s a wonderful opportunity for you. Here is Spenser offering you a chance any girl would jump at. I can’t think why you’re being so funny about it.’

‘Girls are funny,’ Spenser said, diving deep into his second martini, the glass almost invisible in his meaty hand. ‘A girl is a woman, don’t forget, Helen. That means she’s illogical, unpredictable. You can’t drive her into anything. You have to lead her, on a silk ribbon.’ He wheezed his laugh, and pushed his pink lips in and out with pleasure at his little quip.

‘But you are trying to drive me,’ Virginia said. ‘I think you’re very kind, honestly, and I like you, and I’m glad you’re going to marry Helen, but please take her without me. I’m not ready to go to America yet. I’ve got too much to do here. I like my job, and I mean to do well at it. Not just staying on the magazine. I want to go on and on. But I want to do it here, where I know what the people are like, and how they think, and what they want to read. Not in another country, where I would feel out of place for a long time, and where anything I’ve learned so far and begun to believe in wouldn’t be much use.’

‘You’re talking froth,’ Helen said. ‘America is not a cannibal country. The people are just like us. Look at Spenser.’

‘My ancestors were British,’ he said eagerly. ‘I told you that, didn’t I? They came from Leicester. See Helen, I even know how to pronounce it. I made a trip there last time I was over, and looked at all their records. There are some Aldritches listed in the parish archives. Aldritch – Eldredge, you get it? Let’s go in and order dinner, what do you say? Virginia will feel better about this whole thing once she’s eaten. I know I always do.’

‘I will never feel better about going away,’ Virginia said. ‘I love London. I’ve lived here all my life, and I need it. I need the – oh, the smells, and the Underground, and the greyness that makes it important when the sun shines … and the terrible futility of the people who have money or a title, and the terrible
acceptance of the people who have nothing. I couldn’t live anywhere else.’

‘The young are so lyrical.’ Helen made it a crime to be young. ‘Be practical, child. Where would you live? You know I’m giving up the flat when we get back from Europe. You can’t expect Spenser to make you an allowance just because of this absurd whim. I wouldn’t let him.’

‘I wouldn’t take it. I don’t need anything. I’m earning, and I can find myself a place to live.’

‘Not much of a place, on what you are getting,’ Helen said. ‘Don’t forget I know what the magazine pays you. No, Jinny.’ She rose, and picked up her furs and bag. ‘This nonsense has gone on long enough. You are not yet twenty-one. You are my daughter, and you’re coming with us. If you want to be ungrateful and cruel about it, that’s your affair. No doubt you don’t mind how much you hurt me and Spenser.’ She nodded graciously to the waiter, and led the way to the grill-room.

Virginia followed her unhappily. Why should she feel like a sinner because she wanted nothing more than to live her own life?

Spenser walked beside her, breathing heavily. ‘Please don’t be angry with me,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean any harm. I like you so much, and I just want to be a good father to you.’

‘I like you too,’ she said, ‘but I already have a father.’

*

She had a father. Habit, and loyalty to Helen had kept Virginia from going to him, or even wanting to go to him. She had agreed to make her life with her mother, and that was the only life she knew. But things were different now. Helen was going to be married. She was going away. She had money, security, companionship. She did not need Virginia.

What was to stop Virginia from going to Harold and his wife, and throwing in her lot with theirs? Legally, she was old enough to choose. Very well, she chose her father. She did not debate her decision with herself. She wanted to take action, not thought. She wanted to take some assertive step that would free her from the smothering danger of becoming the property of Mr and Mrs Spenser Eldredge, the pride of Bryn Mawr.

It was a wild idea, but she pursued it before her impulse could slacken, hurrying as if there were no time to waste, up the hill to the ugly house with the stone wall. What if her father did not want her? He must. She would not be afraid of him. His wife would understand.

Virginia pictured Mrs Martin opening the door with that pleased smile, which instantly ameliorated the blemish of her face. She would be wearing that flowered smock with the bow at the neck. No – she might look a little different. There might already be a baby there, bleating in some upstairs room, bringing the bleak house to life with its demands for love and care.

Virginia knocked, and waited a long time for an answer. Her hope and purpose began to wilt in the anticlimax of finding nobody at home. What could she do now? Should she walk up and down, or sit on the steps and wait for Mrs Martin to return? She had said that she seldom went out. She might be only in the High Street. Virginia could look for her there.

She turned back to the door as she heard a shuffling on the other side. Bolts were knocked back and a chain rattled. The door opened slowly, and a woman stood there in carpet slippers, her head tied up in a scarf, and a grey rubber pad bound to each knee, as if she were in a horse-box.

‘Mrs Martin?’ she repeated. ‘There’s no one of that name here.’

‘There must be. They live here.’

‘They do, do they? Well then, you know something I don’t know, for it’s the first time I’ve heard of it. Martin? I never heard the name.’ She sucked a tooth, distending her cheek as if her tongue were a caramel.

‘They must have let the house, unless they’ve sold it. Who lives here now? Can I see them? They would know my – Mr Martin’s address.’

‘No one lives here.’ The woman kept her hand on the door, ready to close it. ‘At least, not to say
lives
. It belongs to the National Health, the way I understand it. Being made over into a day nursery, they say. Not that I know. I’m only here to do a bit of scrubbing and washing down.’

‘Perhaps they could help me at the Town Hall.’

‘Ah, the Town Hall. Well, they might. I couldn’t say. Good day, Miss. I’ve got to get back to my floor.’

She shut the door. Virginia went slowly down the steps, and stood in the muddy garden, looking at the house. The windows were closed and dirty, and all the curtains were gone. She could see into the front room, which had once been her nursery. It was bare, and the fireplace was full of rubbish and sweepings. At the Town Hall, anyone who could help her was out to lunch. She waited, and finally saw a woman who knew something about the day nursery, and who consented to look at her records. Yes, the house had been purchased from a Mr Harold Martin. No, they had no other address for him. All the business had been completed before he went away.

Disheartened, but not wanting to give in without a struggle, Virginia went to see her father’s solicitor. She remembered his name, because Helen had made jokes about it at the time of the divorce. Curtis Cowmeadow. She found him in a dim, triangular office in one of the buildings near Saint Paul’s that was marked for demolition. He was a gnome of a man, with a big head and lined cheeks. He eyed Virginia carefully through the top half of his bifocals, then tipped his head back and examined her through the bottom half.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I see it. You might be Harold Martin’s daughter.’

‘I am. I’ve just told you.’

‘No need to take me up. I’m not doubting your word. I merely meant that you do look a trifle like him, as I remember him.’

‘Remember him? Haven’t you seen him lately? He has just sold his house, and I thought that you must have acted for him.’