The Angel in the Corner (22 page)

She never remembered to make up Virginia’s time, and Virginia, trying to keep her attention on the dermal problems of women in Kent, would bite her pencil and fret about getting home late. She did not worry about what Joe would think. He seldom knew what time it was. He would sometimes be asleep when she got home, or sometimes out, and surprised when he returned to find her there before him.

She worried for herself. Before she was married, the working day had never seemed too long. Now it was an endless interruption in her life with Joe. All afternoon, she would feel building up in her the excitement of seeing him again. After she had
cleared away the office tea tray, it was difficult to think of anything but hurrying back to the room in the basement, where she was no longer a tired typist, but a woman with a man of her own.

The other girls in the beauty department alternately pitied and envied Virginia because she was married. Sheila would come in with a tale of some wonderful man who had taken her out, and pause in her recital of the evening’s thrills to look sadly at Virginia and say: ‘It must be awful in a way to have all that behind you.’

Christine, who grumbled at everything connected with the magazine, including its readers, would run her hands through her thin, pale hair and sigh: ‘God, I’m fed up with this life. You’re a lucky devil, Jinny, to be married and know that you could get out of it any time. I can’t think why you stay here when you could be at home running the vacuum cleaner.’

Virginia did not tell her that she had neither a vacuum cleaner nor more than one room to clean with it. No one knew where she lived. No one knew that her husband was out of work.

It was natural that Derek should come in from the art department to discuss illustrations with Jane, but Virginia thought that since she had come to this office, he visited it more frequently than necessary. Often when he came in, he would have nothing particular to say to Jane, and would drift over to Virginia’s desk and perch on the edge, fiddling with pencils and erasers, and trying to think of things to say that would make her stop working and talk to him.

Derek’s attitude towards Virginia had changed slightly since her marriage. Before, he had been admiring, but diffident. Now he was admiring, but vaguely solicitous, as if Virginia’s marriage were a form of ill health. He kept asking her if she was all right. He frequently tried to persuade her to go to lunch with him, offering her a good meal, as if he thought she needed it.

Although he never dared to say anything against Joe, it was plain that he was nervous about the marriage, and that he saw himself in the role of the trusted friend, ready to leap into the breach at the first sign of trouble.

Once, late in the evening, when the other girls had gone
home, and Jane Stuart was with Miss Small, Derek came and leaned over Virginia’s typewriter, and said very solemnly: ‘I want you to know, Jinny, that I am always there if you need me.’

‘Why should I need you?’ Virginia went on typing, struggling for accuracy. Miss Stuart always read through letters before she signed them, and was aghast at mistakes.

‘Oh, of course not.’ Derek stood up and came behind her, resting his soft hand lightly on her shoulder. ‘I didn’t mean anything. I just wanted you to feel that you could always tell me anything. Your mother’s gone now. I know how I would feel if I didn’t have my mother to rely on. Everyone needs somebody to talk to.’

‘I’ve got Joe to talk to, thank you.’ Virginia typed:
‘With sincere good wishes,’
which was how Jane liked to end her letters, and pulled the paper out of the machine with a snap. ‘I wish you’d stop this Derek, this – hinting that I’ve made a mistake in marrying Joe.’ She swung round to look at him. ‘I know you don’t think much of him, although you’ve hung around him for ages, but I think the world of him. I’m perfectly happy, and I intend to stay that way for the rest of my life.’

‘Of course, my dear, of course.’ Derek pushed back his sheep-dog hair. ‘I wouldn’t want anything else for you.’

‘Well, then, stop hanging about like a ghoul, waiting to see me come in with swollen eyes. Please leave me alone. Joe wouldn’t like it if I told him.’

‘There’s nothing to tell him,’ Derek said nervously. ‘I don’t know what you mean. Why should you tell Joe?’

He looked so scared that Virginia laughed and said: ‘Of course I wouldn’t. There’s nothing to tell.’ She was often tempted to laugh with Joe about Derek behaving like a sheep-dog as well as looking like one, but after she had told him about Felix, and seen his sullenly jealous reaction to the idea of a man in her past, she did not want him to start imagining about men in her present.

‘Why don’t you go home?’ she asked, starting another letter. ‘It’s late.’

‘I thought I might go part of the way home with you. It’s raining. I’ve got an umbrella.’

‘So have I.’

‘Oh, well, I just thought – if you’re ready to leave, we could go along together.’

‘I’m not finished. Don’t wait for me.’

‘I’m afraid you’re working too hard,’ he said anxiously. ‘You don’t look as well as you used to. Are you sure you feel all right?’

‘Want something, Derek?’ Jane Stuart came into the room and waved her glasses at him.

‘I just came to bring you back those beach pictures.’ He looked once more hopefully at Virginia, and seeing her put another page in the typewriter, he left the room.

Virginia waited until she thought that he had left the building. She did not want to hurt Derek’s feelings, but she did not want his company on the bus. She wanted to sit and relax, so that she would not seem tired to Joe when she got home. He did not like her to be tired. He liked her to be lively and ready for anything he wanted, whether it was a meal, or the cinema, or a tour of his favourite bars, or some childish jokes and fooling, or the passionate love-making in which she never wanted to disappoint him.

Virginia was glad to see the light in the basement window. When Joe was out, she seldom knew where he was. He rarely told her in the morning what his plans were for the day, and he would not always tell her at night where he had been.

When she went into the room, he was sitting at the table by the window with his back to her. He greeted her briefly without turning round, and said: ‘Don’t disturb me. I’m working.’

There was a new typewriter on the table, two thick packets of typing paper, an assortment of shiny note-books, and half a bottle of whisky. Virginia kissed the back of Joe’s neck, where the black hair grew out of the smooth brown skin. He quickly put his hands over the paper in the machine, and said: ‘Run away for a bit, there’s a good girl. Go and cook something. I’m starving. I’m an author.’

In the kitchen, Virginia found a steak bleeding through its wrapping paper, a camembert cheese, a pound of the best bacon, and several other items of food of the kind she could not afford to buy nowadays. She looked in the cupboard under
the sink, and saw two bottles of whisky that had not been there in the morning.

She went into the other room, and waited until he paused in his erratic typing to light a cigarette and pour himself a drink.

‘Want one?’ he asked, holding up the bottle.

‘Not just now. Tell me something, darling. Where did you get the typewriter?’ She tried to sound casual.

‘I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you mean.’

‘I didn’t mean that. I just asked where you got it.’

‘From a man I know. I bought it wholesale. Twelve per cent reduction. Real bargain.’ He began to type again, stabbing at the keys with one finger of each hand.

‘You’ll think I’m inquisitive, but what did you use for money?’

‘All right.’ He pushed back his chair and turned to face her. ‘Now I’ll ask you one. Why didn’t you tell me you had a hundred pounds hidden away?’

Virginia had hidden the money in a small handbag, which she had put inside a larger bag and locked in a suitcase. She had the key. Joe must have picked the lock.

When she asked him, he said: ‘Why not? I don’t like to have locked bags lying around my place unless I know what’s in them. Where did you get the money?’

‘It was Spenser’s wedding present to me.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ He pushed out his lower-lip and slumped in his chair, scowling at her.

‘Why should I?’ She decided not to be intimidated. ‘It’s my money.’

‘Your money!’ He laughed. ‘Don’t kid yourself, Jin. You never heard of “With all my worldly goods I thee endow”?’

‘I wasn’t going to spend it on myself. I wanted to save it for something important. I didn’t want us to fritter it away on things we don’t really need.’

‘Don’t you think I need this typewriter? How do you expect me to write a book without one? My God, you should be glad I’ve started on it. I thought that was what you wanted. I got down to it as soon as I got this thing home.’ He patted the typewriter. ‘You’ve no idea what a grind it is. I’ve suffered agonies all day. I thought you’d be so pleased with me, but all you do
is accuse me of robbing you.’ He pulled a face of childish self pity. ‘I’ve a damn good mind to chuck the whole thing up and sell this gadget back to the bloke I bought it from.’

Virginia kissed his hair. ‘Don’t do that,’ she said. ‘I’m terribly glad you found the money if it has got you started on your book. What’s it about? Can I see?’

‘Not a chance.’ He pulled out the paper and slapped it face down on the small pile beside the typewriter. ‘And don’t ever go prying when I’m not here, or I’ll wring your neck. Now go and cook that steak.’

‘All right.’ She went to the door. ‘Where have you put the rest of the money?’

‘I left it in the case. It’s as safe there as anywhere. I don’t think old Mollie is a thief, whatever else she is.’

Virginia went to the cupboard under the stairs, where they had stacked the suitcases. ‘What are you doing?’ Joe called, as she pulled out the case with the broken lock. ‘Counting your hoard? I’ll save you the trouble. I spent twenty-five pounds. Not bad, considering what I got for it.’

Virginia came back to the doorway. ‘Joe, promise me this – please. Don’t take any more. We must save it. We can manage all right on my salary, if we’re careful, but we can’t save on it. We must keep that money, in case anything goes wrong.’

‘I know that,’ he said. ‘I’m not a child. Why don’t you hide your precious money again, if you don’t trust me? Only find a better place next time.’

That made it impossible for her to hide the money. She knew that he would look in the suitcase to see if she had taken it away. She could only pray that he did not become so thrilled with himself as an author that he felt obliged to buy a dictaphone.

*

It was going to be a hot summer. Already by the end of June, London was losing her spring freshness. Pavements roasted the feet, and the fumes from buses and cars shimmered like oil above the sticky roads.

The open windows in the office let in more grime than air. The atmosphere was oppressive with fretful, perspiring women.

Thinking of holidays, the girls began to lose the lively interest in their work that Jane Stuart demanded. Virginia was not thinking of holidays. She and Joe could not afford to go away. She had not lost interest even in the routine seasonal work of telling readers how to tan without peeling, and how to get sea water out of their hair. She was still intrigued by every fact of the process that brought a glossy magazine from the conference room to the bookstalls; but she was tired, and she was losing weight.

Jane Stuart was as enthusiastic as ever, and the vitality with which she attacked each new problem challenged Virginia’s store of nervous energy, and spurred her to a hectic activity, which carried her on wires through the day’s work, and left her unable to relax and recuperate at the end of it.

It was impossible to relax with Joe, in any case. When he worked on his book, which was more often than Virginia expected, his alternating author’s moods of exuberance and despair demanded a correspondingly exaggerated reaction from her. They lived at high pitch, arguing, laughing, making love. The bones of Virginia’s face grew more clearly defined, her eyes were more brilliant, her movements quicker, yet more controlled. She thought that at last she looked entirely grown up, with no dreamy trace of adolescence.

Adelaide Small sent for her. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, without beating about the bush.

‘Nothing,’ Virginia said in surprise. ‘Everything is wonderful.’

‘You’re too thin,’ Miss Small objected, although she herself was like a rail. ‘You didn’t look like that when I took over from your mother. Jane is working you too hard. However, I’m going to work you harder. Stick the beauty page for another two weeks, and you can come back to editorial. I feel like economizing. You can do two people’s work. No, don’t thank me. I’m not being nice; I need you there. Joan’s had a better offer from Fleet Street, and Sonia is leaving to get married. She’s got more sense than you. She’s not going to try and live two lives. It isn’t easy, I know. I’ve seen plenty of girls before you wear themselves out trying to run a home and a job.’

‘I’m not tired, Miss Small.’

‘Yes, you are. Don’t argue with me.’ She looked at Virginia
as if she knew about the unmade bed and the untidy room and the dirty dishes in the sink, all waiting to be dealt with when Virginia came home from the office. As if she knew about having to run out again before the grocer in the King’s Road closed, because Joe had forgotten the things he had promised to buy. As if she knew about having to be gay and lively for him and always ready to listen when he wanted to talk, and being sometimes kept up half the night if he felt like a party, or being kept awake half the night when he felt like making love.

‘If I move you up,’ Miss Small said, ‘you’ll have to get in on time. I gather you’ve been late too often. That’s bad.’

‘I know. The buses are frightful,’ Virginia said hopefully. ‘The traffic gets worse every day.’

‘Leave home earlier then.’

It was not as simple as that. Often, Joe would not let her get away in time to be punctual for work. He would think of everything to detain her. He would demand bacon and eggs at the last minute. He would ask her to iron a shirt. Sometimes, when she was almost dressed, he would pull her back to bed and undress her.