The Angel in the Corner - Monica Dickens [114]
Virginia drew her into the flat and embraced her, feeling unusually tall. She had forgotten how short Helen was, short and decidedly stocky now, her figure plumped out, and not flattered by the expensive blackberry-coloured suit with the cuffed hem of the jacket standing out from her hips.
Her kiss was somewhat perfunctory for a mother who had not seen her daughter for a year. The kissing and the welcome were quickly brushed aside in her impatience to speak.
‘Jinny!’ she cried, as soon as Virginia removed her arms. ‘This isn’t where you live! Just tell me it isn’t true. That’s all I want to know.’
‘Of course it’s true.’ Virginia was amused by the definite American inflection in her mother’s voice. ‘What’s wrong with it? Look.’ She waved her hand. ‘We have two rooms. The last place we lived, we didn’t even have a bedroom.’
‘But honey, it’s terrible! When the taxi brought me down that street, and slowed down, I couldn’t believe it. “Go on, driver,” I said. “I told you Weston House.” “This is Weston House,” he said. They don’t call you Madam any more, I notice. And he pointed to this – this filthy gaol building. My hands were shaking so that I could hardly count out the fare, and how I got up those stairs, I’ll never know. You shouldn’t be climbing all those flights in your condition.’ She looked at Virginia, sharply assessing her increased size.
‘Nonsense, Helen,’ Virginia said. ‘Exercise is good for you. Look, don’t let’s spend all our first time together crabbing about the flat. Sit down. Let me look at you. Tell me all about yourself and Spenser and your house and everything.’
‘I will in good time. Right now, I’m only interested in getting you out of this pigsty. Why didn’t you tell me about it? When you told me you had a flat, and the address, well, I never thought – I mean, Weston House, and the postal district – it sounded perfectly respectable. I knew you couldn’t be anywhere very grand, but this – this – why, Jinny, it’s a slum!’
She sat down and looked round the room with a face of grim disgust. Her face fell into the lines of displeasure as naturally as if that were its most frequent expression. The luxury of marriage to Spenser, which had eased her life, had not eased or smoothed out the ageing lines of her face. The increased plumpness had not filled out the lines. It had chiselled them deeper below the puffy contours of her cheeks and chin. She was still smart, well-groomed, and very upright, but her smartness was too ostentatious. The blackberry suit was not simple enough. The glittering white-and-gold hat was too young for her. She wore too much heavy jewellery. Her gloves were too elaborately embroidered for the daytime.
Virginia was amazed at the difference that a year had made in her. Admirably turned out as the editor of Lady Beautiful, a successful career-woman with a snap and a sparkle to her manner, she now looked like a rich, idle woman, for ever wanting something, for ever dissatisfied with it when she got it.
‘Let’s see.’ She was making plans busily, while Virginia boiled water for coffee. ‘We could have them unlock the door between our suite and the bedroom next to it. I’ll help you pack, and you can move into the Savoy tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll go out and buy clothes for you. Is that dreadful smock thing the only maternity garment you have?’
‘I have other things. I don’t need clothes.’ Virginia came out of the greasy alcove which housed the stove and the cracked sink. ‘And I’m not moving out, Helen, thank you all the same. Don’t let’s have a quarrel the minute you come, but I could tell by your voice that the door you are going to have unlocked is the door to a single bedroom. I’m not going anywhere without Joe. Or with him, for that matter. This is my home. I’m quite satisfied with it. If you can’t bear it, I’ll come and see you at the hotel. Joe and I will come and see you. You’ve got to understand that I’m married.’
‘We’ll talk about that later.’ Helen tightened her mouth. ‘Don’t give me any coffee,’ she said, having watched Virginia make it.