The Angel in the Corner - Monica Dickens [40]
‘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