The Angel in the Corner - Monica Dickens [48]
Nothing happened. Joe stared at her, and droned obediently on, but Virginia could still see and hear, and feel the worn arms of the chair under her gripping hands. She was still acutely conscious of everything: the fire, the ugly picture on the wall beside it, Joe’s glossy black hair, his red, open-necked shirt, and his brown hand holding the key.
She blinked, and shifted her position. ‘It didn’t work. What do we do now?’
‘Give it up?’
‘Oh, no. Try something else. What other ways do you know?’
‘We could try without the light.’ He went to the other end of the room and turned off the lamp. The fire was burning without flames, and Virginia waited in the faintly-glowing darkness until he stood in front of her again.
‘Now I won’t be able to see your eye,’ she said.
‘You won’t have to. Shut both eyes, and I’ll do it with my voice.’
She shut her eyes, seeing the shape of him behind the lids.
‘You are going to sleep … to sleep …’ She had never felt so wide awake. Why didn’t it work? She could not get away from the room.
She stiffened herself, trying to think of nothing, trying to force herself into vacancy. Desperately she sought for the garden, but it was nowhere, not behind her eyes, not in his voice, not in the faint whisper and tick of the fire.
She opened her eyes, and saw that he was grinning at her. ‘I can’t –’ she began, and then he was on top of her, forcing her against the back of the chair, extinguishing all sensation with the brutality of his mouth.
Her numb resistance was more effective than if she had tried to push him away.
He stood up. ‘What’s the matter?’
Virginia got up quickly and went to the other end of the room to turn on the light. ‘Where’s my coat?’ she said. ‘I want to go.’
He stood in front of the fire. ‘What’s up? Isn’t that what you came for?’ He laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you really thought I could hypnotize you. It was only a joke. I don’t know the first thing about it.’
‘Why didn’t you say so? Why did you let me come here?’
‘Think it out for yourself.’
It was not until she got home and let herself into the flat that Virginia realized that she had left the second front door key with him.
*
When he came, several days later, it was almost a relief. She was frightened when she heard the key turn in the lock, but it was an end of the wondering whether he would come, and the wanting him to come, and the dreading that he would.
Chapter 8
Helen came back from Europe looking slightly different from when she had gone away as the triumphant bride of Spenser Eldredge. Marriage to a rich and devoted man suited her taste well enough, but it did not suit her looks as well as being an independent woman with a living to earn.
She had only been gone for three months, but already she was a trifle stouter, a trifle less exact in her knowledge of how to look her best. She brought back trunkfuls of new clothes. Some of the Italian ones were too exaggerated, and some of the French ones were too youthful, as if Spenser’s idea of her as a girl had hypnotized her into agreeing with him.
As the editor of Lady Beautiful, she had always looked finely groomed. Hers was the kind of appearance that makes you aware not so much of the end result as the effort involved in achieving it. The effort was now even more apparent, and more important to her. She took twice as long to dress now that she had no work to fill her day. She kept Spenser out of the bedroom for twice as long as her night-time toilet had taken when she and Virginia were alone at the flat together. She would not go to any party without first visiting the hairdresser, and if the manicurist painted her nails the wrong colour, her evening was ruined.
She was becoming spoiled, and it showed in her face. There were new lines and a pampered puffiness which Virginia had not seen before. She was extremely impatient of anyone who crossed her desires, and inclined, after her luxury tour of Europe, to find fault with the way things were done in England.
The assistants in the shops were