The Angel in the Corner - Monica Dickens [55]
‘In that case,’ Spenser said, coughing through his fiftieth cigarette of the day, ‘I think I’ll go to bed. This is no place for me.’
‘Please stay,’ Virginia said, combing her hair at the mirror on the wall. ‘I need someone on my side.’
‘But I don’t know that I am on your side, honey. Should I be?’
‘I should hope not.’
‘I hope so.’
Helen and Virginia spoke at the same time. Spenser looked helplessly from one to the other, caught between them.
‘Must we fight about this?’ Virginia turned from the mirror and sat down opposite her mother. ‘I can’t see what all the fuss is about.’
‘She can’t see what the fuss is about,’ Helen mimicked. ‘Ever since we came back from Europe, and for heaven knows how long before that, you’ve been spending most of your spare time with one man. A man you had not the decency – or perhaps I should say the courage – to bring home. Finally, he barges in of his own accord. We see him. Then we know why you wouldn’t bring him home.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Virginia asked, tensing with anger. ‘What’s wrong with Joe? You did your best to make him feel uncomfortable while he was here, and to put him at a disadvantage. How could you expect him to make scintillating conversation?’
‘I don’t,’ Helen said. ‘I’m sure he couldn’t. You ask me what is wrong with him. Very well, I’ll tell you. You gave me the word yourself just now, don’t forget, so don’t jump down my throat if I say that he is common.’
‘What do you mean, dear?’ Spenser looked baffled. He could not understand this talk about being common, or not being common. ‘I didn’t see that the man was vulgar in any way.’
‘It’s not a question of that. You don’t understand. Americans, if you’ll forgive me, Spenser, don’t understand the difference between being a gentleman, and just not being one.’
‘Oh, don’t they?’ he said, not taking offence. ‘That’s interesting. I didn’t know that.’
‘Well, forget it right away,’ Virginia said. ‘Don’t listen to her. She’s being ridiculous and snobbish, and she’s trying to make you that way too, and you’re much nicer as you are. Oh – why are we talking like this? I hate this.’ She got up and stood with her hands at her sides, holding the skirt of the black dress. ‘What does it matter, anyway? Even if there was something wrong about Joe, what would it matter? I’m not married to him, am I?’ She surprised herself with the word. She had not thought of it.
‘But as it happens, there’s nothing wrong with him. He may not have such a wonderful education, but that wasn’t his fault. His mother died when he was fifteen, and his father – he was Italian – went back to Italy. Joe wouldn’t go, so he was left here to fend for himself. He left school to get a job, and then he left that job at the beginning of the war, and lied about his age to get into the army.’
‘Now you will say, I suppose, that he fought for my life, and I should be grateful to him. Well, I’ll surprise you by saying that I am.’ Helen looked complacent. ‘Thank you, dear heart, for telling us the life story of Mr – Colonna, is it? Yes, I see. The Italian name. What was his father doing over here?’
‘He was a waiter,’ Virginia said sullenly. ‘He married an Irish chambermaid who worked at the same hotel. There, now I’ve told you. You can mock at that.’
‘I don’t choose to mock,’ Helen said. ‘I think it’s very nice of you to tell me, considering that you imagine, quite mistakenly, that I am snobbish. As for the young man, well, surely, it’s a very fine thing that he was able to make something of himself with so few advantages. There were many officers in the war who started with even less.’
‘Oh,’ said Spenser, blundering into the wrong question, ‘was he an officer?’
‘He could have been,’ Virginia said. ‘He was a sergeant, actually, but his commanding officer thought so much of him that he wanted Joe to take an officer’s training course. It was only bad luck that he couldn’t. Just before he was to go up for selection, his mother was terribly ill. They