The Angel in the Corner - Monica Dickens [75]
‘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