by Angela Huth
Suddenly, Virginia felt short of breath. The van was airless as Charlie’s room, in spite of the draughts about her legs. She cried out, clinging to the wire cage. The professor turned immediately.
‘What’s the matter, for God’s sake?’ The sight of her pale face gave him a fright. He reacted gruffly. ‘Are you ill?’
‘No.’ Virginia tried to move but felt momentarily paralysed. The professor gave her his arm. The wheels of the train rattled a song about wives. My wife at home my wife is dead my wife at home my wife is dead …
First Charlie, now the professor. Virginia moved slowly, supported by the professor’s arm. She began to cry, silently.
Back in the carriage she sniffed:
‘I’m as bad as Marie, aren’t I? So undignified.’
‘Nonsense,’ replied the professor. ‘What nonsense.’ He muttered something about delayed shock, and gave her his handkerchief.
Virginia could not remember how long she cried, or what made her stop. But back at Euston she felt cheerful, if drained. The professor, who showed signs of tiredness himself, took her to Waterloo in a taxi, and then insisted on making the journey with her to Guildford. First class.
It was dark when they reached Acacia Avenue. At the porch, in the glow of the orange light, he declined to come in. Virginia was grateful. She wouldn’t have wanted him to have run into her parents, then – to have been forced to answer questions about the day.
He kissed her hand and gave her one of his small, stage bows, and told her it had been a day he was unlikely to forget.
Then he stomped off down the front path, hands in the pockets of his great coat, shoulders hunched, head hung low, as if the place oppressed him.
Chapter 6
A hundred ideas had gone through Mrs Thompson’s head before she eventually decided upon Ulick Brand. She had thought at first to throw a little party for Virginia Fly. But when it came down to it she realised she had neither the money, the accommodation, nor the acquaintances for the kind of party she would ideally like to give. It then occurred to her that Edgar, her brother-in-law’s son, would be a suitable young man for Virginia to meet. But Edgar lived in Beaconsfield and was engrossed in his deep-litter poultry farm. He was doing very nicely at it too – he’d make a fortune, one day, Edgar. On reflection, though, he was not the most forthcoming young man Mrs Thompson had ever met, and he might think it pretty peculiar if his aunt suddenly invited him up to Ealing to meet a strange girl she’d seen on television. No, Edgar wouldn’t do.
Then there was the chance she had bungled, and it still distressed her. She was at the General’s flat one afternoon, typing letters to his relations in Bengal, when a young soldier came in for an interview. The General kept him waiting for half an hour while he had his afternoon doze. During that time the soldier, very handsome in his uniform, sat in Mrs Thompson’s room, warming his highly polished shoes at the bar of a minuscule electric fire. Mrs Thompson abandoned her typing and decided to make friends. She chatted to him about army life, and his family, who lived at Rottingdean, and soon established he was a bachelor. She guessed his age to be about thirty. He would, Mrs Thompson quickly decided, be ideal for Virginia. The trouble was, how to broach the subject?
She began by making him a cup of Nescafé which, she explained, was something of a risk in the General’s flat because he didn’t like anyone to go unauthorised into his kitchen, let alone drink from his cups. So Ronald, as the soldier was called, was obliged to feel indebted to her.
Then she plunged into the subject quite bluntly.
‘If you don’t mind my asking, Ronald,’ she said, ‘what are you doing Thursday next, evening?’
The question startled Ronald. He put the cup of illicit coffee on Mrs Thompson’s desk with a bang.
‘Why, I don’t know. I mean … why?’
‘Well, put it like this. I live in Ealing.’ Mrs Thompson shuffled in her bag for a cigarette, and offered him one. Ronald longed to accept but thought it wiser to decline.
‘Oh? I’m afraid I don’t know that part of London very well.’
‘It’s a nice part. Trees. Coming from Rottingdean, I can guarantee you’d like Ealing.’
‘I’m sure I would.’ Ronald laughed nervously. Mrs Thompson fluttered her eyelashes for a moment, thoughtfully, rather than sexily, she imagined, and then gave him her most winning smile.
‘I have a very special reason for asking you to Ealing next Thursday evening.’ She paused while Ronald blushed. ‘It would be a great personal kindness to me,’ she added, ‘if you would agree to come.’ Appealing to him, her voice was hardly more than a whisper.
‘Yes, well, thank you very much all the same, but I’m almost sure there’s some military function that night. And now, if you’ll excuse me, and if you’ll be kind enough to excuse me to the General, I don’t think I can really wait any longer. In fact, I must go.’
He hurriedly left the room without a further look at Mrs Thompson. It wasn’t till the middle of that night that she woke sweating with the realisation that Ronald had got the wrong end of the stick. He must have thought she was a sex-starved old baggage, out to grasp any potential chance. She cried with shame, and cursed herself for her mismanagement.
As each new idea was reconsidered and abandoned, Mrs Thompson became more panic-stricken. The day of Virginia’s visit was very near, and still she had not made any arrangements for her. In desperation she rang her friend Mrs Baxter and asked her if she could change their regular night, Tuesday, to Thursday, next week. But Mrs Baxter reacted badly to the idea. She was quite huffy. Tuesday was her day, she said, and if Mrs Thompson wanted anyone to meet her, then they’d have to be the ones to come Thursday. It wasn’t up to her to change all her arrangements in order to get to Ealing on a Thursday.
In a way, Mrs Thompson was relieved. For good friend though Mrs Baxter was, she couldn’t always be relied on not to speak her mind at the wrong moments. And she didn’t want anyone upsetting Virginia Fly in the early stages of her strategy.
Depressed, she walked down to The George for a drink, a thing she didn’t much like doing on her own. By chance, Ulick Brand, whom she’d met there several times before, was at the bar. He bought her a double gin, told her to cheer up, and they sat down at a table to talk.
Ulick Brand was a young representative of a whisky firm. He had been coming to The George quite frequently, lately, in order to persuade the landlord to display more prominently Blue Label whisky rather than that of a rival firm. The persuading meant parting with the odd fiver, but the campaign seemed to be working. Certainly a lot of Blue Label was being pushed to-night. The George would only need one more visit, then Ulick would have to concentrate his efforts on The Siren, a big pub in Northolt, which was known not to stock a single bottle of Blue Label. This side of the business, checking on individual pubs, bored Ulick, so he fitted it in at the end of the day’s work. The only thing in its favour was that at least he was able to go home feeling pleasantly drunk and uncaring.
Mrs Thompson admired him for his smart appearance – beautiful pin-striped suits and stiff collars – and exquisite manners. He appeared interested in everything she said, he bought her as many drinks as she wanted, and once he gave her a lift home in his sports car. Mrs Thompson felt quite at home with him. He reminded her of many of her clients, years ago, and she knew how to treat such gentlemen. Ulick Brand knew more about Mrs Thompson than she knew about him, it was true: with so attentive a listener it was difficult not to reminisce about all the old happy times with Bill. But Mrs Thompson managed to keep off the subject of her own life long enough to establish that Ulick lived in a freehold house in Chelsea, played squash on evenings he didn’t go to pubs, and his family came from Shropshire. He never mentioned marriage, but Mrs Thompson wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d once had a wife, or at least some dramatic, permanently-damaging dealings with a woman. Sometimes, he had a far-away look in his eye.
On this, her third meeting with Ulick, Mrs Thompson det
ermined to play her cards carefully. He was her last chance. Fate had sent him to her rescue, and she could not afford to lose him.
‘I have a young friend coming up to see me, Thursday,’ she explained. ‘Virginia Fly, she’s called. Lives out near Guildford – doesn’t see much of London life. I thought I’d bring her in here for a drink. I mean, it isn’t like a country pub, is it?’ Ulick agreed that it most certainly wasn’t. ‘Perhaps we’ll bump into you,’ Mrs Thompson went on. ‘I’d like you to meet her. She’s a nice girl, very quiet. Teaches.’ Having come to the end of the unimportant things she knew about Virginia, she fell silent, wondering whether to disclose the most valuable bit of information. She decided to try.
‘As a matter of a fact,’ she went on, ‘she’s a very unusual girl, these days, if you know what I mean.’ Ulick Brand raised his eyebrows attentively. Mrs Thompson sipped at her drink to give herself time to find the right word. ‘Not – shop soiled. In other words’ – she nodded – ‘yes. At twenty-nine or thirty.’
Ulick Brand made no reply. Instead, he flipped through his engagement book. Lovely Moroccan leather, Mrs Thompson noticed. Taste.
‘As a matter of a fact,’ he said, so casually that Mrs Thompson couldn’t make out if he’d understood her innuendo, ‘I’d planned to drop in here for the last time next Thursday. I think I’ve got them well under control.’ He smiled.
‘Well! That would be nice. Something to look forward to.’ In her relief, Mrs Thompson did not try to control her enthusiasm. ‘I’ll guarantee you’ll really like Virginia – though I shouldn’t raise your hopes too high, should I? But she’s a really nice sort of girl.’
‘I shall look forward to meeting her.’ Ulick Brand had finished his whisky now and seemed in a hurry to leave. But he bought Mrs Thompson another drink to have when he had gone. She thanked him more profusely than was necessary, but the luck of it all, almost at the eleventh hour, had gone to her head.
In future meetings, Mrs Thompson decided, she would show Virginia the photograph albums, tell her about Bill, grumble a bit about Jo the lodger, have a good gossip. If she could get her up to London on a Tuesday she might even risk introducing her to Mrs Baxter. But this evening, the first evening, they would go straight to The George. She didn’t want to run the risk of missing Ulick Brand, and besides, there was a good atmosphere in the saloon bar: high class, friendly. Mrs Thompson would, of course, soon put Virginia at her ease, should she turn out to be shy: but the noise, the clatter of glasses, the cosy orange lights, the shuffle of people, would all help.
Virginia arrived, in a neat grey flannel coat and woolly beret, half an hour late. In spite of her map she had got lost, and was apologetic.
‘Oh, never mind, never mind,’ said Mrs Thompson, who’d spent the half-hour with an anxious face behind the net curtains. ‘Goodness, you’re smaller than you looked on the box! I thought we’d go straight off and pep ourselves up. There’s a nice place down the road.’
Slamming the front door behind her she set off fast, taking Virginia’s arm across roads. It would spoil everything if they missed Ulick Brand.
But he was standing in his usual place at the corner of the bar. Mrs Thompson gave a convincing little start, clapping her hand over her mouth.
‘Oh, my! There’s a friend already. What a coincidence.’ She introduced Virginia to Ulick, who immediately bought them drinks, and they sat down at a table.
Mrs Thompson saw to it that there should be no moments of awkwardness, or silence. She chatted on, barely pausing to drink, about the old people’s pantomime and Mrs Baxter’s mother who was to be put into a lunatic asylum next week. Virginia watched her attentively – the tired, lined eyes, bright with make-up, darting about the place, the dry hair tortured into waves, the brooch of imitation emeralds on her lapel. She wondered why Mrs Thompson had written to her: what she wanted from her, and whether this would be their first or their last meeting. She had a headache and felt tired. The man with the black moustache had been disturbing her sleep again, and she’d been writing end of term reports till late at night. She wondered when and how the evening would end.
Ulick appeared to be listening to Mrs Thompson with great attention. Occasionally he glanced at Virginia, noticing her pale face and the shadows, same grey as her coat, under her eyes. Not his type. He was attracted to large, healthy women with shining hair and big teeth, and large bra-less breasts and bright clothes. This girl, Virginia, looked as if she’d been born in the wrong century, a sort of sub Jane Eyre. And yet there was something faintly arresting about her stillness, her melancholy.
With every drink Mrs Thompson became more adventurous in her reminiscenses. The chatter that began as a way to ease an unconventional meeting became, on her part, an indulgence in nostalgia. She made Ulick and Virginia smile.
‘Ah! In the old days – I was a slim young thing then – I drank nothing like this. Tea was my time. The Ritz – I will always remember tea at the Ritz. You, of course, Ulick, will be well acquainted with the Ritz.’ Ulick raised his eyebrows. Mrs Thompson didn’t wait for any affirmation of this comment, but went on: ‘I will always remember, one summer’s day, tea at the Ritz with Freddie Colhoun – there, now I’ve let the cat out of the bag, haven’t I?’ She giggled. ‘We sat under a palm tree and drank china tea with lemon, and Freddie had an ebony cane that he scratched his chin with. A nervous habit, I suppose. He said I had stars in my eyes, and yet he wouldn’t take me to his flat. He was a one, Freddie. Very cautious. I often tried to persuade him to be a bit more daring. “Come on Freddie,” I used to say. “Snap out of it. Let’s go somewhere, one of the smart clubs, and dance and sing and show people we’re happy.” But he never took to the suggestion. He liked to come and visit me at my flat, best – I had a lovely place in the West End – and bring me little surprises. A bottle of perfume or a jar of Russian caviar, very generous. But then of course he was stinking rich. You could tell just by his cuff links.’
She paused, glancing at Ulick’s wrists. A flicker of gold reassured her.
‘As a matter of a fact, that tea at the Ritz was the last time I ever saw Freddie. He didn’t seem to enjoy the afternoon as much as I did. I was laughing, and chucking him under the chin, flirting a bit, you know, trying to bring him out of himself, and he kept looking at the waiters. In the end he said they were all looking at me. He was that sensitive! Silly old fool. He just crawled back into his shell like a silly old crab, and sent me roses next day saying he was off abroad. I read somewhere he died in a car crash, it must have been just after the last war. They said he was the owner of a big racing stable. He never told me that, but men never guess what you might be interested in, do they?’
At nine o’clock Virginia began to agitate about her train home. Any flicker of anticipation she had had about the evening had been dulled. Ulick Brand epitomised the kind of man with whom she had nothing in common and Mrs Thompson, for all her kindness, was tiring. You needed to be in the right mood for her.
Ulick Brand, who scarcely covered his eagerness to make his departure, too, offered Virginia a lift to the station. She accepted. On the way they dropped Mrs Thompson home. For her part, she was happy. What with the gin, and the prospect of her plans materialising so soon in a way which even she had hardly dared hope for, she did nothing to contain her squeaks and giggles of joy as they let her out at the door.
‘Take her straight to the station, Ulick, and no misbehaving!’ She wagged a warning finger. Virginia blushed.
Ulick had no intention of misbehaving with Virginia Fly, but he was hungry. He was faced with three alternatives: two deep frozen rissoles in his fridge, dinner alone in the local bistro, and he was very tired of their stroganoff, or dinner with Virginia, should she accept. He glanced at her. She was pulling on black wool gloves with fleecy cuffs.
‘How would you like some Chinese food before going home?’ he asked.
Virginia, in a driftwood mood, happy to be moved along by anyone else’s whim, said yes she would like som
e Chinese food. With no further conversation they drove to a restaurant in Knightsbridge, all tiled floors and low lights hanging over the tables. The place seemed to be full of people dressed in magnificent flowing clothes from Afghanistan, embroidered shirts and flaming velvet jeans; their hair tricked into corkscrew curls, their feet booted or bare. Several of them nodded at Ulick as he led Virginia to their table. As soon as they sat down she pulled off her gloves and coat. Beneath it she wore an embroidered blouse her mother had bought at Zurich Airport – at least, among all the colours of the other diners, it made her feel less conspicuous than her dull grey coat.
Ulick stretched an arm over the table and pinched her cheek.
‘You’re the palest girl I ever saw. Quite bloodless. Are you always like that?’ She noticed, when he smiled, he had nice, even teeth, very white, and the lines by his mouth crinkled in a way that was rather endearing. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all, though if there was one thing that made Virginia uneasy it was to ask her a direct question about herself.
The usual childish flush crept up her face. Still unable to control it, she knew the only way to minimise its effect was to smile. The result pleased Ulick.
‘That’s better. Now your face is working. You look like a proper person who’s been out in winds and sun, not like something just out of the deep freeze.’
Virginia laughed. She was suddenly hungry. Ulick ordered for her – little shrivelled up things she’d never seen or heard of before that looked lost on the huge white plates. To hide their nakedness, she covered some of them with clumps of fried seaweed, then gave herself all the pleasure of tearing the clumps apart to re-find the bean-shoots and shrimps that she had just hidden. Ulick watched her carefully, amused. He refrained from asking her if she was well acquainted with Chinese food.
Instead, he talked about Mrs Thompson, and after two glasses of sharp, icy white wine, Virginia told him how their meeting came about. Ulick managed to conceal any amazement he may have felt. Instead, he kept on the subject of Mrs Thompson.