The Runaway Daughter Read online

  ‘I’ve marked the page with the poem. You know, the one about the daffodils,’ he said. ‘“Beside the lake, beneath the trees . . .”’

  ‘“Fluttering and dancing in the breeze”,’ she said, joining in. She put the poetry book against her chest and hugged it. ‘I shall treasure it.’

  Over tea and egg sandwiches, they chatted easily – about the possibility of a strike at first, and about all the miners she’d seen.

  ‘Mother says it’s a disgrace,’ Archie said. ‘Unlawful. She’s scared of Bolsheviks, of course.’

  ‘I think the miners should stand up for what they believe,’ Vita said. ‘Everyone should.’

  Archie smiled kindly at her, his eyes staying locked with hers, and then the waitress came over.

  ‘Was Nancy cross you didn’t make it to the party the other night?’

  ‘She said it was the best party ever. It must have been, as she stayed out all night.’ Archie looked shocked. ‘She doesn’t do that all the time,’ Vita added.

  She felt disloyal to Nancy. Why was she trying to make herself out as more straight-edged, and distancing herself from Nancy, when she’d been more than eager to go to any party that Nancy would take her to? She felt guilty for painting Nancy as the wild one. She sensed that Archie disapproved of the time she and Nancy spent together, so she didn’t tell him about the picture in Vanity Fair.

  ‘My life seems very dull in comparison,’ Archie said. ‘You’re lucky to have those girls at the club. Perhaps you’ll permit me to take you all out after the show one night? Possibly to the American Bar? That’s nearby. I want to meet them all.’

  ‘And they certainly want to meet you,’ she said. She restrained herself from telling him that Archie was the biggest gossip they’d had for a while. Apart from how she’d said hello to the Prince of Wales.

  ‘That’s settled then. Gather the troops and I’ll do my best to keep up with you all.’

  Vita felt herself glowing at the thought of another date already.

  ‘And before then, I’ve booked tickets for the opera.’

  Vita laughed at how keen he was.

  ‘You do like opera?’ he checked.

  ‘Who knows? I’ve never been.’

  After they’d finished their tea, Archie suggested that they go boating on the lake. Vita gathered up the daffodils and put one in Archie’s buttonhole and the other in her hat, before pinching a few of the sugar lumps from the bowl for Mr Wild.

  ‘I’m a good rower,’ he assured her. ‘We have a lake where I fish at Hartwell.’

  ‘Hartwell. You mentioned that before.’

  ‘I think it’s the most beautiful place on earth,’ he said. ‘You have to see it. The woods, the skylarks – it’s breathtaking really. Especially at this time of year. I’ll take you there.’

  She was touched that he wanted to share it with her, but even if he was serious, how would it ever be possible for her to go away with him? It was only now that it occurred to her how hectic her schedule at the Zip Club was. And with the lingerie business taking off, she hardly had any free time at all.

  But the thought of being in the countryside with Archie caught her imagination and for a heady moment, as they rowed out into the middle of the lake, she pictured herself alone with him at Hartwell. And as soon as she thought that, she remembered the images in the magazine that Jane had given her. She tried to push the thought away, but pictured Archie now without his shirt.

  ‘What would you do, if you could do anything at all?’ she asked him, admiring his strong arms, now that he’d rolled up his sleeves. She ripped her eyes away, feeling the hot sensation between her legs.

  ‘Mother wants me to go into business.’

  ‘That’s not what I asked.’

  He smiled. ‘What would I like, you mean? You know, not many people have ever asked me that.’

  ‘So? I’m asking you now.’

  He looked bashful and let go of the oar for a moment. He rubbed his cheek and looked at the water as they drifted. ‘Well, if you must know, I’d like to finish my novel.’

  ‘You write?’ She was surprised, but then, no, she could imagine him typing, with that terribly serious look that he sometimes got on his face.

  ‘You’re the first person I’ve told about it.’

  She smiled, flattered that he trusted her so much. ‘What’s it about?’

  He described the plot to her, about a young soldier taken prisoner in the war, and she listened dreamily as he told her how he wanted to rent a villa in Italy and write in the early mornings and walk in the hills. How he felt passionately that he must say something about his generation. She pictured herself living with him, working on her designs while his typewriter clattered in another room. How they might eat their own home-grown tomatoes for lunch and she’d help him with his plot.

  They talked, too, about her order for Mrs Clifford-Meade.

  ‘I do so admire your entrepreneurial spirit,’ he said. ‘It’s most unusual.’

  ‘For a girl?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s not quite what I meant,’ he said bashfully. ‘For anyone, but yes, if you must know, for a girl. Certainly none of the girls I’ve met have your talent or vision.’

  ‘I guess I have nothing to lose,’ she said honestly.

  ‘You’re very special,’ he said, the sunlight reflecting on his face, and he sounded so sincere that she felt a strange emotion, making it impossible to breathe.

  Archie sat forward and stroked a strand of her hair out of her face and stared into her eyes. Her heart hammered as her lips moved towards his.

  But then they were jolted apart. A boat had crashed into theirs and a man in the other boat waved effusively, as Archie held on to the side of the boat.

  ‘What-ho, old chap,’ the man called. ‘We thought it was you. Heading straight for the weeds.’

  Archie looked furious. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘It’s Diggers, from Oxford.’

  ‘He never could command a punt – and no better in a boat,’ the man called teasingly to Vita. He was wearing a pink jacket and a boater and had red cheeks. His friend in the boat looked positively sozzled, and Vita saw that he was clutching a beer bottle, which he raised in salute. They both looked like pompous prigs, and she could tell that Archie was embarrassed.

  They talked for a minute, exchanging pleasantries, but Archie didn’t introduce Vita, despite Diggers clearly being curious. Then Archie made an excuse and turned the boat round and rowed back fast to the dock.

  Vita asked about Diggers, and Archie looked annoyed. He told her that they were part of a set that he had tried desperately to move on from.

  ‘Sometimes I long to reinvent myself,’ he said. ‘Just go away and become someone entirely different.’

  ‘I don’t want you to be different,’ Vita said, but her heart was in her mouth. What would Archie say if he knew that she’d done exactly that? And, more importantly, what would have happened if they’d actually kissed?

  77

  A Spark of Hope

  Now that he was in London again, Clement seemed to see his sister everywhere. There was a girl cycling near Hyde Park yesterday and he could have sworn it was Anna. It must be the medication Doctor Whatley had given him, he thought, or the intriguing message from Rawlings that he’d got a lead and that Clement was to meet him to discuss it.

  He was meeting Rawlings at the Lyons Corner House on Coventry Street, but he hadn’t expected the place to be so cavernous, or so crowded. Every table was filled with chatty young women, and Clement couldn’t help scouring each face for Anna. Where had she gone, after leaving the boarding house in Bloomsbury? Could she possibly be here?

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was close.

  He sat and observed the scene while he waited for Rawlings. It was a cheerful, noisy place, the high-corniced ceiling lit with bright chandeliers, the walls decorated with fancy wooden Doric columns. Behind the counter, which ran the length of the room, there were giant silver urns of tea and coffee
, and the counter itself was filled with a display of cakes and all sorts of food.

  ‘She’s another fine Nippy,’ he heard the man at the table behind him say, admiring the waitress who sped past with a tray, her narrow hips swerving to avoid his groping hand. She stopped at Clement’s table and put down his pot of coffee and milk and positioned herself away from the man, although she looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. She obviously hadn’t minded the attention.

  Clement was astounded by her self-confidence. Is that what women were like in London? He appraised her now, seeing how her smart black uniform, with the starched white linen apron and the buttons sewn on with red thread, made her look appealing. She had a nice smile beneath her monogrammed white cap.

  ‘Tell me, is it always this busy?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh yes, sir. Never stops. We’re open all through the night, you see. We serve up to five thousand people a day,’ she said proudly.

  And this was just one coffee shop, Clement thought. How on earth was Rawlings going to find Anna, when there were so many people?

  She looked down at the newspaper he’d been reading, at the picture of the new Princess.

  ‘Elizabeth. Such a pretty name, don’t you think,’ the waitress said, and Clement had to force himself not to roll his eyes. He’d never understand the sentimentality that women felt over such things. What was the point in celebrating a royal baby, if it wasn’t going to be a monarch, which the new Princess most certainly never would be.

  The waitress smiled, but Clement ignored her. He wasn’t going to leave her a good tip, so there was no point in her trying on her friendly chat with him. He turned over the paper and then saw Rawlings come through the door and waved to him, feeling his leg ache as he stood on his stick. When Rawlings was settled at the table, Clement got straight to business.

  ‘So? Do you have anything? Why couldn’t you tell me what it was on the telephone?’ he asked, knowing already what the answer would be. In a metropolis this size, finding his sister was surely an impossible task. He wondered how long it was practical to keep paying Rawlings.

  ‘I don’t know . . . maybe.’

  ‘Maybe?’ Clement was annoyed. He wasn’t here on a maybe. It was a whole month since the Grand National and he had to deliver Anna to Arkwright soon, if he stood any chance of his plan going ahead.

  ‘I’m not sure if this is anything?’ Rawlings said, delving inside his jacket for a rolled-up magazine. ‘I was in the tea room at the National Gallery and I happened to see a woman reading this. I bought a copy.’

  Clement was confused as he handed over an issue of Vanity Fair. He opened the magazine to the folded-over page.

  ‘Do you think it could be her?’ Rawlings asked.

  Clement stared at the long legs of the woman turning away in the picture, wearing a backless evening gown. It couldn’t be Anna, could it? Dressed like that? And with . . . with the Prince of Wales? He brought the magazine closer to his face. ‘It can’t be.’

  ‘It certainly looks like her, though, doesn’t it? Although her hair is different, of course.’

  Clement thought back to the stylish young woman he’d seen riding the bicycle. He was imagining things, surely. And Rawlings was, too, if he thought this could possibly be his sister. It was absurd . . . unthinkable that she’d got so close to the future King of England. He shook his head and was about to hand the magazine back when Rawlings said, ‘Only I remember that, when I asked you if your sister had any distinguishing features, you mentioned a mole on her shoulder. And it was only when I looked afterwards that I saw this.’

  Rawlings now produced a magnifying glass from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to Clement. He pointed at the picture, and Clement leant forward to inspect it more closely. Sure enough, there was a mole on the girl’s shoulder . . . and it was exactly the same as Anna’s.

  God damn it. The man was right.

  ‘It can’t be,’ Clement whispered, feeling his pulse race.

  ‘I’m going to make some enquiries at the Café de Paris, if you would like to come with me?’ Rawlings continued. ‘However tenuous, a lead is a lead.’

  However, when they got there, Poulsen, the man on the door, was useless.

  ‘I couldn’t really say,’ he said, scratching his moustache as he looked at the picture.

  Clement nodded to Rawlings, who licked his finger and added another note to the one he had in his hand. Poulsen eyed the notes greedily.

  ‘But she was here. It says here: “The Prince of Wales listening to Delysia.” It was only a few weeks ago. You must remember?’

  ‘We have all sorts in here. Mostly society types. She looks like any number of the young ladies. Could be a Tiller Girl, if you ask me, with that figure.’

  ‘Tiller Girl?’

  ‘You must have heard of them? The dancing troupe.’

  Clement and Rawlings looked at each other.

  ‘Only, if it was me looking for someone like that, I’d start with the theatres and clubs. Or, if she’s a society sort, try the opera maybe?’

  78

  Opera Glasses

  Vita and Archie’s seats were in the royal circle of the Royal Opera House, but were no more comfortable for it, and by the end of the first half Vita was struggling to sit still. She had to admit that Lotte Lehmann made a good Countess, and Elisabeth Schumann as Susanna was a skilled actress, but the heat in the auditorium, along with the dilapidated coat with the ostrich-feather trim that Percy had found to go over her dress, didn’t help. Too embarrassed to hand it into the cloakroom, she’d folded it over the back of her seat, but feathers kept sticking into her and migrating upwards and tickling her nose.

  She knew she ought to be impressed by high art, but she’d never understood people’s fascination with opera. It was difficult to follow the plot, despite Archie’s occasional translation of the Italian libretto.

  ‘Shall we leave?’ Archie’s voice was close to her ear. Vita turned to face him, nearly knocking him in the face with her opera glasses, and they both burst out giggling. ‘I thought this would be a good idea, but . . .’

  They escaped the opera, annoying the other audience members as they shuffled past, before running hand-in-hand down the staircase and through the grand foyer of the opera house.

  Outside on the pavement, Vita laughed, breathing in the balmy air.

  ‘Oh no!’ she said, realizing she still had the opera glasses in her hand.

  ‘Keep them,’ Archie said. ‘I won’t tell, if you don’t.’

  She grinned at him and put them in her coat pocket.

  ‘Where shall we go?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s nice to be outside. Let’s go for a walk,’ she suggested.

  ‘Here, let me carry that thing,’ Archie offered, holding out his arm to take her coat. ‘Wherever did you get it?’

  ‘Don’t you like it? It’s one of Percy’s theatre creations.’

  Archie raised his eyebrows. ‘I can tell. You and your feathers!’

  She remembered her hat at the Serpentine and how he’d laughed at her when the feather annoyed her.

  ‘You, my dear Vita, are in need of a proper coat,’ he said decisively.

  She thought for a second of her mother’s coat. The one she’d sold to Suzanna. It had been a very good coat, and she hoped Suzanna had made good use of it. She shuddered now to think what might have happened to her, if she’d had to stay in that boarding house. She wouldn’t be here now, if it hadn’t been for Nancy rescuing her – and then dear Percy.

  ‘I’m holding out for a fur coat,’ she laughed, pretending to wear one, ‘something gorgeous.’

  ‘I see,’ Archie said. ‘And in the meantime you’re content to make everyone sneeze.’

  She tucked her arm through his as they strolled through Covent Garden.

  ‘So I take it you won’t be hurrying back to the opera?’ he said.

  ‘Maybe one day. Although I’m not sure I understand the appeal. Besides, I have my fill
of being in theatres. Even one as grand as that.’

  ‘Oh, you’re right. I didn’t think. Sorry,’ he said, stopping suddenly.

  ‘Don’t be sorry, Archie,’ she laughed. ‘One can’t really compare the Zip Club with the Royal Opera House. They are at rather different ends of the spectrum, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I wanted to impress you.’

  ‘You did,’ she smiled. ‘I’m sorry if I ruined it for you. I couldn’t concentrate. Life is too exciting at the moment.’

  ‘I agree. Opera is perhaps one of those things we’re told we’re supposed to enjoy,’ he said wistfully. ‘Perhaps I’ll force myself to develop a taste for it, one day. Just like I might force myself to eat mushrooms.’

  ‘You don’t like mushrooms?’

  He pulled a face and stuck out his tongue. She thought of Cook suddenly, back at the Hall, and of how, when Anna had been little, Cook would let her go and pick mushrooms out in the woods. That was until Clement had found out and had stopped it, claiming that Anna could well poison the whole family. How wonderful to be free of him criticizing her and stopping her every move.

  ‘Look, we’re nearly at Percy’s studio,’ she said, spotting the entrance to the cobbled road. She could see the lights of the tavern opposite and a glow in Percy’s studio window. ‘You know. I told you about him. He helps me with the brassieres. He really is my dearest friend. I’d love to introduce you, if he’s still in. You have to see his studio. It’s simply my favourite place.’

  Archie nodded and, as they walked, Vita caught sight of them in the glass window of the Italian café. What would Giovanni, who always gave her a discount on her pastries, say if he could see her now? She felt so proud to be on Archie’s arm.

  ‘You know, I told you a lie the other day,’ he said.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I do think about one person and their underwear. Almost all of the time.’

  ‘You do?’ She stopped and stared into his eyes. He nodded and looked at her lips. And then his face was moving towards hers and he kissed her.

  79