Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky (44 page)

He didn’t expect so! A fat lot of comfort he was. Was he not affected by the prospect of jail?

‘You don’t seem to be taking on much,’ she said.

‘Oh – one’s got to be philosophical. I’m feeling pretty bloody myself.’

She was surprised by his language. He didn’t sound much like a gentleman. Tom would never have dreamed of using such a word in front of her. Tom. Where was Tom now? If only she were with Tom now – instead of this hard, cold-mannered ‘gentleman.’ She hated him and his class. She had it in her heart to love Tom now, she felt.

‘We’ll have a good stiff whisky and soda when we go out,’ he said. ‘It’s the only thing.’

Whisky and soda? What a strange idea. Did he imagine she was going to drink any more, after all she had had? He must be a confirmed and hopeless drunkard to think of such a thing. And couldn’t he get it into his head that she had got to go to work?

‘I’ve got to go to work,’ she said.

‘Oh, you can be a bit late, can’t you? What sort of a job is it?’

‘I’m with two old ladies,’ she said, remembering the evasion of the night before.

‘Well, that doesn’t sound very fearsome.’

‘I’m a servant,’ she said, suddenly feeling savage. But she repented having said it a moment after, and burned with humiliation. Remembering all her talk of being a mannequin, all her castles-in-the-air of the night before, it was as painful as if she had admitted she was a thief.

‘Oh,’ was his expressionless comment. But she could see that he despised her. There was a pause.

‘There may be something about it in the papers this morning,’ he said. ‘We’ll see when we go out.’

The papers! She had never thought of that. Oh God – was there to be no end to her miseries? Then this was an affair for the public – she was to be disgraced before the whole world! She would die – that’s what she would do – she would die.

He gulped down the rest of his tea noisily, and rose.

‘Well – let’s get going,’ he said.

* * *

‘Let’s get going.’ The words horrified her. She rose with him, and at once a panic transcending all her other panics seized her. ‘Let’s get going!’ Her hour was upon her! Action called, and now she was to be put to the test. ‘Oo, madam, I’m ever so sorry I’m late – did you get my wire?’ She’d never do it – she’d never do it! He went briskly out of the room (he could move sharply enough when she didn’t want him to) and she followed him.

She went into the bedroom, and, distraught with outward trembling and intestinal excitement, put on her coat and hat. She looked at herself in the little mirror. She was ready. She came out again into the passage.

‘Ready?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

He motioned her to precede him downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs a small white door with a Yale lock faced her. She opened it, and they were in a dark passage. They went down an ill-lit stairway with other little doors on each landing.

No one was about, and the front door of the house was open. In this manner was concluded Jenny’s first night with a gentleman friend.

They emerged into a quiet, ordinary suburban road, with trees. The sun was now shining in a blue sky, and everything bore the easy-going countenance of tradesmen’s ten o’clock. A few carts were stationed outside the houses, and a woman called to her delaying child down the street.

‘Is the garage far?’ she asked.

‘No. It’s just round here.’

They did not speak as they walked along. They turned round a corner, and came upon some shops. She thought she saw a garage in the distance.

‘Is that it?’ she said.

‘Yes. That’s it.’

She hoped it was a closed car. When they reached Chiswick
she would make him drop her just at the corner. No – there were infinite perils to that. They might be out of doors, and see her getting out. Suppose they saw her getting out of a ‘gentleman’s’ car! She must make him drop her a good way away.

Here was the garage – a vast, stone-floored place, with a few cars scattered about, but no sign of human life. He blew a horn belonging to one of the cars – but nothing happened. He blew it again, and a little man came forth from within. He was within five yards of them when he was hailed from a small office right at the back. He went back again.

‘Ain’t he coming?’ she asked.

‘Oh – he’ll be along,’ he said, and looked vaguely at a car near by.

Was the whole world in a conspiracy to delay her this morning? He went on as though she had the whole morning to waste. She dared not guess how long past ten it was now.

The little man came out again.

‘Good morning, Mr. Perry.’

‘Good morning, Joe.’

So her friend’s name was Perry. She wondered what his Christian name was. They were moving leisurely towards a car at the back.

‘I believe your back tyre’s down, Mr. Perry.’

‘Oh. Is it?’

They came up to the car.

‘Yes,’ said Joe, touching the tyre affectionately, and smiling. ‘Flat as your hat.’

‘M’m . . .’ said her friend, and they looked at it critically.

Joe went away.

‘What does that mean?’ she said. ‘Can’t we go?’

‘Oh no. It only wants some air.’

Joe came back with an instrument, and attached it to the valve. A moment later a horrible roaring noise began.

‘I’ve left my gloves behind!’ shouted Mr. Perry, through this noise. ‘If you’ll sit in the car I’ll be back in a moment!’

He had gone. He had left her, in this nerve-tearing noise, to battle alone with the world! His unthinking cruelty knew no
limits. She climbed into the throbbing car. It was an open one, needless to say. She sat by the driver’s seat.

The noise ceased, and Joe detached the instrument. ‘That’ll last for a little anyway,’ he said, and smiled.

She smiled back. ‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘Do you know what the time is?’

‘Yes.’ He walked backwards in order to look up at a clock. ‘It’s just five and twenty past.’

Five and twenty past! Then she wouldn’t be there till something like eleven! And he had gone to fetch his gloves!

Ah – here he was. He had been quick – she had to admit that. He looked briefly at the tyre, jumped into his seat, and banged the door after him.

He pushed a knob, but nothing happened, save a little cough from the engine. He pushed it again. Another little cough – no more. He pushed it again. . . .

‘Here, Joe!’ he cried.

Silence reigned in the garage.

‘Joe!’

Joe came out.

‘Give her a swing, will you, Joe?’

It was all right, apparently. It only wanted a swing, whatever that was.

‘She’s cold, is she?’ said Joe.

‘Yes.’

Joe went to the handle, and gave it a jerk. Then another. The engine hesitated: then caught. A terrifying and overwhelming roar ensued, and Joe walked away. The roar died down. The car began to move. At last they were off.

He turned round to the left outside the garage, and, changing his gear, went snarling straight up a long incline with houses each side. At the top he turned to the right, and they were going down hill. She at once knew where she was. They were on the steep road leading from Richmond Park down into the town. He said nothing, but concentrated on his driving.

Here she was in another car, then! She was familiar with cars now. How grim and overwhelming had been her sudden
commerce with these fearful machines – these relentless, man-killing inventions of man! And only last night she had fancied the prospect of Motoring. Oh – all that was changed now. In one night her whole life had been changed.

They had passed Richmond Bridge on their left, and were coming into the thick of the town. She saw a few people on the pavement glancing at them as they passed – but without interest. She might have been a ‘lady’ taking a drive. If they only knew how far she was from that.

There was a policeman down there – in the middle of the road. The arm of the law! He couldn’t know who they were. But suppose he did? They were magic – the police. They knew everything. No one knew how they knew it.

He was clean-shaven, with a red face. Just as they approached him, he came forward and put up his hand. She met his eyes. It was all right – it was only a hold-up of the traffic – but her heart had missed a beat.

He had his back to them now. He was less than three yards away, and she shuddered at the sight of him. What would he do – that red-necked, tall, hard policeman – if he knew who were behind him now? She was in the very jaws of destruction.

The policeman dropped his hand, and again caught her eye as he motioned them forward. They sped ahead. Any moment, she felt, there might be a sudden call from behind, and they would be after her.

‘I’m so scared,’ she said, ‘that even a policeman frightens me.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I got rather a funny feeling, too.’

If only he hadn’t said that! If only he would try to reassure her! But how could he? There was no reassurance. They were a pair of criminals driving exposed through the town.

Now they were flying along the Richmond Road, by the high wall of Kew Gardens.

‘If you see a paper man, we’ll stop,’ he said. ‘There may be something in.’

If only he wouldn’t keep on reminding her! The idea of the papers – of public exposure of this event – frightened her most
of all. Oh, what had happened to her in one night?

She wished he wouldn’t go so fast – she was beginning to feel sick again. She was cold, too.

Here they were – going over Kew Bridge. And there was another policeman. Was he going to stop them, too? No. He had let them go by. It was astounding – the way the whole world was letting them go by. . . .

She wished he wouldn’t turn so sharp – she had come all over sick again. . . . And cold. . . . She was freezing cold.

Here they were, passing the Great West Road. The Great West Road! Only a few miles up there it had happened! Why weren’t they arrested here and now? She was so cold and sick she would faint. She was going all giddy! She must control herself – control herself! And in a few minutes’ time they would be at Chiswick! . . . ‘Oo – I’m ever so sorry, madam.’ . . .’ She could never do it! Her teeth were chattering with cold and fright. She’d die of cold. She could never do it!

‘Where do you turn off?’ he asked.

‘At the Green,’ she said. ‘It’s just ahead.’

He put on speed. In another moment they would be practically opposite the Green. But there was a tram ahead of them now – lumberingly barring their progress.

‘Here we are, aren’t we?’ he said, indicating the road to the right by the Church.

‘
Oo
–
I
’
m ever so sorry, madam
. . . .’ She couldn’t – she couldn’t! She had got to have time to collect herself a bit.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But drive on a bit, will you? I’m feeling too queer to go in at the moment.’

‘Right you are. We’ll go on to my Bank, shall we? It’s just along here in the High Road.’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Have you
got
to go back to these weird people?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I’m afraid I have.’

What an extraordinary attitude he took. . . . They still could not get ahead of the tram, and they were going at a snail’s pace. The High Road was massed with traffic on the road and people on the pavement. What if she were seen? What if one of those old women were out shopping and saw her? It would
be all up then. She ought to have had the courage to go in at once.

Here they were – here was the Bank. . . . Oh Lord – he was going to stop in front of everybody! . . .

He got out and slammed the door of the car. ‘I shan’t be a moment,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a drink after this.’ He had gone.

Another drink? Did he imagine she was ever going to touch another drop of alcohol again? She had got to get in, and get in quick.

Everybody was looking at her now. He could have chosen no more perfect way of exposing her to the multitude. She had never seen such a crowd. It was the thickest moment of the shopping hour. It seemed that thousands of women were passing her every moment – and each one staring at her. Fancy, – sitting in a car, outside a bank, with a gentleman friend at eleven o’clock, in the very neighbourhood wherein she should three hours ago have been making beds and scrubbing dishes! Fine goings on for a ‘skivvy’! And all these women knew it, too – or they looked as though they did.

‘Oo, madam, I’m ever so sorry. . . .’ She’d never do it. Why hadn’t she thought out a proper excuse in detail? She had meant to. She had had two hours in which to think one out, and yet somehow she hadn’t. She was too cold to think now. He would be out any moment. She was too cold to think.

A stiff whisky and soda, he had said at breakfast. Would that warm her? She had heard that whisky warmed you. Perhaps he was right. And if she sat down in the warm a minute she would have time to collect herself and think. It was too late to worry about being late now. Here he was.

He came out into the road, jumped in, slammed the door, and began to put on his gloves.

‘They’re open by now,’ he said. ‘We’ll go and have one, shall we?’

‘All right,’ she said. ‘I don’t see one would do any harm.’

* * *

They moved on, behind another tram, about five hundred yards, and then slowed down before a large public house on
the left, facing the Chiswick Market on the other side of the road. He turned round to the left and pulled up before its side entrance.

She was too cold and silly to open the door of the car for herself, and he came round to do it for her. As soon as she touched the ground she found that her legs were barely supporting her. They moved forward to a heavy swing door, which he held back for her, and they went in.

All was darkness and silence within. The place had just opened. A public house, which is normally blazing with electricity, is at its gloomiest in the morning, when there are few customers to be pleased and its thrifty proprietors are making use of whatever sunlight may shine through its spare apertures. They passed through a bare-boarded, deserted public bar, and through another door into the lounge.

This was a large, echoing, dismal room, with oilcloth on the floor, tables and chairs all about, and a low jutting fire, upon which a man was at this moment pouring coals. On one side was the bar, and at the opposite end a decayed fountain not in use set in a despondent nook, whose stone and trellis work caught the oblique light of day from an invisible skylight above.