The Runaway Daughter

by Joanna Rees

It had been on the tip of her tongue to grab his hand back, to say, Me, too. I felt it. I know what you mean. This . . . thing. This thing between us is real.

  And to say those words would have been to hold his hand and jump over the precipice into the unknown.

  But the crucial few seconds in which to think made her head override her heart. And now she couldn’t bring herself to look across at Archie. She couldn’t bear the honesty of his gaze. She was sitting right opposite him, but she felt as if she were being pulled away . . . far away – back and back . . .

  Back to the past. Back to who she really was. And what she’d done.

  She didn’t deserve him. He was too good for her. What was she even thinking: being here . . . encouraging him? When he was wonderful and she was a criminal, someone who would never be worthy of him.

  ‘Would you excuse me?’

  Vita walked in Nancy’s heels, as sedately as she could, to the cloakrooms. Inside the cubicle, she leant against the door and let out an anguished moan. Because she knew what she had to do.

  70

  Who Would Win?

  He didn’t like to think about London. It had been a relief to come home and put the whole thing behind him. And he was glad to see there was still no mention in the news of the girl in London. He wondered if she’d even reported his visit.

  As the car crept along the road, he noticed that the sudden April shower had given rise to some sun. Clement stared out at the distant green hills and remembered what he’d done with a calm detachment, marvelling at how easy it had been to enter the girl’s room and violate her. He doubted the girl – Suzanna, she was called – would be walking straight for a week, but it had felt good to let off some steam. And she had looked so very much like Anna. The surprise on her face, when he’d struck her, turned in his memory now. It only made him relish even more the prospect of the same look from his sister.

  The low sun was shining through the windows of the pub in dusty orange shafts as Clement limped in. Rawlings was at a table in the far corner, nursing a bottle of stout. The delivery of the landlord’s beer had been held up, he explained, ordering a bottle for Clement, too.

  Clement was glad of the respite from the headache of the mills and to have some time away from the sombre presence of his father, who was annoyed that Clement had employed Rawlings and yet Anna still hadn’t been found. Clement, however, had defended his decision. Nobody wanted his sister brought home to heel more than he did.

  ‘So. As you know, she was the wrong girl,’ Clement said, as they drank.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Darton. Truly I am. I was convinced it was her. She had your sister’s coat and hat. Anyone would have assumed—’

  ‘I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that Anna has disappeared into thin air.’

  Clement looked at Rawlings’s inscrutable face. He owed the detective money for his work so far and it was only fair to pay him, but he baulked at this, when the result he wanted was so far out of his grasp.

  ‘I can keep looking,’ Rawlings said. ‘In London, I mean. I’ve arranged a lift down as far as the Midlands tonight, if you want me to carry on?’

  ‘But where will you start? Anna left that boarding house and vanished. She could be anywhere,’ Clement said, repeating verbatim what his father had said.

  ‘There will be a breakthrough,’ Rawlings assured him, as Clement handed over the money he owed in a brown envelope. Rawlings looked inside at the pile of notes. Clement was glad now of the collection from the workers. He felt a perverse kind of pleasure in giving it to Rawlings, when he knew how much those families needed it. If only his sister realized how many people she was letting down.

  ‘But what if there isn’t?’ Clement said.

  ‘Well, that will depend,’ Rawlings said.

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On whether your need to find her is stronger than her need to hide.’

  Clement clinked bottles with Rawlings. He didn’t need to answer that. Because if this was a contest, he would win. Of that he was sure.

  71

  Is He Stalking You?

  Hard though Vita concentrated on banishing Archie Fenwick from her thoughts, it wasn’t easy. For every time she told herself she’d done the right thing in leaving Archie in the restaurant, another voice in her head told her that she’d been a fool. There had never been anyone like Archie before.

  If only she hadn’t been so fixated on coming clean and airing her troubled conscience. After all, she’d been happy to lie to Percy, Nancy and the girls about who she was. They had no idea that she was really Anna Darton. So why had the compulsion to tell Archie been so strong?

  Perhaps it was because she wanted to be honest with the man she fell in love with. And although it had been far too soon to tell if Archie was ‘the one’, he was by far and away the closest she’d ever come.

  Or maybe the urge to tell the truth had simply been because Archie might have fallen in love with Anna Darton. And they might have had a real chance of happiness together. But as Verity Casey, a dancing girl at the Zip, what hope did she really have? Was Archie, as Edith had suggested, just after a fling? But he hadn’t seemed the type. He’d been serious . . . respectful. As if he genuinely cared about her. Well, there she is, old chap. His voice echoed in her mind.

  Vita tried to play down the date with the girls, who all wanted to know if Archie was really as dreamy as he seemed to be. Vita had said that he wasn’t for her, but Wisey had raised her eyebrows and made faces at the other girls, and Vita suspected they all knew that she was lying.

  The only thing that was saving her from her constant tortured thoughts of Archie was making up the orders for Mrs Clifford-Meade, which took up every spare moment. Mrs Bell, impressed by Vita’s appointment with W&T, sent up sandwiches and tea to Percy’s room whenever Vita was working up there, and bragged to everyone she could about the new business.

  Nancy, however, was quickly annoyed that Vita was so busy. On Thursday she’d announced that Percy and Vita were working far too hard. She’d insisted on taking them for tea at her favourite French café in the Haymarket, where the millefeuille was ‘to die for’.

  ‘Carter’s – Friday night,’ she’d then declared, as she’d poured a large china pot of Darjeeling tea. ‘The theme is Roman. I was thinking that you could run us up a toga each, Vita,’ she’d demanded. ‘And I’m not taking any excuses – from either of you,’ she said in such a bossy way that she’d made Percy and Vita laugh.

  Vita had to admit that the tea and the delicious cream cakes did cheer her up and, after that, she’d thrown herself into the new challenge, making them costumes. She’d almost convinced herself that things were back to normal and that the whole idea of Archie Fenwick was nonsense, when Nancy nudged during her first dance of the night on Friday.

  ‘It’s him. Your fancy man – Archie,’ she whispered, as they waited, counting in their cue.

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘I saw him. At the back. I’m sure it’s him. Do you think he’s stalking you?’

  Vita tried desperately to see past the lights into the smoky club as she wiggled her hips to the raucous trombone. There was a part in the dance where the girls had to whoop and cover their mouths. This week, when they’d all put the routine together, it had been fun to be provocative. They had fallen about laughing in rehearsals – joking about what a bawdy lark they were having – but now she felt self-conscious as she bent over and looked over her shoulder, aware that the dance was designed to show off the contours of her buttocks. She was aware, too, of the strings of pearls that barely covered the space left by her daringly low-cut silver top. The thick make-up on her face, her black eyeshadow and glossy red lips felt sticky and false.

  What must Archie think of her provocative dance, if he really was here? And why was he here? To remind himself that she was only a dancing girl? Had he come here to mock her, to disapprove? To pay her back for walking out on him, the way she had?

  She couldn’t help feeling th
at the answer to these questions was an overwhelming ‘yes’, and it took all her strength to get through the routines with a big false smile.

  She’d felt so strong when she’d left Kettner’s. So resolute that she was doing the right thing – the noble thing. But now she couldn’t seem to find the same resolve. Instead, she felt weak with a mixture of longing and fear. Longing to see Archie’s face again, and fear that he might be horrible to her.

  As Vita hurried backstage to the dressing room with the girls, Nancy was prattling away about the arrangements for the party, and it took every ounce of Vita’s acting ability not to break down. Nancy – completely oblivious to the torrent of emotions that she was going through – looked surprised when Vita jumped at the knock on the door.

  ‘Goodness, Vita. Whatever is the matter?’ Jane asked.

  ‘What if it’s him?’ she hissed.

  ‘Who?’ Betsy asked.

  ‘Archie, of course.’

  She remembered now how she’d played down the date with the girls – telling them all that Archie hadn’t been her type.

  ‘Oh. Well, shall I get rid of him?’ It was Jemima who turned to the others as she headed for the door.

  Vita shook her head, and something in her look spurred Nancy into action. She jumped ahead of Jemima and opened the door. Vita glanced in the mirror and saw that it was Archie and took a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Come on, girls, let’s leave her to it,’ Nancy said, deliberately adding lots of drama to her voice. Jane, Jemima, Betsy and Emma all left with Nancy, who tiptoed past Archie in an exaggerated way. ‘I’ll be out front with the others, if you need me,’ she said in a loud stage-whisper. ‘But don’t be long. We’re going to Carter’s, remember.’

  72

  Take It From the Top

  Now that the door was closed, the music from the club was suddenly muted. For a moment Archie stared at his hand on the door handle, as if he still might leave. Vita turned round so that she wasn’t looking at him in the mirror, but at his back, but even the sight of that made her tremble all over. Archie Fenwick was here. Alone with her in the dressing room.

  She wished it wasn’t such a mess. The vases were still filled with the remnants of his flowers, but they were way past their best and petals littered the countertops.

  ‘I’ll go, if you want me to,’ he said.

  She felt breathless, hearing his voice. Of course she didn’t want him to go.

  They both started talking at the same time.

  ‘Verity—’

  ‘I’m so sorry—’

  He turned round now and his eyes met hers.

  ‘I mean – about . . . the other night,’ she said. ‘You . . . you wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘I could try.’

  She owed him an explanation. And not just about why she’d run out of the restaurant. She owed him an explanation about everything. About who she was. About her family. About Clement.

  ‘The thing is . . . I can’t possibly be the girl you want me to be,’ she said. Tears crowded her, threatening to overwhelm her.

  Why did doing the right thing have to be this hard?

  He reached her now. ‘And what do I want you to be?’

  He sounded offended at the assumptions she’d made.

  ‘I don’t know. Someone who could . . .’ she began, but she couldn’t continue. She’d been so sure of all the arguments she’d had for not getting involved with Archie. It had seemed so logical in her mind. So impossible. And yet . . . and yet here he was. Right in front of her. ‘I’m not like her.’

  ‘Like who?’ He looked confused.

  ‘Like Georgie . . . that girl. At Kettner’s.’

  He let out an astonished laugh, as if everything made sense. ‘It was Georgie. It was Georgie who put you off?’

  Now he’d said it, she could see how petty she must seem to him. How vain and insecure.

  ‘It’s not just that,’ she persisted. ‘I’m not someone who – someone who . . .’

  Tell him. Just tell him, a voice inside her screamed. Come clean. Make him see why you could never be with him. Tell him that you’re on the run. That you did something unforgivable in your past. Something that could ruin both of your lives, if anyone were ever to find out . . .

  But the words seemed to desert her.

  ‘Someone who could have feelings for me, too? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? That this is all one-sided?’ Archie said. He sounded sad. He lifted her chin so that her gaze met his. ‘Look me in the eye, Verity Casey, and tell me honestly that you didn’t feel that spark, too. I’ve thought about you every minute of every day since I first met you, but if you really felt nothing, well, I’ll go.’

  She didn’t say anything.

  ‘See, you can’t, can you?’ he said, his face softening now. ‘That’s what I’d hoped. Because you’ve been driving me crazy. I’ve sat out there, trying to pluck up the courage to see you. Terrified that you’d reject me again. But you can’t. Because this is real. I know how it feels, to be scared of it. Because nothing like this has ever happened to me before, either.’

  Her eyes stayed locked with his as she took in the enormity of his confession.

  ‘And I know we’re different,’ he continued. ‘Both of us are from different worlds. And that’s why we’ve run away from each other. Me first, and now you.’ He made it sound like they were equals, when they were anything but. ‘Don’t you think I’m just as confused as you are? I didn’t expect this to happen, but it has. And I don’t know what the future may bring. But I can’t live my life being afraid of what might be.’

  She felt her puffed-up resolve pop. It was hopeless. Hopeless to do anything but listen to him. Because Archie was so brave and fearless and strong and, in that moment, she’d never admired anyone more.

  ‘I don’t want you to be afraid, either. You see? Because I don’t want anything from you. Anything at all. Only that it fills me up with this feeling – this feeling I can’t describe – when I’m near you.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, her tears spilling over, even though she was smiling. ‘Come here,’ she went on, throwing her arms around him, holding him close.

  ‘Shall we try again?’ Archie said, pulling back and putting his knuckles on her cheek. ‘Take it from the top, as you dancers say.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, laughing. ‘Let’s take it from the top.’

  It was Wisey who interrupted, bustling into the changing room. And, as the door opened, Vita knew that Nancy must have said something.

  ‘You know I don’t approve of closed doors,’ she said to Vita.

  ‘We were just . . .’ Vita began, pulling an embarrassed face at Archie and hurriedly wiping her eyes.

  ‘Leaving. We’re leaving,’ he said decisively. His eyes glittered at her.

  Vita could feel Wisey’s gaze on Archie.

  ‘Can we go somewhere? Just to talk?’ Archie whispered, as Wisey approached, clearly intent on shooing him outside.

  She thought about suggesting going out front to join Nancy and the others, but she didn’t want him to be scared off by Nancy again, or to encounter Edith and Mr Connelly. And even if Nancy didn’t scare him off, she’d certainly insist on dragging Archie along to the toga party.

  ‘Two minutes. I’ll see you out there by the stage door.’

  Archie left, and Wisey dumped all the costumes over the back of the chair.

  ‘He’s the one, is he?’ she said, meeting Vita’s eye in the mirror. ‘The one you’ve been mooning over.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hmm, well he’s easy on the eye, I’ll give you that,’ she said. ‘You be careful, though, Missy. He looks like a heartbreaker to me. And I’ve seen a few in my time.’

  ‘Can you tell Nancy that I’m sorry, and I’ll see her at Carter’s later? Tell her I’ll get there as soon as I can.’

  ‘She won’t be happy.’

  ‘She’ll understand,’ Vita said, but even as she said it, she knew Nancy would be cross.

&
nbsp; 73

  Gordon’s Wine Bar

  Outside, it was raining heavily and Archie put his coat over their heads. ‘I don’t have the car tonight,’ he said and she laughed at his apologetic tone, delighted to be sheltering with him like this.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s go to Gordon’s. It’s just down the road. Villiers Street.’ She’d been there with Percy and Jane and she liked the cosy ambience of the tables down in the vaults under the stone arches. She desperately wanted to be somewhere alone with Archie, where no one would be watching or trying to eavesdrop. She wanted to savour him all to herself.

  In the candlelit corner right at the back, Vita shook out her wet paisley scarf and put it over the spare chair beside her. She wondered what kind of places Archie went to with friends like Georgie.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ he said, as if reading her mind, and then ordering them a carafe of red wine from the waiter. A woman in the far corner started playing an accordion softly.

  ‘I expect you’re used to smarter places,’ she said.

  ‘I have a club, if that’s what you mean. The Athenaeum. You’ve probably heard of it?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s one of those gentleman-only places, I take it?’

  ‘You don’t approve? Don’t tell me you’re a suffragette,’ he teased. She hadn’t meant it to sound the way it had, but now that she had the opportunity, she felt herself being bold.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind being one. If it meant men and women became more equal.’

  Archie looked surprised. ‘Well, I agree actually. If you must know, I much prefer places like this, where people can just be – people . . . like themselves,’ he admitted. She smiled. Archie really couldn’t be further from the likes of Clement and her father if he tried.

  He reached his hands across the scuffed wood and held hers for a moment. His touch was warm and reassuring.

  ‘So here we are,’ she said, grinning.

  ‘You know it’s my fault,’ Archie said.

  ‘What is?’