Maggie Gee - Virginia Woolf in Manhattan

(I did care for him, and petted him, in ways that no-one else can imagine. He was wonderful, but he wasn’t a saint. I mothered him sometimes. I cared for him.)

But no, I had to save myself, because the Furies were after me. When the Furies claw you, there is no more reason. I knew that only my death could stop them, make them hang, slavering, over the water, shrinking and dwindling as the day grew darker and the last bubbles rose to the surface. They lost their power. I drove them away.

I am many things, but not a coward.

ANGELA

Of course, she isn’t like other people, and naturally I shouldn’t expect her to be, but it did look odd, the way she sat there staring. A great teardrop rolled down her cheek, and she shook her head so it jerked to the right, like a stray raindrop on a train window flying through the dark woods of the past …

We had urgent business to attend to.

‘Are you all right?’ I touched her hand. To my surprise, it was warm and firm, and in that instant her posture changed, she sat up in her chair, she gathered herself.

‘It’s hot in here. I must remove my jacket.’ It wasn’t hot, but I was relieved, until she folded the smelly thing and dumped it, without ceremony, on my lap.

‘ Thank you.’ My ironic tone was lost on her, but I did not mind because without the jacket, she was a different woman. In her apricot silk, she looked old but immaculate, a woman of distinction, fine-boned, aristocratic, exactly the right person to deliver our script. I still wished the jacket were less smelly (I was getting the hang of her subjunctives), but dropped it on the floor beside her chair.

She said ‘Thank you, young man, for showing me that. It brings back memories of my past. I may be interested in purchasing it, but first I have some books I think will interest you. They are Virginia Woolf first editions.’

(I remembered in a flash we had forgotten one thing — I obviously couldn’t risk calling her ‘Virginia’! But we hadn’t arranged an alternative name.)

Another bland young man was summoned. ‘Ah yes, Madam, you came in the other day.’ He recognised me. I realised I was sweating. We surely wouldn’t get away with this. Yet the books themselves could not be more authentic, we had not stolen them, what had I to fear?

I think I was frightened it would all melt away. That we’d look in the laptop case which held the books and find there was nothing there but air. All morning I had been oppressed by fear of the dark towers of Madison Avenue (I’d seen her shiver, and closed the car window to protect us both as we rode through). I was afraid our dream would shrivel. And yet her hand felt warmer, sturdier.

I snapped back from my brown study, sitting where I was at the great dark table, to hear Virginia halfway through her script on the other side of the shop, at the desk! The staff were attentive.

‘Bring the copies, Angela,’ she commanded. She seemed to have got used to calling me ‘Angela’. I obeyed — yes, I had got used to obeying.

I handed her the laptop bag. One at a time , I prayed. Spread out your jewels for full effect. She did.

In fact, she was masterly. A sort of hush fell when they saw Orlando really was a first edition — ‘May I, Ma’am?’ — and wondered at the fresh bright orange boards, the ruler-sharp edges of the photographs, the unchipped, unmarked transparent dust jacket. ‘The glassine is in remarkable condition,’ one of them said, aside to the other.

‘Glassine?’ I said.

‘Oh, a technical word.’ He smiled at me with a new deference. They were handling it like a votive object.

‘I have something else,’Virginia said. Her long white hands dived into the bag and pulled out her pristine To the Lighthouse . ‘I see you already have a copy of this, so perhaps I should take it to another dealer?’ She feigned hesitation — was she going to put it back? The woman was a consummate actress!

‘We’d very much like to see it,’ one said, and the other said hastily ‘I’ll go and get Alex.’ Yet another member of staff was fetched, an older, grander man in a suit, and as they came back in whispered conclave, I caught the word ‘exceptional’.

‘Do you mind me asking where you came by these?’ the older man asked, clutching To the Lighthouse with a covetous hand.

‘Yes, they’ve always been in my family,’ Virginia drawled, in her most patrician accent. ‘We are actually a distant branch of the Stephens. Some people say I resemble Virginia. My great-aunt Theodocia’ — Theodocia! Surely she was over-egging it, but no, they were hanging on her every word — ‘was not a reader, and kept them in a locked cupboard, but then she left me her whole estate, and of course, when I saw them — one knew they were of interest.’

And then she played her master stroke. ‘Oh, you might take a look at the title pages. She’s written personal messages.’

‘Virginia?’ they asked in unison, and just for a moment I thought she would answer, I saw her clever lips poised to respond, but I broke in to stop her, ‘Yes, that’s right. Inscribed by the author. One is to Leonard. And the other, to Vita.’

And then an atmosphere of celebration broke out. Soon the whole staff were crowding round the desk, smiling on us like lottery-winners, then staring at Virginia with — awe? Suspicion?

‘There really is a family resemblance,’ said one of the young women who had joined the crowd. ‘I think there’s a news story in this,’ said the first young man I had spoken to. ‘Would you mind if the media wanted to take your photograph with your great aunt’s books? They will love the fact you resemble the author.’

‘My family has always avoided publicity,’ Virginia intoned with queenly calm.

‘There’s no need to be anxious, Ma’am,’ the older man said repressively. ‘My younger staff sometimes get over-excited. May we offer you a cup of tea? Perhaps we could find something stronger?’

I wasn’t sure how Virginia was with drink. Doubtless there were mentions in the Diaries , but without being able to check up on it, I feared alcohol might bring out her inner truth-teller. ‘My friend never drinks before lunch,’ I stated.

‘By the way, you have not mentioned money,’ Virginia said to the senior man. ‘What would you be able to offer us?’

I looked at her open-mouthed. Virginia Woolf had hit a home run!

‘Of course these are difficult times for the book trade,’ he began, with the pat-ness of a man who had been saying it for years. Virginia just smiled and said ‘Of course’. And then she pulled Orlando back towards her across their desk where it glowed in the light and started to get up, saying ‘I wasn’t sure this was the right moment to sell. I’m in no hurry, we can sell these in London.’

I’m in no hurry, we can sell these in London! I was still laughing in the middle of the night.

VIRGINIA

I haven’t enjoyed anything so much in ages (well, of course, I haven’t enjoyed anything in ages).

We came away from there with mountains of money!

They rang the accountant for permission, then somebody was sent to the bank for dollars — Angela explained we could only take cash.

She took charge of the last stage of negotiations. I nearly spoiled everything. When they offered $50,000 for both books, I said ‘$15,000?’ in astonishment, meaning ‘$15,000 is a great deal of money,’ and Angela said, with a meaning look, ‘No, you misheard, they are offering us fifty, fifteen would obviously be absurd. But I’m afraid you’ll have to offer rather more than that.’

Then the older man made a phone call to a ‘private client’ he thought would buy. He came back all smiles and said he was now able to offer us $80,000, since he had a firm offer from ‘a keen collector. Someone who will give the books a very good home.’