'Who was her father? Only a man on the railway and the mother takes lodgers. Why are we beholden to her ?' Mother said. For many years the lady was known to us only as 'Miss H'.
There was my father sitting in that office with 'that woman' all the week; Mother said: why didn't he stay with her if she was so wonderful. We know she put the money. How did she get it? Cheese paring. My mother was not going to cheapen herself by visiting them. She might not be educated but she knew the difference between sixpence and a shilling and had been brought up straight. We were shocked. Mother was jealous. There were two women; Mrs Eddy and this lady, Miss H.
And why had we got to be so polite to her? The Business. Our father had ceased to be our father. He now became 'the Business'. It was a shadow in our fire proof room.
And then this woman, Miss H, was a woman and women are woman-like, Mother said. Not that she had any doubts about Father, for she knew he was true, but if women don't get one thing they go for another. They don't let go.
As for Father being true, this is as certain as anything can be. He really hated women. He despised them. They existed to be his servants, for his mother - as my mother said - had waited on him hand and foot. Of course he charmed women; they liked talking to him, he appealed to their masochism. If they fought back or showed any signs of taking charge of him, his face went cold. His favourite gesture was to hold up his hand, palm upwards and wag it insultingly up and down, silently telling them to shut up. Their role was to listen to him and he had a lot to say. But once let them discuss, differ or suggest another idea and the hand went up , playfully at first but, if they persisted, he was blunt with them . He described these incidents to us often. His phrase was 'I put her in her place'. It was unlucky also that in his trade most of the workers were women. It must be said that several of these, who admired his vitality, loved him all their lives. perhaps Miss H the bookkeeper did; Mother scornfully thought so.
Extract
from the book “A cab in the door” by V.S. Pritchett
