I would like you to explain to me how you rationalize cutting a class,” said Lady Anne. “We won’t even go into what bad form it was for you to go to the American embassy without me. After all, I am responsible for you while you’re here in London.”
“I’m sorry, Lady Anne,” said Valerie, feeling the tears in her eyes. “I’m really sorry.”
“It would be best if you went to your room,” Lady Anne ordered in an awful, cold voice Valerie had never heard before.
Julian was waiting for her the next morning when Bernard dropped her off at the conservatory, and Valerie had to gather up her courage to tell him that she hadn’t asked Lady Anne if she could go out with him.
“Just do me a favor,” said Valerie, “and don’t pressure me.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he looked so hurt that it made Valerie feel just awful.
Over the next few days, Julian was always waiting, with that same hurt look on his face, to walk her to class. Sometimes, they even held hands. After a few days, Julian seemed to realize that Valerie wasn’t going to ask Lady Anne if she could go out with him at night, so he started to push her about cutting class and just going to the little coffee bar in the next block where all the kids from the conservatory hung out.
Lady Anne didn’t even like it when Julian called her at home.
“You’re far too young for that sort of thing, dear,” Lady Anne would say vaguely.
The man from the American embassy called to report that no passport had ever been issued to Al or Vicki Hemion.
Valerie felt as if she were in limbo, right back where she started, which was nowhere. There was one lone flicker of hope, though, and that was Christmas. If she was ever going to hear from Vicki, decided Valerie, it would be at Christmas.
Bernard carried a tall, bushy tree into the drawing room, and when it was set up in front of one of the tall windows overlooking the street, Valerie helped Janet decorate it.
On Christmas morning, Valerie and Lady Anne opened presents before the roaring fireplace. Lady Anne’s special present to Valerie was genuine pearl earrings. The little package Julian had pressed into her hand just before the Christmas break was a sketch of her he had drawn, framed in silver filigree.
There was nothing from Vicki, though.
Lady Anne sat pensively in a wing chair in the drawing room. “I remember the first day you walked into this room. You were so pretty, as delicate as a little fawn.” She held her teacup with both hands as she smiled at Valerie, who sat in the matching chair across from her. “And oh so very frightened,” she continued. “My heart went out to you, dear. That’s why I told you I wanted you to think of me as your aunt, and to think of yourself as my little American niece. I wanted you to feel secure, loved.”
Valerie felt tears in her eyes.
“And, of course, I’ve been thinking about your dreadful predicament almost as much as you have.” Lady Anne put her teacup on the little Chippendale table next to her, and reached out her arms. “Come here, dear,” she said as she stood.
As Valerie moved into the circle of Lady Anne’s arms, she felt the older woman’s body trembling. “I’m going to make an appointment with my solicitor to see about becoming your legal guardian. This is our home now,” Lady Anne said, her voice husky with tears. “The two of us.”
She cares for me, Valerie realized. She really does. “Oh thank you, Lady Anne,” she whispered, tears of relief welling in her eyes. And then the anger, the bitterness again.
“How could they do this to me?” Valerie whispered, her own arms tentative around Lady Anne’s waist. “How could they leave me like this?”
“But we don’t know that, do we?” Lady Anne said. “We don’t know that they left you, dear. Something may have happened to them, something they couldn’t control.”
“Well, I don’t care,” said Valerie stubbornly. “I’ll never forgive them. Never.”
“You mustn’t say that,” Lady Anne admonished.
“But they’re my parents,” she sobbed, realizing she could never trust anyone, not even Lady Anne, to be there when she needed them.
When Valerie got back to the conservatory after the Christmas break, there was an announcement on the bulletin board about Julian’s upcoming appearance with the London Philharmonic Orchestra. She was bursting with excitement as she walked into the drawing room that afternoon to tell Lady Anne about it.
“That’s a bad night for me, dear,” said Lady Anne, looking through her reading glasses at her date book. “I have dinner at Lady Dartmouth’s. We’re only ten, and she would never forgive me if I canceled.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Valerie said. “I’ll just go with some of the other kids.” She paused for a moment, savoring the thought. “Julian’s going to perform the Mendelssohn E-Minor Concerto,” she bubbled. “And Andre Previn’s conducting.”
“It’s out of the question,” Lady Anne murmured.
“But all of the other kids are going.” Valerie’s voice wavered as she fought to keep back the tears.
“I’m sorry, dear,” said Lady Anne.
“Why not?” asked Valerie. “It’s not as if I’ll be alone or anything. I’m sure somebody’s parents would come and pick me up, and bring me home.”
“That will do,” Lady Anne said, her voice sharp.
Suddenly, Valerie’s aching loneliness for a friend her own age made her break into sobs, and she fled from the room.
The next day Valerie told Julian that Lady Anne wouldn’t let her go to the concert.
“Everybody comes, you know,” he said, sounding hurt. “It’s a family kind of thing. Scream for the team, and all.”
“I know,” Valerie sighed. “I know.”
On the night of the concert two weeks later, Valerie stood, her ear against her bedroom door, until she heard Lady Anne’s footsteps as she hurried down the stairway. The front door clicked shut.
A few minutes later, it was Valerie who was standing in the entry hall, fumbling with the buttons on her rabbit coat. “You have a good time, miss,” Janet said. “I’ll be waiting to let you in at nine o’clock.” Her glance fell on Valerie, and she added, “You look very pretty tonight, miss. You always do when you put on a little rouge and lipstick. Perks you right up.”
Valerie’s steps were cautious as she picked her way down the front steps of the Green Street house. The street was empty, and lights dotted the windows of the houses across the way. She broke into a run, feeling the exquisite pain of the icy London air filling her lungs, exhilarated with the sheer joy of being out on her own. The taxi she caught dropped her a few minutes later in front of the Royal Albert Hall, where the concert was to take place.
Her seat was in a row with the other conservatory students. The boys were all in dark suits, shirts, and ties, the girls in party dresses. Valerie slipped off the rabbit coat. She wore her green calf-length taffeta dress, and around her neck was a pearl necklace on loan from Lady Anne. Her pale hair was pulled up in a ballerina’s bun, and in her newly pierced ears she wore the pearl earrings Lady Anne had given her for Christmas.
She looked up at the boxes, hoping none of Lady Anne’s friends had a pair of opera glasses trained on her. Behind the red velvet curtain, Valerie could hear the cellos, the violins tuning up. A French horn played a fragment of a melody.
The