An Ideal Wife

by Betty Neels

  Louisa went to the window and opened it. It overlooked a small garden at the back of the house, and beyond that there was a splendid view of the cathedral spire. She said flatly, ‘I don’t dress to please Percy.’

  She turned to look at her stepmother. ‘Felicity, I don’t intend to marry him, you know. He takes it for granted and so do you, and I’ve tried to be polite about it...’

  ‘But, darling, he’s so safe, and you would never have to worry about anything.’

  ‘I don’t want to be safe. I don’t love him.’

  ‘There are many things more important than love,’ said Mrs Howarth sharply. ‘Security and a nice house, holidays and decent clothes.’

  ‘Is that why you married Father?’ asked Louisa.

  ‘I was very fond of your father,’ said Mrs Howarth a bit too quickly. ‘And, of course, before he lost that money we had a very pleasant home and I lacked for nothing.’ She added wistfully, ‘It’s hard to live as I do now. Genteel poverty, I believe it is called.’

  Louisa didn’t reply. Her stepmother lived in some comfort and grudged herself nothing. She made no bones about accepting a generous slice of Louisa’s salary for, as she pointed out in a reasonable voice, Louisa enjoyed living in the same comfort in a pleasant house, having Biddy to see to the running of it and eating the good food provided. The fact that Louisa did quite a lot of the housework, helped with the cooking and quite often did the shopping as well were facts which escaped her attention.

  Louisa had asked her once how she would manage if she were to marry, and Mrs Howarth had said airily, ‘Oh, my dear, I shall be quite all right; Percy will make sure of that.’

  Watching him now, coming into the room, Louisa remembered that. He was still in his thirties, but already staid and with a well-nourished look which she reflected would turn into a portly middle age. He was quite good-looking and very correct in his dress, and she knew that she could never marry him. He wasn’t her kind of man. Her kind of man was utterly different. A sudden memory of Dr Gifford took her by surprise and she blushed faintly, which was unfortunate as Percy took it as a compliment for his appearance.

  He had brought flowers with him and a bottle of wine, which he offered with a smug smile, confident of his thoughtfulness and their gratitude.

  He kissed the cheek Mrs Howarth offered and crossed the room to where Louisa was standing by the window. ‘Hello, old lady—that’s a charming dress, and you’re as beautiful as ever.’

  Old lady, indeed! She turned her cheek so that his kiss barely brushed it, and took the carnations he offered. She said, ‘Thank you for the flowers, Percy,’ and then added, ‘I’ll go and see if Biddy wants any help.’

  When she had gone, Mrs Howarth said placatingly, ‘She’s shy, you know. I’ll leave you together after dinner.’ They smiled at each other, and as Louisa came back into the room they began to discuss the weather.

  Biddy, still with something of a headache, had done her best, but the soup was too salty, the lamb chops slightly charred and the pudding bore a strong resemblance to a deep-frozen dessert. Percy, who prided himself on being a gourmet, ate with an air of martyred distaste while he enlarged at some length upon the political situation.

  Louisa, brought up by an old-fashioned nanny, assumed her politely listening face and said, ‘Really?’ or ‘Is that so?’ at intervals, which was all that Percy required; the sound of his own voice was sufficient for him.

  Louisa, munching petits pois which had been over-cooked, allowed her thoughts to wander. Where did Dr Gifford live? she wondered. She didn’t like him, she reminded herself, but he looked interesting.

  She caught Percy’s eye and made the mistake of smiling at him, and her stepmother said at once, ‘We’ll have coffee in the drawing room. I’ll go and tell Biddy.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Louisa, hopeful of a few minutes’ respite from Percy’s ardent gaze.

  ‘No, no, dear. Take Percy along to the drawing room and I’ll join you in a moment.’

  The drawing room was a pleasant place, and the very last of the sun cast mellow shadows over its furniture. Louisa went to open another window and said over her shoulder, ‘Sit down, do, Percy.’

  But he had come to stand behind her, much too close for her liking.

  ‘My dear girl, you have no idea how I have been longing to get you on your own. I’ve given you plenty of time to make up your mind, although I’m sure that you have done so already—after all, I’m not such a bad catch!’ He laughed at his little joke, and Louisa ground her splendid teeth. ‘I can manage to be free in September; we could marry then.’

  Louisa slid away from him and sat down in a little Victorian crinoline chair. ‘Percy, before you say another word, I don’t want to marry you. If that sounds rude and unkind, I’m sorry, but it makes it clear, doesn’t it? Once and for all.’

  ‘Why not?’ He sounded huffy but not heartbroken.

  ‘I don’t love you.’

  He laughed. ‘You silly girl, of course you do. Only you won’t admit it.’

  She stared at him. How did one make anyone as conceited as Percy understand something they didn’t want to know?

  ‘No, I don’t. If I did, I would have said so ages ago.’ She added, ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Percy. We’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t we? And we can still be friends, if you wish. You’ll meet a girl who’ll fall for you, and you’ll be happy ever after.’

  Percy stood in the middle of the room, looking at her. ‘I have no wish to be your friend,’ he said ponderously. ‘Indeed, from what I have seen of your present behaviour, I consider that you would be quite unworthy of my friendship.’

  Louisa goggled at him. He sounded like someone out of a Victorian novel, only worse. She said briskly, ‘Oh, well, that settles that, doesn’t it? Will you stay for coffee?’

  It was entirely in character that he should agree. Anyone else—any man—other than Percy would have made some excuse and cut short the evening. But not Percy. His coffee, apparently, was more important to him than any awkwardness she might be feeling.

  ‘Well, if you are going to stay, sit down,’ she begged. ‘Isn’t the weather glorious? I love June, don’t you? Not too hot and the garden beginning to look lovely—if you have a garden.’

  Percy sat, arranging his trousers just so, in order that the creases wouldn’t be spoilt. ‘You have no need to make conversation, Louisa. I am deeply hurt, and trivial talk is hardly going to assuage that.’

  Only Percy could talk like that. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? Perhaps because she had known him for so long.

  She said flippantly, ‘I thought it was the girl who felt hurt.’

  He gave her a look. ‘Only you, Louisa...’

  He was interrupted by Mrs Howarth’s entry, with Biddy behind her carrying the coffee tray.

  ‘You’ve had your little talk?’ she asked. ‘Always so nice to clear the air.’

  ‘Oh, we’ve done that,’ said Louisa promptly. ‘I’ve finally persuaded Percy that I won’t do for his wife.’

  Mrs Howarth gave a little trill of laughter. ‘Oh, darling, isn’t it time that you stopped being hard to get? Percy has had the patience of a saint...’

  Louisa took the tray from Biddy and set it down on the small table beside her stepmother’s chair. ‘Felicity, you’ve been reading too many old-fashioned novels. I’m not a shrinking damsel of seventeen, you know.’ She looked at Percy. ‘I expect that’s the reason that I don’t want to marry you, Percy. I’m too old for you, and I don’t know how to shrink!’

  ‘I don’t understand you, Louisa. Such flippancy about a solemn thing such as marriage.’ He held out his cup for more coffee. ‘I find the whole conversation distasteful.’

  ‘You do? So do I, but I’m glad we’ve had it. I thought I knew you very well, but not well enough, i
t seems. Now I do.’

  Mrs Howarth spoke sharply. ‘Louisa, how can you be so unkind to Percy? Really, I’m quite shocked and upset.’

  ‘Well, I can’t think why,’ said Louisa sensibly. ‘I’ve told you that I have no wish to marry Percy. And I’ve told him a dozen times.’

  Percy got to his feet. ‘It is better that I do go, I think.’ He managed to sound sad and yet at the same time maintained what Louisa took to be a stiff upper lip.

  ‘Never mind, Percy. You’re well rid of me, you know.’ She offered a hand and he took it reluctantly and heaved a sigh.

  ‘I shall always have happy memories of you, Louisa—until today, of course.’

  He took a sorrowful leave of Mrs Howarth then, and Louisa went to the front door with him. She should be feeling guilty, she supposed, but what she felt was a sense of freedom.

  When she went back to the drawing room her stepmother said angrily, ‘You’re a fool, Louisa. You’re not a young girl any more; you can’t afford to be choosy.’

  ‘Yes, I can. I’ve a nice job, and on my next birthday I get grandmother’s money that she left me. I can be independent for as long as I wish.’ She paused. ‘Tell me, Felicity, did Percy know about that—my legacy?’

  Mrs Howarth looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, you know how things slip out...’

  ‘It would have been useful to him, wouldn’t it? Happy young bride hands husband a nice lump sum so that he can shoot ahead in his career. Or was he going to persuade me to make some of it over to you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Louisa. I have been left very comfortably off by your father.’

  ‘You’re overdrawn at the bank. You forget, you told me to open the post for you the other morning. There was a letter from the bank manager...’

  ‘You had no right.’

  ‘No, I know that. I didn’t read it deliberately; the letter was folded in such a way that I couldn’t help but read it as I took it out of the envelope.’

  Mrs Howarth said in a wheedling voice, ‘Louisa, dear, it’s only temporary. If you could let me have some money? I’ll pay you back.’

  ‘Have you paid Biddy?’

  ‘Oh, she doesn’t mind waiting. She hasn’t anything to spend her money on, anyway.’

  ‘How many weeks do you owe her?’

  ‘A couple—well, three, I suppose.’

  ‘I’ll pay Biddy’s wages for three weeks. I dare say you can borrow whatever you want from one of your friends.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly—I play bridge with most of them, and how could I ask them here for lunch?’

  ‘Then don’t ask them,’ said Louisa. ‘Try Percy. I’m going to see Biddy, then I’m going to bed.’

  Biddy was tidying the kitchen before going to bed. Her eyes brightened at the sight of the notes Louisa held out to her.

  ‘Well, now, Miss Louisa, the money will be very welcome—got ter think of me old age, ’aven’t I?’

  ‘Of course, Biddy. And if you don’t get your wages regularly, will you let me know and I’ll remind Mrs Howarth?’

  Louisa went to bed then, but not to sleep at once. She sat by the open window of the pretty room and thought about her future. It seemed obvious to her that Felicity would be better off without her—she might marry again, for she was still pretty and amusing. It would be best if she found a room, or a tiny flat somewhere in the city not too far from Sir James’s rooms.

  She would miss the comfortable life she led now, but that didn’t worry her particularly. Indeed, she had always wished to live independently but her stepmother had begged her to stay. She could see that if she stayed now she would be in a rut from which there would be no escape. A place of my own, thought Louisa with satisfaction, and when I get Granny’s money I’ll find a flat, somewhere near the cathedral.

  She settled down to sleep then, her mind made up. Of course, there would be difficulties with Felicity, although probably she would be relieved not to have Louisa around the house. Louisa had a little money saved, and the money she currently paid Felicity each week would go towards the rent of rooms. A pity she had no one to advise her. Dr Gifford, for instance. She came wide awake at the thought. He was the very last person she would wish to receive advice from!

  * * *

  Mrs Howarth sulked for several days and gave vent to her annoyance by going shopping, buying expensive clothes on her credit cards, spending long hours with friends, playing bridge and gossiping. She ignored Louisa when she was home; this had no effect, though, for Louisa had her pretty head filled with ideas and schemes.

  She had gone to various estate agents and enquired about flats, and had been appalled at the rents of even the smallest ones. Of course Salisbury, being a cathedral city, had a certain prestige, and the area around the close where she would have liked to live was very expensive. She began to hunt around streets further afield, where the rents were within her means, but she found nothing to suit her.

  It was when she took Biddy into her confidence that her luck changed. ‘A flat?’ asked Biddy. ‘Bless you, Miss Louisa, there’s Mrs Watts—I see ’er down at the Bell regular. Told me she ’ad a nice little flat. One of those little turnings off St Anne’s Street. Close by and very quiet, so she tells me.’

  ‘Do you suppose she would consider me, Biddy? If I were to go with you on your evening off we could meet her at the Bell.’

  Biddy considered. ‘Well, now, it ain’t the place for a pretty young lady ter be. But there’s a snug at the back of the bar; I dare say we could arrange something. Leave it ter me; I owes yer, Miss Louisa. I’ll miss yer, but it don’t seem right that you should do more than your share. I know you go out a bit with the missus, but only to dull bridge parties and the like. You needs young people—a man. Like ’im ’oo carried me ter me room. Mind you, I didn’t see ’im all that clearly but ’e was a big chap and ’e ’ad a nice voice.’

  She peeped at Louisa. ‘Seen ’im again, ’ave you, Miss Louisa?’

  ‘Well, yes. He came to Sir James’s rooms one morning. He’s a doctor.’

  ‘Ah.’ Biddy was all at once brisk. ‘Well, I’ll ’ave a chat with Mrs Watts and let you know, Miss Louisa.’

  As ill luck would have it, Biddy’s next free evening was forfeited. Mrs Howarth had issued invitations for dinner and bridge afterwards to several of her friends, and Biddy had to be on hand to cook and serve the meal.

  ‘I don’t suppose it matters to you when you have your evenings,’ she’d told Biddy. ‘I shall be out to dinner on Saturday, so have it then.’

  Despite this setback, Louisa decided that it was a good thing. If her stepmother was out to dinner, then they wouldn’t need to worry about getting back before the Bell closed. Mrs Howarth had told Louisa sulkily that she could have the house to herself or go out with any of her friends.

  ‘It’s Biddy’s night off so you’ll have to get your own meal. I dare say you’ll manage. It’s as well you’re not invited; Percy will be there.’

  ‘Just as well,’ agreed Louisa sweetly. ‘And don’t worry about me. I hope you have a pleasant evening.’

  The Bell was old, dark-beamed and crowded. Biddy led Louisa through the groups of people clustered in the bar and into the snug behind it.

  Mrs Watts was already there, sitting at a small table with a glass of stout before her. She was a small woman, very thin, and could have been any age between forty and fifty years old. But she had a friendly face and manner, and after the ladies had had their refreshment the three of them walked the short distance to her house. It was indeed small, the front door opening onto a tiny hall and the narrow staircase enclosed by another door.

  ‘I live downstairs,’ said Mrs Watts. ‘Come up and see if it suits you.’

  There were two very small rooms, a tiny kitchen and shower room and loo, all very clean, and th
e furniture, although basic, was well cared for. There was a view of the cathedral from the sitting room window, and the roof beneath the window sloped down to the small garden below.

  ‘If you are agreeable I’d very much like to rent it,’ said Louisa. ‘It’s just what I was looking for. If I pay you a month’s rent in advance and move in gradually?’

  ‘Suits me. Come and go when you like, though I don’t want any of those rowdy parties. Not that that’s likely; Biddy has vouched for you being a young lady who is quiet and tidy.’ She smiled. ‘Not that I’ve any objection to a young man paying a visit.’

  ‘I haven’t one,’ said Louisa cheerfully. ‘But there’s always hope.’

  She looked round the little place again. ‘May I have a key?’

  ‘’Course you can. Two—one for the front door and one for this flat. One month’s notice on either side?’

  ‘Yes. Do we have to write that?’

  ‘No need. I won’t do the dirty on you.’ Mrs Watts drew herself up to her full height. ‘I’m an honest woman.’

  ‘Me too, Mrs Watts. I’m so pleased to have found this flat; it’s Biddy’s doing, really. I’ll start bringing a few things round next week; I’m not sure when I shall actually move in.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  LOUISA TOLD HER stepmother of her plans as they walked back from morning service at the cathedral. Mrs Howarth was in a good mood; she was wearing a new outfit which she knew suited her, and she had spent some time talking to friends after the service, arranging to meet at a coffee morning later in the week at which there would be a well-known TV personality.

  ‘Someone I’ve always wanted to meet,’ she told Louisa. ‘Such a handsome man. If he’s staying here in Salisbury I might invite him to dinner.’

  She glanced up at Louisa, strolling along in her plain crêpe dress with its little jacket. The girl has an eye for decent clothes, reflected Mrs Howarth, and she is quite lovely. A pity she is so large. ‘I dare say you might like to meet him, Louisa.’ She added quickly, ‘Of course, we would have to have a specially nice meal. Perhaps you’d help out? My monthly cheque hasn’t come...’