Page 4 of Mrs. Endicott's Splendid Adventure
“You don’t think it’s been a laugh a minute with Reggie Moss, do you? Never notices I exist unless he wants one thing”—she gave a knowing little nod—“or something’s been done wrong, or maybe to help himself to my earnings to go with his mates down the pub. So maybe you’re right. Maybe they’re all the same. But I can tell you this, Mrs E.: you’re better off without that one.”
Up in her bedroom Ellie sat at her dressing table, her hand shaky as she attempted to put on some lipstick. Her face, unnaturally pale today, stared back at her. She hadn’t let herself go, had she? Her face was still unlined, no grey yet showing in her ash-brown hair. She had not gone in for marcel waves like most women but instead still wore her hair up in a knot, and it accentuated her good cheekbones. And she’d kept her figure. She was careful with the sweets and puddings, and shewalked every day. And yet she wasn’t good enough to keep her husband’s interest, apparently.
She looked away from her stricken face. The view from the bay window on to the lawns was perfect. The manicured grass, the herbaceous borders with their riot of colour, the rose arbour beyond—they were all so lovely, so elegant. And she was supposed to give all this up, walk away, live in a poky cottage, or in that flat she was now sure had kept his mistress? Anger welled up, and she felt tears brimming in her eyes.
She could refuse to divorce him, of course. The thought came to her. If she didn’t agree, then it would be too bad. No divorce. He’d be stuck. But then so would she. Did she really want that? Lionel could be vindictive; she had seen that in his business dealings. He could make sure she was so miserable that she moved out. He could bring his mistress to live here, under this roof. And she found herself mulling over what Mavis had said: Would she really be better off without him?
She didn’t love him. She was sure of that. Had she once? She tried to remember. She had met him at a cricket club dance. He had come down to the village with another clerk from the bank in London, both of them fresh from qualifying as accountants and excited for prospects in the big city. He had seemed witty and urbane and amusing. She realized later that he had drunk rather a lot and that had lowered his inhibitions, because he was rarely amusing afterward, but she had been desperate at the time to escape from the confines of village life. Her father was the vicar, the sort that loves to spout about sin and hellfire, and her mother was the frustrated daughter of landed gentry. She had married Ellie’s father fully expecting him to be a bishop or at least dean but found herself trapped in a village backwater, taking out her frustration in finding everything wrong with her daughter. Ellie had finished school with very good marks and could have gone on to university. But according to her father, more schooling was a waste for a young girl who would only get married. And so she was trapped. Not enough money or status to be presented at court as a debutante. Inthose days girls didn’t move up to London and share flats. In Edwardian England very few of them ever considered working outside the home, unless it was as a teacher or governess if you were middle class but desperate, or a servant if you weren’t.
Lionel had seemed like a good catch: he had come from a humble background himself. His father owned a greengrocer’s shop. But Lionel had studied for his accountancy exams and been hired by a major bank. He was ambitious and he needed a wife with class to make the right impression on business associates. And so they married. They first lived in a humble house in Clapham, then, as he got promotion after promotion, to a nicer house in Wimbledon and finally to this detached gentleman’s residence in the Stockbroker Belt in Surrey. Thanks to Lionel’s bank, they had come through the crash of ’29 and the Great Depression unscathed.
The requisite children had arrived: two boys, one after the other. Lionel had insisted they be sent off to boarding school as was required of their station in life. Ellie had enjoyed raising them and missed them horribly after they were gone but had had no say in this. Lionel had made it quite clear. It was what the sons of the upper class did. Surely she of all people knew that. She really hadn’t seen much of them since they left school and went into their respective professions. Richard had gone into the army, and Colin was now working for a bank in Hong Kong. Both far from home. She received the occasional letter, but all those years of boarding school had left them with no strong family ties. As yet there were no marriages, no grandchildren.
And so there was nobody, she realized suddenly, as she stared back at herself in the mirror again. Nobody close enough to care about her. No best friend putting an arm around her and saying, “Come and live with me until you sort this horrible business out.” Lionel had been right. The people they entertained had all been his friends. She had nowhere to go, or everywhere to go.
“I’ve lived his life,” she said to her reflection. Serious eyes that had once been dark blue but had now faded to an indeterminate grey staredback at her. How long was it since the sparkle and hope had faded from those eyes? “His life,” she repeated. Oh, there were women in the village she had coffee with, worked with as a volunteer at church. Nice enough women, but nobody she could describe as a real friend—the sort of person she could run to now and let out all her anger. The closest to that was Mavis. Mavis had cleaned for her for the past ten years, always cheerful, willing and with no illusions about the character of Mr Endicott.
I’ll miss Mavis,she thought. Then she thought about what Mavis had said. She should get her own solicitor. That would shake Lionel. She finished putting on the lipstick, grabbed her hat and came downstairs.
“I’m doing what you told me, Mavis,” she said, passing her mopping the marble tiles in the front hallway. “I’m going to that solicitor.”
“That’s right, Mrs E.,” Mavis said. “You show that no-good husband of yours that you’re not going to keel over and play dead. You’re going to fight him tooth and nail.”
“Golly, you make me sound like a wild animal.” Ellie had to smile.
Mavis chuckled. “You show your claws, love,” she said. “You’ve let him walk all over you for far too long.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Ellie stared at the pattern of stained glass on the front door, now sparkling in a rainbow on the freshly mopped marble. “He made the money and dished it out as he saw fit. He controlled everything, including me, and held the balance of power. I see that now. If he wasn’t happy, and his life didn’t run smoothly, then he wouldn’t do well in business, and we wouldn’t have this lovely lifestyle. He always let me feel that.”
“So now’s your chance, love,” Mavis said. “You open that door and go and live whatever life you want. Only make sure he pays you enough so you can enjoy it.”
Ellie looked back and gave her a beaming smile. “I will, Mavis. I bloody well will.”
Chapter 3
When Lionel arrived home that evening, he had the satisfied look on his face that normally meant a successfully concluded business deal.
“How was your day?” he asked, as he always did. He sat down in his favourite armchair, took off his highly polished shoes and reached for his slippers. A confused look came over his face.
“What happened to my slippers?” he asked.
“In your dressing room, I expect,” she said. “That was where you left them.”
“But you always . . . ,” he began.
“Always used to ... when I was still your wife,” she said. “Now I suggest you train Monique to have your slippers and sherry ready for you.”
“It’s Michelle,” he said.
“I bet it’s not.” She gave a little chuckle. “I bet her real name is Brenda or Beryl or something equally common and boring, and she’s become Michelle to snag herself a rich gentleman.”
His face flushed again. “She’s not like that at all. I told you, she’s a highly educated girl with a bright future. Most amusing. Good-looking.”
“Then why does she want you, Lionel—apart from your money?”
“We get along well. We’re highly compatible,” he said. “We laugh at the same things.”
“You never laugh here,” she said.
