Page 8 of Mrs. Endicott's Splendid Adventure
“Now what possible interest could that be to you? Maybe a month, a year, whatever I feel like. I am now fancy-free, Lionel. No longer your wife. Free to do exactly what I choose. But don’t worry. I will let you know when I’m leaving.” She sensed him staring after her as she left the room.
Chapter 4
Now that she could leave when she wanted to, she hesitated. It had been one thing to announce to the world that she was going to France for a while, but complications arose. There was the flat in London to take care of—leaving the renting in the hands of an estate agent. Her passport to update. And she had acquired stuff over the years—not only clothes but toiletries, her silver-backed brushes, favourite books, sheet music, photograph albums. Clearly she couldn’t take them all to the South of France. She went through her clothes, deciding which she would no longer need. No need for furs in that climate. Or her evening gowns. Or even smart tailored suits. She laid them on the bed, staring at them. Would she ever use them again? When would she go to the sort of formal dinner where they’d wear strapless evening attire? And yet she was reluctant to sell them or give them away.
In the end she had Mavis help her pack them in tissue and store them in garment bags, laying them in trunks in the attic. Because, as Mavis put it, you never know. “You might meet a millionaire on the Riviera and find yourself living in a stately ’ome.”
Mavis was an eternal optimist, in spite of a miserable life growing up in a slum and then living with her lout of a husband.
Eventually Ellie had her most suitable clothing assembled for the trip, hanging clean and pressed in the wardrobe, with the trunk open and ready to be packed on the bedroom floor. She examined the items critically. She remembered the Riviera as being impossibly chic. Sheowned nothing that could loosely be described as fashionable. Her wardrobe was suitable for village life with the odd dinner party thrown in: sensible tweed skirts and jumpers for winter, cotton dresses for summer and one or two long silk gowns for when they entertained. Not a single backless pyjama or any of the other things that people wore in Nice, according to women’s magazines. And too late to have any made now.
“I’ll just have to make do,” she said. “I’ll be the frumpy middle-aged widow, certainly not the gay divorcee. I’ll blend into the scenery, and everyone will look on me with pity or leave me alone.”
The one item she had decided to take from the household was the photograph album from when the boys were young. She looked at their bright, cheeky grins as they played on the beach, or climbed over rocks, and felt a pang of regret. When did they stop being fun-loving, adventurous little boys and turn into dull, serious young men? Men who were polite to their mother and pecked her dutifully on the cheek.
She was ready to go. She should book a ticket on the Golden Arrow to Paris. But now she hesitated. The news from Europe was not good. A crisis was looming over the Sudetenland, part of Czechoslovakia that was German-speaking and that Hitler was trying to claim. Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain had recalled his ambassador and was planning to go to Berlin himself to make Hitler see sense. And yet that all seemed very remote from the South of France, didn’t it?
But still she hesitated. She had never really been alone in her life, moving straight from her parents’ house to marriage with Lionel. That trip to Europe had been booked by Aunt Louisa. She had merely followed along, confident that trains and hotels would show up at the right time. Alone in her bedroom at night, she doubted for the first time. Was she insane to think she could go to the Riviera by herself? She stared at her worried face in the mirror.
“You are alone,” she said to herself. “You have nobody now, so it’s about time you learned how to survive.” The trip to France would be a good test. If she could cross the Channel and travel alone, then shewould be ready to do anything. She had to smile at this thought. It wasn’t the Sahara or the Himalayas—she knew women a century ago had conquered those exotic places alone. But it was “abroad” and thus different—a challenge. And she was not going to back down now and lose face in front of Lionel. She could tell he was rather impressed with this new, confident Ellie. She would go through with it at all costs.
There were a few last-minute responsibilities she had to take care of. She had to wait for her passport to arrive. She wrote to both of her sons.
My dear Colin/Richard,
You will no doubt have heard by now from your father that he is divorcing me and plans to marry someone called Michelle. He expected me to melt away without much protest and live the rest of my life in a tiny cottage somewhere. However, I have surprised him by deciding to go to the South of France. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, whether it will be a short holiday or a long stay. You’ll be able to reach me through my bank should an emergency arise. I send you my love and hope that you stay healthy and happy.
Your loving mother.
She checked with the bank and obtained letters of credit and traveller’s cheques. And, being the responsible sort, she had to let people in the village know that she was leaving. She couldn’t just leave the church altar guild and the Women’s Institute in the lurch. It was simple enough to telephone Mrs Saunders, explaining that she’d be going away and thus would not be helping with refreshments at the next meeting of the WI. Mrs Saunders was sympathetic. Yes, she’d heard something of a rumour that Ellie would be going. Mavis had told someone. She was most sorry to hear it. Ellie had always been such a reliable helper.
Miss Smith-Humphries was not going to be so easy. An old-school spinster, she ran the altar guild with a rod of iron, inspecting each altarcloth, each flower arrangement, as if she were a general inspecting her troops. And she did not believe in telephones. That meant that Ellie could either send her a letter, or she could visit in person. She knew it would have to be the visit and was not looking forward to it.
Miss Smith-Humphries lived in a cottage on the village green. A statuesque woman, although she was now elderly, she held herself very upright with a permanent expression of distaste on her face. Her white hair in rigid curls. Rather like Queen Mary in many ways. She was the sort of formidable person who has a hand in all aspects of the smooth running of a community: parish council, Girl Guides, beautification committee and altar guild. Even grown men were afraid of her steely gaze. Ellie took a deep breath before she went up the front path between immaculate flowerbeds. There were the last roses of summer still framing the front door, and their sweet scent hung in the air as she knocked.
“Mrs Endicott!” The haughty, unlined face nodded graciously. “We heard that you would be leaving us. A great pity. A great pity indeed. Do come in.”
Ellie was relieved that, thanks to Mavis, the world seemed to know her situation. Miss Smith-Humphries invited her to sit in an armchair by the bay window and went to get tea.
“I’m sorry to be deserting you,” Ellie said. “But as you’ve heard, I’m leaving the area.”
“We are all shocked and sorry to hear it.” The old lady gave her a sympathetic nod. “You have been a stalwart member of our community for years. Most valuable to our little life here.”
“Thank you.” Ellie felt tears prickling at the back of her eyes. She hadn’t realized that she had been appreciated, that she had mattered here. She looked around the small living room with its knick-knacks, old prints on the walls, a bookcase full of interesting volumes, its vases of flowers, the crocheted throw rug over the back of the sofa. It was a room stuffed with memories.This will be me in the future,she thought.
Miss Smith-Humphries brought out a tray with tea things and chocolate biscuits on it. The tray had a white cloth with lace edges andthe teacups were Spode. The teapot was silver. She poured and handed Ellie a cup before she said, “May one ask where you are going now? You have family somewhere?”
“Unfortunately no,” Ellie said. “My sons are both bachelors, one in the army and the other with a bank in Hong Kong. My parents are dead. I was an only child, and so I have no close family. I’m actually going abroad for a while.”
“Abroad? My, that’s adventurous. Where?”
Ellie took a sip of the tea. She stared out at the village green. Two little boys were kicking a ball while their mother watched, bringing back fond memories of her own sons. They had been such happy, carefree little boys until Lionel had insisted on sending them off to boarding school. An old man was walking his dog. On the far side the pub sign swung in the breeze. The Five Bells. All so lovely and safe and normal. She took a deep breath.
“The South of France.”
Miss Smith-Humphries gave a little gasp—of pleasure, it transpired. “How lovely. I visited the Riviera as a young woman, and I found it enchanting. Nice, Cannes, Antibes ... Which resort do you favour?”
“I’m not sure,” Ellie said. “I loved Nice as a young girl. But I’m not sure where I’ll end up. I plan to go until I find the right spot to stay for a while.”
