Page 7 of Mrs. Endicott's Splendid Adventure
“As soon as possible,” Ellie said. “I can’t think of anything worse than staying in a house where I’m not wanted. He might even bring his floozy down to measure up for curtains in the nursery. I couldn’t stand that.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is.” Mavis gave a knowing little nod. “Got her in the family way and now thinks he’s doing the right thing. Well, he’ll soon learn. Let’s see how he handles a squawking baby in the middle of the night.”
“He’ll do exactly as he did with my children—pretend he can’t hear and go back to sleep,” Ellie said.
Over the next days Ellie and Lionel were awkwardly polite to each other. She cooked his boiled eggs as a gesture of goodwill and sent his shirts to the laundry as she always had. They drifted past each other, trying not to make eye contact. Two ships passing in the night. He was often out in the evenings (with Michelle, she surmised) and Ellie enjoyed cooking what she wanted to for dinner—sometimes only an omelette or even beans on toast instead of the meat and two veg Lionel expected every evening—and listening to the wireless alone. She was pleasurably surprised at this.It will be all right,she thought.I’ll manage by myself.
Eventually Lionel produced papers for her to sign. They all seemed in order. He was admitting guilt. She was leaving the marriage without a stain on her character. She was provided for financially. The monthly allowance and then the deed to the flat with the proceeds from the eventual sale, just as she had requested. She was going to sign, when she reminded herself that she was not going to be the compliant little woman.
“Thank you, Lionel. I’ll take these to my solicitor, so that he can check them,” she said.
She watched the familiar red flush rising on his cheeks. “Of course everything is in order,” he said. “Just sign the damned things.” Then, as he saw her placid expression, staring at him, he corrected himself. “Of course. If it makes you feel better. But you’ll find everything’s very fair and aboveboard. I have no wish to cheat you in any way, Ellie dear.”
Ellie did show them to her solicitor, who could find no fault. “The flat in London will be a nice little investment for you,” he commented as he returned them. So the next day they went to Lionel’s solicitor’s office and she signed. How simple it was to negate thirty years in one flourish of a signature. When they returned home, Lionel poured them both a large cognac.
“I assume there are various items around the house that you’d like to have for sentimental reasons, when you set up a place of your own,” he said. He was being generous because he felt he had won, got the better of her in the deal.
Ellie looked around her. It was an elegant sitting room with a Persian carpet in the middle of a polished floor, French doors opening on to the back terrace. A flower arrangement on a low table, a grand piano in the corner. Most of the furnishings had been her choice. Being the son of a humble shopkeeper, he had relied on her good taste. They’d been secondhand to start with—clever finds in antique shops that fit their meagre budget—but over the years she had replaced them when they could afford better. But did she really care about any of them? Her gaze went to the piano. There had been a time when she had played a lot. She had been part of a quartet until the violinist died and the others drifted away. She had played for village theatrical productions, but recently the joy of playing seemed to have gone. Besides, she didn’t think she’d be renting the type of house with room for a grand piano.
Then the little writing desk caught her eye. It had been one of her best finds in an antique shop. “I might want the writing desk,” she said.
“Didn’t you say it was Queen Anne?” She heard the slight tension in his voice. Queen Anne and therefore valuable. Worth money. It was all about money for Lionel.
“I believe so. But it’s a small piece. It would fit nicely in a cottage eventually.” She paused. “Of course I won’t take anything at the moment. Not until I’ve settled.”
“So where do you think you’ll go now?”
“The seaside, I thought.”
“Oh, what a good idea.” He sounded extra hearty. In his mind he was picturing her in a boarding house in Bournemouth or Worthing, a couple of streets back, where it was cheaper, taking healthy walks along the seafront, listening to the band, eating grey boiled beef and overdone cabbage for dinner. “Have you decided where?”
“The Riviera.”
“Oh, you mean Torquay? You love Torquay, don’t you?”
“I mean the French Riviera.”
“France?” He stared incredulously. “You’d want to go abroad? To France?”
“I just said so.”
“But you don’t like travelling abroad.”
“No, Lionel. You don’t like travelling abroad. I loved it when I was a girl.”
“But you never went again.”
“No. When we were first married, we couldn’t afford it, and after that you became rather set in your ways. Always the same resorts.”
“I suppose you’re right. You could have said ...”
She gave him a pitying smile. “As if I ever got what I wanted. You’d have given me every reason in the world why we were going to Eastbourne instead of Nice.”
His face had flushed again. “But you can’t travel all that way by yourself. How will you get there? Or will you take a coach tour?”
“There are trains. And porters, too, so I understand. I’ll manage perfectly, I’m sure. I do speak excellent French, or I used to. Remembermy mother insisted on conversing in French from the moment I could talk. I’ll start brushing up again.”
There was a long pause. The clock in the front hall struck eight. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?” he asked. There was a tone of uncertainty, almost wistfulness in his voice.
