Page 2 of Mrs. Endicott's Splendid Adventure
He cleared his throat, then went on, as if he had prepared the speech. “I thought you might want to move up to London. My portfolio contains a nice little flat in Knightsbridge—not too far from Harrods. It’s only one bedroom, but you won’t be entertaining or anything, will you? It should suit you nicely—easy to walk to the shops.”
He attempted an encouraging smile. She continued a cold stare.
“I hate London,” she said.
“Then we’ll find you a nice little cottage down here. So that you can keep up your activities with the church. I think I saw one for sale in that row near the station.”
Ellie stared at him incredulously. “You want me to move to a workman’s cottage? In a row near the station? And you carry on here as if nothing has happened? You must think very little of me, Lionel.” She took a deep breath. “If we’re going to divorce, I want the house.”
“What?” The word shot out like an explosion, then he collected himself. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ellie. Why would you want a great big house to yourself? It’s not as if you have many friends here. All the people we entertain are my friends, my business associates and clients.”
“Precisely,” she said. “Maybe it’s time I started making my own friends. Besides, I like this house. I know it well. I’ve decorated it, made it what it is. And I’m comfortable here.”
“Be reasonable, old thing.” His voice was soft, but she noticed he was crumpling the edges of theTimeswith his fingers.He hates creased newspapers,she thought.
“I am trying to be reasonable, Lionel.” She heard her voice rising, even though she was trying to stay calm. “It’s not easy when my husband of thirty years announces that he wants a divorce. But I can assure you I am not going to keel over and play dead. I am going to fight for what I want. I may contest the divorce. Have you thought of that? It will get into the newspapers. Prominent London banker dumps faithful wife for floozy. Is that what theDaily Mirrormight say? Hardly good for your image, is it? I think Mr Murchison might not be well pleased with that sort of publicity about one of his VPs.”
She noticed he was now swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple going up and down. “Dash it all, Ellie, I’m trying to be reasonable. How could you afford to run the house alone? Pay for the gardener and all the things that need doing from time to time? And you’d need a car to get anywhere. And think of the heating bill.”
“Very well, then,” she said, considering this. “Perhaps I don’t want to be stuck in a boring little village, especially where everyone knows me. The last thing I want is pity. Oh poor Ellie. Her husband left her, you know. Perhaps this is the time for me to spread my wings.We’ll have the house valued, and all our other possessions, too. You can pay me half.”
Lionel’s face had turned that angry red again—more plum than beetroot now. He was coming close to one of his explosions, she could see. “But all of this was bought with my money.” He spat out the words. “Money I earned working damned hard. Keeping you in a damned nice lifestyle.”
“Entertaining your clients and business associates? Raising two boys in whom you showed no interest? Making sure you had clean shirts?” Ellie stood up, her linen napkin falling to the floor unnoticed. “Exactly how much do you owe me in back wages if we tot that up? Oh, believe me, Lionel, I have earned half this house and more. Now, are you going to see reason, or do I have to find my own solicitor and fight this in the courts?”
With that, she stalked out of the room. Her heart was beating so loudly that she was sure it must be echoing from the oak-panelled walls of the front hall. She went through to the kitchen, let the door swing shut behind her and stood, holding on to the pine table for support. Why had she been so blind? Why had she never suspected for an instant that he had been unfaithful to her? She realized with utter clarity that on those occasions he had said, apologetically, that he had another of those boring evening meetings with the shareholders and it had gone on so damned late that he’d better spend the night at his club, he was, in fact, spending the night at a little flat in Knightsbridge with Monique, or Marlene, or whatever she was called. She was pretty sure it was that same love nest he now wanted to foist off on his discarded wife. All very neat and tidy. Lionel liked everything neat and tidy. One woman moves out of flat and into house, other moves out of house and into flat. There. All taken care of. She could just see the wheels in his brain ticking over.
And she had thrown a spanner into these works. The submissive spaniel had suddenly jumped up and bitten him. He would not be liking it at all. And she allowed herself a small smile.
Chapter 2
Ellie waited in the kitchen until she heard the front door slam and then the crunch of car tires on the gravel driveway before she poured herself a cup of tea, pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sank on to it. She looked around the kitchen,herkitchen for the past twenty years. Her gaze swept over her striped Cornishware bowls, the faithful pots and pans hanging on the rack, the cheerful gingham curtains and geranium in the window with the view of the manicured garden beyond with its lovely rose arbour. And now she was supposed to walk away from all this, move to some poky little place as a pathetic and lonely older woman, content with her crochet and good works at the local church?
“Over my dead body,” she said out loud.
“What did you say?” said a voice behind her, making her jump and spin around.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Her cleaning lady, Mavis Moss, stood in the doorway, her hair tied up in a kerchief and with a broom in her hand. A small woman, all skin and bones with sharp features, she had always reminded Ellie of a Cockney sparrow, with her beaky nose and her little dark eyes that darted nervously.
“Oh Mavis. I’m sorry.” Ellie put her hand instinctively to her heart. “I had no idea. I didn’t hear you come in. Is it really nine o’clock already?”
Mavis propped up the broom and came over to her. “What’s up, Mrs E.? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I am the ghost,” Ellie said. “The ghost is me, apparently.”
Mavis went to scratch her head, then realized the kerchief got in the way. She put a tentative hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “Is there something I can do? Make you a cup of tea?”
“I’ve already had two,” Ellie said.
“So his high-and-mightiness took the Bentley today, I see.” Mavis was already filling the kettle and then putting it on the stove. Her answer to everything was a cup of tea. “I thought you was planning to do some shopping in Guildford?”
Ellie shrugged. “I don’t think I feel like shopping at the moment.”
“Taken poorly?” Mavis asked. “I told you that sauce with the chicken was too rich.”
“It’s not that,” Ellie said. “My husband has just told me he wants a divorce.” She said the words as if she still couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“Blimey.” Mavis stared incredulously. “You could knock me down with a feather. Who would have thought that in a million years? What’s he want, the bachelor life again? Open-topped sports cars and letting his hair grow long?”
