Betty Neels - An Ideal Wife

As she changed into a dress and piled her hair she decided that if he proposed again she would make him understand once and for all that she wouldn’t marry him. She had never encouraged him, indeed she had discouraged him as nicely as possible without actually being rude. And a lot of good that had done …

Her stepmother was in the drawing room, leafing through a magazine. As usual she was beautifully dressed, her blonde hair expertly tinted, her face exquisitely made up. She looked up as Louisa went in.

‘Hello, darling. Had a busy day? Why are you wearing that dull dress? It makes you look positively elderly. Whatever will Percy think?’

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.’