Page 4 of Mrs. Endicott’s Splendid Adventure

“No.” She shook her head. “Not a tour. I think I’d like to find a little pension or something and stay put for a while. Just being, you know. Not having to do anything or go anywhere or make anyone’s blasted boiled eggs or fetch slippers. Just learning to be me and finding out what I want.”

Mavis nodded. “Good idea,” she said. “But how are you going to manage with the lingo? Do you parley-voos a bit?”

“More than a bit,” Ellie said. “Of course I’m rusty right now, but my mother was of the old school who thought French was the language of diplomacy and that well-bred ladies throughout the world should converse in French.

Although I had little chance of marrying a foreign count, she drilled me mercilessly until I was fluent at an early age.

So I’m sure it would come back to me quickly if I wanted. ”

“How will you get there?” Mavis asked.

“There are plenty of trains. Golden Arrow to Paris and then a train south.”

“What, on your own? With them all speaking a foreign language and all them foreign men around? I’ve heard what they’re like. Are you sure that’s wise?” Mavis was staring in wonder, having never been further than a day trip to Brighton herself. “They pinch bottoms, don’t they?”

Ellie laughed. “It’s been years since I’ve had my bottom pinched. I think I’m a little too old for that. But I might even enjoy it.” She gave Mavis a wicked grin. “I’m sure I’d be fine.”

“So it’s France you’d go to, not Italy or any of them other heathen places?”

Ellie considered. “I did like Italy, too, but I loved that Riviera coast. It felt like the most magical place on earth. So I think I’d start off there.

Maybe travel more later if I wanted to. But it would make sense to go somewhere where I could communicate when I got my bearings . .. got my feet wet, so to speak.”

“Well, good luck to you. That’s what I say, Mrs E.”

“How funny,” Ellie said, her face now serious again. “I won’t be Mrs E. for much longer, will I?”

“I must say I’m going to miss you,” Mavis said. “Not just the money from the job, but coming here every day and having you to chat to. You’ve always been a good sort to me. Never treated me like a servant like some of them ladies do.”

Ellie stared at the other woman’s gaunt face, her sharp features, her bony body, and realized how much she had taken for granted hearing her cheerful greeting every morning.

It came to her with a jolt that Mavis would be losing a lot of work when she went.

“I’m so sorry, Mavis. I realize this will be making things difficult for you.

How will you manage for money? I’ll try to make it up to you. ”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Mrs E.,” Mavis said. “I’ve got more ladies asking me to do for them than I have time. And the vicar, he wants me to take care of the church, so I’ll be fine.”

“I do hope so,” Ellie said. “I feel badly about this. You’ve been a good friend. I’ve really appreciated you, Mavis,” she said. “I will miss you, too.”

Suddenly Mavis laughed and gave her a playful shove. “Go on. Look at us, all mournful like a couple of ninnies. You’re about to have the time of your life. We should be celebrating.”

“You’re right,” Ellie said. “Tell you what—I’ll go and see if the fishmonger has any crab today. We’ll have a crab salad and wine with it for lunch. And I’ll pick up a sinful pastry at the baker’s.”

“Well, blow me down,” Mavis said, looking pleased. “That’s what I call a good send-off.” She paused. “So when do you think you’ll want to leave?”

“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. Remember my 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.

“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.