An Ideal Wife Read online

  ‘Who was it?’ Felicity looked at them in turn. ‘Oh, I’m not to know, is that it? Oh, well, I’ll find out for myself.’

  She was danced away, and the doctor began to weave his way between the dancers to where Percy and Helena were standing, deep in talk.

  Helena saw them first. ‘Thomas, where have you been? And Louisa?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You missed supper...’

  ‘Mary Davidson was taken ill; it was a question of getting her home to her own doctor as soon as possible. Louisa kindly came with us and saw her safely into bed and we waited until her own doctor came.’

  ‘Why didn’t you find me and tell me?’

  ‘There wasn’t time, and Mrs Woodley asked us to say nothing—it might have upset the guests.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her, anyway? Mary was always a silly girl—no stamina,’ Helena said spitefully.

  ‘She had plenty of stamina this evening,’ said Louisa tartly. ‘And we hope the baby is safe.’ She added, ‘I thought that you were a friend of Mary?’

  Under her perfect make-up Helena went red. ‘Oh, the poor dear, if only I had known. You should have fetched me, darling.’ She turned her lovely blue eyes to the doctor. ‘After all, she needed a friend, not just anyone...’

  ‘How fortunate that it was Louisa and not just anyone,’ said the doctor quietly.

  ‘I must say,’ said Percy, anxious to get a word in, ‘I think it is most inconsiderate of you to go off like that without a word to me, Louisa. I was beginning to worry about you.’

  ‘But you didn’t notice that I wasn’t here, did you, Percy? So no harm’s done. I’d like to dance.’

  She smiled brilliantly at Helena and the doctor, and floated away in Percy’s arms. He talked gravely and at some length as they danced, pointing out her shortcomings in a reasonable voice. ‘You might take a lesson from Helena,’ he pointed out. ‘There is nothing boisterous about her; she is so self-possessed, and her manners so quiet and pleasant.’

  ‘You sound like something out of one of the Brontës’ books,’ remarked Louisa. She laughed, and then suddenly was angry. She stopped dancing so that he came to a clumsy halt. ‘How dare you, prosing on and on like a puffed up Mr Barratt of Wimpole Street? You had better go and find Miss Thornfold and explain how boisterous I am. Really, Percy, you had better snap her up before Dr Gifford marries her. You’re so well suited.’

  Percy looked surprised. ‘Yes, I believe we are,’ he said complacently. ‘As I was saying...’

  ‘Not again. I’m going home, and if by any chance you should feel that you should drive me back or get me a taxi, don’t bother. I’ve had several offers of a lift home.’ She uttered the fib with a casual certainty which Percy, never the most perceptive of men, took for the truth.

  He said, ‘Oh, well, if that’s what you want. I must say this evening hasn’t turned out as I had hoped...’

  ‘No? I should have thought it was being much better than that.’

  She turned on her heel and slipped away between the dancers, smiling and nodding to those she knew as she went. In the hall she saw Mrs Woodley.

  ‘Louisa, thank you so much for your help. Thomas told me everything. I’m so grateful. Have you had supper? Where’s Percy Witherspoon?’

  ‘Mrs Woodley, I’m just going upstairs to tidy up a bit. I’m glad I could be of help. It’s a lovely ball, and so successful.’

  Mrs Woodley looked pleased. ‘I’m glad it’s going so well. I’m just going to make sure there is still plenty of food.’

  Louisa nipped upstairs, found her wrap, peered over the banisters to make sure no one was about and went back into the hall. She knew exactly what she was going to do—get hold of Hodge, the butler, and persuade him to find her a bike. The summer night wasn’t dark, she wasn’t nervous, and she knew the road. Half an hour’s cycling, and she would be back at the flat.

  It would be best, she thought, to go out of the front door and round to the side door leading to the kitchen; Hodge might be there. She found the door bolted. She should have thought of that, but there was still another way. She opened a door which would take her through the morning room and thence to the servants’ quarters.

  ‘I’ll take you home,’ said Dr Gifford quietly from somewhere behind her. ‘I presume that’s what your intention is?’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LOUISA KNEW NOW what it felt like to have her heart leap into her throat, a whimsical idea she had thought nonsense. She swallowed it back into its rightful place and said in an almost steady voice, ‘Yes, but I have already made arrangements.’

  ‘Rubbish, you’ve not had time. Is there a way out of this place if we go through here?’

  She nodded. ‘But I’m quite capable.’

  ‘Yes, yes, you’re very capable, but allow me to drive you back. Tell me, how did you intend to get home? A taxi?’

  ‘No. I was going to borrow a bike from Hodge.’

  The doctor, a man possessed of great self-control, just managed not to laugh. He didn’t even smile. ‘Ah, yes, of course.’ Obedient to her pointing hand, he drew the bolts on a small door in the passage they had reached. It let them into a yard at the side of the house.

  He closed the door behind them and waited while Louisa sensibly gathered her billowing skirts in a bunch. ‘This way,’ she told him, and plucked at his sleeve. ‘Come along.’

  The doctor, who hadn’t enjoyed himself so much for a long time, came.

  In the car Louisa said suddenly, ‘I should have said something to Mrs Woodley.’

  ‘I’ll make your excuses for you when I get back.’ He would have to think up a few of his own for Helena, he reflected. He glanced sideways at Louisa, apparently so sensible and aloof in her manner, yet given to behaving quite out of character on the spur of the moment. And with a sharp tongue, too.

  He told himself that it was a good thing he would only meet her at the consulting rooms; for some reason he found her disquieting.

  His thoughts coloured his voice as he bade her goodbye at her flat, and Louisa was quick to hear it. The evening was something which was to be forgotten, a lapse in their detached manner towards each other. All the same, she asked, ‘Do you want to come in and have a cup of coffee?’

  His polite refusal chilled her.

  She got ready for bed slowly, made herself a cup of cocoa and sat up in bed, drinking it. The evening hadn’t been a total loss; Percy and Helena had met each other just as she had planned, and they had seemed attracted to each other, too. It was up to Thomas to prise his Helena loose from Percy if she became serious towards him, so Louisa had no regrets about her scheming. Helena wouldn’t do for Thomas, anyone could see that—excepting him, of course.

  ‘Men are silly!’ said Louisa, and went to sleep.

  She drove down to Stalbridge in the morning, for her planned visit to Aunt Martha. She lived alone, with two cats and an old dog, and liked a good gossip. Besides, Louisa didn’t feel like seeing Felicity for a day or two; there would be too many questions asked. It was a lovely morning, and she wished that the drive was more than the thirty miles or so ahead of her. She knew that she would be welcome. All the same she stowed a bottle of wine in the back of the car and stopped in Shaftesbury to buy a box of chocolates—Aunt Martha’s weakness.

  Stalbridge, a large village tucked away from the main road, looked peaceful, drowsing in Sunday quiet, and Aunt Martha’s house, in a quiet lane off its main street, looked just as peaceful. It was old, sturdily built and was surrounded by a garden crowded with flowers and shrubs. Aunt Martha was a keen gardener, and earned herself a small income from painting the flowers she grew. She had money of her own and lived comfortably, perfectly content with her life.

  Louisa parked the car and went around the side of the house to the garden at the back. Her aunt was there, sitting under an apple tree, readin
g the Sunday papers. The cats and dog were with her, and they all got up as Louisa joined them.

  ‘Louisa, how very nice to see you—you’ll stay for lunch and tea, of course? It’s quite some time since you were here. I hope you’re going to tell me about the Woodleys’ ball. You weren’t sure if you were going when you phoned me.’

  Louisa flopped down on the grass. ‘Oh, this is lovely. Yes, I went to the ball.’

  ‘Good. Run into the kitchen and fetch us some lemonade. And there are biscuits in a tin. Oh, and bring a chair as you come.’ Aunt Martha added, ‘It’s cold lamb and salad for lunch and a rhubarb tart.’

  The kitchen was small, very neat, clean and rather old-fashioned. Aunt Martha had no interest in modern gadgets. ‘Give me a bowl and a wooden spoon,’ she would tell anyone who remarked upon her lack of up-to-date equipment. Louisa poured the lemonade, found the biscuits, carried the tray into the garden, fetched a chair and sat down, feeling content.

  Just looking at Aunt Martha was soothing; she was short and round, with rosy cheeks and twinkling brown eyes. Her hair was still a rich brown streaked with grey and she dressed it elegantly. She dressed well too—tweeds in the winter, cotton and linen in the summer. A ‘little woman’ made her clothes and, for as long as Louisa could remember, they had never varied in style.

  Aunt Martha accepted a glass of lemonade and said abruptly, ‘It’s time you married. And not that Witherspoon man who’s been dangling after you for years. Does he still?’

  ‘Dangle? Well, until yesterday...’ Louisa, her mouth full of biscuit, told Aunt Martha all about the ball and her schemes.

  She mentioned the doctor as little as possible, which didn’t prevent Aunt Martha from observing, ‘He sounds quite a man, this doctor. Do you like him?’

  ‘He doesn’t like me,’ said Louisa. ‘He’s going to marry Helena Thornfold; do you know her?’

  ‘Thornfold,’ mused her aunt. ‘Knew her parents; never got on with them. If she’s anything like her mother, he’s in for a terrible time. A mean and spiteful woman—very pretty, though.’

  ‘Helena is quite beautiful...’

  ‘But mean and spiteful?’ asked Aunt Martha shrewdly.

  ‘Yes, she contrives to make me feel fat whenever we see each other.’

  ‘Sour grapes, my dear. There’s no fat on you, only curves where they ought to be.’ Aunt Martha heaved herself out of her chair. ‘Come and lay the table for me while I make a salad.’

  Escorted by the cats and the dog, they went indoors and presently lunched in a leisurely fashion. Afterwards Louisa washed up before they went back to the garden, where she lay in the grass under the apple tree and dozed, to wake refreshed at the sound of her aunt’s voice observing that there was a freshly baked lardy cake if she felt like tea.

  She went back to Salisbury in the early evening, full of sun and fresh air, half-convinced that any life other than the simple one her aunt lived was not life at all.

  She had supper and went to bed. At least Dr Gifford wouldn’t be at Sir James’s rooms until Wednesday; the less she saw of him, the better, although she wasn’t sure why.

  * * *

  The first person she saw when she got to work in the morning was him.

  His good morning was uttered in a preoccupied manner. ‘Sir James is unable to get here until this afternoon; he has asked me to take over for the morning. Will you let me have the patients’ notes as quickly as possible?’

  He was on the phone when she took them in and laid them on the desk, but before she reached the door he had put it down.

  ‘Is there anything I should know about this morning’s patients?’

  ‘Peggy Matthews, she’s ten and very bright; likes to know what’s happening.’ Louisa paused for thought. ‘Her mother’s a timid lady, expects the worst. There’s a tin of toffees in the left-hand drawer of the desk; Sir James gives Peggy one before she goes.’

  Dr Gifford sat back in his chair. ‘What a mine of useful information you are,’ he observed. ‘Thank you, Louisa.’

  ‘Not at all, sir,’ snapped Louisa. She resisted a desire to slam the door hard as she went out.

  And after that she was too busy to think about anything else but dealing with the post, the appointment book and the telephone, until Sir James came bustling in as she was putting on the kettle for her lunch. Mrs Grant had gone shopping, and Jilly spent her lunch hour in a coffee shop in one of the small side streets. Louisa intended to eat her sandwiches quickly and go for a brisk walk. It was amazing what a lot one could do in an hour if one planned it carefully.

  Sir James put an end to all that. He greeted her breezily, told her to turn off the kettle and come into his consulting room. ‘Ten minutes’ work, Miss Howarth. I’ll dictate while I have a few moments to spare.’

  Dr Gifford was still there, standing by the window, whistling, his hands in his pockets.

  ‘Ah, Thomas—good of you to take over. I have had a most interesting morning with Professor Lutvik; you remember him? We intend to get together again. In the meanwhile, he suggests a seminar. A good idea, don’t you think? Miss Howarth, sit down. You have your notebook? Good. I must get his plans for it down while they are still fresh in my memory.’

  He sat down at his desk and Louisa waited, pencil poised. But Sir James had started to talk to his colleague, and she sat, outwardly calm, inwardly impatient, her stomach rumbling. She would have to gobble her sandwiches and forego her walk. Ten minutes went by while the two men talked, and since their conversation was carried out mainly in medical terms she gave up listening. But presently there was a brief lull in their talk.

  ‘This is my lunch hour,’ said Louisa.

  They both looked at her, Sir James in surprise, Dr Gifford with no expression whatsoever, but he was laughing at her behind it; she was sure of that.

  ‘My dear Miss Howarth. Of course—how forgetful of me.’ Sir James looked at Thomas. ‘We’ll talk about this later—must you go back at once?’

  ‘I’m not needed until the five o’clock surgery at Cranborne. There is plenty of time before the afternoon patients come.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. Splendid. Now, Miss Howarth...’

  With constant interruptions while he changed his mind, it took fifteen more minutes to dictate. Finally he said, ‘If you’ll get that typed up for me? I don’t suppose you’re very busy this afternoon.’ He smiled kindly at her. ‘Now, off you go and have your lunch...’

  There was exactly ten minutes left of her lunch hour. Mrs Grant, bustling in with her shopping, said, ‘You’re back early...’

  Louisa gave a snort. ‘I haven’t been,’ she said, and went to put the kettle on.

  Sir James settled himself at his desk. ‘Miss Howarth doesn’t seem quite herself,’ he remarked.

  ‘Possibly she is hungry, and she has barely ten minutes of her lunch hour left.’

  ‘My dear fellow, how thoughtless of me. She had better have the hour now; I’m sure Mrs Grant and Jilly can manage. You’ve had lunch?’

  ‘No, no, not yet. Supposing I take Miss Howarth with me? There’s a small café close by, isn’t there?’

  ‘A splendid idea, Thomas. That will allow her to get back into her usual calm frame of mind.’ He added, ‘I shall want her to stay late this afternoon.’

  ‘Then the sooner we go, the better.’

  Louisa wasn’t quite sure how he did it, but under Mrs Grant’s and Jilly’s interested eyes he prised her from the almost boiling kettle and marched her gently but firmly into the street.

  ‘There’s a small place close by,’ he observed cheerfully. ‘We might get egg and chips or something similar. I don’t know about you, but I had breakfast hours ago. And don’t fuss about time; Sir James said that you were to have your lunch hour.’

  ‘Yes, but this is quite unnecessary, Dr Gifford.�
��

  He said, with perfect gravity, ‘Your blood sugar mustn’t be allowed to get too low and you doubtless have a busy afternoon ahead of you. Ah, here we are.’

  It was a very small café, catering for those who needed food that could be eaten quickly. The furnishings were basic, but the paper tablecloths were clean and so was the weedy youth behind the small counter. They sat at a table in the window and the youth came at once.

  ‘The sausage and mash is all gone—you’re a bit late. I could do you a couple of eggs on toast with baked beans and a nice pot of tea?’

  Dr Gifford glanced at Louisa. ‘Does that sound all right to you, Louisa?’ And when she nodded the youth sped away to return in a few minutes with a large brown pot of tea, cups and saucers, milk and sugar.

  ‘Five minutes for the food,’ he told them. ‘Plenty more hot water if you want it.’

  The tea was strong, and Louisa drank it thankfully. The doctor drank his, too, remarking casually, ‘Such a reviving drink, isn’t it? Strong enough to bring anyone back from death’s door.’ And in the same breath he asked, ‘Do you like your work, Louisa?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course I do. Sir James is nice to work for, and I like Mrs Grant and Jilly.’ She tried to think of something else to say and couldn’t, so it was as well that the youth brought the eggs and beans—generous portions, nicely cooked and piping hot.

  The doctor, passing the pepper and salt, tried to imagine Helena in Louisa’s place and couldn’t. Somehow baked beans and Helena didn’t go together, whereas he had to admit that Louisa looked exactly right, polishing off her piled-up plate with unselfconscious appetite.

  Presently she sat back, her plate empty. ‘I was hungry,’ she said simply.

  ‘And there is quite a lot of you to keep nourished,’ observed the doctor. ‘Would you like another pot of tea or one of those buns under that glass dome on the counter?’

  He was secretly amused that she had taken his remarks in good part. Indeed, now that she was no longer hungry, she had forgotten to be haughty.

  ‘No, thank you. I enjoyed that. I must go back. It was kind of you to bring me here.’