A Good Wife

‘Well, they can’t be all that stupid or they wouldn’t be in a crossword puzzle.’ She sat back on her heels and looked at him. ‘You forgot my birthday.’

‘Did I? After all, birthdays aren’t important, not once one is adult.’

Serena pencilled in a word. Gregory was probably quite right; he so often was—and so tolerant. Her brothers had told her that he would be a good and kind husband. Sometimes, though, she wondered if she would have liked him to be a little more exciting. And why was it that everyone took it for granted that she would marry him?

She said now, ‘I should have liked a card, and flowers—a great sheaf of roses in Cellophane tied with ribbon—and a very large bottle of perfume.’

Gregory laughed. ‘You really must grow up, Serena. You must have been reading too many novels. You know my opinion about wasting money on meaningless rubbish…’

She pencilled in another word. ‘Why should flowers and presents be meaningless rubbish when they are given to someone you love or want to please? Have you ever felt that you wanted to buy me something madly extravagant, Gregory?’

He lacked both imagination and a sense of humour, and besides, he had a high opinion of himself. He said seriously, ‘No, I can’t say that I have. What would be the point, my dear? If I were to give you a diamond necklace, or undies from Harrods, when would you have the occasion to wear them?’

‘So when you buy me a present at Christmas you think first, Now, what can I buy Serena that she can find useful and use each day? Like that thing you gave me for shredding things which takes all day to clean?’

He refused to get annoyed. He gave her an indulgent smile. ‘I think you must be exaggerating, Serena. How about a cup of tea? I can’t stay long; I’m dining with the head of my department this evening.’

So she fetched the tea, and he told her of his week’s work while he drank it and ate several slices of the cake she had baked. Since she had little to say, and that was sensible, he reflected that despite her lack of looks she would be a quite suitable wife for him; he didn’t allow himself to dwell on the house and the comfortable inheritance she would have, and which would make her even more suitable.

He went back upstairs to say goodbye to Mr Lightfoot, and presently came down again to give her a peck on a cheek and tell her that he would do his utmost to come and see her the following weekend.

Serena shut the door behind him and gathered up the tea things. She reflected that Gregory wasn’t just frugal, he was downright mean. Washing up, impervious to her father’s voice demanding attention, she considered Gregory. She wasn’t sure when it had first become apparent that he was interested in her. She had felt flattered and prepared to like him, for her life had been dull, and, after a while, her father had signified his approval of him. When her brothers had met him, they had assured her in no uncertain terms that Gregory would be a splendid husband, and she, with the prospect of a life of her own, had allowed herself to agree with them.

But now the years were slipping away, and Gregory, although he talked often enough of when they would marry, had never actually asked her to marry him. He had a steady job, too. Serena being Serena, honest and guileless and expecting everyone else to be the same—except for her father, of course—had never for one moment thought that Gregory was waiting for her father to die, at which point he would marry her and become the owner of the house and a nice little capital. He had no doubt that Serena would be only too glad to let him take over the house and invest her money for her. He didn’t intend to be dishonest, she would have all she wanted within reason, but it would be his hand which held the strings of her moneybags.

Of course, Serena knew nothing of this… All the same doubts were beginning to seep into her head. Other thoughts seeped in, too, about the stranger she had talked to so freely on Barrow Hill. She had liked him; it had seemed to her that she had known him for a long time, that he was like an old, trusted friend. Nonsense, of course—but, nonsense or not, his memory stayed clearly in her head.

During the week her elder brother came. His visits were infrequent, although he lived in Yeovil, but, as he pointed out, he was a busy man with little leisure. At Christmas and on his father’s birthday he came, with his wife and two children—duty visits no one enjoyed—and every month or so he came briefly. He was very like his father, and they didn’t get on well, so the visits were brief. Serena, offering coffee or tea, was always questioned closely as to finances, warned to let him know if she should ever need him, but was never asked if she was happy or content with the life she led. And this visit was like all the others: brief and businesslike with no mention of herself.

Over a second cup of coffee she said, ‘I should like a holiday, Henry.’

‘A holiday? Whatever for? Really, Serena, you are sometimes quite lacking in sense. You have a pleasant life here; you have friends in the village and leisure. And who is to look after Father if you were to go away?’

‘You could pay someone—or your wife Alice could come and stay. You said yourself that you have a splendid au pair who could look after the children.’

Henry’s colour had heightened. ‘Impossible. Alice has the house to run, and quite a busy social life. Really, Serena, I had no idea that you were so selfish.’ He added, ‘And the au pair is leaving.’

He went away then, wishing her an austere goodbye, leaving her to go upstairs and discover why her father was shouting for her.

A few days later her younger brother came. Matthew was a gentler version of his brother. He also didn’t get on well with his father, but he was a dutiful son, tolerant of Mr Lightfoot’s ill temper while at the same time paying no more than duty visits. He was accompanied by his wife, a forceful young woman who was scornful of Serena, whom she considered was hopelessly old-fashioned in her ideas. She came into the house declaring breezily that Serena was neglecting the garden, and did she know there was a tile loose on the porch roof?

‘These things need attention,’ she pointed out. ‘It doesn’t do to neglect a house, certainly not one as large as this one. I must say you’re very lucky to live so splendidly.’

Serena let that pass, allowing her sister-in-law’s voice to flow over her unlistening head while her brother went to see his father. It was while they were having tea that she said, ‘Henry came the other day. I told him I wanted a holiday.’

Matthew choked on his cake. ‘A holiday? Why, Serena?’

At least he sounded reasonably interested.

‘This is a large house, there are six bedrooms, attics, a drawing room, dining room, sitting room, kitchen and two bathrooms. I am expected to keep them all clean and polished with the help of an elderly woman from the village who has rheumatism and can’t bend. And there’s the garden. I had a birthday a week or so ago—I’m twenty-six—and I think I’m entitled to a holiday.’

Matthew looked thoughtful, but it was his wife who spoke. ‘My dear Serena, we would all like holidays, but one has one’s duty. After all, you have only yourself and your father to care for, and uninterrupted days in which to arrange your tasks to please yourself.’

‘But I don’t please myself,’ said Serena matter-of-factly. ‘I have to please Father.’

Matthew said, ‘Well, it does seem to me to be quite reasonable… You have spoken to Henry…?’

‘Yes, he thinks it’s a silly idea.’

Matthew was at heart a good man, but under his brother and his wife’s thumbs. He said, ‘Oh, well, in that case I don’t think you should think any more about it, Serena.’

When Serena said nothing, he added, ‘I dare say you see a good deal of Gregory?’ Then he said, ‘A steady young man. You could do worse, Serena.’

‘Well, I dare say I could do better,’ said Serena flippantly. ‘Only I never meet any other men.’

She had a sudden memory of the man on Barrow Hill.

Gregory came at the weekend. She hadn’t expected him and, since it was a wet, dreary day, had decided to turn out a kitchen cupboard. Her untidy appearance caused him to frown as he pecked her cheek.

‘Must you look like a drudge on a Saturday morning?’ he wanted to know. ‘Surely that woman who comes to clean could do the work in the kitchen?’

Serena tucked back a strand of hair behind an ear. ‘She comes twice times a week for two hours. In a house this size it barely gives her time to do the kitchen and bathrooms and Hoover. I didn’t expect you…’

‘Obviously. I have brought you some flowers.’

He handed her daffodils wrapped in Cellophane with the air of a man conferring a diamond necklace.

Serena thanked him nicely and forebore from mentioning that there were daffodils running riot in the garden. It’s the thought that counts, she reminded herself as she took off her pinny. ‘I’ll make some coffee. Father has had his.’

‘I’ll go and see him presently.’ Gregory added carefully, ‘Henry tells me that you want to go on holiday.’

She was filling the kettle. ‘Yes. Don’t you think I deserve one? Can you think of somewhere I might go? I might meet people and have fun?’

Gregory said severely, ‘You are being facetious, Serena. I cannot see why you should need to go away. You have a lovely home here, with every comfort, and you can please yourself as to how you organise your days.’

She turned to look at him. He was quite serious, she decided, and if she had expected him to back her up she was to be disappointed.

‘You make it sound as though I spend my days sitting in the drawing room doing nothing, but you must know that that isn’t true.’

‘My dear Serena, would you be happy doing that? You are a born housewife and a splendid housekeeper; you will make a good wife.’ He smiled at her. ‘And now how about that coffee?’

He went to see her father presently, and she began to get lunch ready. Her father had demanded devilled kidneys on toast and a glass of the claret he kept in the dining room sideboard under lock and key. If Gregory intended to stay for lunch, he would have to have scrambled eggs and soup. Perhaps he would take her out? Down to the pub in the village where one could get delicious pasties…

Wishful thinking. He came into the kitchen, saying importantly that he needed to go to the office.

‘But it’s Saturday…’

He gave her a tolerant look. ‘Serena, I take my job seriously; if it means a few hours’ extra work even on a Saturday, I do not begrudge it. I will do my best to see you next Saturday.’