An Ideal Wife

      Betty Neels

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CHAPTER ONE

      IT WAS six o’clock on a glorious June morning and the sun was already shining from a blue sky. But it wasn’t sunshine which woke Louisa, it was a persistent thumping on the door knocker and presently the doorbell.

      She sat up and peered at the clock by the bed. Far too early for the postman, and the milkman had no reason to make such a racket. She turned over and closed her eyes, still not quite awake, and then shot up in bed as the knocker was thumped again. She got out of bed then, flung on a dressing gown and went quickly downstairs. Whoever it was must be stopped before her stepmother was awakened, besides, neighbours living decorously in the quiet little street would complain.

      She unbolted the door and was confronted by a man tall and broad enough to blot out the street beyond him. She had the impression of good looks and angry blue eyes as he spoke.

      ‘And about time, too. Must I stand here for ever, banging on your door?’

      ‘Not unless you want to. Are you drunk or something? It’s barely six o’clock in the morning.’

      He didn’t look drunk, she reflected. His clothes were casual—trousers and a thin pullover—and he needed a shave. Louisa, who had a vivid imagination, wondered if he was an escaped prisoner on the run.

      ‘What do you want?’ she added stupidly. ‘And go away, do.’

      ‘I do not want anything and I am only too anxious to go away, but if you will look behind that bay tree beside the door you will see someone whom I presume belongs to you. She was half in and half out of your gate.’

      Louisa nipped down the steps and peered round the tub. ‘Oh, Lord, it’s Biddy.’

      She glanced at the man. ‘Our housekeeper.’ She bent to touch Biddy’s cheek. ‘She’s all right?’

      ‘She appears to be suffering a severe migraine. Be good enough to open the door wide and I will carry her in.’

      Louisa pattered ahead on her bare feet, down the elegant little hall, into the kitchen and through the door at the end into the spare room. She flung back the counterpane and covered Biddy after he laid her on the bed.

      ‘I’d better get our doctor …’

      ‘No need. Let her sleep it off.’

      He was already walking away, and she hurried to keep up with him.

      ‘Well, thank you very much. It was kind of you to stop. I hope it hasn’t made you late for work.’

      He didn’t answer, only walked through the hall and out of the door without looking round.

      ‘You have no need to be so ill-tempered,’ said Louisa, and closed the door smartly on his broad back. If she had stayed for a moment she would have seen him cross the street and get into the Bentley standing there, but she went back to see Biddy, putting the kettle on as she went.

      An hour later Louisa went upstairs to dress. Biddy would be fit for nothing for quite a few hours; Louisa would have to wake her stepmother before she left for work and break the news to her that she would have to get her own breakfast.

      Downstairs once more, Louisa crammed down cornflakes and tea while she got early morning tea for her stepmother and then nipped upstairs once again.

      Her stepmother’s bedroom was shrouded in semi-darkness, cluttered with discarded clothes and redolent of an overpowering scent. Louisa pulled back the curtains and put her tray down beside the bed.

      She said, ‘Good morning, Felicity,’ in a voice nicely calculated to rouse the supine figure on the bed. ‘Biddy isn’t well. She’s in bed, and I don’t think she’ll feel well enough to get up for the rest of the day. I’ve brought you your tea and laid breakfast for you in the kitchen.’

      Mrs Howarth moaned softly and dragged herself up against her pillows.

      ‘Louisa, must you come bouncing in like this? You know how delicate my nerves are. And what’s all this about Biddy? Of course she’s not ill. How am I supposed to manage without her? You’ll have to stay home …’

      Louisa looked at her stepmother who was still an attractive woman, even with her hair in rollers and no make-up. ‘Sorry. Sir James is booked solid all day and his nurses won’t have a moment to answer phone calls and check in the patients. You can go out to lunch. I’ll be home around six o’clock, and we can have a meal then. I dare say Biddy will be all right again by tomorrow. A migraine,’ said Louisa.

      ‘You could have brought me my breakfast,’ complained Mrs Howarth.

      ‘I’m just off,’ Louisa told her. ‘I’ll take a quick look at Biddy before I go.’

      Biddy was awake, feeling sorry for herself. ‘Miss Louisa, I dunno how I got here …’

      ‘well, you got as far as the gate,’ said Louisa. ‘Someone passing saw you and thumped the knocker.’

      ‘The missus didn’t hear?’

      ‘No, no. I told her that you were very poorly. Once your head’s better, you’ll be quite yourself again.’

      ‘Bless you, Miss Louisa. I got an awful ‘eadache.’

      ‘Yes, but it will get better, Biddy. Try and go to sleep again. I’ve put some milk here by your bed and some dry biscuits.’ She stooped and kissed the elderly cheek. ‘Poor old Biddy. I must fly or I’ll get the sack.’

      ‘You ought not to be working,’ said Biddy. ‘There’s money enough; spends it all on herself, she does. It ain’t fair.’

      ‘Don’t worry about it, Biddy. I like my job, and I meet lots of interesting people.’

      ‘You ought ter ‘ave a young man …’

      ‘No time,’ said Louisa cheerfully. ‘Now, have another nap, Biddy, and don’t try and get up—whatever Mrs Howarth says.’

      Louisa caught her usual bus by the skin of her teeth, raced up Castle Street as fast as she dared without actually running, and hurried through the dignified portals of Sir James Wilberforce’s consulting rooms. She heaved a sigh of relief as she opened the waiting room door; it was empty save for a pretty girl in nurse’s uniform who was putting down the phone as Louisa crossed the room.

      ‘You’re late,’ Jilly said unnecessarily. ‘He wants you in there as soon as you arrive.’ She added at Louisa’s questioning look, ‘He’s in a good mood.’

      Louisa tapped at the door of the consulting room and was bidden in Sir James’s fruity voice to enter. He was standing looking out of his window, but turned to look at her as she went in. He was a short, stout man with a wealth of silver hair and a round face with small, bright eyes. His patients loved him despite his forthright manner.

      He wasn’t alone. The man standing beside Sir James turned when he did and gave Louisa a cool stare. Immaculate in his sober grey suit and silk tie, he looked very different from the man who had thumped the door knocker so fiercely that morning. Well, not different, thought Louisa, only the clothes. He was just as tall, his person was just as vast, and his eyes just as cold.

      Sir James peered at her over his glasses. ‘Good morning, Miss Howarth. I mustn’t keep you from your work, but I must make you known to Dr Gifford. He is to become my part-time partner, taking over when I am on holiday or called away for any length of time. We shall see him once or twice a week, and you will work for him as you do for me.’

      He beamed at her, and she realised that she was expected to show some sort of pleased acquiescence.

      ‘I’ll