Free Love or Duty by Roberta Grieve

‘Why don’t we sit down and have a drink while you tell me about Sarah’s wonderful news. Louise will call us when dinner’s ready.’
    Dora simpered up at him. ‘Oh, Stanley, if you only knew how trying it is, managing with only one servant. I’m sure Polly does her best….’
    Louise escaped to the kitchen, where she proceeded to bang the pots about, much to Polly’s distress. The maid hovered uncertainly behind her, gabbling apologies.
    ‘I haven’t had a chance to set the table. Besides, I wasn’t expecting the mistress down yet. Last time I went up she was sound asleep.’
    ‘It’s all right, Polly. I’m not cross with you. It’s not your fault I was away so long. I walked home through the park with Father.’ She took the pan of potatoes off the range. ‘Now, you set the table, while I strain and mash these.’
    Polly hurried away, still twittering anxiously. If only Mother would keep out of the kitchen and leave things to me, Louise thought. Polly would know where she was then and wouldn’t get into such a state. She forgot for a moment that it wasn’t long ago she’d been annoyed with Dora for not helping more. At times like this she almost wished she’d accepted Keith Willis’s proposal and gone off to Africa with him. Then the memory of his clammy hands and wet kiss overrode her discontent with her lot. I’m not that desperate she told herself. Still, she’d have to do something soon or she’d go mad.
    Maybe she would ask her father if she could help in the office. Dora would be horrified of course, but it was worth a try.

     
    After so many years of marriage, Dora had had enough of wedded bliss. She was quite fond of Stanley of course and it was true he was a good provider. But her marriage hadn’t turned out quite the way she’d hoped.
    Of course, she had Sarah – she was very proud of her daughter. And even having a stepdaughter hadn’t been as bad as she’d feared. Louise was placid and dutiful, always anxious to please. And she had been a godsend lately, taking over the household and freeing her to chaperon Sarah to her concerts. But Dora was becoming disenchanted with her daughter’s career. At first she’d had visions of sharing the glory, accompanying Sarah at the piano. But after her humiliation at the BBC producer’s hands, she hadn’t raised the subject again. Instead she had thrown herself into organizing Sarah’s engagements, at least until the advent of Maurice Weeks. The man was insufferable – always thinking he knew best. But at least he knew about the financial side of things. Sarah was accumulating a nice little nest egg which would do nicely as a temptation when it came to her daughter’s marriage.
    The girl was going to need it, if what Dora feared was true. It seemed Stanley wasn’t quite as well off as she’d thought. In the early days of their marriage he had never mentioned money. But they lived well and he never refused her anything – not often anyway. But when she’d expressed the desire to move inland to Chichester, to leave this draughty Victorian monstrosity, with the ever present seaborne wind howling round its gothic turrets, he’d been quite firm.
    Dora sighed, picturing herself in one of those elegant Georgian houses behind the main shopping centre, mixing with the cathedral set. Her church work and her friendship with the Reverend Ayling would surely be recommendation enough. Dora could see herself on the cathedral flower rota, maybe on the committee which ran the ancient almshouses connected with the church.
    Her attendance at a garden party in the Bishop’s Palace garden back in the summer had reawakened her ambitions and, as she sipped her pre-dinner sherry she contemplated raising the subject with Stanley again. But then he’d only get cross and upset her and that would bring on one of her blinding headaches. Dora frowned. Stanley seemed to get cross more often lately. In a way she could understand him not wanting to move away from