I recall, as if it were a tale from the countryside of old England, the day when Arthur Sinclair said calmly to me, You understand, dear Eleanor, that a woman like you isnt meant for marriage. He went on, There are women for love and pleasant companionship, and there are those who keep themselves untouched until the wedding. Sadly, you belong to neither.
I asked, bewildered, What is it about me that you find lacking, Arthur? I cook well, I look presentable, my house is tidy. Am I not to your liking as a wife? He answered, That is precisely the problem! Youre already spoiled. Men like me dont take women like you for wives; we merely keep company without any binding. We marry virgins, and you would be the first among them. A wife should be ready to wash a husbands feet and drink the water he brings, as the old saying goes. Satisfied with his final remark, Arthur turned to the wall and snored.
Just a week earlier I had been at the Rose & Thistle tea room with my friends, boasting that my life was finally falling into place. At thirty I was no longer a girl, but I had a career, a flat in Manchester, a motorcar, and I looked splendid. I could marry and have children, especially now that a perfect match seemed to have appeared. Arthur had never married; he lived alone, though his mother owned a nearby house. Fourteen years my senior, handsome, wellgroomed, almost free of vices, and holding a respectable postpure luck, indeed.
We first met at work. He came to my dental surgery as a patient, left as a lover. I was juggling two jobsat the town infirmary and a private clinicso my personal time was scarce. Yet he brought flowers, not the usual roses, but peonies, in February, invited me to a restaurant, and everything spun into a romance. The only worry was that after two years together there had been no proposal. My friends hinted it was time for marriage, and I felt the same. So I gathered the courage to speak of it at night, only to hear him call me ruined and unsuitable for marriage.
The words lodged in my mind like a stone. How dare he? The following evening I met my friends again at the tea room, seeking counsel.
Imagine, ladies, I began, he told me Im no longer fit for marriage! That men like me dont marry women like me!
Are you serious? gasped Katherine. Youre beautiful, clever, selfsufficient!
He says he only marries virgins. He calls me a thirdrate, defective sort. Yet in every other way he is perfect: smart, affluent, and a good lover.
Eleanor, drop him before he shatters your selfesteem, snorted Lydia. Better stillbring him to our house! Mick and I are celebrating ten years of marriage. Let him see what a family looks like, added Katherine.
We decided to invite him. Arthur, who usually shunned such gatherings, surprisingly agreed and even drove himself. I already imagined a pleasant retreat with my friends, finally not having to steer the carriage home.
At Mick and Katherines country cottage the atmosphere was homely: children playing, a barbecue, songbirds, and a spry terrier named Buster darting about as if powered by an invisible battery. The feast stretched from noon till dusk. The elders retired, the children fell asleep, and only the inner circlethe hosts, us ladies, and Arthurremained.
We sipped tea with berry scones and chatted. Then Arthur launched his familiar tirade:
Tell me, Katherine, why is Eleanor still unmarried? Youve been married ten years now.
Not everyone falls in love in their third year of university, as I did, Katherine shrugged. Back then I was studying and working, with no time for anything else.
Did you marry as a virgin? he asked.
Are you kidding? Katherine laughed. Mick and I have been together since our first term!
So he was first? Arthur persisted.
Do you want to see my marriage certificate? Mick snapped. My wife is me, and thats final.
See? She was pure. Thats respect. Marrying a woman who has had a few before you is a disgrace to the family!
What sort of noble lineage demands a spotless past? Lydia giggled. Then why did you ever give Eleanor hope?
I never promised anyone anything, Arthur shrugged. Your friend should understand shes a secondrate woman. A marriage to her would need serious reasons, which I see none of.
So Im a thirdrate, divorced mother of a child, Lydia smiled wryly. Pity for you, sir, and your kind.
How dare you speak of the women in my house? Mick roared. Youre nothing but an old herring! He seized Arthur and hauled him outside. It was easyArthur was lanky, while Mick was broadshouldered and sturdy.
Off you go! I wont let you spoil the evening. If it werent for the ladies, Id have already dealt with you. Youre not a guest here.
Eleanor, Im leaving. Are you coming with me or staying? Arthur declared proudly, snatching his bag.
I burst into laughter, unable to answer. Without waiting for my reaction, he slammed the gate and drove off.
Well, Mick, thanks, I chuckled. Thats itno more men, not even a stale one!
Teaching him about marriage was a bad idea, Katherine said with a smile. What a character! Girls, did you hear? Im firstrate! And you well, youve seen how it turned out.
The jokes carried us through the night. Later Lydia drove me home. Life fell back into its usual rhythm of patients and medical notes. Arthur never called again.
Eleanor Davies, theres an envelope on the reception desk, the nurse called.
Thank you, Lily, Ill look at it later, I replied.
When I finally opened the envelope after my shift, inside lay
