The Doll’s House

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The Doll's House

Evelyn Anthony

For my daughter Kitty

with my love.

1

Rosa Bennet's husband was in a bad mood. She knew as soon as he walked in and went straight to pour himself a drink, after a brief ‘Hi', and a peck on her cheek. She was busy getting dinner, anyway it was useless trying to talk to him when he was in that frame of mind.

They sat opposite each other in the dining room.

He looked up and said, ‘This is good. I love sole.'

Then he went on eating, sipping his wine. She hadn't been late, for once. She'd cleared her desk and hurried home to be there when he got in. He hated coming back to an empty house. The trouble was he often did these days.

She looked at him. He was the same man she'd fallen in love with six years ago. Good-looking, fair and blue eyed. A sportsman, intelligent, full of energy and enjoyment of life. A marvellous lover and generous to a fault. They'd been so happy when they were lovers. And for the first three years after they got married. But she hadn't been so successful then; she was still on the bottom of the career ladder at the Foreign Office, while he was a top-salaried high flyer in a big City Investment Bank. She hadn't been a challenge to him.

I wish I could talk to him, she mused in the silence. Really talk, instead of arguing … If things were different I might even have been able to hint at the job … I'm excited and pleased and I can't share it with him. I can't share it with anybody else.

She heard him say, ‘Had a busy day putting the world to rights?' and knew he was being sarcastic. She ignored it, as she did so often.

‘Quite busy. How was your day, darling?'

‘Rather quiet,' James muttered. He felt for a bone and laid it like a reproach on the side of his plate. ‘Bloody recession just goes on and on. I had a drink before coming home just to break the monotony.'

She tried to be sympathetic.

‘I know it's bad,' she said. ‘But it's the same everywhere. It's world-wide.'

‘It's my little world I'm worried about,' he spoke sharply. ‘I leave the global issues to you. Any more in that bottle?'

She poured for him. For a moment their eyes met.

‘Sorry, Rosa,' he said suddenly. ‘I didn't mean to be bloody to you. It's been a lousy day. Poor old David got fired this morning. It's not going to be easy to find another job at forty-four. Most firms are shedding staff, not taking anyone on.'

‘I am sorry.' She meant it. She knew David Hughes slightly. He was a nice man, with three sons at a smart public school, an expensive wife and a heavy mortgage on a house in Brompton Square. He'd ridden on the crest of the boom wave like everyone else. She couldn't imagine what he would do.

‘Did you take him out for a drink?'

James Bennet nodded. ‘Yes, we had a wake in the local wine bar. I left him to it.'

He finished his fish.

She brushed the hair back from her forehead. He knew the mannerism so well. She had thick, red-brown hair that turned copper in the sun. She'd been a lovely girl when they met and she was a lovely woman now. More sophisticated, self-confident.

He'd been crazy about her. She was fun to be with, glorious in bed. It had been a magic time for them both. He was ready for marriage. He'd thought she was too and, in fairness, he hadn't listened when she tried to explain about her job at the Foreign Office. So she had to work hard, he knew that … So she had to travel, she'd already been on a jaunt to Vancouver and made trips to the States in the first few months they were together. He didn't mind. He had a career of his own and it wasn't exactly nine to five! It had seemed so simple, a perfectly balanced partnership.

It had seemed like that to Rosa too. Now that things had changed, she spent a lot of time thinking back, trying to see what had caused the rift.

It started with her promotion two years after their wedding. James hadn't been enthusiastic about it and she was hurt and surprised.

By contrast, she took a keen interest in his job, and was lavish with praise when he did well. But he was lukewarm when she talked about how interesting her work was, or spoke well of her boss.

At first Rosa explained it as a twinge of male jealousy, and made an extra fuss of him to compensate. It was so unlike James to be grudging, let alone mean-spirited. She had refused to accept that he resented her independence and achievements in her own right.

It was a phase, she insisted, and it would pass. They were so well matched, so happy together normally. They had a charming house, plenty of money, a wide circle of amusing friends. They were a golden couple; the first time she heard them described like that by a friend of her mother's, she had laughed.

All they needed, the friend went on repeating, was a baby, and Rosa's mother joined in. A baby, a dear little boy or girl – how lovely. It would be such fun to be a grandmother.

Nobody listened when Rosa tried to protest that she was only twenty-six, and there was plenty of time.

They didn't know, and she was too proud to tell them, that James had been making a major issue of starting a family ever since she got the job of personal assistant to her head of department, Sir Hugh Chapman.

She reasoned with him, asked him for time; he refused to admit that she had a right to her job and a few more years of independence.

That was when the rift became a chasm between them, which neither could bridge. He accused her once of being selfish and immature, unwilling to take on the full responsibility of married life.

She countered angrily with a similar charge; he was selfish and chauvinistic, and jealous … at last the word was spoken, and although the ugly quarrel was made up, it changed things subtly between them afterwards. If she had extra work or stayed late at the office he sulked, and often drank too much which made him sarcastic and aggressive.

But he was miserable because he loved her, and Rosa knew it. He wanted her to himself, without competition.

There were times when she almost gave in and resigned. It seemed the only way to bring them together. But at the crucial moment, Rosa drew back.

What he was demanding was unfair; his jealousy of her success was unfair; if she capitulated, she knew she would never forgive him or respect herself. And pregnancy would have been a disaster because it had been forced upon her.

She tried to explain that to him, once. But James only looked hurt and said that if she loved him, she'd want his child.

And she had faced in misery, that what he really wanted was a different woman with a different view of marriage. Perhaps neither had got the other into true focus before they committed themselves.

But they were committed, and Rosa believed that like everything worth having, marriage had to be worked at. Time and determination overcame most difficulties in the end. And she still loved him. She was firm with herself about that.

She no longer discussed her work with him; he seldom asked except to attack the Foreign Office for incompetence on some broad issue which was directed obliquely at her. On the surface they lived together, but they circled one another in growing tension when they were alone.

James watched her; she had eaten very little and she looked pale and downcast. He felt guilty and it irritated him.

She wouldn't give up; she kept on trying in little ways, like cooking a dinner he especially liked, and bearing his ill humour with patience when he longed for her to retaliate and shout at him.

She was still trying, but he wasn't. He had given up.

He pushed his plate away. She got up and began to clear the table. He sat there, without making any move to help. He felt heavy with resentment.

If she was tired it was because she chose to be. She didn't have to work. He'd been clever, unlike his unfortunate colleague. He'd made a lot of money and he'd kept it. And he was very good indeed at his job. There'd be no wake in the wine bar for him. They could have been so happy. It hurt to think like that, so he stopped.

‘Would you like coffee?' she called out.

He'd refused the fruit salad she'd prepared and he didn't want coffee either. He wanted a drink.

‘No thanks. Can't you leave that till the morning? Isn't Vicky coming in?'

He was trying to pick a fault. Why couldn't she come and sit down while he had his whisky, instead of frigging about in the kitchen when there was a woman paid to do it for her. He was always criticizing her these days. Often to her face. There were times when she exploded back at him. That made it easier for him.

He switched on the television and slumped down in an armchair with a large whisky and soda. Rosa came in and joined him.

After a while she said, ‘I'd like to watch that programme on Hungary – it's ITV. Do you mind?'

He pulled a face. The whisky was getting to him; he'd eaten so little.

‘Can't you ever leave your bloody work in the office, darling?'

Rosa stifled a surge of temper. She was hurt by the relentless needling. She said crossly, ‘I thought you might find it interesting. But if you'd rather watch that sitcom rubbish!'

He switched channels. ‘I don't give a shit about what happens to the Hungarians, or the Romanians or any of them! The Communists had the right idea.'

‘I'm glad you think so.' She wasn't going to hold on much longer. ‘Just why are you in such a filthy mood, James? It's not all because of David getting fired.'

‘Poor bugger,' he muttered. ‘He said he'd have to take the boys away from Harrow. I told him to sell the house and clear the debts. He can't let his kids suffer. I told him, “They're your first priority.”'

His glass was empty; Rosa hoped he wouldn't refill it.