An Ideal Wife (2 page)

“And the ideal wife?” Max asked.

“Does the same,” Chester said. “She looks after her husband, makes sure he’s got ironed shirts in the morning and a good meal when he comes back from work. She listens to him, gives him advice when he needs it, and is always there when he needs her.”

“A good meal and ironed shirts?” My mother turned to him in horror. “But that’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard. And, in case you’ve forgotten, I can’t cook and I don’t iron.”

Chester put his arm around her and grinned. “And yet I still love you.”

Mum, realizing that he’d been teasing her, rolled her eyes crossly, but she didn’t move out of his embrace.

“Although a man does appreciate a crisp shirt in the morning,” Chester continued wickedly. “Am I right, Max?”

Max caught my eye. “You’re absolutely right,” he deadpanned, moving his hand over mine and giving it a squeeze. I had tried to iron one of his shirts once. Suffice it to say the shirt was no longer in his wardrobe. It was too singed even to use as a dishcloth. “But we can pay other people to do those things and it makes no difference to the relationship. So we’re still no further in our definition.”

Chester shrugged. “I think I nailed it, other than the cooking and ironing. Being there for each other. That’s the key, right?”

“But is that enough?” Max mused. “Dependability, I mean?”

“The ideal husband, Max,” my mother said archly, “should adore his wife and not be afraid to demonstrate it. And I’m not talking about gifts and flowers, lovely as they are; I’m talking about being with her, about making sacrifices in order to be with her, rather than being at work every day until nine P.M.”

Chester whistled. “Here we go again,” he sighed. He turned to Mum, a serious expression on his face. “Esther, honey, I am crazy about you. But I am also the chief executive of a big private bank. Sometimes I have to work late. Sometimes very late. It goes with the territory.”

“There’s more to life than business,” Mum said.

“Yes, there is,” Chester agreed. “But businesses don’t run themselves. And it’s not like I have control over my diary anyway. My personal assistant fills it up.”

“So get a new assistant,” Mum said crossly. “One who knows how to say no. You say yourself that you regularly find yourself in meetings that you really don’t need to be in.”

“I know,” Chester sighed again, “but it’s not that easy. I need to know what’s going on.”

“You need to learn to delegate more,” Mum said tersely. “Jess delegates all the time, don’t you, Jess?”

Chester looked at me expectantly, and I forced a little smile. “Yes, of course, but that’s different. I mean, I’m not the chief exec of a bank.…”

“No, you’re not. And if you can delegate, then a chief executive certainly can,” Mum said.

“You’ve got to be realistic, Esther,” Chester said, looking ruffled. “You’ve got to live in the real world, you know, hard as that is for you. The real world, which doesn’t always revolve around you and your latest whim.”

“Chester, believe me, I know all about the real world,” Mum said, her voice tightening. “And I do not have whims or expect the world to revolve around me. As you well know. Personally, I don’t think an ideal husband would ever say such a thing. Certainly not in front of others.”

Max and I glanced at each other; this was obviously an argument that had been had a few times before.

Chester looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right,” he said apologetically. “You’re absolutely right.” He took her hand. “I’m sorry. I got defensive. I know I need to slow down a bit. But it’s not easy.”

“I know,” Mum said, looking slightly mollified. “But you have to understand that it isn’t easy for me being on my own all the time. I’m not like Jess. I get lonely.”

I frowned. “Hey, I don’t like being on my own,” I said. “I mean, I don’t mind it sometimes, but …”

“Yes, you do. You’re one of these independent types,” Mum said, looking at me as though I’d somehow let the side down.

“Nothing wrong with being independent,” Chester said warmly. “And don’t suggest for a minute that you’re not proud of your daughter, Esther. Rightly so, I might add. Max, you’ve got a great woman there. Someone I’m going to be very proud to call my stepdaughter.”

I looked up at him and felt two little tears prick at my eyes. I
still remembered the first day I’d met Chester, the powerful American head of a major bank, sitting there listening to me present a pitch that had been poorly planned and researched by my former boss, who’d totally set me up. I’d somehow pulled something out of the bag and won the account, and since then Chester had been a firm fixture in my life—my number-one client and now my mother’s fiancé. The very idea that he might be proud of me meant the world to me.

“Thanks, Chester,” I managed to say. “That means a lot.”

“Quite sickening, really, isn’t it? The perfect wife and the perfect stepdaughter,” Max said, grinning.

I shook my head. “No. No, I’m really not,” I said nervously.

“Well, I’d disagree,” Max said. “You couldn’t be more perfect. But, come on, tell us your version of the perfect spouse.”

“Me? Oh, I don’t know,” I said uncomfortably. What I did know was that kissing other men probably didn’t come into it. Kissing business rivals and letting slip highly confidential information definitely didn’t. As for letting your mother take the blame for your misdemeanors—well, I was pretty sure that negated any claim to being an ideal
anything
. “I don’t think perfection exists,” I said hesitantly. “Does it? I mean, don’t most of us have feet of clay?”

“Even me?” Max grinned.

“Well, obviously not you,” I said immediately, smiling involuntarily for the first time that evening. “You are perfection itself.” And he was, I found myself thinking. To me, anyway. I loved him so much—I’d never been so happy in my whole life. And I couldn’t bear to let anything threaten that happiness.

The truth was, I’d never really expected to get married. Never expected to fall in love, actually. I’d been brought up by a grandmother who taught me that love was a chimera, that men always left in the end, and that if I entertained any notion of falling in love I’d “end up like my mother.” As far as I’d known back then,
Mum had died in a car accident, the result of fast living and wearing skirts that were too short. So I’d concentrated on my studies, gone to university, worked hard, and, to my delight, landed a job at Milton Advertising. Milton Advertising, where Max Wainwright had been deputy chief executive. And I still pinched myself that he’d been more than interested; he’d fallen in love with me, and I’d realized how much I loved him, too, just in time.

“I’m not sure that’s a good enough answer,” Chester said, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, Jess. You work up concepts for a living. It can’t be that hard to sum up what makes a perfect spouse, surely?”

I forced another smile. “You’re not going to let me off the hook, are you?” I asked. Chester and Max shook their heads.

“Not a chance.” Max looked amused.

“Fine,” I relented, my flush deepening. “I think love is all that matters, really. I mean, at the end of the day, if someone loves you deeply, then you might, maybe, possibly, you know, overlook her flaws.”

I glanced up hopefully; Max looked serious for a moment.

“You don’t have any flaws, Jess. That’s why I love you so much. You may not believe in perfection, but I do. I have it right here.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Chester said warmly, evidently keen to keep the focus on me and not his busy schedule. “He’s right, too. Perfect wife, perfect account manager. Hell, I’m beginning to think you may be a little too perfect. There’ve got to be some flaws somewhere, right?”

I shot him a look; Chester knew all too well about my flaws.

“She does have one,” Max said suddenly, and I looked up at him in alarm.

“I do? What?”

“Your lack of flattery,” Max said seriously. “I was rather hoping that you were going to mention perfect physiques and incredible
intelligence in your précis of the perfect husband, with a strong indication that I have both of those things in spades.”

His eyes were shining and I grinned in relief. “You didn’t mention anything about me looking like Kate Moss,” I said, pushing all thoughts of Hugh Barter firmly out of my head.

“Absolutely not,” Max agreed. “She’s way too skinny.”

I raised an eyebrow and he laughed. “So what you’re saying is that John Lennon was right all along.”

“John Lennon?” Mum asked.

“All you need is love,” Max said. “He’s the genius who put that thought to music.”

“Oh, I see,” Mum said. “Yes, I’m afraid I was never a great fan of the Beatles. I didn’t really do the whole hippie thing.”

“But you agree, right?” Chester asked, suddenly looking less like the high-powered chief executive and more like the smitten teenager. “Love’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

“Love is all that matters,” my mother agreed. “Love and a roof over your head. Money in your pocket. And a husband who isn’t home late every single evening.”

She looked at Chester archly, and he smiled easily.

“You know,” Chester said thoughtfully, “it’s funny that we’re having this conversation.”

“It is?” Max asked.

Chester nodded. “See, I’ve been thinking. Not about perfection in relationships, but about … you know, what makes a company a good one.”

“Work, work, work,” my mother groaned, annoyed.

“Ah, well, that’s easy,” Max interrupted. “Great management, good people, and lots of luck.”

Chester nodded. “Yeah. About that luck thing …”

We all exchanged furtive glances. Chester was the chief executive of Jarvis Private Banking, and the truth of the matter was that
the entire world hated banks at the moment, blamed them for economies that were spiraling out of control, for job losses, for summer holidays abroad being a distant memory.

“I would admit there’s not a huge amount of it circulating at the moment,” Max said quietly. Business at our firm, Milton Advertising, wasn’t exactly booming, either. Clients were going out of business and failing to pay, and even those who were still active had cut their advertising budgets back. Max tried to make out that he wasn’t worried, but I’d noticed how tired he looked lately. So far we’d managed to avoid letting anyone go, but every time a new invoice arrived, I saw Max’s expression tightening.

“Yes, times are not great right now. Let’s face it, Jarvis is an investment bank. We’re the bad guys,” Chester said gravely. “We’ve just bought an Internet bank, and people don’t trust them very much these days, either, do they?”

I bit my lip, not sure whether I should agree with him or attempt to reassure him.

“Not so much,” I conceded. “I think people probably trust their mattresses more than banks these days, to be honest.” It was true; ever since banks around the world had gone to their governments for bailouts, people had started to see banks as the bad guys. At first they were hated for lending too much money and lots of bad debts, and then they were hated for not lending enough money and making housing markets collapse. Now they were hated for paying themselves huge bonuses when everyone else was feeling the pinch. To be honest, coming up with a positive spin on banking was proving pretty tough these days.

“Exactly!” Chester said, clapping his hands together. “As usual, Jess, you have hit the nail on the head. People trust their mattresses more than they trust their banks. So what do we do about that?”

“Create a smear campaign against mattresses?” I suggested, smiling slightly. Chester was our client—our biggest client, in
fact. Milton Advertising was responsible for Jarvis Private Banking’s entire campaign schedule. Without it, the agency would be in dire straits.

Chester shook his head. “No, Jess. We put our own house in order. We show the world just how trustworthy we are.”

“Good idea,” Max said, nodding thoughtfully, as he always did with Chester these days. He used to challenge much more. Then again, he also used to have a lot more clients. “You want us to develop some adverts telling everyone? We could position you as the ethical choice, the safe choice, the—”

“No,” Chester said, his eyes gleaming. “I have a better idea.”

“You do?” Max asked interestedly.

“An ethical audit,” Chester said triumphantly. “An audit of every single employee at Jarvis Private Banking. And every single staff member of all our partner companies, too. Yourselves included. What do you think? Brilliant, huh? I can see the slogan now: ‘We make sure we can trust all our people—and that means you can trust us.’” He caught Max’s eye and grinned sheepishly. “Or, you know, something a bit shorter. I guess there’s a reason I don’t work in advertising. Right?”

Max smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You really think this is a good idea? It’ll be expensive. And how will your employees feel about being scrutinized like that?”

“They’ll handle it,” Chester said lightly. “These are tough times, and we need to use all the ammunition we’ve got. And so what if it costs money? You gotta spend money to make money, that’s what I always say.”

Max cleared his throat. “This is a really great idea. Like all your ideas, Chester. But perhaps we should pause before rushing into anything,” he said tentatively. “Let’s think this through, work it into an overarching strategy that encompasses your brand and your goals for the next few years and—”

“You know what?” Chester interrupted. “I’m sick of overarching
strategies. I’m sick of business-school speak. When I started out as an investment manager, I trusted my gut, and it was my gut that got me where I am today. And since I got here, all I’ve been doing is following strategies.”

“Safe strategies that meant you avoided all the chaos of the banking-system collapse,” Max pointed out.

“Sure.” Chester nodded. “But we’re not talking about anything major here. We’re talking about an audit. We’re good guys, and this is a chance to prove it to the world.” He sat back happily. “You know, I have a really good feeling about this.”

“Well, if you have a good feeling about it, then we are very happy to be part of it,” Max said diplomatically.