Busy Woman Seeks Wife (23 page)

L
ook, Alex, it’s me again. I know you don’t want to speak to me, but I’m finding this very upsetting and I need to talk to
you. To explain.” Saff stumbled on, determined not to cry. She looked hard at the Florentines cooling on the side. She wasn’t
sure how much recording time Alex had on her machine so she’d have to talk fast.

“Alex, I really thought what we were doing was for the best. You have more than enough stress at the moment without the Bean
on your plate.” Saff almost laughed hysterically at her pun. “I do know what she can be like, Alex. Remember that awful, wet
holiday in Prestatyn when we were ten? She was more bored than we were and sulked in her room. God, you were a saint that
week… anyway, that’s all I wanted to say…” She trailed off, not knowing if she could trust herself now.

“And I miss you.” She put down the phone.

T
hey met on neutral ground. Going to the flat again to see her didn’t seem right, and Frankie didn’t even suggest it. Neither,
he noted, did she. She’d been surprised to hear from him so soon after their confrontation at her flat, but hadn’t hung up
on him as he’d feared. And when he explained that he wanted to talk about the Bean, she’d agreed straightaway. And now here
they were at Palace Gate in Kensington Gardens, just standing looking at each other after an awkward hello. He realized with
a jolt that she was waiting for him to explain why he’d called. The early evening sun was slanting through the trees, but
was still warm enough for Alex to have removed her jacket. Frankie steered her into the park and over to a bench and they
sat together. She seemed as self-conscious as he felt, so he didn’t waste any time.

“Look, Alex, you made it clear you don’t like me, or trust me, or want anything to do with me, but I think you should know
something. The thing is, I went to see your mother yesterday and, well, I found some unopened letters—lots actually and I
think they’re probably bills. I didn’t say anything to her. Well, I didn’t know what to think. I mean, I’ve got no idea what
her circumstances are but, well, I just thought you should know, and since you don’t really ever go to her place, I thought
you might not realize.”

Alex stared at him for a moment, blinking fast. Was she going to slap his face? Shout at him again? Frankie sat back and looked
straight ahead at the children and dogs and lovers and old men walking by. He was preparing himself for an explosion, but
none came. Instead he felt, rather than saw, Alex slump back as if she’d been punched. “Oh no!” she breathed. “We’re not in
this nightmare again!” Frankie turned to her. She looked quite exhausted. There were violet smudges of exhaustion under her
eyes and a crease between the eyebrows that looked as though it might not go away. She shook her head slowly. “I knew, actually.
Or at least I suspected. This isn’t the first time, you see.” Alex hesitated and looked down at her hands. “Well, I don’t
suppose there’s any harm telling you. You know most of it already. She’s basically broke. Despite all the money she made and
the residuals and everything, she’s cleaned out. Has been for years, but she doesn’t seem to realize—although, God knows,
I thought I’d explained it after last time. Luckily her house is mortgage-free, but basically…” She paused. “I pay for
everything else.”

Frankie sat back again heavily. God, he’d had no idea. The Bean had always acted as though money were no object. And Frankie—in
spite of the heat a cold sweat swept over his skin as he remembered—had aided and abetted, driving her to the bookies, carrying
the parcels and canvases around Brighton, giving his opinion on her choice of party dress in Harvey Nicks on one of her shopping
sprees, as if it were all a game. Now he felt sick at the thought. “You mean, she’s done this before?” he asked feebly.

Alex’s shoulders sagged and Frankie could hear her draw a slightly unsteady breath. “Yes. I expect she hasn’t really stopped,
although she promised last time she’d try to.” She rubbed at her face with her short-nailed hands. “I haven’t even finished
paying off the debts she racked up last year. I expect it’s my fault, really. She’s got no idea about money—never has had.
I adored my dad, but after he died I discovered he had bled her dry, investing in one crazy scheme after another, but they
always lived it up. Winters in the south of France and handmade shoes. He acted as if he were the heir to a fortune or something.
The great playboy.” She waved her hand dismissively. “He left nothing but debts, and I spent the next two years selling the
few shares he had left and a couple of nasty flats in Gateshead, which he was convinced would be the ‘next big thing.’ Mum
just carried on as before. I should have taken more time to explain, shown her the figures. But she was never interested,
you know?” Alex turned beseeching eyes on Frankie and he hardly dared move in case it broke the spell of this outpouring.
“I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the whole truth at first.” She looked down at her hands again. “She always made me feel
dull because I worked out if I could afford something before I bought it. And now”—she laughed shortly—“now I can’t afford
anything because I’m having to pay for what
she
buys.”

Frankie hesitated. If it had been anyone else but Alex, he’d have put a comforting arm around her shoulders but, given her
recent hostility towards him, it didn’t seem quite right. Sitting hunched forward on the bench, lost in her worries while
the rest of London seemed to be out to enjoy the sunshine, she seemed so unexpectedly vulnerable that, rightly or wrongly,
Frankie gave her back what he hoped was a reassuring rub. Underneath the fitted cotton vest top her skin felt warm and firm
and Frankie snatched his hand away, probably too quickly. But Alex didn’t seem to notice.

“It all hinges on this sodding launch,” she murmured, and Frankie leaned forward to listen. “If only I can pull this off.
Oh! I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

“You mean the women’s apparel thing? What’s up with it? I thought it was going brilliantly.”

She looked at him in puzzlement for a moment, then tutted and said, pointedly, “Oh, of course. I keep forgetting. You have
the advantage, don’t you? After all those notes I left you when I thought you were someone else altogether. Well, you’ve missed
out on the latest installment in my thrilling life, I’m afraid. Due to a series of absolutely elementary mistakes by none
other than yours truly, the whole thing keeps unraveling every time I turn my back, and now my job is on the line because
my boss thinks I’m incompetent—and just when I really need a promotion and a huge pay raise.” She lapsed back into silence,
scowling straight ahead of her and shaking her head occasionally as if trying to work something out.

Frankie kept quiet, hoping to convey sympathy without actually saying anything. If Alex wanted to confide in him, it would
have to be on her terms. So he waited. And waited.

“The thing I just don’t get is, how?”

“Sorry?”

Alex had spoken as if to herself, but she continued, turning to him so preoccupied by what she was enumerating on her fingers
that she’d forgotten her resentment. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but it’s almost as if someone is messing with my
arrangements on purpose. At first I thought it was all just coincidence or me being too busy that I didn’t have time to check
on things. But it’s not like me. The one thing I am is thorough—it’s my greatest failing, according to my mother.” The undisguised
bitterness in her voice took Frankie by surprise and he looked sideways at her, wondering if it was quite genuine. An expression
of abject misery on her face told him all he needed to know, and besides, Alex was not the sort to fake anything. Looking
at her now, Frankie wasn’t sure she would be capable of it even if she had to.

“How do you mean? Messing with your arrangements? Do you think someone is trying to sabotage your plans?”

“Oh, I know it sounds paranoid, believe me. That’s why I haven’t mentioned it to anyone. But things are going so awry, that’s
the only conclusion that makes sense.” Frankie wasn’t sure what to say. It sounded such a far-fetched idea. Alex gave him
a sharp look. “You see? Not even you believe me. But it’s not like me to be suspicious, or to look for conspiracies. You,
of all people, should know that.”

“Ouch! Point taken.” He smiled ruefully. “But you don’t think maybe the whole thing with me and Ella might have made you suspicious
of everyone, just for a bit? I mean, have you got any real evidence, or any idea who might do something like that to you?
’Cos it’s quite a risk for someone to take, isn’t it? I mean, presumably they could lose their job if they were found out?”

Alex snorted and shook her head. “The only person in danger of losing their job at the moment is me. And if I can’t get the
better of whoever it is, I’ll be out on my arse—particularly if the launch goes wrong. And at the moment, it’s looking horribly
as if it might. There’s so much that has to be perfect—the model, the styling, the press, the venue, the catering, the security,
the transport. It’s almost endless. And that means there are almost endless opportunities for him to…” She trailed off.

“Ah, so you
do
have a suspect! Who is he?” Frankie could feel himself getting interested. “Why don’t you tell me what’s happened so far,
and I’ll tell you what I think?” Frankie had turned sideways on the bench now to face Alex, one leg tucked up under him, as
he quizzed her.

Alex looked back at him, unsure at first, then slowly started to list the problems she’d had, hesitantly at first, but with
more confidence as Frankie nodded, paying close attention to the details of what she was telling him: “. . . And then there
was the flight. It should have gone from Milan Linate…”

Frankie listened, fascinated by her face as she talked. The shapes she made with her mouth and the way she faltered and bit
her lip, then rushed on as an idea occurred to her. It was all so unaffected and real. “Well, the first thought that occurs
to me is…”

“Yes?” Alex was leaning towards him, her lips slightly parted. Frankie forced himself to look away.

“. . . That you could do with an ice cream? If we walk up here a bit, we can get one outside the playground.”

Alex flopped back against the wooden back of the seat and laughed for the first time that afternoon—possibly the first time
since Frankie had met her. And the transformation was remarkable. She still looked tired and stressed, but her smile curved
her cheeks into little dimples that reminded Frankie forcefully of the Bean in her youth. He judged it best not to mention
that, however, and stood up offering a hand to Alex to pull her up after him, which she ignored or didn’t notice, and they
walked slowly along the Broad Walk, side by side, while they discussed the possibilities. To anyone passing by, Frankie thought,
they must look as though they were on a date. Ridiculous though it was, just that thought made him feel taller and he experienced
a protective surge towards Alex, who was gesticulating as she explained the complexities of office life and the various players
who featured in her daily grind.

By the time they reached the kiosk by the Elfin Oak, Frankie was struggling to keep up with the cast of this drama, and he
stopped gratefully under the awning while Alex chose a Popsicle. From the nearby playground, they could hear the excited shouting
of children scrambling over the pirate ship and hiding among the tepees in the Indian Village. They sat down together at a
table under an umbrella.

Frankie shook his head and took a bite of his ice cream. “If only it were like
Peter Pan.
There’s never any doubt about who the baddie is there. I don’t suppose there’s anyone at your office that wears a black hat
and runs away if he hears ticking, is there?”

Alex smiled and shrugged. “
Peter Pan
isn’t such a simple story, you know. Captain Hook pretends to be nice to the children at first, and he plays on the fact
that their father is a bit mean to trick them. The children have to work out who really has their best interests at heart.
And there’s that whole thing between Wendy and Tinker Bell too. Wendy trusts Tink, but she tries to kill her. Surely you remember
that bit?”

Frankie was interested in her analysis. “You clearly have a better grasp of the plot than I do. Of
Peter Pan
and your office dynamics, I mean. I’d really love to get in there and watch, like a fly on the wall. That would be fascinating.”
Frankie sat back for a moment, watching the passersby. Gradually, an idea started to take hold. Yes, of course. It was obvious,
but would she agree? Saff’s comment about Alex’s fearsome independence replayed in his head. He sat forward and clasped Alex’s
wrist. She simply had to agree. It made perfect sense. “Alex,” he said, his voice hoarse with excitement. “I could help you
with this. I could. Hear me out then tell me what you think. I am an actor. Allegedly!”