Busy Woman Seeks Wife (27 page)

Frankie wasn’t sure whether it was he or she who pulled the other towards the bedroom but, without a word, she turned to him
and started to unbutton his shirt. He pushed her hands away and held her face for a moment, seeing his smile reflected in
her eyes before he started to undress her. Her body, long and strong, such a surprise under the baggy clothing, enthralled
him, and her skin was softer than he could have imagined. He threw off his own clothes now, casting them carelessly to the
floor, and took her in his arms again, feeling her respond with an energy and passion that took him by surprise. Together,
they sank onto the bed.

Later, much later, they fell apart. Frankie could feel his heart pounding and they were both out of breath. They lay side
by side, both looking up at the ceiling, not touching and not saying a word. The silence stretched out between them. Frankie
didn’t know what to say. He was almost relieved when the phone rang and Alex bolted from the bed and out the door, grabbing
a dressing gown as she went. He didn’t know what to do now. Would she come back to bed? Or had the moment gone? His body felt
alive and new, and he could think of nothing better than spending the rest of the night making love to her, but was that what
she would want? Maybe he could make her breakfast in bed in the morning? He could hear her voice from the hallway. She sounded
a little bit strained. Was it bad news?

“Yeah, sure. When are you arriving? Will you go straight there from the airport, then? Fine. Me? No, just a quiet night in,
working, as usual. The launch is on Tuesday, remember?”

Frankie, hating himself, got up and went closer to the door. “Well, you don’t have to… no, I’m fine, really. Just a bit
tired, you know. No, there’s nothing wrong at all. Just… just missing you. Yeah, see you soon. You too. Bye, Todd.”

Frankie felt sick. He heard her replace the receiver quietly. He got up and reached for his clothes, dressing quickly. She
was in the kitchen, and he could hear her moving around, putting the pasta back on to cook. He laced up his shoes and took
a deep breath before going to face her. She pulled her dressing gown tightly closed as she heard him come in. She was looking
down.

“I couldn’t help… I heard… I think I should go now.” Her only reaction was to nod silently as she prodded at the
pasta with a fork.

“Aren’t you hungry? We could still eat something, if you want.”

“No thanks. I think it would be better not to. I’ll—er—see you on Monday.” Christ, his hands were trembling. Were they just
going to leave it at this?

She looked up, and there was something in her eyes that he couldn’t read. “Look, sorry about the call. I couldn’t… well,
maybe it’s better this way.”

“Sure, no problem. It’s cool, Alex. I’ll be off then.”

She nodded and looked back down at the saucepan as he turned away and left. Out in the street, the night was cool and he shivered.
He didn’t know what to think, what he should be thinking. It was very quiet away from the main road and the moon was almost
full. He didn’t even know how he felt. He wanted to be angry with her, but he couldn’t be. Not really. He’d known about stupid
sodding Todd all along. If he was angry with anyone, it should be with himself, for not just putting her hand under the tap
as any sensible man would have done. It had just been one of those spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment things. And it wasn’t as
if it had meant anything. Anything at all, really.

A
lex spent the weekend in a totally distracted state, one minute horrified by what they had done, the next lying in the bath
looking at her body and remembering how he had run his hands over her skin and how his body had felt next to hers. Not bulky
and taut like Todd’s, but firm yet soft to her touch. She barely remembered if they had spoken to each other, except when
he had whispered if it was safe and when they had both cried out.

She wanted to tell someone, and at one point had her hand on the phone to call Saff but snatched it away. After all that had
happened between them, it would be a strange way to pick up the pieces. To admit she had slept with Frankie, when it was his
presence that had caused the rift. She knew she ought to call Saff anyway, respond to her messages, but a small part of her
still felt childishly angry. And then there was Todd. She’d pushed any thought of him from her mind, knowing what she was
doing was wholly wrong but exactly what she’d wanted to do. She should have left the phone to ring; the sound of his voice
had made her feel sick with guilt. What a mess.

Anyway, she reasoned, as she attacked the bathroom with bleach and then sat at the table with her notes, running through catering
details for the launch, she should feel ashamed for acting like a harlot and having sex with a man she hardly knew. Frankie
would probably be thinking of her now as some kind of soppy female who just jumped into bed with any bloke who showed her
sympathy. And that’s basically what it amounted to, so she deserved nothing more.

She woke on Sunday morning feeling resolute. She’d done something very stupid and she had to get a few things back under control
after her momentary lapse, so, retrieving her bike from the communal shed behind the flats, she set off for her mother’s.
Already it was hot. People were lying out in the park with the papers or walking small dogs. Windows were wide open and through
them she could hear the crashing of plates and people shouting at their children. Around her was the constant hum of the city
and in a couple of hours the heat would be unbearable. The wind against her face was cooling as she bolted over the river.

She chained up her bike outside her mother’s mews house and knocked on the door. She’d never had a key and had never asked
for one. This was her mother’s place, bought with some of the proceeds of the sale of the cottage off Kings Road where Alex
had grown up. The rest had gone towards settling her father’s legacy of debts.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” the Bean asked haughtily as she walked back through to the sitting room. Alex cast her eye
over the mess—newspapers everywhere, last night’s supper on the side in the kitchen, the inevitable pile of mail. Ignoring
the barbed comment, designed to lob blame right back at Alex, she asked how her mother was, only to get a sulky response about
being bored and someone vaguely interesting having died. Alex picked up the pile of post.

“Are you talking to me now then?”

“Yes, of course,” Alex said as patiently as she could. “But it’s not an easy thing to just forget when you find your mother
holed up in your flat in cahoots with your best friend and a virtual stranger it turns out you are employing. These, however,
are clearly easy to forget.” She shuffled through the envelopes, knowing that besides the junk mail and catalogs sent in advance
from galleries, she’d find the windowed envelopes. “We need to talk.”

The Bean sighed and slumped down on the sofa. “Do you want tea?” She vaguely indicated the kitchen.

“No thanks. You’ve been at it again, haven’t you?”

Her mother looked out the window, defiantly ignoring her. Annoyed, Alex sat down beside her and blocked her view, ready to
shout at her for her stupidity and her irresponsibility.

“It can’t go on like this, Mum. I simply don’t have the money.” Alex ripped open the envelopes and pulled out the red final
demands, the shirty letters: “Small watercolour, original, signed. £400. Hold until collection arranged.” She opened another.
“Bronze hand. £250. Hold until collection arranged.” Tucked between the envelopes were two more receipts for a pair of Russell
& Bromley shoes and a dress from Jaeger for £230. There was even one from a firm of solicitors. But it was the last letter
that made Alex’s pulse race: “William Curtis. Turf Accountants. Bets made by telephone. Final demand for payment.”

She turned to her mother, her stomach aching with dread. It was even worse than Frankie had said. “What the hell are these?
What are you expecting me to do? Bail you out
again
? Even if I could, why should I, Mum, why should I? I work as hard as I can, and I try to pay for what you need, but this
…” She waved the envelopes and letters in her mother’s face. “This is just extravagance. You can’t maintain this lifestyle
anymore. You couldn’t even then, but definitely not now, Mum.” She realized she was shaking her mother’s bad arm and pulled
away quickly. “I’m right up against it, Mum, and there’ll be nothing left if I’m not careful. How can you be so selfish?”
The Bean turned her face towards Alex, her eyes filled with tears. Alex held up her hand. “Whoa there! Oh no, you don’t. You’re
not doing the tears thing on me again. I’ve had that too many times.” She started to read the letters, determined to ignore
this familiar chain of events, waiting for the usual “I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again.”

“It’s all over, isn’t it?” the Bean said quietly.

“Too damned right it’s over. This can’t go on.”

“It’s over, isn’t it?” Alex looked up at the repeated question. The Bean was sitting straight-backed, almost proud, her hands
resting elegantly in her lap, but tears were pouring unheeded down her face. “My time is over, I mean. All those glorious
days. The parties. The adoration. It’s gone, hasn’t it? I’m nothing now, am I? Just a nuisance to you.”

Alex watched for a moment, waiting for the usual sidelong look to check that the blubbering was having an effect. But this
time it never came. The Bean just looked down, the tears falling onto her hands. This question is new, thought Alex. Could
that mean it was genuine? Slowly, she put her hand on top of her mother’s, something she wasn’t sure she had ever done. “Yes,
Mum, those days are over,” she said gently. “But nothing will ever take them away, though. Nothing will ever change what you
did and who you were.” The Bean lifted beseeching eyes, the sadness in them so deep that Alex felt her chest lurch in sympathy.
“But, Mum, you can’t go on spending like this. Look at what you have here. Look what you are surrounded by.” They both looked
about them. “So many lovely things already. So many pictures and beautiful dresses. Do you really need more?”

“But it makes me happy, darling,” she sniffed, wiping her nose most uncharacteristically on her sleeve. “I don’t think you
understand. You’re not like me, or your father really. Sometimes I wonder where you came from, with your sensible attitude.
Never doing anything rash without thinking about it first.” She smiled tearfully and Alex winced. If she only knew. “I just
can’t seem to stop myself,” she went on. “I see something and I want it. I love the smell of the shops and the price tags.
I love seeing a red sticker on a picture and knowing it’s mine.”

“And the betting?” Alex asked quietly.

“Oh, Alex, it’s the thrill of the chance. The hope. You know how much your father and I adored the races and the excitement.
The clothes. Watching the horses in the paddock. Do you remember how we used to go to Ascot?” Her eyes were alive and animated
now. If this was all a performance it was a very convincing one. But Alex had been fooled before.

“But you can’t afford to spend at this level! I can’t go on supporting both of us, and your trust fund is empty, Mum. It has
been for years, I’ve told you before. I can do the bills and the odd holiday, but not this.” She indicated the pile of letters
again.

“I miss all that. I miss your father and I miss the past. I miss being important, because I’m not really important to you,
am I?” She looked at her daughter searchingly. “You don’t need me. You never have, you funny independent little thing, in
your busy world.”

“Oh, Mum,” Alex sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Don’t be like that. Of course I need you, but we need to sort out this money issue.”

The Bean tapped her leg and stood up gingerly. Alex realized with a jolt how much her mother had aged. It had happened so
gradually Alex had barely noticed, but here she was, slightly stooped, the famous beauty now changed to the wrinkled elegance
of age. Had she been too harsh with her when old friends were dying and the life that had once been hers had disappeared forever?
The thought of losing Saff flitted into her head but she quashed it quickly, not wanting to explore her own loneliness. She
looked around the crammed little house that her mother had bought “for a lark” because it reminded her of the place where
Twiggy had lived years ago. “It’s a silly little house but it’ll do!” she’d laughed carelessly when she’d seen it.

“Do you love this place?” Alex asked suddenly.

The Bean looked around from her position over by the open window that looked down onto the mews. “What do you mean?”

“What I said. Do you love this house?”

Her mother took in the room as if she’d never seen it before. Then she shrugged. “I suppose it’s quaint, and quite convenient
for things. But it’s not
that
special, I suppose.”

“Then let’s sell it.” Her mother looked startled. Alex plowed on. “Let’s sell it and you can move somewhere nearer me, and
Saff, and the park. With the proceeds—well, let’s face it, this will go for a mint if we spruce it up a bit—we can pay off
these debts and then you can have a wonderful time buying things to make the new place nice. Take Frankie on a shopping spree
with you.” Why on earth had she mentioned Frankie?