Busy Woman Seeks Wife (30 page)

“Come with me, Frankie,” he called over his shoulder.

Melik had located the consignment straightaway, and he tapped a few keys on the computer until a mechanized arm slid along
a gantry on the ceiling that Frankie hadn’t noticed. Smoothly, the bundle was lifted from the rack and lowered gently to the
ground, where Melik unhooked it and checked the numbers on the labels against the screen of a palmtop scanner. Then he ran
the scanner over the bar codes and nodded slowly.

“Yes, you see. The dates have been changed. First it was for Monday, then for Thursday. But we have it all on the computer
so we can change the day it goes out. This is very efficient for us. You see? The e-mail comes in—we can change straightaway!”

Frankie was staring at the little screen in disbelief. “Hang on, Melik. Do you still have the e-mail on your system? Could
I see it?”

“Of course! Look—here it is.” Melik stepped to the side and showed Frankie the screen. The e-mail was from Alex all right.
It had her name on it. Frankie frowned in puzzlement. But Alex had claimed not to know anything about it. What on earth was
going on?

Melik pointed to the screen proudly. “You see! Only Friday night, she changed her mind to Thursday. But with our computer,
we can change straightaway. What a shame she get it wrong this time. But now I drive you back to airport. But here. Before
we go, take a couple of T-shirts from the new range. Slight seconds but free and off the house! One for you and special for
your lady. You have a lady, don’t you?” He roared with laughter from the belly. “Come on, Frankie! No time to waste!”

Frankie folded the clothes carefully and zipped them safely away in the holdall he’d brought with him, then walked ahead of
Melik, retracing their steps to the offices. Something was gnawing at him. There was something… Then he stopped and Melik
cannoned into him. “What is wrong, Frankie? What is it?”

Somewhere in his head a penny very slowly started to drop. On Friday night, Alex had certainly not been in the office sending
e-mails. She’d been in bed with him.

I
n between weighing out flour and butter, Saff kept trying to call Frankie, but each time she was told his phone was switched
off. All she wanted to know was if he’d gotten the part. Did the lack of response mean good news or bad? She tried to imagine
both scenarios—Frankie still drunk after hearing he had the part and Frankie dead from suicide having heard he hadn’t. She’d
call the Bean. She’d know.

“No, darling, not a dickey bird,” Alex’s mother breathed down the phone. “In fact, I’ve tried him a couple of times too. I’m
dying to know myself. The poor boy must be beside himself waiting.”

“Have you heard from Alex?” Saff asked lightly. It had been days now and Saff had given up trying to leave messages. It was
her birthday soon so perhaps Alex might get in contact with her then. They always tried to share a bottle of wine at least,
if Alex wasn’t away. It was a tradition really. A birthday without Alex and a bottle of bubbly wouldn’t be right.

“Yes, dear, she came over at the weekend. She’s frantically busy of course and I thought she looked awfully tired, poor dear.
But she is so terribly independent she just won’t show a chink of weakness. She really could do with someone to care for her.
Not that twit of an American, who’s no use to her being on the other side of the Atlantic and who’s more interested in his
rippling muscles. No, she needs someone to make her feel like a woman. Every woman needs to be made love to, to be worshipped—and
often.”

Saff giggled. It was about the last thing she could ever have imagined her own mother saying.

“Now how is the cooking going, dear? Have you had any orders yet?”

Saff sighed and looked at the chaos of muffin trays and mixing bowls on her kitchen table. “It’ll never work. The delis Ella
and I tried were enthusiastic enough—when Ella finally bullied them into tasting things. Crikey, she’s formidable when she
wants to be. She told one chap that I’d cooked for Princess Diana for goodness’ sake! But the minute they found out I was
doing it at home, well, they started going on about health and safety and how I couldn’t just bake cakes in my kitchen.”

The Bean snorted loftily. “Perfect rubbish. Think of all the things we ate during the war when I was a child. All fit as fiddles.
Never even heard of salmonella. Alex grew up eating mud pies. Never did her any harm.”

“Exactly,” Saff replied, thinking about her great career plan, which had now disappeared down the drain. “So now I’m making
forty muffins for sports day on Thursday. At least the headmistress is grateful for my efforts.”

The Bean said a warm goodbye and promised to let her know if she heard from Frankie. Saff was wiping flour from the table
and thinking about starting supper when Millie strolled in, her feet slipping out of her sequined pumps and her chubby little
tummy peeping out between a pink cheerleader’s skirt and stripy top. She had white beads around her neck and had obviously
been experimenting with the free makeup from the cover of a magazine.

“Hi, darling. What you up to?”

“I’m bored.”

“I’m just about to start supper. I’m doing your favorite pasta. Want to help me? You love doing that.”

Millie contemplated for a moment. “Nah thanks. My friend Lydia says domestic chores demean women,” she said and strolled out
of the room.

Max stood back in the doorway as she passed. “Did I hear that right?” he said as his daughter walked upstairs.

“I think so!” Saff started to chop an onion. “Glad to hear feminism is alive and kicking!”

“She’d better ditch that idea if she wants to find herself a husband,” Max tutted and sashayed out of the way to avoid the
tea towel his wife flicked at him. Saff laughed as he left the room, but a shadow of sadness crept over her. That was it then.
The days had gone when Millie would have pulled up a stool next to her and helped by tipping ingredients into a bowl or stirring
a pan. Now she was a tweenager, a woman-child who didn’t need the silly ministrations of her mother. Even Millie seemed to
know that a woman should find more to life than baking. Tipping the chopped onions into the heated olive oil, Saff stirred
them more vigorously than she meant to.

It wasn’t until later that the phone rang. Saff was cleaning up the dirty dinner plates and Max was chivvying up the children
to get ready for bed when she heard him pick it up. “Saff?” he called downstairs a moment later. Saff went into the hall and
he held out the handset to her over the banisters, his hand over the mouthpiece. “I don’t know who it is,” he whispered, “but
they sound terribly distressed.”

“Hello?” Saff asked cautiously.

“It’s me,” a voice howled down the phone.

“Alex? Is that you? Whatever’s the matter?”

This was the most extraordinary noise Saff had ever heard. It seemed to come from deep in her chest. It was all the more remarkable
because she hadn’t heard Alex cry since they were both about fourteen, when Ross Eardley had sent her a Dear John letter.
“Calm down, sweetheart, and tell me what’s happened.”

After a few moments Alex spoke again, this time her voice a little more recognizable. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? What for?” Saff sat down on a kitchen chair, waving away a concerned-looking Max at the door.

“For being a bitch and for not speaking to you,” Alex sobbed.

“Oh, Alex, it doesn’t matter. I deserved it. I did a terrible thing.” Saff smiled with relief. Nothing mattered now that Alex
was talking to her again.

“But I have been and I was still angry as hell and was being stubborn and wasn’t going to ring you.” There was a deep sniff.
“I’ve been such a fool, Saff. So proud and so stubborn. I know you were only trying to help, and I just wasn’t there enough.
All I could think was that you were all tricking me, laughing at me.”

“Oh, Al.” Saff was so pleased to hear her voice. “It wasn’t like that at all. But we were wrong. We should have owned up about
Frankie. He’s such a lovely bloke, Alex. He didn’t mean any harm.”

“I know, I know I should have trusted you,” Alex sobbed. “And now I need your help and I’ll understand if you say no. Oh,
Saff, I’m in such a mess. Can you help me, Saff?” Her voice sounded desperate.

Saff’s heart contracted. “Of course. Anything. What do you want?”

“It’s huge, Saff.”

“Shoot. If I can do it, I will.”

Alex sniffed again. “Can you produce breakfast for three hundred people tomorrow morning?”

F
rankie quickly stashed his bags in the backseat of Melik’s old Mercedes and struggled to get his phone out of his pocket.
As he climbed in the front, his nostrils were filled with the smell of leather, aftershave and strong cigarettes. “Is it okay
if I make a quick call?” he asked, and Melik raised his black caterpillar eyebrows.

“Of course, my friend,” said the Turk as he screeched away, crunching the gears.

There was some delay as Frankie’s phone searched for a signal and he scrolled through the options hurriedly. Eventually, he
jabbed the button for the recently called numbers. Oh hell! He hadn’t bothered to program in the international prefix for
Ella’s number. What was it again? He listened to the silence, the seconds ticking past, then the ringing tone. Where would
she be now? What time was it at home? Please let her pick up.

“Hey, Bro! Thanks for the text. Are you still in Istanbul, you jammy old sod? What’s it like? Have you got me anything? You
were a bit quick to volunteer, for someone who hates flying.”

“Listen, never mind all that now. I’ve got a taxi waiting and I’m about to come back. I’ve got all the stuff. Ella, I need
you to do something for me, now listen carefully. This is really important…”

A
lex rubbed her eyes and delved into her bag to try to find something to cover up the puffiness. Of course, there was nothing
in there except a lip salve so, grabbing a handful of tissues, she ran them under the cold tap and held them to her eyes.
She had read in a magazine she’d picked up at an airport that it worked with cucumbers, so perhaps wet tissue would do the
trick.

Not much improvement, she decided as she peered into the mirror. The blackness of the paint on the walls of the ladies’ room
and the intense light around the mirror revealed more detail than she could really cope with at the moment. For the first
time in ages she took a moment to look at herself. I’m thin, but not in a good way, she thought. Pulling down the skin around
her eyes, she looked at the pale color inside her eyelids. The shadows under her eyes were purple and she could see the veins.
What could Frankie have possibly seen in her? She pushed her hair off her face. Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps he’d just tried
his hand and gotten lucky. Where was he now? She pulled out her hairbrush and tried to tidy herself up, pulling her hair back
into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. It needed cutting. Perhaps she’d treat herself when this nightmare was over. She’d
probably have plenty of time while looking for another job. Briskly she put her hairbrush back into her bag. Well, at least
she had her model, even if what Bettina had to wear was on the other side of Europe. And, after a fashion, she had the catering
sorted. Alex threw her bag over her shoulder and made her way up to the lobby of the hotel, sniffing and smiling a bit to
herself as she remembered Saff ’s reaction to her absurd request.