Busy Woman Seeks Wife (6 page)

Y
uck, yuck, yuck. Alex dodged another puddle and wiped the rain from her eyes. She’d already missed her run yesterday and she
wasn’t going to miss today’s. The noise of the rain splattering on her window when she woke up had almost driven her back
under the duvet, but even the prospect of getting soaked was preferable to the appalling discomfort of the single bed. As
she ran, she could still feel the twinges in her back from the few nights she’d spent in it, but if the delivery people meant
what they had promised, she’d have a brand-new mattress delivered tomorrow. She’d bolted out at lunchtime yesterday and, like
a demented child, had bounced on several in the bedding department of the nearest store before finally settling on a double
for herself and a more comfortable single for her mother.

As she rounded the corner of the road, her sneakers soaked and squelchy, she noted with relief that the builder’s Dumpster
was still there. She’d have another mattress to add to it later. Meanwhile, she tried to avoid looking at her beloved old
one, which, soaked and stained with rain now, peeped out from beneath even more plasterboard and empty bags of cement.

Fresh from the shower, hair wild and beyond hope, she finished the orange juice in the fridge, then, wrinkling her nose at
the sour taste and not daring to look at the “best before” date, she picked up her laptop and bag and headed out the door.
A bowl of cereal would have been nice but the cupboard was bare. Saff was right. A wife was the answer but there was no one
faintly suitable from the batch that had answered the ad. The actor had been eye candy but was out of the question. She pushed
buttons on her phone as she walked.

Four hours later, Alex had the phone tucked under her chin as she mouthed to Camilla to please grab her a sandwich too while
she was out getting her own lunch. “Yes, it’s Alex Hill again, about my mother. Yes, that’s it. How is she today?” Alex glanced
at the spreadsheet on her laptop, trying to work out why her schedule didn’t add up, but listened more attentively as the
nurse outlined her mother’s night.

“She was certainly a bit more comfortable than when you came to visit but the thing is,” she went on, “we need the bed now
so, subject to the consultant’s early afternoon rounds, you should be able to take her home, well, as soon as you like, really.”

Alex nearly dropped the phone. “Oh gosh. Are you sure?” She scanned her brain and her desk frantically to see what she had
lined up and what was movable.

“Yes, dear. She’s been here for five days and her condition is improving. We shall certainly miss her. She’s kept us all entertained,
but she’ll be better off in your care.”

“Right. Are you sure she is fit to come out now?” Alex stalled. “I mean, wouldn’t another night or two be a good idea, just
to be certain?” There was a disapproving silence at the end of the line. “No probs. I’ll be there as soon as I can then.”
She put down the phone. “Camilla, help!” Her assistant’s blonde little head popped up. “My mother has to be collected this
afternoon, I’ve no beds, a diary full of stuff to do.” She riffled through some papers trying to find the notes she’d written
for Toronto. “And basically, I’m stuffed.”

Camilla came over to the desk and put her hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Now calm down.” She pulled out the sheet of scrawled notes
from under Alex’s laptop. “Is this what you’re looking for? Leave them for me—I’ll put them on the laptop for you while you
go and get your mum.” Alex looked into her calm blue eyes. “It will all be done by tomorrow. In fact”—she turned the laptop
towards her and moved the mouse to close it down—“I’ll do it at home because, as luck would have it, Garth has blown me out
this evening—he’s got a softball game—so I’ll be at home on my ownio. A perfect evening—your notes to type up, a glass of
wine and
EastEnders
!”

“Oh, come on, you don’t want to—”

Camilla held her hand up to stall her boss. “No really, I mean it. It’ll be bliss not to have to listen to his constant whining
about his job. Give your mum my love and I hope she’s okay.”

Alex cast about for her stuff, a bit bereft suddenly without her computer and, stuffing a file of notes into her oversize
bag, made for the door. “Camilla, if you aren’t a saint already, you soon will be.” She blew her a kiss. “See you in the morning,
that is, if Mum and I haven’t murdered each other by then.”

Three hours later, as she poured yet another glass of chilled French mineral water into her mother’s glass (only Evian would
do apparently), she wasn’t sure she was that far off the mark. The Bean, resplendent in a bright turquoise silk kimono and
turban to hide what she called her “hospital hair,” was lying, like Joan Crawford, on Alex’s sofa and complaining. Nothing
appeared to be right, nor had it been since the moment Alex had collected her from hospital, late, as it happened, thanks
to failed traffic lights on the journey over. The Bean had been waiting for her impatiently, her bag of things packed neatly
by her chair in the waiting area.

“Goodbye, my dears, you have been marvelous! God bless you all.” She’d waved a heavily ringed hand imperiously at the staff
on the nurses’ station as she was wheeled off, playing it for all she was worth. “Now, come on, Alex dear, I’ve been sitting
there for ages and you know how I
hate
sitting doing nothing.”

Well, she seems quite happy to do so now, thought Alex, as she put the cold glass of water down on the table close to her
mother’s side so she wouldn’t have to “reach too far.” The TV remote was there too so she wouldn’t miss her favorite shows—so
that’s what she spent her time doing. Feasting on an afternoon menu of
Countdown
, adverts and property programs. This was quite an eye-opener to her mother’s normal home routine, and it explained why she
considered herself an authority on everything.

“All all right now, Mother? Only I need to make some calls…”

“Oh dear.” The Bean turned her head weakly from the telly and looked at her daughter as if she’d only just noticed she was
there. “Must you? I was just enjoying your company. Alexandra, dear, that top does nothing for you, you know.” Alex looked
down at her chest and the company-branded gray T-shirt she’d found at the bottom of the ironing pile and slung on hastily
when she’d come to collect her car on the way to the hospital. “You really should try and be more feminine, dear. Gray never
suited your skin. Very few women can carry it off—you should know that, I’ve told you often enough. Vivien Leigh could of
course, but then she looked elegant in anything.”

“Oh, Mum, it’s only a T-shirt. Now, if you don’t mind…”

“Oh, I don’t suppose you have a little biscuit, do you?” She took her eyes off the TV again. “Just a little shortbread or
something? That hospital food is frankly a disgrace—not a trace of luxury and the way they hand it out off the food trolley!
No manners.”

Alex sighed and grabbed her keys. “I’ll go and see what Rajesh can offer,” she said, going out the door. “For the third time
this afternoon,” she muttered under her breath as she careered down the stairs. How soon could she find someone to help?

With her mother finally settled now, a plate of digestives by her side (a compromise and the nearest thing to shortbread Rajesh
had to offer), Alex settled herself cross-legged on her bedroom floor and made her calls, several about budgets for the new
launch and a couple to Camilla about her PowerPoint presentation for the Toronto trip. Camilla, obviously sensing the panic
in her voice, responded reassuringly to Alex’s requests that she add things to the Excel spreadsheet and promised they’d be
there in the morning when she brought the laptop back. Halfway through trying to learn her presentation from a printout by
heart, and trying to ignore the dust and old tissues she could see under the divan—just how often had Manuela turned tricks
in her flat? she wondered. Had she done it on her sofa?—Todd rang.

“Hi there, my lovely.” His voice was pure Bournville chocolate. It was for this reason that she’d been intrigued by him long
before she’d actually met him, just from the conference calls they’d shared. And as he was head of public relations for Zencorp
in the US, there had been a few of those. Over discussions about plans for the launch of the new range, she’d fallen under
some sort of spell. The reality when she’d finally met him during one of his now frequent visits to London had been even better.

“Hiya, babe.” She dropped her clipped business tone and slipped into something she hoped sounded sultry. “How was your flight?
You must be tired. How’s your day going so far?”

“Not so bad, not so bad. It will be all the better when I see you tonight, of course.” Bugger. In all the rush to pick up
her mother, she’d forgotten the arrangement to meet tonight.

“Ah. Problem.” And she went on to explain.

By the time he rang her doorbell, at around 8:30, Alex hoped he’d cheered up a bit about the idea of having to spend the evening
with her mother there too. The enmity between Todd and her mother had been palpable from the moment they’d first met a few
months ago, though masked behind a veneer of feigned bonhomie. Until now Alex had kept contact to the bare minimum—the requisite
meet-the-boyfriend visit at the Bean’s insistence, once Alex had let slip that she was seeing someone, and a couple of other
brief encounters. But supper together would be a first.

They stole a deep kiss in the hallway. Three weeks apart and Alex let herself be pulled towards him into his embrace. She
could feel his taut body beneath his shirt and smell his sharp cologne. A little too much of it actually, but it was expensive
so perhaps that made it okay. He looked at her intensely with his brown eyes, and she took in his beautifully aligned face.
By any criteria he was perfect. “Well,” he drawled, taking her hand. “Let battle commence.”

“Mother, it’s Todd, do you remember?” Stupid question, and as she bolted for the kitchen and put on the water to boil for
the pasta, she could just about make out a stilted conversation with long silences in between.

“Quite vile, dear.” The Bean put down her fork a bit later, not even pretending any more to move the fusilli around the plate.
“Is this the best you could come up with?” Alex looked quickly at Todd, who was making a better go of his food, though only
just. Did her mother really have to show her up?

“I’m so sorry, but I didn’t have much time.”

“Clearly not.” Her mother pushed her plate away. “I do hope things will get better while I’m here, though of course I won’t
be able to do a thing.” She nodded at the cast on her arm, resting in a sling made from an old Hermès scarf. “Perhaps the
lovely Saffron can help. She’s a wonderful cook. The most divine
sole bonne femme
I’ve ever tasted. What’s her husband called again?”

“Max, Mother. How could you forget that? You’ve known him for years.”

“Yes, of course. He’s a lucky man, having a wife like that. Now your father, he loved the way I cooked…” And off she
went, dominating the conversation for the rest of the evening, luckily not noticing the very mediocre bought apple pie.

“Christ, Alex, you’re going to need some help,” said Todd later, wincing as he tried to get comfortable on her bedroom floor,
the duvet and blanket she put underneath as a makeshift mattress clearly woefully inadequate. Much as she wanted him to, she
hadn’t really meant him to stay the night, the bed situation being what it was. Not to mention being unsure about the proximity
of her mother in the single room next door, but she’d changed her mind when, as they watched the news side by side on the
other sofa, he’d run his hand up her thigh.

“I know,” she groaned. “God knows what I’m going to do. I can’t find anyone suitable. Saff even invited a bloke to come along!”

“Well, my darling.” He turned his naked chest towards her and she could make out the sharp planes of his face in the orangey
light thrown by the street lamp outside. “Much as I think you are delicious, your mother isn’t, so let’s hope she makes a
full recovery real soon.” And she giggled as he slipped down between her legs.

The following day was frantic, meetings and conference calls interspersed with phone calls to her mother—when she wasn’t engaged
on the phone to her old actress friend, Beryl. Alex had even contemplated asking Beryl to look after the Bean, but she must
be knocking seventy herself and it would be too much. When Alex did finally get though, the Bean complained about having to
get things from the kitchen herself and wanted to talk in great detail about the phone calls from the neighbor downstairs
about the leak and the woman from the curtain maker’s about the blind for the bathroom. Then there were the bed delivery people,
who’d made such a fuss about the stairs apparently. Alex had managed to cut her short just in time to take a far more promising
call.

“Oh God, you were right,” she howled to Saff later as she finally got time to call her.

“What about?”

“The wife thing. Mother is going to be a full-time job—she’s so demanding, it’s like running a hotel but without the tips.
You know, this morning she wondered why I didn’t have Dundee marmalade, for God’s sake! And there’s such a stack of stuff
to do here and at home, frankly, but guess what? I think I’ve got the perfect person.”

“Oh, have you? Not that woman who looked like a psychopath with the suspicious references? I do hope you mean that gorgeous
bloke Frankie—he seemed ideal!”

“The actor? No way. I couldn’t cope with having a man in my flat. I know what you said,” she went on quickly before Saff could
interrupt, “but it would never work. No, it’s someone who called today actually. Bit of a last-minute call and she only just
caught me between meetings.”

“What!” Saff squeaked. “You haven’t met her?”

“Well, yes, as it happens. She was close to the office so I met her briefly and she was great.” Alex realized she was taking
a bit of a risk and hadn’t even followed up references—quite unlike her usual style—before asking the woman to stay at the
flat while she was in Canada. “Sometimes you just get an instinct, don’t you? She’s young but ideal, really. Enthusiastic,
fully qualified in caring for the elderly from what she says, and her cooking credentials sound marvelous. Apparently she
was involved in film catering or something, and she said she’s very reliable. She’s almost made to measure. And even better,
she’s just finished a contract and can start straightaway! I can’t believe my luck actually, and she only lives around the
corner apparently.”