Busy Woman Seeks Wife (9 page)

When she reemerged she was fragrant, chic and, beneath her immaculately applied makeup, rather nervous-looking. She held on
to his arm tightly as they walked downstairs together. Driving through London with the Bean beside him, Frankie had to pinch
himself hard. Although he was concentrating on the unfamiliar car as he drove towards Chelsea and Westminster, he was intrigued
by the running commentary she was keeping up in her throaty, patrician tones.

“Went to the most fantastic party in that house there.” She pointed a varnished nail at an imposing front door. “Everyone
was there. Alan, Julie, Glenda, Vanessa, dear Terence—remind me to tell you all about Terence one day, darling. Oh, it was
the most tremendous fun…”

At the hospital, Frankie found a space as close by as he could, then helped her out of the seat. She held tightly to his arm
as she unfolded, then immediately pushed him away, brushing irritably at her clothes. As they sat side by side in the waiting
area, Frankie found a newspaper and read little snippets out to her—he noticed she wouldn’t put on the glasses hanging around
her neck, just held them in front of her eyes briefly when she absolutely had to—but far from being interested in the arts
reviews, she asked him in detail about the racing results. When she was eventually called in to see her consultant, Frankie
watched her sail across the room, looking confident and poised. He shook his head in amazement. That this elegant beauty should
have given birth to the tall, slightly gawky woman who had questioned him so seriously at his failed interview seemed incredible.
He sat staring at the consulting-room door, still unable to believe what was happening to him, until his mobile rang, earning
him a stern look from the receptionist. Since the call was from Ella, he darted outside and took it. From the first wheedling
word, it was obvious what she wanted.

“You see, it’s gone brilliantly. They all really like me and this other woman’s going to be off for a fortnight—her back or
something. So could you . . .?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Frankie shook his head. “It’s really not on. You took this job. You can’t just drop it like that. Why
don’t you tell them you’ve got to work out your notice first and then you can start in a few days, so Alex has a chance to
find someone else?… What do you mean, me take over? What’s Alex going to say? She didn’t want me in the first place.
It was you she wanted. We can’t just substitute me for you and hope she doesn’t notice. It’s dishonest. Look, she’s coming
out. We’ll talk about this later. Yep, yep. You owe me big!”

The Bean had emerged from the consulting room and was looking around vaguely, almost unsteadily, clasping her injured arm.
“Oh, there you are.” The imperious tone couldn’t hide her relief as she spotted him. “Well, that consultant doesn’t know a
thing. He maintains that I have to stay with Alex for a few weeks at least, and then I have to come back for another X-ray.”
She took hold of his arm and leaned close. “You know what, darling, there’s a little bookie not far from here, perhaps we
could pop in on the way back. And then perhaps we could go and get some decent marmalade. If I’m condemned to staying at Alex’s,
at least I might be comfortable. That idiot sister of yours has no idea about anything. I shall just phone her and tell her
I can manage on my own.”

As the afternoon progressed it became increasingly clear she couldn’t. When they returned to the flat, bets laid, he watched
her struggle to take off her jacket, unsure whether she would be insulted by his offer of help—she was so proud. But when
a teacup slipped from her hand and shattered on the kitchen floor, he knew he would have to step in.

“Listen,” he said, getting out the dustpan. “I think I can persuade Ella to give up her job here, and what if I come and help
you for a couple of days?”

“Oh, what a relief,” the Bean sighed dramatically. “You’re quite delightful! And I do so love having a man about the house!”

“Okay, but your daughter won’t be very pleased. There’s something I’m going to have to tell you. You see, we’ve met before
…”

B
loody disaster!”

Camilla sat down heavily in the seat opposite Alex. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed in my life,” Alex continued, easing her bag off her shoulder and dumping it under
her desk. She gingerly moved her head to try to relieve the strain from carrying the bag from Heathrow on the hot and packed
Tube. There hadn’t been a hope of a taxi. “Can you get on to tech support? They can take that bloody laptop and sort it out.”

“What went wrong?”

“What didn’t, more like!” Alex turned on her desktop and pulled some files out of her briefcase. Everything hurt—her neck,
her head, but most of all her pride. “There I was—two hundred salespeople staring at me expectantly—this super-duper woman
from London to tell them all they needed to know and what happens? The bloody presentation fails!”

Camilla put her hand to her mouth in horror. “Oh, Alex, what did you do?”

Alex pulled off her sweatshirt, quickly looked around to see if anyone was watching, and whipped off her T-shirt too, ducking
behind the desk and pulling on a new one from a box left over from a promo event. She would dearly have liked a shower and
a few hours’ sleep, but a clean top would have to suffice until she had sorted a few things and could get home later. She
glanced at her watch. Even though it was nearly nine she knew her mother would still be in bed so she wouldn’t call yet. Owing
to the hectic conference itinerary, she’d only managed two calls home in the short time she’d been away and the Bean had sounded
very irritable in the first. “This girl is simply dreadful,” she’d shrieked and Alex had had to pacify her and promise that
she’d sort the problem out as soon as she got back—as soon as she’d sorted out her own, more pressing disaster, that is. During
the second call she’d sounded a bit distracted and it took Alex a while to figure out that
Countdown
must be on TV.

“Well,” she said, bobbing up from behind her desk, furtively trying to sniff her armpits to check she wasn’t too smelly. “I
just had to wing it—and boy, if they were handing out Oscars for bullshit I’d be right up there. God, it still makes me feel
sick when I think about it.” She sat down, a vision coming into her head of the awful moment when, after her florid introduction,
she had clicked to run the presentation. “
Nada. Rien.
Bugger all. So I sort of launched into a ‘Well, this is what it looks like and this is what the fabric feels like and these
are the colors.’ Thank God I decided to take the bigger box of samples instead. Good thing I ignored you!”

“Well, I just thought…”

“No, you were right, it was heavier, but Lord knows what I’d have done without it. In the end I threw a whole load of those
crop tops into the audience so they could have a fondle and ‘feel it like it is.’ ”

“Oh dear,” Camilla laughed. “That sounds a bit haphazard.”

At that moment Peter, Alex’s opposite number in the running-shoe department, loomed into view and tossed a large report onto
her desk. “A little light reading for you,” he said dismissively. “Interim sales report.”

“Thanks.” Alex moved it out of the way, annoyed at his interruption.

“How did the trip go? Hear there was a royal fuckup. That was bad luck.” He smiled coldly. “I always double-check my tech
stuff before I go.” And he walked away.

“That’ll sink my plot to electrocute him then,” whispered Camilla. “Smug tosser. Why’s he always got it in for you?”

Alex pulled a face at his departing back and shrugged. “I don’t know but he always manages to make me feel stupid.”

“I’d watch him if I were you.” Camilla leaned forward. “I don’t trust him. Anyway, go on. So what happened?”

“Well, do you know, I think they quite enjoyed it? It kept them all awake anyway. Quite a few of them came up to me afterwards
and said how much fun it had been and how positive they felt about the product. Easy to entertain, those Canadians.”

“You’re a genius! Looks like you saved the day.” Camilla gathered up the papers from her knee and stood up. “I know you’ll
have caught up with most of your e-mails, but Gavin asked me to tell you to look at the updated spreadsheets and he wants
a debrief later about the trip.”

Alex turned to her PC and papers. “I’ll go and see him in a minute. I think he’ll be proud of my cunning improvization!” she
laughed. “Better call Mum first, though.”

The phone rang for longer than she’d expected. Where could she be? Ella might have taken her out, I suppose, she thought idly.
This was the end of the girl’s first week there so she might have started to do things with her mother, but it was odd when
she was housekeeper first and nurse second. Alex’s eyes and attention wandered to her screen and she forgot she still had
the phone under her chin until it was answered abruptly.

“Hill residence. Can I help you?” Her mother’s voice sounded breathless.

“It’s the Hill residence chatelaine here. You sound as though you’ve been running, Mum. What on earth’s the matter?”

“Oh, it’s you, darling. Just hang on a moment while I sit down. It’s those blasted stairs. An abomination. You should have
bought a ground-floor flat.”

“Where have you been? It’s very early for you. Has Ella been out with you?”

“Ella? Good God no… yes! That’s it. Ella. Ella. Very much so Ella. We’ve been out for a coffee on the common. Delightful
little place by the deli.”

“Oh, that sounds like a change of heart. When I called you the other day you were ready to murder her.”

“Was I? I don’t think I was. What
are
you talking about? She’s perfectly marvelous and looking after me beautifully. Aren’t you Ella?” Alex could hear a sort of
squeak in the background. “Yes, we’ve done a bit of shopping and went to that little gallery run by the woman with the unfortunate
complexion. Terrible shame, but nice pictures. I’ve reserved a charming little oil.”

“Mother,” Alex said slowly. “You can’t go buying more pictures.”

“Oh, don’t be so bossy, dear. One more won’t hurt. Frankie says it’s lovely…”

“Frankie?”

“Frankie? What, dear? No, no. I said,
frankly
it’s lovely.”

“Oh, Mum.”

“Never mind ‘Oh, Mum.’ ”

Alex felt concerned. “Is Ella doing all the stuff at home she should be before taking off for little shopping trips? I mean,
that’s what she’s paid to do, you know.”

“Oh yes, wonderfully domesticated. Sheer genius with the iron. But enough of that, how was your trip? Did you persuade those
Canadians about that ghastly nylon PE outfit?”

Alex laughed. Wherever she had inherited her interest in sports from it certainly wasn’t her mother, whose idea of exercise
was stirring a Singapore sling. No, her love of sports had been courtesy of her father, who’d been a Cambridge rowing Blue
and latterly had a passion for skiing. Together the two of them had tackled black runs while her mother, swathed in furs,
got to grips with the glühwein in the mountain bars. She could have done without also inheriting his height and the broad-shouldered
physique that came with it, though, and had always thought how unfair it was that the gene pool hadn’t handed out her mother’s
petite frame. She could also have done without what he left behind when he died ten years ago just as she was graduating from
business school: a demanding mother whom Alex wasn’t inclined to indulge as he had, and a financial mess that she was still
unraveling.

What made it all the more painful was how much Alex had adored and trusted him. He’d always made her feel protected, and she
had been carried along with his live-for-today generosity, believing it was funded by the investments he mentioned, airily
waving away any questions she had. As she had gotten older and begun to understand these things, she had just assumed he had
a nest egg because his occasional business deals with classic vintage cars had to be funded from somewhere, didn’t they? They
didn’t. The school fees, the shiny red Jaguar E-Type, the holidays in Gstaad had all been courtesy of the bank.

“That ghastly PE outfit pays the mortgage, thanks, and yes, I think they were suitably impressed. Look, I’ve got a few urgent
things to sort out here, then I should be home by three. I’m looking forward to seeing Ella again. She sounds even better
than I thought.” She must have the patience of Job too, she reflected as she said goodbye and went to find Gavin, who was
sitting, feet up on his desk, a pair of prototype sneakers on his feet.

“Phew, you need sunglasses for those!” Alex pretended to protect her eyes from the glare. “Will it be legal to wear such lurid
colors in public?”

Athletically—everyone in the office was athletic—he swung his legs off the desk and stood up, bouncing on his toes, then running
on the spot. “These, dear girl, are where it’s at. They are so advanced we won’t so much overtake the opposition as lap them.
They are so cushioned they will make running on air seem an uncomfortable alternative.” He gesticulated wildly. “So performance-oriented
are they, they will make a Jesse Owens of the most sluggish.” He looked down at his feet. “Isn’t this color awesome though?
Fluorescent orange and lime is the new black, which of course was never really explored with sneakers. Though come to think
of it…” And he sat down quickly and wrote something down on a pad.