An Ideal Wife (11 page)

Anyway, I got home as quickly as I could, called Max to find out what time he’d be home, decanted the food (as detailed in my instructions) into cooking implements (Mary had thoughtfully drawn them for me so that I didn’t have to distinguish a cassoulet from a casserole dish), and put them in the oven. Then I retired to the bedroom, where I showered, smothered myself in body oil, and lay on the bed, covering myself in the roses that Giles had sent over. Those guys at the class had better be right, I thought as I put the last rose between my teeth. If this went poorly, I was
never going to talk to Helen again. Well, not for a day or two. I heard the key in the door and froze.

“Hello? Jess, are you here?”

“In here,” I called, in what I hoped was a seductive voice.

“Something smells good. Did you pick up some food? Listen, I know it’s Sunday tomorrow, but I think I’m going in to work, if that’s okay. I’ve got a million and one things to do and we’ve got the audit starting on Tuesday …” He wandered into the bedroom, then stopped, his eyes wide. “Hello!” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “What’s going on here?”

“I cooked,” I said.

“You cooked? Really?”

“I took a class,” I said, with a little smile. “I. We cooked lasagna and chocolate pudding.”

“I see,” Max said, taking off his jacket. “And then did some gardening?”

I nodded, then winced as a rose stabbed my arm. “Something like that.” I felt faintly ridiculous, was sure that Max was going to laugh, but he hadn’t so far. “So, are you hungry?”

He grinned back. “Famished. But you know what they say—the hungrier you are, the better the food tastes. I think I can still work up a bit more of an appetite.”

“You’re saying you think my food isn’t going to be that great? That you need to work up an appetite to enjoy it?” I teased. “Because I’ll have you know that—”

“Stop talking,” Max said softly, removing the roses one by one.

“Fine,” I said, giggling as he took the last remaining stem and used it to stroke my leg.

“What brought this about?” he asked, as the rose moved steadily upward.

“I just thought it would make a nice change,” I said. “Better than takeout.”

He nodded seriously. “Very nice change,” he agreed, taking off
his shirt. He leaned down to kiss me, and, one by one, all his clothes were discarded onto the floor.

“And change is good, right?” I said. “You know, spicing things up.”

“I love spice,” Max said, pulling me toward him. He looked so happy. “You’re full of surprises, Jess, you know that? I love that about you.”

“You do?” I looked at him tentatively.

“Yes, I do,” he murmured. “God, you’re gorgeous. I love you, Jess.”

“And I love you,” I said, and then closed my eyes. If I loved him, I would tell him the truth and let him decide if he still loved me. That would be the right thing to do. That’s what the truly ideal wife would do, wouldn’t she? I took a deep breath. Then I opened my eyes again. “Max,” I said hesitantly. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

I moved forward just as he was leaning in toward me and ended up cracking him on the head. “Oh God. Oh, I’m sorry,” I said desperately, pulling my legs out from underneath him so I could see if I’d done any damage. But as I moved, I yelped; something was jabbing into my knee. Quickly, I moved back, flinging my leg away from the rose that was embedded in it and catching Max in the groin. He groaned in agony, rolling off the bed and onto the wooden floor with a huge crash, pulling me down on top of him. I landed heavily on something: his leg, I realized when I looked down. His leg, which looked kind of weird.

“Oh shit! Max, I am so sorry,” I said, leaning down over him. “God, I am such an idiot. Such a klutz. Max?”

I looked at him uncertainly. He’d gone white.

“My … leg,” he gasped. “You’re on … my—”

“Your leg?” I asked, jumping up. “Sorry, did you hurt it when you fell? I’m so sorry—it was this thorn in my knee. I knelt on it and—” I frowned. “Max, your leg looks really funny.”

He nodded.

And then I realized why he was so pale.

“It’s broken, isn’t it?” Max managed to say.

I nodded dismally. He had landed on his leg, twisting it under him; when I landed on top of it, I’d bloody well broken it. It wasn’t a crash I’d heard; it was a crunch. And now his leg was bent the wrong way, his foot looking completely out of place, facing inward instead of outward.

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” he asked through gritted teeth, then fell back on the floor, passed out.

“It can wait,” I whispered, as I dashed out of the room to call an ambulance.

“So tell me how this happened?” It was two hours later and we were in the hospital; Max’s leg had been X-rayed several times, and he was lying on a bed in a hospital gown. The doctor had come in a few minutes before to tell us what the prognosis was.

We looked at each other. “You want the long version or the short version?” Max asked. He’d been given some really strong painkillers, which had done something to his head; he was being cheeky and flirtatious and acting like he was drunk.

“How long is long?” the doctor asked.

Max looked at me with a raised eyebrow, and I reddened. “We were … I mean, I was …” I said hesitantly.

“My wife,” Max said seriously, “decided to try something new.”

“Don’t tell me—a new sport?” The doctor sighed. “If you knew how many people end up here with broken limbs because they’ve embarked on a health kick, you’d be amazed. So what was it? Rollerblading? Squash?”

Max winked at me. “Why don’t you tell the doctor, darling?” he suggested.

I cleared my throat. “Well …”

“I got home to find her on the bed, naked but for some roses.” Max grinned. “And then she kicked me in the groin and threw me off the bed. Women, huh? They just can’t make up their minds.”

I looked at him incredulously. “I was going to say that I took a cookery class.”

“Yes!” Max said excitedly. “She cooked, too! What an amazing woman.” Then he looked at me sadly. “And we never got to eat it.”

“Oh God,” I said, clapping my hand to my mouth. “I didn’t turn the oven off. I put the food in to heat and I didn’t turn it off before we left to come here!”

“Then it’s probably a little on the charred side,” Max said. “Oh well, not to worry.”

The doctor patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve had some bad luck today,” he said. “Your food’s burned and your leg’s broken.”

“It’s definitely broken?” Max asked, not looking particularly concerned. “It couldn’t be a twist? Or a sprain?”

“Definitely broken,” the doctor said. “I can show you the X ray if you like.”

Max shook his head and sighed. “So, what, I go home in a wheelchair?”

“Home? No, Mr. Wainwright, I’m afraid you’re not going home for a little while yet.”

“Well, obviously not right now,” I said quickly. “I suppose you’ve got to put plaster on it first—”

“Hey, slow down. I’m afraid your husband is going to be in here for at least a week,” the doctor said gently.

“A week?” Max looked up at him with a goofy smile on his face. “No, that’s impossible. I’m a very busy man. I’ve got an ethical audit starting on Tuesday. A business to run. Tell him, Jess.”

“It’s true,” I said seriously. “He can’t be in the hospital for a week.”

“And yet you’re going to be.” The doctor shrugged. “You’ll need some serious pain relief, and we’ll need to keep an eye on
you for a while. Your break is nasty. Usually a fall off a bed would result in a twist or a sprain, but it seems you landed badly, and the additional”—he looked at me with a half smile—“weight that landed on top of it …”

“You can say it,” I said dismally. “I broke his leg.”

“You helped him break it,” the doctor said diplomatically, then turned back to Max. “You’ll need to be off your feet for a few weeks, I’m afraid. We can get you some crutches, a wheelchair, eventually, but you’re in a lot of pain, even if you can’t feel it now. I think it would be sensible to stay here for a few days. You’ll need some physical therapy as you start to recover, too.”

Max nodded sagely. “Why don’t you start the PT now?” he suggested. “Then we can all go home.”

The doctor turned to me. “Seems the painkillers are doing their stuff,” he said, with a wry smile.

I smiled back uncertainly. It was great seeing Max so relaxed, so unconcerned about the business. But I knew the moment the painkillers wore off he’d go into panic mode. “So there’s really no way of speeding this up?”

The doctor shook his head. “Bones don’t generally work to our timetable,” he said. “I’ll leave you two alone, and the nurse will be in shortly. Press this buzzer if you need anything.”

He pointed to a red button on the side of Max’s bed; Max pressed it immediately. “Room service,” he said, grinning.

“I am so sorry,” I said desperately, as soon as the doctor had left. “I can’t believe this happened.”

“Is there a menu anywhere?” Max asked.

“A menu?” I looked at him carefully. “Max, were you listening to what the doctor said? You’re going to be in here for a while. Are you really okay about it?”

“Maybe they’ll have lasagna,” Max said, as a nurse walked in. She was pretty, with dark hair and olive skin.

“Hi,” she said, smiling warmly. “I’m Emily. How can I help?”

“I’d like some lasagna,” Max said. “And chocolate pudding.”

Emily laughed. “Well, I’m not sure we have either of those things, but I’ll see what I can rustle up, shall I?”

“You are a gem,” Max said happily. “My wife cooked, but then she kicked me out of bed and broke my leg.”

“Poor you,” Emily said, puffing up Max’s pillow. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to.”

“Maybe,” Max said conspiratorially. “But maybe she did. Who knows?”

I watched Emily uncertainly. I wasn’t wild about some pretty nurse tucking in his sheets like that. Then I kicked myself. She was a nurse. That was her job. She’d go off shift soon and there’d be some much older, less attractive woman looking after him. Or a man. Maybe I’d ask specifically for a male nurse….

“You left the oven on, remember,” Max said. Then he smiled at Emily. “She left the oven on. The lasagna’s probably burned.”

“Probably,” Emily agreed.

“Well, I can always make another one,” I said quickly, forcing a bright smile. “So, look, darling, is there anything I can do?”

“Actually,” Emily said, “it’s quite late, and visiting hours are over. It’s best if you come back tomorrow.”

“Best,” Max echoed.

“Oh,” I said uncertainly. “Oh, right. Well, if you’re sure, Max?”

Max looked at me vaguely, then smiled again. “Remember to turn the oven off. Don’t want the apartment burning down on top of everything else.”

“No,” I said, wondering how our perfect evening had ended up so crappily. “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

VISITING HOURS, I LEARNED BEFORE leaving the hospital, started at 10:00
A.M.,
after the doctors had done their rounds. The following day, at 10:01
A.M.,
I stepped through the door to Max’s room, clutching a large bouquet of flowers courtesy of Giles, a newspaper, a latte with one sugar, and a croissant. Breaking Max’s leg had not exactly been part of the whole being-perfect plan, but it was, I told myself, just a minor setback, an opportunity to demonstrate my ability to not bother him with anything, to listen to him, to be supportive. I was going to be a pillar of strength, I’d decided. I was going to ensure that Max didn’t have to worry about a thing while he was in the hospital. It would be the holiday he kept promising he’d take and never did—we didn’t even take a honeymoon. Who knows, he might get a taste for leisure, I found myself thinking. Maybe I’d get him away for a proper holiday when he was better.

Max took the coffee gratefully and watched as I arranged the flowers on the little cabinet to the side of his bed.

“They’re saying a week,” he said grimly.

“Yeah,” I said, turning to give him a kiss. “The doctor said that last night.”

“A week. I can’t be here for a week. I can’t.”

“Max,” I chided, “don’t worry. It’ll be okay. I’m going to look after everything for you.”

“Jess, do you know what looking after everything entails?” Max asked.

“Yes,” I said quickly. “I mean, no, not really. But I’ll check with you before making any decisions. Come on, chief execs go on holiday and companies don’t all grind to a halt. I don’t expect Jarvis Private Banking is falling apart because Chester’s gone to the States.”

“Chester’s business isn’t in the fragile state we’re in,” Max said flatly.

“Fragile? We’re not that fragile, are we?” I asked, frowning.

Max looked away. “We’re okay,” he said. “I just can’t be away. Not for a week. Salaries go out this week. The audit’s starting. We’ve got two important pitches. I simply cannot be laid up in the hospital. It isn’t an option.”

“It is an option,” I said impatiently, then checked myself because the ideal wife would be understanding, not impatient. “Look, I do know why you’re worrying, but let it go. You don’t have a choice, so enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it,” Max said tersely. “Enjoy being in agony? Enjoy being stuck here, unable to work?” He looked at me, then let out a long breath. “This is just a really bad time.”