An Ideal Wife (14 page)

“Of course,” Caroline said seriously. “It would be an honor. So are you, like, the chief executive until Max gets back?”

I laughed. “Me? Chief exec? No. No, I’m just filling in. You know, steering the ship.”

“Then you’re the captain?” Caroline asked, uncertain.

“Think of me as an account director,” I said sagely.

“An account director,” Caroline mused. Then she frowned. “But that’s what you are. Were, I mean.”

“Exactly. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a to-do list to get back to,” I said, standing up so I could finally get into Max’s office. Before I could, though, Anthony appeared at my desk, his face furious.

“What the hell is some bloke doing in my office?” he demanded. “And what’s this I hear about Max?”

“Max has broken his leg,” I said, looking at my watch and raising my eyebrows. “The bloke in your office is the ethical auditor. And have you ever heard of getting in to work before ten
A.M.
?”

“I decide my own hours,” Anthony said dismissively. “And why isn’t the auditor in Max’s office if Max can’t be bothered to come in? Anyway, I thought he was starting tomorrow.”

“He likes to surprise auditees,” I said tightly. “And Max
can
be bothered; he can’t physically get in. He’s in the hospital.”

“So who’s running the place in his absence?” Anthony asked curiously. “Me, presumably. This used to be my firm, after all.”

“Yes, and Max bought it from you when you plunged it into debt,” I reminded him. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll just keep on top of everything, if it’s all right with you.”

“It’s all right with me.” Anthony shrugged. “But does Max really want you in charge? Particularly if we’ve got an ethics audit going on? Bit risky, isn’t it?”

I looked at him uncertainly. “I’m not sure what you mean. To be honest, I was thinking about asking you to stay away for a week until it’s all over. If anyone poses a risk, it’s you.”

Anthony smiled sweetly. “How thoughtful,” he said. “But, lest we forget, it was you who thought it was perfectly reasonable to marry for money. To jilt me at the altar. To seduce an old lady into
leaving her entire inheritance to you instead of her own family. Frankly, you’re a liability.”

My eyes narrowed. “You are totally twisting the facts, Anthony, and you know it. I didn’t get Grace’s entire inheritance. You got your money,” I said levelly. “If you blew it, that’s not my problem.”

“And the audit is apparently not my problem,” Anthony retorted. “Luckily for me.” He was looking at something behind me; I turned to see what it was and gasped. Eric was standing a few feet away, scribbling furiously in his notebook. How long had he been listening? What was he writing?

“Eric!” I said, as cheerfully as I could manage. “Um, this is Anthony Milton. The Anthony whose office you’re using. He and I were just … um … joshing. You know, office banter.”

Eric smiled thinly. “Indeed.”

“Yes,” I continued, seemingly unable to stop talking. “Yes. We do all like to joke around here. Don’t we, Anthony?”

Anthony rolled his eyes, then walked over toward Eric. “So how long are you going to need my office?” he asked. “A day? Two?”

Eric finished scribbling in his notebook, then looked at Anthony, his face giving nothing away. “I think I could be here for a little longer than that,” he said. “Quite a bit longer, in fact.”

“Quite a bit longer?” I asked, swallowing uncomfortably. “How much longer? I thought you only needed to interview a selection of our—”

“I take my job very seriously,” Eric said. His voice had a horrible nasal twang to it that made me recoil. “And where I feel there is evidence of … how shall I put this … unethical tendencies, then it is my duty to root them out, to explore them, to analyze how they fit into the organization’s culture.”

“Unethical tendencies?” I gulped. “But there’s nothing like that here. I mean, there really isn’t …”

“No?” Eric looked at his notebook, flicking back through the pages. He smiled silkily. “Let me see,” he said, licking his lips. “We have nepotism—”

“Nepotism?” I asked.

“Your husband is Mr. Wainwright, is he not? And you are an account director?”

I nodded.

“And it is you whom he left in charge?”

I nodded again.

“I see,” Eric said thoughtfully. “The account-director job was advertised externally, was it?”

“No, I was promoted,” I said uncomfortably.

“It was advertised internally, at least?”

“No,” I said, feeling rather hot all of a sudden. “But—”

“And your current role, deputizing for Mr. Wainwright. Was that role advertised?”

“No, but he broke his leg only Saturday, so …”

“Indeed,” Eric said smugly. “What about drinking? Drugs?”

“What about them?” I said, my voice catching slightly.

“There is no drinking or drug-taking here,” Anthony said with a sigh. “Disappointing, I know, but—”

“Perhaps not on the premises,” Eric said curtly. “But your receptionist is a party girl, I understand. Is regularly late on Mondays. Have you looked into this? Have you offered her rehabilitation for her habits? Counseling?”

Anthony shrugged and looked at me with a grin. “I don’t know. Do you offer counseling, Jess?”

I shook my head in confusion. “Counseling? Because she goes out on Saturday night?”

Anthony winked at me and wandered off. Eric was tutting to himself. “Saturday night does not usually lead to a Monday hangover,” he said. “No, I can see that you are oblivious to the cries for help from your staff. As for the root cause, I will need to assess the
stress that your employees are under, Ms. Wild Wainwright. If your company culture is driving them to alcohol dependency, to drug addiction, then that is a very serious matter.”

“Driving people to drugs?” I asked incredulously. “But … but—”

“And Anthony Milton,” Eric said before I could finish. “Is that the Milton in the company name?”

I nodded. “It used to be Anthony’s firm,” I said stiffly. “But Max bought it and—”

“Yet he is back here working. I’d like to see the details of the financial settlement,” Eric said, closing his notebook. “The tax accounts. We don’t like to see sales of businesses used as tax-avoidance schemes.”

“There wasn’t any tax avoidance; Max just bought the business, end of story,” I said, irritated now. “This is a good company, and Max has worked really hard to make it the best advertising firm in London.”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” Eric said smoothly. “We’ll certainly get to the truth of the matter. I just hope for your sake that there aren’t any real problems.”

I took a deep breath as I imagined what would happen if we failed the audit. It would be all over the press, we’d lose our clients, and the business would be ruined. I wanted to kick that horrible man out onto the street, never allow him to return. But I knew it wasn’t going to happen. Instead, I had to make sure we didn’t fail. For Max’s sake. “Mr. Sandler,” I said, forcing myself to calm down. “Look, I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot here. What you’re doing is important, and we want to help you in any way we can. So why doesn’t Caroline here help you to set up some interviews, then in a couple of days—when you’ve spoken to people and gotten a better feel of the place—you can assess how long you need to stay?”

Eric looked at me suspiciously, as though I’d asked him to let a
hardened criminal out of prison or something. “Well,” he said, after a pause. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”

“Great,” I said, sighing with relief. “That’s great.”

He walked off and I turned to Caroline anxiously. “Keep Anthony away from him,” I said. “Millie’s on holiday for two weeks. Give Anthony her desk upstairs. Okay?”

Caroline nodded quickly and jumped up. “Okay,” she said, in that earnest way of hers that made me want to hug her. “I’ll tell him right away.”

“YOU’VE REALLY NEVER watched
Doctors?
It’s genius. It’s about these doctors, you see. Isn’t it, Emily?”

I cleared my throat. I was at the hospital, exhausted; I wanted to talk to Max about the audit, about the hideous day I’d had, about how I only just got the salaries off in time and nearly missed an important meeting at 11:30
A.M.
because I hadn’t even looked that far into his schedule. I wanted to tell him all the crappy things that had happened, the snide remarks from Eric, the trouble I’d had trying to figure out the company’s pension scheme, the fact that I hadn’t eaten a thing all day because I’d been so rushed off my feet. But I couldn’t; I didn’t want to bother Max with any of it. And, anyway, he was still away with the fairies. I’d never seen him so relaxed. Me, I was a bundle of nerves. There was so much adrenaline coursing through my veins, I felt like I’d drunk ten cups of coffee; I was almost tempted to ask for a shot of Max’s painkillers for myself.

“No, I’ve never watched it,” I said, attempting a relaxed smile, which was easier said than done. For one thing, I didn’t feel remotely relaxed, and for another, Emily was sitting on the chair next to Max’s bed, forcing me to perch on the bed, and there wasn’t much room what with Max and his broken leg taking up most of it.

“Max loves it, don’t you, Max?” Emily said, grinning.

“Actually, what Max really loves is current affairs,” I said. “News, mostly.”

“News?” Max shook his head. “Too depressing. What’s that other one I like, Emily? The one with the woman.”

“Murder, She Wrote,”
Emily enthused.

Max nodded happily. “That’s the one. Brilliant. Sheer genius.” Then his face clouded over slightly. “You got here very late,” he said. “There’s only an hour of visiting time left.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just been a really long day, and I didn’t manage to leave the office until about half an hour ago,” I said. “But I’m here now!”

“Yes,” Max said. “Anyway, it’s okay, because Emily has been here to look after me.” He smiled at her goofily, and she smiled right back at him. I shifted uncomfortably on the bed, telling myself to relax and stop being so paranoid. Emily was a nurse; of course she was looking after him. I should be pleased that she was keeping him occupied, pleased that he wasn’t stressed out or worried about work. And I was pleased. Sort of. If she’d only get off that chair …

“Well, thank you, Emily,” I said brightly. “You’re obviously doing a great job. Max is looking much better already.”

Emily turned her attention to me. “Oh, that’s what I’m here for. And I enjoy what I do. Max has been in a lot of pain,” she said. “It’s not easy being stuck in a hospital bed all day on your own.”

I looked at her steadily. Was she suggesting that I should have been here earlier? No, of course she wasn’t, I chided myself. “I know,” I said, forcing myself to be pleasant. “It must be awful. But at least I’m keeping everything at work on track so he doesn’t have to worry about that.”

“Well, that’s good,” Emily said. “Isn’t it, Max?”

Max smiled dopily. “Jess is quite brilliant,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, reddening with pleasure and shooting a little triumphant smile at Emily. “I’m not really.”

“Yes, you are,” Max said, nodding vigorously. Then he grinned. “At work, I mean.” He turned to Emily. “She can’t cook very well. Burns everything. Don’t you, Jess?”

My smile faltered slightly. “I’m not the greatest cook,” I admitted.

“Not the greatest?” Max laughed. “You went on a cookery course and still burned the lasagna!” He carried on laughing, evidently pleased with his joke.

I, on the other hand, was failing to see the funny side. “Cooking isn’t really my forte,” I said tightly.

“Emily cooks,” Max said. “She brought me in homemade biscuits this afternoon. What were they again?” He turned to Emily, who winked.

“Ginger snaps. And you’d better not eat too many, you know. With your leg like that, you can’t exercise, and we don’t want you getting tubby.”

I stared at her indignantly. “Max can eat what he wants,” I said. “He’s not going to get tubby. And even if he did, I wouldn’t care.”

“She would.” Max winked conspiratorially. “That’s why she doesn’t cook: Doesn’t want me turning into a tubby tubster. Did you bring me anything to eat, Jess?” I shook my head uncomfortably. I’d been planning to bring flowers, biscuits, a selection of books by Max’s favorite authors. But I hadn’t had time to get anything. “See?” Max said to Emily. “Case closed.”

He was grinning and I knew he was joking, knew he thought he was being really funny. But it didn’t feel funny. It felt awful, like I was just one big letdown. I didn’t want him teasing me about my cooking and highlighting my failures. I was meant to be the ideal wife, and instead I was an abject failure. Unlike bloody Emily, who could do everything. She probably made great soup, too.

I looked at her disconcertedly. “So, look, Emily. Thanks so
much for looking after Max so well. But you must have other patients to see,” I said. “I can take things from here.”

“Oh, of course,” Emily said, quickly standing up. “I’m so sorry—you want time alone. I’m awful like that. I’m really very sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Max said, frowning. “Jess didn’t mean she wants you to go, did you, Jess?”