An Ideal Wife (27 page)

“Esther?” A voice came from the pantry. “Esther? Will you open this door? That crazy friend of Jess’s has locked us in here. Esther? Can you hear me? Open this door. Otherwise I’m going to break it down.”

Mum grimaced, then shook her head. “He’ll never do it,” she said. “The door’s far too strong. He’s not the athletic type at all.”

“I heard that,” Dad muttered from inside the pantry.

Mum chose to ignore him. “Oh, hello? I’m terribly sorry about that. Yes, I want to report a—”

“Esther? Jess?” It was Chester’s voice. We turned around desperately. “There are two people at the door who say they need to talk with you urgently.”

“You … you opened the door?” I gasped.

“That’s usually what you do when someone knocks, isn’t it?”

This was it. I was going to die. We all were. Horribly. We’d be in the newspapers. Max would read about it…. “So they’re … in the house?” I managed to say. I felt like collapsing on the floor.

“Yes,” Chester said slowly, “they are in the house. Am I not making sense? And what the hell is that banging?”

“Banging?” I faltered. “Oh, it’s … it’s—”

“It’s part of the surprise,” Helen said. “It’s for the party.”

“Yes,” Mum added. “Chester, please go back to the sitting room. You’re really going to ruin everything. If you haven’t already….” I felt her hand grip mine, and I squeezed it. She put the telephone receiver down, then looked at me. “Come on, Jess,” she said stoically. “Let’s go and see what they want.”

“They want the trunk,” Helen said. “Just give it to them.”

“What trunk?” Chester asked.

“That trunk,” Giles said, helpfully pointing to Ivana’s trunk, which was still on the kitchen floor.

I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I whispered. “I’m ready.”

Reluctantly, I started to walk toward the front door. I felt like John Wayne, or like Harry Potter facing Voldemort. I would be brave, I told myself. I would look them in the eye and tell them that no one else here had anything to do with the trunk, that I alone was responsible, that …

I stopped uncertainly. There were two people in the hallway, but they weren’t the Mafia men. One had gold teeth and was holding a baby, for a start.

“Ivana?” I asked incredulously. “Sean?”

Sean looked at me grimly. “Is it here?” he asked. “Did she give it to you?”

“Did she give what to me?” I asked weakly. “Did you see the men who were here a second ago?”

Sean shook his head. “I didn’t see anyone. Just tell me yes or no, Jess. Is the trunk here?”

Ivana was glaring at me, her eyes flashing. She was shaking her head only enough for me to see. My face crumpled in confusion. I said uncertainly. “I …”

“Yes, the trunk is here,” Mum said, stepping forward. “As are the two Russian Mafia men who have been chasing my daughter around ever since you gave it to her. I think you owe us an explanation, Ivana, and an apology.”

“Russian Mafia?” Sean looked at Ivana, bewildered. “You’ve got your clients following her, too?”

Ivana shook her head. “Of course not,” she said irritably. “I no know what she saying. I give trunk. I think she hide for me. I no realize she no can kip secret.” She folded her arms and shot a severe look in my direction.

“I
can
keep a secret,” I said, outraged, as a huge crash made everyone jump. I carried on regardless. I was beyond fear now, beyond normal reactions to anything. “I kept your trunk hidden for you. But two men in a Hummer have been following me around. They’re everywhere I go. And they’re here now. So whatever’s in that trunk, I’d get it a long way away from here if I were you. Because they’ll be back any minute.”

I realized that no one—not even Ivana—was listening to me; they were all staring at something behind me. I turned slowly to see my father and Hugh, their clothes covered in dust.

“Not athletic,” Dad said with a snort. “I’ll show you who’s not athletic.”

“You’re
not
athletic,” Hugh said irritably. “I broke the door down; you just barked orders. Fat lot of use you were.”

“Someone had to devise the strategy and implement it,” Dad said indignantly. “Who are you?”

He was looking at Ivana and Sean, who were looking right back at him.

“More to the point,” Chester said, staring at Dad, “who are you?” Then Chester turned to me. “And what the hell is Hugh Barter doing here? Is he invited to my surprise party, too?”

“Um, yes,” I said falteringly. “Yes, he is.”

“You invited the guy who screwed my company over to my surprise welcome-home party?” Chester asked incredulously. “The guy who tried to ruin Milton Advertising and leaked my corporate secrets to
Advertising Weekly?”

Hugh cleared his throat. “About that,” he said. “I wanted to apologize. You know, set the record straight. I accept that there were misunderstandings, and I regret—”

“You,” Ivana cut in, looking at Hugh, her eyes hostile. “I heff seen you before.”

“No,” Hugh said, shaking his head thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Yes,” she said. “I see you in bar. I see you in photograph. You are man kiss Jessica. You are man bleckmail my friend.”

“Oh, for the love of God, I didn’t blackmail her,” Hugh said, rolling his eyes. “You lot are so melodramatic. I just begged a few favors, that’s all, and …” He trailed off as Ivana stalked toward him, slowly, deliberately. “I’m sorry,” he stammered as she approached him. “I didn’t mean to … I really didn’t … Ow. Fuck. Damn it.” With one fell swoop, Ivana had floored him.

“Who is this girl?” Chester asked, looking at her in surprise. “She’s amazing.”

“My bloody nose,” Hugh moaned. “My poor bloody nose.”

“Next time will be more than nose that hurts,” Ivana said darkly.

“Ivana,” I said seriously, “I think you’d better hide. Those men will be back soon.”

“Which men?” she asked.

“The men in the Hummer,” I said. “The Russian men. The … you know, the Mafia.”

“Mafia?” Ivana’s face creased in confusion. “I no know why you talk Mafia. Why Mafia here? You liv message, message about men in Hummer. I no know what you are minning.”

I sighed. “Ivana, what’s in the trunk?”

“You don’t know?” Sean asked, stepping forward.

“No, I don’t know,” I said tentatively.

“But I think it’s time we all found out,” Mum added.

“They’re right,” Sean said firmly. “So, Ivana, are you going to show us?”

Ivana looked away angrily. “I no see trunk, anyway.”

“It’s in the kitchen,” Giles said, with an awkward smile. “I can get it, if you want.”

Sean nodded and went to help; Ivana was looking in the opposite direction with her nose in the air, as though trying to pretend that the rest of us didn’t exist.

We all waited in silence as Giles and Sean heaved the trunk down the corridor and deposited it in front of Ivana. Sean looked down at it angrily. “You just had to keep it, didn’t you,” he said, shaking his head. “You couldn’t give it up.”

“Why should I?” spat Ivana. “You no give up your work because you are father.”

“I don’t work as an escort,” Sean said levelly, as Ivana leaned down to open the trunk. We all watched in silence as she took out a key, opened the padlock, and lifted the lid.

I shrank back, not sure what to expect. And then I frowned. It wasn’t drugs. Or dead bodies. Or even cash. It was …

“Fluffy handcuffs?” Helen said incredulously. She squatted down next to Ivana and started to pull things out. “Metal chains? Leather corsets? Are you kidding us?”

“Is my work,” Ivana said with a shrug, then stared at Sean icily. “He say I nid get rid of it. I no want to. So I give to Jessica to hide for me.”

“You lied to me,” Sean said angrily. “You said you’d thrown it away.”

“I said,” Ivana corrected him, “that it no here anymore. I no lie.”

“Let me get this straight,” I cut in. “This trunk is just your work stuff? I was only hiding it from Sean? And that’s why you hung up on me and refused to talk to Helen or me about it on the phone?”

Ivana nodded. “I tell you no spik on phone, no call me. But you liv message. Sean hear message. And now he know trunk not thrown away.”

Helen and I looked at each other. “So … who are the men in the Hummer?” she asked nervously.

“Men in a Hummer? What men in a Hummer?” Dad said suddenly.

“Oh, keep up,” Helen groaned. “Two men have been following Jessica around in a Hummer. Men with a funny accent, wearing shades and black suits.”

“A Russian accent,” I added.

“Maybe Russian.” Helen shrugged.

“You said it was definitely Russian.”

“I know,” Helen said defensively, “and it probably is. Or it could have been South American. One or the other.”

“What?” My face creased in confusion. “But they’re not alike at all. Which one was it?”

“I don’t know.” Helen pouted. “Does it really matter?”

“Of course it matters,” I said incredulously. “If they’re not Russian, then they’re not going to be the Russian Mafia, are they?”

“Well, then, they’re the South American Mafia,” Helen argued.

“Is there even such a thing?” I sighed.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Sean said firmly. “All I know is that this trunk is going in the skip.”

“Or the river,” Mum suggested. “That’s where we were going to put it.” She caught my expression and corrected, “If the Mafia came. Only if they threatened our lives.”

“Trunk is not going in river or in skip,” Ivana said flatly. “Is my trunk. Is my things.”

“Things that belong to a previous life,” Sean corrected her. “You’re a mother now. You can’t go out working all hours with dodgy men.”

Ivana turned on him. “Escort is what I do. Strip is what I do. I do well. I mek lots money. You know this about me. I want work. I no like asking for money. I no like.”

“So get a job,” Sean said with a sigh. “Just not … this.” He picked up a leather thong and let it fall sadly back into the trunk.

Ivana bit her lip. “What else I do?” she asked, her voice rather smaller. “What else I
can
do?”

“You can work for me,” Chester said, stepping forward.

Ivana looked at him dubiously. “You merry Jess mother. I no tek client if friends or femily.”

“Not as a client,” said Chester patiently. “I run a bank. I could use someone like you as my personal assistant.”

“Personal assistant?” Sean asked suspiciously. “Just how personal are we talking?”

“Not that personal,” Chester assured him. “I need an assistant who’s a bit of a rottweiler. Guard my door. Stop my diary from getting filled with unnecessary meetings.”

“Rrrilly?” Ivana looked at him uncertainly. “Me? Personal assistant?”

Chester nodded. “If you’re interested.”

Ivana considered for a moment, then shrugged. “I think yes,” she said. “I think I em very good personal assistant.” She folded her arms. “I nid flexible hours for look after bebe, and I no wear suit—I no like.”

“Okay,” Chester said. “No suits and flexible hours. Anything else?”

“No,” Ivana said, her mouth breaking into a huge smile that
revealed her two gold teeth. “No, I think this is good. I think mebe is good thing Jess call about trunk.”

“Well, that’s great.” Chester smiled back, then turned to Mum. “There’s just one more thing.”

“Yes?” she asked happily. “What is it, darling?”

“That man,” Chester said, looking around. “The one who was here a minute ago.”

Mum looked around, as did I, and then we looked at each other uncertainly. Dad had vanished.

“Which man, Chester?” Mum said quickly. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“The man,” Chester said deliberately, “who was in the pantry with Hugh. The one who developed the strategy for breaking the door down.”

“He didn’t develop any strategy,” said Hugh, still clutching his bloody nose. “He just stood there shouting orders.”

“Ah, so I have someone who agrees that he exists. Or existed,” Chester said, raising his eyebrows. “Now, Esther, perhaps you’d care to tell me who he is and what he was doing locked in there in the first place? And don’t tell me he was another guest at my surprise party. Frankly, I’m not convinced that this party isn’t just an elaborate cover-up for something else.”

“A cover-up?” Mum looked at him with a hurt expression on her face. “Darling, how can you even suggest such a thing?”

Chester sighed. “Okay, fine, the party’s genuine. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“No,” Mum said with a sigh. “No, Chester, I haven’t. And I must. I really must. The fact of the matter is, that man, Lawrence, well, he’s—”

“In a great deal of trouble,” a voice said from behind her. We all turned to look and my nails dug into my palms. It was them. It was the Russians. Or South Americans. And they were holding Dad by the arms.

“I’m sorry,” Dad said.

“You’re sorry?” Mum said uncertainly. “About what? Where have you been? Who are these men? Why are they holding you like that?”

“And let’s not forget,” Chester added, “what were you doing in this house in the first place?”

“YOUR HUSBAND IS A VERY naughty boy,” one of the men said.

“Husband?” Chester turned to Mum. “Husband?”