An Ideal Wife (8 page)

“You think is bed thing to iron? To cook?” Ivana said suddenly.

Helen looked up in alarm, met Ivana’s steely glare, and immediately shook her head. “No. God, no. I just meant that Jess has to, you know, consider her priorities.…”

“Ironing and cooking still important,” Ivana said authoritatively. “For bebe. And most men are like bebe. Yes?”

Giles giggled. “You’re absolutely right, as always, Ivana.”

“Yes,” Ivana said, looking pleased. “Yes. Em always right.”

“Fine.” Helen frowned. “But aren’t we forgetting something here? Jess has a few million quid in her bank account. She can employ a cook and a housekeeper to do all this stuff.”

“I don’t want a cook and a housekeeper,” I said uncomfortably. “I want to be able to cook a meal without burning it or giving him food poisoning. Or … or …”

Helen smirked. “Or making custard that’s completely solid?”

I met her eyes and giggled. “Exactly.”

“Solid custard? What do you mean?” Giles asked curiously.

Helen looked at me and grinned. “Shall I tell the story?”

I nodded, and she started to giggle, too. “I made an apple pie,” she explained. “And I asked Jess to make the custard.”

“I didn’t even make it properly—I used the instant stuff,” I admitted ruefully, “and I still screwed it up. It seemed to be too watery, so I added more powder and …”

“Five minutes later, custard cake,” Helen spluttered.

“So you admit I need help?” I pleaded.

“Oh God, you really do,” Helen laughed.

“I’m so pleased you agree!” I said happily. “Because I’ve found a one-day cookery course and I want you to come with me.”

Helen stared at me. “Come with you? Are you serious?”

“Yes,” I said, shooting her an imploring smile. “I can’t go on my own. I’ll be too embarrassed.”

“But I don’t want to learn how to cook,” Helen complained. “I like eating out.”

“Just because you can cook doesn’t mean you have to do it,” I begged. “It’s in Kensington, so you can shop afterward. And you get to take home the food you’ve made. You could invite John round for dinner. He’ll love it. Please?”

Helen looked at me for a moment. “Oh God, all right,” she said eventually. “So long as you’re paying.”

“End I tich iron,” Ivana said flatly. “I tich sexy-sexy, too, if you wan be better boom-boom. I tich together. Save time.”

“Great,” I said, a rather strange image flitting into my mind—an image I immediately tried to get rid of.

“And what about me?” Giles asked, looking a bit left out. “What can I do?”

“You are going to provide me with weekly flower deliveries to make the apartment look beautiful,” I responded.

Giles grinned. “Oh, that’s a fabulous idea. Ooh, yes, I’m going to start thinking about it now. Flowers that bring romance, flowers that boost your mood.”

“Yes, definitely those ones,” I said, rubbing my eyes. I hadn’t
been sleeping well, ever since Hugh’s latest demand, and it was beginning to catch up with me. “And de-stressing ones would be good. You know, for relaxation—”

“And mind-blowing sex,” Helen giggled. “I know it’s not on your list, but, trust me, you’ll soon realize it’s the only thing that matters.”

“Flowers that encourage mind-blowing sex,” Giles said seriously. “Okay, I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do ….”

“SO HE CAN RIFLE THROUGH our bins? And you want us all to sign a waiver? Are you serious?”

It was the next day, and the company meeting announcing the ethical audit had not gone quite as well as we’d hoped. Max had set out Chester’s idea as enthusiastically as he could, selling it as a chance for us to show just what a great set of people we were, and not everyone was buying it. But if Project Ideal Company was suffering a temporary setback, Project Ideal Wife was steaming ahead. The cookery course was booked. I had been listening, supporting, and complimenting Max so much that he’d asked me several times if I was okay. I’d taken my car for its inspection without even mentioning it to Max, had renewed our television warranty, and had filled the kitchen cupboards with all of Max’s favorite food. I’d even given his feet a rub during
Top Gear
the night before, although it didn’t entirely fulfill its aims of relaxing Max: I hadn’t realized how ticklish his feet were, and he’d howled in agony rather than sitting back and enjoying it. Hey, at least now I knew, so it was a learning opportunity.

But despite all my efforts, I still felt like something was missing. I just wasn’t sure that being an ideal wife was about car inspections, complimenting your husband, and learning to cook. Sure, they might be factors, but were they enough? They felt more
like a job description for a personal assistant or housekeeper than the ingredients for true love.

Max turned to Sarah, one of the designers, and shook his head. “I’m sure he won’t be going through our rubbish.”

“But you said he might do research. What kind of research?”

Max looked down at the notes Joshua had left him. “Well,” he said, “it says here that the auditor can undertake any reasonable research to confirm that the information interviewees supply him with is correct.”

“And is rummaging through bins reasonable?”

“Tell you what,” Max said uncertainly. “I’ll let him know that it isn’t. How about that?”

Sarah shrugged. “I still don’t like it.”

“Why? Got something to hide?” someone said under their breath. I thought it was our receptionist, Gillie, but I couldn’t be sure. Max’s eyes flickered slightly, and I felt my stomach turn. I hated watching him sell something that he patently didn’t believe in. I wished he had the courage of his convictions to stand up to Chester like he used to.

“So,” Max continued, “the parameters for the audit include five key values against which we’re going to be measured. They are loyalty, care, goodness, appreciation, and honesty. And these have been broken down for us. Loyalty: Are we loyal to our staff, to our clients, to our values? Care: Do we care for our clients and staff; do we make a difference in the community around us? Goodness: Do we recycle; do we work with charities; do we try to make a difference? Appreciation: That’s whether our clients value us. I think they send out a questionnaire or something. And honesty speaks for itself, but I think we can be pretty proud on that one. We don’t lie or even exaggerate things to our clients, and we don’t lie on behalf of them, either. That’s something we’ve always been very sure about at Milton Advertising.”

“Then why is one of our biggest clients checking us out with
an audit?” Simon, one of the market researchers, asked defensively. “Why don’t they trust us?”

Max looked at him blankly, and I realized that he didn’t have an answer. He probably wanted to ask Chester the same question. But he was right—we should be proud. And not just of being honest. We were all the things he’d said—those were the values Max believed in.

“Look,” I said, standing up. “No one likes to be tested, we get that. But the fact is that business is tough—for us as well as for the banks. We’ll pass this audit with flying colors, I know we will. And when we do, what a great selling point! We’ll trounce the competition because we can legitimately say we’re the only agency clients can truly trust. Because we are trustworthy, like Max said. And we’re also loyal. So let’s show some of that loyalty. Okay?”

“What if we fail?” Sarah said, scowling. “Then we’ll be known as the agency no one can trust.”

“We’re not going to fail,” I said tersely. “There’s no reason on earth we would. And, anyway, we can’t. This audit is important. We pass, we retain Jarvis Private Banking and steal a march on our competitors. We fail …” I looked at Max nervously.

“We fail, and everything goes tits up,” he said, with a little smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Whether we like it or not, we are going to pass this audit with no moaning or being difficult. Jarvis Private Banking wants us to do this, and Jarvis is not just an important client; it is keeping us in business. So we’re going to play nicely, okay?”

Simon stood up. “I still don’t like it,” he complained. “I mean, what are they going to ask us? Our political views? Our sexual preferences?”

“Absolutely not,” Max said quickly. “We are clear that this audit is about ethics—about work-relevant ethics—and not about personal choices. If you’ve been caught shoplifting, that’s relevant. Shagging a sheep isn’t.”

There was a ripple of laughter. “That’s a relief, huh, Simon?” one of his colleagues joked.

“Yeah, funny,” he retorted, but sat down anyway.

“So can we support this?” Max asked. “Not everyone will be interviewed. And anyone who is interviewed can stop the interview if they are uncomfortable with the questions.”

“Without penalty?” Sarah asked, suspicious.

Max scrutinized the pack again. “It doesn’t say,” he said eventually. “But that doesn’t really matter. This is not a witch hunt.”

“Exactly. It’s an opportunity,” I said firmly.

“An opportunity? I love an opportunity!” Everyone turned to see Chester walking through the door; he seemed slightly bemused to see the entire workforce in reception, but it was the only place big enough to hold a meeting.

“Chester. How are you?” Max said, looking slightly taken aback to see him. “We’re just briefing everyone on the audit. And it’s … uh … going down really well. Isn’t it, guys?” He gazed around the room meaningfully, and everyone duly murmured vaguely supportive things.

Chester beamed. “I’m real excited about this. Folks at the bank don’t seem too pleased at the moment, but they’ll come around. So everyone here is psyched?”

No one said anything. “They’re very psyched,” Max replied.

“Well, that’s great, I’m sorry to interrupt. You just carry on, Max. I’ll wait in your office, shall I?”

“Actually, we’re pretty much done,” Max said. He turned back to the floor. “Audit starts next Tuesday. Any questions, ask me. And I believe that Caroline is going to be coordinating the interviews. Right, Caroline?”

Caroline nodded seriously; a few minutes before the meeting I’d asked her if she’d do the organization, and she’d been almost tearful that I trusted her with such an important job. “Absolutely,” she said.

“Good. In that case, meeting adjourned. Thanks, everyone.”

Everyone filed back to their workstations; I followed Max to his office, where Chester was waiting.

“You were great,” I whispered. “You really sold it.”

“You think?” Max asked dubiously.

I nodded and gave his hand a squeeze. The truth was, he had sold it. Perhaps not to everyone, but to me. And not the audit itself but the values. I’d been looking at the ideal-wife thing from the completely wrong angle, I decided. A checklist didn’t make a person perfect, and it wouldn’t make Max happy. But values? They were something I could work toward. Loyalty, care, goodness, appreciation, and honesty. If I could exhibit all of those things, surely that would make me a great wife. To be loyal to Max, to care for him, to be a good person, to be completely honest. And to be appreciated. To be loved. That was really the reward, wasn’t it? The measure of success. If Max loved me, then I was doing an okay job. If he still loved me when I was completely honest about Hugh, then … then … then everything would be okay. Everything would be good again.

“So, Chester,” Max said warmly. “What can we do for you?”

“Actually,” Chester said, “I was hoping you might do me a favor. Jess, I mean.”

“Of course,” I said immediately. “Anything.”

“Great,” Chester said vaguely, then wandered over to the window. Max and I looked at each other curiously.

“Chester, is everything okay?” Max asked uncertainly.

“Of course!” Chester said, clasping his hands together on the table. “And how’re things with you guys?”

“Um, good. They’re good,” I said hesitantly. “And … you? You’re sure everything is okay with you?”

“Me? Sure. Great. Real great. Very excited about the ethical audit…. It’s going to be great!”

“Great!” I said. “So then everything’s great?”

“It sure is!”

I nodded.

“You know, Chester,” Max said carefully, “there’s something about using the word ‘great’ about fifteen times in two sentences that makes me think that perhaps things aren’t actually that great.”

Chester took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “That’s an interesting theory.”

“Interesting and accurate?” I asked. “Is there something you want to talk to me about? Is there a problem?”

Chester looked at me for a few seconds.

“Okay, you got me,” he said.

I took a deep breath and tried not to panic. “All right, just tell me,” I said. “Is it about the account?” I looked over at Max, whose eyes were serious. This couldn’t be bad news, I told myself. If anything happened to Jarvis, if we lost Chester’s business, things would be desperate for the agency. And the agency meant everything to Max—it was his way of proving to the world that he was a success, that he was worthwhile. Before we were married, when my stupid mistake nearly cost him the firm, I’d offered to bail him out with Grace’s millions and he’d steadfastly refused; he’d even wanted to postpone the wedding because he felt like a failure. I couldn’t see him go through a crisis of confidence like that again.