Busy Woman Seeks Wife (10 page)

Alex waited. She knew better than to interrupt genius when it struck. Or at least genius was how Gavin perceived it. His thought
patterns were at best delirious and everyone in the department knew to indulge his random, flighty nature because one idea
in ten was pure gold. The rest of the time they simply structured their own lives and ignored his haphazard leadership. While
he jotted down some new spec for sneakers—an idea Alex had a suspicion would be one of his better ones—she looked out the
huge plate-glass windows and over the Thames. A pleasure boat was heading upriver, its wash lapping the banks as it passed,
and the passengers, Japanese tourists all no doubt, squinted at the tall city panorama, lit up by spring sunshine.

Alex would rather have been asleep.

“So,” said Gavin, looking back at her now. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to Toronto in the end. Bit of a cock-up I hear. Shouldn’t
have left you on your own after all, should I?”

“Er…” She was a bit suspicious of the smile in his eyes. Was she really being told off? “It was just one of those things.
A technical fault, you know?”

“Mmm.” He leaned down to undo the sneakers. “Feedback seems to have been okay, but time is too short for fuckups, Alex. You
know that. We’re only a few weeks away from the launch now and I can’t afford for this not to go right. I’ll be lynched by
the top brass if we mess up this range. They want it to be the blast of the decade. Now bugger off.” She turned to go. “Oh,
and Alex?” She turned back. “Next time, take a backup PC, okay?”

Her mood by the time she got home was so low—fueled by fatigue, the fact that Todd was back in New York, resentment at the
short time Gavin had given her to organize the launch and the prospect of her mother’s litany of complaint—that she did what
she had never done before and stopped for a half-pint of lager at the pub at the end of her road. God help me, she thought
as she tucked herself into the corner, avoiding the intrigued gazes of the three blokes propping up the bar. It’s teatime
and I’m turning into a lush. Put on a beer belly and I’ll be out of a job quicker than you can say “On your marks.” Plumpness
was something the company would not tolerate. It wasn’t actually in the contract, but as good as. Muffin-top overhang on your
Lycra shorts was a shortcut to a pink slip. She cupped the lager between her hands and thought about the Toronto mess-up.
Had she saved the day with her inspirational tactile tactics, or had Gavin been serious with his warning? Was she a marketing
executive who couldn’t market? It didn’t look great. She slid even farther down into her chair as she spotted one of the men
from the bar picking up his pint and strolling towards her, a smirk on his face.

“Got a light, love?”

“Er, no. No, I don’t smoke. Sorry.” He started to move away but turned back.

“Can I get you a pint?”

A pint? Okay, the T-shirt was bad, but did she really look so butch today that she looked like a pint-woman?

“No, no thanks.”

He looked back at his mates, who were listening with interest, and his smirk broadened. He leaned over the table towards her.
“Or are you waiting for your girlfriend?”

Alex shot up from her chair and, picking up her bag, marched out of the pub. “Bet those shoes are comfortable!” was shouted
at her receding back.

She slammed the front door of the flat in her anger. Fucking tossers. “That you daaarling?” her mother called from the sitting
room. Alex pushed open the door and dropped her bag abruptly on the carpet. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the tableau
in front of her. The room was immaculate, every surface clean and ordered. It smelled of a mixture of polish and baking. Through
the kitchen door she could see a neat pile of ironing, and her mother was lying down on the sofa, a vision in cream silk,
surrounded by plumped-up cushions, hair immaculate and beside her a tray of tea.

“Oh dear, you look simply awful. Get a cup and I’ll pour you some tea. Ella had to leave early to go to the dentist. Would
you like one of these?” She held up a china plate of biscuits that could only have been homemade.

Alex smiled. “Don’t mind if I do.”

E
lla softly knocked on Frankie’s door, a mug of steaming tea and a plate piled with whole-grain toast and honey balanced on
a tray. She listened for the low groan and cautiously opened the door. “Frankie!” she called gently. “Frankie, I’ve got your
breakfast. Just like you said.”

From under the quilt, a long pale arm emerged, pushing back the snowy folds of fabric to reveal her brother’s tousled hair
and unshaven face. For someone who was so tragically neat in waking hours, he started each day looking as though he’d spent
the night wrestling with a tiger. He pushed his dark hair back from his face and squinted at her. “Oh God, is it that time
already?”

Ella smiled sympathetically. “I’m afraid so. Here—have some tea. It might help.”

Frankie levered himself upright and shook his head. “It’ll take more than tea to help. Urgh! Another day to face. I still
can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“I know, I know. And I’m soooo sorry. Really I am. You are absolutely the best brother ever.” She quickly placed the tray
on his bedside table and plumped the mangled pillow so he could sit up for breakfast in comfort. “And I’m so grateful. Now,
is there anything I can get you today? Have you done a list for the groceries? I’ll pop out at lunchtime. Oh, and I’ve ironed
your shirt. Shall I bring it in for you?” She hoped she wasn’t laying it on too thick. She didn’t want to sound insincere.

“Mmmm, please.” Frankie extended his hand and Ella quickly fitted the mug of tea into it. It was the very least she could
do when he had such an awful day ahead of him. She left him in peace for a while to brace himself and bustled around getting
herself ready, then washed up her own breakfast things as quietly as she could, so as not to disturb Frankie. When he eventually
emerged, the sitting room and kitchen were spick-and-span once more, and she darted into his room to retrieve the tray. Wrapped
in his wash-as-silk paisley dressing gown, a bargain from the Oxfam shop, he watched in silence as she finished the dishes.

“So,” he sighed eventually. “What have you got on today?”

“Oh, I’m going on an outside broadcast this morning. We’re doing interviews in the park all about what makes people feel like
spring is really here, so I’ll have to wrap up. Erm—you?” She looked at Frankie cautiously. She hadn’t really wanted to ask,
but it seemed rude not to, and she braced herself for another catalog of misery.

“Same old thing again.” Frankie shook his head and pulled a face. “It’s the same every day, really. Ironing, vacuuming, making
endless cups of tea for the Bea—for the beastly old lady.” He turned away and shrugged sadly. “At least it’s regular money—although
…”

Ella carefully wiped over the kitchen surfaces and hung the cloth over the taps to dry, folding it carefully first, just the
way Frankie always did. God, domesticity was hard work. “Have you managed to avoid Alex all right?”

Frankie rolled his eyes. “Oh, that’s another thing. I thought I was going to have to jump out of the window the other day.
I was sure I heard her key in the door. Now she’s been back from her trip a day or so I’m much more nervous.” He shuddered
eloquently. “And I’m sure the old lady’s going to say something one of these days. I just don’t know how long I can keep this
going. It’s really doing my head in.”

Ella shot out of the kitchen and led Frankie to the sofa, sitting him down with care. “Oh, please, Frankie! Just for a bit
longer. I couldn’t bear to give this job up and I don’t know how long they’re going to need me. It’s the only thing I’ve ever
really enjoyed. Tell you what—if it’s really that awful, I can phone Alex at work and give her notice. Or tell her I’ve fallen
over and hurt myself so I can’t come in anymore.”

“No, no. Er—I think we owe it to the old lady to see it through. And besides, there is that phone bill. Until we’ve made enough
to pay that off, I really feel I have to keep this awful job on.”

What a wonderful brother he was! Ella hugged him impulsively. “Frankie, you’re the best. I really do appreciate you being
so supportive. Especially when you’re having such a hard time. I’m sorry to have dropped you in it like this. Tell you what,
I’ll get you one of those strawberry tarts on my way home. Deal?”

His watery smile tugged at Ella’s conscience as she hefted her bag onto her shoulder and blew him a goodbye kiss and gently
closed the door behind her. She was a very lucky girl.

F
rankie got up from the sofa, stretched luxuriously and strolled to the shower. The Bean wouldn’t be up for hours yet, but
if he got there early he could get the chores done before she emerged. He shaved with care, surveying his face in the steamy
mirror he’d swiped clear with his hand. The Bean had said yesterday that he had a look of David Hemmings in
Blowup
, and he pulled his hair forward and half closed his eyes, trying to capture the likeness. No good. But if the Bean thought
so, he certainly wasn’t going to argue.

Toweled dry now, he slipped on the pale blue shirt Ella had ironed for him. Hmmmm, Ella. He smiled to himself. Boy, it was
fun watching her squirm. He almost felt like letting her off the hook occasionally, but his common sense had thankfully overruled
his better nature. This was good for her, having to make an effort and actually considering someone else’s feelings for a
change. He looked around at the unusually tidy sitting room—Ella’s knitting was all bundled in its bag for once and she’d
changed the water in the vases. Yes, altogether things at home had definitely changed for the better.

The Bean, as he had anticipated, was still in her “boudoir,” as she liked to call it, so Frankie made straight for the kitchen.
His list awaited him, but handwritten this time. Perhaps Alex had been in too much of a rush to program her commands into
her database, or whatever. He peered closely at the paper, hastily torn from a pad adorned with her company logo. She’d used
a gel pen; her writing was smaller than he’d expected, with regular curving letters and long loops for the
g
s and
y
s. It was firm but surprisingly girlish:

Hi Ella,

Thanks for stepping in so brilliantly. The place looks great and the biscuits were delicious—have to admit I polished them
off last night. I’m blaming jet lag! Mum seems delighted with everything you’ve done for her. I’m sorry if she was a bit tricky
at first—but you seem to have bonded fantastically now, so thanks very much for that too. Just a quick list of things I’d
like you to do today:

—My washing from Toronto is still in my case—could you do it for me? The running gear is probably a bit yucky and sweaty,
so slam some fabric conditioner in with it please. I usually do my running bras by hand (gotta keep that support going!) and
there’s some handwash stuff under the sink, but sling the knickers in the machine.

—Could you get me a tube of clotrimazole (sorry to ask)?

—Could you get whatever Mum wants to eat? Her appetite is hopeless so anything tempting will do.

I’ll be working late most of this week so I’ll do a sandwich @ desk. She says you’ve offered to take her out again today—great.
Just don’t tire her out too much. Hope I’ve left enough cash. Let me know if you need any more.

Thanks again,

Alex

Frankie read the note through several times. It was so unlike the abrupt, rather formal Alex he’d met he could hardly reconcile
the two versions. Of course, she thought she was leaving her instructions for another woman so she was off her guard. Working
in the theater, Frankie was used to having close female friends with a level of intimacy that perhaps didn’t occur in other
professions. By force of circumstance, he’d shared dressing rooms, tour vans, bathrooms, even bedrooms (well, it was Edinburgh)
with actresses, friends who had stripped in front of him without any qualms. They’d even shared their tales of woe about their
love lives in excruciating detail. It was all par for the course. But they’d known they were sharing with a man. Alex didn’t.
Reading her note was slightly uncomfortable for Frankie, a bit like reading a secret diary, and he felt a sudden pang of remorse
about the whole deception issue.