Busy Woman Seeks Wife (24 page)

B
y the time Alex got back from work the following evening, Frankie was sitting on the wall outside the flat as they’d arranged.
She could see his tall figure as she rounded the corner, he was scuffing something on the ground with his foot and in his
hand was a Popsicle. She slowed down for a moment before he spotted her. Was this really such a good idea? They had gone from
confrontation to collusion in the space of twenty-four hours. Could she really trust him?

He smiled as she approached him and held up the Popsicle rather apologetically. “Sorry, I’d have got you one, only I wasn’t
sure how long you’d be.”

Alex dropped her bag on the doorstep to dig out her key. “What a lovely idea—but, frankly, I could murder a glass of wine.”

Frankie put his hand inside the small backpack he was carrying and whipped out a bottle with a flourish. “Ta-da!” He followed
Alex up the stairs and she found herself holding her bag behind her to cover up her bum. She’d been in work so early this
morning she’d thrown on a pair of her most comfortable but most unflattering cotton trousers.

“Um—I’m just going to change,” she said as they both sidled into the hallway. “Why don’t you open the bottle. The corkscrew—”

“Is in the left-hand drawer?” Frankie smiled cautiously and Alex felt herself smiling back.

A quick wash, a brush through her hair and a fresh T-shirt and comfortable shorts later, she joined him. He had opened the
windows to let in the warm evening air—an overly familiar but still rather touching act—had poured two glasses of wine and
was waiting, looking down at some papers she’d left out on the table: ideas she’d scribbled down late last night when, again,
she’d wrestled with sleep. She went to cover them up, but Frankie put out a hand to stop her.

“You’re clever, aren’t you?” He looked at her, an inscrutable smile on his face. “I mean, this is a great idea—a range for
older people. That’s what it is, isn’t it? Did you come up with that?”

“Well, yes. It was after seeing Mum look so much better for getting out and walking.” Alex paused. “I suppose I have you to
thank for that. But it was something she said about not being seen dead in sportswear. The way it was all young stuff—tight
Lycra and crop tops. Anyway…” She scooped up the papers into a pile. “It’s very hush-hush at the moment so I’d be grateful
if—”

“Alex, I know you have no reason to, and it’s an odd thing to say after everything, but you
can
trust me, you know.”

Alex sat down on the sofa, reminded once again of why they had made this arrangement to meet. This was one hell of a risk
they were taking. The atmosphere in the office all day had been cagey and suspicious. Gavin had been over every few moments
checking up on progress, Peter seemed to be hovering around and quizzing her about issues that weren’t really his field, and
Alex had even found herself talking on the phone to the dentist’s receptionist in hushed tones. “What’s up?” Camilla had asked
at one point, and Alex had laughed.

“Oh, I’m just being a bit paranoid. Ignore me!”

“Nothing to worry about is there?” Camilla had looked over her shoulder, alarmed.

“Just being a bit careful—that’s all.”

Alex took a sip of the cold wine now. Proper stuff, not Rajesh’s best this time, and she let the fruity flavor roll over her
tongue. “Frankie, I have to be able to trust you.” She realized she was leaning forward earnestly to him in the seat opposite.
“This job, and especially this launch I am coordinating, means everything to me. And it’s not just because of the need to
bankroll my mother. It’s mega in terms of sportswear marketing because it’s a whole new concept in apparel. It’s like—”

“Getting a part in
EastEnders?
” Frankie enquired gently.

“Oh, more than that! Hamlet at the RSC at least! Put it this way, this business is so incestuous that if I fuck up the launch
everyone will know and the only marketing job I’ll get will be selling tea towels door to door.” She tucked her hair behind
her ear, shuddering at the thought.

“So what can I do?”

Alex glanced up into his face. He was looking right at her with an expression of such open honesty that she wondered why on
earth she hadn’t employed him in the first place to look after the Bean instead of his airhead sister. She wasn’t surprised
he and her mother had gotten on so well. “Tell me—just by the way. What sort of things did you and my mum get up to? I haven’t
… well, I’ve been too bloody cross to ask, to be honest.”

Frankie looked surprised and he started to jiggle his knee, clearly uncomfortable admitting to what went on behind Alex’s
back. “We would go to the park or walk by the river. We did the Tate Modern, the Wallace Collection and shopping, of course
… And we went to Brighton one day.”

“That would explain the shells.”

“You found them?”

“Yes, she left them on her dressing table. So did she regale you about her glorious youth?”

“Yes, quite a bit. Does that annoy you?” He didn’t sound accusing.

“No, Frankie. It doesn’t annoy me, but I’ve heard it so many times, I could probably have taken you there and given you the
tour myself. You see, people don’t seem to understand that it’s no great shakes being the child of a famous person. The adoration
just passes you by—she’s just my mum—and when I was little I never really understood what all the fuss was about. I mean,
wasn’t everyone’s mother on the front of magazines and in the paper? I suppose it had its good bits though. I’ve met some
pretty amazing people over the years. Anyway… let’s get on. Do you really think you can carry this off?”

Frankie shrugged and put his empty glass on the table. “In my time I’ve acted Malvolio, a naked drug addict in a New York
alley, a banana, and a central heating system, so I should be able to manage this. Who do you want me to be? Don’t make it
too highbrow though because I still call sneakers ‘pumps’ and playing five-a-side football is only an excuse for a pint afterwards.”

It was hard to tell what sort of shape he was in when she only ever saw him in baggy T-shirts but he might be able to convince
people he was sports-aware. “Well.” She rolled the glass in her hands, uncertain about what she was going to say. “I’ve been
mulling it over all day. Obviously I can’t bring you in as an expert because they’d rumble you straightaway, especially Peter,
who is the world expert on airflow sneaker systems. It needs to be something he’s not familiar with.” She ran her fingers
through her hair thoughtfully.

“Does your photocopier need an overhaul?” Frankie asked brightly. “I did Xerox maintenance for a while around Bexleyheath
when I was resting after doing Pinter in Weston- super-Mare.”

“Sadly not! I think it’s on contract,” Alex laughed. “What other highly skilled work have you done?”

“I sold tea towels door to door.”

“You didn’t!” Alex put her hand to her mouth in horror.

“Not exactly but not bloody far off at times.”

Alex felt ashamed. The worst job she’d ever done was to work behind a bar when she was a student. “I’ll pay you for this,
you know?”

“No, you won’t,” he said firmly. “You have enough demands on your resources at the moment, and besides, it’s the least I can
do after the last few weeks.”

Alex smiled. “Yup, you’re damned right! Now, how about this: you work in events coordination, and you have taken time out
to do an MA or a thesis on corporate marketing. I’ll have to check you can do that.”

“Alex, these days you can do a thesis on chicken shit.”

“S’pose so. Okay, so you have contacted me, and me being so forgetful and all, I forgot to tell anyone you were coming in.
So you have come to shadow me and the department in the buildup to a big event. That’s it! What do you think?”

Frankie looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yup, I think I can do that. Give me some phrases, can you? Keywords to drop in.”

Alex sat back in her seat, beginning to enjoy herself. “Well, of course there’s the venue, and we talk about apparel, not
clothes. Let me see, we have brand design, brand awareness, and the lot putting it all together—the hammer-and-nails people—is
our Travel and Events Team. There will be press packs—well, you know about them already—and we’re going to give the press
memory sticks with all the information on. You’ll need to ask about volume and feedback, and look earnest.”

Frankie stood up and pretended to hold a clipboard theatrically. “Does this look right?”

“No, it looks ridiculous.” Alex realized she had giggled and blushed. Get a grip, woman, this is important. She sat up. “No,
you need to ask lots of questions, about delegation and guest followup et cetera. If you are doing a study, that gives you
the excuse to talk to everyone about their job and their role. You’ll have to follow up a lot of red herrings. By the end
you’ll be an expert! Camilla will help you about who to talk to. She’s my assistant and she’s great. She doesn’t know about
this yet, but I don’t mind if you tell her. The one I really want you to keep an eye on is Peter. He’s got the most to gain
by undermining me and if I were fired, he’d be right up there to take over my department too.”

Frankie sat down again but sat forward, listening intently. His eyes sparkled. “Okay.”

“I will be in and out of meetings for the next few days, but they are mainly with outsiders so not much help in finding out
if Peter is trying to screw everything up for me. You are better staying in the office.”

“Where and when’s the big launch?”

“At that big dance venue in Brixton. Do you know it? The one where all the hip-hop artists go. Very ‘now’ apparently—though
not my kind of place—and it’s… God! Next Tuesday, and at nine in the morning to give us half a chance of getting a mention
in the lunchtime press.” A flood of things she still needed to achieve gushed into Alex’s head. “There’s no time and so much
to do!”

“Don’t panic. I’ll be there in the morning. Scribble down the address for me.” Frankie dug into his backpack again and pulled
out a thin black diary. Alex gave him the address and the nearest Tube.

“Now, what do I wear?” he asked.

“Wear?”

“Yes.” He smiled as if it were obvious. “If I’m playing a role I need to have the right costume. I mean, this won’t do, will
it?” He indicated what he was wearing.

“Well, we all sort of dress down really but perhaps not as down as you look—no offense!” She laughed at his outraged look.
“I mean, it’s all about sportswear so no ties and jackets. Very American, I suppose. Jeans, chinos, a T-shirt. You saw what
I came home in. Well…” She looked away, out the window, embarrassed. “You know what sort of clothes I wear anyway.” She
could sense Frankie looking at her hard.

“Yes, yes I do, and I’m sorry about that. I realize it must have been an imposition.”

“I don’t usually let men look at my underwear unless invited to.” There was silence. Did that make her sound like some kind
of tart? Frankie knew about Todd so it wasn’t as if—Todd! His shirt would be perfect. Alex jumped up. “I think I have something
that might be right. Todd left it but he won’t mind.” She went to her wardrobe and pulled the shirt down from the hanger.
It was crisp with sharp creases and must, ironically, have been ironed by Frankie before he left. “What about this?” She held
it up as she came back into the room and his eyes lit up in surprise.

“I didn’t think that was yours.” He took it from her and held it against himself. “Mmm, should be the right sort of thing.”
He started to take it off the hanger. “I was wondering—sorry, rude of me to ask, I suppose, but that… that green organza
dress in your wardrobe. I couldn’t help seeing it. Have you ever worn it? It looks new.”

Alex laughed. “Oh that! My mother made me buy it for a first night we were invited to
years
ago. No, I only wore it once. Shame really because in true Mum style it cost the earth. I think it’s by someone posh.”

“Ungaro, I think,” said Frankie quietly.

Alex shrugged. “I’m not very good at those sort of labels. Actually, I can’t remember the last time I wore a skirt willingly.”

“That’s a shame too,” said Frankie even more quietly. “You’d look beautiful in it.”

There was a very loaded pause between them, and, unable to stand it any longer, Alex jumped to her feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse
me, I have to get on.”

Frankie stood up slowly and picked up his bag. “Right, I’ll see you tomorrow. Do you think I should give myself another name?
Miles—or something?” They both laughed at the random choice.

“I’ll only forget and call you by your real name. There’s enough to remember as it is.”

Frankie nodded and turned to go, but stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “Alex, I have to say it’s odd being with you.” He
didn’t look up. “Spending time with you, I mean.”

Alex felt her face become hot. “Is it?”

“Only, I’ve been so… familiar with you and your things without knowing anything about the real person. For what it’s
worth, it’s been fun.” And with that, he left the flat.

C
ome on then.” Ella picked up the basket off the kitchen table. “Let’s go and tickle the taste buds of the deli owners of South
London. Show them what real baking should taste like.”