Busy Woman Seeks Wife

by Annie Sanders

  Saffron brought a glass of wine for Alex and one for herself, and gave him a sympathetic wink as she set them on the table. On and on the interview went and he knew his answers were good but he couldn’t help thinking she was just going through the motions.

  “I might as well explain the situation,” she said eventually. “I work very long hours. I’m often away. And now my mother has had a fall and can’t look after herself for a while. She’s broken her elbow, apparently, and it’s in a cast. She can get around, but she needs someone to keep an eye on her. I need someone to—well, to do the things for me that a wife would do for her husband.” Saffron giggled and took a sip of her wine, and Frankie was astonished to see Alex blush a little, but she talked on quickly. “I have a very demanding job and I can’t give her the time she needs… she deserves at the moment.” There was a pause and Alex looked down. “I don’t even have time to shop for food. That doesn’t really matter when it’s just me, but my mother will need three meals a day. I’m not sure she’s been eating properly.” She paused. “And she’s very demanding.”

  “Oh.” This explained it all.

  Saffron laughed again, her cheeks a little flushed. “Don’t worry, she’s lovely. You’ll absolutely love her. She was an actress herself once.”

  Alex shot her a sharp look. This wasn’t the done deal Saffron seemed to think it should be. “Apart from that, it would be a question of keeping the place clean and tidy. Putting the odd load of washing on. Being in for deliveries. Picking up my dry cleaning. That kind of thing. It would only be temporary, of course. Just until my mother is well enough to go home. Could you manage all that?”

  Frankie nodded, trying to appear more confident than he felt. He had to make some ground here. “Absolutely. Sounds right up my street. And I could start as soon as you like. I don’t have anything penciled in for the next few weeks at all.”

  Alex nodded and smiled cynically. “Yes, of course. You’re an actor, after all.” There was a long pause and she tapped her pen on the table. “You are quite well qualified, I suppose.” She shrugged eventually. Had he won her over? She stood up abruptly. “Well, thanks for coming.” She extended her hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter 5

  Ella woke up. She rubbed her eyes with her fists and quickly wiped the drool from her chin, blinking rapidly. The lights were on and everyone seemed to have left. Everyone, that is, apart from Chris, the cinema manager, who was standing right in front of her, arms folded. Oh bloody hell.

  “Oh! Erm, I was just… my contact lens. I was trying to—It’s gone funny again. You have to close your eyes to make it … erm… all right again.”

  Chris sighed deeply and shook his head. “Nice try, Ella. Nice try. But the film ended… let me see”—he consulted his watch theatrically—“thirteen minutes ago. I’ve been standing here for the last five, and both you and I know you don’t wear contact lenses. Don’t you remember telling me that time how genetically inferior people with bad eyesight were, and about how Marie Stopes wouldn’t let her son marry a shortsighted girl? And since you told me you were descended from Marie Stopes, you couldn’t betray your family traditions?”

  She struggled to her feet from the upholstered comfort of the back row and laughed quickly. “Oh, I didn’t mean any of that. You know I didn’t. It was just a joke.”

  “Hmmm. I seem to remember you were in deadly earnest at the time. It was the excuse you gave for not going out with me, after all.”

  Ella coughed piteously to try to cover up her laugh. “Oh that! I’d forgotten that. Oh, Chris, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I’m coming down with something. My head’s just splitting. Would you mind if I went home for a bit and maybe came back later if I feel a bit better?”

  The tall, bespectacled man went through a pantomime of considering her suggestion, then replied in tones dripping with irony. “Let’s see now. Would I mind if you went home? No, I don’t have a problem with that bit at all. The sooner the better, I think. Would I mind if you maybe came back later? Mmm, well that’s the bit I’m not totally happy with.”

  “What?!” Ella’s symptoms were pushed aside by her outrage and she pulled herself up to her full five foot three. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re giving me the sack? Who do you think you are?”

  Chris stepped back, looking faintly bored, and started to usher Ella out in front of him. “I think I’m the manager of this cinema, and running it is quite hard enough without you falling asleep in eight out of the last ten screenings you were supposed to be supervising, eating popcorn like it’s going out of style, and telling that Japanese student that Citizen Kane was Michael Caine’s first movie. I want you out of here now. And don’t bother coming back.”

  They were halfway down the stairs now, squeezing past the queue of families waiting for the next showing. Chris addressed the punters. “Sorry everyone,” he announced smoothly. “There’s going to be a bit of a delay before the next showing. This young lady, an ex-employee, thought catching up on her beauty sleep was more important than vacuuming up before you, our patrons, came in for the next film.”

  At first Ella cringed before the disapproving stares and tuts that followed her down to the foyer, then she came around and rallied. “Hang on a minute.” She turned and prodded Chris in the chest. “You can’t speak to me like that. I’m not having this.”

  Chris stopped in his tracks, taken aback by her sudden recovery. She cleared her throat and addressed the crowd. “I’d like to make an announcement, too. All right, so I was asleep in the film. So what? Lots of people sleep during films. I know, because I’ve seen you at it. Yes, and snoring too. Once you’ve got your kids penned in, you all have a nap, don’t you?” Shamefaced nodding and agreement from the adults. “And why do you fall asleep? Same reason I do. Because the films are rubbish! And this one you’re about to see is no exception.”

  Chris stared about wildly and flapped his hands at Ella, trying to make her stop, but she had her audience now, some of them laughing in agreement.

  “And another thing. The popcorn. Have you ever wondered why the popcorn is so expensive? Have you?”

  She had everyone’s attention now. “Go on—why?” a voice came from the queue. Chris clapped his hands to his face in dismay.

  “Because they think of a price and then quadruple it. Really, they do. I heard them discussing it one day. Y’know, ounce for ounce, the popcorn here is more expensive than beluga caviar. And that’s very expensive.”

  “It’s not true,” Chris wailed ineffectually. “Really, it’s not…”

  She turned to face Chris and went on in crystal clear tones. “And while I’m in the mood for exposing the truth, I may not wear contact lenses, but I’ve got nothing against people who do—or glasses, come to that. Nothing at all. In fact, my brother wears lenses and he’s one of my favorite people in the whole world. That stuff about Marie Stopes was just made up. I was trying not to hurt your feelings. I wish I hadn’t bothered now. You see, everyone…” Chris tried to manhandle Ella down to the foyer but she kept on—and on. “You see, Chris here asked me out and I really didn’t want to go. Well, can you blame me? I mean, look at the way he’s behaving now. That’s hardly likely to win a girl’s heart, is it? But I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I made up an excuse and…” They were almost out the door now, but the people in the queue were laughing, jockeying for a view of the tiny, still-shouting girl and the tall, furiously blushing man whose glasses were now halfway down his face.

  Out on the pavement at last, Chris scowled at her. “Don’t you ever even think of coming here again. Not even to see a film. You’re banned, understand? You can do your sleeping somewhere else. And don’t come crawling to me for a reference because it’ll give me the greatest pleasure to make sure everyone in the world knows what a lazy, lying, conniving little good-for-nothing you are. Now get out of here—go on!”

  Ella brushed herself down and squared her shoulders, a little cheered to hear the
boos that greeted Chris on his return to the cinema, before setting off through the afternoon sunshine back to the flat. What did she care? It was a crap job anyway.

  By the time she got back home, Ella’s mood had dropped. She let herself in cautiously, wondering if Frankie was there. She didn’t fancy having to explain that she’d lost yet another job, and he’d be bound to guess if she turned up at this time of the day. Fortunately, there was no sign of him although he’d not been gone long, to judge from the evidence. Ella cut herself a large slice of the still-warm fruit loaf and, scorning a plate, cupped her spare hand beneath to catch the crumbs before ambling over to have a lie-down on the sofa.

  She sighed. It wasn’t even as if Frankie would be cross when she told him. He’d just look sort of disappointed, the way he did when he didn’t get a part he’d auditioned for. And worried too. That was what she really hated—when Frankie looked worried. She knew they were short of cash. She knew she shouldn’t have run up such a big phone bill. She knew she should really get a sensible job, but she hadn’t heard back from the radio station and there just wasn’t anything else out there that seemed even vaguely bearable, let alone interesting.

  Maybe she’d call one of her old college friends—although most of them had jobs that kept them busy during the day. She noticed the message light blinking on the phone. She balanced the cake carefully on the arm of the sofa, brushed at the crumbs she’d managed to sprinkle over the seat and stabbed at the play button. Just one message for Frankie. Ella listened carefully to the husky, well-modulated voice and the rather curt, detached message. She pressed the button and listened again. And again.

  A smile began to form on her pale little face, and she paced around the room, thinking fast. She stopped to scribble a few notes to herself, then licked her lips, picked up the phone, and dialed 1471 to find out the caller’s number.

  Chapter 6

  Yuck, yuck, yuck. Alex dodged another puddle and wiped the rain from her eyes. She’d already missed her run yesterday and she wasn’t going to miss today’s. The noise of the rain splattering on her window when she woke up had almost driven her back under the duvet, but even the prospect of getting soaked was preferable to the appalling discomfort of the single bed. As she ran, she could still feel the twinges in her back from the few nights she’d spent in it, but if the delivery people meant what they had promised, she’d have a brand-new mattress delivered tomorrow. She’d bolted out at lunchtime yesterday and, like a demented child, had bounced on several in the bedding department of the nearest store before finally settling on a double for herself and a more comfortable single for her mother.

  As she rounded the corner of the road, her sneakers soaked and squelchy, she noted with relief that the builder’s Dumpster was still there. She’d have another mattress to add to it later. Meanwhile, she tried to avoid looking at her beloved old one, which, soaked and stained with rain now, peeped out from beneath even more plasterboard and empty bags of cement.

  Fresh from the shower, hair wild and beyond hope, she finished the orange juice in the fridge, then, wrinkling her nose at the sour taste and not daring to look at the “best before” date, she picked up her laptop and bag and headed out the door. A bowl of cereal would have been nice but the cupboard was bare. Saff was right. A wife was the answer but there was no one faintly suitable from the batch that had answered the ad. The actor had been eye candy but was out of the question. She pushed buttons on her phone as she walked.

  Four hours later, Alex had the phone tucked under her chin as she mouthed to Camilla to please grab her a sandwich too while she was out getting her own lunch. “Yes, it’s Alex Hill again, about my mother. Yes, that’s it. How is she today?” Alex glanced at the spreadsheet on her laptop, trying to work out why her schedule didn’t add up, but listened more attentively as the nurse outlined her mother’s night.

  “She was certainly a bit more comfortable than when you came to visit but the thing is,” she went on, “we need the bed now so, subject to the consultant’s early afternoon rounds, you should be able to take her home, well, as soon as you like, really.”

  Alex nearly dropped the phone. “Oh gosh. Are you sure?” She scanned her brain and her desk frantically to see what she had lined up and what was movable.

  “Yes, dear. She’s been here for five days and her condition is improving. We shall certainly miss her. She’s kept us all entertained, but she’ll be better off in your care.”

  “Right. Are you sure she is fit to come out now?” Alex stalled. “I mean, wouldn’t another night or two be a good idea, just to be certain?” There was a disapproving silence at the end of the line. “No probs. I’ll be there as soon as I can then.” She put down the phone. “Camilla, help!” Her assistant’s blonde little head popped up. “My mother has to be collected this afternoon, I’ve no beds, a diary full of stuff to do.” She riffled through some papers trying to find the notes she’d written for Toronto. “And basically, I’m stuffed.”

  Camilla came over to the desk and put her hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Now calm down.” She pulled out the sheet of scrawled notes from under Alex’s laptop. “Is this what you’re looking for? Leave them for me—I’ll put them on the laptop for you while you go and get your mum.” Alex looked into her calm blue eyes. “It will all be done by tomorrow. In fact”—she turned the laptop towards her and moved the mouse to close it down—“I’ll do it at home because, as luck would have it, Garth has blown me out this evening—he’s got a softball game—so I’ll be at home on my ownio. A perfect evening—your notes to type up, a glass of wine and EastEnders!”

  “Oh, come on, you don’t want to—”

  Camilla held her hand up to stall her boss. “No really, I mean it. It’ll be bliss not to have to listen to his constant whining about his job. Give your mum my love and I hope she’s okay.”

  Alex cast about for her stuff, a bit bereft suddenly without her computer and, stuffing a file of notes into her oversize bag, made for the door. “Camilla, if you aren’t a saint already, you soon will be.” She blew her a kiss. “See you in the morning, that is, if Mum and I haven’t murdered each other by then.”

  Three hours later, as she poured yet another glass of chilled French mineral water into her mother’s glass (only Evian would do apparently), she wasn’t sure she was that far off the mark. The Bean, resplendent in a bright turquoise silk kimono and turban to hide what she called her “hospital hair,” was lying, like Joan Crawford, on Alex’s sofa and complaining. Nothing appeared to be right, nor had it been since the moment Alex had collected her from hospital, late, as it happened, thanks to failed traffic lights on the journey over. The Bean had been waiting for her impatiently, her bag of things packed neatly by her chair in the waiting area.

  “Goodbye, my dears, you have been marvelous! God bless you all.” She’d waved a heavily ringed hand imperiously at the staff on the nurses’ station as she was wheeled off, playing it for all she was worth. “Now, come on, Alex dear, I’ve been sitting there for ages and you know how I hate sitting doing nothing.”

  Well, she seems quite happy to do so now, thought Alex, as she put the cold glass of water down on the table close to her mother’s side so she wouldn’t have to “reach too far.” The TV remote was there too so she wouldn’t miss her favorite shows—so that’s what she spent her time doing. Feasting on an afternoon menu of Countdown, adverts and property programs. This was quite an eye-opener to her mother’s normal home routine, and it explained why she considered herself an authority on everything.

  “All all right now, Mother? Only I need to make some calls…”

  “Oh dear.” The Bean turned her head weakly from the telly and looked at her daughter as if she’d only just noticed she was there. “Must you? I was just enjoying your company. Alexandra, dear, that top does nothing for you, you know.” Alex looked down at her chest and the company-branded gray T-shirt she’d found at the bottom of the ironing pile and slung on hastily when she’d come to collect her ca
r on the way to the hospital. “You really should try and be more feminine, dear. Gray never suited your skin. Very few women can carry it off—you should know that, I’ve told you often enough. Vivien Leigh could of course, but then she looked elegant in anything.”

  “Oh, Mum, it’s only a T-shirt. Now, if you don’t mind…”

  “Oh, I don’t suppose you have a little biscuit, do you?” She took her eyes off the TV again. “Just a little shortbread or something? That hospital food is frankly a disgrace—not a trace of luxury and the way they hand it out off the food trolley! No manners.”

  Alex sighed and grabbed her keys. “I’ll go and see what Rajesh can offer,” she said, going out the door. “For the third time this afternoon,” she muttered under her breath as she careered down the stairs. How soon could she find someone to help?

  With her mother finally settled now, a plate of digestives by her side (a compromise and the nearest thing to shortbread Rajesh had to offer), Alex settled herself cross-legged on her bedroom floor and made her calls, several about budgets for the new launch and a couple to Camilla about her PowerPoint presentation for the Toronto trip. Camilla, obviously sensing the panic in her voice, responded reassuringly to Alex’s requests that she add things to the Excel spreadsheet and promised they’d be there in the morning when she brought the laptop back. Halfway through trying to learn her presentation from a printout by heart, and trying to ignore the dust and old tissues she could see under the divan—just how often had Manuela turned tricks in her flat? she wondered. Had she done it on her sofa?—Todd rang.

  “Hi there, my lovely.” His voice was pure Bournville chocolate. It was for this reason that she’d been intrigued by him long before she’d actually met him, just from the conference calls they’d shared. And as he was head of public relations for Zencorp in the US, there had been a few of those. Over discussions about plans for the launch of the new range, she’d fallen under some sort of spell. The reality when she’d finally met him during one of his now frequent visits to London had been even better.