“That’s not the point—you were underhand. You also have the most disgusting eating habits in the world.” Frankie glared at Ella as she continued with her eclectic breakfast. So far she’d had a chocolate mousse, a slice of cold pizza, toast and peanut butter and several glasses of milk. The chips were, Frankie fervently hoped, the dessert.
“But why do you care? You didn’t want the job in the first place, you know you didn’t. You moaned like crazy when I set you up for the interview. You said you didn’t even like Alex anyway. What’s the problem? At least I’m earning some decent money for a change. Which is more than you are, I might add!” Ella gesticulated at Frankie with her chip packet, sending a shower of salty crumbs onto the tablecloth. “I think you’re—jealous!”
Frankie winced. She might be right. He felt incensed that she’d landed the job as “wife” for Alex, looking after her and her mother, and he couldn’t even conceal the fact. With her usual ability to cut through the crap, Ella had gotten right to the heart of the matter. “All right, so maybe I am a bit jealous.” He knew his voice was raised. “But look at it from my point of view. Okay, so I didn’t want the job but I would have been perfect for it—we both know that. Much better than you, no offense.”
Ella looked superior. “Yeah, but I got the job, brother dear. You didn’t! Anyway, I gave a great interview.”
“Only because you shamelessly picked my brains about what they asked me—without admitting why. I should have smelled a rat there and then. It’s not like you to be that interested in what I do.”
“Sticks and stones, sticks and stones!” Ella jumped up and brushed her hands together purposefully, leaving her sticky plate and cup behind her. “Right, what’s the time? I told the old bat I’d be back once I’d grabbed some clean clothes, and I’ll have to get some shopping in on my way—my way to work—you remember that, Frankie, don’t you? Work? It’s a thing people do to get money. So basically that means I can take it easy for a bit. The old bag’ll be so grateful for her cup of Lapsang doo dah by the time I get back, she won’t complain like she did yesterday. Alex’s bed is fantastically comfy. Now, where’s the remote? Oh good, Pingu hasn’t started yet.” She flung herself down on the sofa.
Frankie stared at her incredulously as he cleared the table. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be looking after Alex’s mother. You can’t waste time watching cartoons! Alex is paying you good money to do this job. Don’t you think you might at least make an effort?”
“La la la! I’m not listening!” Ella sang loudly, jamming her fingers in her ears, until Frankie walked over to the TV and switched it off. “Oh, you slimy toad! That’s the one when Pingu and Robbie play fish tennis.”
“Come on. What’s going on? Really?” Frankie positioned himself in front of the sofa, arms crossed in what he hoped was an authoritative way. “You don’t want to go, do you?”
Ella crumbled at once. “Aw, it’s so boring,” she groaned. “I had to do ironing yesterday. Can you imagine? What’s the point of ironing, anyway? The stuff just gets wrinkled again when you put it on. And the old lady is sooooo bad-tempered. Nothing I did was right! She has this really loud voice, and I couldn’t even pretend I couldn’t hear her. She wants tea all the time. And she hated my sandwiches. And Alex must be a superefficient robot woman; she left me with a huge list of things to do, printed out from her computer, if you please…”
So that was it! The typical Ella reaction to having to actually do something. Frankie had seen this countless times before. But this time his exasperation was tinged with something else. Curiosity? Triumph? He wanted to hear more. “Go on. What did she ask you to do?”
Ella sat up with her elbows on her knees and sank her head theatrically onto her hands. “Well,” she sighed. “Any chance of a cup of tea?”
Frankie smiled ruefully as he put the kettle on and the tale of woe continued. “Madam was in a big rush, of course, ’cos she’s just off to Toronto, as she was very careful to tell me. God, how do you get a job like hers? I could do that, I’ll bet. I’d be like, ‘Oh yes, sportswear is terribly crucial and right on and important, and don’t forget to pick my jacket up from the dry cleaners.” Ella imitated Alex’s slighty rushed, earnest way of speaking, dropping her voice lower. “I mean, who does she think she is?”
Frankie shook his head sternly. “C’mon, Ells. She’s paying you. She trusts you. You shouldn’t be making fun of her, even if she is a bit of a ballbreaker. And you can’t leave the old lady on her own. That’s just wrong.”
Ella rolled her eyes. “She’s a piece of work, I’ll tell you that for nothing. Completely different from Alex too. She must be a changeling or something. The old lady’s ever so poised, like one of those old ballet dancers or something. And full makeup all the time, you know. As if anyone’s going to see her!” Frankie smiled to himself as he warmed the pot and listened to the pitch of her voice gradually change from piteous to indignant. “But she’s on my case the whole time. She treats me like a servant!”
With some effort, Frankie resisted the obvious retort and composed his face sympathetically, bringing her favorite mug right to her and setting it down carefully on the table in front of the sofa. He clasped his own cup of tea and sat down opposite her, readying himself to pep-talk her into going to work again. What line to take this time? Encouragement with just a twist of guilt, perhaps? “Y’know, Ella, I think it’s amazing you taking this on, especially when we’re so short of cash and I haven’t got anything in the pipeline. I will admit I’m a bit miffed that you got the job and I didn’t, but it was really clever of you to get in there, knowing just exactly what Alex wanted. Fair play to you—you beat me, fair and square.”
“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” Ella sat up and reached for her tea. “Mind you, I did exaggerate just a tiny bit about my experience. Well, you have to, don’t you?”
“Er, well. Best not to, really. It can turn around and bite you on the bum sometimes, so I try to stick to the facts. Much easier, don’t you think? You didn’t… you pretty much told it like it was, didn’t you?”
Ella took a long slurp of tea and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Mostly, yeah. Just bigged it up a bit. D’you know, she’s asked me to drive the old bag to the hospital this afternoon. Bor-ing!”
“No!” Frankie sat bolt upright. The idea of Ella in a car in central London was so horrific it eradicated any other thought. “Wouldn’t it be easier to take a cab? Y’know, parking and everything? I’m sure Alex would pay you back.”
“You must be kidding!” Ella retorted, then her face lit up. “I suppose I could just drop her at the clinic—it’s bound to take hours—then I can nip up the Fulham Road. Great shops. I can pick her up when I’m all shopped out.”
Frankie felt as though there were a large egg stuck in his throat that wouldn’t go down. “Really, Ella, you can’t just—”
The phone rang. “That’ll probably be the old bag now. Get it, would you, Frankie? Say I’m on my way, and I’ll bring you tea in bed for a week.”
Frankie held up his hand to silence her. “Who? Sorry? Ella Ward. Can I ask what it’s in connection with? Oh, yes. I’ll just see if she’s available. Hold the line, please.” He covered the receiver and ignored her frantic gesticulation. “It’s someone called Mike from the radio station. Do you want to—”
Ella ripped the receiver from his hand and plastered a perky smile on her face. “Hello, Ella here!” Frankie watched with interest as the expression on her face transformed from cautious to excited to delighted to incredulous. “Yes, absolutely. I certainly do… Well, I’d love to. No problem.” She shot a quick look at Frankie. “Let me just check my diary.” She covered the mouthpiece and turned to him, her face bright and pleading. “They want me!” she whispered loudly. “You see, they said they’d call. But the thing is, Frankie, they need me straightaway—today. Someone’s had to go into hospital suddenly and…”
“You’re dead right someone has to go to hospital. Your ol
d lady! You can’t bottle out like this. You just can’t.”
“But you’re not doing anything at the moment. You said so yourself. Oh please, Frankie. She’s quite sweet really. And you’d do it so much better than me. I’m a crap driver too. I’d probably scrape the car or get it towed away. Oh please, please, PLEASE! It’s just for a little while, because they’re short. I promise I’ll be back on duty by bedtime. And I’ll never ask you anything again. And I’ll make you tea for a year. Honest!”
Frankie shook his head emphatically, closing his eyes with an air of finality, then snapping them open again as he heard her chirp, “Yes, amazingly enough, I can move a couple of things around and get to you for—oh—say, 12:30?” She was rummaging in the pile of clothes Frankie had sorted the night before after his trip to the launderette, pulling out tops and discarding them on the floor. He gesticulated at her, shaking his head and mouthing, “No, NO, NOOOO!,” but she turned her back and rapidly concluded the conversation. “Yes, that’s fine. I’ll look forward to seeing you then. Thanks! Bye!”
An awful silence fell as they stared at each other. Frankie spoke first, his voice low and serious. “You have gone too far this time. Call them back at once. You have a job to do and you’re bloody well going to do it. You can’t leave that old lady in the lurch, and I’m not bailing you out this time.”
“Oh, come on, Frankie. This is my big break! This would be like the Royal Shakespeare Company calling you. You can’t let me down now.”
“No way, nohow. Absolutely, definitely not!”
Chapter 9
Frankie let himself in with the key Ella had pressed into his hand before disappearing off to Croydon, seemingly transported by clouds. At least he’d managed to bring her down to earth long enough to make a call to Alex’s mother, informing her that a “trusted friend” would be taking her for her appointment and that he’d be there very soon, assuring her that she’d be back later as usual. He’d also extracted all kinds of promises of breakfast in bed, trips to the launderette, taking out the rubbish. If she stuck to all the vows she’d made, the rest of Frankie’s life would be one of luxury and indolence. But the chances of that . . .
He called out as he made his way upstairs. “Helloo? Mrs. Hill? Are you there? I’m Ella’s friend. I’ve come to take you to your appointment…”
“About time too! I’m in here.” An imperious voice from a room to his left caught him unawares. Granny Applecheek she obviously wasn’t. Maybe Ella had been right. He pinned on his warmest smile and tapped on the door, which swung open at his touch. There, silhouetted against the window, was a profile that sent shivers down his spine, a profile that had done the same for men both young and old ever since the early sixties. That short straight nose, the full lower lip, the hair, now white, caught back in a velvet bow that nestled in the nape of her neck, just as it had been in that groundbreaking film with Terence Stamp. She turned and stared straight at him, the wide-apart, slightly feline eyes pinning him where he stood.
He realized he’d been holding his breath. “You’re the Bean,” he exclaimed.
She shrugged, and a hint of her bewitching smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. “Of course I am, darling. And you, I assume, are the ‘trusted friend’ sent by that wretched girl. Because if you’re here to rape and pillage, sweetie, I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow, once my daughter gets home.”
Frankie knew he was gawking, but couldn’t quite seem to close his mouth. So this was Alex’s mother. This icon of swinging London, actress turned beatnik model turned screen goddess, nicknamed for her long, slender figure, was sitting right in front of him. Ella couldn’t have had a clue who she was. He’d dreamed of a moment like this, of what he’d say and how he’d be. And all he could do was stand there like a goldfish. The Bean took charge.
“I’m gasping for a cup of tea.” She looked him up and down. “You do know how to make tea, don’t you? Because your friend is useless.”
He found his voice. “She’s my sister actually.”
The Bean looked unabashed. “Hope it’s not genetic,” she sniffed. Frankie smiled.
“Lapsang, isn’t it?”
She clapped her hands together and raised her eyes. “Heavens be praised! Someone with a little culture, at last. And perhaps even a lightly boiled egg?”
Frankie nodded, still bemused. “Toast with that?”
“Perfect. Not too well done though, darling.”
“Anything on it?”
The Bean shrugged eloquently. “If you can find any butter in this hellhole. I’m afraid my daughter’s tastes are a little unrefined. The best you’ll probably find in the refrigerator is a tub of that utterly unspeakable spreadable stuff.”
He headed for the kitchen and found the list of instructions left by Alex before she’d gone away, along with the car keys and details of the outpatient appointment. After putting together the most tempting breakfast tray he could from the almost empty cupboards, he returned to the Bean and watched in pleasure as she picked daintily at the little triangles of toast and sipped her tea, then asked for more. Once she’d finished and had sat back in her chair with a contented sigh, he set about the tasks on the list, tackling a pile of ironing left undone by Ella from the day before, making up the Bean’s bed and vacuuming, with the Bean watching him closely from her chair by the window whenever he came into view. As the time for the appointment came closer, the Bean closed the bathroom door firmly and Frankie could hear the sounds of running water. She was taking a shower. It seemed odd to think of her as an old lady now when she was most famous for that iconic Terry Donovan photograph of her that, like loads of students, Frankie had had on his wall.
When she reemerged she was fragrant, chic and, beneath her immaculately applied makeup, rather nervous-looking. She held on to his arm tightly as they walked downstairs together. Driving through London with the Bean beside him, Frankie had to pinch himself hard. Although he was concentrating on the unfamiliar car as he drove towards Chelsea and Westminster, he was intrigued by the running commentary she was keeping up in her throaty, patrician tones.
“Went to the most fantastic party in that house there.” She pointed a varnished nail at an imposing front door. “Everyone was there. Alan, Julie, Glenda, Vanessa, dear Terence—remind me to tell you all about Terence one day, darling. Oh, it was the most tremendous fun…”
At the hospital, Frankie found a space as close by as he could, then helped her out of the seat. She held tightly to his arm as she unfolded, then immediately pushed him away, brushing irritably at her clothes. As they sat side by side in the waiting area, Frankie found a newspaper and read little snippets out to her—he noticed she wouldn’t put on the glasses hanging around her neck, just held them in front of her eyes briefly when she absolutely had to—but far from being interested in the arts reviews, she asked him in detail about the racing results. When she was eventually called in to see her consultant, Frankie watched her sail across the room, looking confident and poised. He shook his head in amazement. That this elegant beauty should have given birth to the tall, slightly gawky woman who had questioned him so seriously at his failed interview seemed incredible. He sat staring at the consulting-room door, still unable to believe what was happening to him, until his mobile rang, earning him a stern look from the receptionist. Since the call was from Ella, he darted outside and took it. From the first wheedling word, it was obvious what she wanted.
“You see, it’s gone brilliantly. They all really like me and this other woman’s going to be off for a fortnight—her back or something. So could you . . .?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Frankie shook his head. “It’s really not on. You took this job. You can’t just drop it like that. Why don’t you tell them you’ve got to work out your notice first and then you can start in a few days, so Alex has a chance to find someone else?… What do you mean, me take over? What’s Alex going to say? She didn’t want me in the first place. It was you she wanted. We can’t just substit
ute me for you and hope she doesn’t notice. It’s dishonest. Look, she’s coming out. We’ll talk about this later. Yep, yep. You owe me big!”
The Bean had emerged from the consulting room and was looking around vaguely, almost unsteadily, clasping her injured arm. “Oh, there you are.” The imperious tone couldn’t hide her relief as she spotted him. “Well, that consultant doesn’t know a thing. He maintains that I have to stay with Alex for a few weeks at least, and then I have to come back for another X-ray.” She took hold of his arm and leaned close. “You know what, darling, there’s a little bookie not far from here, perhaps we could pop in on the way back. And then perhaps we could go and get some decent marmalade. If I’m condemned to staying at Alex’s, at least I might be comfortable. That idiot sister of yours has no idea about anything. I shall just phone her and tell her I can manage on my own.”
As the afternoon progressed it became increasingly clear she couldn’t. When they returned to the flat, bets laid, he watched her struggle to take off her jacket, unsure whether she would be insulted by his offer of help—she was so proud. But when a teacup slipped from her hand and shattered on the kitchen floor, he knew he would have to step in.
“Listen,” he said, getting out the dustpan. “I think I can persuade Ella to give up her job here, and what if I come and help you for a couple of days?”
“Oh, what a relief,” the Bean sighed dramatically. “You’re quite delightful! And I do so love having a man about the house!”
“Okay, but your daughter won’t be very pleased. There’s something I’m going to have to tell you. You see, we’ve met before …”
Chapter 10
Bloody disaster!”
Camilla sat down heavily in the seat opposite Alex. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed in my life,” Alex continued, easing her bag off her shoulder and dumping it under her desk. She gingerly moved her head to try to relieve the strain from carrying the bag from Heathrow on the hot and packed Tube. There hadn’t been a hope of a taxi. “Can you get on to tech support? They can take that bloody laptop and sort it out.”
Busy Woman Seeks Wife Page 6
