Busy Woman Seeks Wife

by Annie Sanders

  Frankie hesitated. If it had been anyone else but Alex, he’d have put a comforting arm around her shoulders but, given her recent hostility towards him, it didn’t seem quite right. Sitting hunched forward on the bench, lost in her worries while the rest of London seemed to be out to enjoy the sunshine, she seemed so unexpectedly vulnerable that, rightly or wrongly, Frankie gave her back what he hoped was a reassuring rub. Underneath the fitted cotton vest top her skin felt warm and firm and Frankie snatched his hand away, probably too quickly. But Alex didn’t seem to notice.

  “It all hinges on this sodding launch,” she murmured, and Frankie leaned forward to listen. “If only I can pull this off. Oh! I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

  “You mean the women’s apparel thing? What’s up with it? I thought it was going brilliantly.”

  She looked at him in puzzlement for a moment, then tutted and said, pointedly, “Oh, of course. I keep forgetting. You have the advantage, don’t you? After all those notes I left you when I thought you were someone else altogether. Well, you’ve missed out on the latest installment in my thrilling life, I’m afraid. Due to a series of absolutely elementary mistakes by none other than yours truly, the whole thing keeps unraveling every time I turn my back, and now my job is on the line because my boss thinks I’m incompetent—and just when I really need a promotion and a huge pay raise.” She lapsed back into silence, scowling straight ahead of her and shaking her head occasionally as if trying to work something out.

  Frankie kept quiet, hoping to convey sympathy without actually saying anything. If Alex wanted to confide in him, it would have to be on her terms. So he waited. And waited.

  “The thing I just don’t get is, how?”

  “Sorry?”

  Alex had spoken as if to herself, but she continued, turning to him so preoccupied by what she was enumerating on her fingers that she’d forgotten her resentment. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but it’s almost as if someone is messing with my arrangements on purpose. At first I thought it was all just coincidence or me being too busy that I didn’t have time to check on things. But it’s not like me. The one thing I am is thorough—it’s my greatest failing, according to my mother.” The undisguised bitterness in her voice took Frankie by surprise and he looked sideways at her, wondering if it was quite genuine. An expression of abject misery on her face told him all he needed to know, and besides, Alex was not the sort to fake anything. Looking at her now, Frankie wasn’t sure she would be capable of it even if she had to.

  “How do you mean? Messing with your arrangements? Do you think someone is trying to sabotage your plans?”

  “Oh, I know it sounds paranoid, believe me. That’s why I haven’t mentioned it to anyone. But things are going so awry, that’s the only conclusion that makes sense.” Frankie wasn’t sure what to say. It sounded such a far-fetched idea. Alex gave him a sharp look. “You see? Not even you believe me. But it’s not like me to be suspicious, or to look for conspiracies. You, of all people, should know that.”

  “Ouch! Point taken.” He smiled ruefully. “But you don’t think maybe the whole thing with me and Ella might have made you suspicious of everyone, just for a bit? I mean, have you got any real evidence, or any idea who might do something like that to you? ’Cos it’s quite a risk for someone to take, isn’t it? I mean, presumably they could lose their job if they were found out?”

  Alex snorted and shook her head. “The only person in danger of losing their job at the moment is me. And if I can’t get the better of whoever it is, I’ll be out on my arse—particularly if the launch goes wrong. And at the moment, it’s looking horribly as if it might. There’s so much that has to be perfect—the model, the styling, the press, the venue, the catering, the security, the transport. It’s almost endless. And that means there are almost endless opportunities for him to…” She trailed off.

  “Ah, so you do have a suspect! Who is he?” Frankie could feel himself getting interested. “Why don’t you tell me what’s happened so far, and I’ll tell you what I think?” Frankie had turned sideways on the bench now to face Alex, one leg tucked up under him, as he quizzed her.

  Alex looked back at him, unsure at first, then slowly started to list the problems she’d had, hesitantly at first, but with more confidence as Frankie nodded, paying close attention to the details of what she was telling him: “. . . And then there was the flight. It should have gone from Milan Linate…”

  Frankie listened, fascinated by her face as she talked. The shapes she made with her mouth and the way she faltered and bit her lip, then rushed on as an idea occurred to her. It was all so unaffected and real. “Well, the first thought that occurs to me is…”

  “Yes?” Alex was leaning towards him, her lips slightly parted. Frankie forced himself to look away.

  “. . . That you could do with an ice cream? If we walk up here a bit, we can get one outside the playground.”

  Alex flopped back against the wooden back of the seat and laughed for the first time that afternoon—possibly the first time since Frankie had met her. And the transformation was remarkable. She still looked tired and stressed, but her smile curved her cheeks into little dimples that reminded Frankie forcefully of the Bean in her youth. He judged it best not to mention that, however, and stood up offering a hand to Alex to pull her up after him, which she ignored or didn’t notice, and they walked slowly along the Broad Walk, side by side, while they discussed the possibilities. To anyone passing by, Frankie thought, they must look as though they were on a date. Ridiculous though it was, just that thought made him feel taller and he experienced a protective surge towards Alex, who was gesticulating as she explained the complexities of office life and the various players who featured in her daily grind.

  By the time they reached the kiosk by the Elfin Oak, Frankie was struggling to keep up with the cast of this drama, and he stopped gratefully under the awning while Alex chose a Popsicle. From the nearby playground, they could hear the excited shouting of children scrambling over the pirate ship and hiding among the tepees in the Indian Village. They sat down together at a table under an umbrella.

  Frankie shook his head and took a bite of his ice cream. “If only it were like Peter Pan. There’s never any doubt about who the baddie is there. I don’t suppose there’s anyone at your office that wears a black hat and runs away if he hears ticking, is there?”

  Alex smiled and shrugged. “Peter Pan isn’t such a simple story, you know. Captain Hook pretends to be nice to the children at first, and he plays on the fact that their father is a bit mean to trick them. The children have to work out who really has their best interests at heart. And there’s that whole thing between Wendy and Tinker Bell too. Wendy trusts Tink, but she tries to kill her. Surely you remember that bit?”

  Frankie was interested in her analysis. “You clearly have a better grasp of the plot than I do. Of Peter Pan and your office dynamics, I mean. I’d really love to get in there and watch, like a fly on the wall. That would be fascinating.” Frankie sat back for a moment, watching the passersby. Gradually, an idea started to take hold. Yes, of course. It was obvious, but would she agree? Saff’s comment about Alex’s fearsome independence replayed in his head. He sat forward and clasped Alex’s wrist. She simply had to agree. It made perfect sense. “Alex,” he said, his voice hoarse with excitement. “I could help you with this. I could. Hear me out then tell me what you think. I am an actor. Allegedly!”

  Chapter 31

  By 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. “So
rry, 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 impo
rtant. 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.