Busy Woman Seeks Wife

by Annie Sanders

  “I can’t find the charger for my phone,” she muttered. “I’m expecting a call on it from Donatella with an update of some of the issues raised yesterday. Oh, sod it!”

  “Alex, everybody’s waiting for you. Can’t you look for that later? Maybe someone else has the same charger.”

  “What?” Alex emerged, her hair sticking up and her eyes wild. “I thought it was at eleven.”

  “It’s five past now. Come on. Hurry up. I’ll come in after you.”

  Alex threw an uncomprehending look at the wall. “But my clock! It says ten to. It’s slow. Someone’s changed it this morning. They must have.”

  Frankie shoved the pile of papers neatly piled up at the end of her desk into her arms. “Never mind that now. Go!”

  The meeting went well—considering. But there was a distinctly cold atmosphere when Frankie reentered the room and slipped into his place after Alex. She seemed nervous, although he wondered if the others realized. She was trying hard to cover it up but he was sitting close enough to notice that she had her left hand clenched, as she had the other day at the park when he’d told her the bad news about the Bean’s spending. He noticed her swallow hard a couple of times, and he gently pushed a glass of water towards her. She barely glanced at him but picked up the water straightaway to moisten her lips.

  Frankie was supposed to be gauging the reactions of the other people around the table. He’d felt sure that whoever was responsible for Alex’s troubles would give themselves away at this meeting by some subtle clue in their body language. He glanced around as Alex spoke, hoping to catch someone out, but saw nothing unusual. He glanced at each face one by one. All were turned towards Alex, all were listening attentively. But once Alex started describing what she had in store for the launch, he found himself being mesmerized by her passionate descriptions and had to keep remembering not to stare at her. Even though much of what she was explaining went over his head, time and time again he felt his gaze returning to her face—and eventually staying put. Frankie frowned. He wasn’t even really concentrating on what she was saying anymore. He was just watching the way her body moved when she talked, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when it flopped forward over her cheekbones.

  He sat up straighter in his chair, shocked at the way his thoughts had drifted. This hadn’t been part of the plan at all. She wasn’t even his type. He normally went for the petite, bubbly sort, intense and flighty. The emotionally demanding. And they were ten a penny in the theater. He had to force his attention back to what she was saying.

  He found himself willing her to succeed, to blow their socks off, and he realized as he watched her that she was actually giving a pretty good performance. As she drew their attention to one item on the running order after another, he smiled to himself. Gradually, she seemed to be winning her audience over. She seemed in perfect control, and she clearly loved what she was doing. If only the Bean could see her like this.

  In the end, Gavin grudgingly nodded before jumping to his feet. It was some tribute to Alex that he’d stayed put this long. “Yes, yes. Well, that all seems fine. But it’s got to be more than fine, as we all know. It’s got to be perfect. More than perfect. So—well—keep on the case, Alex. No foul-ups. If it ends up looking as good as it sounds then maybe… Well, just stay on the case, all right? And I want a constant update from now until kickoff. Understand?” He bolted off into the open-plan area, leaving the others to clear away. Everyone else stopped by to ask Alex for clarification on one point or another, or to congratulate her on how well it had gone. With Camilla standing just behind her, Alex looked more comfortable than he’d seen her in days. Maybe everything was covered now.

  Frankie stayed at a safe distance for the rest of the day and, after he had seen her go past him to the door with a stack of files clutched against her chest, wishing him a good weekend, he started to tidy away the papers from his desk too. The recycling bin was almost full, so he lifted it to shake down the loose sheets on top before adding his contribution. It was then he heard something heavy drop to the bottom of the bin. Someone had probably knocked a stapler in there by mistake. He reached down inside but his fingers encountered a wire. Pulling it out carefully he realized he was holding a phone charger. And it couldn’t have gotten there by accident. He looked around cautiously, then pulled it free and slipped it into his backpack. Alex would be pleased to see that.

  Frankie’s steps slowed as he got closer to Alex’s door. Maybe he should have called. Would she think it was odd for him to just turn up like this? Well, if she did, he’d just hand over the charger and go straight away. Todd might even be there. He rang the bell.

  She was alone, thank goodness, and her hair was wet from the shower. She seemed pleased enough to see him, but she was certainly delighted to get her charger back. She immediately plugged her phone in and checked for messages, spoke to Bettina Gordino’s agent and made some notes in her folder. Then offered him a drink. It felt strange to be waited on in this flat, but it seemed like another lifetime when he’d been here with the Bean, tidying, preparing meals. But now, alone together in the flat, they could stop the office charade and it felt like a liberation. Alex seemed to feel the same. She looked relaxed when she returned from the kitchen with two glasses on a tray and a chilled bottle of Sancerre, plus some peanuts that Frankie was pretty sure he’d put in the cupboard a few weeks ago. She passed him a large glass of wine, then sat on the sofa, her long brown legs tucked under her, and looked up at him. “Well, don’t just stand there. Make yourself at home.”

  Frankie smiled and sat down opposite her. “Cheers. It went well today, I thought. Your presentation.”

  Alex seemed to reflect for a moment, then a shy smile crossed her face. “It did, didn’t it? I really thought Gavin was going to bawl me out in front of everyone, but the printouts looked so efficient, it really started things off well—in spite of me turning up late. So tell me, where did you find my charger? I looked everywhere for it.”

  Frankie hesitated. “Actually, it was in the recycled-paper bin. I only found it by accident and I don’t think it walked there by itself.”

  “Who on earth could have put it there then?” She leaned forward, looking concerned. “And what would be the point?”

  Frankie shrugged. “It seems petty, I agree. But now I’m convinced you are right. Added to everything else, Alex, it points at someone with a monster grudge against you, who just wants to undermine you in any way they can, big or small.”

  “This is just making me even more determined to get everything right, you know,” she replied, her eyes glinting. “I’m checking every detail at least twice. You know, I really think I’ve taken care of everything. There’s only four days to go now, and all the details are in place. Bettina’s apparel is being delivered from the factory first thing Monday and I’m going to bring it home with me so I can keep an eye on it overnight. I got Camilla to run through the final details with the caterer today. I’m living from lists, I know.” She laughed hollowly. “I’ve hardly stopped to eat in days—apart from standing up at the fridge, but if I can just hold it together, I really think it’s going to be all right.” She took a long sip of her wine and sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. She looked ready to drop. Frankie watched her face relax in the early evening light. What he really felt like doing, he realized with a jolt, was taking her in his arms and telling her everything really was going to be all right. Should he? Shouldn’t he? She opened her eyes again and the moment passed.

  Frankie looked down at his hands. “Have you still got any pasta? I haven’t eaten either.”

  In the kitchen, Frankie looked through the cupboards while Alex leaned against the units and carried on chatting about work as he put together some ingredients. Everything was pretty much as he had left it so Alex couldn’t have cooked a single meal for herself since the Bean had moved out after they’d been rumbled, and it showed. She was looking thinner, and Frankie could see the hollows of her collarbones clearly as she
filled her glass with wine again. As he snapped down the switch on the kettle, Alex seemed to rouse herself. “Here, let me do that. You shouldn’t be doing all the work. How much pasta do we need?” Frankie let her take the packet from his hands.

  “How hungry are you? I mean, if you do the lot, you can just add some pesto and put it in the fridge, then reheat it tomorrow with some bacon or something,” he suggested.

  “Right, I’ll do it all then.” She poured the boiling water from the kettle into the pan Frankie had gotten out and set it on the stove, taking a little time to get the gas to ignite. Without waiting for it to come to boil again and without even adding oil, she poured in the pasta, then jumped back when the water splashed up and burned her. “Ow! Shit, that hurt!”

  Frankie turned on the cold tap. “Put your hand under here, quick.” He tried to take her hand but she pulled away.

  “I’ll be all right!” she snapped. “I can do it myself.”

  “Why do you do this?” Frankie demanded.

  “Do what? What are you talking about?”

  “Why do you push everyone away? I only wanted to help. I wanted… you hurt yourself. You’re tired. You’re not eating properly. For God’s sake, can’t you just let me look after you? Just for tonight?”

  Alex stared at him, and Frankie wondered for a moment if she was going to cry or shout or throw him out. But she did none of those things. Quietly and gently, she held out her burned hand to him. He took it in both of his and examined it closely, holding it up. The burn wasn’t serious but the skin was a little red. Frankie carefully raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it softly, then waited, not daring to look at her. She didn’t pull away. He paused, then looked into her eyes and kissed it again, grazing the skin with his lips and turning her hand over so he could kiss the inside of her wrist. He heard her sharp intake of breath and gently he pulled her towards him. At first their lips just touched in a brief, tentative kiss, then he buried his hands in her still-damp hair as the kiss deepened. She made a small noise in her throat and reached up to touch his cheek. Almost instantly they were devouring each other, and her response was as passionate as his. They pulled apart, both breathing hard, and stared in complicity until finally Alex reached past him and turned off the stove.

  Frankie wasn’t sure whether it was he or she who pulled the other towards the bedroom but, without a word, she turned to him and started to unbutton his shirt. He pushed her hands away and held her face for a moment, seeing his smile reflected in her eyes before he started to undress her. Her body, long and strong, such a surprise under the baggy clothing, enthralled him, and her skin was softer than he could have imagined. He threw off his own clothes now, casting them carelessly to the floor, and took her in his arms again, feeling her respond with an energy and passion that took him by surprise. Together, they sank onto the bed.

  Later, much later, they fell apart. Frankie could feel his heart pounding and they were both out of breath. They lay side by side, both looking up at the ceiling, not touching and not saying a word. The silence stretched out between them. Frankie didn’t know what to say. He was almost relieved when the phone rang and Alex bolted from the bed and out the door, grabbing a dressing gown as she went. He didn’t know what to do now. Would she come back to bed? Or had the moment gone? His body felt alive and new, and he could think of nothing better than spending the rest of the night making love to her, but was that what she would want? Maybe he could make her breakfast in bed in the morning? He could hear her voice from the hallway. She sounded a little bit strained. Was it bad news?

  “Yeah, sure. When are you arriving? Will you go straight there from the airport, then? Fine. Me? No, just a quiet night in, working, as usual. The launch is on Tuesday, remember?”

  Frankie, hating himself, got up and went closer to the door. “Well, you don’t have to… no, I’m fine, really. Just a bit tired, you know. No, there’s nothing wrong at all. Just… just missing you. Yeah, see you soon. You too. Bye, Todd.”

  Frankie felt sick. He heard her replace the receiver quietly. He got up and reached for his clothes, dressing quickly. She was in the kitchen, and he could hear her moving around, putting the pasta back on to cook. He laced up his shoes and took a deep breath before going to face her. She pulled her dressing gown tightly closed as she heard him come in. She was looking down.

  “I couldn’t help… I heard… I think I should go now.” Her only reaction was to nod silently as she prodded at the pasta with a fork.

  “Aren’t you hungry? We could still eat something, if you want.”

  “No thanks. I think it would be better not to. I’ll—er—see you on Monday.” Christ, his hands were trembling. Were they just going to leave it at this?

  She looked up, and there was something in her eyes that he couldn’t read. “Look, sorry about the call. I couldn’t… well, maybe it’s better this way.”

  “Sure, no problem. It’s cool, Alex. I’ll be off then.”

  She nodded and looked back down at the saucepan as he turned away and left. Out in the street, the night was cool and he shivered. He didn’t know what to think, what he should be thinking. It was very quiet away from the main road and the moon was almost full. He didn’t even know how he felt. He wanted to be angry with her, but he couldn’t be. Not really. He’d known about stupid sodding Todd all along. If he was angry with anyone, it should be with himself, for not just putting her hand under the tap as any sensible man would have done. It had just been one of those spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment things. And it wasn’t as if it had meant anything. Anything at all, really.

  Chapter 36

  Alex spent the weekend in a totally distracted state, one minute horrified by what they had done, the next lying in the bath looking at her body and remembering how he had run his hands over her skin and how his body had felt next to hers. Not bulky and taut like Todd’s, but firm yet soft to her touch. She barely remembered if they had spoken to each other, except when he had whispered if it was safe and when they had both cried out.

  She wanted to tell someone, and at one point had her hand on the phone to call Saff but snatched it away. After all that had happened between them, it would be a strange way to pick up the pieces. To admit she had slept with Frankie, when it was his presence that had caused the rift. She knew she ought to call Saff anyway, respond to her messages, but a small part of her still felt childishly angry. And then there was Todd. She’d pushed any thought of him from her mind, knowing what she was doing was wholly wrong but exactly what she’d wanted to do. She should have left the phone to ring; the sound of his voice had made her feel sick with guilt. What a mess.

  Anyway, she reasoned, as she attacked the bathroom with bleach and then sat at the table with her notes, running through catering details for the launch, she should feel ashamed for acting like a harlot and having sex with a man she hardly knew. Frankie would probably be thinking of her now as some kind of soppy female who just jumped into bed with any bloke who showed her sympathy. And that’s basically what it amounted to, so she deserved nothing more.

  She woke on Sunday morning feeling resolute. She’d done something very stupid and she had to get a few things back under control after her momentary lapse, so, retrieving her bike from the communal shed behind the flats, she set off for her mother’s. Already it was hot. People were lying out in the park with the papers or walking small dogs. Windows were wide open and through them she could hear the crashing of plates and people shouting at their children. Around her was the constant hum of the city and in a couple of hours the heat would be unbearable. The wind against her face was cooling as she bolted over the river.

  She chained up her bike outside her mother’s mews house and knocked on the door. She’d never had a key and had never asked for one. This was her mother’s place, bought with some of the proceeds of the sale of the cottage off Kings Road where Alex had grown up. The rest had gone towards settling her father’s legacy of debts.

  “To what do I owe the pleasu
re?” the Bean asked haughtily as she walked back through to the sitting room. Alex cast her eye over the mess—newspapers everywhere, last night’s supper on the side in the kitchen, the inevitable pile of mail. Ignoring the barbed comment, designed to lob blame right back at Alex, she asked how her mother was, only to get a sulky response about being bored and someone vaguely interesting having died. Alex picked up the pile of post.

  “Are you talking to me now then?”

  “Yes, of course,” Alex said as patiently as she could. “But it’s not an easy thing to just forget when you find your mother holed up in your flat in cahoots with your best friend and a virtual stranger it turns out you are employing. These, however, are clearly easy to forget.” She shuffled through the envelopes, knowing that besides the junk mail and catalogs sent in advance from galleries, she’d find the windowed envelopes. “We need to talk.”

  The Bean sighed and slumped down on the sofa. “Do you want tea?” She vaguely indicated the kitchen.

  “No thanks. You’ve been at it again, haven’t you?”

  Her mother looked out the window, defiantly ignoring her. Annoyed, Alex sat down beside her and blocked her view, ready to shout at her for her stupidity and her irresponsibility.

  “It can’t go on like this, Mum. I simply don’t have the money.” Alex ripped open the envelopes and pulled out the red final demands, the shirty letters: “Small watercolour, original, signed. £400. Hold until collection arranged.” She opened another. “Bronze hand. £250. Hold until collection arranged.” Tucked between the envelopes were two more receipts for a pair of Russell & Bromley shoes and a dress from Jaeger for £230. There was even one from a firm of solicitors. But it was the last letter that made Alex’s pulse race: “William Curtis. Turf Accountants. Bets made by telephone. Final demand for payment.”

  She turned to her mother, her stomach aching with dread. It was even worse than Frankie had said. “What the hell are these? What are you expecting me to do? Bail you out again? Even if I could, why should I, Mum, why should I? I work as hard as I can, and I try to pay for what you need, but this …” She waved the envelopes and letters in her mother’s face. “This is just extravagance. You can’t maintain this lifestyle anymore. You couldn’t even then, but definitely not now, Mum.” She realized she was shaking her mother’s bad arm and pulled away quickly. “I’m right up against it, Mum, and there’ll be nothing left if I’m not careful. How can you be so selfish?” The Bean turned her face towards Alex, her eyes filled with tears. Alex held up her hand. “Whoa there! Oh no, you don’t. You’re not doing the tears thing on me again. I’ve had that too many times.” She started to read the letters, determined to ignore this familiar chain of events, waiting for the usual “I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again.”