Busy Woman Seeks Wife

by Annie Sanders

  “It’s all over, isn’t it?” the Bean said quietly.

  “Too damned right it’s over. This can’t go on.”

  “It’s over, isn’t it?” Alex looked up at the repeated question. The Bean was sitting straight-backed, almost proud, her hands resting elegantly in her lap, but tears were pouring unheeded down her face. “My time is over, I mean. All those glorious days. The parties. The adoration. It’s gone, hasn’t it? I’m nothing now, am I? Just a nuisance to you.”

  Alex watched for a moment, waiting for the usual sidelong look to check that the blubbering was having an effect. But this time it never came. The Bean just looked down, the tears falling onto her hands. This question is new, thought Alex. Could that mean it was genuine? Slowly, she put her hand on top of her mother’s, something she wasn’t sure she had ever done. “Yes, Mum, those days are over,” she said gently. “But nothing will ever take them away, though. Nothing will ever change what you did and who you were.” The Bean lifted beseeching eyes, the sadness in them so deep that Alex felt her chest lurch in sympathy. “But, Mum, you can’t go on spending like this. Look at what you have here. Look what you are surrounded by.” They both looked about them. “So many lovely things already. So many pictures and beautiful dresses. Do you really need more?”

  “But it makes me happy, darling,” she sniffed, wiping her nose most uncharacteristically on her sleeve. “I don’t think you understand. You’re not like me, or your father really. Sometimes I wonder where you came from, with your sensible attitude. Never doing anything rash without thinking about it first.” She smiled tearfully and Alex winced. If she only knew. “I just can’t seem to stop myself,” she went on. “I see something and I want it. I love the smell of the shops and the price tags. I love seeing a red sticker on a picture and knowing it’s mine.”

  “And the betting?” Alex asked quietly.

  “Oh, Alex, it’s the thrill of the chance. The hope. You know how much your father and I adored the races and the excitement. The clothes. Watching the horses in the paddock. Do you remember how we used to go to Ascot?” Her eyes were alive and animated now. If this was all a performance it was a very convincing one. But Alex had been fooled before.

  “But you can’t afford to spend at this level! I can’t go on supporting both of us, and your trust fund is empty, Mum. It has been for years, I’ve told you before. I can do the bills and the odd holiday, but not this.” She indicated the pile of letters again.

  “I miss all that. I miss your father and I miss the past. I miss being important, because I’m not really important to you, am I?” She looked at her daughter searchingly. “You don’t need me. You never have, you funny independent little thing, in your busy world.”

  “Oh, Mum,” Alex sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Don’t be like that. Of course I need you, but we need to sort out this money issue.”

  The Bean tapped her leg and stood up gingerly. Alex realized with a jolt how much her mother had aged. It had happened so gradually Alex had barely noticed, but here she was, slightly stooped, the famous beauty now changed to the wrinkled elegance of age. Had she been too harsh with her when old friends were dying and the life that had once been hers had disappeared forever? The thought of losing Saff flitted into her head but she quashed it quickly, not wanting to explore her own loneliness. She looked around the crammed little house that her mother had bought “for a lark” because it reminded her of the place where Twiggy had lived years ago. “It’s a silly little house but it’ll do!” she’d laughed carelessly when she’d seen it.

  “Do you love this place?” Alex asked suddenly.

  The Bean looked around from her position over by the open window that looked down onto the mews. “What do you mean?”

  “What I said. Do you love this house?”

  Her mother took in the room as if she’d never seen it before. Then she shrugged. “I suppose it’s quaint, and quite convenient for things. But it’s not that special, I suppose.”

  “Then let’s sell it.” Her mother looked startled. Alex plowed on. “Let’s sell it and you can move somewhere nearer me, and Saff, and the park. With the proceeds—well, let’s face it, this will go for a mint if we spruce it up a bit—we can pay off these debts and then you can have a wonderful time buying things to make the new place nice. Take Frankie on a shopping spree with you.” Why on earth had she mentioned Frankie?

  There was a long pause, as the word “shopping” sank in. “Mmm, he’d quite enjoy that, the lovely man.”

  Alex looked down, suppressing a smile. She’d pressed the right button.

  “Well…” the Bean began, sniffing and wiping her nose more daintily now on her handkerchief. Alex felt a sudden surge of affection for her as she bravely composed herself and took control of the situation again. “Let me think about it. Now, darling, Grace Fernshaw has asked me for lunch—can’t think why. I haven’t seen her for donkey’s years but thank God her pompous arse of a husband has finally fallen off the perch. Perhaps she wants to celebrate!” She laughed uncertainly.

  Alex stood up, knowing she had sown the seed and that it was best left until her mother could bring it around and make the idea her own. “I’ve got to get on too. Lots of work to be done. Anything you need?”

  “No, darling.” Her mother put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “You are a good girl, Alex Hill.” She brushed a strand of hair out of Alex’s eyes. “And you keep your mother in order. But you have to learn to enjoy yourself more. Relish everything you have and everyone you love now, because soon it may be gone.” Then she kissed her goodbye on the step, but Alex could have sworn her mother held her for a fraction longer than usual.

  Chapter 37

  Ella flicked through the local paper, but without much enthusiasm. Nothing she’d seen in the situations vacant section interested her even slightly. Compared with the buzz of working at the radio station, everything else paled into insignificance, even trying to help Saff. She sighed and threw the paper down irritably. She’d just have to call Mike again and see if any of her latest ideas might work. He hadn’t yet responded to that string of e-mails she’d fired off. Maybe she should have waited and sent them in a nice, orderly, professional way, instead of at random as they entered her head. Oh, sod it! Maybe he just wasn’t interested. She wandered over to the fridge and ignored the remains of the chicken Frankie had roasted the day before.

  That had been a dull meal. He hadn’t been in the mood for conversation. Just stared into space while she gabbled on and was noncommittal when she asked anything. She finally persuaded him to come to the pub to meet up with mates, but he’d even ignored Dan’s tedious quips about Frankie being a domestic god. The only time he’d reacted was when Carlo, the perpetual hanger-on, had asked Frankie, winking broadly, whether he missed having his hands in Alex’s drawers. Frankie had turned on the little man, scowling, and told him to sod off.

  Reaching her hand past the chicken carcass, she went straight for the Jell-O chocolate mousse she’d whipped up and decorated with M&M’S. Lost in thought, she took out the bowl and dug straight in with a tablespoon. She was starting to consider an investigation into the changing fashions of puddings in South London when the doorbell rang. She answered it, still clutching the bowl. Standing on the doorstep was Mike.

  He peered hopefully into the empty bowl. “Oh! Why didn’t you save some for me? Oh, hang on. There’s plenty left—all over your face.” He extended a finger and carefully ran it along the edge of her lower lip, then licked it clean. Ella’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. Mike went on, oblivious. “Anyway, sorry to drop in unannounced, but my computer started belching black smoke. The IT guys say it has overheated, something about an excessive number of e-mails—and from this address, apparently.” Theatrically he stepped back to look at the number on the front door.

  “Oh—right. Yes, sorry about that. I just had a few ideas.”

  “A few! I’d hate to be in the way when inspiration really strike
s. Anyway, there were some great ideas there. Some completely crap ones too, of course.” He was looking quite hard at her now and, self-consciously, she wiped her mouth with her hand in case there was more chocolate on it. “But I was wondering if you’d like to go out and talk about doing something else for me—for us. I was going to suggest lunch, but it looks like you’ve already had pudding.”

  Ella caught the twinkle in Mike’s eye and felt herself start to smile. “Yes, but I haven’t had a main course yet. I could really murder a kebab. Er, if you like, that is…” She trailed off, aghast at her own audacity. A few days ago he had been her boss and now this was looking scarily like a date. A proper lunch date, even though her stomach was beginning to feel a bit funny. She held her breath, but Mike smiled in satisfaction.

  “Oh yes, I think I do like. Can you recommend anywhere round here? Somewhere suitable for a high-level business meeting?”

  Ella put down the bowl and spoon on the hall floor. “Absolutely. The café round the corner. They do great bacon sandwiches too.” She darted back in to get her keys, and to check her face for Jell-O. Just in case. She walked past him, pleased he couldn’t see the silly smile on her lips, and very, very aware of him right behind her. They turned onto the street and he took her arm, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  “Yes, you certainly had some original ideas there,” he said earnestly. “I was particularly impressed by that one about people who’ve trained their pets to talk…”

  Chapter 38

  The Bean’s parting words about relishing everything before it’s gone rang in Alex’s ears the next morning as she arrived at the office. Alex wasn’t sure any of this was worth enjoying and she had the definite feeling that soon it would all be gone. She’d hoped she’d be the first into the department, and to be hard at it when Frankie turned up so she wouldn’t have to speak to him. She wouldn’t know what to say. How he’d feel after their lovemaking and his sudden departure. Despite busying herself over the weekend, she kept checking the phone for messages from him. But why would he call? She’d virtually kicked him out in her panic when Todd called.

  Of course, with only a day to go she wanted to get ahead of things anyway, and she was disappointed to see Gavin’s dark head already bent over his desk when she arrived. He glanced up at her but didn’t acknowledge her raised hand of greeting. On her system were a couple of e-mails from Camilla sent late Friday evening—gosh, she must have worked late—both confirming details about Bettina Gordino’s arrival time later today and the hotel booking. At least that was sorted.

  She was on the phone to the Express, arranging a private room for their journalist to talk to the massive Malcolm Sanferino for their American football special, when she finally spotted Frankie. She saw him before he saw her and, as he swung through the doors chatting animatedly to Peter of all people, Alex slipped farther down into her seat and hid behind her computer screen.

  “I think Arsenal will do the double next season,” Peter was saying as they came close to her desk. “That new striker will be worth every penny of the obscene fee they paid for him. Mind you, he’s wearing my sneakers so that’s my bonus sorted!”

  “Good call, mate,” Frankie replied cheerily, slapping him on the back. “Catch you later!”

  Mate? Alex frowned. When did Peter become his “mate” for God’s sake? And “catch you”? Where did that come from? Had Frankie forgotten what she thought of Peter? Or maybe he didn’t care now. You could never really tell when an actor wasn’t acting. Alex sighed. And now she’d made things so much more complicated. Perhaps she should try to lose herself in meetings all day.

  “Hi.” She started as she heard Frankie’s voice close now. She composed her face into a nonchalant smile and looked up. But it wasn’t to her he was speaking. Instead he was perched on Camilla’s desk and smiling down at her.

  Alex’s phone rang but as she answered, she had half an ear on the conversation going on at Camilla’s desk. They were talking too quietly now for her to hear, their heads close together, one so blonde and one so dark. Frankie then threw his head back and laughed at something Camilla said and they both looked Alex’s way.

  Alex ducked her head smartly and said “Sorry, what?” a bit too abruptly down the phone.

  “I told you,” came the heavily accented English of Bettina’s agent down the line from Milan, “that she would only accept the Brook Penthouse, Miss Hill. I said it very clearly during my meeting with you here in my office but my people have checked the reservation to find what? Nothing! My client is an extremely important woman, and frankly she is doing you a favor with your little event.”

  For a moment Alex forgot the flirting couple at the desk next to hers. “Mr. Corniani, I can assure you there is nothing little about this launch. There will be more press there than at the Collections, and it will guarantee excellent publicity for your client.” Alex saw Camilla’s head pop up with interest. She raised her eyebrows.

  There was something that sounded like “hurumph” in Alex’s ear. “There will be no client unless she gets the right hotel room. She is very particular.” I’ll bet, thought Alex.

  “I can assure you we have requested that suite and will ensure she gets it. Leave it with me, Mr. Corniani.” She put down the phone. “Camilla.” She sounded sharper than she had meant to, and Frankie stood up and moved away from the desk, not without glancing at Alex, a totally neutral look on his face. To her intense irritation he then winked at Camilla before walking away. “Cam, you did book the Brook Penthouse, didn’t you?”

  Camilla flicked through her pad. “Er, no, I’ve just got written here ‘penthouse.’ No specific name.”

  “But I definitely said the Brook. Are you sure?”

  Once more Cam looked back through her pad. “Absolutely—I would have written it down because I have the Claridge’s number here and I’d have put it next to that.” She looked up with a horrified expression on her face. “Oh bugger, Alex. Have I made a cock-up?” She picked up her phone. “I’ll call them now and see if it’s free, shall I?”

  At that moment Peter swept past her. “Problems?” he asked over his shoulder, a broad smile on his face as he headed for a meeting room.

  “No no. Nothing. Everything’s fine,” Alex called, but he had shut the door firmly behind him. “Yes, straightaway, please. I’m sure they can change things for someone as important as her. I need a coffee.” And she bolted for the kitchen, where she put on the kettle and fussed over preparing coffee, her mind racing.

  “You okay?” Frankie said quietly behind her. She jumped and turned to find him leaning back against the counter, his arms folded. Alex went back to her preparations.

  “Yup thanks. Want some?”

  “No thanks. Cam made some for me earlier.”

  “You’re very matey.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Good heavens no. No! Not at all.”

  “She’s a nice girl.”

  “Very nice.”

  “Alex?” Camilla stuck her head around the door. “Bad news, I’m afraid. It’s booked already. Some Arab apparently. Immovable. I’m so sorry.” She looked very sheepish.

  “Shit.”

  “Oh, Alex, and on top of everything else.”

  “Have you offered an inflated rate?” Alex kept her fingers crossed that she hadn’t—that would be the final bye-bye to the budget.

  “Yup, but apparently this Arab gentleman is very… -strong-willed. Want me to call Bettina’s agent?”

  Alex thought for a moment. “No. What’s the name of that hip new place in Kensington? The one we thought about for the accessories press launch in December?”

  “The Stanfield?” said Frankie helpfully.

  “That’s it. See if you can get her in there. They’ll love a name like that staying, and I’ll tell her agent it’s the best thing ever and makes Claridge’s look like the Holiday Inn.”

  The Milanese gentleman, however, wasn’t convinced, and it took se
veral phone calls between agent and client, client and agent to get Bettina to reconsider. Alex did her best to reassure and pacify, all the time her stomach cramping. If she lost Bettina Gordino over a bloody hotel room then she might as well hang up her airflow sneakers now. Then, at eleven o’clock, Gavin came back from wherever he had been and within five minutes of sweeping through the doors had been informed, thanks to Peter no doubt, about the Brook botch-up.

  “You are joking, of course?” He started speaking just outside his office door, loud enough to have everyone sitting bolt upright. It was obvious whom his question was aimed at, but Alex still looked away, hoping to God it was meant for someone else. She just hoped too that he’d have the grace to take her somewhere private when he fired her. “I mean,” he continued at the same volume, “we are only talking the hottest model around. We have only briefed every publication from the Chipping Sodbury parish magazine upwards that she will be at the launch, and we can’t even get her the bloody hotel room she wants. What does it take, Alex, to get things right?”