Busy Woman Seeks Wife

by Annie Sanders

  “Yes, a real one. Actually, I’ve just done something a bit reckless…” And she told Saff how she’d passed the gallery on her way home, something she’d done hundreds of times before. “But it just caught my eye, Saff, and before I knew it, there it was wrapped in brown paper and under my arm, and my credit card is two hundred quid lighter. I must be turning into my mother.”

  Saff giggled. “You could do worse. Good on ya! You deserve a reward for yesterday.” There was a shriek of children from down the phone. “Anyway, can’t talk long—Oscar is off to tennis—but I wondered if you wanted to come over for lunch on Sunday. Nothing special. Just us. We might eat in the garden?”

  Alex felt a surge of love towards her friend. “I can’t imagine anything nicer. See you then. I’ll bring the booze as usual.”

  “Oh please don’t!” laughed Saff. “Must dash.” And they hung up.

  Alex sighed and picked up the hammer and the hook, then looked at the painting and put them down again. It was too bloody difficult trying to hang a painting on your own.

  Chapter 54

  Friday night. Date night. Frankie smiled wryly and adjusted his collar as he stood outside the Bean’s front door. He’d phoned straightaway to tell her about getting the part, but she hadn’t been free until now, so their celebration had been deferred. The Bean had told him on the phone too that, after much thought, she’d decided to sell her mews house and that it was time to move on. She fancied being nearer the park, she’d said, but to Frankie it felt like the end of an era. He’d been feeling like this for the past few days, though. In fact, it had been a strange, anticlimactic week since his mercy dash to Istanbul and the launch. In spite of the fantastic news about the part, he felt mopey and down, and Ella hadn’t held back from telling him how miserable he looked. He shook his head irritably. This should be the happiest time of his life, but he just didn’t feel right. Maybe he’d picked something up in Istanbul?

  The Bean took slightly longer than usual to answer the door. Perhaps she was titivating. He smiled to himself and thought about the evening ahead. The Bean would cheer him up. She’d been delighted when he told her the news on the phone—not surprised, as he had been, but thoroughly delighted, and she’d said straightaway that he deserved the part and that she’d known all along he would get it. Frankie wished he could share her confidence. To him it still felt like a fluke, or at least the hugest stroke of luck. He’d just been in the right place at the right time. That was how it felt, anyway.

  At last the Bean opened up. It had been worth the wait: she did look amazing, in narrow trousers and a kind of brocade frock coat. She looked like a Regency dandy. “My darling boy!” she exclaimed, giving him a bracing hug. Then she stepped back and looked him up and down, an expression of satisfaction on her face. “Don’t you look smart! I’m so delighted. Isn’t this thrilling. Come upstairs, won’t you?”

  She’d been busy. A great deal of the clutter, the stacked-up canvases and knickknacks had gone—probably forcibly removed by Alex. Frankie felt suddenly uncomfortable again and looked around, puzzled. The table was laid for two and there was a bottle of red wine open on the sideboard. From the kitchen, a delicious smell of food wafted. He hadn’t realized the Bean could cook.

  “I thought we were going out, Bean. I’ve made reservations. Have we got our wires crossed?”

  A slightly furtive look crossed her face and she glanced at her watch. “No, darling. Not at all. This is just what I had in mind. Did you reserve somewhere? Oh dear. Perhaps you could call and cancel.”

  “You’re looking very dressed up for an evening in. I’m honored. And you’ve cooked! This is so sweet of you. I thought it was against your principles.”

  Again the slightly guilty look. The Bean went over to the windows and looked along the street, then turned to him, an almost pleading expression on her face. She seemed in a hurry to speak. “Frankie, I’m so pleased for you, and so proud. I… I couldn’t be prouder if you were my own son, you know. And you have so much talent. So much to give. Please don’t let it go to waste. You’re a very special young man. And if… if you think I’ve stage-managed things a bit, well, don’t be cross with me. Because I have your interests at heart, you know. And whatever happens, please let us always be friends.”

  “What on earth are you talking about, Bean? You do sound melodramatic. Have you robbed a bank?”

  There was a ring on the doorbell and she hurried down the stairs to answer it. Outside, Frankie could hear a large, well-tuned motor purring and went over to the window to look out. A white stretch limo with tinted windows was waiting outside and a large uniformed man with dark glasses was holding the door open. Frankie ran downstairs to the front door. “What on earth’s going on? Are we going out after all? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  From inside the car, he heard a deep, languid voice. “Hey, Bean? How’s it hangin’? So this is the famous Frankie, huh?” A short black man dressed all in black with intense mint-colored untied sneakers—ones from the launch—stepped out onto the pavement, then leaned into the car and offered his hand to… to Bettina! Frankie looked again. The man was Dizzy Zee, the rap artist who had turned up at the launch in Brixton and driven the press into a frenzy.

  “Frrrrankie! I ’eard about what you did to ’elp the other day. The Bean says you saved the day for everyone. You are an ’ero, no?” Bettina leaned close and kissed him fragrantly on each cheek.

  Frankie was unable to speak. As Dizzy pumped his hand and slapped his back, he could only stare and try to be polite. What the hell was going on?

  Behind the limo, another car had pulled up, and the engine turned off. He peered to see who it was, and through the windscreen he could see someone who looked suspiciously like Alex. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. He watched her emerge and he stared, astonished. She looked as puzzled as he felt, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Clinging to her slim figure was the delicious green Ungaro dress from her wardrobe, there were dangly gold earrings in her ears, her hair was scooped up on her head in clips and on her surprisingly delicate feet were high strappy sandals. She looked breathtaking but stood there awkwardly, a part of this extraordinary tableau in the mews. Beside her, the supermodel, the rap star, the ravishing, aging actress, the opulent car and its driver all faded away, and Frankie just stared. Suddenly, everything in his life made sense.

  She came up to them tentatively, frowning slightly. “Mum? What’s going on? Bettina? Dizzy? I thought you’d both left for the south of France. And Frankie…” She trailed off.

  The Bean coughed delicately. “Darling, you look beautiful. But you know, my dears, I somehow seem to have got my diary all mixed up. I’d quite forgotten that I’d arranged to see both you, Alex dear, and Frankie tonight. And Saffron has cooked up a delicious meal for two, which is keeping warm upstairs. Shame to waste it. And then Bettina and Dizzy are only in town tonight, and I would so love to go out with them so… I was thinking…”

  Chapter 55

  They both stood there in silence as the taillights of the limo disappeared out of the mews and onto the main road.

  “I think,” said Frankie slowly, still looking ahead of him, “that we have been well and truly stitched up.”

  Alex found herself laughing awkwardly. “Story of my life! The old witch. She knew full well she was going out.”

  Now Frankie turned to her. “Do you mind?”

  “Mind what?”

  “Spending the evening with me? Look at us—we’ve made such an effort to dress up.” He glanced at her cautiously, the laughter dancing in his eyes. “If you don’t keep me company I’ll feel like Johnny No Mates and I could never eat all that food on my own. You’d be doing me a favor.”

  “Well, Frankie,” replied Alex. “I do owe you a favor. In fact I owe you big-time. If it wasn’t for you I’d be looking for a job tonight and Bettina would have had to appear stark naked.”

  Frankie laughed. “Nice image.”

  They stood in silence. Alex was itch
ing to ask. “Tell me, how did you know to challenge Camilla? When did you realize?”

  Frankie absentmindedly scuffed his shoe along a ridge in the cobblestones. “Well, to be honest I wasn’t sure even until the last minute. Her eagerness to help all the time was beginning to raise my suspicions, and she was so swift to offer to go to Turkey. Then it was Melik who pointed out the e-mail changing the delivery date. It was sent from your computer last Friday evening, but of course last Friday you were, we were…” He faltered.

  “Together at my place?” Alex willed him to look at her. If she could only see his eyes she’d know what he was thinking. That he felt the same way she did.

  “Yes.” He looked at her boldly. “We were, weren’t we?” There was a small smile on his lips. “So the penny dropped finally when I was in Turkey and so I alerted Ella. I realized whoever it was would try something at the launch. It would be irresistible. I was starting to feel like an extra from Poirot. I asked Ella to leave some T-shirts Melik had given me in the changing room—he’s quite an admirer of yours, by the way—and it was mad, really! But just by chance I spotted Camilla coming out through the doors carrying them and, well, I followed her—getting Ella to alert you.”

  “And wiring up Gavin so he heard it all too?”

  “That was Ella’s idea. She’s very persuasive, you know. The poor man hadn’t a hope.”

  Alex chuckled, thinking of Ella’s first call about the “wife” job. “You’re telling me! And thank goodness she is.” She saw Frankie glance at her questioningly. “What I mean is, you both saved the day. I owe her too.”

  “The launch—it was wonderful. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I hope so. And so much thanks to you.” She laughed softly at the thought. “What a lot of debts to pay. I needed people, didn’t I? And not just for that. What about all you did for my mother? You’ve made her come alive, and I think I understand her much better now than I ever have. We both have you to thank for that.”

  Frankie stepped closer to her, and Alex found herself studying his shoes intently. “I love your mother,” he said quietly. “She’s helped me so much—especially to get this role.” He paused. “You have more in common with her than you think.”

  Alex looked up, horrified. “Oh, I should have congratulated you! It’s wonderful news, Frankie. Saff told me about it. I didn’t realize Mum was helping you, I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t only your mother who helped me get the part, you know.” He gently put his hand on her cheek. “It was you for making me feel so miserable.”

  What had she done? “I don’t understand.”

  He put his other hand to her face and cupped it in his hands. “You have such perfect skin. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?”

  “About a week?” she teased gently.

  “Oh no, longer than that. Even before that time in the park. In fact…” He gently lowered his head and rubbed his nose against the tip of hers. “Probably since the first time I ironed your knickers!” Alex gasped with embarrassment and put her head against his chest to hide her face, but he put his hand under her chin to raise her lips to his warm mouth.

  Standing on the pavement they kissed for what felt to Alex like ages, exploring each other’s mouths and touching each other in wonder, and it wasn’t the driving, selfish passion they had felt last week. This was something deeper. Then Frankie pulled gently away and rested his forehead against hers. “I was right, you look so beautiful in that dress.” He kissed her forehead thoughtfully. “Alex, what do we do about the American boyfriend? Because if we don’t have a future, then please tell me now and I’ll go. You don’t have to do this out of gratitude.”

  Is that what he thought this was all about? Alex almost laughed until she saw how serious he looked. Soul-baring didn’t come easily to her but he deserved her honesty. She had to do this right because it felt as if he could be the missing piece in her life. And until the past few weeks she’d hadn’t even realized anything was missing at all.

  This time she took his face in her hands. “Frankie, I never had anything with Todd that comes close to what I feel for you.” She watched with pleasure as relief flooded into his eyes. “You were so not part of my life plan. But do you know? I’m beginning to think I’m fed up of being ruled by plans and schedules and other people’s needs.”

  “My life doesn’t even have a plan.” Frankie smiled ruefully. “We’re so different. Could you cope? Could you live with an actor?”

  This time Alex did laugh out loud. “Frankie, I was brought up by one! But at least you can cook!”

  Frankie gasped. “The food! It’s probably burned!” He took her hand.

  Alex held him back for a moment and kissed him again. “Frankie,” she said. “You are the best wife any woman could hope for.” And they both ran, laughing, towards the front door.

  About the Author

  ANNIE SANDERS is actually two people but not in the way that means you need medication. Or at least not often. Though it sounds clever for two people to write a novel, we’re slightly worried that each of us is only half an author. Good thing then that we ran into each other. Though to confuse you, at the time of meeting we were actually four people—both vastly pregnant and launching immediately into the nitty-gritty of hemorrhoids and stretch marks. Five children later and communication is still as frank. You sure have to know someone well to be able to say that at times her prose sucks and her plotting is slack.

  Busy Woman Seeks Wife came about on one of those rare moments when we sitting over coffee and gazing at the chaos that was our lives. We both decided we needed a proper wife and not one like us. Then we started totting up how much it would cost to employ people to do all the jobs you do as a wife and mother. We’re currently putting in for a pay claim of a thousand dollars a day—though we hope it won’t be performance-related. We had fun in the novel playing around with gender stereotypes—are men genetically incapable of handling a vacuum cleaner or have women simply liberated themselves into a position where they do everything now?

  We both have arts degrees and backgrounds in publishing. We have five children between us, have no domestic help, and most days we struggle to get everyone out of the house in clean underwear.

  Five reasons a woman needs a wife

  Because if she didn’t have a wife she’d have to employ a secretary, chef, taxi driver, laundry administrator, mechanic, decorator, chambermaid, nurse, gardener, social diary coordinator, seamstress, school gate administrator, technician, psychologist, therapist… oh, that’s fifteen!