Wife for Hire

by Dianne Blacklock

  That sounded so much more self-assured than she felt. If she was so ready to move on, why hadn’t she contacted the solicitor Alex had recommended?

  ‘Well, then, what arrangements have you made for Christmas?’ Bernice persisted.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sam frowned.

  ‘When is Jeff having the children?’

  ‘He isn’t, not over Christmas,’ Sam said firmly.

  Both Bernice and Max stopped to look at her.

  ‘Has he agreed to that?’ asked Max.

  ‘I don’t care if he agrees or not. He chose to leave, he can’t have everything his own way.’ She beat the cake batter savagely with a wooden spoon. ‘I can’t do without the kids at Christmas. Jeff will understand.’

  He wasn’t going to get a choice.

  Thursday

  Sam checked the address again. It was correct. The house was grander than she’d expected, though she didn’t know why she’d imagined it’d be otherwise. This was Woollahra after all, and Ted Dempsey had to be reasonably well off to afford the service in the first place.

  She walked up to the front entrance past bowling green lawns and neatly manicured hedges. She pressed the doorbell and waited. After a few moments the door was opened by a smallish man, probably around seventy years of age, with kind eyes and an even kinder smile.

  ‘Ms Holmes?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You’re very punctual. That’s a promising start,’ he smiled. He offered his hand. ‘I’m Ted Dempsey, but I hope you’ll call me Ted. Please come in.’

  Sam stepped into the cool darkness of his house. ‘Well, my name is Samantha, but everyone calls me Sam.’

  ‘Oh, do they?’ He looked mildly disconcerted. ‘I hope you’ll allow me to call you Samantha? It’s such a beautiful name.’

  She smiled. She liked him immediately, which was a good omen considering this was her first meeting with her first client. Sam followed him to the end of a broad hall, catching on either side a glimpse of rooms filled with antiques. They came to a glassed-in conservatory overlooking the back garden.

  ‘What a beautiful home,’ said Sam.

  ‘Thank you, Samantha. I’ve been an antique dealer for most of my adult life.’ He made a sweeping gesture around the room. ‘I’m afraid a cluttered home is one of the hazards of the profession.’

  There was something comforting about the furniture. Sam looked around the room, realising that every piece had a history. It had been bought and loved by someone and was special enough to be passed on, or sold again, and now to form part of a collection. Sam thought of her own formal living room – the department-store, contemporary coordinated settings, pale and soulless by comparison.

  ‘Please, take a seat, Samantha,’ Ted offered. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea or coffee?’

  Sam didn’t think it was appropriate to have a client waiting on her, so she declined. They both sat down at the table and Ted patted a neat pile of papers in front of him.

  ‘I understand Ms Boland explained to you that I require some assistance keeping up with my correspondence and other minor matters.’

  Sam nodded. ‘You’re still in business?’

  ‘Yes, I am, as a matter of fact. But I have a manager who runs the store, and an accountant who handles the finances. This is of a more personal nature.’ He paused. ‘I don’t know if your employer told you that my eyesight is failing?’

  ‘She did mention,’ Sam said quietly.

  ‘I have a condition called macula degeneration,’ Ted explained. ‘It has come to the point where I am unable to read normal size print even with very powerful lenses, I have to use a magnifying glass as well.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Thank you, Samantha. But please don’t feel sorry for me,’ he assured her. ‘I have a full life, lots of dear old friends, and a driver who gets me around to see them. I love music and the opera, and I’m still involved in my business as much as I want to be.’

  He paused. ‘I’m just finding it hard to read. I don’t want anyone else to handle my personal correspondence, I would feel that my whole life was in the hands of my accountant, or business manager, good people though they both are, you understand. I thought your organisation would be discreet, and I could keep perhaps just a small corner of my life to myself.’

  Sam smiled warmly. ‘That seems fair enough.’

  Two weeks later

  ‘Hello Sam?’

  ‘Jeff, hi.’ Sam felt a little wary when she heard his voice on the other end of the phone these days. There was always something new to negotiate. It was becoming a chore.

  ‘Look, I may as well cut straight to the chase,’ he began.

  That’s right, no need to waste pleasantries on her any more.

  ‘I was talking to Mum and Dad last night, and they’re upset they haven’t seen much of the kids.’

  Sam frowned. ‘What’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘Well, they are their grandchildren . . .’

  ‘I realise that. I don’t have a problem with the kids seeing your parents, Jeff. Why don’t you just take them for a visit next time they’re with you?’

  ‘I hardly have enough time with the kids as it is. You expect me to spend it visiting Mum and Dad?’

  ‘What? You’re not suggesting I take them?’ Sam asked, confused.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ he said hesitantly. ‘Maybe you could just invite them over –’

  ‘What?’ Sam could not even conceive of how excruciating that would be. ‘They’re your parents, Jeff. And they don’t even like me!’

  ‘That’s not true. Of course they like you.’

  ‘Oh come off it, Jeff!’ Sam cried. ‘I was never good enough for their precious, bloody, exalted only son. I was just a delivery chute for the grandchildren. The only good thing to come out of this separation for me is that I don’t have to put up with their contempt any more.’

  Jeff was silent. Maybe she had been a bit strong. But it was too late to take it back now.

  ‘I didn’t realise,’ Jeff said quietly after a while. ‘I don’t expect you to see them if it’ll make you uncomfortable. I’ll handle it.’

  After he hung up, Sam picked up the entire phone and held it in front of her. ‘Why are you being so . . . understanding? Why couldn’t you have cared about my feelings when we were still together? Would it have been so hard?’

  She stood there trembling, breathing heavily, holding the phone aloft.

  ‘Okay, so now I’m talking to inanimate objects.’

  She put the phone down on the bench.

  ‘I must be going mad.’

  December

  ‘I actually liked Mick’s parents,’ Liz was saying.

  Sam had arranged to meet the girls for drinks. She had to make sure she had somewhere to go after work on a Friday night when the children were at Jeff’s. She told herself it was just to avoid Stewart, but it had more to do with avoiding the loneliness at home.

  ‘Will still sees them regularly. They have a great relationship, much better than the one he has with his father. Makes you wonder what rock they found Mick under,’ Liz mused.

  ‘I have no problem at all with the kids seeing Jeff’s parents,’ Sam explained. ‘But as for inviting them over . . .’ she shuddered.

  ‘I still remember your wedding,’ Max grinned. ‘Somehow his father managed to make a toast without once mentioning your name!’

  ‘Mm, I think it was the speech he wanted to make at the twenty-first Jeff never had because we got married instead.’ Sam smiled ruefully. ‘And now they treat Josh exactly the same, like the heir apparent, while the girls are ignored.’

  ‘Well, that’s not your problem any more,’ said Liz.

  Sam looked at her.

  ‘They’ll all have their own relationships and it’ll have nothing to do with you.’

  ‘You think it’s that easy?’

  ‘Who said anything about it being easy?’ Liz remarked. ‘The hardest thing a woman
ever has to do is give up control, especially where her kids are concerned.’

  Sam became thoughtful. ‘The first couple of times they went to stay at Jeff’s, it was actually physically painful for me.’ She breathed out heavily. ‘But they came home so happy, even Josh in his own way. Jeff was spending more time with them than he had in years.’

  ‘That’s how it always is in the beginning. Everybody’s on their best behaviour,’ said Liz. ‘Then the chinks start to appear.’

  Sam nodded. ‘Jess has started to complain lately. They don’t get to watch much TV there, and her father won’t let her stay on the phone for hours on end. She’s going to miss out on a sleepover this weekend and she nearly had a conniption.’

  ‘What is a conniption anyway?’ Liz frowned. ‘Is it a real thing or just something our mothers made up?’

  ‘It’s odd, though, that all the mothers made it up at the same time, isn’t it?’ said Max.

  ‘Maybe it was one mother, a long time ago, and it’s been passed down ever since.’

  ‘Right,’ nodded Max. ‘Like Eve said to Cain, “Don’t have a conniption. Your brother does not get everything first!”’

  Sam cleared her throat. ‘I believe I was talking about something serious?’

  ‘Sorry,’ they both muttered.

  ‘How’s Josh with it all?’ asked Liz.

  ‘Well, like I was saying, he was okay at first. But now he seems . . . troubled.’

  ‘What do you mean, troubled?’ Max frowned.

  ‘I don’t know. He won’t talk about it.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s not a little wishful thinking?’ suggested Liz.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I can remember hating it if Will actually enjoyed himself when he was with his father. It sounds terrible, but I secretly hoped he wouldn’t want to keep going.’

  ‘I’ve felt that too, a little,’ Sam admitted guiltily.

  ‘You two are freaking me out!’ declared Max. ‘Listen to yourselves! Isn’t it important that the kids have a good relationship with both parents?’

  ‘Yes, of course it is,’ Sam said in a weak voice.

  ‘Theoretically,’ added Liz. ‘But just wait till you get married and have kids and then separate, and then you have to go through all this.’

  Max frowned. ‘And you wonder why I’m still single?’

  Liz grinned. ‘So, how are you going to divvy up Christmas?’ she asked Sam.

  ‘They’re staying with me. I told Jeff they’d had enough changes.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He didn’t argue. He’s picking them up Boxing Day.’

  ‘There you are!’ said Fiona bursting through the crowd. ‘Crikey, it’s packed in here tonight.’

  ‘Hi, we were beginning to give up on you,’ said Sam.

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t get away from work, everything starts to go mad this time of the year.’ She looked around the table. ‘Where’s Rose?’

  ‘She couldn’t get a pass out tonight,’ Liz explained.

  ‘Colonic Colin’s up to his old tricks again,’ said Max.

  ‘I didn’t know he’d ever stopped them. Who wants a drink?’ asked Fiona.

  Everyone held up their empty glasses. Fiona stared at them. ‘Oh, great timing! Well, I have to go to the loo and I’m not missing any more of the conversation. Here,’ she said, opening her purse and handing Max a fifty, ‘you get the drinks. Make mine a margarita.’

  She turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  ‘Jeez, what did her last slave die of?’

  ‘He didn’t die, he’s home minding the kids,’ Liz quipped. ‘And seeing as she’s shouting, margaritas all round, what do you reckon?’

  When they were all back at the table, Fiona suggested a toast.

  ‘To absent friends.’

  ‘Merry Christmas, Rosemary.’

  They slurped on their drinks.

  ‘I’m having one of these, and one only,’ announced Sam. ‘They are way too easy to drink and end up in one huge hangover.’

  ‘So what have I missed?’ asked Fiona. ‘How’s the new job, Sam?’

  ‘Good so far.’

  ‘Have you had any unusual requests yet?’ Fiona probed, a glint in her eyes.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Liz frowned.

  ‘Well, I’ve heard that people get you to cover their bedroom floor with rose petals, or arrange a hot-air balloon flight so they can propose, that kind of thing.’

  ‘More money than sense,’ Liz muttered.

  ‘Nothing so exciting to report as yet,’ said Sam. ‘I meet with a Mr Ted Dempsey once a week, to handle his correspondence.’

  ‘Not the Ted Dempsey of Dempsey’s Woollahra?’ asked Fiona.

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Liz frowned.

  ‘Just the most respected antique dealer in Sydney, I would think. What’s he like?’

  ‘Absolutely charming.’

  ‘Sexy?’ asked Liz.

  ‘Liz! He must be seventy years old.’

  ‘So? He’s rich, isn’t he? You can overlook a slight age difference.’

  Sam shook her head. ‘I also had a meeting with a couple, Dominic and Vanessa Blair. Both beautiful, bright and trendy as all get out.’

  ‘Why is it that the beautiful people always have beautiful names?’ Max pondered. ‘How could their parents have known what would be trendy in twenty years time? And they marry people with beautiful names too. It’s always Dominic and Vanessa, or Nicholas and Madeleine, or Miles and Cassandra. I mean, you would never hear of Dominic and Ethel, or Vanessa and Wally.’

  Sam looked at her. ‘Doesn’t your head start to hurt after a while, with all those thoughts bouncing around inside it?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s so exciting!’ Fiona enthused. ‘It’s like being in an episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.’

  ‘Dominic and Vanessa aren’t famous, and they’re not even that rich. Though they will be, if he gets his way.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Sam nodded. ‘He has big plans for them. He wants to throw more parties and mix in the right circles. Poor Vanessa looked totally out of her depth.’

  ‘What does she do?’ asked Max.

  ‘She’s an actuary.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Liz frowned.

  ‘Something to do with statistics,’ Max offered.

  ‘It’s highly specialised,’ Fiona explained. ‘An actuary works out risk, probability, and just about anything you need to predict from statistics. She would be phenomenally intelligent.’

  ‘Well, you’d never know it,’ said Sam. ‘Dominic spoke for her most of the time, mostly about how useless she is around the house.’

  ‘He must have a small dick,’ said Liz.

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘He’s in advertising.’

  ‘A very small dick,’ Liz added.

  ‘No,’ Sam shrugged. ‘He was very charming actually. But there’s something about him, I don’t know, I can’t quite put my finger on it.’

  ‘So what do you have to do for them?’ Fiona asked.

  ‘Well, he wants me to organise dinner parties, cocktails, that kind of thing. But they’re going away over Christmas, so I had to make all their travel arrangements, and at the moment I’m doing their duty-free shopping.’

  Fiona shook her head. ‘Wow, getting paid to go shopping!’

  ‘Yeah, not bad, is it?’

  ‘I think we should make another toast,’ Fiona announced. ‘To Sam, may next year bring you everything you want, in spades.’

  ‘And plenty of sex,’ added Liz, raising her glass.

  Everyone looked at her.

  ‘What’s wrong, you have a problem with that?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I think we have to get Sam a fella.’

  ‘Don’t you dare try to set me up!’ Sam exclaimed, looking around the table.

  ‘Why not?’ said Liz. ‘You don’t want to die withou
t sleeping with at least one other man your whole life, do you, Sam?’

  Sam looked warily at Max, though she knew she could trust her not to breathe a word about Stewart.

  ‘The last thing I need at the moment is another man to run around after.’

  ‘But isn’t that what you’re doing in your new job?’ asked Max.

  Sam shook her head. ‘I’m getting paid for it. That makes all the difference.’

  January

  Sam was almost finished taking the ornaments off the Christmas tree, then she would attack the tangle of lights. She usually enjoyed packing up the tree, despite a slight melancholy, because it gave a sense of closure to the season. But she wasn’t enjoying it at all today. The kids weren’t here to help or even get in the way, they were not due home until tomorrow. It was the sixth of January and the tree had to come down on the twelfth day of Christmas. That was tradition. Sam had to keep some things the same.

  It was the only way she could cope with all the other changes. Christmas had passed uneventfully. But it hadn’t felt the same decorating the tree, it hadn’t felt the same on Christmas morning. And she’d felt empty when the children had packed up and left on Boxing Day.

  The Christmas cards were the worst part. Some arrived from friends they only heard from once a year, addressed as normal to Jeff, Samantha and the children. There were others, uncertainly written to the nebulous ‘Holmes family’, from people who had obviously heard something on the grapevine. Then there were the cards from those who imagined they knew everything and couldn’t miss the opportunity to gloat.

  Dear Samantha,

  We were so shocked to hear the news. Call me when you’re up to it. If you need a man for anything around the house, let me know and I’ll send Kevin over.

  Of course, there were still others who didn’t send cards at all. They didn’t want their husbands anywhere near Sam.

  The house felt too big when the kids weren’t here. She’d sat alone the night after Christmas, polishing off too much of the bottle of Baileys Aunty Gwen had given her, while watching It’s a Wonderful Life on video and sobbing freely. This wasn’t supposed to be the way she was going to spend her Christmases. You should be allowed to put a moratorium on all celebrations after a marriage break-up. It was too hard. It only made it painfully obvious that you weren’t a family any more. Taunting you for your failure.