“Jess is very creative,” Caroline said immediately, rushing to my defense.
“That’s one word for it,” Anthony said silkily.
I stared at him impatiently. “Anthony, is there something you want? Because if there isn’t, I’d appreciate it if you’d bugger off.”
He laughed. “Matter of fact, there is. Do you know anything about an ethical audit? Max was blathering about it earlier, and I have to confess I stopped listening after about a second—you know what he’s like when he gets going.…” I met his eyes stonily. “No, maybe you don’t,” he said, grinning to himself. “Anyway, suffice it to say I didn’t catch what it’s all about and was hoping you could fill me in. He wants to hold a company meeting or something, and I really can’t be bothered listening to him talk about it again.”
“You should,” I said, turning back to my computer uncomfortably as I remembered the audit. “Because you could be in trouble. Chester wants to head up the perfect company full of perfect people. And that includes his partner companies, like us. So we’re going to be audited. He wants to check that everyone who works for him is whiter than white. You know, trustworthy.” I looked up at him meaningfully, telling myself that the auditor wouldn’t be interested in kisses in bars but in important stuff like fraud and embezzlement. And, anyway, Anthony was way worse than me. He didn’t even know the meaning of the word “ethical.” “If I were you, I’d start looking for somewhere else to pretend to work. I think the idea is that we have a blemish-free workforce.”
“Blemish-free?” Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Sounds terribly dull.”
“I think that sounds amazing,” Caroline said, her eyes widening. “Jerome D. Rutter says that trust is the foundation of everything. He says paring back to the basics makes you realize whom and what you can trust.”
“Well, there you go,” I said.
“Don’t worry about me,” Anthony said, straightening up, his eyes twinkling now. “It’ll be a questionnaire, I bet. I’m very good at questionnaires. By the time I’m finished with mine, they’ll be nominating me for the Nobel Prize. Or at least offering me a commendation.”
“Sure they will,” I said, rolling my eyes. His confidence was shocking.
Anthony winked. “Just you wait,” he said, looking back over his shoulder as he walked toward his office.
“Is it true that clients really like Anthony?” Caroline asked, once he was out of earshot.
I shrugged. That’s what Max always said. And he was right—Anthony’s charm knew no bounds, could convince the hardest cynic to give business to Milton Advertising. But he still infuriated me. “He basically gets paid for flirting,” I said with a sigh. “And everyone else has to do the work.”
I turned back to my computer. Peace at last. Now my work could begin.
“Darling?”
I frowned. That sounded like …
“Darling! You shouldn’t hunch over your computer like that.”
“Mum?” I said incredulously. “Mum, what are you doing here? I’m working. And you’re meant to be in Wiltshire.” Mum was staying in my house in Wiltshire. The one Grace had left me in her will. Chester had asked her to move in several times but Mum insisted she needed her “own space” until they were actually married, not seeming to notice that Wiltshire wasn’t her “own” at all. I didn’t mind—at least my lovely house was being used by someone.
“I’m on my way to do the wedding list. Of course, Chester should be coming with me, but naturally he’s too busy. So if he doesn’t like the dinner service I choose, then it’s really his own fault and he’s going to have to live with it.”
“You know,” Caroline said, leaning over, “Jerome D. Rutter says that wedding lists can hold a negative force over you, because you feel like you’ve got to keep everything you’re given even though your life and tastes may change. He says that you should ask people to give to charity instead. That way you improve the world and don’t weigh yourself down.”
Mum looked at Caroline and smiled tightly. “Well, Jerome D. Rutter obviously hasn’t seen the dinner service from Royal Doulton that I’ve got my eye on,” she said.
“Mum, look, I’m kind of busy here. Is there something specific that you want?”
She frowned. “You know, I’ve come all the way from Wiltshire. I don’t expect a welcome party, but I do expect manners, darling.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed. “It’s just Monday morning. You know. Can I get you a cup of tea?”
“Tea would be nice; thank you, darling,” Mum said, looking slightly mollified. “One sugar, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“I’ll make it, if you like,” Caroline offered immediately, but I waved her away. I wanted a couple of minutes to myself to turn my idea around in my head a bit before it got lost behind all my mother’s chatter. Max believed in perfection, I thought, as I wandered to the small office kitchen and found a vaguely clean mug. He thought I was perfect and the ideal wife. I knew I wasn’t. What we had was a gap between perception and reality. So … wouldn’t the obvious solution be to close that gap? Maybe not completely but as far as possible?
I took a tea bag from the box and switched on the kettle. So what if perfection didn’t actually exist? That didn’t mean aiming high was a bad idea. Just like Chester with his audit. He wanted his company to be the ideal against which others would measure themselves; surely I could aim at being the ideal wife?
I finished making my mother’s tea, then wandered back to my desk and handed her the cup. She was sitting at Caroline’s desk now, opposite mine, with her mouth wide open. “And you can buy things just like that?”
Caroline nodded. “You bid, you see. It’s an auction.”
She shot me a little smile. “Your mother was interested in eBay,” she said by way of explanation.
“It’s amazing,” Mum said. “I’d heard about it, but never actually … Now, what else is there on the Internet? Chester bought me a computer, you see. He thought it would help me with the wedding. What about networking? Everyone networks on their computers, don’t they?”
I found myself laughing. “Mum, you sound like a dinosaur. Have you seriously never been on eBay before?”
Mum looked at me haughtily. “Dinosaurs would still be roaming about if it hadn’t been for the meteorite that hit earth,” she said. “And, anyway, I’ve never had my own computer before. But now I’m connected to the World Wide Web. So, come on, Caroline, how do I network?”
Caroline looked at me helplessly. “I don’t know. Um, Facebook, maybe?”
“Facebook?” Mum looked at her uncertainly. “Is that a book of faces?”
“Kind of,” Caroline said. “Look, let me show you.”
“Is this what you wanted to see me about?” I asked. “Getting online?”
“Yes, darling,” Mum said airily. “But you get on with your work. Caroline and I will be fine. Won’t we, Caroline?”
Caroline smiled sweetly, and I rolled my eyes, then turned back to my own computer.
I frowned, trying to remember what Max had said on the subject, trying to remember what Chester, Mum, and even Helen had said.
1. To be honest.
I squirmed slightly as I thought about Hugh.
As far as possible, I added.
2. To learn to cook fabulous food and to cook a lovely meal every night. Some nights. On occasion.
Sure, Max had said he didn’t mind that I couldn’t cook, but what man didn’t like it when his wife went the extra mile and baked him something delicious? No, I was going to learn to cook, and I was going to do it soon. Max wouldn’t know what had hit him.
I thought for a moment. What else? Then I remembered what Chester had said.
3. To make sure Max’s shirts are always dry-cleaned.
I frowned. Were shirts dry-cleaned? That didn’t sound right. Or just laundered. Beautifully. And ironed.
4. To learn to iron.
I reviewed the list, then sighed. It was pathetic. Cooki
ng and ironing? Was I trying to be the perfect wife or a housekeeper? I started to delete, then changed my mind. They weren’t bad things in themselves; I just needed more. I thought for a moment about what I loved about Max and what he did that made me feel so happy, so special. And then I started to type again.
5. To listen to Max, to hear what he actually says instead of hearing what I think he says or, worse, what I want him to have said.
6. To be a better person generally. To give my time to others. Soup kitchen, maybe?
7. To make life easy for him, not run to him every time I have a problem and expect him to sort things out.
8. To pay him little compliments every day, so he knows how loved he is.
9. To be supportive. Always. Unwaveringly. To be on his side no matter what.
10. ???
“Jess? Jess, what are you doing?” I looked up and reddened when I saw Max walking toward me, a perplexed expression on his face. “Didn’t you get my email? Oh, hello, Esther. I didn’t know you were coming in today.”
“I just stopped by,” Mum said, standing up. “Actually, I have to go now. Got an appointment at Harrods. Lovely to see you, though. And, Caroline, thank you so much. I’m going to Facebook myself later this evening. I’ll look you up, shall I?”
“Definitely.” Caroline beamed as I closed my project-planning program guiltily. Sure enough, when I checked my email in-box, there were three new ones from Max.
“The partner from the auditing firm is here,” he said. “He’s going to brief us on the process.”
“Oh, great!” I stood up quickly. Too quickly: I spilled the rest of my forgotten coffee all over my desk. Caroline immediately started to mop it up with tissues.
“You’re sure everything’s all right, Jess? You’re acting kind of weird today.”
“Me? No, I’m fine. Completely fine,” I said, trying to sound as supportive as I possibly could. “So the partner’s here. Let’s go and see him!”
“Yes,” Max said, looking rather unconvinced. “Let’s.”
The partner from the auditing firm was waiting in Max’s office and smiled pleasantly when I walked in.
“Name’s Joshua,” he said, smiling broadly. “Hope I didn’t pull you away from anything important.”
I smiled brightly. “No. Not at all.”
“Great. Well, as I said to Max, this is really just a formality, just a quick visit to run through the process.”
“Yes,” Max said seriously. “Yes, of course. Very good of you to spare the time. So …”
“So,” Joshua said, pulling out a file, “this has got everything you need in it. Chap who’s going to be auditing you is called Eric. Eric Sandler. He’ll be here a week from Tuesday and he’ll get right to it. He may need some help pulling together an interview schedule and he might want to go through some of your paperwork, but essentially you should barely know he’s here.”
“Interviews,” I said earnestly. “He’ll be interviewing … everyone?”
Joshua smiled reassuringly. “Probably not. He might just pick some random names from your staff list. Then he’ll be doing his own research, of course. Different auditors have different ways of doing things, although Eric is one of our more thorough people. Chester said he wanted a fine comb!”
“Thorough,” I said, trying my best to sound enthusiastic. “Well, that’s good. Isn’t it, Max?”
Max looked at me quizzically. “Absolutely. And thank you, Josh, for making the time to come see us.”
“No problem at all. Here’s a pack of information that should cover everything. And here’s my card—any problems, give me a call. It’s a painless process, though—basically we want to work with you, identify anything that we think you need to know about, and then we report back to Chester.”
I nodded weakly. “It sounds great,” I said. “I’m sure everyone will be, you know, excited about it.”
“Let’s hope so,” Josh said. “Some people get a bit funny about audits like this. They think we’re out to catch them.”
“Well, I doubt there’s anything to catch here,” Max said firmly. “Fortunately, I know my workforce and we are a loyal, hardworking bunch. I’ll have to work out a way of selling this idea to them, but I’m sure we’ll pass with flying colors.”
“Glad to hear it,” Josh said. “Anyway, I’ll be off, don’t want to hold you up. Great to meet you both, and I look forward to seeing the report!”
“Likewise,” Max said, reaching his hand out to shake Joshua’s before showing him to the door. “And thanks again.”
“Yes, thank you,” I said uncomfortably, and reminded myself to breathe. It was going to be fine. And, anyway, I had a plan. Project Ideal Wife. I had it all mapped out. Now I just had to find a soup kitchen. And learn to cook. Soup, ideally. And be supportive. And learn to iron. And …
Chapter 4
“AND … WHAT?” I sighed. “I need help, Helen. What makes the perfect wife?”
“You’re really serious about this?” Helen looked at me cautiously. It was Monday evening, and Helen and I, along with our friend Giles, were on our way to Ivana’s to meet Giorgio.
“Very,” I said. “I have to be the best wife ever. It’s the only solution. So you have to help me.”
“But … why? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, I say. And it isn’t broken, is it?”
“Not right now,” I admitted. “But there has to be only a hairline crack, and then one knock and it’s smashed.”
“And you think Hugh Barter is a hairline crack?”
I looked at her uncomfortably. “I’d say he’s a bit more than that, actually.”
Helen nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess. Still, at least you’ve got a relationship to worry about.”
I frowned. “What about John?”
“Well, sure, yes, there’s John,” Helen said vaguely. “Anyway, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. Oh, look, there’s Giles.”
Giles, my former wedding planner and the campest man in London, was waiting for us outside the café opposite Ivana’s flat. In front of him was a huge box. “Hello!” he said excitedly. “Oh, I can’t wait to see Giorgio. Look. I got him a music station.”
“A music station?” I frowned. “What’s that?”
Giles rolled his eyes. “What isn’t it, you mean. It’s amazing. It starts off as a play mat with surround-sound nursery rhymes. Then, when little Giorgio can sit up, it becomes an activity center, complete with keyboard—can you imagine? He’ll be able to play the piano before he can walk!”
“You’re serious? You got that for Giorgio?” Helen asked.
Giles nodded worriedly. “Why? Has he already got one?”
“No, dummy,” Helen sighed. “It’s just that I only got him a Onesie. I’m going to look really stingy now. I mean, you hardly even know Ivana.”
“I know her well enough,” Giles said defensively. “Anyway, I don’t mind. Say you went in halves with me.”
“Really?” Helen asked. “You don’t mind?”
“Not if you give me fifty pounds.” Giles grinned.
There was a sharp intake of breath from Helen. “Look, I’m freelancing,” she said. “I can’t go round spending fifty pounds on someone who can’t even thank me for it.”
“I’ll chip in your half,” I said quickly, putting my arm around her. “Consider it payment for the advice you’re going to give me.”
“Seriously?” Helen asked delightedly.
“Seriously,” I said. “What else am I going to do with my money, anyway?”
It was a flippant comment, but the truth was that I had no idea what to do with all the money I had sitting in the bank. When Grace had named me her beneficiary, I’d been so focused on saving the house that she’d grown up in—the house she was determined to see go into the right hands instead of into the hands of developers, who’d turn it into lots of flats—that I hadn’t even thought about the money. Not much, anyway. And the longer I left it, the less confident I felt
deciding what to do with it. No one ever wanted to talk about it—Max always told me it was my money to do what I wanted with, and my friends mentioned it only in jest, probably because they felt as awkward about it as I did. Every so often, Helen would tell me to buy a yacht or go mad in Chanel, but only because that’s what she thought she’d do if she had £4 million sitting in the bank. I knew differently. It was one thing to spend a figurative £4 million, quite another to spend the real thing. You could blow £400 on something nice; £400,000 would buy a lovely flat in London. But £4 million? It was too much to splurge, too much to squander. That kind of money had to be spent well, had to make a difference. But a difference to whom? A difference to what? I didn’t know, couldn’t decide. So instead I pushed it from my mind and tried to pretend it didn’t exist. Rather like Hugh Barter. Funnily enough, he was the only person who didn’t seem to mind talking about my money.
“Oh, Jess, you’re an angel,” Helen was saying. “So what did you get Giorgio, anyway?”
I smiled secretively. “You’ll have to wait and see,” I said.
“Ooh, sounds exciting,” Giles said with a big smile. “But what advice? What’s going on?”
“Jess wants to become the ideal wife,” Helen said, rolling her eyes. “Whatever that means.”
“The ideal wife? What is that, a reality show or something?” Giles asked interestedly.
Suddenly Helen’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, now you’re talking,” she said excitedly. “You know, come to think about it, that would make great telly. Put couples on an island somewhere with backup partners trying to outdo them.… Make them do tasks, get people to vote them off if they don’t do them properly—”
“Helen,” I said sternly, “this is not about a television program.” I turned to Giles with a pained expression. “This is serious. I want to …” I thought for a moment. Then I bit my lip. “I want to be the best wife I can possibly be. I want to make Max really happy. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
An Ideal Wife: A Novel Page 4
