“Right you are,” Dad said gratefully, then looked at me. “I’ll be in touch. If I may?” he asked. “It’s been a pleasure. An honor.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Do get in touch. I’d like that.”
He walked to the front door, opened it, then turned back to me. “One other thing,” he said. “Don’t leave this place empty when your mum moves out. This house needs a family, like that woman Grace said. You should move here, Jess. It suits you. Sort things out with that husband of yours. You can’t let fights get in the way of your future, however serious they are.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” a voice said, and I looked up, frozen on the spot.
“Max?” I said tentatively. “Was that Max?”
“It was,” Max said, hobbling in on crutches through the front door. He glanced around with a confused expression on his face, then looked back at me. “I came to say I’m sorry,” he said seriously.
“Sorry?” I asked.
“For being an arse.” He hung his head.
“You weren’t an arse,” I said, incredulously. I wouldn’t believe he was here—wouldn’t believe this was all actually happening. “I was. I’m so sorry, Max. I was trying so hard to be the perfect wife, and the more I tried, the more I realized that I wasn’t, that I couldn’t be, that I was never going to be perfect.”
“But you are perfect,” Max said, looking bewildered.
“No, I’m not,” I said, sniffing. “I’m not good, I’m not caring, I’m not honest, and I’m not … at least I didn’t think I was … I mean, I’m not sure really, but …”
“But what, Jess?” Max frowned. “What aren’t you?”
“Loved,” I said in a small voice.
“Well, that just shows how little you know,” he said, his voice quivering with emotion. “Because you are totally loved. Totally and utterly. And you are caring. Caroline told me about what’s been going on at work and that you kept it from me because you cared. And I got annoyed because you didn’t bring muffins? I’m an idiot, Jess. I was in pain, I was cranky, I was feeling insecure, and what I said was unforgivable.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I was the one who was unforgivable. I was jealous of Emily, when all she was doing was looking after you. Which is what I should have been doing.”
“No,” Max said. “I asked you to run the business, and you did that. And Emily …” He looked at me awkwardly. “Well, as it turns out …”
He pulled a strange face, and I frowned. “What? As it turns out what?”
He grimaced. “She tried to kiss me,” he said sheepishly. “She said she’d felt some … I don’t know … connection or something.”
“She what?” I felt my entire body bristle.
“I realized you’d been right all along,” Max said helplessly. “Please forgive me.”
“Of course I forgive you,” I said, blinking back the tears that had suddenly appeared in my eyes. He opened his arms and I rushed toward him, then stopped. “But there’s something you need to know,” I said anxiously.
“What?” Max asked. “Tell me anything.”
“She gave away her money,” Mum blurted out. “I’m sorry, darling, but he needs to know. She gave it away, Max. To a soup kitchen!”
“Is that true?” Max looked at me, incredulous, then his face fell. “Because of what I said? Oh, Jess, tell me you haven’t done anything stupid. You shouldn’t have listened to me. I told you, I’m an idiot.”
“Not because of what you said,” I said calmly. “Because I wanted to. I’ve been helping out at this place. They prefer ‘resource center’ to ‘soup kitchen.’ Anyway, they need new premises and … Look, I never wanted the money anyway. So I gave it to them. You don’t mind?”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Max said quietly. “I didn’t even know you’d been into a soup kitchen. I mean … resource center.”
“I hadn’t,” I said awkwardly. “Not until … Well, I was trying to be good, you see. It was part of Project Ideal Wife.”
Max looked at me uncertainly. “There was a project?”
“Yes,” I said. “Sort of. You know, the whole cooking thing?”
Max shook his head. “God, I really am an idiot,” he muttered. “You did all that for me?”
“For us,” I whispered.
“I’m so proud of you.”
Max looked at me for a moment, and I felt something intense, something I hadn’t felt for a very long time. I felt happy. Not cheerful, or upbeat, or pleased, but happy. Truly. Perfectly. But then my happy glow gave way to something else, a sense of foreboding. “Well, anyway,” I said. “That’s not the thing I need to tell you. There’s something else.”
“Something else?” Max asked lightly. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I couldn’t love you more at this moment, and I certainly won’t ever love you less.”
“You might, actually,” I said, biting my lip. “It’s about Hugh.”
“Hugh?” Hugh put his hand up, and Max suddenly noticed him standing behind Giles. “Hugh. What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rising.
“He came to see me,” I said, looking at Max tentatively. “He …” I took a deep breath. “Last year, when Mum said that she’d slept with Hugh, that she’d told him about Chester’s business plans, she was lying. For me.”
Max looked as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “You slept with Hugh?”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t. But I did kiss him. I was drunk. I thought you were having an affair. And I kissed him. And—”
“And it was my fault,” Hugh said suddenly. “I took advantage of her, Max, and I’ve been doing it ever since.”
“What do you mean?” Max asked levelly.
“He’s been asking her for money,” Mum said. “Little weasel.”
“He’s been what?” Max’s face darkened, and he walked toward Hugh. “You have been extorting money from my wife?”
“No. I mean yes, but … It’s not like that,” Hugh said, stepping backward. “Jess, tell him. Please.”
“But you have,” I said, as Max hobbled toward Hugh angrily.
“Not my nose,” Hugh wailed, stepping back in alarm. “Not my bloody nose again.”
“It’ll be more than your nose if I have anything to do with it,” Max said angrily, grabbing Hugh by the shoulders. “How dare you? How bloody dare you?”
Chester pulled Max off, and Giles grabbed Hugh. “Easy there,” Chester said. “Come on, Max, he isn’t worth it. Although I have to say, I’d like to punch him myself after all the damage he’s done.”
Max was staring at Hugh like a bullfighter staring down his bull. “Don’t you ever come near either of us again,” he said. “Ever. Do you understand?”
“Fine,” Hugh whimpered. “I didn’t want to, anyway. I only came to ask Jess for a favor.”
“And I’ve told you,” I said. “I’ve given all my money away, so there’s no point in asking anymore.”
“Not that kind of favor,” Hugh said unhappily. “No one ever listens. I came here because I wanted a real favor, not money.”
I looked at him suspiciously. “What kind of favor?”
Hugh sighed. “I was hoping you’d introduce me to your friend Giles.”
“Me?” Giles asked, his eyes widening.
“Yes, you,” Hugh said, looking down in embarrassment. “I … well, I’d seen you around, and someone said you were friends with Jess here, and … Look, it’s no big deal.”
“No big deal?” I asked. “Hugh, you came all the way here. To Wiltshire.”
“Only because you left a message telling me not to blackmail you anymore. I didn’t want you telling Giles. That was the other favor I was going to ask you. I’ve turned over a new leaf, you see. I read this book by Jerome D. Rutter, and it really spoke to me. I’ve decided to set myself up as a self-employed life coach. That’s why I wanted to borrow some money. To get things started. I’ve already got three clients—I’ll be able to pay you back in a couple
of months.”
I frowned. “You mean you honestly were just borrowing the money?”
“Yes, I was,” Hugh said miserably. “And now my nose is broken and Giles here obviously thinks I’m the lowest of the low, which I was, I admit, but … but …” He sniffed loudly, and Giles, who was still holding him back from Max, gave a shrug.
“But you’ve changed, right?”
“Right,” Hugh said quietly.
Giles looked at me awkwardly, then shook his head. “I couldn’t,” he said. “Jessica is my friend.”
“You can if you want,” I said, with a little smile.
“Really?” Giles’s eyes lit up. “I mean, really?” he said, trying to sound less excited this time. “Well, maybe one date, then. You know, see how it goes.”
“Did I hear someone say Jerome D. Rutter?” We all turned to see Eric and Caroline emerging from the sitting room. Max grinned at them.
“So you found the place, then?” he asked.
Caroline grinned back. “You’re out of bed!” she said. “Oh, you look so much better.”
“That’s Jess’s doing,” Max said, hobbling toward me and putting an arm around me. “I was missing my perfect wife.”
“Not perfect,” I corrected. “Quite flawed, actually.”
“That makes two of us,” Max insisted.
“Oh, include me in that,” Chester said wholeheartedly. “Jeez, I’m as flawed as they come. I’m a workaholic. Although you’re going to keep that in check, Ivana, right?”
Ivana nodded firmly. “I heff way of meking you do what you’re told,” she said, raising an eyebrow. Then she turned to Sean with a shrug. “End me, mebe I em not so perfect mother. I nid more. I nid more than just bebe.”
“Hey, that’s not a flaw,” Sean said with a sigh. “It’s who you are. It’s a good thing. And I should have known it, too. I knew you were independent, and I tried to turn you into something you’re not. I’m the one who’s flawed.”
“Hey, if we’re talking flaws, I win hands down,” said Dad, who was still standing in the doorway. “I’ve never held on to a job in my life. Or held on to anything, for that matter.”
“Oh, bully for you,” Helen said. “I’ve never held on to a relationship. I chase a man until he commits, and when he does, I get bored. I couldn’t be more flawed.”
“I’m a terrible auditor,” Eric put in, shaking his head sadly. “And I’ve broken the code of auditors, too. Fraternizing with clients. Unforgivable.”
I looked at him curiously. “Is that you talking or Eric the auditor talking?”
He grinned. “Oh, I was back in character,” he said. “But I’m flawed, too. I mean, I’m out of work and in love with someone who’s way out of my league.”
“You are?” Caroline said, looking devastated. “Who?”
“You, dummy,” he said sheepishly.
“Oh, Eric,” she gushed, throwing her arms around him. “I’m not out of your league at all. I’m very flawed, too.”
“You are so not flawed,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“I am, too,” she said, swinging round. “Sometimes I don’t separate my recycling properly. And I haven’t cleaned under my sofa in about a year.”
The two not-Russian-Mafia men looked at each other guiltily. “We’re not the best debt collectors, either, if we’re honest,” one of them said.
The other one nodded. “We wouldn’t really have killed you, Lawrence. We’re good with the threats—”
“But not the follow-through,” the first one cut in sadly.
“So none of us is ideal?” I asked.
We all looked at Mum, who held her head up defiantly. Then she sighed. “Oh, okay, if I must. I suppose I’m not entirely perfect.”
“You’re not?” Chester grinned. “Tell me, my angel, what faults could you possibly have?”
“I’m sometimes too much of a perfectionist,” Mum said airily, then looked down. “And maybe I can be a little on the demanding side.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Chester said warmly. “You demand away.”
“So we’re okay?” I asked Max hopefully. “You forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said quietly. “You are the sweetest, most wonderfully not-quite-perfect girl in the whole wide world.”
“Even though we’re going to fail the audit?” I asked tentatively.
Max chuckled. “Chester, I’m afraid we might have failed your audit. Fact is, we’re a good company—in my view, a great one. But we’re not perfect, so you’re going to have to settle for imperfect if you want to work with us.”
“If he wants to work with us?” I whispered incredulously. “This is Chester we’re talking about. Our number-one client.”
Max shrugged. “And I have enough confidence in us to stand up and speak my mind,” he said into my ear. “So, what do you say, Chester?” he continued, more loudly.
“I say,” Chester said thoughtfully, “that we’re lucky to have such a committed and talented partner in Milton Advertising. And that I’m beginning to realize that sometimes our flaws are what make us great.”
“And the audits are pretty much a load of old hooey,” Eric said with a shrug.
“That, too.” Chester grinned. “Although I will be wanting my money back. Obviously.”
“Whatever,” Eric said. “I’m resigning tomorrow, anyway. Take it up with Josh.”
“So we’re all good?” Chester asked. “Everything’s okay?”
“Everything’s perfect,” I said happily. “Imperfectly perfect.”
Postscript
DAD WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE HOUSE. It does suit me. Actually, it suits us—we moved in just a couple of months ago. That’s Max and me. And mini Wild Wainwright. She isn’t born yet, but she will be in three months, and we couldn’t be more excited. As is Ivana. She’s pregnant with her second, but it hasn’t stopped her being the most formidable personal assistant ever. Chester says he doesn’t know how he coped without her and is spending far more time at home with Mum these days—he’s even gotten his golf handicap down. He’s taking early retirement next year; he says now that he’s married, he doesn’t want to waste a single minute in meetings.
Caroline and Eric are engaged, too, and moving to Hollywood—turns out that although he was a rubbish ethical auditor, he’s actually a very good actor and he’s got a part on a long-running sitcom out there. Caroline’s sad to be leaving Milton Advertising, but as Jerome D. Rutter apparently says, change is to be embraced, because without it things would stay the same. And I thought his book was full of platitudes!
Helen’s doing all right, too. Her new show, Reality Wives, is already a huge hit, and her love life’s looking up. She bumped into Anthony at Mum’s wedding (Mum booked the Hilton’s ballroom for the wedding and didn’t realize how big it was. She needed to boost numbers and invited everyone from Milton Advertising, even Anthony), and the two of them hit it off like wildfire. She asked me if it would be all right, of course, and I told her that she was absolutely welcome to him if she really wanted. And for two commitmentphobes, they’re doing pretty well—even talking about buying a place together.
Hugh and Giles are still an item, although prone to the odd explosive argument. They’ve merged their life-coaching and flower/wedding-planning businesses into one big lifestyle concierge company, and Hugh has paid me back every penny, plus interest.
As for the resource center, it is now the proud owner of a huge building in Clerkenwell, complete with eat-in kitchen, three living areas, and enough beds to cater to a hundred people a night. And I’ve continued to be a companion, although I’m still not sure I’m a very good one. Greta’s looking forward to meeting the baby. She says I can use the place as a nursery when I want to go back to work; she would love nothing more than to take the baby for walks around London.
So while I’m still not an ideal wife—not really—I’m loving my imperfect life.
“Darling? Is supper nearly ready? I’m fam
ished.”
I look at my watch, then smile up at Max. “Should be ready right about now,” I say, standing up.
“You’re sure you don’t want a hand? I can’t help you with anything?” Max asks.
I shake my head. “No. You wait here.”
“I’ll tell you what.” Max grins. “That cookery course you went on was a master stroke. Your lasagna is the best I’ve ever tasted. Maybe you should go back? Learn a few more dishes?”
I shoot him a look. “I thought we agreed—you’re the cook.”
“I know,” Max says, his eyes glinting. “But nothing I make compares to your lasagna, even if you do only make it three times a year.”
“Three times a year is quite enough,” I say firmly. “Makes you appreciate it more, anyway.”
“Fair point,” Max agrees. “Shall I set the table?”
“Thanks, darling,” I say, walking off toward the kitchen.
“Jess? Is that you?” a voice whispers.
“Yes. Are we set?”
“All ready to go,” Mary Armstrong says, appearing from behind the pantry door. “The lasagna is in the oven and the salad’s in a bowl. Are you sure Max doesn’t suspect anything?”
I grin. “Not a thing. See you in four months?”
“Four months,” Mary says, with a little nod. “And you’re absolutely sure you don’t want me to teach you how to make it yourself? It would be so much easier.”
“But then I really would be the perfect wife,” I say, winking. “And everyone knows that perfection isn’t good for anyone.”
GEMMA TOWNLEY is the author of A Wild Affair, The Importance of Being Married, When in Rome …, Little White Lies, Learning Curves, and The Hopeless Romantic’s Handbook. She lives in London with her husband, Mark, and two children.
An Ideal Wife is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Ballantine Books Trade Paperback Original
An Ideal Wife: A Novel Page 22
