A Wife On Paper

by Liz Fielding

  Toby was having his lunch, and she gave him a big hug, admired the pictures he’d made at nursery school, had a tiny bite of the fish finger he offered her and let herself out through the back door to avoid the risk of running into Guy in the hall. She needed a little time to eradicate the image of him lying in the bath, the embarrassment of her berating him in her underwear, before she could face him again.

  As she walked towards the gate, she saw Matty working at her drawing board, undoubtedly catching up with work put on hold while she’d spent time with her.

  Another thing to feel guilty about, she thought as she walked down the road towards the market.

  When she returned, it was Guy she wanted to talk to.

  ‘He go,’ Connie said. ‘I want to make him something nice for lunch, like you say, but he see fish fingers and he eat them with Toby.’

  ‘Good grief. Weren’t they cold?’

  Connie waggled her hand to suggest they had been neither hot nor cold. ‘He say is okay. He make himself sandwich.’

  Guy Dymoke had eaten fish finger sandwiches for his lunch? She decided she didn’t want to go there. It made him seem much too human. As if she needed proof…

  ‘When…’ She cleared her throat. ‘When did he leave?’

  ‘Not long. He stay and talk with Toby until nap time, then he go. He have things to do. He say you not to worry. He take care of everything.’

  That was more like it. Managing, bossy…Somewhere else.

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘He went to see Matty. Maybe he tell her where he go. Maybe he still there?’

  Matty? Something very like jealousy caught in her throat as she remembered how easily the two of them had talked. How he’d smiled at her cousin when he never smiled at her. How Matty had thought him very fanciable…

  She caught herself. That was vile. How could she be jealous of her cousin? She should be glad…

  She was glad. She was just disappointed that Guy wasn’t there, that was all. He’d said she’d been offered a substantial sum to surrender the sole importation rights. She wanted to know how much. Wanted his advice. Because if it was valuable enough for someone to want to pay good money for it as a matter of urgency…

  On the other hand, maybe it was just as well Guy had gone home. She was already beginning to rely on him. He’d made it clear that the company was her concern and she had to start thinking things through for herself. Besides, there were more pressing concerns. If she wasn’t going to marry him she needed to talk to the landlord’s agents. Negotiate a new lease for the house.

  Apparently using nothing but thin air.

  The sooner, the better.

  ‘Right. Well, I’m going to the study.’

  Connie placed her hands on her hips. ‘And when are you going to eat? Tell me that.’

  She’d been saying the same thing every day for weeks. Today she had an answer. ‘I had a bowl of soup while I was out.’

  ‘Ha! My soup not good enough for you?’

  ‘It was a business lunch, Connie.’

  She’d been given a bowl of chicken soup by the owner of the local Chinese restaurant while his teenage son translated the document she’d found. Steven had been very fond of Chinese food and they’d all been so sweet to her. So kind. She’d even managed a couple of mouthfuls of the soup.

  Connie wasn’t impressed by her ‘business lunch’, however. ‘What kind of business you do dressed like that, huh? What would Mr Steven say if he saw you go out like that?’

  ‘Steven isn’t with us any more, Connie. I have to do things my way from now on.’ And it was about time she made a start. ‘I’ll be upstairs if you need me.’

  She phoned Claire to check how things were going.

  ‘The inventory is complete and I’ve found most of the paperwork.’

  ‘Okay, leave it on the desk and lock up. I’ll see you both on Monday.’

  ‘You’re going to carry on?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’ Then, ‘Claire, tell me about the silk goods that Steven’s been importing. I didn’t see anything among the stuff Jason was unpacking.’

  ‘No, the shipments went straight out the moment they arrived. The perfect deal, Steve said.’

  ‘Haven’t you got any samples? A catalogue.’

  ‘Not a catalogue.’

  ‘But surely he must have had something to show buyers?’

  ‘Well, there were a few bits and pieces,’ she admitted.

  ‘And where are they now? Claire?’

  ‘When Steven didn’t… When the company… I thought it was a crime to just let them lie there in a cupboard gathering dust. And it doesn’t matter does it? I mean they were a guaranteed sale. You didn’t need samples—’

  ‘Are you saying that you took them?’ Then, quickly, ‘Look, I don’t mind. I just need to have a look at whatever you’ve got.’

  ‘Well, I gave one of the wrappers to my mother, but I’ve got the other one. I suppose you want it back?’

  ‘No, Claire. You can keep it, but I really need to see it. I want you to go home now and bring it to the house.’

  ‘Now? But that will take for ever and I’ve got a—’

  ‘Claire!’

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  And when she saw the shimmering beauty of the silk, the workmanship, the style, she knew why Claire had taken it home, why those two men were prepared to pay good money for the right to import it directly.

  Focus. That was what Guy had said was lacking in the business. And Steven had found it. Too late for him. But not for her.

  It was one thing to calmly state that she would go into the bank first thing on Monday morning and demonstrate that she was a responsible adult who was determined to take control of her finances—or lack of them—and her business. And ask for backing to finance her plan.

  Quite another to have the bank forestall her with the letter that arrived on Saturday morning, informing her that there were no funds in the account to pay the standing orders, including the one for the rent on the house, and asking her to call in at 10 o’clock on Monday morning to ‘discuss’ her situation.

  She might have wondered if a genuine ‘widow’ would have been summoned in quite such a peremptory fashion, but, having seen the sum involved, she was too busy wishing that she was alone so that she could have howled with unrestrained fury at yet another blow. Especially when she needed the bank on her side.

  Taken by surprise as she’d worked through the post and toyed with some scrambled egg that Connie had forced on her, she’d just had to catch at her breath, bite her lip and be grateful she was sitting down.

  ‘You okay, Fran?’

  Maybe she’d caught her breath rather loudly, because Connie stopped emptying the washing machine and turned to look at her. ‘Bad news,’ she said, without waiting for an answer. ‘I make you a nice cup of tea.’

  ‘No. It’s fine, really. Nothing,’ she said, scooping up the mail and forcing herself to her feet. ‘I just need to…’

  What?

  What could she do?

  She found her throat closing with rage, frustration, the need to weep, when she knew she didn’t have the time for such luxuries as self-pity. Until today her ‘situation’, whilst bleak, had not appeared to be so imminently close to disaster. While she couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for marketing frogs or lamps she wouldn’t give house room, the silk was something else. All night her mind had been running hot with ideas.

  She’d been through the recycling box looking through newspapers—it was too late for magazines—for the names of the editors of the women’s pages. The ones with the power to put products in front of millions of eager consumers. Christmas was coming…

  She’d still been living in cloud-cuckoo-land, she realised. Despite the revelations of the past week she’d been wilfully blind to the size of the disaster that had overtaken them. It was definitely time to come down to earth. No matter how hard the landing might be.

  ‘I’ll be upstai
rs,’ she said.

  ‘Okay. It do you good to lie down.’

  ‘No…’

  ‘Toby and I make cakes. We bring you tea when you wake up.’

  ‘I’ll be in the study, Connie,’ she said, knowing that it was useless to argue. Connie was simply trying to help, but it was going to take a lot more than tea to fix the mess they were in.

  Right now, a miracle would be good, she thought, gathering up the mail and shutting herself away in the tiny study.

  Then she looked at the glowing silks lying across the chair. They held out the possibility of a miracle, but not one that would arrive soon enough to save her. Save any of them.

  ‘Oh, Steven! Why didn’t you bring one of these home for me? If I’d known…’

  But she knew why. Ship the stuff in and ship it out again before you have to pay for it. That had been his strategy. It had worked for frogs.

  This was different.

  But it would have to be her long-term, comeback strategy. Her future. And Toby’s. Right now she needed hard cash, and quickly, or she was going to have to marry Guy to save her family and friends from disaster and what had once been an impossible dream, locked in the deepest recesses of her heart where she never dared go, would become the darkest of nightmares.

  Not before she’d examined every other option, she swore. There had to be another way.

  She picked up a legal pad, drew a line down the centre, and at the top of one side she wrote ‘Assets’, and on the other side, ‘Liabilities’.

  What assets did she have? Her jewellery, mostly. Maybe some of those designer evening gowns could be sold through a dress agency. They had some good pieces of furniture—

  Then she realised with another shock that, but for a couple of pieces she’d bought herself, some pictures, she didn’t even own that. The house had been furnished when Steven had ‘bought’ it.

  Now all she needed was to find out that the diamonds he’d lavished on her when Toby was born, on their first anniversary in the house, for any excuse, it had seemed, were cubic zirconium and she’d be in the situation Connie had been in before she’d taken her in.

  Broke and homeless. Except it wouldn’t just be her.

  And who would give a damn? Certainly not any of the people they’d socialised with. The women she’d wasted time with at the gym. And when Guy pushed himself into her thoughts, saying, ‘I care…’, she shoved him right back out again and began on the list of liabilities. It was a relief when the telephone rang, interrupting her.

  ‘Francesca, it’s Guy.’

  Almost a relief.

  For a moment her mouth opened and closed in an attempt to say something. Finally she managed, ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m glad we’re both in agreement about that. I wondered if you had any plans for today.’

  ‘I’m sorting out Steven’s study,’ she said quickly. She needed time, a lot of time, before she could look him in the eye without a blush. ‘There’s so much to do.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind if I take Toby out.’

  ‘Toby?’

  Of course, Toby. He wanted to bond with his nephew. Why would he want to take her anywhere? He was going to have to marry…

  ‘To the zoo, or something,’ he said.

  ‘The zoo? Oh, please!’

  ‘You object? Is that on idealistic grounds? Or are you unhappy with me taking him anywhere? I’d understand, of course. You scarcely know me.’

  She knew him. Had known him from the moment she’d set eyes on him. Had been hiding from the fact ever since…

  ‘A fact that doesn’t stop you from expecting me to marry you.’

  ‘That’s different. Purely business and—’

  ‘And I’ve done it before. Thanks for reminding me. I hope you’ll be easier to divorce.’

  There was the slightest pause before he replied. ‘Of course. The minute you’re back on your feet. It will be a simple matter of annulment for non-consummation.’

  Non-consummation.

  Well. Great. Why on earth was she hesitating?

  ‘So, what’s your objection to the zoo?’ he pressed.

  ‘Nothing, I suppose. It’s just that it sounds too much like something an every-other-weekend parent would do.’ Then, because she’d been abrupt, and because Matty was right, Toby needed a masculine presence in his life, ‘You mustn’t feel you have to take him out to see him. You’re welcome to come here any time.’

  ‘Thank you. I appreciate that, but indulge me for today. I’m new at being an uncle and it was his birthday a few days ago. I understand a treat is mandatory on these occasions. Something involving burgers, ice cream and chocolate?’

  ‘When I mentioned his birthday I didn’t mean…’

  ‘I know you didn’t. I was well aware of the date. So, is there anything he’d especially like to do?’

  ‘Well, I suppose you could take him on the London Eye. He’d love that.’

  ‘What about you? Would you love it too?’ His voice was unexpectedly gentle. ‘You could come along and keep an eye on me.’

  It was just as well she’d chosen the Eye so she couldn’t be tempted to change her mind.

  ‘Wouldn’t that rather defeat the object of this male bonding exercise?’ Then, as the doorbell chimed, ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go; there’s someone at the door. When can we expect you? I don’t want to get him over-excited by telling him too soon.’

  ‘I won’t be long,’ he promised.

  She hung up. Sat for a moment, trying to gather herself, then, as the doorbell sounded again Connie shouted, ‘You get that please, Fran?’

  ‘No problem.’ She leapt to her feet and ran downstairs, flinging back the door.

  Guy was leaning against a late model Saab, talking into his cellphone and, as she watched, he put away his wallet, flicked the phone shut and reached into the car to pick up Toby’s football. Then he turned and saw her. And, like her, seemed momentarily lost for words.

  Then he locked the car and walked up the steps towards her. ‘I was beginning to wonder if you’d seen me and made a break for it out the back way,’ he said.

  ‘No… It was…’

  Toby, hurtling through from the kitchen, rescued her from the necessity of having to say anything. ‘Have you come to play f’ball?’ he demanded, as she caught him before he could fling himself, covered in cake mixture, into Guy’s arms.

  ‘Maybe later,’ he replied, crouching down so that he was on Toby’s level before handing the ball to him. ‘First we’re going out to have some fun. If you’d like to?’

  ‘Is Mummy coming, too?’

  ‘Uncle Guy is going to take you on the London Eye, Toby,’ Fran said quickly, before Guy could answer him. ‘Just the two of you. But not before I’ve cleaned you up. Come on, upstairs with you.’

  ‘Sure you won’t come with us?’ Guy said, when she returned with Toby, face shining, hair neatly brushed. ‘You look as if you’re the one who could do with a break.’

  ‘I may not be wearing black but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to—’

  ‘At the very least some fresh air,’ he said, cutting off her excuse as if he knew it was just that. An excuse. ‘You need to get rid of that sickroom pallor.’

  ‘I can get that sitting peacefully in the garden while you’re practising being an uncle. And when you’ve got the hang of that, take a few years to work on your compliment skills.’ Then, quickly, before he was tempted to prove that he could pay a compliment along with the best of them, ‘Okay. There are just three rules.’ And she went through her ‘no’ list, ticking them off on her fingers. ‘No fizzy drinks. No chocolate. No fries.’

  ‘Are we allowed to laugh?’ he asked.

  ‘Okay. Be clever. Give him whatever you want. I just hope you think it’s funny when he throws up all over you.’

  ‘No fizzy drinks, no chocolate, no fries. You’ve got it. Say goodbye to Mummy, Toby,’ he said, opening the door.

  ‘Bye, Mummy,’ Toby said, looking back suddenly uncertain as Gu
y lifted him into the back of the car. She wanted to go and snatch him back. Not let him out of her sight.

  ‘Bye, darling,’ she said, fixing a reassuring smile to her face. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  Guy, concentrating on the seatbelt, said, ‘Oh, by the way, in case I forget, there’ll be a surveyor coming to look at the house some time next week. He’ll ring and make an appointment first.’

  The blood drained from her face. ‘A surveyor?’

  He closed the car door, walked around to the driving seat. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. I took a look at the extension and it seems sound enough, but I’d rather have a structural survey. He’ll be able to sort out the planning requirements, too. Among other things.’

  ‘What things?’ Fran who, in an effort not to appear overprotective, had remained at the top of the steps, now wished she’d gone down with them to check the seatbelts, make a nuisance of herself fussing like any decent mother should. ‘Why would you care whether the extension is sound or not?’ she demanded.

  ‘I care because I’ve bought the house.’

  And with that he got into the car, closed the door and, by the time she’d managed to gain some control over her bottom lip and close her mouth, restart her brain, he was already halfway down the street.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THIS would have been the perfect moment to hail a passing black taxi and say, ‘Follow that car!’

  Guy couldn’t just drop a bombshell like that and then drive away. She wanted an explanation. She wanted to know what the devil he thought he was doing and she wanted to know now!

  By some miracle—and she was certainly due one—a cruising taxi appeared just when she needed one and she hailed it. The drama of the moment was somewhat spoiled, however, by the fact that women didn’t walk around with wallets in their hip pockets.

  Guy’s car was long out of sight by the time she’d fetched her bag and she had to content herself with, ‘The London Eye, please. As quickly as you can. It’s an emergency.’