An Ideal Wife: A Novel

by Gemma Townley

  “And your current role, deputizing for Mr. Wainwright. Was that role advertised?”

  “No, but he broke his leg only Saturday, so …”

  “Indeed,” Eric said smugly. “What about drinking? Drugs?”

  “What about them?” I said, my voice catching slightly.

  “There is no drinking or drug-taking here,” Anthony said with a sigh. “Disappointing, I know, but—”

  “Perhaps not on the premises,” Eric said curtly. “But your receptionist is a party girl, I understand. Is regularly late on Mondays. Have you looked into this? Have you offered her rehabilitation for her habits? Counseling?”

  Anthony shrugged and looked at me with a grin. “I don’t know. Do you offer counseling, Jess?”

  I shook my head in confusion. “Counseling? Because she goes out on Saturday night?”

  Anthony winked at me and wandered off. Eric was tutting to himself. “Saturday night does not usually lead to a Monday hangover,” he said. “No, I can see that you are oblivious to the cries for help from your staff. As for the root cause, I will need to assess the stress that your employees are under, Ms. Wild Wainwright. If your company culture is driving them to alcohol dependency, to drug addiction, then that is a very serious matter.”

  “Driving people to drugs?” I asked incredulously. “But … but—”

  “And Anthony Milton,” Eric said before I could finish. “Is that the Milton in the company name?”

  I nodded. “It used to be Anthony’s firm,” I said stiffly. “But Max bought it and—”

  “Yet he is back here working. I’d like to see the details of the financial settlement,” Eric said, closing his notebook. “The tax accounts. We don’t like to see sales of businesses used as tax-avoidance schemes.”

  “There wasn’t any tax avoidance; Max just bought the business, end of story,” I said, irritated now. “This is a good company, and Max has worked really hard to make it the best advertising firm in London.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that,” Eric said smoothly. “We’ll certainly get to the truth of the matter. I just hope for your sake that there aren’t any real problems.”

  I took a deep breath as I imagined what would happen if we failed the audit. It would be all over the press, we’d lose our clients, and the business would be ruined. I wanted to kick that horrible man out onto the street, never allow him to return. But I knew it wasn’t going to happen. Instead, I had to make sure we didn’t fail. For Max’s sake. “Mr. Sandler,” I said, forcing myself to calm down. “Look, I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot here. What you’re doing is important, and we want to help you in any way we can. So why doesn’t Caroline here help you to set up some interviews, then in a couple of days—when you’ve spoken to people and gotten a better feel of the place—you can assess how long you need to stay?”

  Eric looked at me suspiciously, as though I’d asked him to let a hardened criminal out of prison or something. “Well,” he said, after a pause. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”

  “Great,” I said, sighing with relief. “That’s great.”

  He walked off and I turned to Caroline anxiously. “Keep Anthony away from him,” I said. “Millie’s on holiday for two weeks. Give Anthony her desk upstairs. Okay?”

  Caroline nodded quickly and jumped up. “Okay,” she said, in that earnest way of hers that made me want to hug her. “I’ll tell him right away.”

  Chapter 10

  “YOU’VE REALLY NEVER watched Doctors? It’s genius. It’s about these doctors, you see. Isn’t it, Emily?”

  I cleared my throat. I was at the hospital, exhausted; I wanted to talk to Max about the audit, about the hideous day I’d had, about how I only just got the salaries off in time and nearly missed an important meeting at 11:30 A.M. because I hadn’t even looked that far into his schedule. I wanted to tell him all the crappy things that had happened, the snide remarks from Eric, the trouble I’d had trying to figure out the company’s pension scheme, the fact that I hadn’t eaten a thing all day because I’d been so rushed off my feet. But I couldn’t; I didn’t want to bother Max with any of it. And, anyway, he was still away with the fairies. I’d never seen him so relaxed. Me, I was a bundle of nerves. There was so much adrenaline coursing through my veins, I felt like I’d drunk ten cups of coffee; I was almost tempted to ask for a shot of Max’s painkillers for myself.

  “No, I’ve never watched it,” I said, attempting a relaxed smile, which was easier said than done. For one thing, I didn’t feel remotely relaxed, and for another, Emily was sitting on the chair next to Max’s bed, forcing me to perch on the bed, and there wasn’t much room what with Max and his broken leg taking up most of it.

  “Max loves it, don’t you, Max?” Emily said, grinning.

  “Actually, what Max really loves is current affairs,” I said. “News, mostly.”

  “News?” Max shook his head. “Too depressing. What’s that other one I like, Emily? The one with the woman.”

  “Murder, She Wrote,” Emily enthused.

  Max nodded happily. “That’s the one. Brilliant. Sheer genius.” Then his face clouded over slightly. “You got here very late,” he said. “There’s only an hour of visiting time left.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just been a really long day, and I didn’t manage to leave the office until about half an hour ago,” I said. “But I’m here now!”

  “Yes,” Max said. “Anyway, it’s okay, because Emily has been here to look after me.” He smiled at her goofily, and she smiled right back at him. I shifted uncomfortably on the bed, telling myself to relax and stop being so paranoid. Emily was a nurse; of course she was looking after him. I should be pleased that she was keeping him occupied, pleased that he wasn’t stressed out or worried about work. And I was pleased. Sort of. If she’d only get off that chair …

  “Well, thank you, Emily,” I said brightly. “You’re obviously doing a great job. Max is looking much better already.”

  Emily turned her attention to me. “Oh, that’s what I’m here for. And I enjoy what I do. Max has been in a lot of pain,” she said. “It’s not easy being stuck in a hospital bed all day on your own.”

  I looked at her steadily. Was she suggesting that I should have been here earlier? No, of course she wasn’t, I chided myself. “I know,” I said, forcing myself to be pleasant. “It must be awful. But at least I’m keeping everything at work on track so he doesn’t have to worry about that.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Emily said. “Isn’t it, Max?”

  Max smiled dopily. “Jess is quite brilliant,” he said.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, reddening with pleasure and shooting a little triumphant smile at Emily. “I’m not really.”

  “Yes, you are,” Max said, nodding vigorously. Then he grinned. “At work, I mean.” He turned to Emily. “She can’t cook very well. Burns everything. Don’t you, Jess?”

  My smile faltered slightly. “I’m not the greatest cook,” I admitted.

  “Not the greatest?” Max laughed. “You went on a cookery course and still burned the lasagna!” He carried on laughing, evidently pleased with his joke.

  I, on the other hand, was failing to see the funny side. “Cooking isn’t really my forte,” I said tightly.

  “Emily cooks,” Max said. “She brought me in homemade biscuits this afternoon. What were they again?” He turned to Emily, who winked.

  “Ginger snaps. And you’d better not eat too many, you know. With your leg like that, you can’t exercise, and we don’t want you getting tubby.”

  I stared at her indignantly. “Max can eat what he wants,” I said. “He’s not going to get tubby. And even if he did, I wouldn’t care.”

  “She would.” Max winked conspiratorially. “That’s why she doesn’t cook: Doesn’t want me turning into a tubby tubster. Did you bring me anything to eat, Jess?” I shook my head uncomfortably. I’d been planning to bring flowers, biscuits, a selection of books by Max’s favorite auth
ors. But I hadn’t had time to get anything. “See?” Max said to Emily. “Case closed.”

  He was grinning and I knew he was joking, knew he thought he was being really funny. But it didn’t feel funny. It felt awful, like I was just one big letdown. I didn’t want him teasing me about my cooking and highlighting my failures. I was meant to be the ideal wife, and instead I was an abject failure. Unlike bloody Emily, who could do everything. She probably made great soup, too.

  I looked at her disconcertedly. “So, look, Emily. Thanks so much for looking after Max so well. But you must have other patients to see,” I said. “I can take things from here.”

  “Oh, of course,” Emily said, quickly standing up. “I’m so sorry—you want time alone. I’m awful like that. I’m really very sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Max said, frowning. “Jess didn’t mean she wants you to go, did you, Jess?”

  I cleared my throat. “No, of course not,” I lied. “I was just saying that there’s no need for her to stay if … you know, if she’s got other people to look after.”

  “To be honest, my shift ended an hour ago.” Emily shrugged. “But Max here looked so lonely I thought I’d stay.”

  “You’re not even working at the moment?”

  “Going beyond the call of duty is what she’s doing,” Max said, shaking his head in admiration. “And people moan about the NHS. Incredible, isn’t it?”

  “Incredible,” I agreed. Max opened his mouth to say something, then appeared to change his mind. His eyes started to close and I wanted to lean over and kiss him, but I couldn’t. Not with her in the room. Not when I was perching so awkwardly on the bed. “Emily,” I asked instead, “do you have a boyfriend? A husband?”

  She rolled her eyes. “With this job? Not likely, the hours I work. Haven’t got time to meet men.”

  “What a shame,” I said.

  “Travesty,” Max said, his eyes opening again. “Jess works long hours, too. That’s how we met. At work.”

  “Is it?” Emily asked interestedly. “That’s nice.”

  “Very nice,” agreed Max. “Jess is very, very nice.”

  I blushed happily. “Well, I’m sure you’ll meet someone eventually,” I said to Emily, feeling a sudden surge of warmth toward her. If she was looking after him, who was I to complain? After all, I wanted him to be happy. That’s all that mattered.

  “I hope so,” Emily said dreamily. “So what work do you do?”

  “We’re in advertising,” I said. “Max is the chief executive of an advertising agency, and I’m an account director.”

  “Sounds very glamorous,” Emily said.

  I shrugged. “It can be. Most of the time it’s just work, though. Like any job.”

  Emily nodded. “That’s what I love about my job,” she said. “It’s so fulfilling.”

  “So’s advertising,” I said quickly. “You know, devising a campaign that really fits with a company’s strategy, that moves their brand forward.”

  Emily laughed. “Oh, I wouldn’t know about that. I’m not into strategy myself, only into looking after people. The managers here talk about strategy, but what they mean is cutting costs, spending all the money on audits instead of care. Crazy, isn’t it?”

  Max’s eyes opened wide. “Audit,” he said, looking at me. “Tomorrow.”

  I shook my head. “Today,” I said with an uncomfortable smile.

  “No, tomorrow,” Max said.

  “He turned up early. Said he likes to surprise people.”

  Max frowned. “Really? That’s not very friendly.”

  “Not really,” I agreed. His brow creased; he looked as if he was having trouble formulating a complex sentence. “Don’t worry, Max. It was fine. It’s going to be fine. It’s all under control,” I said quickly.

  A look of relief crossed his face. “So grateful, Jess,” he said, his eyes closing again. “Depending on you. Can’t screw up. Can’t.”

  “We won’t,” I said gently.

  “Have to pass,” Max said dreamily, then started to snore.

  “I guess that’s my cue to leave,” I said, looking at my watch. It was 9:00 P.M.; visitors’ hours had just ended.

  “Guess so,” Emily said. “We’ll see you tomorrow, will we?”

  “Of course,” I said, trying not to be bothered by her use of the word “we.” And by the fact that she was still here in Max’s room.

  “I’ll let him know.” Emily smiled. “Bye, Jessica.”

  “Bye, Emily,” I said, then took one last look at my sleeping Max before leaving the room.

  I didn’t feel like going home—not right away. All that waited at home for me was yet another microwave meal and a big empty bed that didn’t have Max in it. Instead, I found myself stopping by RES. I might not be the perfect wife, I decided—not yet, at least—but I could at least try to be a good Samaritan.

  The place was buzzing when I got there. If it had seemed on the small side the day before, tonight it seemed tiny. People were everywhere—sitting down, shuffling around, spooning food into hungry-looking mouths.

  I saw Christina standing by the entrance to the kitchen and waved; she shot me a big smile.

  “Hi!” I said, as I made my way toward her. “Busy tonight?”

  “Every night,” she said. “This is our busiest time—people wanting to sleep here, others looking for a hot meal before they brave the streets again. Come to hear some stories, have you?”

  I smiled. “Absolutely.” Then I looked at her seriously. “The truth is, I’ve been thinking.”

  “Oh, Bernard, be careful with that, will you? It’s very hot. Sorry, Jess, what were you saying?”

  I cleared my throat. “I was thinking that I could help you. More than just being a companion, I mean. I get that you’re not interested in a strategic alliance with any financial institutions or anything that might require press attention. But how about I try to work up some kind of official agreement with a major supermarket? They would probably be happy to supply you with food if we can sell it to them as a corporate-responsibility initiative. They love putting that kind of stuff in their annual reports, and you could get all the vegetables you need. What do you think?”

  Christina didn’t say anything for a moment, then she smiled at me. “You know,” she said, “being a companion is really important.”

  “Oh, I know that,” I said quickly. “I mean, obviously it’s a very significant role. And it’s not that I don’t want to do it. I do. Definitely. I just want to, you know, add some real value. And this is what I’m good at. I could set up a meeting and we could see what comes out of it and—”

  “Thanks, Jess,” Christina said, putting her hand on mine. “I appreciate it, truly. But the thing is, I don’t think we’re interested in being some supermarket’s corporate-responsibility initiative, you know? We have to think long term. We have to protect the people here.”

  “But they’d be protected; they’d just have more vegetables!” I said enthusiastically. “I could put in a call—”

  “Bernard! I told you that was hot …” Christina’s face fell as Bernard, an old stooped man, spilled coffee on his hand; she rushed to help him. “Thanks, Jess. But, honestly, where you can add value is in being a companion. If that’s okay? Now, Bernard, we need to get your hand under a cold tap. You have to be careful, do you hear me? Your arthritis isn’t getting better, and you can’t go picking up hot cups of coffee like that …”

  “Sure. That’s fine,” I said, my shoulders slumping slightly. “No problem at all.”

  I wandered into the living room and sat down on a chair. No one even looked at me; they certainly didn’t try to talk to me. I felt very heavy all of a sudden. I wasn’t looking after Max properly and I’d totally screwed up the audit at work. Now I couldn’t even be a good companion—and that wasn’t a proper volunteer job, anyway; it was just a consolation prize to make me feel better about the fact that I couldn’t cook or put up shelves. I sighed. Maybe I should go home after all,
I thought. Maybe the best place for me was my big, empty bed.

  I yawned and stood up.

  “You look tired.”

  I frowned. I hadn’t noticed the man sitting two seats away from me—he was slight, with a full head of dark hair and a scrawny face that looked as if it had over-ripened in the sun.

  “I am,” I said with a little smile. “I think I’m going to be off now.”

  “You can … you can have my bed if you want,” he said. “I’ve got one tonight. You don’t want to be out on the streets, a nice girl like you.”

  I reddened awkwardly. “The streets? Me? Oh no. I’m not … I’m helping out here. I … I have a home.”

  “Oh,” the man said, looking embarrassed. “Right. Well, that’s good, then. That’s really good.” He looked down at the ground studiously.

  “It is good, yes,” I said, biting my lip. “You … enjoy your bed, okay? And thanks for the offer.”

  “Yeah,” the man said, not meeting my eyes. I slowly made my way out of the center. It was good, I thought, chastened. And it wasn’t a bad idea to remember that sometimes.

  Chapter 11

  THE NEXT MORNING I arrived at work to find Eric waiting for me with a long list in his hand.

  “It’s a checklist,” he said, handing it to me. “A checklist of all the information I need.”

  “Right,” I replied uncertainly. I hadn’t even had my coffee yet; I wasn’t ready to review a checklist. “Well, I’ll just take a look at it, shall I, and get back to you?”

  Looking slightly disappointed that I wasn’t reviewing it then and there, Eric shrugged. “I’ll need all that information by close of business today,” he said, hovering over me. “So don’t delay too long.”

  I took a deep breath and walked to my desk. The problem with Eric Sandler, I’d already decided, was that he was a lurker. And I hated lurking. I couldn’t bear the way he skulked around the place, listening in on conversations, lying in wait like a panther—or like a weasel pretending to be a panther, since there was absolutely nothing panther-like about him. It was as if he was determined to find something untoward that someone, somewhere, was doing. And when I say someone, I really mean me. Call me paranoid, but every time I looked up, he was there. He always had a cast-iron excuse—liaising with Caroline over the interview schedule, checking his database against the one on Caroline’s system, asking her how the coffee machine worked, when it was obvious that you just pressed the button that said Coffee. But those eyes of his—furtive and gloating, all at once, which you’d think was impossible but, believe me, isn’t—were always staring beadily at me, his ears pricked up to listen in on my telephone conversations and to watch my every move.