Busy Woman Seeks Wife (25 page)

“Oh God, I’m not ready!” Saff could hear herself squeak. She felt sick with nerves.

“You’ll be fab. That banana-and-pistachio is to die for. Good on his ex’s mother—at least it wasn’t a total waste of Frankie’s
time. The bars are divine too and the Florentines. Well, if we don’t get going I’m going to eat them. They will love you.
Grab my phone, will you?” Ella made for the door, and Saff, grabbing the mobile off the table and her bag, scuttled after
her. She felt exhausted, having spent the past hour trying to keep up with Ella’s random thought processes. She could jump
from subject to subject with more agility than even Millie, and that was saying something. While Saff had baked and Ella had
“helped,” a process that involved asking where everything lived and sticking her fingers into bowls, they’d covered topics
ranging from nail polish to Mike her old boss to softball, subjects that had somehow blended seamlessly together.

Before getting into her little car, Saff repacked the basket and secured it more firmly in the trunk than had Ella, who was
now sitting in the passenger seat and going through Saff’s CDs, cataloging them as “good,” “crap,” “never heard of them.”
It made Saff smile. Oh, the ignorance of youth. She did, however, declare her Fatboy Slim CD to be “bangin,” so Saff didn’t
let on it was actually Oscar’s.

“Right, where first?” Ella turned in her seat, her lime green overall shorts, striped T-shirt and outrageously over-the-top
dark glasses making her look like a cross between Dame Edna Everage and a latter-day punk rocker.

“Well, looking at you, I don’t think Harrods, do you?”

Ella pulled down the sunshade to squint into the little makeup mirror. “I don’t know. I think I look totally cutting-edge.
The new face of cakes.”

Saff snorted. “OK, where do
you
think we should start?” The car was stiflingly hot and beginning to fill with the smell of baking. If they weren’t quick,
the chocolate on the Florentines would begin to melt and her offerings would trickle off the plates.

“What about that lush-looking place on Northcote Road? The one that sells those yummy sandwiches and criminally overpriced
chips. How can anyone charge that much for fried potatoes? And the chutneys! Have you seen them? These guys are charging about
six quid for something my gran used to make! Bollocks, I call it.”

“Quite,” said Saff, and pulled out into traffic. She felt racked with uncertainty. Ella, who wasn’t really the one putting
herself on the line, was so confident and had talked all morning about how all the local delis and cafés would demand her
baking and in no time: “Just you wait, you’ll be rushed off your feet and Max will have to make do with a microwave dinner.”
At first her enthusiasm had rubbed off a little bit on Saff, who began to believe it was entirely possible that she made the
best biscuits “on the planet,” but now the reality of what they were doing hit home and she felt stupid. These people would
think she was some homely, bored wife trying to make a bit of pin money selling the odd cake. And they’d be right. She wasn’t
cut out for this.

“Sorry—it’s Max’s car that has the air con,” she sighed, opening the windows front and back.

Ella pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head. She looked flushed and pretty. “It is scorching, isn’t it? I had a holiday
job once in one of those farm parks. You know, the ones with rare breed sheep and cafés called the Granary or some nonsense.
Anyway, it was boiling that summer and I had to rub suncream into a pig.”

Saff smiled. “You’ll be ideally suited to marriage then.” She looked sideways at Ella and they both snorted with laughter.

“Oh, your Max isn’t too bad. Look at
him
, for example.” Ella pointed to a fat bloke on the pavement wearing a white vest, football shorts, sandals and socks. “You
could have ended up with that in bed next to you every night. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the great British male. Rock
god and babe magnet.” Winding down the window, she put her fingers between her lips and wolf-whistled so loudly everyone on
the pavement stopped what they were doing to turn and stare at the two women shrieking with laughter in the small blue Renault.

Around the corner, Saff pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. “Right, we’re here.” She let her hands fall
into her lap and looked in terror at the racing-green-painted shop front of the deli, with its luscious baskets of fruit and
vegetables outside, small bay trees in wooden tubs and an A-board sign advertising organic ice cream. On the window was written
in white paint a mouthwatering list of goodies sold inside. The whole place had an air of such confidence and conviction.

“Ella, it was sweet of you to be so encouraging, but I don’t think I can do this.” She turned beseechingly to the girl next
to her.

Ella looked at the shop for a moment, then turned back to Saff. “The thing about life is, Saff, if you don’t make the opportunities,
no other sod is going to give them to you. That place is probably run by some preppy young Ivy League guy with a double-barreled
name and a tiny todger. You could run rings around him. What’s the worst he can say? No? Go on, Saff. Give it a go. And if
he turns you down, we’ll eat the lot and go to the pub.” And leaning over Saff, she pulled the handle to open the car door.

F
rankie thought he could probably get used to this kind of life. If he’d been able to relax about the audition, he might even
have enjoyed it. The air-conditioned offices, constant meetings, conference calls and working lunches all had a kind of glamour
because they were so unfamiliar. He had been shadowing Alex closely for the past two days and the more time he spent with
her, the more amazed he was by her command of the endless stream of figures that flowed over her desk and by the agility of
her thoughts, and her confidence in covering every facet of the launch. What he was less confident about though was that there
was someone out to get her. As hard as he tried, he could find no evidence of it. If anything she was treated with respect.

In the lunch break, Frankie had started cultivating friendships with other employees, hoping to gauge their attitude towards
Alex. It hadn’t been too hard, because as far as anyone knew he was completely new to the company with no prior connection
to Alex at all. The intricacies of office politics were not so unlike the jockeying for position he’d sometimes encountered
in the theater, although it seemed a bit more subtle here. He was suspicious of everyone, despite Peter being Alex’s Suspect
Number One, but, so far, no one had come into work wearing a black hat. Accordingly, he rolled his eyes just a little when
Alex asked him to do a batch of photocopying, smiled wryly when she sent him to retrieve her notes from another office and
hesitated just long enough when she got up and expected him to follow her out of the room, hoping to flush someone out. He
had to look willing, as a student would, to acquaint himself with every part of the business, but he had to give just a hint
that he felt some of what Alex was asking him to do was beneath him. The hardest thing, so far, had been treating Alex with
polite indifference. That was almost beyond him, and he feared he might be going a little over the top by way of compensation.

Late last night on the phone, they had analyzed the day’s events, raking over them for clues, but Alex had seemed distant
and a little distracted. It was too much of a risk for them to be seen together, though, so they arrived and left separately,
and never ate together at the office unless someone else was there. Frankie was pouring coffee in the small kitchen when Gavin
zipped in. Alex’s description of him as a hyperactive, spoiled toddler was absolutely spot on.

“Ah, good! Making yourself at home, I see. Got your feet under the desk all right? Bit of a busy time for us, so hope you
don’t mind if we just let you get on with things. Just observing, aren’t you? How’s Alex treating you? Not too much of a slave
driver?” God, this man spoke in nothing but clichés.

Frankie smiled warmly and prepared himself to speak the same lingo. “Yes, thanks, Gavin. I’m really enjoying the challenges
of working in this environment. Everyone’s been very welcoming. I really appreciate the opportunity to be a part of the team,
especially at a time as crucial as this launch.”

Gavin paused significantly. Any pause had to be considered significant with Gavin. “Yes, yes. How’s Alex today? I haven’t
seen her yet. I need her to give me the heads-up on how things are going. If you see her in the next few minutes, can you
ask her to drop by? Nothing major, nothing major. Just want to touch base, y’know. Actually, I’ll go and see her now.” And
he darted out again.

Frankie picked up both mugs and wove his way through the desks to give Camilla hers. She smiled warmly at him and indicated
a pile of printouts. “Thanks, Frankie, you’re a lifesaver. Those are the running times Alex prepared for the meeting today.
I’ve just tidied them up for her and done a spreadsheet. I think she wanted them distributed beforehand so everyone could
look over them. Do you want to grab a copy?”

Frankie frowned at the pile. “Bit short notice, isn’t it? Did you have to come in early to get those together?”

Camilla shook her head, setting her blonde ponytail wagging. Her pretty face reminded him of a girl he’d been in love with
at primary school. “Oh, only a bit, and it’s no trouble at all. I think Alex wanted the very latest data and that’s fair enough.
Alex is so on the ball. So thorough! Here, can you drop a copy in to Peter as you’re going past? He’s just over there.”

Frankie gave her his best smile. “ ’Course I can. Anyone else on the list? I’m heading thataway.” He indicated the corner
conference room with the double black doors.

“Oh yes, if you don’t mind. I’ve labeled the copies. Thanks, Frankie. That’ll save me a few minutes.”

“No worries. Hey, what are you doing for lunch today? I thought I might go out and get a coffee that didn’t come in corporate
polystyrene. Whadya say?”

Camilla tilted her head to one side and considered Frankie for a moment, then smiled slowly. “Yeah, why not? In fact, I’d
like that. But it’ll have to be a quickie. I shouldn’t be away from my desk for too long. Actually, maybe I’d better check
with Alex first, okay?”

Frankie smiled and nodded, then walked briskly away with the copies. Peter put the phone down quickly and stood up as Frankie
stuck his head around his desk partition. “Yes? Are you looking for someone?” He looked tanned and fit. Alex had said he looked
“hungry,” and she was right. There was something nakedly ambitious about him. Too obvious a suspect?

Frankie grinned disarmingly. “You! I’ve got the details for today’s meeting. Alex thought you might like to look them over
first.”

“Oh, did she now? And who are you? Her new messenger boy?”

“No!” Frankie hoped he didn’t sound too defensive. “I’m doing a thesis…”

“Oh yes?” Peter’s eyebrows were raised. “Another professional student. What’s this one about then?” He crossed his arms and
waited.

“Strategic planning. New European model.” Frankie tried to sound assertive.

“Sounds like bollocks to me,” Peter snorted. “Who’s it for?”

Frankie blanked. “Er, the Beckett Institute. I’m studying under Professor Godot.” He held his breath, aware his eyebrows were
frozen someone near his hairline. Please, God, don’t let this man know anything about the theater. There was a long pause.

“Right.” Peter extended a hand. “Well, let’s have a look.” Peter scanned the sheet rapidly, ignoring Frankie. “Mmm.” He frowned.
“Doesn’t seem very thorough to me. Perhaps our little friend is spreading herself too thin these days.” After a moment of
casually turning the pages he looked up, almost surprised to see Frankie was still there. “Something else I can do for you?”

Frankie shook his head, grinned cheerfully and left. Tosser. But maybe a dangerous tosser. He’d be best off acting the village
idiot around Peter to try to break through that supercilious shell.

Godot indeed!