Busy Woman Seeks Wife (16 page)

Frankie stuck his head around the kitchen door as Saff walked in. Mmm, wasn’t it a shame indeed that she was married, because
he was really very attractive, and even more so now that he had a bit of an early summer tan and had lost the woebegone-actor
look.

“Saff, how you doing?” He leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“You smell of baking.” Saff dumped her bag down. “Let me put the kettle on.”

“Do I? I’m just doing some brownies. The mistress has demanded them.”

Saff put the kettle under the tap. “The Bean? I thought she ate like a sparrow. Anything I’ve ever baked for her she’s left
to go moldy in the tin.”

Frankie laughed as he stirred the gooey mixture in the bowl with a wooden spoon. “No, not that mistress. The Absent One. She
Who Must Be Obeyed.”

“Oh, I see—yes, she’s very partial to a bit of home baking.” Saff leaned back against the worktop, folded her arms and watched
him work. This was a novelty. The most Max ever did was make toast.

Frankie scooped the mixture out into a baking tray. “Well, it must be someone else’s baking because judging by the equipment
in this place she never does more than make tea. I even had to buy this spoon.”

Saff laughed. “Sounds like Alex, far too busy to eat.”

“What’s she like, this friend of yours? I feel like I’m looking after a ghost sometimes.”

“Alex? She’s clever, funny, very loyal. And fiercely independent. Having you help her goes right against the grain. I remember
once at school she got the blame for something—I can’t remember what it was now. Something stupid anyway. But she emphatically
would not let me tell the teacher it wasn’t her fault. She just sort of took it on the chin.”

Frankie stopped what he was doing and looked up. “She seems chalk to her mother’s cheese. Good thing too really. If she was
like the Bean there would be even worse fireworks. You can’t have two egos that size in one family!”

“Yes and no.” Saff thought for a moment. “The Bean loves the attention—now that’s something Alex hates—but neither likes to
be treated like a fool.”

“And what about Alex’s dad? You must have known him.”

“Oh I did. Bit of a dandy. Funny, life and soul of the party, but terribly unreliable. I think Alex must be a genetic throwback
to an earlier generation. The Bean’s parents come from hard-grafting, middle-class stock—she’s not the aristo’ she pretends
to be—and I think Alex must have something of that in her.” Saff paused. “I love her to bits and sometimes I wish I was like
her.”

Frankie looked at her sidelong and continued scraping out the mixture. “Oh, this damned spoon isn’t any good. How do you get
the stuff out from around the edges?”

“You need a plastic spatula. I’ll get you one—they’re brilliant!” Saff enthused. “One of my kitchen essentials. I noticed
you put in a pinch of salt. I’ve never done that.”

Frankie laughed and slipped the tray into the oven. “Brings out the flavor. Eat your heart out, Jamie Oliver. You see, I’m
not merely decorative!”

He was certainly that. Saff filled the French press and the coffee fragrance pervaded her nose. With Alex it was a mug of
instant with milk if you were lucky. It was fun being around these two.

“You obviously love cooking, Frankie. Alex waxes lyrical about the suppers you leave—well, Ella’s cooking actually! I love
cooking too. It’s so relaxing. I think it’s about the only thing I
can
do.” She suddenly had the urge to cry and looked down at her feet.

“Hey, Saff? What’s up?”

“Right!” The door burst open. “Time for your lesson, Frankie, my boy.”

Saff rubbed her eyes quickly, glad of the interruption, and watched the Bean sweep out again. “Lesson? She’s not teaching
you poker now, is she?”

Frankie smiled mischievously. “She is actually! I’m getting quite good at it—if I could remember what each hand was worth.
She keeps telling me about strip poker games they had when she was young and wearing eight pairs of knickers so she never
had to take all her clothes off! You probably knew her then or at least soon after.”

Saff thought back to the first time she’d met Alex’s mother, when she’d dropped her daughter off at their boarding school.
Of course, they had been so young then, perhaps nine or ten. “I remember she had a Mercedes sports car but I had no idea who
this beautiful woman in her floating caftan and turban was.” She laughed. “But my father’s chin hit the floor and I remember
my mum being a bit jealous. ‘That’s the Bean,’ she whispered in awe and said how they’d all wanted to look like her and fancy
her having a daughter in my year. I’ve known her so long now as Alex’s mum—you know, she even came to my wedding—that I forget
what an icon she was.”

“It must be tough for Alex.” Frankie fetched down the cups and laid them out. “I mean, doesn’t she ever get jealous?”

Saff hadn’t really thought about this but knew that
she
always had been. But the glamorous lifestyle, the invitations to premieres and swanky parties, even after her mother had
given up film roles, had gone right over Alex’s head, whereas Saff had yearned to be a part of it. Someone else’s life. Someone
else’s fun. “No, she just gets exasperated.”

The kitchen door opened again abruptly. “Are you two having a meeting about something?” The Bean’s eyebrows were arched and
she looked quite stern. “Come along, Frankie. If you want half a chance at this part you need to be prepared, my darling.”

Saff followed him out of the kitchen carrying the coffee. “Part? What’s this?”

“Well, it’s all thanks to this lovely woman really.” Frankie put down the tray and put his arm around the Bean’s skinny shoulders.
She brushed him away, laughing like a schoolgirl. “She’s persuaded David Herschmann to let me read for the new production
of
The Sentinel
he’s putting on at the National.”

“Crikey, Frankie!” Saff spontaneously clapped her hands together with glee. She wasn’t familiar with the play, but even she
knew that Herschmann was the best and anything he touched seemed to turn to box-office gold.

“Perfect.” The Bean clapped her hands together as if calling a class to order. “Explain to Saff the part you are reading for.
It might help you see into the character.”

Saff sat down on the armchair as one-woman audience. “Right,” began Frankie, smiling a little shyly and looking up to the
ceiling as he remembered. “I’m reading for Joel. Joel is about twenty-five—bit of artistic license there—”

“You look beautifully young, you fool. That skin!” gushed the Bean, directing proceedings from her position on the sofa.

“Whatever. And he is angst-ridden. I’m ace at angst as it happens. Anyway, in this bit his lover is about to go back to another
man and he is devastated.”

Saff chuckled. “You can see his point!”

“Quite.” Frankie picked up the script, which was a bit curled at the edges. The Bean’s rehearsals had obviously been pretty
intense. “Right…” He began to read the part and the Frankie with whom she’d made the coffee left the room and a new person
stood in front of her. The grief he displayed and the words of the script, though a good way over the top for Saff, were not
a million miles from how she had felt this morning. Empty and pointless.

“What can she see in him, his face like a speckled toad.” He paused, script in hand. “Does it mean nothing to her, after the
things we’ve been through?”

Brrrr. Brrr.
Saff’s phone burst to life in her pocket.

“I’m so sorry.” She fumbled to find it and pulled it out, about to hit the call-divert button until she saw who was calling
her. “Oh shit, it’s Alex.” All three of them stopped dead and the Bean looked towards her bedroom as if she were about to
bolt and hide.

“Sssh. Answer it, dear. We’ll keep dead quiet.” Frankie sat close to her on the sofa and, perched on the edge of their seats,
the two of them looked on intently as Saff answered.

“Hiya,” she said airily, trying to sound as normal as possible. “How’s life?”

“Hi.” Alex sounded slightly breathless and rushed as usual. “What are you up to?” She always asked, bless her.

“Oh, just chores, washing, you know.” Saff could hear the slightly hysterical squeak in her own voice.

“What, at home? But I’ve just called your landline.”

“Washing powder. I’m on my way out to buy washing powder.” Her face felt hot. She’d always been crap at lying, a trait she’d
thought was admirable until now.

“It sounds very quiet wherever you are. Anyway, short notice, I know, but I need to schmooze Gavin a bit—I’ll explain why
later—and I wondered if you and Max could make it for supper on Friday at my place?”

“Crikey. A dinner party? You?” Saff couldn’t hide her incredulity. “I’m busy during the day so I won’t be able to cook for
you like I did at the Introduce Todd party.”

“Oh, you were a brick that day. No, don’t worry. I’ve asked Ella. She’s going to do it. She sounded a bit unsure when I called
her just now, but I buttered her up. Todd will be there too. He flies in that morning. Can’t wait. Can you make it?”

“Babysitter permitting, I’m sure we can.”

“Brill’. See you about eight? Gotta go. Love ya!”

Saff turned off the phone, looked at the two expectant faces in front of her, and explained the content of the call.

There was a pause, then Frankie smiled slowly. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” At that, his mobile began to ring. He
flipped it open without even looking to see who was calling. “Okay, Sis, what’s it worth?”

E
lla wiped her hands down the front of the striped apron she’d found hanging on the back of the kitchen door. When she’d slipped
it over her head, she’d detected a trace of Frankie’s shower gel and it had made her feel safe, as though he were there with
her instead of pacing up and down the pavement outside. They’d gone through it again and again that afternoon and the list
was in her pocket. Frankie was at the end of the phone if she needed him. What could go wrong? Yet Ella felt as if she were
having to land a jumbo jet full of screaming passengers after the pilot had passed out, having never flown a plane before.

When she’d arrived earlier, Alex had hugged her warmly, which was a weird feeling in itself, because Ella hadn’t done a single
one of the amazing things Alex was thanking her for. They hadn’t even met since that first day. Still, she’d been dead modest
and said how much she’d enjoyed being with the Bean. That had stuck in her throat a bit, but even the old bag had seemed pleased
to see her this time. She’d have to remember to pass the hug on to Frankie later. And now here she was, mixing up Pimm’s for
a roomful of people who were expecting a three-course dinner! Talk about flying by the seat of your pants. The most elaborate
meal Ella had ever made was macaroni and cheese from a tin with sausages that she’d grilled herself (and managed to burn).
She looked around the immaculate kitchen—of course, Frankie had left everything nice and organized. She loaded the jug and
glasses onto the tray and shoved her way out through the door. Saff and her tall husband, Max, were there already, along with
a rather twitchy bloke called Gavin, Alex’s boss, apparently, who hadn’t stopped talking since he arrived. The Bean had emerged
from her room looking really pretty good for someone so old. She’d given Ella a little wink before sitting down next to Saff
and kept going on about how “brilliantly” Ella had been looking after her. Alex hadn’t sat down and was hovering in a kind
of awkward way with a bowl of Bombay mix Ella had found in the cupboard and had been eating in the kitchen until Alex had
pounced.

“Here we are, everybody. Get busy!” Max looked up and stared. Was that the wrong thing to say? Gavin had stopped in full flow
while Saff seemed to be choking on something. Ella quickly dumped the tray on the floor and thumped her on the back until
Saff waved her away. At the same moment, the doorbell rang and Alex rushed to answer it, Bombay mix still clutched to her
chest. It was probably the Yank boyfriend.

After standing looking around at everyone for a moment, Ella returned to the kitchen to tick off the next item on Frankie’s
neat list. “Put green tray (cheese gougères) in oven for eight minutes. Take off foil first.” Easy enough, as Frankie had
marked the different temperatures on the oven controls with colored sticky labels that keyed in to different instructions
on his list, and she’d already set the oven to green. She looked around at the covered trays and plates lined up along the
kitchen surfaces for a matching green label and peeled back the foil to reveal little round blobby things. Yuck! In they went
and Ella sat down for a moment to carry on with the sudoku she’d started earlier. She really wanted to go in and get a look
at this Todd, to whom Frankie seemed to have taken a violent dislike—although she wasn’t sure why, or even when they’d met.
It was most unlike Frankie to be so spiteful, so she was longing to see the cause of it.

The timer she’d set went off before she’d finished the puzzle, but she diligently laid it aside and opened the oven. Wow!
The yucky blobs had turned into little brown puffs that smelled deliciously cheesy. She remembered what Frankie had said about
using oven gloves and transferred them, without too much trouble, to the serving dish with the green label and helped herself
to a couple before taking them out to the waiting company. Alex was sitting now, next to a beefcake of a man with unfeasibly
neat hair that actually looked as if it had been colored in with felt pen. He was holding forth, even giving Gavin a run for
his money, saying something about “global strategies.” The Bean was looking pointedly the other way.