The Token Wife Read online

  ‘A very upmarket one,’ Lou pointed out. ‘With a restaurant in all the food guides. In fact, you’ll be lucky to get a table.’

  ‘Because it’s intended to be a quiet family meal,’ Marian Trentham said tartly.

  ‘Offering Alex Fabian a preview of domestic bliss?’ Lou’s cool face relaxed into a sudden grin. ‘From what I hear, he’d prefer the Royal Oak any day of the week.’

  Her stepmother’s lips thinned. ‘Please don’t be more irritating than you can help, Louise. On an occasion like this, the right atmosphere is essential.’

  ‘Shouldn’t he and Ellie create their own ambience?’ Lou enquired mildly. ‘Especially when he’s sweeping her off her feet into marriage?’

  ‘Well, I don’t intend to stand here arguing about it,’ Marian Trentham said with finality. ‘I simply came to say that you’ll have to stand in for Mrs Gladwin, and do the cooking.’

  Lou had seen this coming a mile off, and she had no real objections. But the word ‘please’ would not have come amiss, she thought wryly.

  ‘Shouldn’t Ellie do it?’ she suggested straight-faced. ‘Convince him that she has all the wifely virtues?’

  ‘He’s more likely to run out of the house, screaming,’ Marian said, with one of her rare glimmers of humour. ‘Ellie could burn boiling water. Not that it matters, of course,’ she added, reverting to briskness. ‘When she’s married, there’ll be staff to attend to that kind of thing.’

  ‘Of course there will,’ Lou murmured. ‘Silly me.’

  There’s staff here too, she thought. And I seem to be it.

  ‘So that’s settled, is it?’ said Marian. ‘You’ll cook tonight’s dinner? I thought you might do that mushroom soup you’re so good at—and an orange sauce with the ducks.’

  ‘Fine,’ Lou said equably. ‘And, having done so, am I expected to join this quiet family party?’

  Marian hesitated for a micro-second too long. ‘But of course. If you’d like to. It’s entirely up to you, naturally.’

  Lou took pity on her. ‘Actually, I think I’ll pass. Odd numbers and all that. And anyway, I have to go out. There’s a rehearsal at the village hall, and I need to get these costumes settled.’

  Marian’s eyes took on that slightly glazed look which appeared when village matters were under discussion. Marian was a big-city woman. She liked the idea of a weekend country home—something to mention casually in conversation, and invite people to—rather than the reality of it. And she took a minimal part in local activities.

  ‘Well, just as you please,’ she said, adding, ‘Lou, dear,’ as an afterthought. ‘And see if you can find something for Ellie to do, would you?’ She attempted a silvery laugh. ‘She’s getting absurdly nervous, silly girl.’

  Left to herself, Lou replaced the loft ladder thoughtfully. She didn’t mind being part-time caretaker in the house where she’d been born and keeping it pristine for the occasional descents from London by the rest of her family. But sometimes she felt a flicker of resentment at being taken so much for granted.

  But it wouldn’t be for much longer, she thought, giving herself a mental shake. Because she too was getting married, and would be moving to the tall Georgian house in the main square which belonged to David Sanders, her future husband, who would be furious if he discovered she was acting as head cook and bottle-washer again.

  ‘They’re just using you, darling,’ he told her over and over again. ‘And you’re too sweet to mind.’

  Lou had never regarded herself as particularly sweet, but it was nice to hear, she acknowledged contentedly.

  She shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal. And it gives me something to do when you’re away.’

  David worked for the regional office of a national firm of auctioneers and valuers. A recent promotion had involved him in a lot more travelling, and attendance at a series of courses in London, which had left Lou to her own devices more than she cared for, if she was honest.

  Her own day job was working as a paralegal at the leading firm of solicitors in the nearby market town. The plan was that she would go on working until they started a family.

  She loved the sound of that. Loved the thought of the future they would have together. It seemed to her that there had never been a time when David had not been a part of her life. They’d played as children, fought and made up again as teenagers, and rediscovered each other when he came back from university. And for the past year they’d been unofficially engaged.

  It would have been put on a formal footing with a party for family and friends but for the sudden death of David’s father, and his mother’s subsequent refusal to cope with anything that approximated to ‘happy’.

  ‘She will come to the wedding, won’t she?’ Lou had asked at one point, with a faint irony that was lost on David.

  ‘Of course,’ he’d said, kissing her. ‘She just needs time, that’s all. Be patient.’

  Secretly, Lou found patience difficult with David’s mother, whom she suspected to be milking widowhood for all it was worth. For one thing, it provided her with an excuse not to leave the family home, which now technically belonged to her son, and move to the bungalow in Bournemouth that she was to share with her sister. Something which had been planned forever, but which now seemed to have been shifted to the back burner.

  But it would have to happen sooner or later, Lou assured herself. Because she was congenitally unfitted to share a roof with Mrs Sanders, and David knew it.

  So, for the time being, she occupied Virginia Cottage in peace, most of the time, occasionally allowing herself memories of the time when she’d lived there with her mother, enjoying much the same placid existence, with her father coming home at weekends from Trentham Osborne, the independent publishing company which he ran in Bloomsbury.

  But following Anne Trentham’s shocking and unexpected death after a two-day illness from a strain of viral pneumonia, Lou’s whole life had changed. She had been sent away to boarding-school, and her holidays had been spent with Aunt Barbara, her mother’s only sister, her big farmer husband and their rowdy, kind, loving family.

  But no sooner had she become adapted to this new set of circumstances than they changed too. Her father, his eyes sliding away in embarrassment, had told her that he was getting married again, and she would have a stepmother and sister. Ellie would be going to the same school, and the rest of the time would be divided between the flat in London and Virginia Cottage.

  In retrospect, Lou could see that her father had been involved with Marian long before her mother’s death, and that Ellie might well be her half-sister, but by the time she was old enough to realise this, it no longer seemed to matter that much. Marian could be kind enough when she remembered. And Ellie—well, Ellie truly deserved David’s epithet ‘sweet’.

  She was blonde like her mother, but lacked Marian’s statuesque build. She was small, blue-eyed and shy, with a pretty, heart-shaped face, in total contrast to Lou, who was taller, and thin rather than slender, with a cloud of unruly dark hair. Lou had pale, creamy skin, and long-lashed grey eyes that were undoubtedly the best feature in a face that she herself dismissed as nondescript. And she had learned, over the years, to appear calm and self-contained.

  At school she had soon found herself Ellie’s unofficial protector, and she seemed to have carried this role into their adult lives, although, admittedly, she didn’t see as much of her stepsister these days, as Ellie lived and worked in London as a copy-editor for Trentham Osborne.

  And now, with amazing suddenness, Ellie was going to be married, and someone else would be looking after her. Someone called Alex Fabian.

  ‘I met him at the office,’ she’d confided to Louise only a few weeks before. ‘Apparently he’s a banker, and Daddy and he were doing some kind of business deal.’ She frowned. ‘I didn’t think he’d really noticed me, but he rang the next day and asked me to go to the theatre.’

  ‘Terrific,’ Lou said absently, focusing rather on the words “business deal”. ‘Is Dad look
ing to re-capitalise?’ she enquired.

  Ellie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But we are bringing out the new art and architecture list, and they say times are hard for independents in publishing.’

  ‘They always were,’ said Lou.

  Gradually, through Ellie’s artless disclosures, she began to build up a picture of this Alex Fabian. He was, it seemed, absolutely gorgeous. There wasn’t a club where he wasn’t a member, or a restaurant where he couldn’t get a table. He was usually seen out with models, actresses and rich girls-about-town. Everywhere they went, he was recognised.

  Why, only the other evening they’d gone to the launch of a new brasserie, and this stunning woman, tall with red hair and a fantastic figure, had come up to their table. Alex hadn’t seemed very pleased to see her, but he’d called her ‘Cindy’ and she’d asked him if this was the sacrificial lamb.

  Ellie had mentioned this later, and Alex had said that Cindy had a sense of humour all her own, and Ellie wasn’t to worry about it. But wasn’t it strange?

  ‘Weird,’ Lou had agreed with total sincerity.

  As she went downstairs she found herself wondering yet again what someone like Alex Fabian was doing with Ellie, who was gentle to the point of naïveté, and certainly no party animal. In fact, she still lived at her parents’ flat under Marian’s watchful eye.

  And what was Ellie’s slant on all this? She talked about fabulous meals she’d eaten, and celebrities she’d met. She mentioned the opera, and the ballet, and private viewings at art galleries.

  But she said nothing about Alex Fabian himself, the man who was providing all these earthly delights. And demanding—what, in return? Just, it seemed, the pleasure of Ellie’s company.

  Maybe he’d recognised her intrinsic innocence, and decided to respect it, although that kind of consideration seemed unlikely from someone who clearly lived his life on the fast track.

  So, perhaps it was just the attraction of opposites. Whatever, he was coming down this weekend to become formally engaged to Ellie, having apparently first sought the permission of her mother and stepfather.

  Very dear and old-fashioned of him, Lou thought, wrinkling her nose in a faint unease she was unable to explain.

  And it had resulted in a string of frenetic instructions from Marian, who wanted Virginia Cottage at its quaint and sparkling best, to provide the perfect setting for such a momentous event.

  Lou found Ellie in the drawing room, curled up in the corner of a sofa. She didn’t fit her mother’s description of ‘silly’ at all. Instead she looked remarkably serious—rather like a small creature caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

  ‘Hey there,’ Lou said gently. ‘Come and peel some potatoes for this man of yours. I thought I’d do rosti with the duck.’

  ‘OK. Fine.’ Ellie summoned a wan smile as she followed her to the kitchen. She sat at the table, staring without enthusiasm at the bowl of vegetables awaiting her attention.

  ‘Isn’t this a little early for bridal nerves?’ Lou enquired, surveying her with concern as she handed over an apron and a paring knife, then began swiftly and deftly to prepare the mushrooms for the soup. ‘You aren’t even engaged yet.’

  ‘No, but I will be in a few hours’ time.’

  ‘But only if that’s what you want,’ Lou countered, frowning. ‘So—is it?’

  ‘Of course.’ Ellie tilted a charming chin. ‘How could it not be?’

  ‘You tell me,’ Lou said wryly. ‘You look like someone under sentence of death.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd,’ Ellie said shortly. ‘Alex is an incredible man, and I’m going to have an amazing life with him. No one in her right mind is going to turn that away.’

  Lou reached for another mushroom. That, she thought, didn’t sound like Ellie at all. More as if she was repeating something she’d been told. Something that had been impressed upon her.

  I detect Marian’s fine white hand in this, she told herself grimly.

  She said quietly, ‘Ellie—you do love him, don’t you?’

  ‘Naturally.’ Ellie hacked the skin from an inoffensive potato. ‘It’s all happened a little fast—that’s all.’

  ‘Then tell him you need more time. If he cares for you, he’ll understand.’

  Ellie shook her head. She said, ‘Time is something I—don’t have.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ Lou came to an apprehensive halt in her preparations. ‘Ellie—you’re not pregnant, are you?’

  Ellie stared at her in astonishment. ‘Of course not. How could I possibly be?’

  Lou shrugged uncomfortably. ‘People in love are usually—lovers too,’ she suggested. ‘And accidents happen.’

  Her stepsister flushed. ‘Well, not in our case. Because we—don’t…’

  ‘Oh,’ Lou said, adding mendaciously, ‘I see.’

  Although she didn’t know why she should be so surprised, she thought, turning back to the mushrooms. After all, sex before marriage wasn’t obligatory. And in a sharp-eyed village, where any kind of privacy was at a premium, and your beloved still resided with a mother who tracked his every move, it was virtually impossible, as she knew to her cost.

  But, as David had said ruefully, there was no real hurry when they had the rest of their lives together. And what could she do but reluctantly agree?

  However, Alex Fabian didn’t live his life under the spotlight of parental disapproval, she thought. On the contrary. So, why this uncharacteristic restraint?

  She said, ‘Then what’s the matter? Because there’s clearly something.’

  Ellie was silent for a moment. She said, ‘He—he scares me a little. To be honest, he always has.’

  ‘Then why on earth did you go out with him?’ Lou demanded, bewildered.

  Ellie shrugged. ‘Oh, I wasn’t very happy at the time,’ she said evasively. ‘I thought it might—take my mind off things.’

  ‘And did it?’

  Ellie’s laugh sounded a little forced. ‘Well, of course. Alex demands—total concentration at all times. And now we’re going to be married,’ she added brightly. ‘So everything’s worked out for the best.’

  ‘In this best of all possible worlds,’ Lou murmured with irony. ‘And maybe you should leave the potatoes to me, love. There’ll be none left at the rate you’re going.’

  ‘Oh, Lou, I’m sorry.’ Ellie looked with contrition at the results of her labours.

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Lou rinsed her hands. ‘The future Mrs Fabian will never have to bother with such mundane tasks, anyway. So go and make yourself look gorgeous for him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ellie said slowly. ‘I suppose so.’ She looked up at the clock, her expression blank. ‘He’ll be here soon. Time’s running out.’ And she wandered off, leaving Lou staring after her, perplexed, and frankly worried.

  Ellie, she thought, bore no resemblance to a girl about to say ‘yes’ to the man she adored.

  She wondered if she ought to talk to Marian about it, then dismissed the idea, knowing that it would be seen as interference rather than intervention.

  And Ellie wasn’t a child any more. She had to work out her own salvation. And whether that would include Alex Fabian was entirely her own decision.

  Left to herself, she worked steadily, and competently. Soon the ducklings were waiting on their rack, the vegetables prepared, the soup simmering, and a bowl of Chantilly cream whisked up to accompany the dessert of fresh local strawberries.

  As David’s wife, she might always have to do her own cooking, she thought with faint amusement, but she didn’t have one iota of envy for Ellie’s carefree future. David was her rock, and she’d never entertained the slightest doubt about him.

  Dinner was to be served at eight o’ clock, so she now had a breathing space to go back into the loft and choose the dresses to take down to the village hall later.

  It was a fascinating task. Like most lofts, it was crammed with remnants of the past, including a lot of old photograph albums, and Lou was constantly being sidetracked.
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  ‘Oh, hell,’ she muttered as she glanced at her watch. ‘It’s time those ducklings were in the oven. I’d better get cracking.’

  She picked up the armful of dresses she’d chosen. They were too bulky to manage safely on the ladder, she decided. Much better for them to go first.

  She dropped them through the hatch, and was about to follow, when a startled cry reached her from below.

  Glancing down in sudden apprehension, Lou saw the dresses seemed to have taken on a life of their own. Were, in fact, on the move. And under their concealing folds a muffled male voice was swearing angrily.

  ‘Oh, God.’ Lou scrambled down the ladder at neck-breaking speed. She grabbed a handful of satin, and hauled it away. ‘I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise anyone would be there.’

  Her victim shook himself free, his impatient glance flicking over her. ‘Really?’ he drawled. ‘I thought it might be some bizarre rite of passage.’

  And Lou realised, horrified, she was taking her first look at Alex Fabian. In the flesh, she thought, swallowing.

  He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and endless legs. His hair, dishevelled from its close encounter with several pounds of fabric, was thick and tawny, and curled slightly. Lou remembered Ellie once saying that his nickname in the City was the Lion King, and could understand why.

  He was not conventionally handsome, but he was arrestingly, dynamically attractive, with high cheekbones, glinting green eyes under heavy lids, and a firmly sculpted, almost insolent mouth.

  And he was frighteningly, effortlessly sexy. A man who did not have to try, she thought instantly, and wondered how she could possibly know.

  A shiver traced its way down her spine. And she thought, ‘Poor Ellie.’

  Alex Fabian was looking at her too. Lou recognised with shock that she had been stripped, assessed and dismissed in one devastating and totally male glance. A conditioned reflex, she told herself angrily. That’s all it was. See a woman—imagine her naked. He probably can’t help himself.

  But all the same she resented it, even as she realised he was speaking to her again.