Chapter 6 #3
‘True, but what kind of supportive sharing?’ Katrina began to wave her hands around.
‘It has to be a tailored experience, if we’re Dreamwives instead of housekeepers or butlers.
When those people walk through their front door, we’ll be plunging them into utter comfort.
Utter acceptance. Not just because we’ve lit candles and plumped up cushions and poured a glass of wine.
Not just because we’re serving shepherd’s pie and apple crumble.
But because we’re exactly the person they want to see.
’ Katrina’s gestures became more dramatic as she sketched out an idyllic scene that reminded Michelle of a ready-made pasta-sauce ad.
‘We’re fully focused on them and we know what they’re expecting, whether it’s squabbling about charges on the credit card account or looking for something to watch on Netflix. ’
‘Extreme customer service.’ Michelle nodded thoughtfully.
She understood customer service and could almost see the warm, welcoming kitchen, the glowing lamps, the dishevelled sofa blanket, the friendly but artful clutter of keys and security passes in the carved salad bowl.
‘See, you’re really good at this,’ she said, privately preening herself.
She’d wanted Katrina on board, and had nailed the way to do it: by giving her ownership.
Confidence. ‘We need your input. Your touch of magic.’
Katrina beamed. The scruffy waif had vanished, replaced by the Katrina of the gala stage, all fizzing energy and chutzpah.
‘We’ll need a décor section, so we can match flowers and things to what they’ve already got.
Starting with a colour chart, maybe. And a choice of design styles, with a picture for each: coastal, industrial, Scandinavian.
They can tick whatever box matches their interiors. ’
‘Nick is in a serviced apartment,’ said Michelle.
‘I bet it’s all shades of beige or grey.
My job will be to add colour. Flowers. Cushions.
Maybe a rug?’ Katrina glanced at the rug beneath her, which was neutral, with a honeycomb design.
‘We can always hire things, for an extra fee. Oh! And dietary restrictions. We need to sort that out beforehand. And whether they’re on any medication, so we can remind them to take it.
And their parents – do they make regular contact or not?
Send them birthday cards or buy presents for them?
If not, we remind them to do that, too. I did all those things for Craig .
. .’ Katrina’s voice cracked as she fumbled for her tissue again.
‘Then channel that.’ Michelle hastily tried to head off the incoming tsunami of despair. ‘Use it to make money. You’re a natural. You’ll nail it. This will make you feel so good because it will prove that you weren’t to blame.’
Katrina seemed struck by this suggestion. She looked over at Michelle, whose phone suddenly pinged.
‘Hang on.’ Michelle checked the screen and gasped. ‘Website message!’
‘Oh!’ Katrina clasped her hands together.
Michelle’s own hands trembled with excitement as she opened the email. Then she slumped. Damn.
‘What?’ Katrina frowned at Michelle’s disappointed expression.
‘Dick pic.’ Unimpressive. Lousy picture quality, too.
Katrina gasped. ‘Are you serious?’ Jumping to her feet, she angled her head to get a look, then closed her eyes in horror. ‘Yuck! I told you this whole thing sounded like an escort service!’
‘Don’t worry. This is good.’ Perhaps ‘discreet’ and ‘supportive’ didn’t hit the right note after all. Would ‘cosy’ be better? Maybe ‘confidential and nurturing’. ‘It’s feedback on a positioning problem. It’ll help us get things right – to communicate more clearly. Grow our business.’
‘Oh, hell.’ Katrina collapsed onto the couch again, all the stuffing knocked out of her.
‘Everyone will think we’re escorts. If anybody finds out we’re doing this, my whole reputation will be destroyed.
I’ll never be able to show my face at Colville again.
And my mother . . . dear God! And what about the boys?
They’ll be mortified. Craig will say I’m a prostitute and I’ll lose them!
’ Bubbling hysteria made her voice shrill.
‘Calm down.’ Michelle wondered if Katrina’s moods always seesawed like this, then remembered how Katrina’s backstage meltdown had been followed by a confident public performance.
Katrina was never flattened for long. ‘Everything will be fine. We’ll reword our branding and I’m also putting security measures in place. ’
Katrina looked up, her bottom lip trembling. ‘What security measures? I’ve done kickboxing classes at the gym – is that what you mean?’
‘Erm . . . not exactly.’ Michelle didn’t want to dwell on security, because her plan involved an investigator friend of Ilse’s who now processed Working with Children checks. Legally, it was approaching a grey area. Grey – but harmless.
‘There are identity assessments we can do,’ Michelle assured Katrina. ‘And we’ll send regular safety texts to each other while we’re working. Just in case. We can tell the clients it’s an eBay sale or a family event or something. Make it sound domestic.’
Katrina sniffed. Her tissue was out again. Her gaze dropped; she seemed to be studying her pedicure.
‘This is going to work,’ Michelle said, drawing on the fake confidence she’d mastered during her years as an account manager.
‘Ironing out kinks is part of the process. Have faith in yourself. I do. There’s a gap in the market – nature abhors a vacuum, but entrepreneurs take advantage of one.
’ This was a phrase she’d used to great effect in many a product presentation.
‘If we don’t run with our idea, someone else will. And they’ll reap the benefits.’
Katrina licked her lips, then sighed. ‘What’s it going to cost us?’
‘Not us. Me. I’m covering the legal and registration fees, because of my payout.
You don’t have to invest a cent.’ Seeing this argument hit home, Michelle pressed her advantage.
‘We already have one client. I know we’ll get more.
And none of them will want this made public.
Hiring a wife? Who’ll want to admit that? Your boys won’t find out. No one will.’
‘How will I explain disappearing every night?’ Katrina’s voice had an edge to it.
‘Event organising. We say we’ve started a company together, but it’s corporate retreats. Or hens’ nights. Whatever works.’
‘Event organising . . .’ This proposal lit a spark in Katrina. She rallied. Straightened. ‘Oh, yes, that makes sense. I’ve been organising events at Colville for years. And if I need to buy or hire things—’
‘You can say it’s for a gender reveal party.
’ Michelle was on the home stretch; she could almost see the finish line.
‘I can’t do this without you. We’re in it together.
Remember what you said last night? “We could start a business and make millions!” It’s true.
We could. But only if we trust our instincts and stop being afraid. ’
‘You’re right.’ Katrina was nodding, though she still looked worried. ‘I know you’re right. It’s my only chance to keep the house.’
Katrina was giving Michelle ammunition and Michelle used it the way she was trained to.
‘Remember what they say? The best revenge is living well. Think how the bastard will feel when you buy him out.’
Katrina’s eyes narrowed as they swept the room, lingering for an instant on the family photos, the framed finger paintings, the stacked board games in the glass-fronted cupboard.
Then she took a deep breath, turned back to Michelle and said, ‘First things first – we need to find out what Nick wants in a wife. Is he expecting a Chloe substitute or not?’ She paused, her brow puckering just enough to suggest an emotional shift.
‘What’ll happen if Chloe finds out? She’ll destroy me. ’
‘She won’t find out.’ Michelle tried to imagine Nick telling his overbearing ex-wife he was desperate enough to hire a companion, and failed. Why would he humiliate himself like that?
‘No. You’re right. He wouldn’t want his kids to find out.
The youngest is struggling. Acting out, probably because of the divorce.
Justin says she’s been horrible to him in biology lately.
Divorces are so hard on the children . .
.’ Katrina sniffed and dabbed her eyes, then shot a worried look at Michelle.
‘Should I even discuss Nick’s children? Is that ethical? Would he want me to? How will I know?’
‘It’s in the questionnaire,’ Michelle said. ‘“Family chat”, remember? Part of the premium plus package.’
A smile crept across Katrina’s face. ‘I do enjoy chatting to people. You know, I can’t help thinking this might be quite fun.’
‘Of course it will be,’ said Michelle, lying through her teeth. ‘Now – how do we describe our choice of dining experience? “Napkin ring or pizza box . . .?”’