A Wild Affair (19 page)

Giles, meanwhile, was delighted to hear that everything was back on and immediately put ten meetings in the calendar (he'd pitched for twenty, but I'd gently reminded him that I did have a job to do, a job that didn't unfortunately revolve around table plans and wedding flowers, even spectacular wedding flowers).
As for me, I called up the Wedding Dress Shop to ask for yet another appointment to get my perfect wedding dress fitted.

“I'm having déjà vu,” Helen said drily as I put on the dress and stepped up on the podium in front of a large mirror. I loved myself in that dress—it was just the right depth of creamy milky white and it made my usually average skin look luminous.

“I'm having a moment, too,” Giles said, dabbing at his eye with a decorative handkerchief. “You're beautiful, Ms. Wild. It's stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

“And everything's okay?” Vanessa, the assistant, asked lightly as she pinned the dress around the neckline. “No problems, nothing on the horizon?”

“No,” Giles said immediately. “No problems. Everything is tickety boo. More than tickety boo. Things are perfect, aren't they, Jess?”

He looked at me earnestly and I forced a smile. “Absolutely,” I said, trying to sound utterly sure of myself. “No problems at all. None.”

Helen looked at me suspiciously. “Jess? You sound funny. What's up?”

“Nothing.” I stared straight ahead. I looked beautiful. Like a bride. Like a happy, optimistic, glowing bride.

“Don't try and fob me off,” Helen said, her eyes narrowing. “There's something you're not telling me.”

“No, there isn't,” I insisted.

“No, there isn't,” Giles agreed. “Everything is under control.” He brought out his planner just to be sure and started to check through his list. “Mood board for the reception, check. Dress …” He looked at me appraisingly and smiled. “Check. Guest list …” A wrinkle appeared on his forehead. “We haven't sent those out
yet, have we?” he asked worriedly. “So we'll do that tomorrow. Okay?”

“Great,” I said enthusiastically. “See?” I said to Helen pointedly. “Everything's fine.”

“Suit yourself.” Helen sat back on her chair. Then she leaned forward.

“Is it to do with Max? Something he said? Something he did?”

I shook my head.

“It's not that Hugh bloke, is it? You're not still thinking about spilling the beans?”

“No.” I shook my head again, more emphatically this time.

“Hugh? Hugh who? Is he on the guest list?” Giles asked worriedly. “I don't remember a Hugh.”

“There's no Hugh,” I said firmly, shooting Helen a meaningful look.

“Then what is it?” Helen asked, looking perplexed. “Your mother?”

I flinched slightly and she pounced. “Aha. So, your mother. What's she said? What's she done? Come on, tell me.”

“Nothing,” I said, exasperated. “Vanessa, I think I'd like to try a veil.”

“Good idea.” Vanessa smiled. “I'll go and get you a selection.”

She left the room and Helen looked up at me expectantly. “So?”

“So?” Giles asked, looking terrified.

“So?” I said glibly refusing to look at either of them.

“So come on. What's with the frozen smile and the slightly manic eyes? I know you, Jess. Something's up. What's your mother done? You may as well tell me, because I'll get it out of you eventually. You know I will.”

“Just tell me this won't stop the wedding, please,” Giles implored me. “Please!”

“Of course it won't,” I reassured him, then turned back to Helen. “I told you,” I said flatly. “She's done nothing.”

“But she must have.”

I took a deep breath and let it out again. Then I looked back at my reflection. “I mean, maybe I thought she might do more than nothing,” I said quietly. “Maybe I thought …”

Helen looked up. “Yes?”

I shook my head. “It doesn't matter.”

“Come on,” Helen persisted. “It obviously does matter.”

I bit my lip. “I thought …” I swallowed uncomfortably. “I thought once I got to know her, once she got to know me … I thought she might … we might …”

“Yes?” Helen coaxed.

“Might?” Giles said, with a sympathetic smile.

“I thought she might be sorry.”

“She
is
sorry. I heard her tell you …”

“Not sorry, like ‘I'm sorry I ruined your life’ sorry,” I said, sniffing. “Sorry like regretful. I thought she might be sorry she walked away. Sorry for all the stuff she missed out on. That we missed out on. But … but …”

“But what?” Helen asked.

“She's not,” I said flatly. I hadn't wanted to talk about her. And now … now I wasn't going to let myself get upset. “Chester's all she talks about. She's all he talks about. It's like I don't exist anymore. It's like I don't matter.”

“I'm sure she didn't mean it like that,” Helen said.

“I'm sure she just got carried away,” Giles agreed. “People do, don't they?”

“Maybe they do.” I spun around. I hadn't realized how angry my mother and Chester had been making me; now it was all coming out. “But they're acting like teenagers and it's ridiculous. She's my mother. She should be concentrating on me, not running
around with my biggest client like a lovesick idiot. You know, I spent my life thinking I didn't have a mother. But at least I thought I'd had a mother who'd loved me, who would have looked after me if… if she hadn't… if the car accident hadn't happened. I used to dream she was alive and would come and find me and we'd go and live in this lovely house together and she'd look after me …”

“And she
has
come back,” Helen said quietly. “She risked loads, too, didn't she? All those people chasing her?”

“She came back for you,” Giles said, nodding earnestly.

“Yes, she did,” I said tightly. “But I've paid off her debts now.”

“You did?” Helen whistled. “Wow. That was nice.”

I shrugged. “So now we're even. I won't expect anything from her and she won't get anything from me.”

“Because she's going out with Chester?” Giles asked.

“Because she will always choose her happiness, however trivial, over mine,” I said, clearing my throat and turning back to my reflection, just as Vanessa came back in. “I have no expectations of her, so I won't be disappointed.”

“There we are.” Vanessa beamed, putting a veil on my head. “Doesn't that look nice?”

I looked at my reflection. It did look nice. Very nice.

“Yes,” I said, nodding. “Yes, it does. See?” I turned to Helen. “I don't need my mother. I'm getting married. That's what matters. I'm going to get married and it's going to be the best wedding in the whole wide world and she's going to regret … She's going to wish she was a big part of it. And she won't be. So there.”

“Very mature.” Helen grinned. “That's the spirit.”

“Mother off the guest list,” Giles said seriously. “Okay, so we have a space on the table plan. We're going to have to think about this very carefully …” He looked up and caught my expression, then smiled weakly. “I'm going to think about it,” he corrected himself. “And it won't be a problem. Big relief, actually. Mothers. Ugggggghhhh.”

“Exactly,” I said firmly. “The wedding is all that matters to me. It's going to be fabulous. More than fabulous.”

“Well, of course it will be,” Helen said kindly. “It'll be the best wedding ever.” She frowned. “So good in fact that it would be a shame not to capture it on film. You know, have it aired for the nation as a wake-up call for all the other estranged children who harbor feelings of resentment toward their parents …”

I stared at her, my eyes narrowing. “I am not doing your show, Helen,” I said levelly “Not a chance.”

I got a cab to the office. By the time I'd got there I was feeling much better.

“Hi Gillie!” I called nonchalantly as I walked through the doors. “How's it going?”

“Oh, you know.” She rolled her eyes. Then she grinned at me. “Been for another fitting?”

Gillie had managed to convince Max that she should have access to everyone's Outlook calendar so she could direct calls appropriately and advise callers when the person they wanted would next be available. Which was all very well, but it was a bit disconcerting when she reminded me about my leg waxing appointment or asked me how my “spend some quality time with Caroline and discuss time-management skills” coffee had gone. “Yes,” I said.

“And?”

Her eyes were shining expectantly.

“And it's all great. Dress is lovely and it's virtually there on the fitting front.”

“Just be careful not to lose weight. Or gain it,” she said seriously. “I had a friend who got a bit carried away—you know, let herself go before she'd even got the ring on her finger—and, no lie, she couldn't get into her dress on the day of the wedding.
Had to send her mum out to buy an alternative. So not the way to go.”

“Right.” I nodded. “Well, thanks. I'll … bear that in mind.”

“Sensible,” Gillie said, peering at her nails. “Very sensible.”

I wandered over to my desk where Caroline was staring earnestly at her computer screen.

“How's the dress?” she asked, her eyes lighting up as she saw me. “How does it look? Is it, like, seriously dreamy?”

I grinned. “It's nice,” I said. “Really nice.”

“Oh God, it's just, like, soooo exciting,” Caroline gushed. “I mean, the whole long white dress, all those people and the champagne and …”

“It is going to be brilliant,” I agreed, pulling out the wedding magazines I'd borrowed from Vanessa. I'd suddenly realized how many things I'd dismissed without really thinking them through—hand-designed place cards, predinner entertainment … I was going to write a list for Giles. It had become very important to me, imperative even, that my wedding was the best wedding ever. That my mother should watch from the sidelines and realize how much she wanted to be part of my life (too late, of course). That any memories of Hugh Barter should be buried once and for all beneath a deluge of confetti and wedding cake and happy shining people holding hands …

Caroline's phone rang, disturbing my reverie, and I quickly brought up my Project Handbag file and opened the project plan.

“Jess?” I spun around—it was Max, carrying a copy
of Advertising Today
.

“Darling!” I beamed at him. “What do you think about having magicians at the wedding? During the drinks. You know, keeping people entertained.”

“Great idea,” he said, his expression suggesting it was anything but. “Have you seen this?” he asked, showing me the newspaper.

“So you think that's the right way to go? I mean, we could go
with live music but everyone does that. Or maybe we could do both? A string quartet and magicians walking around …”

“Whatever,” Max said curtly. “So about this?”

“Advertising Today?”
I shrugged. “Look, I know I need to make more time for reading. But I've been so busy with the wedding, and I really want to make sure that Giles has enough time to prepare everything. So we're saying musicians and magicians …”

“So you haven't seen this article?” Max held the newspaper and I looked at it irritably; I could see an article on the bottom of the front page with the words “Jarvis” and “Milton” in the title.

“We're on the front page?” My eyes widened. Campaign news was usually stuck toward the back. This was an incredible profile. Was my name in the article? I wondered. “Is the review good? Are we up for any awards?”

“Reviews?” Max looked at me strangely. “We haven't launched yet. How can the campaign be reviewed?”

I felt myself redden. “I thought it might be a pre-review,” I said defensively. “So it isn't a review?”

“No,” Max said. “That's not what it is.”

“Oh.” I felt a stab of disappointment. “So what is it then?”

“It's about Jarvis Private Banking and their acquisition of Glue.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to look interested. “Oh, well, that's nice.”

“Not really,” Max said, frowning now. “You see, the article discusses an acquisition that no one is supposed to know about.”

“Oh, I see,” I said, not really listening.

“The acquisition which, according to this journalist, will mean a great deal more business for Milton Advertising.”

“Well, that's great!” I said. “But look, can we just resolve the magician issue so I can email Giles …”

“Magicians?” Max looked at me incredulously. “Jess, do you understand what I'm saying to you? The acquisition has been
leaked and I don't know who by, but the way the article has been written suggests that it was us. Which it wasn't. I've been trying to get hold of Chester but he isn't answering his phone.”

He finally got my attention. “Shit,” I said, sitting down again and frowning. “But it wasn't us, was it?” Max shook his head. “So … so it must have been one of his people, right?”

Max looked unconvinced.

“It's okay,” I said defiantly, knowing it probably wasn't.

“It's not, though, is it? Chester wouldn't have leaked his own deal. The article makes it look like we leaked it for self-promotion.”

I grabbed the article and read it properly. As I read, I found myself frowning slightly. Then I frowned some more. And then my blood went cold. In the penultimate paragraph, there was an industry quote. From Hugh Barter. “Milton Advertising have some very ambitious plans and so far it seems that Jarvis Private Banking has been happy to depend on what is really a small, niche advertising player. Whether, as they are suggesting, Jarvis will continue to retain them as a key partner if and when they expand into the Internet banking market is an interesting question—and one that the industry will be watching for the answer with great interest!”

Hugh Barter. I felt myself going white and prickly; small beads of sweat appeared on my forehead. I vaguely remembered telling him something in that bar, after all those Bloody Marys, something about Jarvis maybe buying an Internet bank.

Oh God.

Oh this could be very bad.

Very bad indeed.

I remembered my last conversation with Hugh. He'd threatened to spill the beans, and I thought he'd changed his mind. But now he'd done it—with different beans. Beans I'd completely forgotten
about. The leak was me. I couldn't believe it. I was the worst person in the whole wide world.

And Max would never forgive me. Never in a million years.