Getting Even (12 page)

Despite his disturbed night, he couldn't stay miffed with her for long. She looked so vulnerable and childlike. Her dark hair was spread across the pillow, tumbling in no particular direction, a contrast from the carefully styled tresses she presented during the day. Her mouth had fallen open, her lips relaxed and soft, and as her breath came and went, he was struck by how much he cared for her.

I see a different side of her, he thought, than the rest of the world sees; it's my Orianna, just mine, and I'm lucky to have her. She's fun to be with, generous, loving. Passionate, yes, a worrier, there's no doubt, even a little paranoid on occasion. Certainly Orianna had huge gaps in her self-esteem, which surprised him, given her talent. But that she wasn't driven by money was part of what attracted him to her. Instead he'd observed that perfectionism and the desire to be liked lay behind her ambition.

After all, he deliberated, it's only because Orianna's got a big heart that she's so churned up about Ivy; others would have been far more ruthless. Orianna is so trusting compared to the majority in our business. I hope she never loses that.

As Orianna exhaled heavily and began to stir, he put a hand out and softly stroked her cheek, wanting her emergence to consciousness to be a gradual journey out of her dreams.

*   *   *

Orianna caught the elevator to the top floor and edged through the doors of the creative department. She was clutching the cappuccino she'd bought en route in one hand, her bag and jacket in the other.

She was dreading seeing Ivy. How would she act after the night before? Moreover, how should Orianna act in return? Dan had been a sweetheart that morning, but she was still shaken. Nonetheless, she'd decided she was not going to apologize first; Ivy had behaved appallingly and made her look a fool.

By the time she reached their partitioned section of the office, her heart was racing and her palms clammy. Yet Ivy's chair was empty, her handbag nowhere to be seen.

Orianna opened all of her e-mails, replied to those that required it and some that didn't. Still no sign of Ivy. Her anxiety mounted. She examined her work schedule, filled in her time sheets, tidied her desk. Still no sign. Having finished her cappuccino, she fetched another coffee from the machine. She drank it, went to the loo (inevitably), returned to her desk, bit her nails. She wandered around to find out how Leon, one of the designers, was getting on with some artwork, but didn't really absorb his reply. She came back,
still
no Ivy. By now it was past ten and she was really unsettled. Was Ivy not going to show at all?

Then the phone rang.

Orianna jumped and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hi, Orianna, Neil here.”

By this point she could do nothing but fret: her immediate reaction was to worry that he wanted to discuss her new position. Help, she thought, I'm not ready to talk about my plans.

But Neil said, “I see Ivy's not in yet.”

“No.”

“Perhaps you'd like to pop into my office,” he said. “I've something to show you.” Orianna, thankful to take her mind off Ivy, agreed.

Once she was standing opposite him, door closed behind her, Neil handed her a sheet of paper. The logo was familiar:
Trixie Fox.
Trixie was a woman for whom the word
headhunter
might have been invented. Her knowledge of hirings and firings was legendary, and although she must be seventy if she was a day, she considered herself unassailable professionally. Orianna had been rapped on the knuckles a while back for hiring a junior through someone else. The junior had turned out to be slow and stupid, and was let go after a month, while Orianna, humbled, had been forced to acknowledge that only résumés with Trixie's blessing warranted a closer look.

She examined this one now.
Cassie Goldworthy.

“She's the art director I mentioned yesterday,” Neil prompted. “You'll need someone after I'm gone, to work with Ivy. This girl's good.”

Orianna noted her date of birth. Orianna had been born a decade earlier. You mean she's young, she thought, therefore cheap, though she didn't say so.

Although she felt uneasy about interviewing someone before she'd sorted things with Ivy, she hid her concern from Neil, determined to appear the confident soon-to-be boss. “I'll see if I can set up a meeting. If it's all right with you, I'll call Trixie from here, so I won't be overheard.”

She picked up the phone and dialed.

*   *   *

Ivy got to the office at 10:05. She'd taken an extra half hour getting ready at the gym—she was damned if she was going to be early—and felt pleasingly well-groomed. She threw her stuff down on the sofa and cast her eye about.

Where the hell is Orianna? she wondered, venom fueled by her conversation with Rob. I've braced myself to see her. Oh well. Fuck it. If she's expecting me to hunt for her, she can think again.

Ivy wasn't ready to start work, but there was no time like the present for sorting pressing matters. She switched on her computer and located a folder, entitled, covertly, New Business. She clicked on the document she was after; she'd not updated it since she and Orianna had talked about leaving after Orianna's disastrous affair with Clive two years previously. Nonetheless, amending it wouldn't take long. She only needed to add a couple of new clients and change the dates.

There was still no sign of Orianna, and from where Ivy was sitting she'd see her coming. This was a good time to make that call. She picked up the phone and dialed.

*   *   *

“Trixie?”

“Speaking.”

“It's Orianna here. Orianna Bianchi, from Green.”

“Ah! Hi, hi. Long time no speak. How are you?”

“I'm well, very well.”

“Good, good. So what can I do for you?” Trixie clearly knew to take her lead from her caller, not the other way around.

“I'm with Neil, in his office. He's got a resume here, and tells me the girl in question is worth a look.” Orianna smiled at Neil.

“Ah, that would be Cassie?”

“Indeed.”

“Yes, she's great. Just flown in from Sydney. Fantastic portfolio, ever so talented, charming too.”

Neil tapped Orianna's shoulder and whispered. “It's OK, Trixie knows I'm leaving.”

Orianna nodded. “I gather you've been informed about Neil. This is hush-hush so I'd rather you didn't make it public…”

“Of course, dear. Anything you say to me never travels further. Goes without saying.”

“I'm going to be taking over.”

“What, as CD?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my dear! But that's
great
! Fantastic news! I always knew you were so talented! I
am
so pleased! It's not often in this business we get to see a nice person do well. And so gifted too! Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” said Orianna. Neil winked at her; doubtless he'd hitherto been on the receiving end of such gushing praise himself.

“And forgive me for taking a moment to say so, but I must also congratulate myself for being one of the first people to spot your potential.” Orianna couldn't begrudge this. Trixie had found Orianna and Ivy their first job. “So, darling, next time I see you we must celebrate. Have a glass of bubbly, yes?”

“That'd be nice.” Orianna was flattered, but keen to get back to Cassie. “Anyway, Neil and I thought I should see Cassie. Any chance of her coming in?”

“Sure. I'll see what I can do.”

“Say around seven o'clock one night?” Ivy would have left by then. “Maybe tomorrow—though she won't want to do Friday … How about Monday?”

“Leave it to me,” said Trixie.

*   *   *

“Trixie?”

“Speaking.”

“It's Ivy Fraser. Copywriter. Remember me?”

“Ah! Hi, hi, the beautiful Ivy. Of
course
I remember you. How could I forget? How are you?”

“I'm well, very well.”

“Good, good. It's been too long! So, what can I do for you?”

“I was wondering…” Ivy lowered her voice, “if it would be possible to come and see you.”

“Yes, yes, dear, of course. I understand. Time to make a move?”

“Indeed,” said Ivy.

“So I take it you'd like to show me your portfolio?”

“Please.” Respect, thought Ivy. When it comes to the art of one-sided conversation, Trixie is a consummate professional.

“And forgive me for being direct…”

“Of course.”

“But are you thinking of moving on your own? Without your art director? Oh, what
was
her name? Haven't spoken to her in ages…” There was a short pause. “Orianna! Orianna Bianchi, that's her.”

“No, it'll just be me.”

“Oh, really? Right dear. Well, funny you should say that, but that's great. Great. Because between you and me…”

“Yes?”

“It's always much easier to find something for a writer.”

“Really?” Ivy felt heartened. Then she recalled Trixie didn't know the kind of salary she'd be demanding, and reminded herself not to get too hopeful. Still, it was worth a shot. She might even be able to find her something abroad, get her away from Soho altogether for a while. “That's good.”

“Oh yes, dear. I've such a shortage of
good
writers. Whereas I've got dozens of art directors on my books. Dozens! Can't find some a job for love nor money, what with all the layoffs of late. Especially the juniors, dear oh dear, no one's willing to take them on. It can be quite a struggle. But copywriters, ah! You're worth your weight in gold. And with your experience, they'll be snapping you up, I'm sure. I hope you won't mind me saying so, but I always thought you were
so
talented. Thought perhaps Orianna was holding you back a bit, actually.”

Ivy smiled. She could see through Trixie with ease, but she admired her skill. It was fun to be manipulated for once, rather than the other way around.

“So,” continued Trixie, “how about coming to visit me here in my little pad in Belgravia? Early next week suit you?”

“That would be perfect.” It would give Ivy the weekend to sort her portfolio.

“Tell you what. Why not come after work on Monday? I'll crack open a bottle of bubbly. Say around seven?”

*   *   *

“Hi,” said Ivy, minutes later, when Orianna returned to her desk.

“Hi,” said Orianna. “Sorry, I was just with Neil.”

Ivy could tell she was nervous. Good, she thought. And so she should be. She'd decided how to play things already.

“I got you this.” She handed over a small paper bag.

Orianna took it with trepidation. She peered inside. “Gosh, thank you.” Wrapped in a napkin was a miniature panettone. “My favorite!”

Ivy understood that with Orianna, food equals comfort, which means everything's OK. “I stopped off at the deli,” she said, “and there was a massive line—sorry I was late.” She took a deep breath. Speaking to Trixie had given her the impetus she needed, reminding her of what a fine actress could achieve. “I'm also sorry I was such a cow last night. With hindsight I think I overreacted.”

Orianna was clearly confounded. “Oh … er … Yeah, well, I do understand. I feel terrible about it, you know.”

“I can imagine.”

“I hardly slept a wink.”

“Nor me.”

“But I thought it was better to tell you sooner rather than later.”

Not for nothing had Ivy been a leading light in her school drama group. She gave Orianna her most dazzling smile. “I appreciate that, having had some time to think about it. Honestly, O—I realize you meant well, telling me like that, and it
was
good of you to let me know that swiftly. It was just a shock, that's all.”

“And for me, too.” Orianna bit her lip.

“And, well, you know me, I have got a bit of a temper.” Ivy could see the G&T flying through the air as she said it. And …
splat!
My, what a fine feeling that had been.

“Yes.”

“Sometimes I can't help myself.”

“No.”

“But I lay awake in bed all night”—no mention of Russell obviously—“and thought things through carefully.” This much was true. “And I decided the last thing I want is to jeopardize my friendship with you.”

“Oh, I am so glad.”

God, Orianna was such a sucker! “We've worked together for years without a single major hiccup. It would be a shame for something to come between us after all this time. And you're right when you say I've never been that interested in being creative director. I haven't.”

“No?”

“No, no. I guess I'd always seen us working together as partners, that's all. But I'm sure we can still continue to do that.”

“Yes, yes.” Ivy could hear the relief in Orianna's voice. “That's exactly what I meant. I'm bound to need to work with a writer almost as much as I do now. It just means that I'll get tied up with lots of adminny stuff too, that's all. And, well, I know that's not really your kind of thing.”

“No.” Ivy couldn't resist a teeny jibe. “Bores me stupid, all that.”

Orianna was plainly content to have her promotion belittled, if it meant making amends. “Not to mention getting entangled in politics.”

Ivy snorted. “Yeah, rather you there than me.”

“Oh, I am pleased!” Orianna smiled broadly. “Friends again?”

“Yes.” Ivy beamed.

“Good!” Spontaneously, Orianna came over and gave Ivy a hug. Ivy struggled not to recoil, but Orianna failed to notice. She bounced back to her seat and took a huge bite of panettone.

Well, well, thought Ivy. That was easy. Peace bought with a piece of cake.

 

14. Perdition catch my soul but I do love thee!