Getting Even (21 page)

Cassie looked mortified. “I was only trying to help. Are you feeling better now yourself?”

“Sorry,” said Ivy, more gently, stroking Orianna's hair. “I'm fine. I worry, that's all. Orianna has probably been overdoing it again.” She sensed her patient beginning to stir. Orianna's eyelids fluttered, one of her hands twitched. Ivy glanced up at Cassie. “I reckon it would be a good idea if you just left us a moment, would you? She'll be OK in a minute, I'm sure, but she might not want you to see her like this.”

As Cassie turned to leave, Ivy noticed the paper bag from the pharmacy clenched in her palm.

“Oh! Cass? Before you go—give me that please?”

“Er, of course, yeah.” Cassie handed it to her.

“I think Orianna could do with some Rescue Remedy, don't you?”

 

24. Work on, my medicine, work!

Orianna felt something cool and glassy being slipped between her lips and an alcohol-flavored liquid on her tongue.

“Eh?” Gradually her eyes focused: she appeared to be staring straight into Ivy's face, and, very strangely, above Ivy were the white polystyrene tiles of the ceiling. Orianna struggled to get her bearings. Ivy seemed to be holding a tiny pipette.

“Don't worry. This is Rescue Remedy.”

Orianna sensed Ivy's fingers running softly through her hair. Her touch was comforting, but what was the ceiling doing up there? She checked to her left—green partition wall. And right—mint-colored sofa. So, she was on the floor by her old desk … Why? She was dreadfully nauseous …

All at once she remembered. The sofa—the watch—Dan—Cassie … The blood rushed to her head. She tried to prop herself on her elbows to see the evidence again.

As she jerked up, Ivy gently restrained her. “Hey, hey!”

She managed to establish—yes, there was the bag, the vile red handbag, but—Orianna sat up—where was the watch? It had vanished! She shook her head to clear her vision. She was on a level with the sofa, the bag was inches away, yet the watch had completely disappeared. Another wave of sickness washed over her. Surely it had been there seconds before? She must be going mad. Or hallucinating.

“Sweetheart, take it easy,” said Ivy. “You fainted.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, so don't rush. Here.” Ivy swept aside Cassie's jacket to clear space on the sofa and patted the cushion. “Head between your knees.”

I've never fainted in my life, thought Orianna. It was Dan's watch that did it. She checked the handbag again. From here she could see right inside. There was Cassie's mobile, change purse … The watch was gone, no doubt about it. Unless it had slipped into the depths, and she could hardly start rummaging inside it in front of Ivy.

“What do you think brought that on?” Ivy sounded anxious.

“I don't know.” Orianna was too shocked and bewildered to admit what she'd seen. If the watch had been there, the implications were so awful she needed to think them through. And if she'd imagined it, she was clearly going crazy, which was hardly consoling.

Presently, Dan came hurrying to her side. He lifted up Cassie's bag, dumped it on the floor, and sat down beside her. “What's up?” He seemed even more anxious than Ivy.

“She fainted.”

“Yes, Cassie told me.”

Cassie told Dan? She must have rushed straight to him. Orianna felt sick again.

“Yeah, she's very worried.”

I bet she is! thought Orianna.

Dan brushed aside Orianna's fringe, looked into her eyes. “Honey, I'm worried too. This isn't like you at all.”

She searched his face for a clue his concern was genuine. It seemed to be, but who could tell when she couldn't trust her own eyes?

“You've been overdoing it,” said Dan. “I've been trying to say this for weeks.”

“Me? Overdoing it?” The gall—turning his indiscretions into her fault!

“Yes. I want you to stop working so hard.”

“No!”

“Maybe take some time off—have a vacation.”

And give him the chance to spend time with Cassie? “
No!
”

“I just care about you—”

Yeah, me and a million others. Orianna winced. She'd had enough of being made to seem a fool; the way Ivy and Dan were treating her only exacerbated her anger. She would look after herself. “I'm fine. Honestly. See?” She struggled to her feet.

“Well, I think you should eat,” advised Ivy. “Have you had anything yet today?”

“Er … I'd been going to—”

“I'll run out.” Ivy picked up her purse. “Do you fancy a panettone? That should raise your blood sugar.” And before Orianna could explain she had a muffin back at her desk, Ivy was gone.

“Honey—” As Orianna also made to leave, Dan reached to catch her hand.

She snatched it away. “What?!”

“We need to talk—”

“Too right we do. Though I don't think now's the moment, do you?” And, still shaky, she ran back to her office and slammed the door.

*   *   *

Tap tap.
Ivy poked her head around Orianna's door. Orianna was sitting at her desk but not working; instead her eyes were focused on the space in front of her, features distorted into a painful frown.

“Here.” Ivy went over and handed her the paper bag. “This should help.”

“Thanks.” Orianna opened it and pulled out the panettone. Ivy was surprised she didn't dig in to it at once, as was her normal custom. Instead she put the bag down, placed the panettone on top, and stared at it.

“You OK?”

“Mm. Leave me a bit, will you?” She seemed lost in thought.

“Yeah, sure.” Ivy hesitated, and was about to leave, then added, “I don't want to pry or anything, O, but—”

“What?”

“It's not about Dan, is it?”

“Why?”

“Oh, I'm not sure.” Ivy shrugged. “I got a vibe things weren't that great between you. And now you seem kind of upset with him. So I wondered—”

“I don't want to talk about it!” Orianna kicked the hard drive of her computer under the desk.

She must be very distressed to risk damaging it and losing her work, thought Ivy, feeling a mixture of guilt and satisfaction. “No, OK.”

“I just need to work out what I think, first.”

“Sure.” Ivy nodded. “You know where I am when you want me.”

Orianna smiled wanly. “Cheers. And thanks for looking after me just now.” She paused. “You're a good friend, Ivy.”

Ivy nodded. “It's no trouble. Isn't that what friends are for?” Tactfully, she retreated from the room.

Bugger guilt, she thought, back at her own desk. She opened up her drawer with an efficient
swoosh,
picked up the watch, and headed to production.

Dan was leaning over Esme's screen. Ivy swiftly detected they were sorting a schedule of the departmental workload. “Dan, hi.”

He looked up. “Ivy, hello. Did you get Orianna something to eat?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I'm ever so worried about her.”

“Me too.”

“But she doesn't seem to want to talk to me about it.”

“No. I wouldn't take it personally, Dan—you know Orianna—she's such a workaholic. I bet she thinks you'll tell her to go easy on herself, but she doesn't want to hear that.”

Dan scratched his head, clearly agitated. This was going better than Ivy would have dreamed possible. “I don't know what to do with her sometimes,” he said. “I wish she'd slow down. She might make herself seriously ill.”

Ivy bit her lip to mirror his concern and exhaled. “Take it from me, we've been friends for years. Sometimes Orianna won't listen to reason.”

“Esme and I were seeing if we might cut her workload a bit, though I'd prefer her to go home.”

“She won't do that.”

“No, I realize. I thought we might shift stuff around, so she's not doing as much.”

“Good idea.” Ivy switched tack. “Anyway, with all the hooha, I forgot to say earlier, Rob gave me this.” She held up the watch.

“Oh! Great!” Dan reached for it eagerly.

“I had a session with him this morning.”

“Of course.” He buckled the strap around his wrist.

“He said you'd left it in the staff room.”

“Yeah.”

“I won't ask why you took it off.”

“I had a fitness assessment.”

“I see.” Ivy was conscious that Esme, who'd not said a word, was all ears.

“And, er, he weighed me.”

Esme interrupted. “You took your watch off to be
weighed
?”

Dan blushed.

Fantastic, thought Ivy.

“Um … yeah.”

“Right.” Ivy laughed. “Apparently that's not the only thing he took off.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Really?” Esme was on the edge of her chair. “Dan, what else?”

“My trainers,” admitted Dan.

“And?” prompted Ivy.

“My T-shirt.”

“Your
T-shirt
?” squealed Esme, incredulous.

Dan stammered, “I wanted to get an accurate measure of my weight.” He was evidently mortified.

“Fair enough,” said Ivy, all understanding. “I usually weigh myself with nothing on too. You ought to be careful though, my boy.”

“Why?”

“It's hard for Rob, when you undress like that.”

“Who's Rob?” asked Esme.

“Our fitness instructor,” explained Ivy. “And when I say hard, I mean
hard…”

Dan went crimson.

“You've made him blush!” shrieked Esme, delighted to see her boss embarrassed.

Ivy continued innocently, “Rob really fancies you, Dan.”

“Do you think?” asked Dan.

“Do I
think
? Sweetheart, I
know.
”

*   *   *

Not much later Dan tapped on Orianna's door.

“Yes?”

He went in. Orianna was at her desk; it seemed she'd had a bite of the panettone, but only a small one. She was scowling, glaring into space.

“Honey—”

“Don't ‘honey' me!”

He knew she didn't like to be seen as professionally lacking in any way; still, he couldn't grasp why being encouraged to let up should enrage her so. “I appreciate you don't want to talk now. It'll keep till later.”

“Too right it will.”

“But please take a look at this. I've shifted work around to give you a bit of a breather.”

He leaned across the desk to hand her the revised schedule, and as Orianna reached out to take it, she cast her eyes downward to avoid his gaze. Then she said, “I see you got it back.” Her voice was odd, icy.

“What?”

“Your watch.”

“Oh, er, yeah. Ivy gave it to me.”

“
Ivy?
”

“Yes. Just now.”

She shook her head. “Don't lie to me, Dan.”

He was baffled. “I'm not lying! She brought it to me. Rob gave it to her earlier.”

“I don't think so.” She glared at him, her expression cold and hard.

“What are you talking about?”

“Cassie sneaked it to you, didn't she? I'm impressed—quick-thinking little cow.”

“Eh?”

“When I collapsed she must have come and given it to you.”

“I don't know what you mean. She's worried about you.”

“Charming. Bloody charming. She's worried about me, eh? A likely story.”

“Orianna—” He moved to touch her.

She recoiled sharply. “Don't come near me!”

“This fainting has affected you more—”

“Oh, for fuck's sake! Do you think I'm stupid?”

“I'm trying to help. Cassie—”

“Shut up about Cassie, will you?”

Dan gulped, at a loss. I know she's sensitive, he thought, but she's talking in riddles—this conversation is absurd. She's being paranoid.

“Leave that here.” Orianna slammed the desk to indicate he should put down the schedule. He did as he was told. “Now, go.”

“Go?” He was aware he sounded dumb and somehow was making things worse, but he couldn't make her out. Normally he knew how to handle her—he prided himself on his diplomacy—yet everything he said seemed to be wrong.

Surely suggesting someone take it easy after collapsing isn't a crime, he thought. And what does she mean,
Cassie
gave me the watch?

He hovered for a second, desperate to smooth things over. But Orianna just glared at him, her expression glacial, until finally she snapped, “Christ, Dan,
piss
off, will you?”

 

25. Farewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content!

Left alone, Orianna took another bite of panettone; she could only lose her appetite for so long—her instinct was to comfort eat if miserable. She picked up the revised schedule.

When Neil had been in charge he'd chosen not to have his workload included in the listing, reasoning it was his role to oversee the other art directors and copywriters and be “involved in everything.” But Ivy often griped that this hid the fact he frequently did very little creatively at all, and Orianna acknowledged this was the common perception of Neil within the department. Thus upon her promotion she'd asked Dan, whose responsibility it was to sort work flow, to allocate specific briefs to her and include them in the schedule. “I still need to be involved in coming up with ideas,” she'd said. “Getting sucked into a purely administrative role would be dreadfully dull. And I want my colleagues to see I'm pulling my weight.”

This week Green was particularly busy—the agency was pitching for two new pieces of business. Orianna had been due to work on one—for another Bellings Scott brand—and had requested she be teamed with Ivy. They were due to start the moment the brief was ready. She was also due at a shoot, and later in the week had been marked with a day out of the office for a presentation. So as always she had a lot going on, but at least the work would be challenging. Pitches were always fun, and the shoot involved working with a talented photographer Orianna had been hankering to commission for ages.