Getting Even (29 page)

“Come in,” she said.

She looked up from her screen to see Cassie, who said, “I wonder if I can have a word? There's something I'd like to talk to you about.”

Taking in her expression of apprehension, Orianna steeled herself. If Cassie's going to confide in me about Dan, I don't want to hear, she thought.

She'd been managing to conceal her hurt as best she could; she hoped most of her colleagues were unaware how much she was smarting inside. She'd resisted confronting Cassie and borne the situation with a fortitude she didn't believe she had, but was unsure she could handle it were she faced with the relationship directly.

Cassie shut the door and stood before her, shifting from foot to foot. Then she blurted, “I'm pregnant.”

Sure enough, it stabbed Orianna like a spear to the heart. But perhaps she really was becoming tougher; certainly it seemed to help she'd prepared herself for the news. It took only a few seconds for her to feign surprise—after all, she'd better not betray she'd already been told by Ivy. “Oh?”

Cassie nodded. “I thought you had a right to know.”

That's an understatement, observed Orianna, but simply said, “I guess I do.”

“As you're my boss and all.”

Orianna fought the urge to be scathing. Instead she forced a smile. “When's it due?”

“April.”

Another spear. This confirmed that Dan had been sleeping with the two of them concurrently. She concealed a shudder and asked, “So you're nearly five months?”

“Yes. I wanted to hold off as much as possible before telling you. I'm aware I've not been here that long.”

It was all Orianna could do not to lean across her desk, grab her by the throat, and yell,
“Hold off on telling me that you're pregnant because
you've not been at the agency that long? Stuff your maternity rights, screw formalities—isn't the point that you're pregnant by my ex-boyfriend? The man I hoped I might have children with, until you came here!”
Yet she was rapidly learning to think one thing and say another. Still—damn it; she was sick of letting Cassie get away with such shameful behavior, and there was no one else within earshot. She was going to make Cassie squirm. She asked point-blank, “Who's the father then?”

Cassie went scarlet.

Rather than let her off the hook, Orianna prompted, “Someone I know?” Her sarcasm could not be more overt.

To her amazement, Cassie replied, “I'm not sure it's any of your business.” If this elusiveness was an attempt at diplomacy, it was so awkward that Orianna was startled into silence. This gave Cassie time to illuminate: “I think it's best that you and I don't talk about it. I just wanted you to know that I plan on working right up to my due date—or as close to that as I may, all being well. And, if it's OK with you, I'd like to come back to work as soon as possible after the baby is born. I really enjoy it here at Green.”

I bet you do, thought Orianna. What cheek! But she only permitted herself to raise her eyebrows. “Oh?”

Cassie continued, “I'll need the money.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. I don't want you to worry it'll interfere with my art direction, because I'll do my utmost to make sure it doesn't.”

“Mm.”

“I'll get back to my work.”

“Fine.”

Not for the first time, it occurred to Orianna what an enormous relief it would be to get rid of Cassie as well as Dan, but she was aware that firing someone—especially a pregnant woman—was a legal minefield. With any luck Cassie wouldn't want to return to such a stressful job once the baby was actually born.

Alone again, she sat back in her chair and exhaled heavily. After a few minutes, to take her mind off the encounter, she leaned forward and re-read Russell's e-mail.

I'm sure Ivy won't be the only one griping, she thought. Goddamn it, now I'll have all my staff berating me about their bonuses and panicking they're going to be made redundant, along with everything else. And I guess I shouldn't be surprised the forecast sounds so bleak profit-wise with the economy in its present state, but I do find it frustrating that the company finances seem to be getting worse when we've won a lot of business since I took over. To be bringing in new clients is a rare accomplishment, so why is the agency still struggling?

Orianna wasn't suspicious by nature, but she was seriously beginning to wonder. Every time she asked Russell to clarify why they were taking such a huge loss and requested precise figures, he shirked the issue.

Bugger it, she thought. The tone of Russell's e-mail is annoying and if I can't confront Cassie, at least I can confront him. She hit
Reply.

To:
Russell North

From:
Orianna Bianchi

Date:
Monday, December 10, 10:20

Subj:
Re: Keeping Green in the black this Christmas

I'm sure you're busy but I really would like to discuss this with you in more detail. It is still not clear to me why the agency took a loss in November, when we have won several substantial pieces of new business from Bellings Scott, not to mention a considerable amount from existing clients.

I have requested clarification before but now this is urgent. Not just because the majority of the creative department will be beating a path to my door within the next few hours as a result of your e-mail, and I would like to be able to answer their questions, but also because, as financial director, it's your job to keep me informed about monetary issues. So far I've been kept in the dark.

Thank you.

Orianna

While Cassie was in with Orianna, Ivy was sitting at her desk several yards away, watching.

This is a test, she thought. Cassie might let slip that Dan's not the father.

But over the last few weeks, Ivy had done her utmost to secure the baby's paternity would be remain secret. “Remember the company policy about in-agency relationships,” she'd warned, when Cassie had finally confided that she was pregnant. And when Cassie had muttered she wasn't sure she wanted to settle down with Leon, although Ivy was surprised, it gave her exactly the fuel she needed. “Quite right: far better not to mix business and pleasure. Keep your private life to yourself for as long as you can—it'll be much easier. Then you can see how things pan out with Leon and make your own decision, rather than have agency tattletale make it for you.” Cassie seemed content to go along with this, so her meeting Orianna in private didn't cause Ivy undue alarm. Anyway, there wasn't much opportunity for concern, for presently her phone rang.

“Ivy?” It was Russell.

“Yeah?”

“Can you spare a minute?”

“Sure.”

“My office?”

“Fine. Be with you in a sec.” She pressed
Save
and got to her feet. Once in Russell's room, she shut the door and took a seat opposite.

“Did you see my memo?”

She laughed. “Yeah, nice one.”

He looked at her, straight. “I'm serious, Ivy.”

“Oh?”

“The agency's not doing that well.”

“Really?” Ivy knew how much new business they'd won; she assumed he was making a needless fuss.

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I won't beat around the bush. Some of the points in question apply as much to you as anyone. Frankly, more.”

Ivy frowned. “Huh?”

“I've asked everyone to mind their extravagance, Ivy, and I'm asking you to do the same.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“What?” Given her special relationship with Russell, Ivy had taken it for granted she would be exempt.

“Your annual bonus, Ivy. It'll have to stop.”

She needed to be certain she understood him correctly. “Come again?”

“You heard me. Your bonus. We can't afford it anymore. Not for a while, anyway.”

He couldn't be serious! Without her bonus she'd be earning
much
less! How on earth was she going to be able to afford her car? Her apartment? Buy designer clothes? Drugs? She sensed her mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish, but before she had time to formulate a response, Russell continued, “And that's not all. There are also your credit cards.”

“What about them?”

“Your company Visa is one thing; but in particular, your Harvey Nichols charge card, Ivy.”

“So?”

“I can't keep hiding these sorts of expenses.” He picked up a statement. “Women's wear, three hundred and fifty pounds…”

“Mm.” Ivy fingered her cashmere cardigan.

He pressed on. “Accessories, beauty. I mean, honestly, Ivy. The fifth-floor food hall? Over a hundred pounds? Get real.”

“‘Get real'?!” This wasn't the kind of language she was used to from Russell.

“Yes. The agency can't afford to feed you on champagne and caviar. This is the twenty-first century.”

He was being so patronizing! “If I'm so out of date,” she quipped, “how come you've never said anything before?”

“Because I've let it go for as long as I can.”

“Oh.” She looked him in the eye, to check he meant it. Unfortunately she knew Russell well enough to know that expression. Firm and unyielding. Possibly even—when it came to money—power-crazed. Often she found it erotic. Though it indicated he wouldn't budge, however hard she pleaded.

“OK.” She got to her feet. “I get the message.” And she stomped back to her desk, filled with indignation.

*   *   *

All day Orianna waited for a reply from Russell. She made sure he was in the agency throughout the afternoon, and checked her e-mail at regular intervals. OK, so he appeared to be immersed in papers or focused on his screen, but that was no excuse for not responding. If he's hoping I'll let it go he's much mistaken, she thought.

By six o'clock she'd gone beyond curiosity, or even understanding. She was fuming. No doubt her rage was compounded by having repressed her resentment of Cassie, but still she had every right to be furious. Didn't Russell owe her some civility? He might not be her number one fan, nevertheless she had worked damn hard over the last year, put her heart and soul into her job, and in the face of the most grueling personal challenges, had not allowed her work, or the agency, to suffer.

How dare he cut me out of the loop? she thought. Does he think because I'm creative, that understanding facts and figures is beyond me?

“Condescending prick,” she muttered. Screw him. I've spent the best part of my life being innocent, and look where it's gotten me: shafted by the man I loved and the woman I hired. Well, I'm not going to let it happen again.

Her colleagues seemed more anxious than ever to been seen working all hours in the wake of Russell's e-mail. It was 9:45 p.m. before the last of her coworkers tapped on the glass of her office on his way out.

“I'll lock up,” she mouthed.

Finally she was on her own in the department. She could hear a vacuum on the floor below; she didn't have long before the cleaner reached the top floor, so she hotfooted it across to Russell's office.

His door was unlocked; to bolt it would have seemed odd in a chiefly open-plan environment. Best not turn on the main light; instead she went to his desk and switched on his lamp. Orianna wasn't sure what precisely she was seeking, but she'd a hunch she was onto something.

Firstly, she tried his desk drawers. Locked, every one of them. And his filing cabinet: the same. Still, Russell kept the company petty cash there, it was to be expected. No point even attempting to open his computer—it was sure to be password-protected, and Russell was not someone whose code she would crack. No, what she was looking for was probably something he'd accidentally left out, the significance of which might not be immediately obvious. She began to riffle through his in-box, when she thought she heard the sound of the vacuum on the stairs. While the cleaner might not be aware who Orianna was, being caught searching the office of the financial director late at night was not worth risking. If Russell noticed anything was amiss the next day, she didn't want anyone to be able to point the finger at her.

Rummage, rummage. A load of invoices—mainly from suppliers, she knew most of their names. There were a couple she didn't recognize on cream-colored paper, but she wasn't aware of every single company the agency dealt with and they all seemed legitimate—stationery, photographic development, office furniture … More rummaging. Her fingers flicked sheet after sheet, like a bank teller counting bills. A few receipts—again they appeared to be in order; parking receipts, train fares, magazines. Then, right at the bottom of what she took to be the paperwork Russell had been handling that day, a familiar logo caught her eye.

Harvey Nichols.

She pulled out the piece of paper—it was some kind of a statement. But
Harvey Nichols
? She frowned. This wasn't a credit card statement, as she might have expected. Orianna had a company credit card—a Visa—as did many of the senior suits. But this was for an account card; furthermore, it bore the name …
Ivy Fraser.
That in itself was strange, but it might not have been that strange had it not also borne the Soho Square address of Green Integrated where Orianna would have expected to see Ivy's home address in Hoxton. What on earth had Ivy bought at Harvey Nichols that could possibly be chargeable to the company?

Just then Orianna heard the thump of the vacuum being lugged up the stairs. Quick as a flash, before she had a chance to read the statement in any more detail, she ran out of Russell's office, heading for the photocopier. She lifted the lid, placed the statement on the glass, and hit the green button.