Getting Even (9 page)

Her mind raced. My husband wusses out on me—I've long gotten used to that. But my best friend betraying me? My lover selling me down the river? It shows no one's worth trusting. No one!

Twelve minutes later, Ivy was there. She turned off the engine and reversed the actions of the Poland Street parking garage: roof shut, stereo off, bag picked up, alarm on. Then
tippy tappy
up the stairs—she couldn't be bothered to wait for the elevator—and
pring!
on the doorbell.

It seemed to take him an age to answer. She could hear the bolts sliding back, the chain unlocked, then, at last, she was in.

“You're early.” Russell was still in his work shirt and trousers, though he'd loosened his tie and there was the noise of water running in the bathroom. Doubtless he'd been poised to take a pre-shag shower.

“Indeed,” said Ivy, voice clipped. She led the way into the kitchen. There on the white marble counter, as requested, was a bottle of wine. A particularly fine Cheateauneuf-du-Pape. It was uncorked, glasses at the ready.

“May I?” Without waiting for a reply, Ivy poured them each a glass. She stood back and casually took a sip, resting her bottom against the counter. “Tell me, Russell,” she said acidly, “did you have a meeting at lunchtime?”

“You know I did.” Russell was unperturbed.

“And who else was in that meeting?”

“The rest of the board, of course.”

“Not my art director, perchance?”

“Orianna?” He paled. “Mm … I guess she was.”

“Now, Russell.” Ivy's voice was sickly sweet. “Tell me. Were you party to this
promotion
she seems to think she's been offered? Does her spectacular
solo
rise to creative director have anything to do with you?”

“Er…” Russell, who normally had an answer to everything, was clearly caught short. Presumably he hadn't expected her to learn of the move quite so fast.

“Because forgive me if I'm wrong, but it seems to me that as financial director of Green Integrated you had some teeny part to play in all this—ah! Stop!” Seeing his mouth open in protest she held up a palm. “Don't pretend you didn't sanction it in some way. If you didn't, you ought to watch out—for control of this agency seems to be slipping out of your hands. But frankly, I know you, so I wouldn't believe you. My guess is you gave it your tacit approval or certainly didn't have the guts to object. Which, given that you and I have been
fucking
”—she delivered the word as if it were a weapon—“for, ooh, what? Three years? Or is it four? I take to be a rather gross misdemeanor on your part. Don't mess with me, Russell—
I'm
the one you should be looking out for at Green, not Orianna. And if you don't, remember, dearest, I can make things pretty spectacularly embarrassing for you and little Mrs. Russie-pie at home. A little bunny-boiling behavior might become me beautifully. But in the meantime, take
this
as a warning of what might be to come.”

And with that she hurled the bloodred contents of her glass straight at him, covering his crisp white shirt in a stain his wife would find impossible to remove.

 

9. The raven o'er the infected house

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” shrieked Rob.

Orianna had already gleaned he could be theatrical, and knew Blacks was a media haunt where starry behavior was commonplace, but his entrance to the bar seemed OTT all the same. Then, as Rob flung his arms around an hourglass brunette and squeezed her so hard Orianna almost expected her to pop, she realized it was simply a greeting. My goodness, she thought, does he treat
all
his friends this way?

“How are you then?” He held the girl at arm's length like a proud father. “Let me take a look.”

His friend stood back, laughing, and Orianna took in an expressive face, an unruly mop of curls, and an outrageous, turquoise, tiger-striped dress.

“Give us a twirl,” commanded Rob, and she twirled obligingly, quite unembarrassed that the guy on the door, the bar staff, and Orianna were all watching. “
Love
it. New purchase?”

The girl nodded. “SoHo special, darling.” She mimicked his campiness.

“You look pretty happy to me.” Rob checked her over again.

She grinned. “I am.”

“The city suits you.”

“I'm having a
heavenly
time.” She had a way of speaking that was particularly sensual, thought Orianna; in fact, with her barely hidden bosom and fishnet tights, she seemed a bit of a sexpot. “Ooh, it's
so
good to see you!”

She hugged Rob again, and Orianna was beginning to feel awkward.

“Oh my Lord, honey, I'm so sorry,” he said. “How
rude
of me!” She stepped forward. “Orianna, this is my ex-roommate and dear, dear friend—indeed, far be it from me to mince words—my bestest friend in the whole wide
world
, Chloë Appleton. Chloë, Orianna, a recent acquaintance but one who I am certain is a kindred spirit too.”

Orianna smiled. In the face of such exuberance she felt a little shy.

Chloë held out her hand. “Hi,” she said. “Been for a swim?”

*   *   *

Dan was at his desk sorting invoices when his mobile rang.

“Hi, Dan? It's me.”

“Where are you?”

“That's why I'm calling. I'm on Dean Street. We're at Blacks. I had to come out to phone you—you're not allowed to make calls inside.”

“How did you get in there? I didn't know Ivy was a member.”

“She's not; Chloë is.”

“Chloë?”

“A friend of Rob's.”

“But I thought you were with Ivy?”

“It's a long story. Ivy's gone. Rob was meeting a friend of his here and invited me. Why don't you come and I'll explain?” Orianna's voice cracked. “I could do with seeing you actually.”

“Are you OK?” As earlier that day, Dan was worried. She should be over the moon following her promotion. What on earth was going on? “Why isn't Ivy with you?”

“Eh?”

“I said,
where's
Ivy?”

“It's no good, I can't hear you.” Orianna raised her voice. In the background he could hear the buzz of traffic and people. “This signal's crap.”

“You're breaking up. I'm losing you…”

“Sorry?”

“OK,” he bellowed, feeling silly in the quiet of the agency. “I'll be right down.”

“Ask for Chloë at the door,” she yelled, and the line cut out.

*   *   *

“Let's go to the lounge,” said Chloë, taking Orianna's arm. They left Rob at the bar getting a round and Orianna followed Chloë up several flights of stairs.

At the top, Chloë pushed open a heavy door and led Orianna inside. Orianna had never been to Blacks before, though she'd heard of it, and for all her trauma was intrigued. The room was dark though it was still light outside, but eventually she was able to make out the gothic interior. Vintage prints and contemporary oil paintings hung on olive-green walls; there was a vase of fresh flowers on a marble-topped table and candles galore. An assortment of brocade cushions, satin sofas, and armchairs made up the ad hoc seating, with the exception of a small room at the back, which was entirely taken up by a huge bed. On its tapestry covers three people lay talking and laughing. As Chloë guided her to a vacant sofa, Orianna noticed everything looked worn and loved—the antithesis to Cassio's clinical modernism. This was much more her style.

“So, have you been a member long?” she asked.

“I joined when I went abroad. I thought it would be nice to have somewhere to chill now that I'm not based here. It's good for business meetings too.”

Orianna could imagine the sort of meetings one might hold here; the place had the air of a den of iniquity, but didn't say so. Yet she didn't wish to be drawn into the Ivy story before Dan arrived either, so steered the conversation elsewhere. “How come you're in London now?”

“I'm here for my brother's wedding.”

“How lovely,” beamed Orianna.

“Rob's coming as my guest.”

So Chloë didn't have a serious boyfriend then. Odd, thought Orianna. A sexy girl like her? It's a reminder nice men are a rarity—I mustn't take Dan for granted.

“Where is it you're living?”

“New York—I moved there in April.”

“My, how exciting.” Orianna was envious. She and Ivy had often said they'd like to work there for a while, though she was certain she could never live there. She doubted there'd be many of her beloved geraniums in the Big Apple. “So you've gone for work?”

“I'm setting up a magazine.”

“
Really?
”

“You might have seen it. It launched here in February.”

“Oh?”

“It's called
All Woman.
”

“Ooh, I know that! I love it!”

Chloë clapped her hands. “Honestly?”

“I buy it every month.”

“The magazine was my idea, initially. I was the editor here, now I'm launching it in the US.”

“That's amazing.” Orianna was reverential. She was used to her job sounding impressive; all of a sudden Green Integrated seemed parochial. She wished she'd done more TV ads, which is what seemed to impress those outside the industry.

Sure enough, Chloë asked: “So what do you do?”

“I work in an advertising agency.”

“Is that how you met Rob? I know he's got lots of agency clients.”

“Yeah, my boyfriend's one of them.”

“I see. So, what are you—a creative?” Chloë assessed her. “You must be.”

Orianna laughed. “Because it's not everyone who comes to Blacks soaking wet?”

“No. I just meant your style—you know, it's kind of…”

“Hippy?” Orianna plucked at her floaty dress.

“It's feminine, yet funky,” clarified Chloë. “I like it.”

“Thanks.” Orianna was pleased. The editor of
All Woman
thought she looked good! After such a horrible encounter with Ivy, this was just what she needed. Self-confidence restored, she was keen to impress Chloë in return. “You're right; I'm an art director. But actually I've just been offered the job of CD.”

“Creative director?”

“Yup. Only today as a matter of fact.” For the first time that day, she allowed herself to feel properly proud.

“Wow! But that's brilliant!”

“Why thank you.” Orianna blushed. Given Chloë worked abroad, she felt able to confide, “I only wish my copywriter, Ivy, thought so. She threw her drink at me when I told her.”

“Hence the wetness? Oh dear. A woman upstaged, eh? That's a dangerous thing.”

“Precisely.”

“Is she a friend?”

“Mm.” Orianna had another rush of guilt. “I'm not sure she'll
ever
forgive me.”

“She'll come around, if you're nice to her, surely?”

“You don't know Ivy.” Orianna grimaced.

At that moment Rob came up to them with a tray of drinks. “See who I've found. They let me sign him in for you.” At his shoulder was Dan.

“Sweetheart!” Dan kissed Orianna. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh Dan!” she burst out. “I told Ivy about my promotion—”

“You didn't!”

“I know it was probably silly, but I thought she might understand; she's always said she loves the writing bit of copywriting and hates all the rest that goes with it, she's never that interested in our juniors, and I didn't think she was bothered about becoming CD.” Orianna was aware she was being indiscreet, but had to offload. “And I didn't want her to be cross if I didn't tell her, so I decided to let her know at once, but she was furious. I've never seen her more angry.” She paused for breath, and the shock of Ivy's reaction hit her again. She gulped back tears, determined not to seem pathetic in front of Chloë and Rob.

“Woah!” said Dan. “Slow up.” He took hold of her hand and stroked it. “So, I take it you've accepted the job then? It wasn't clear in your e-mail.”

“Yes. I agreed there and then, at the meeting.”

Dan hesitated. “It's only that you said yesterday you'd never do it without Ivy.”

Had that only been twenty-four hours ago? What a lot had happened since. “I know I did, but then I changed my mind.”

“Oh.”

“Was that awful of me?”

“You know I sometimes think you're too nice for your own good.”

“Not anymore.” Orianna sighed. “I feel like the biggest bitch on the planet.”

“Honey, if there's one thing you'll never be, it's a bitch. Others can lay claim to that title, not you.”

“Ivy thinks I'm one. When I told her, she threw her drink all over me and then Rob came into Cassio's and gave me his towel and rescued me.”

“She
what
?”

Orianna recounted the story. When she'd finished she turned to all three of them. “What do you think?”

“I don't know her very well,” said Rob, “and she's a client, so I don't want to be disloyal. Actually, I like Ivy but—um—she's not someone I'd want to get on the wrong side of.” He was obviously struggling to be generous. “Perhaps I could speak to her? Say you didn't mean to upset her so much and you're really worried? I know you'll see her tomorrow but she's got a session with me before work and it might be good coming from someone else.”

Orianna nodded. “It's a thought…”

“Frankly, I think she's overstepped the mark,” interjected Dan. “Ivy has no right to treat you that way—she's supposed to be your friend. It pisses me off. I'd like to give her a piece of my mind.”

“But you can understand why, surely, given our history?”