Getting Even

  It was satisfying to offload her ill feelings about men—their ineptitude, their inability to commit, their lack of worth—and it seemed that Orianna was more willing than ever to take her opinions on board. Moreover, for once Orianna didn’t seem remotely with it professionally, and today Ivy was glad to take the lead, knowing that finally they were back on an even keel.

  Come lunchtime and her weekly appointment with Rob, Ivy felt the best she had for ages. Lord, she was almost happy. And though she usually disguised her feelings, her personal trainer was able to pick up on her mood the moment he set eyes on her.

  “Good God!” Rob exclaimed. “What’s happened to you?”

  “What do you mean?” She could barely restrain from grinning.

  “You look fantastic.”

  “Do I?”

  “You’re glowing, and there’s a sparkle in your eyes.” He paused, peered more closely. “You’ve got a new man, have you?”

  “Oh, no,” said Ivy. Though come to think of it, she was in the mood for sex. Perhaps she and Russell could get together later. Mm … All this talk of keeping men in their place was quite a turn-on. With any luck she might persuade Russell to be tied up.

  “Whatever your secret, it’s doing you good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You changed your diet, or something?”

  Ivy shook her head. Let’s change the subject, she thought, this is beginning to feel like an interrogation.

  “I’ll tell you something though,” she said. “I’ve got some interesting gossip for you.”

  “What?” He was eager already.

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” she taunted, and disappeared into the changing room.

  * * *

  Rob sat perched on the arm of the sofa, endeavoring to be patient.

  I could do with some light relief, he thought. I miss Chloë. Living with John isn’t the same. We just don’t click as well.

  Rob and John had socialized together for a long while, so apartment-sharing should have been OK, but Rob was discovering the kind of friendship that made for a great Saturday night on the town did not necessarily satisfy come Sunday, when all he wanted to do was snuggle up on the sofa with Potato and feel cozy.

  It didn’t help that Chloë was having a great time in New York. According to her e-mails, she was dating countless different men, whereas in London her love life had often been as spartan as his was—if not more so. Previously Rob had been inclined to settle for one-night stands, but recently his heart hadn’t been in it.

  I must be growing old, he ruminated.

  At that moment Ivy bounded out of the changing room, ponytail swinging.

  “So?” he inquired, getting to his feet.

  “Let me stretch first.” Ivy always preferred to expend her energy working out rather than warming up so it wasn’t long before they were side by side aboard rowing machines. “Well,” she volunteered. “They’ve split up.”

  Rob’s heart leaped. Could she be referring to the “they” he hoped she was? “Who?”

  “Dan and Orianna.”

  “No!”

  “Yes, indeedy.” Ivy was soon rowing so fast that he had to push himself to match her. “Heard it from the horse’s mouth. This very morning.”

  “Oh?”

  “Orianna,” Ivy illuminated. “I’ve been working with her on a pitch.”

  “Ah.” Rob nodded. He had a fleeting suspicion perhaps this was why Ivy seemed so content all of a sudden, yet pushed the thought away. No, not Ivy; she’d got over her resentment of those two months ago. Hadn’t Dan said as much? “Do you know why?” He struggled to keep his voice light.

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” Schwoom, schwoom, went the rowing machine. But then Ivy turned to Rob and winked.

  “You don’t mean…”

  “Honey, it’s truly not in my power to say.”

  Ivy hesitated, and continued rowing for a second in silence, her face turned away. Eventually she turned back to Rob. “Orianna’s my friend. You know I would tell you if I could.”

  “Mm,” said Rob, disappointed.

  “It’s only, what with Dan being your client too, and all…” She scrunched up her nose and shook her head. “I’m not sure it’s terribly fair.”

  “No,” agreed Rob. He wondered if he would be so discreet in similar circumstances, and worried he wouldn’t. Frustrating though it was, he quite admired Ivy for this and in a way was reassured. It meant that if he was ever to confide in her, he knew she could be trusted.

  “Anyway.” Ivy smiled. “You’ve got a vivid imagination, I’m sure. Let me say that whatever it is you’re thinking, it’s probably true. There were other people involved.”

  “What? You mean Dan—”

  “I’m sorry,” Ivy interrupted. “That really is all I’m going to say. I’ve already said more than I should have, frankly. Orianna’s my dearest friend. She’d be most pissed off if she knew I’d told you this much. I only thought you should know so you don’t put your foot in it next time you see Dan. Whatever he’s done, however much he’s brought it on himself, he’s still human. He’s going through a lot. He probably needs time alone, to think and sort himself out so I’d probably tread carefully with him for a while. When he’s ready, I’m sure you’ll be one of the first people he’ll turn to. After all, he knows you—more than anyone—will understand.”

  31. Guiltiness will speak, though tongues were out of use

  Autumn was Ivy’s favorite season. Spring wasn’t her thing—all those bursting buds and frolicking animals—such brazen exuberance made her skin crawl. Summer she could take or leave; the fact people expected you to be happy because the sun was shining only made her feel churlish. Christmas, pah! All that gift-giving and altruism was such a trial. The compulsory celebrations—the work party with its inevitable scandals, the dinners out with old friends, and worst, the painful gathering of her dysfunctional family at her mother’s increasingly worn home—Ivy always counted down until the month was over.

  But, aah, autumn. Ivy loved it, especially when it had truly taken hold. The shortening days and lengthening nights—if she felt like going out she could; but she wasn’t obligated. No longer was she forced to compete with bronzed summer beauties; this was when her coloring came into its own. The cool light perfectly offset her pale complexion, the turning leaves complemented her flaming hair, the shops were filled with clothes in dark hues that enhanced her air of mystery.

  Then there was Halloween—the one tradition she did enjoy. Moreover, the day before was her birthday. According to her birth certificate, it was her thirty-ninth; according to her CV, her thirty-fifth. Not that either would be a cause for rejoicing, save it allowed her to wangle expensive presents out of Russell and Ed, without an obligation to give in return. But this particular birthday appeared to have brought an extra gift her way. A gift that, with any luck, might end the indignity of having to work with a junior colleague.

  Ivy had long suspected something was up with Cassie; something in addition to her affair with Leon, which Ivy surmised was carrying on apace. Her suspicions had been aroused several weeks previously, when she’d noted Cassie making an increasingly absurd number of trips to the toilet every morning, after which she’d emerge looking off-color, even through the bronzed glow. This in itself might not have been sufficient proof, but it also seemed that Cassie was being even more finicky about her diet than when she’d first arrived at Green. She’d been eating fewer salads, and she’d developed an unlikely appetite for frozen strawberry mousses.

  By her birthday, Ivy was virtually 100 percent certain. By now there was another sign: Cassie was wearing looser, more layered clothes and, though it had been getting colder, Ivy was unconvinced Cassie would have kissed good-bye to her man-magnet wardrobe without good reason.

  Then, finally, on the very afternoon when Ivy needed perking up (for she was privately discomforted at only being a year from forty), she received the confirmation she’d been waiting for.


  Approaching the end of the working day, Ivy was at her PC, Cassie was sitting opposite, when the lights overhead went out, plunging the office into semidarkness, lit only by computer screens. Ivy braced herself. She knew what was coming; sure enough, within seconds, Orianna had appeared at her side, brandishing a cake replete with candles (thirty-five, Ivy quickly counted, relieved). Ivy had been waiting for this magnanimous gesture all day, so she smiled sweetly at her colleagues as they clustered around her desk congratulating her, wishing her well, gasping in amazement that she was a day over thirty.

  A minute after Orianna came Russell, carrying three bottles of champagne on a tray and a dozen glasses. He popped the corks, poured several flutes, and handed them around. Ivy first, naturally, then the other creatives.

  “Er … no, thank you,” said Cassie quietly.

  “No?” Russell held out the glass. “I thought you antipodeans liked bubbly?”

  “Um…” Among the fawning and gabbling and back-slapping of her colleagues, Ivy sneaked a glance at Cassie. She looked fazed. “I do, but er…”

  “Go on, just one.”

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t.” Cassie was firm. “I’m not drinking.”

  “Not drinking?” Russell was astonished. Everyone, but everyone, liked—needed—to drink in advertising. He, like Ivy, knew that if someone didn’t drink, it was only because he or she had once fancied it rather too much or too frequently. “Dear me. Why?”

  “Because … er…”

  Ivy watched, fascinated, curious to see what excuse Cassie would come up with.

  Eventually Cassie brought it forth. “I’m on medication.”

  “Oh,” said Russell.

  Mm, thought Ivy, not bad. He won’t push her on that. As expected, he moved on, handing out glasses.

  But it was enough. Jubilant, Ivy knocked back her champagne.

  I wonder if Leon knows about this, she thought. She checked to see if he was keeping a protective eye on his girlfriend, yet he was joking with the other guys from the studio, so seemed blissfully ignorant.

  Regardless, she had no doubt. Moreover, she was the only person in the agency who knew who the father was. Happy birthday indeed.

  * * *

  Merrymaking was the last thing on Dan’s mind. Not because he didn’t enjoy champagne, but because he didn’t feel like celebrating Ivy’s birthday. Over recent weeks he’d an increasingly nasty taste in his mouth about Ivy.

  I couldn’t say why, he thought, but I get the impression she’s not remotely concerned that Orianna and I have split up. Quite the opposite: she seems to be doing her damnedest to conceal the fact she’s pleased. I don’t like to believe ill of people, but I’m not stupid, and having Orianna single suits her—she’s free to hang out with her socially once more.

  Dan had also observed they seemed to have got close again professionally, and Orianna was keen to work with Ivy whenever possible.

  And Ivy being a constant presence in Orianna’s life makes it nigh on impossible for anyone—let alone me—to get a word in, he decided. And I can’t point this out as Orianna will see any criticism of Ivy as a personal attack and rush to her defense. The chances of her listening to me are nonexistent.

  Dan couldn’t avoid seeing Orianna, but he found being in such proximity difficult. Even though it was a couple of months since they’d split, the fact that the woman he still loved ignored him except when forced not to by professional circumstance upset him a great deal. So much so that earlier that day he’d vowed to look for another job, to get away from Green and the pain of working together forever.

  Anyway, he’d an appointment with Rob at the gym that evening, and alcohol was incompatible with exercise. Just then he overheard Cassie say to Russell that she wasn’t drinking. Well, if she could refuse and not be scoffed at, with luck he could too.

  “For the latecomer?” Russell proffered him a glass.

  “I won’t, thanks.”

  “Not you as well.”

  “Going to the gym.”

  “Ah, right.” Russell snorted and moved away.

  Charming, thought Dan. Russell is so rude at times, and he doesn’t think fit to offer any alternative. He turned to Cassie. “Can I get you something?”

  “Oh … er…” She looked uncertain.

  “There’s some orange juice in the kitchen. I’d rather have that. Want a glass?”

  Cassie smiled. “Yes, please.”

  So Dan went to fetch it.

  * * *

  “Did you see that?” said Ivy.

  Of course she had. Orianna didn’t miss the merest hint of contact between Dan and Cassie, let alone something so marked.

  Ivy dropped her voice. “I hate it when he rubs your nose in it.”

  Orianna winced. “Me too.” On the whole she had to concede Dan had been pretty discreet about his affair with Cassie, and for this, at least, Orianna was grateful. Whether it was out of humility, diplomacy, or embarrassment, Orianna didn’t know or care—she just appreciated it made working together slightly more bearable. But seeing Dan bring Cassie a tumbler of fruit juice reminded her that she had been the one he’d attended to until recently, and it cut her to the quick.

  Orianna had kept busy since they’d parted in an attempt to anesthetize the hurt. She’d thrown herself into work with a maniacal vengeance, aided by Ivy, who had been keen to do all she could professionally to help. “I’ve missed you,” she’d said, and Orianna had been touched. Orianna had avoided much contact with Cassie; instead getting Ivy to oversee her work—Ivy, bless her, had been most amenable. What was more, to Orianna’s relief, Ivy had also volunteered to fend off their colleagues’ inevitable questions about her split with Dan. “I tell them not to pry or else,” she’d said, and laughed. “And you know how frightening I can be.” This had given Orianna the strength to go out in the evening occasionally too—often with Ivy. Once or twice they’d even had something approaching fun. But deep inside, Orianna’s heart was bleeding; an unremitting ache was with her every hour of every day, and most nights she sobbed into her pillow.

  For all his despicable behavior, I’m not over Dan, she admitted to herself. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will be.

  Her thoughts were broken by Ivy nudging her in the ribs. “Wonder why Cassie’s not drinking?” she whispered. “Always thought she liked a tipple, myself.”

  But Orianna was watching Dan—those familiar hands curled around the glass—and only half listening.

  * * *

  “Some sit-ups to finish?” suggested Rob.

  “I suppose,” said Dan. He’d hoped a trip to the gym might lift his spirits, get his endorphins going, but even after fifty minutes of intense aerobic exercise followed by weight training, he still felt a heaviness of spirit.

  What’s the point in toning up my abs when there’s no one to notice the benefit? he thought, lowering himself onto the mat. He was reminded of Orianna and her affection for his little tummy, which only made him more morose.

  “Ready?” said Rob, taking his place alongside.

  But as Dan looked up at the ceiling, he decided: the only six-pack he was interested in right now was the kind to help him numb the pain.

  Screw it, he thought. A tiny glass of champagne is one thing: a pint of beer another. It’s time to drown my sorrows. With any luck, Rob might be happy to have his ear bent.

  Dan had found the last few weeks tough—and he didn’t have many male friends he could confide in; not that way. He always felt more comfortable exposing his vulnerability to a woman, usually whoever he was going out with at the time. And there was no one of the opposite sex he’d ever been able to talk to as intimately or frankly as Orianna. Yet he didn’t have her to share his most heartfelt emotions with any longer …

  However Rob might be more open than Dan’s straight friends, more inclined to listen. After all, Rob probably had had his fair share of trauma, coming out, and he seemed to enjoy talking about people and intimate subjects.

  Without bot
hering to complete the exercise, Dan sat back up. “What are you doing this evening?”

  Rob turned to face him. Their eyes met, and Dan thought he detected a flash of understanding. “Nothing. You’re my last client. Why?”

  “Great.” Dan sprang to his feet. “Fancy going for a bevvy?”

  32. This is the night that either makes me, or fordoes me quite

  It’s looking good, thought Rob, as Dan headed off to buy a third round.

  He watched Dan make his way to the bar—my, what a great rear view he had! Nicely rounded, yet firm. He’s got me to thank for that, Rob congratulated himself. Though I did have fine raw materials from the start.

  Rob could tell Dan had been far from happy of late, but had held back from pressing Dan too closely about the state of his love life during their sessions at the gym. He’d decided to follow Ivy’s advice and wait for Dan to take the initiative. Now they were in a social environment, he was hoping Dan would open up.

  From this it’s only a small step to an admission we’re mutually attracted, he thought, and from there it’s but a skip and a hop to a snog.

  Rob was confident he was pretty hot stuff, and had every faith they might reach the point of no return in the taxi ride that would whisk them both back to his place …

  Going out together was even suggested by Dan—he was lying next to me on the mat when he mooted it. I mean, speculated Rob, how revealing of Dan’s unconscious motives was that? Purlease! They’d locked eyes, for heaven’s sake!

  To compound things, Dan had suggested they come to Freedom on Wardour Street, a bar known for its mixed crowd of gays and straights. It had a late closing, so time was on Rob’s side and a dance floor downstairs with dark alcoves virtually purpose-built for seduction. Furthermore, not only was Dan exhibiting the characteristics of a man in emotional turmoil—he appeared in something of a flat spin—he also seemed keen to get plastered. Rob had had his own first homosexual encounter under the influence of copious quantities of Bacardi many years before—and was growing increasingly convinced if anything was ever going to happen between them, tonight was the night.