Getting Even

  Her arm was linked through Dan’s.

  Rob’s heart jumped a beat again. Was it possible their arms were linked so Dan could guide this girl through the throng, or because they were great friends? Rob was astute when it came to body language and as the girl smiled up at Dan as they halted before him, he concluded it was more than chemistry; it was genuine affection. It could even—horrors!—be love. Was this a girlfriend then, and a serious one at that?

  Rob was too much of a gent and too proud to show his upset. He held out a palm. “I’m Rob. And you are…?”

  The girl dropped Dan’s arm to shake his hand. Rob noted that her grip was firm, assured. “Orianna.” Her beam was broad.

  What a coincidence, he thought, there can’t be more than one of those about. “Pardon me—did you say Orianna?”

  “Yeah. Why?” She looked puzzled.

  “I’ve heard of you.”

  Orianna turned to Dan. “I thought you hadn’t told him about me?”

  “I haven’t.” Dan frowned.

  Rob elaborated. “Aren’t you at Green Integrated?”

  Orianna nodded.

  “Ivy’s partner?”

  “Yes.”

  “She mentioned you to me earlier, at her fitness assessment.”

  “Hey,” Dan interrupted. “Looks like that group is leaving. Let’s nab their seats.”

  They moved fast. Orianna threw her jacket over the wrought-iron banister; Rob chucked his sports bag on the velour sofa.

  “I’ll go to the bar,” offered Dan. “What can I get you?”

  “Another dry white, please.”

  Rob and Orianna sat down, Rob on a leather stool facing the door, Orianna on the sofa opposite.

  Aware there now seemed little hope with Dan and wishing to be sure exactly how little, Rob cut straight to the point. “Are you two…?”

  “Going out? Er, yeah.”

  “I see.” Rob disguised his disappointment. “So, have you been together a while?”

  “Not that long. Since just before Christmas.”

  Rob nodded. “He’s a very nice guy.”

  Orianna colored. “I know.”

  Blast, thought Rob, she really likes him. I wonder if he likes her as much? “Do you see a lot of each other?”

  “Well, we work together, so we see each other a lot there … But aside from that, yes, I suppose. A couple of nights during the week and then on weekends.”

  So it was mutual then.

  Then Orianna added, looking worried, “We haven’t told anyone yet though—you’re the first.”

  Rob was surprised. “Why not?”

  “We wanted to be sure it wasn’t just a passing thing. What with working closely together, it can get awkward if it goes wrong. I’ve seen it happen so often—lots of people in agencies have flings or affairs. And it’s fine while it lasts, but when it’s over, it can make things tough.” She frowned. “It happened to me once … and when this guy—Clive—went off with someone else at work and we split up, everyone knew.” She shuddered. “It was awful.”

  Rob nodded. Despite his attraction to Dan, he couldn’t resist warming to Orianna. Not in the same way he’d liked Ivy instantly; from what he’d seen so far Ivy was the kind of woman he’d like to party with. She’d be fun to gossip and bitch with, whereas Orianna was a Sunday-papers-on-a-wet-afternoon-lounging-on-the-sofa type. He suspected Ivy would rather stick pins in her eyes than do anything so domestic. But Orianna seemed vulnerable, approachable. That she’d been hurt meant he identified with her.

  He kicked himself. Don’t be such a softy—this woman’s shagging your man! How are you ever going to end up with a partner if you can’t be a bit more aggressive? Malice wasn’t in Rob’s nature, however, whereas curiosity was. “Does no one know?”

  Just then Dan came back from the bar. “No,” he said. “Not yet. You’re the honored first.” He put down the drinks carefully and took a seat next to Orianna. Rob noticed he rested his arm on the sofa behind her—a gesture that was both casual and protective.

  Despite his letdown, Rob was delighted they’d chosen him as their first public encounter. “It must have been ever so difficult to keep quiet,” he said, impressed. He couldn’t imagine being discreet; he loved to share almost every moment of his own experiences.

  Orianna bit her lip and nodded. “Most people, it’s fine—I wouldn’t go into all the details of my love life with them anyway. But with Ivy it’s been hard. I normally tell her everything. Though I guess, maybe”—she hesitated and glanced at Dan for approval—“I might let her know soon.”

  Mention of Ivy brought her front of mind. “Oh my God!” Rob clapped his hands over his mouth theatrically. “I forgot to say…”

  “Forgot what?” said Orianna and Dan in unison.

  Before he had time to reply, Rob saw a tall, slim figure with red hair and a chic, mint-green raincoat come through the door and head directly to their table.

  5. Ha! I like not that

  “Ah, Rob! There you are.” Given the position of the sofa, it wasn’t until Ivy came around to the head of the table that she saw his companion: “Dan!”

  Then her jaw dropped.

  Beside him was Orianna—she’d been hidden from view by the jacket slung over the banister behind her. Moreover, unless Ivy was hallucinating, Dan’s arm was resting around Orianna’s shoulders. Immediately Ivy gleaned the body language was not platonic. For once she didn’t mask her consternation.

  “Orianna? What are you doing here?”

  “Er…” Orianna went scarlet.

  Dan came to her rescue. “I invited her. How come you’re here?”

  “He invited me.” Ivy pointed at Rob. She turned to him. “You didn’t say Orianna was coming.”

  Rob shrugged. “I didn’t know.”

  “Oh.” Lips pink and glossy, eyes wide with mascara, hair brushed and fluffed … Orianna had redone her makeup since Ivy had seen her just after lunch. She spoke her mind at once. “So are you guys seeing each other, or what?”

  A pause. Eventually: “Yes,” they admitted simultaneously.

  “How long has it been going on?”

  “Since Christmas,” said Dan.

  “I was going to tell you very soon,” added Orianna.

  “Hmph.” Ivy was intensely displeased at being caught unawares, but was damned if she’d admit it. “I sussed there was something between you.” She addressed Rob. “Guess that answers your question.”

  Rob nodded.

  “What question?” asked Dan and Orianna, again in unison.

  “Oh nothing.” She shook her head, elusive in retaliation. “Well,” she turned toward the bar, “I’m going to get a drink. Anyone else?”

  They all muttered they were fine.

  Waiting to order a gin and diet tonic, Ivy had moments to appraise. So Orianna and Dan have been going out since Christmas, she thought. Bloody hell; I’ve been kept in the dark for months—it seems even Rob knew before me! Orianna is my partner, my ally. Through takeovers and promotions, we’ve been loyal to one another over our bosses, colleagues, and clients …

  Ivy drummed her fingers on the wooden countertop, upset mounting. The bartender evidently thought the signal was aimed at him, and came to serve her at once.

  Yes, she thought, Orianna’s such a romantic, her relationship with Dan is sure to take precedence—doesn’t the fact they’ve been going out on the sly signal a shift already? Years before, when she fell for that dreadful Clive in the design studio, she told me everything. So this newfound secrecy is a sign she’s moving away from me. Worse, whatever I share with her might get passed on …

  Ivy shuddered. Imagine Dan being Orianna’s chief confidante! She hated the prospect she might be replaced, that she was, in effect, expendable. Of course, she herself was married, and if she chose to, could share similar intimacies with her husband, Ed. But he didn’t work with them, so she didn’t see it as the same, and as it was she rarely confided in him.

  It was also tr
ue that she was having an affair with a colleague herself. Some might have said she was hiding great swathes of her private life from Orianna; certainly she’d not told her friend about her own three-year liaison. But she figured her relationship with Russell was hardly one she could be public about, not without upsetting a very big apple cart. And Ivy had no wish to do that; relations with the financial director suited her just fine the way they were. He was good-looking, sharp, and as cofounder of the company, had a lot of influence.

  Anyway, she reasoned, I’m not in love with Russell. I’m way more detached than Orianna will ever be. I might be having sex with a colleague on the board, but our needs come first. Besides, I’ve an opt-out clause—my marriage, whereas Orianna is in danger of putting all her eggs in the rather dodgy basket of Green Integrated. Not a wise move at all …

  Carts and baskets, apples and eggs—Ivy’s mind was sprinting even faster than normal. It was a relief when her thoughts were interrupted by the bartender with her drink, and she could slow them with the mellowing effects of her second favorite drug.

  * * *

  “Oh, Lord,” Orianna whispered. “I wish I’d had the chance to tell her myself.”

  Dan checked Ivy was out of earshot. Yes; her back was turned and the general hubbub would act as a buffer. “Me too.”

  “Still, she doesn’t seem to have taken it too badly.” Orianna sounded hopeful.

  “No,” agreed Rob.

  But you don’t know Ivy like we do, thought Dan. The last thing he wanted was to upset Orianna, yet Ivy’s response made him hesitant. Dan wasn’t easily intimidated—he liked to believe the best of people—but he’d long been wary of Ivy. Although he’d never fallen victim to her sharp tongue, he’d seen her censure Esme, and noted she was not someone to rub the wrong way.

  Sure enough, when she returned to the table and pulled up a stool, Ivy’s tone was curt. “So who else is in on your little secret?”

  “No one,” said Orianna.

  “And we’d rather you didn’t tell anyone else just yet.” Perhaps he could smooth things over. “Orianna was desperate to tell you.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Though I encouraged her to wait.”

  Ivy’s lips were tight. “Why?”

  “You know what agencies are like.”

  “Mm?”

  “We thought it best kept to ourselves initially. This is the first time we’ve been out together.”

  “It’s true. They’ve literally only just told me,” said Rob.

  “Really,” said Ivy.

  “Yes, really,” protested Orianna.

  “But you could have trusted me!”

  “Blame me,” offered Dan.

  “If you say so,” muttered Ivy.

  Dan was tempted to argue. He’d a hunch Ivy was quite capable of harboring dark secrets of her own if it suited her. But he knew that Orianna adored her, and they made a fine creative team—one of the best in the agency, if not the best. He took a swig of his beer and resisted, shifting to news he was confident would refocus their interest. “I heard Neil’s resigning.”

  Ivy leaned forward. “You what?”

  “Neil’s leaving.”

  “No!” exclaimed Orianna. She gave him a friendly punch. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I’ve only just heard,” he explained. “One of the joys of working late. You get all the news. Now if you girls would just stay beyond five thirty sometimes, who knows what you might find out?”

  “Cheeky bugger.” Orianna laughed.

  Ivy got straight to the point. “Where’s he going?”

  Orianna added, “Who told you?”

  “He did. He said I’d find out shortly, but wanted to tell me himself. He felt as head of production I deserved to know.”

  Rob coughed. “Who’s Neil?”

  “Our creative director,” said Ivy brusquely and repeated, “Where’s he going?”

  “To Manchester.”

  “Manchester?” Ivy scoffed.

  “Why?” asked Orianna.

  “Apparently he’s sick of the rat race.” Dan shrugged. “He’s bought a house in the Peak District and he and his wife are moving back up north. He’s going to freelance at some agency run by a friend of his or something—”

  “Good God!” Ivy was agog.

  “—and take up fine-art painting.”

  Ivy snorted. “Has the man no style?” She paused to take a sip of G&T, then delivered her verdict. “Well, well. Though I always said he couldn’t cut it. Downsizing? How dreadfully passé.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Ivy went straight to Russell’s office.

  “Got a moment?” she asked, shutting the door and taking a seat opposite him before he could answer. “What are you doing?” He appeared to be counting out pens of some description.

  “UV markers,” said Russell. “I’ll be handing them out later. I want you all to label your PCs, Macs, printers—anything valuable—with Green’s postcode. The ink’s invisible to the naked eye, but it shows up florescent under ultraviolet light. Helps the police track stolen goods.”

  “Sounds like something from a bad detective novel. Can’t Green afford anything more state-of-the-art?”

  “Sometimes you don’t have to spend heaps—so long as it does the job.”

  “Yeah, right.” At times Russell was so tight it was laughable. He was exacting too: papers stacked in trays, files sorted by date, books stored alphabetically—it was a wonder he could create the mess necessary to work. Everything had its place; I’m in control, it said, doubtless why he was such a good FD. But she wanted his attention so came straight to the point. “I gather our beloved creative director’s resigning.”

  Russell turned to face her. “News travels fast.” He appeared unfazed.

  “Indeed.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Dan.” Ivy was dammed if she owed Dan her discretion now. “When does Neil go?”

  “Sooner the better, far as I’m concerned. He hasn’t been pulling his weight for quite a while.”

  “Any idea of who’ll replace him?”

  Russell shrugged. “Not yet. I suppose we’ll begin the usual trawl using headhunters at some point.” He removed his reading glasses to focus on her. “Why?” His pale blue eyes narrowed. “Got someone in mind?”

  “Oh no. Just wondered, that’s all.”

  “Whoever it is, I’m sure you’ll be able to wind them around your little finger.”

  Ivy smiled. “Maybe.” She paused. She didn’t fancy resuming her writerly duties yet; she was still preoccupied with the revelations of the evening before. The prospect of umpteen letter variants was boring—far more stimulating to bait her lover, and it made her feel better to show she got to hear agency gossip first. “Yeah, I met up with Dan for a drink last night—that’s where he told me about Neil.”

  “Oh?”

  “And guess what?”

  “What? He fancy you or something? Make a pass?”

  “No. In fact…” She spiraled a string of her hair provocatively. “He’s already seeing someone in the agency.”

  “Oh yeah? Who?”

  “Guess.”

  “Jeez, I don’t know … He’s a good-looking man, or so I gather. Can’t see it myself. Could be anyone. Wasn’t he having a fling with that blonde in accounts?”

  “Lara?”

  “Yeah, that was her. Cute little thing.”

  Ivy bristled. She didn’t like Russell finding another girl attractive, however patronizing his appreciation. “You’re way out of date. That was months ago—he soon tired of her. No, this is altogether more serious, been going on a while.”

  Russell frowned, then admitted, “You’ve got me. Who?”

  “It’s off the record.”

  “Of course. You can trust me.”

  Ivy hesitated. On one hand her loyalty to Orianna remained; she wouldn’t want Russell to know. On the other, both she and Dan had irritated Ivy the night before; that
Dan had jumped to Orianna’s defense had made Ivy feel more excluded. Besides, Russell was a master of concealment. It was this that swayed her. “OK…” She paused for effect. “It’s Orianna.”

  “Orianna!?”

  Ah! The joy of revelation. “What do you think of that?”

  Russell raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He chuckled to himself. “Never would have put those two together. How sweet.”

  “Mm.”

  “It’ll be very interesting to see how long that lasts.”

  “Yes.” She got to her feet. “It will indeed.”

  As she reached to open the door, Russell remarked, “Have you only just found out?”

  She didn’t like to be reminded. “I’ve had my suspicions for a long while.”

  “But you didn’t know for sure?”

  “No.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

  “Yes, well, she didn’t.” Ivy left his office abruptly. Pointing out she’d been kept in the dark made her feel stupid, even—anathema—naïve. She hated being seen as less than 100 percent knowing, especially by the ever-worldly Russell. She headed back to her desk, resentment mounting.

  Yes, she concluded, I’m far from ready to forgive Orianna yet …

  6. A constant, loving, noble nature

  Sunday afternoon, a fortnight later, Orianna was gardening. She had a gift with plants, and nurturing her small patio supplied a broader canvas on which to express her artistic talents. Over countless weekends she’d lovingly created a verdant haven, albeit overlooked by Victorian terraces. It provided her with a sanctuary away from the cut and thrust of work—within its four whitewashed walls there were no briefs, deadlines, or client demands.

  A pair of carefully trimmed box trees on either side of the back door paid lip service to the formal gardens of her classical heritage, but otherwise it was a pleasing hodgepodge. She’d stuck a variety of antique tiles willy-nilly on one wall because they seemed “meant” to go there, painstakingly decorated a cheap garden table with a huge mosaic daisy because daisies made her happy, and commissioned an eccentric potter friend to make her a fountain which would not be to everyone’s taste, but which she appreciated.