Getting Even

by Sarah Rayner

  Dan took her hand. “Mm.”

  “And she probably knows what she’s talking about. After all, she’s done pretty well for herself, hasn’t she? I mean, she doesn’t even look that old—she can’t be as old as me—and she’s been the editor of two magazines already.”

  “She seems quite a go-getter.”

  “Do you reckon she’s doing better than I am?”

  “You can’t compare yourselves. You don’t work in magazines.”

  “We’re both in the media.”

  “I don’t think journalism pays as well as advertising though.” Dan seemed keen to look on the bright side. “And now you’ll be earning even more.”

  “I guess so.”

  Orianna walked in silence, brooding. They’d had a pleasant evening, but the banter was only a temporary distraction. Beneath the surface she remained in turmoil about Ivy. Soon her disquiet emerged. “She’s very attractive, isn’t she?”

  Dan turned to her. “Who, Ivy?”

  “Chloë.”

  “I suppose.” Dan agreed. Then added, “Sexy.”

  Orianna felt a stab of jealousy. “Sexier than me?”

  “You’re different.”

  “So she is sexier.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Orianna grew mournful. “I know I’m not sexy like that.” Beside Chloë’s hourglass figure, she’d felt plain plump.

  “You’re being silly. You’re really pretty!”

  “I don’t want to be pretty. I want to be sexy!”

  “Of course you’re sexy.” Dan dropped her hand, faced her, and took both her shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “I wouldn’t be having sex with you otherwise.”

  “Now you’re being literal.” Orianna looked down, determined not to be comforted. Thoughts of Chloë’s achievements fired her competitive spirit. “But I don’t see why I should turn this job down. I deserve it! I’ve worked hard all these years, and I’m good at what I do! So what if Ivy came up with the Bellings Scott concept? It’s not my fault if people like me more.”

  “No, it’s not. This Ivy thing has really got to you, hasn’t it?” He held up her chin and smiled gently.

  But his sympathy only reactivated her misery. “Oh Dan!” Emotions enhanced by tiredness and wine, Orianna started to cry. “I’ve a ghastly feeling about all this, I really have…” She sniffed. “I don’t think Ivy will ever forgive me, I’ve seen what she’s like. But it’s hardly as if I can turn the job down—I’ve already accepted it. Even if I did, she’d know I was prepared to take it, and resent me all the same.” She stopped, gulped, then laughed through tears at the ludicrousness of the situation. “I keep things to myself—Ivy’s furious. I try to be honest—she hates me more. I turn the job down—I suffer. If I accept it—she does. I can’t win.”

  * * *

  “It’ll be weird sleeping on the sofa,” said Chloë in a hushed voice as Rob opened the front door. “Is John here?”

  “Probably,” Rob whispered.

  They tiptoed down the hall.

  “Gosh, it’s so tidy!” said Chloë as they entered the kitchen.

  “John loves cleaning.”

  “How bizarre.” When Chloë and Rob had shared the apartment, they’d lived perilously close to chaos. She eyed the bleached sink. “It’s a completely different color!” She filled the kettle as if this were still her own home and wandered into the living room. “Ah, Potato!” He was curled up in his favorite spot on the couch. She scooped the cat into her arms.

  John wouldn’t appreciate that tickling Potato’s chin could engender such bliss, Rob thought. “Oh, I do miss you!” he cried, giving Chloë another hug. Potato found the encounter a bit squashed and wriggled out from between them.

  “Ditto.” Chloë embraced him back, and extricated herself to reach for two mugs. “So … Do you still fancy Dan, or what?”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  “Darling, I’ve known you for years. The way you laughed at his jokes and hung on his every word, how you looked at him, your being desperately nice to Orianna … It was obvious.”

  “Ah well.” Rob fetched the tea bags. “Some things never change. You and me, we always go for unavailable men, eh?”

  “Speak for yourself. I’ve a date with a single banker.”

  “Atta girl! Where did you meet him?”

  “Oh, it’ll probably come to nothing. I met him in a bar a couple of weeks ago, and he’s really busy and so am I, but we’ve finally managed to make a date.”

  “If he’s a banker he’s bound to be rich.” Rob concealed a twinge of envy. Why didn’t he ever get asked out? In comparison to Chloë, he appeared to inhabit a romantic desert. A recent clearing out of his bedside cabinet had even revealed his stash of condoms to be past their sell-by date. Sighing, he thought of the one man in whom he was interested. He needed confirmation he was desirable. “What do you reckon about Dan then?”

  “I think he’s incredibly nice looking. And he seemed a genuine guy.”

  “It’s just I really like him.”

  “I know. And I can tell he’s very fond of you.”

  “D’you think?” Rob was pleased.

  “Yes.”

  “Just fond?”

  She looked at him squarely and said gently, “I think he’s in love with Orianna.”

  Rob’s heart sank.

  “I want you to be certain you’re not falling for him because you can’t have him. We both love a challenge, but hankering after an unavailable guy is often a surefire way to a broken heart, and I don’t want to see you hurt.” Chloë grinned. “That said, if there’s anyone who can convert even the straightest of men, it’s you. You’re irresistible when in the mood. Never say never, that’s my motto.”

  11. Foul charms

  In Chelsea, events were taking a different turn. Russell was most displeased to have an expensive shirt ruined, let alone be told how to behave by Ivy. The moment she put down her wineglass he grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the counter.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” he hissed. “You of all people should appreciate however much clout I have. It takes more than one person to get anything signed off at Green. You know I don’t have the power to veto something ratified by the rest of the board. I argued for your joint promotion, but my fighting so keenly on your behalf was beginning to look suspicious. The company simply can’t afford you both, either politically or financially.” He paused, and as Ivy relaxed her rigid stance, edged his leg between hers. “Entre nous, my dear, we’re only offering Orianna the job because she’s cheaper than other candidates we interviewed. We’ll give her a negligible raise to keep her happy and working all hours, but it’ll be far less than the crazy amounts they were demanding, trust me. And the agency has hardly had a good year—these are hard times for any enterprise, and it’s not as if we’ve big financial backing. Whatever we shell out in salaries comes straight off the bottom line.”

  His breath was hot on her neck, the fabric of his trousers rough against her skin; Ivy felt a rush of arousal. She’d long found his power a potent aphrodisiac—never more so than now.

  He pressed on. “You’ll also recall that I’ve engineered you a salary substantially higher than Orianna’s, although she has no idea. This promotion will merely even up the balance and give her some meaningless little title—she won’t be on the board itself for a while, I guarantee, no matter what she’s been told. Bear in mind Neil was only granted board director status less than a year ago, and he had to fight Stephen and Gavin tooth and nail to get creative representation at the top. They’re hardly going to give that amount of authority away if they can avoid it, are they?”

  Ivy had to admit she could see what he meant. And as Russell began to rub her inner thigh, her willpower waned.

  “One other thing.” His voice was quiet and harsh. “If the agency isn’t careful, it’s possible there’ll be layoffs, so I wouldn’t protest too loud. Because you’re soon to be a writer
without an art director, it could backfire horribly. You’re extremely well paid, not to mention your other benefits, and it’s tough out there. I don’t think you’d find it much fun, job hunting … So you should count yourself lucky, or I could end up battling for rather more than your promotion and a position on the board.”

  Jesus, thought Ivy, what he’s saying is disastrous career-wise, but what he’s doing feels so good … By now she was powerless to contradict him.

  Russell eased up her skirt and slipped his hand into her knickers. “And as for your tittle-tattling, it strikes me that Ed wouldn’t be any happier to hear about your industrial relations over the last three years than my wife. Would he?”

  “No!” Ivy gasped. He’d hit a nerve.

  “Because with that huge pad in Hoxton and that sexy little car…” As he pushed his finger deep inside her, he drove his argument home, “I’m not the only one with a lot to lose.”

  That Ivy knew his game only made her hornier. There was nothing like playing with fire, and when Russell removed his hand and lifted her—legs apart—onto the cool marble work surface, rapidly undid his belt and fly, and penetrated her hard and fast, it brought back that classic scene from Fatal Attraction, with a similar mix of pleasure and pain.

  * * *

  At 4 a.m. Ivy woke with a jolt. The situation felt worse with Russell snoring beside her, so she gathered her strewn clothes, dressed in the bathroom so as not to wake him, and left the apartment.

  The night air was cool, but she lowered the roof of her BMW anyway, hoping the wind might help blow away the hurt. But as she headed east along the Thames Embankment, the city’s emptiness only emphasized her loneliness, and by the time she drew up to the traffic lights of Vauxhall Bridge, there was no getting away from the indelible sense of betrayal.

  Ivy pressed the arrow to lower the window and leaned her elbow on the door while she lit a cigarette, inhaling the toxicity deep into her lungs. She could feel its poison burning, burning, and savored the sensation. And as she watched the smoke coil up in a thin gray trail away from the glowing red, dissipate, and finally disappear, she cast her mind back, ancient fury rising again.

  It still made her spit how she and her brother had been forced to live after their father had run off with her. Ivy’s mother had been strapped for cash; Ivy had never had the clothes, cosmetics, LPs, and books she craved. But her father had argued—persuaded by her Ivy was sure—he couldn’t afford child support, and their standard of living had crumbled. The walls of their mock Tudor had seemed to grow increasingly closed in, and as Ivy had passed the huge house where her father had lived with his new family on her walk to school, it had made the injustice feel more acute.

  Yet despite her unhappy adolescence—or perhaps because of it—Ivy had been determined to be no put-upon Cinderella. Instead she vowed she’d never lack for anything, and chose a career that enabled her to claw a comfortable lifestyle as swiftly and painlessly as possible. Once through the indignities of training, copywriting proved the perfect vehicle for her cynical, sharp mind and by her early thirties, she had the apartment, the car, the husband, and a lover who could wangle her even greater financial security. She’d felt safe, at last.

  Until now, when it seemed her material well-being was in as much danger of being taken away from her as it had been all those years ago …

  Once Ivy was back in her apartment, surrounded by familiar objects, she began to feel better. It might not be homey, but she always felt at ease in her spacious loft apartment.

  Thank God, she thought. At least in here I can breathe.

  Ivy had chosen the few pieces of furniture with painstaking care; no one was more aware how others would judge her from her purchases. Compromise made her shudder, and luckily her husband was happy to fund her extravagance—or perhaps he realized it would be more trouble than it was worth to argue. So from the retro refrigerator to the sleek power shower, Ivy got her own way on everything.

  There was irony too, for Ivy relished spiked humor. Take the neon-lit sign on the wall, visible from the street when the blinds were up. Only she knew it also advertised the whereabouts of her stash of cocaine in a desk drawer beneath. She liked to have a tiny envelope put by for when she was in the mood, and enjoyed mocking authority with the proclamation: COKE. THE REAL THING.

  Ivy flicked on the kettle—a freebie from a lust-lorn photographer who’d hoped if he let her keep it after a shoot it might help him get into her knickers (it didn’t).

  Russell’s right, she thought as she waited for the water to boil, I do have a lot to lose, and it won’t be easy get a similar salary elsewhere. I’ll get in touch with my headhunter, but I’m not hopeful. I suppose there’s freelancing, but all that having to be nicey-nicey to keep in favor and be rehired—ugh. She shuddered. So there seems no getting around it, for the time being I’d better stay put and make the best of a bad job. I’ll have to build bridges if I’m not to come completely unstuck. What a hideous prospect.

  Hmm, she calculated. Perhaps there is a way to salvage a sense of self-worth. I’m not going to fall apart like my mother … Oh no. I’ll show Orianna I’m still a force to be reckoned with, bring her down a peg or three.

  Yes. That’s it, the way forward …

  12. A capable and wide revenge

  The shrill sound of Rob’s alarm at 7 a.m. dragged him from a fulfilling dream about being the lead singer of a boy band, yet for once he was pleased to be interrupted. He knew it wasn’t very nice of him, but the prospect of seeing Ivy was enough to propel him from bed at speed. He was dying to see if his client mentioned anything from the night before, and how she would paint it. Given Orianna’s upset, perhaps his sympathies should have lain with her, but he so loved juicy gossip …

  By the time he arrived at the gym, he’d had the journey to work himself into a frenzy of anticipation.

  “Ivy!” He pounced on her before she was hardly through the door.

  “Rob, hi.”

  She sounds tired, he thought, and there are circles under her eyes. She was already dressed in her workout clothes. “So what do you feel up to today?” He chose his words carefully, hoping she might reveal her state of mind.

  “Something tough.” She went over to the verti-climber, a challenging test of endurance and coordination. “This? Show me how it works.” Given her apparent exhaustion, he was surprised.

  Once she was up and running, he played his opening hand. “What did you do last night?” He watched her reaction.

  “Nothing much.” Her face was expressionless.

  “It’s only I thought I saw you.”

  “Oh.” If she wasn’t so darned focused he’d be able to gauge more. Still, he could swear she was taken aback. “Where?”

  “Wardour Street.” With luck she’d think he’d seen them in Cassio’s and offer her version of events.

  But she was silent, scowling, then said, “Where, exactly?”

  How infuriating! She wasn’t making it easy. Rob hesitated. If I admit I saw her hurrying down the street, she’ll sidestep the issue, he calculated. And I can’t confess I spent the evening with Orianna—that would stir dreadful trouble. Best opt for middle ground. “I saw you and Orianna in the window of Cassio’s. Looked like you were having … er … a bit of a fight.”

  Ivy stopped pumping and turned to him, green eyes flashing. Lord, he thought. She’s terrifying! Though in a weird way, her scariness was almost erotic.

  “She fucked me over,” said Ivy, straight out.

  “Oh?” said Rob. Rob was a master of social extortion; at lightning speed he decided he’d play Ivy’s cohort, button up about his encounter with Orianna. He prayed Orianna wouldn’t let slip that she’d seen him.

  “She went behind my back professionally. And it’s not the first time.”

  At once Rob could see why she had been so livid, but feigned innocence. “She did?”

  “The board offered her the post of creative director—”

  “You don’t say!�
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  “—without me—”

  “Fuck!”

  “—and she’s chosen to accept it.”

  “No!”

  “It’s true. But far as I’m concerned, it’s pretty much all down to her relationship with Dan.”

  Rob was confused. He couldn’t see an obvious link between the two.

  “In fact,” Ivy slowed her stride a touch to talk, “I’m beginning to wonder whether she didn’t start sleeping with Dan as a means to an end.”

  Before Rob had a chance to disguise his disbelief, out popped, “That doesn’t sound like Orianna to me.”

  “You’ve witnessed how underhanded she can be, seeing Dan on the quiet for months on end.”

  Rob nodded.

  “Nothing would surprise me these days.” She paused for a moment, adjusting the machine to a less frenetic pace. “The thing is, Rob, this may sound ludicrous to you, not being in the business, doing something worthwhile like you do. You’re in control of your own destiny; you dictate your own terms.” She gave him a broad smile. “I admire you for that.” He was flattered. “But our industry has a unique set of quirks and prejudices. The truth is creative directors tend to be art directors who’ve worked their way up.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Certainly in more old-school agencies like Green.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they tend to know more about production.”

  “Production—where Dan works?”

  “Precisely. So Orianna being in with Dan the Man is bloody handy. She already understands about commissioning illustrators and photographers and he can help her gain more expertise. I can see them now, discussing printing techniques and Pantone references before they drift off to sleep.” She snorted contemptuously. “It’s probably their idea of foreplay—Orianna’s such a workaholic I bet she finds it a turn-on. Nevertheless, that’s something our board would hold in high regard.”

  “Right.” Rob knew Ivy was being bitchy, but it did seem feasible.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying she started their affair just to gain a promotion—I don’t think even Orianna is that cunning—it probably helped, that’s all.” Suddenly she unhooked her feet and extricated herself from the machine. “I’m going to do some cycling now.” She took several gulps of water from the fountain, then planted herself on an exercise bike. She knew what to do; he was more interested in encouraging her to continue.