by Sarah Rayner
“That she was going into publishing.” Trixie spoke the word as if it were unclean.
“Publishing!”
“I know, extraordinary.”
“But publishing—it—” Ivy could scarcely get the words out.
“Pays a pittance?” Trixie said helpfully.
“Yes.”
“I know.” Trixie sighed. “Cherie had a pang of conscience. Got involved in that feminism stuff, went off on some awful weekend workshop, women only, and discovered her inner being and with it her true vocation. When she came back she was never the same.” Trixie seemed almost wistful, for a second. “Said she felt advertising compromised her. It was too competitive, rife with jealousy, driven by narcissism and greed. She decided to become a book editor. Wanted to work with real people, genuine writers, contribute something valuable to the world. Absurd! But that’s how it was.”
“Well I never,” said Ivy.
“All true, I’m telling you.”
Ivy took a sip of champagne. This was most illuminating, called for something special. She recalled Trixie indulged occasionally, too … So she leaned forward, opened her bag, and took out a packet of menthol cigarettes. “Do you mind dreadfully if I smoke?”
“No, do,” said Trixie, pushing forward a crystal ashtray. “In fact, you’ve tempted me. May I join you?”
“Of course.” Ivy handed her the pack.
Trixie took a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled. “I only allow myself one a week,” she confided. “I appreciate it’s dreadfully outmoded these days. But oh! How I love it!” As she exhaled, her lips formed a reverential kiss.
“I understand,” said Ivy, who did.
“My point is this,” continued Trixie. “Never get too entangled with anyone else professionally, my dear, however much you might like them or how well you work together. You never know what can happen—they might get married, be promoted, fall ill, or, like Cherie, have some peculiar, nutty freak-out. Whatever. Because if you tie yourself to someone, you’re laying yourself open to being deserted.”
Ivy nodded.
“And at the end of the day we all die alone.” She sighed again, more heavily, then inhaled deeply on her cigarette. “I was terribly, terribly upset by what Cherie did to me. Never really got over it. But it taught me a lot. When I found out she was leaving, I went wild, reacted very strongly. I suppose…” She paused. “With hindsight I betrayed my own feelings somewhat.”
“Oh?”
“It’s nothing I want to go into.” Trixie shifted in her seat, obviously uncomfortable with the confession. “But I got myself a bit of a reputation for being fiery, difficult. Which when you’re a woman in advertising … It’s bad enough already—or it was then, certainly—without having gossip and prejudice to contend with. And ultimately her leaving affected my career because I never really had my heart in being a creative after she’d gone.”
“Oh dear.” Ivy was strangely moved.
Yet Trixie brushed her concern aside. “There’s no need to worry about me. I was fine, in the end. Without all that…” She gesticulated around with a sweep of her beautifully manicured hand. “None of this would have happened.”
“Mm?”
“Shortly after I left agency life too,” explained Trixie. “Or at least directly. I went into head-hunting. Set up on my own, working here. And I assure you, I never affiliated myself to one person, or betrayed my real feelings, ever again.”
“Ah,” said Ivy. It was wonderfully clear. Never mind Neil or Orianna; the person she could learn from was Trixie. Though there was one thing further she wanted to clarify. “And Cherie?”
“Yes, Cherie.” Trixie spoke the name with disdain. “She’s in publishing to this day. Grand old dame of literature. Became an agent, in fact.”
“Do you ever speak to her?”
Trixie tutted. “Sometimes, yes. When it’s mutually beneficial for us to do so, professionally, whatever. We still have some friends in common. But we’ll never be close, obviously.”
“Obviously,” agreed Ivy, and together they stubbed out their cigarettes.
* * *
By the time they left the pub, both Dan and Orianna were pretty inebriated; Dan more so, having started earlier, and because no matter how much wine Orianna knocked back, she couldn’t shake her sober mood.
“Taxi!” shouted Dan, waving his arm at a passing black van and lurching rather alarmingly onto Tottenham Court Road.
The busy thoroughfare worried Orianna. She ran after him and led him to safety. “Let’s walk,” she urged, taking his arm. Dan’s place was just over a mile away.
“Walk!” Dan stomped back to the pavement edge. “Walk?! I don’t walk on my birthday!”
Orianna had to laugh. “It might be wise. Clear our heads a bit.”
“Oh, OK,” said Dan, drunkenly obedient.
“Good for your weight, too.”
“Am I fat?” He looked at her, worried, and patted his tummy. “You think I’m a Dough Boy!”
“No, silly. I’m teasing.”
He linked his arm in hers, walked a few paces, and promptly tripped over a paving stone. He looked at her, mouth turned down in cartoon contrition. “Sorry!”
They stumbled on a while, Orianna steering Dan in as straight a line as possible. They were past Sainsbury’s and Muji; alongside a row of tired-looking electrical shops; crossed Stephen Street, checking for vehicles taking a sudden left; ignored some beggars sitting beneath the HSBC ATM with their dog—getting home, not homelessness, had to be her priority right now. Dan entertained himself by kicking a Coke can along with them, but after a while it bounced out of reach.
“Halfway there,” she said, when they reached the Warren Street subway station.
He swung her arm gleefully. “Not far now!” He gazed down at her, then observed, voice slurred, “I do love you, you know.”
“Do you?” She glanced up at him. “Really?”
“Of course! You’re my best girlfriend, ever!”
She smiled. She could hardly be cross with him like this. But patience was not one of her virtues; she didn’t want to sit with her doubts longer than she had to. Plus several pints of Stella might mean he hadn’t the wherewithal to lie.
“So you do consider me your girlfriend, then?”
“Yes! Of course!”
They crossed with the light and headed up Hampstead Road.
Orianna let go of his hand. “Dan, can I ask you something?”
“Whatever you like.”
“Did you spend the night with Lara after the Image Focus Christmas party?”
“Oh, um…” He frowned. “I think I did.” He looked at her again, his expression guilty. “Is that very bad of me?”
She sighed. “I s’pose not.”
“I wasn’t going out with you then, was I?” He nodded, sure of this. “I didn’t start seeing you till after that.”
“No…”
“And I’ve never had anything to do with her since, I promise.” He leaned in and kissed Orianna’s cheek. She could feel a touch of saliva; damp, warm, reassuring. “You’re much lovelier than Lara!”
This went some way to consoling her. “But Dan, it was only the night before!”
“The night before what?”
“The Green party, when you first went out with me!”
“Really?” He stopped by the curbside, brow furrowed, struggling to recollect. “Was it that soon?” He glanced at her sideways, biting his lip. “I think you might be right.”
“That’s only twenty-four hours!”
“Mm.” Sheepish.
Tears pricked behind Orianna’s eyes. “I thought I was more special to you than that.”
“You are special.”
“It makes me feel like some sort of tart!” Orianna knew if anyone was a tart Dan was, but she felt it nonetheless. “As if I’m one of hundreds of women”—then she remembered Ursula’s remark—“people, men, I don’t know, you’re just shagging.”
But this seemed too much for
Dan to process. He stood swaying, appearing to try and sober himself up, fast.
Orianna struggled not to cry. “I hate feeling I’m one of a string of conquests—that you leaped straight from her bed into mine.” She voiced a particularly distressing fear. “You did have a bath between, didn’t you?” Then the tears started to fall.
Dan stomped his foot. “Of course I had a bath!”
Orianna gulped back her upset. “You did?”
“Well, a shower, at any rate. I always have a shower. Every morning. You know that. Look…” He stopped, turned to her, held her gaze, and said firmly, “You must appreciate the situation. I did have a fling with Lara and I’m not going to hide that from you—you’ve always known that was the case.”
“Yes.” Orianna’s voice was small.
“But that was all it was: a fling. I never was that into her. She’s too young for me. And let’s face it, she’s nowhere near as bright as you.”
“She’s thick!”
“Well, I’m not sure about that.”
“She is!”
“OK, OK, if you say, she’s stupid. Dumb—”
“—blond,” quipped Orianna, and laughed through her weeping.
He took her face in his hands and wiped her damp cheeks. “Listen. I’m a bit of an idiot, sometimes, but you have to believe I really can’t remember much about that night with Lara; it was months ago, it wasn’t particularly important to me. It only happened that evening because it had once before.”
“But you must have invited her,” Orianna pointed out. “If you went with her to the Image Focus party.”
“I seem to recall she saw the invitation on my desk and asked me if she could come. I could hardly say no, could I?”
“I guess not…”
“So we went and one thing led to another. But after that first night with you, I never had anything to do with Lara again. I promise.”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.” They resumed walking; Dan took her hand, seemingly sobered by the conversation.
Orianna remained uncomfortable about one detail. “Did you ever finish it, though? I mean, tell her it was over?”
He paused. “I thought it would be unnecessarily cruel—not to mention presumptuous—to sit her down and say I didn’t want it to happen again. After all, it wasn’t as if Lara and I were going out or anything—we only slept together a couple of times.” He examined Orianna’s face to check she understood him. “Honey, I’m sorry; maybe that was a bit cowardly, perhaps I should have told you both. But you wanted us to keep things about the two of us quiet; I didn’t want to hurt Lara, or you, come to that. I thought you didn’t have to know every tiny detail of the run-up to our going out; and she didn’t have to know I’d rather have a proper relationship with you than have something casual with her.”
“Oh. I see.” That did make sense; in a way it was flattering.
By now they were at the front door of Dan’s building on Mornington Terrace. He reached into his jacket pocket for his key as the porch light came on automatically. Slowly they climbed the stairs in leaden rhythm. Once inside his large studio, Orianna kicked off her shoes and threw down her bag on the sofa.
“I’m exhausted!” Dan made a beeline for the bed. He fell immediately onto the duvet flat on his back, clothes and all. Orianna followed him and he pulled her down on top of him, their bodies entwined.
One final concern, then Orianna could undress and go to sleep. She lifted her face up from his and said, “So you’re not gay, then?”
“Gay?” Dan hooted. “Now you’re being daft. What on earth gave you that idea?”
“Something someone said at work.” Orianna was too exhausted for a second confrontation.
“I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous.”
“Really?”
“Sweetheart.” Dan reached for her hand and put it on his crotch. “What do you think?”
There, indeed, was proof of his desire for her, and she wanted to believe him with all her heart. But when she woke the next day, a small cloud of worry still remained.
17. Make all the money thou canst
As Neil worked his final days, Orianna decided to ignore her worries about Dan’s promiscuity, in order to focus on gleaning as much as possible from her boss. Despite his waning interest, it was unusual to have one’s predecessor on hand, and she was determined to turn this to her advantage. She spent days with him in his glass-walled office, the door closed so they could oversee the department while chatting in private.
She encouraged him to offload information about their clients, debrief her on unfamiliar projects, steer her on new business, give her guidance on handling colleagues she’d not hitherto worked with closely, and impart as much as he could about the sequestered machinations of the board. Discreetly, she lured him into revealing more about the agency’s finances. These in particular were an eye-opener: the balance sheets were in a worse state than Orianna had realized.
“It’s an expensive business, running an agency,” said Neil. “Best ask Russell if you want a thorough explanation.”
There were other shocks too. “I didn’t realize Ivy earned so much!”
“Oh yes.” Neil nodded.
“Has she been at this salary for long?”
“I can’t recall.” Orianna felt he could remember all too well.
But I work harder than Ivy, she thought. I’m the one they chose to promote. I might be at a higher salary now, but why on earth was she paid more than me before?
“That’s why we can’t afford to hire someone senior to work with her,” Neil pointed out. “We haven’t got the money. Did you speak to Cassie, by the way?”
“Yes. She’s starting next Monday.”
“She’ll be good, I’m sure.”
“A real asset,” agreed Orianna. In her years as group head at Green, she’d interviewed several art directors, but rarely one as gifted or charming as Cassie. In fact, Orianna had been so convinced of her talent and that others would take to her as swiftly as she had, that she’d offered Cassie the job the very next day.
“It’s one of my regrets I won’t see her in action,” said Neil.
“I’m looking forward to teaming her up with Ivy, seeing what they come up with as a duo.” Orianna recollected the early days when the two of them had first been put together—Ivy had taught her so much. “Ivy’s so good at bringing new people on. Though you’ve reminded me, I must have a chat with her about Cassie.”
“You’ve not told her yet?”
“Er … no.” Orianna felt guilty she’d not done this before, but she’d been awfully busy, and by the time she’d thought of it again, Cassie had accepted the job. “I’m sure Ivy will like Cassie too.”
“How could she not? Nonetheless, you’re planning on them working together?”
Orianna nodded. “Although I’ll still team up with Ivy as well.”
“I see.”
She reassured herself. “Ivy and I have always got along with the same people in the past.”
“Mm,” said Neil, but Orianna detected concern.
She thought for a moment. It was Thursday already, no time like the present. She rose to her feet. “I’ll have a word with her now. I can shift things from my old desk while I’m at it.” Neil had acquired a stack of empty boxes, ready to pack his personal possessions. She picked up a couple. “Can I borrow these to put my books in while I move them around here?”
“Sure. Take the trolley, too.”
“Good thinking.” Orianna grabbed it and wheeled it through the door. “Back soon.”
But when she reached her desk, Ivy wasn’t around. She decided to start packing regardless. These days she was much in demand and couldn’t hang about.
* * *
Ivy hurried to the office, panting. It was a lot to accomplish, to and from Knightsbridge in a lunch hour—she’d actually been gone far longer. As she walked into the creative department and slowed to a more measured pace, she could see Orian
na’s head bobbing over their partition wall.
Bugger, thought Ivy, sneaking her Harvey Nichols shopping bag deep into the jackets on the communal coat stand. I hope she hasn’t noticed I’ve been out for ages. She tiptoed around to the other side of the department and headed to her desk from a different direction so it wouldn’t appear she’d just come in the main door. With luck Orianna would assume she’d been in a meeting.
Several boxes were piled on Orianna’s desk, filled with books, files, and magazines, and Orianna was on all fours under the table. Judging from the mesh of cables nearby, she was struggling to unplug her computer.
Ah, so she’s moving to her new office, Ivy observed.
“Hi,” she said breezily, slipping past to take her seat by the window.
She felt a lurch of sadness at the thought that she and Orianna would no longer be sitting together. They’d not been more than four feet from each other in over a decade. But then a rush of envy sent sensitivity flying.
It’s not fair, she fumed, Orianna having all that room, when I’m still stuck here. And she’s taking our reference materials. Typography manuals, Pantone guides, creative handbooks—I use them too! And I’m not even sure those magazines are hers.
Presently Orianna peered out from beneath the desk, her face dusty and sweaty. “Do me a favor? Save whatever it is you’re writing, and turn off your machine so I can unplug everything?”
Ivy tried to think why she couldn’t accommodate this request, but failed. “OK.” She shut down her PC but didn’t offer to get down and help. “I’ll have all this space to myself,” she said, biting back irritation.
At that moment Orianna surfaced. She stood and faced Ivy. “Actually, I did want to talk to you about that. There’s someone starting soon and I was thinking you might like to have her sit here.”
“Oh?”
“An art director.”
Ivy started. I hope to God she’s not referring to that nauseating blonde I met in reception, she thought.
“She’s called Cassie,” Orianna went on. “She’s … er … a bit younger than us, but she’s ever so good.”
If Orianna sounded unsure, Ivy certainly wasn’t going to make it any easier. She was silent, checking her nails as she assessed the evidence.