Getting Even

by Sarah Rayner

“No. Not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because whether you’re having an affair or not, I’m not prepared to be your meal ticket any longer.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, come on, Ivy. We both appreciate that’s pretty much all I am to you these days.” For the second time that day, Ivy’s mouth opened and shut like a goldfish. “And whether you’re having an affair or not, it’s irrelevant to me. Because I am.” Her jaw dropped wider still, and stayed wide. “I’ve started seeing someone else. It’s only been a couple of months or so—since I was last here. I attempted to talk to you then—I even tried you at the office as you ignored my other calls, but you promised to call me back later and didn’t and I suppose”—he rubbed his beard as he contemplated, ugh—“that’s when I gave up on you and me once and for all. It wasn’t long after that that things took off between the two of us, though I’ve known Mary a while…”

  Ivy had no wish to hear all this, but she was too astounded to stop him.

  Ed continued, almost as if he was enjoying being cruel, “Anyway, she’s called Mary, as I say; she lives in Aberdeen. You may as well know the truth. We seem to have fallen for each other. I think I might love her, and I believe she feels the same.”

  Again all Ivy could say was, “Oh.”

  It’s one thing for me not to love him, she thought. It’s quite another for him not to love me.

  She was hurt, insulted. Ivy was so used to being adored by Ed, albeit from afar, and supported by him, having him do exactly what she wanted, buy her whatever she desired whenever she asked, that jealousy seared through her: she hated Mary at once, purely on principle. And as Ed sat there looking at her, unwavering, Ivy was forced to stretch her powers of analysis to the hilt.

  He tried to talk to me that night I rushed off to Orianna’s too, she remembered. Is this why he’s not called me lately? The reason he’s grown a beard? Because he knew I’d hate it? I should have read the signs—what a fool I’ve been!

  Ivy could have kicked herself, yet Ed hadn’t finished. “Frankly, if I’m going to be anyone’s meal ticket, I want to be Mary’s. Though funnily enough, I’m not sure she’s that interested in my money.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” snapped Ivy.

  “Not all women are like you.” Ivy could have sworn she heard Ed mutter “Thank God” under his breath. “She’s not the materialistic type, and anyway, she’s a head teacher—she’s got a fairly reasonable income of her own.”

  “Can’t be much if she’s only a teacher.”

  “Whatever. There’s not much point in arguing. In short, I want a divorce, Ivy. I want a divorce as soon as possible because Mary and I plan on moving in together.”

  “But you’ve only just met—surely you barely know her!”

  “No, Ivy. If there’s anyone I barely know, it’s you.”

  Ivy shuddered. There it went: her domestic security, crumbling again, just as it had nearly three decades ago.

  37. Keep our counsel

  As luck would have it, Orianna was sitting a few places from Ursula at the Kettner’s office party on January 3. The room was lit by candles, the air thick with chatter—it was the perfect opportunity. Once they’d finished eating she picked up her wineglass and headed over.

  “Swap with me, Leon?” she said. “I want to hear all about Australia.” Leon did as he was bid and she lowered herself into his vacant seat. “So how was your trip?”

  “Great!” enthused Ursula. “It’s a fantastic place. I loved Sydney—and my sister’s having an absolute ball. She’s not working that hard, I must say, but not everyone’s a workaholic like me. You can have such a wonderful standard of living. Personally,” she lowered her voice and leaned near, “I can’t understand why anyone would want to leave the place.” She jerked her head in Cassie’s direction. “Can you?”

  Orianna winced. Contemplating Cassie was hardly where she wished to take the conversation. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “So what d’ya reckon about…?” Again a flick of eyes toward Cassie. “Her.”

  “What about her?”

  “Being knocked up.”

  Orianna started. This was the first time anyone other than Ivy and Cassie had openly spoken of the pregnancy.

  “She must be … six, seven months now?”

  “Mm.” Caught short, Orianna admitted, “Cassie and I have discussed it, obviously, because her maternity leave will affect the department. The baby’s due at the beginning of April.”

  “Ahem. Ladies?” It was Gavin, a bottle of red in one hand, white in the other.

  Orianna covered the top of her glass. “I won’t, thank you.” She wanted to remain sober—she’d been waiting weeks for this.

  “Very noble.” Ursula held out her own for a refill. Once Gavin had moved away, she pulled her chair up to Orianna’s so the legs were touching. “Though what really interests me”—she leaned close; Orianna could feel her breath on her cheek—“is who the father might be.”

  Well I never, thought Orianna. Does Ursula truly not know? Ivy’s done a great job of keeping it all hush-hush. Bless her.

  “Cassie won’t say,” lied Orianna. She was too proud to let on she knew herself.

  “No, I appreciate that. She’s being ever so secretive about it.”

  That’s because of me, thought Orianna, but simply said, “I gathered.”

  “You must have some idea,” coaxed Ursula.

  Orianna felt the sharp dart of pain she suffered every time she thought of Dan. “No, not really…”

  “Well, I have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve a suspicion,” continued Ursula, her tone betraying shameless delight in discussing someone else’s business, “that it could be Leon.”

  “LEON?” Such was Orianna’s shock like a jack-in-the-box out it popped. Her voice was way too loud.

  “Shh.” Ursula put her finger to her lips. “Don’t tell the whole agency.”

  “Gosh.” Orianna sat back, winded.

  “I might be wrong,” acknowledged Ursula, but with the assurance of one who believed she wasn’t.

  “Gosh,” Orianna repeated. She reached over to the table and poured herself a mineral water to buy a moment to think. She said bluntly, wanting clarification, “She was shagging him, then?”

  “Darling Orianna.” Ursula patted her knee. “I know you can be a little naïve, but didn’t your mother tell you that’s how conception usually occurs?”

  Orianna ignored the dig, digesting Ursula’s hypothesis. For a brief moment she believed the baby might not be Dan’s after all. Indeed, it would explain why Cassie had been so reticent to divulge who the father was. “I didn’t even know they were seeing each other.”

  “I don’t know for definite,” confessed Ursula, and Orianna’s heart sank. It was just hearsay, then. Ursula continued, “It’s only that once, when I was in the agency late working downstairs, I went up to the studio to amend some artwork. And I saw them together—I guess they thought they were on their own. Put it this way, it didn’t seem very platonic to me.”

  Orianna had a sudden vision of them caught in flagrante on Leon’s desk. “What were they doing?”

  Ursula read her mind. “Nothing that extreme, and I couldn’t be sure, because they were hidden from the doorway by his Mac. As I came into the room they sprang apart, and she pretended to be looking at his screen, but they appeared ever so embarrassed. And you know I wouldn’t say this if I wasn’t positive—it did seem that they’d been snogging.”

  “No!”

  “And you know what made me doubly certain?” She nudged Orianna conspiratorially. “What really gave it away?”

  “What?”

  “He had lipstick all around his mouth!” she exclaimed in as loud a whisper as she could get away with. “I mean lipstick—how tacky is that!”

  “Very,” Orianna agreed, thinking: Cassie, a surfeit of makeup, how true to form.

  “Though one thing I don’t get”�
��Ursula furrowed her brow—“is why she should be so secretive. If they’re going out, what’s the big deal?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want everyone to know he’s the father,” said Orianna.

  “Could be.” Ursula nodded. “I wonder why not?” Then she answered her own question. “Maybe when she said she was pregnant, he didn’t want to know.”

  Yet instinct told Orianna Leon was the honorable type. “Doesn’t sound like Leon to me.”

  “No, nor me.”

  “Mm.” They looked at each other, both frowning now.

  After a while … “I’ve got it!” Ursula clapped her hands.

  “What?”

  “Maybe…” She took a sip of her wine, taking pleasure in prolonging the expectation. “She doesn’t know who the father is.”

  How awful, thought Orianna, struck by misery again. To think that Dan dumped me for this mess. Ugh. She shivered.

  “After all, she puts it about a bit.” Unaware of Orianna’s distress, Ursula laughed once more. “Still, when it’s born we’ll know soon enough!”

  “Know what?” Both women jumped apart simultaneously as Russell came up behind them and forced his face between theirs. “What are you two chin-wagging about so intensely?”

  “Nothing.” Orianna blushed.

  “None of your business,” said Ursula curtly.

  “You seem thick as thieves.”

  “Well, we’re not.” Ursula smiled, sarcasm barely veiled. “It’s only girls’ talk.”

  “I can take a hint when I’m not wanted.” And he wandered off.

  “Twat.” Clearly Ursula was in the mood to be candid. Great—it was the lead Orianna was looking for.

  “Actually, Urs, I didn’t come over here to talk to you about Cassie.”

  “What then?”

  “There’s someone else I wanted to ask you about. But it’ll look a bit dodgy if we carry on sitting here like this.” She glanced about her, and, sure enough, there was Russell, eyes narrowed, watching them across the table. He might not be able to hear them, although it wouldn’t surprise Orianna to learn he had lip-reading down to a fine art.

  “Oh?”

  “Russell,” she murmured. “But it’s something pretty serious.”

  “How serious?”

  “Serious, serious. Serious enough to get me in big trouble if he gets wind of what I’m telling you, but equally serious enough to get the agency into even bigger trouble if I don’t confide in someone.”

  Ursula sussed the situation with typical efficiency. “How about we take a little walk?”

  “Excellent idea.”

  Ursula got to her feet. “Better not be seen leaving together. Follow me in a bit. I’ll meet you outside the Curzon on Shaftesbury Avenue in five.”

  38. Villainy, villainy, villainy!

  The Saturday after the Kettner’s party, Orianna met Ursula again, on a bench in Soho Square. If they were going to snoop around the agency as agreed, they’d decided it was best done over the weekend, when the likelihood of discovery was remote, and Saturday was better than Sunday—recession or no recession, even the most diligent employees rarely darkened the doors of Green on weekends. More to the point, they could be almost certain Russell wouldn’t show. No matter how much he pressured others to work all hours, it was well-known the weekend was when he returned to his wife and family in the country.

  Orianna was a few minutes early, but Ursula was already waiting.

  “Got your keys?” asked Ursula.

  Orianna jangled her pocket—as creative director, she was privy to a set.

  “Let’s go then.” Ursula jumped up and hugged her overcoat to her skinny frame. “It’s bloody freezing.” Their breath steamed in the icy air.

  Once inside, they headed straight up to the top floor. As usual, Russell’s door was open.

  “His cabinets will be locked,” whispered Orianna. It was as if she could feel their financial director’s presence even though he was miles away.

  Ursula tugged at the drawers regardless. “Bugger.”

  “Now what?”

  “We could try his PC.” Ursula bent to flick on the hard drive. But Orianna didn’t hold much hope of cracking Russell’s password even with two of them, and ten minutes and a great deal of cursing later, she was proven right.

  “Next?”

  Ursula scanned the office. “You found this Harvey Nichols statement in his in-box?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps we should go through that again.” She reached for the three-tier stack and took a seat. “One of us better keep watch. Why don’t you wait by the door of the department—let me know if someone’s coming? Only don’t be too obvious.”

  “Sure.” Some found Ursula’s stridency overbearing, yet it had never bothered Orianna. And now, despite her nerves, she had to smile. It’s because Ursula’s this capable I sought her help, she thought.

  As she sat waiting on one of the communal sofas thumbing her way through a directory of illustrators, it seemed Ursula was taking forever to inspect Russell’s papers, but eventually she came bounding over.

  “Look.” She plonked herself next to Orianna. “It’s just a hunch…”

  “So was my theory about that statement,” reminded Orianna.

  “Yeah, exactly. But—see all these invoices?” She checked the door then proudly brandished a stack of papers.

  “Yes.” They looked exactly like the ones Orianna had seen in Russell’s in-box a few weeks earlier. “They’re from suppliers. Nothing untoward there, surely?”

  “I reckon they could be fake.”

  “Fake?”

  “Yes. Who are these suppliers? I don’t recognize them, do you?”

  Orianna peered closely at the cream-colored paper. MONTANO & SONS, PRINTING & REPROGRAPHICS.

  “No,” she admitted.

  “Me neither.” Ursula’s voice accelerated in excitement. “And-I-would-have-thought-wouldn’t-you?-that-one-or-the-other-of-us-would-have-heard-of-a-printer-that-the-agency-was-using-this-much?” She paused for breath and slowed herself. “I haven’t heard of them either, and trust me, I know most of the printers in London. So I searched on Yell-dot-com, and there’s no record of Montano and Sons at this address.”

  “Are you sure they weren’t just ex-directory?”

  “Why would a printer be ex-directory? I’ve Googled them too—there’s no printer with that name anywhere. Which is odd, don’t you think?” She didn’t wait for a reply and her voice sped up again. “Yet-according-to-these-invoices-we’re-putting-tens-of-thousands-of-pounds’-worth-of-business-their-way.”

  Orianna frowned. “But what’s the point of doing that?” Then it dawned on her. “You’re saying he’s forging invoices so he can pay himself?”

  “Precisely.” Ursula sat back on the sofa, smugly.

  “Wow,” said Orianna.

  “Wow indeed. I don’t know exactly how he’s doing it, but it’s my guess he’s paying the money—”

  “—into his own bank account.”

  “Yup. And I bet it’s not an account anyone else in the agency knows about. It wouldn’t surprise me if it’s even offshore.”

  Orianna examined the invoices again. “This is all very well, but how can we prove it?”

  Ursula scratched her head. “That’s where you’ve got me.”

  “Tell you what. We need to copy these invoices before we put them back. You stay here and do that; keep an eye on the door. I’ll go and give Russell’s office one last look.” And before Ursula had time to come up with a better suggestion, she was off.

  Once again Orianna went through the in-box. Nothing. Through the packets of paper he kept by his printer. Every single sheet was blank. Through his wastepaper basket. Nothing. She even inspected the family photos he had lining his windowsill.

  Then, just as she was about to give up and leave the office, she stopped. Could it be…? Hmm, possibly … She went back to the paper by the printer. Yes, sure enough, one of the packs contain
ed paper that wasn’t white, but cream. A coincidence?

  She cantered out to Ursula, a sheet in her hand, grabbed once of the invoices, and held it up to the light. “See this?”

  “What?”

  “Same paper.”

  Ursula squinted. “Mm?”

  “Here.” Orianna pointed. “It says ‘Conqueror.’”

  “So?”

  “It was by his printer. His personal printer—Russell’s.”

  “Ah.” Ursula raised her eyebrows, impressed. Then she looked doubtful. “I’m sure you’re right—this is the same paper he’s using to print off these invoices. Though I doubt it’s enough evidence for the fraud squad, don’t you?”

  Orianna was deflated.

  “It’s just cream paper. Conqueror—it’s not that uncommon, is it?”

  “I guess not.”

  “You can buy it in most branches of Smiths.”

  Orianna sighed. “So now what?”

  “We need to prove this is the actual paper he’s using…”

  In a split second it came to Orianna. “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. Not for nothing was she an art director, her knowledge of markers and pens first-rate.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve got one of those UV pens in my drawer.”

  “A what?”

  “Remember? Russell gave us them months ago, asked us to mark our Macs and PCs with the agency postcode. The ink’s invisible, but it shows up under ultraviolet or something. So the police can trace your stuff should it get stolen.”

  “Oh yeah, I do remember. How brilliant! And it’d be easy to detect if it’s been printed on afterward, over the top.”

  “Too bloody right. You wait here,” Orianna bossed her colleague, “and I’ll go and mark every sheet of that cream paper.”

  “How-are-you-going-to-mark-it?”

  Orianna grinned, tickled by the divine justice. “I reckon ‘forgery’ will suffice, don’t you?”

  39. Hell and night must bring this monstrous birth to the world’s light

  It took weeks for Orianna and Ursula to gather evidence. Throughout the rest of January and February they had no joy at all.

  “It’s nearly the financial year end,” Ursula pointed out. “I reckon he’s concerned he’s overdone it. Our figures are grim, but still, he doesn’t want the company to go under. Where would his income be then? What do you bet he waits till we’re a little closer to April fifth before counterfeiting some more.”