by Sarah Rayner
All the best,
Orianna
43. Great of heart
To: Chloë Appleton
From: Rob Rowland
Date: Sunday, August 31, 11:47
Subj: Happy endings
I know you love a good wedding nearly as much as I do, so I thought I’d drop you a line about the one I went to yesterday, especially as you’ve met the couple—remember Orianna and Dan, that night in Blacks?
Chelsea Registry Office isn’t quite as romantic as the church your brother was married in last summer. Dan’s Jewish, if you didn’t realize, and Orianna’s Catholic, so they opted for neutral territory to ensure no one would get miffed. And it worked—apparently everyone was cool about the ceremony, as Orianna’s parents love Dan, and Dan’s parents adore Orianna. Anyway, the venue is quite glam in its way, given its rock star heritage—and the weather was fantastic—warm and sunny. Typical, it rains for weeks, then just as summer ends, it turns gorgeous.
Orianna looked divine—she’s been working out with me since May to get into shape for the big day—but I suspect she was born to be curvy, and we only succeeded in toning her up ever so slightly. Still, her dress was stunning, and she glowed with happiness.
There was a small part of me that wondered if Ivy might show up, but she didn’t. Sometimes I wonder what’s happened to her; one minute I was seeing her every week, then a message saying she’d no longer be able to come to the gym. I appreciate that she and Orianna had that big falling out—remember all that palaver about the watch I mentioned? Apparently the agency is doing great now, and you never know, sometimes the strangest things happen at weddings. It’s only that in a funny way I kind of liked Ivy and am sorry not to have heard from her again.
Instead another colleague of Orianna’s, Ursula, made a speech after the dinner. She had Orianna sussed—it was all about what a talent she is, how kindhearted and generous. But I swear to God, Chloë, you’ve never heard anyone talk so fast in your life!
As for Dan, he was every inch the dashing groom. He and I did, eventually, succeed in getting rid of the paunch he was always so self-conscious of, although it took a huge effort and I reckon the chances of it remaining that way are slim. But Dan looked so proud, he couldn’t stop grinning all day, and he gave the most touching, honest speech—it made Orianna cry—and it’s clear he truly cares for her.
It’s hard to imagine how I could have ever thought he was gay—I do feel silly about that now. But then I had Pierre on my arm on Saturday, and it’s amazing what a different perspective a new man gives a guy. Things with him continue to go brilliantly—it’s been four months now, can you believe? We’ve even been talking about moving in together. It would mean we could stop spending our lives schlepping from one side of London to the other, because I find not being able to be with him as much as I’d like frustrating. Who’d have believed Rob, settling down, eh? And all through the Internet?! I’ve got you to thank, my girl, for introducing me to that, and believe me, I do, every day.
In the meantime, I’m glad to hear you’ve decided to stop dating several men at once and settle for the banker. I always thought he sounded too good to waste.
Lots of love,
Your dear friend,
Rob
xxxx
44. Here is my journey’s end
Several months later, Ivy was just back from a run when the phone rang. She’d had to forfeit her gym membership along with her salary and apartment, and now she had to make do with the local park in West London as a backdrop for exercise. Still, she’d been lucky that the directors at Green had simply insisted she pay back the money she’d claimed as illegitimate expenses, thus avoiding a humiliating court case, unlike Russell. Anyway, she was getting pretty good at the living-on-a-shoestring lark; it tested her ingenuity, and as for a personal trainer—well, with her amount of self-discipline, who needed one?
She grabbed the receiver seconds before the answering machine clicked on. “Hello?”
“Ivy? It’s Cherie Gurley-Morgan here.” A clipped, well-spoken, older woman’s voice.
“Oh!”
“Just to say that I got your manuscript yesterday…”
Ivy took most conversations in her stride, but this made her heart race.
“… and I love it!”
“Really?”
“I think it’s great. Absolutely great. And any friend of Trixie’s is a friend of mine—we go back years, you know. Did she tell you we used to be a team together before I went into publishing? All that stuff about advertising—so accurate. Must be autobiographical—is it?” She didn’t pause for an answer. “Anyway, I hope you can fill me in face-to-face, because I’d be delighted to represent you. It’s a difficult market at the moment, but your style is so commercial, I’m sure we’ll get publishers interested, just the same. Who knows, if we play it well, we might even get an auction going, swing you a nice hefty advance.”
Ivy beamed, and steadied her voice. “Oh, right.” She mustn’t sound too excited, yet she was thrilled.
“Though first I think we should meet up, give you the chance to check if you like me, the way I work.”
Like her? thought Ivy. As if I wouldn’t!
“So I was wondering, would you be free for dinner sometime this week?”
“Er…”
“How about Wednesday?”
Ivy hadn’t been out for weeks. “I’ll, um, check my diary.” She fumbled with some spare paper lying on the table. Seconds later: “Yes, that looks fine.”
“If you’re not sick of it, I thought we should go to your namesake, in Covent Garden.”
Ivy had hardly dined out since she’d left Green, let alone eaten anywhere worth being seen in. “That would be lovely.”
“Eight thirty then,” said Cherie. “I’ll book a table. What do you look like, so I know who to expect?”
“I’ve got bobbed red hair,” said Ivy. She’d had it cut to mark she was moving on. “And I’m, er”—she coughed—“in my early thirties.”
“Super. Publishers prefer a nice young writer. I’ll come back to you if there’s any problem, otherwise, see you there.”
There was a click and Ivy was alone again in her little studio apartment.
Well I never, she thought. Cherie Gurley-Morgan is just about the most powerful literary agent there is. Trixie has come up trumps after all.
Ivy picked up her copy of the manuscript. She’d altered actual events, changed characters, and painted herself far blacker (and slimmer) than she really was. But how much more fun it was to make herself the dark one, and she reveled in the idea that only she would know where the truth ended and fiction began. In essence, the story remained true to the realm of advertising as she saw it, and there was something deeply satisfying about being able to exploit her experiences, profit from what had happened, and twist the plot to suit her own ends.
Bugger copywriting, thought Ivy. I don’t need any of those idiots to make me successful—and rich. I’m going to be a novelist—a bestselling novelist—and show the world a thing or two. What better way to get even?
Acknowledgments
2002: There are numerous people who helped me with Getting Even. On the professional front, I would like to thank my editor at Orion, Kirsty Fowkes, who was able to see both the big picture and the fine detail; my agent, Vivien Green, whose TLC went way beyond the call of duty, and Amelia Cummins too; and my publisher, Jane Wood and Rachel Leyshon.
On the personal front, amongst those friends deserving special mention are Patrick Fitzgerald, Bill Graber, Jenny Lingrell, Karl Miller, John Scott, and Carolyn MacQuaide.
There have been my advertising cohorts: Stephen Andrews, Polly Beale, Ursula Benson, Sally Elms, Debbie Fagan, Jasper Garland, Carla Greco, Jackie Donnellan, and Diane Messidoro.
Then, as ever, there’s my mother, Mary Rayner, whose input I could not do without, and Jonathan Richards.
Last but not least, my cat Othello, who jumped on my bed at an opportune moment o
ne night and inspired me; and William Shakespeare, to whom I owe a plot device or two.
2012: I’d also like to add thanks to my editor at Picador, Francesca Main, who helped sharpen up this revised version; and all the lovely people at St. Martin’s Press, especially Sara Goodman.
ALSO BY SARAH RAYNER
The Two Week Wait
One Moment, One Morning
The Other Half
About the Author
SARAH RAYNER, international bestselling author of One Moment, One Morning, was born in London and now lives in Brighton with her husband and stepson.
She worked for many years as an advertising copywriter and now writes fiction full-time. Visit Sarah’s Web site at www.thecreativepumpkin.co.uk.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
GETTING EVEN. Copyright © 2014 by Sarah Rayner. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover photograph by Marie Helene Dujardine
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-04211-8 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-250-05873-7 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-03471-7 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781250034717
A different version of this title was published in the United Kingdom by Orion in 2002.
First St. Martin’s Griffin Edition: September 2014