Name & Address Withheld

by Jane Sigaloff

  Rachel’s mood had done an about-turn, and the new Rachel was almost dancing round her office, pointing out framed pictures of tables at awards dinners. Clare feigned blasé and declined Rachel’s repeated invitations to come and peer at pictures of Joe in black tie, even though part of her was dying to have a look. Fat? Thin? Hair? No hair? Clare’s image of him was frozen in time, and nearly two years out of date.

  ‘Joe Dexter. I can’t believe it.’

  It must be about the fifth time she’d said it.

  His name still provoked a reflex reaction in her central nervous system. She could picture herself at the altar, taking Joseph Arthur Dexter to be her lawful wedded husband. Even now she could feel the hurt and anger as she remembered the humiliation she’d felt when she accused him and he confessed to his infidelity. Clare had thought she’d feel vindicated but instead she had been devastated.

  ‘I’m amazed. Joe was married? Our Joe Dexter?

  No, Clare felt like saying. My Joe Dexter.

  ‘He must have fallen for you in a big way. He’s always been a bit of a player. He still is. But it’s worked for him. Only thirty-seven and already a partner in one of London’s biggest agencies.’

  Rachel was beside herself. She wondered how many people on her floor knew that he had been married. What a scoop. Boy, did she have some gossip for Monday morning. She was itching to tell someone. She might just have to call Will in a minute. She couldn’t help herself. Joe was a terminal play-boy…and a divorcé after an affair with a colleague. She wondered who the ‘four times a night’ girl had been.

  ‘You’re well out of there, Clare. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that everyone loves Joe, but I can’t imagine anything worse than being married to him. I suppose, if you think about it, advertising is a touchy-feely industry run by lots of beautiful people, so you shouldn’t be surprised when temptation wins. But, having said all that, it’s funny—I never thought Matt would be the unfaithful type.’

  ‘Funnily enough I didn’t have Joe down as a love rat when I bought the big white dress. I don’t know that there is a type either. Everyone loves to be loved and needs to be needed. In my experience men don’t like having to compete with your career on a daily basis, but sometimes I think people hang on for the wrong reasons.’

  There was nothing more that she could do. So far Rachel had listened. Clare had bitten her tongue on several occasions and hopefully the crucial seeds had been sown.

  ‘Look, I’d better be off. I know how busy you are. But, please, take stock before you set out to ruin Lizzie’s life. You won’t want to hear this, but in some ways you and Lizzie are very similar. You’re both ambitious. You’re both in the ascendant of your careers. She couldn’t be any sorrier for what’s happened. Just bear in mind that revenge might make you feel better in the short term but, painful as it may seem now, it takes two to have an affair.’

  It had all been going like clockwork, right up until the last seven words had left her mouth. Now Clare could feel the office temperature changing around her.

  ‘Are you saying that this was my fault?’ Rachel’s tone was ultra-defensive.

  ‘Of course not. I’m just saying that Lizzie isn’t the only one to blame. I know for a fact that if Matt had told her he was married when they first met Lizzie wouldn’t have seen him again, and she certainly wouldn’t have slept with him. She’d never have deliberately subjected anyone to what you’ve been through. I suppose you could count yourself lucky that Matt picked Lizzie to have an affair with. At least she sent him back home when she realised what was going on.’

  Rachel could feel her hackles rising. Who the hell did Clare think she was? They’d only met once before and now, after a little heart to heart, she seemed to think she’d earned the right to stand in her office and tell her that she should be grateful that Matt had picked Lizzie to sleep with.

  ‘Lizzie should have thought about her career before she started screwing around with a married man. She’s supposed to help people with their problems, not go out there and generate more. Someone has to expose her hypocritical behaviour. She’s not the person people think she is.’

  The woman had a nerve. If Ed was to be believed, Lizzie didn’t have the exclusive on hypocritical behaviour. Clare decided to do a very un-Clare thing and gamble. She had nothing to lose and, more to the point, Lizzie presently had little to keep.

  ‘I think you might want to reconsider.’

  ‘Really?’ Rachel doubted it. Frankly, she was getting bored. Clare could take her holier-than-thou am-dram attitude and just piss off as far as she was concerned. ‘Look, if you must persist with your campaign to clear Lizzie’s name, I suggest you liaise with Kitty on Monday and make an appointment to see me—like everyone else has to round here.’

  ‘I’d slow down if I were you…’ Rachel’s increasingly hostile mood was only going to make her part more fun. ‘After all, it appears that you’re no angel either…’

  Clare said the word ‘angel’ very slowly.

  She didn’t know if it was just her imagination, but she thought she saw Rachel sit up a little straighter. Her expression didn’t change. She was an impressively cool customer. But there was no way that Clare was going to let her wheedle her way out of this one. ‘I’m sure that your clients would be very interested to hear about your cocaine habit. Thought you’d road-test a few of the products, did you? I’d hazard a guess that your fast track to the top would be over if wind of this got to a national newspaper. Not quite the publicity the campaign was hoping for, I imagine.’

  Rachel felt as if she had been turned inside out. Surely blackmail was only administered under the cover of night? And it wasn’t even dark yet. But despite the defensive surge of instinctive anger she knew she was in trouble. She could feel the shakes spreading down her arms. Nothing must go wrong with the campaign now. This was to be her greatest moment.

  Clare had everything crossed. Beneath her calm, collected veneer her heart was racing. She knew that she had no concrete evidence. But her confidence was boosted by Rachel’s current expression. Three gold bars…kerrrrrching…Clare had hit the jackpot.

  The blood drained from Rachel’s face. Distractedly she rubbed her nose. It was a timely affectation. Finally she broke her own silence. Her tone had changed and now there was a thinly disguised element of fear in her voice. Yet, true to her character, she started on the offensive. This time Clare was ready. Her armoury fully stocked, her weapons loaded.

  ‘You can’t just make allegations like this.’

  ‘And why not, exactly? How the hell you have the nerve to accuse Lizzie of double standards I have no idea. Delusions of defamation? I suggest you drop all your plans to go to the papers if you want to keep your golden reputation in the industry. I don’t care if everybody in this building is high as a kite most of the time; you’re the only one running a campaign telling everyone to live their lives without regret, to say no to drugs, encouraging clean living—’

  Rachel interrupted.

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘Like I’m just going to tell you! Look, I might not be an expert at all this double-crossing stuff, but no one reveals their sources…’

  ‘You’re blackmailing me.’

  ‘I’d rather see it as more of a bargain that needs to be struck. If you promise to leave Lizzie to her career then I’ll leave you to yours. Simple as that.’

  ‘But it’s completely different. Lizzie had an affair with my husband. Our marriage may never be the same again.’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself. If it hadn’t been Lizzie it would probably have been someone else.’

  ‘But, Clare, you of all people know what I’m going through. We’ve both suffered because of our partners’ infidelity.’

  ‘Don’t try and pull sisterhood rank on me. You’re no victim, Rachel, except perhaps of your desire to climb the corporate ladder two rungs at a time. Leaking your story would make me feel a whole lot better about you pulling Lizzie’s life apart. Revenge mig
ht not be politically correct these days, but I have to say I’m finding the prospect of the eye for an eye philosophy quite satisfying, not to mention effective…’

  Rachel was now slumped in her chair, chewing anxiously on a cuticle. Clare, conversely, was suddenly on a roll.

  ‘At least now you know how Lizzie must be feeling. Everything you’ve worked so hard for hanging in the balance. How dare you be so sanctimonious about what’s right and what’s wrong? Sorry, angel. Your halo seems to have slipped.’

  Clare was surprised at how easy she was finding this. There must have been some gangster in her genealogy somewhere back along the line—although disappointingly she didn’t seem to be able to crack her knuckles. She decided to quit while she was so obviously ahead. Even in defeat, Rachel was quite scary. Besides, she wasn’t sure what to do next. It wasn’t as if she’d rehearsed an ending.

  ‘I’d better get going. I won’t be telling Lizzie about any of this, so you’re going to have to contact her yourself—and I’d suggest sooner rather than later. I assume that your deadline no longer applies?’

  Rachel kicked her desk as Clare swept out of her office. She couldn’t even be gracious in defeat.

  Clare resisted the urge to break into a skip as she hit the pavement outside. She’d sat through a lot of gangland films in her time and she’d never ever seen a gangster skip. They didn’t even smile. She concentrated on looking mean and moody as she walked down the stairs to the tube station.

  chapter 25

  The weekend hadn’t been a success. Matt had been out for most of Saturday, and he’d just sat and stared at the television yesterday. Still, at least he was at home with her—which was something. He probably just needed time, but she was already getting bored of waiting for him to bounce back. And to think she’d even turned down brunch with Will in Soho. Maybe if she’d met him and then pottered round Covent Garden in the afternoon, instead of spending it avoiding the ironing basket, football on the television and her monosyllabic husband, she would’ve been feeling a little less highly strung today. Marvellous. Just another Manic fucking Monday. Without the fucking, of course.

  Clare fetched Lizzie early. She’d only been in Hampstead for five days, but—taking their last phone call as a yardstick—any longer might have done her more harm than good. And besides, Clare couldn’t wait to have her back. Her new-found double life as a private investigator had made both her step and her mood more buoyant than they had been in years. ‘Normal’ behaviour was going to be tough. Clare had never been very good at secrets or surprises. Furthermore, she’d have to react convincingly if and when the news broke. It was a challenge that she hoped she could live up to.

  Lizzie was glad to be back. Once you hit your thirties there is only so much mothering you can endure before you need a serious dose of own space. The maternal home might be over twice the size of their flat, but it had seemed impossible to find even a cubic foot of her own on any of the three floors. She’d felt like a rare and unpredictable specimen under observation. Daughterinastateus.

  Even the phone hadn’t provided life-support. Her mother had scrutinised every call, incoming and outgoing. If Lizzie wanted a cup of tea she wanted to know why; if she didn’t want one she wanted to know why not. She might still be a little unsure of what to do next, but if she wasn’t allowed to make some of her everyday decisions without justification her sanity was in jeopardy. She knew her mum only meant well, and she’d bitten her tongue more often than it had managed to escape, but if she’d stayed any longer the charge of adultery was in danger of paling into insignificance alongside matricide.

  Besides, Lizzie still had over two weeks to go till the end of the month, and if she didn’t get Susan a column by the end of tomorrow or turn up at City FM on Thursday evening she might manage to end her career all by herself. She knew she was sounding a little melodramatic. But that was the way she was feeling—and, she felt, with good reason.

  Clare had spring-cleaned. 56 Oxford Road was bursting with cut flowers and smelt gorgeous. As Clare whipped up a storm in the kitchen Lizzie went to confront her inbox. She felt sure that a quick peek before dinner might halt the dread that was starting to envelop her. As the smells of Clare’s culinary endeavours wafted down the stairs Lizzie realised how glad she was to have her back. While she couldn’t have hacked ten more minutes at her mother’s, she didn’t want to be all alone any more. She was just logging on when Clare summoned her for supper.

  Clare was fidgeting. Since Friday night she’d been saddled with a surfeit of energy, and if Lizzie hadn’t been quite so preoccupied with trying to organise the rest of her life then Clare was sure that she’d have noticed that her once serene flatmate looked like a break-dancer in a disco being forced to go cold turkey. She wondered when Rachel would be in touch. She still couldn’t quite believe what had happened.

  ‘This is delicious, Clare. Thanks.’

  ‘Pleasure.’ Clare clutched the seat of her chair with both hands to stop herself jiggling around. She’d already inhaled her portion. At least with her mouth full she hadn’t been tempted to say anything.

  ‘Listen, thanks for everything. You were right to send me to Mum’s. And thanks for coming to get me this afternoon. I can’t tell you how good it feels to have you home.’

  Clare had never been very good at taking compliments. It wasn’t that she didn’t want or need them; she just didn’t know what to do with them when they arrived and invariably ended up deflecting them rather awkwardly. She changed the subject.

  ‘So, have you got a long night ahead of you?’

  Lizzie had her mouth full.

  ‘Mhmm.’ There was a momentary pause while she chewed and swallowed. ‘I need to get a column in by noon tomorrow. I jotted some stuff down at Mum’s, but I need to fine-tune it and add a bit more. I thought I might take it in myself and see if I can arrange a time with Bridget to have lunch with Susan. I’d rather talk to her about things face to face and not in her glass-fronted office if I can avoid it.’

  ‘Have you decided what you’re going to say?’

  ‘Pretty much. I think the truth would be a good place to start. Susan’s always been good to me, and I think I owe it to her to be straight. God knows how she’ll react. I’m clutching on to the admittedly rather vain hope that she might think it’s funny… Still, I’d rather get in there now in case Rachel flips out again. I’d rather she heard my version first.’

  Clare was panicking slightly. What was the point of everything she’d done if Lizzie was going to go and talk to Susan before Rachel had withdrawn her ultimatum? But practically what could she do about it? Lizzie was hardly going to be thrilled to think that Clare had been snooping round her inbox, delivering threats behind her back. She knew that if their positions were reversed she’d be livid. What if Rachel told Lizzie what Clare had done? Her good mood was starting to recede.

  ‘I wouldn’t rush anything, Liz. You’ve still got a bit of time.’

  ‘I know, but I just can’t leave it all till the last minute. As hard as it is, I got myself into this mess and it’s up to me to get myself out of it. And if I don’t sort it out soon I’ll only spend every other moment hypothesising about every possible eventuality. You know what I’m like.’

  Lizzie sounded calmer than she felt. But she knew she was right. Fed and watered, she returned to her study and, slightly subdued, started sifting through her e-mails. There were a few from readers, and a surprising number of get well messages from people at work, but her moment of belonging was short-lived. Lizzie’s improving mood dissipated abruptly when she discovered a new e-mail from rachel.b@CDH.co.uk sent yesterday.

  For a few moments she just stared at the information on her screen. The hairs on the back of her neck were now standing to attention. There was nothing to help Lizzie ascertain what the content was likely to be. The subject had been left blank. What if Rachel had sent her a lethal virus to wipe her hard drive? Paranoid? Well, maybe just a little. To open or not to open? That was t
he question.

  ‘Clare!’

  It was an instinctive cry for help, and not a particularly loud one. Lizzie waited a few minutes and shouted this time. Nothing. Either Rachel had sent a virus that had got to Clare first or, more rationally, Clare was washing up with the radio on and couldn’t hear her. Anyway, what could Clare do? At the age of thirty-two Lizzie had forfeited the right to be rescued. Right. Dread coursing through her veins, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and double-clicked.

  She opened one eye and then the other before reading the message as fast as she could—and then reading it again, syllable by syllable.

  Lizzie

  Having had the weekend to cool down, I have decided not to go to the papers if you promise to stay away from Matthew. Despite your recent behaviour, I do believe that you have a gift with people. However, should I discover that you have contacted my husband I will not hesitate in systematically destroying everything you have worked for.

  Yours, Rachel Baker

  A subsistence lifestyle in South America was on hold. A veritable U-turn. Lizzie was instantly circumspect. Perhaps this was a trap—some sort of twist in Rachel’s smear campaign? Lizzie must have missed something. Compassion and forgiveness were not traits she associated with any spurned wife, and certainly not with Rachel Baker. Even this apparent gesture of goodwill left Rachel holding all the cards. What if Lizzie ran into Matt at work? Or he contacted her?

  Lizzie called Clare again…and again…and again. Eventually she came. Running. Breathless.

  ‘What is it? Are you OK?’

  ‘Look at this.’

  ‘Look at this? Look at this? God, Liz, at the very least I was expecting you to have been impaled on your letter-opener. Jesus. Don’t do that again. What’s wrong with getting off your arse and coming to find me?’

  ‘Sorry…’ Lizzie pointed at her monitor. ‘I just had to show you this, and I didn’t want to take my eyes off the screen just in case something happened and it wasn’t here any more. I didn’t want you to think I was hallucinating or anything.’