A Class Apart

by Susan Lewis

  “Same as Kate. There are several critics, not to mention directors, I’d like to see in the hot seat. What time of night will it be going out?”

  Jenneen shrugged. “It doesn’t have a slot yet. But it will be quite late, I think. Around elevenish.”

  “Shame,” said Nick. “Still, once it’s been running a while, they might give it an earlier slot.”

  “Might,” said Jenneen, “one can only hope.”

  The phone rang and Jenneen looked at her watch. “Great! That’s probably Ashley. I left a message with her service, telling her to ring us here tonight.”

  “Hello,” she said, lifting the receiver. “Hello,” she said again. She waited, but there was no reply. She looked at the others and shrugged. “No one there.” The line crackled. “Hello,” she shouted. “Ashley, is that you?” Still there was no answer. She put the phone down. “Probably a bad connection.”

  After a couple of minutes the phone rang again, and this time Kate answered it. “Hello, Ash!”

  “Hello,” said a muffled voice, quite clearly not Ashley’s.

  “Hello? Who is it?”

  “Kate,” said the voice. “Hello, Kate.”

  Kate frowned, and some of the colour left her face. She turned to look at Nick.

  Quickly he jumped to his feet. “Is it him again?”

  “Who?” said Jenneen, bewildered.

  “I think so,” Kate whispered, handing Nick the receiver.

  Nick put the phone to his ear and listened. A few seconds later the line went dead, but he heard all he needed to hear. He could feel both Kate’s and Jenneen’s eyes on him, waiting for him to speak. He turned away, closing his eyes against the feeling of nausea the voice had left him with.

  Kate’s face was taut. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

  “Who?” said Jenneen.

  Nick looked round.

  “What did he say?”

  “What’s going on?” said Jenneen. “Who is it?”

  Nick looked at her, then avoiding Kate’s eyes he started to leave the room. “I’ll get some more wine,” he said.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “So,” said Conrad, leaning back in his chair and indicating that he was bringing the meeting to a close, “I want every effort put into this. As you already know, it’s an account that used to belong to this shop, and I want it back again. I’ve every confidence in you, but it’s going to be a tough one. Practically every other agency in town will be making a pitch, so it’s up to you to make sure it comes our way. I want round-the-clock effort, no excuses, and every ounce of talent in your pretty little heads working towards it. You don’t need me to tell you how many millions are at stake, and I want them.” He looked at Ashley. “Candice will give you the available figures as you leave,” Ashley nodded and Conrad continued: “They will impress upon you how serious I am about getting Mercer Burgess Insurance back at Frazier, Nelmes, if I haven’t done so sufficiently already. As soon as anyone feels they’re onto something, and I expect that to be within the next forty-eight hours, then bring it to me. I shall be taking a personal interest in this one, and if I’m not here, then Candice will know where to reach me. So as I said, it’s up to you now, go to it!” and he smiled.

  Bill Fownest, the President of Frazier, Nelmes, New York, stood up and catching Ashley’s eye winked at her. He loved it when the agency was involved in a pitch of this stature. It made his blood race, and gave him a greater high than anything else – with perhaps one, maybe two exceptions. He watched Ashley as she gathered up her papers. If he wasn’t greatly mistaken then she was already accumulating and discarding ideas in that brain of hers, and he’d wager she was looking forward to this as much as he was. He had heard how it was largely down to her that Frazier, Nelmes in London had clinched the lucrative Newslink account, and he was interested to see what she would come up with this time. She had a good creative team under her here in New York, and in the short time she had been here she had already earned a healthy respect from them, and, indeed, the twenty or so other Exec VPs in the company. Shame she didn’t get along so well with Conrad, but it didn’t seem to bother her any, so what the hell.

  “Ashley!” Conrad was standing behind his desk.

  She stopped at the door and turned back. So did a couple of the others, though from the look on Conrad’s face they could see that whatever he had to say to Ashley, it was no concern of theirs. Quickly they left the room.

  Conrad picked up his pen and began to write something on the pad in front of him. He looked up, and again she had that feeling that he was sizing her up.

  “This is the biggest challenge you have had since you’ve been in New York,” he began, “so I thought you might be wondering why I have assigned this particular pitch to you.”

  Like hell she was wondering, hadn’t she been busting a gut, as Jan put it, to try and make sure this one came her way? She waited for him to go on.

  “I don’t want to have to spell it out,” he said, and she wished his face was a little less grim. “I think you are already well aware of the importance of winning, and although your track record in London speaks for itself, I want you to remember that you’re in New York now, where standards are high, and those that don’t rise to them go. We can’t afford to lose this one and it would be as well for you if we didn’t.”

  She looked into his face, dark and serious, watching her with his eyebrows half raised, almost as if he had asked her a question. She understood exactly what he was saying, and hated him for it. “I think you’ve made yourself perfectly dear, Conrad.”

  His eyes were piercing as he looked back at her. “Yes, I hope I have,” and he picked up the telephone.

  “Is that all?”

  “For now.”

  She turned to go.

  “Oh, one thing,” he said, as she was opening the door, “I’ll pick you up at seven tonight. We’re going to the opera.”

  She opened her mouth to speak.

  “That’s all. Just be sure you’re ready on time. Candice, get Bill Fownest back in here will you?” he added into the phone.

  Jan was waiting for her when she returned to her own office. “Anything you need before I go?”

  Ashley shook her head. “Apart from a brilliant idea, no.”

  “Can’t help you there, I’m afraid,” Jan laughed as she began to pack away her things. “I take it we were right, it was Mercer Burgess?”

  “Yes, Mercer Burgess. And, if I’m not greatly mistaken, my career.”

  “Excuse me?” said Jan, stopping what she was doing.

  Ashley looked up, surprised to find that she had voiced her thoughts aloud. “Oh, nothing,” she said, “nothing. Did you remember to send the date plan to Jill Robertson?”

  “Done. Oh, and I’ve been down to Research and picked up the old Mercer Burgess files from the last time we ran their campaign, and I got them to dig out anything else they had on insurance. And Maggie brought in the feasibility study you asked for. They’re all on your desk.”

  “How would I manage without you?” Ashley smiled. “Now off you go, or you’ll be late.”

  “Thanks,” said Jan, with evident relief.

  “Have a good time,” Ashley added. Jan’s son was opening on Broadway tonight. Only a small pan in the chorus of Cats, but nevertheless, it was Broadway, and it was Cats.

  Ashley walked into her own office. It was five thirty now, time enough to get a good three hours in before she went home. She picked up the old Mercer Burgess files and started to flick through them. But Conrad’s words kept ringing in her head, she couldn’t get them out of her mind. She knew she had understood him correctly, but still she didn’t want to believe that her future here in New York was now hanging on whether or not she clinched the Mercer Burgess account. If she failed, then Conrad would send her back to London. But that was preposterous, he couldn’t do it. She gave a dry laugh. Oh yes, he could do it, and what’s more he would. It made her uncomfortable, knowing that he disliked her presence here so
intensely, and she resented his holding a Sword of Damocles over her head. But she was getting to know him a little better now, and one thing she had quickly realised was that Conrad Frazier liked to make his own decisions, he did not take kindly to having them made for him. And in this instance it had been her who had made the decision to join his agency in New York, not him. And now he was telling her that either she proved herself, or she was out.

  But then he had invited her to the opera. Obviously it wasn’t enough for him to push and bully her around during the day, he was now laying claim to her private life too. Well, he could just damn well go to hell! If he wanted to go to the opera, he would be going alone.

  She opened a drawer to take out her notebook. As she took it out a card fell to the floor and she stopped to pick it up.

  Her face softened as she read it. It was from Julian, wishing her good luck in her new life. It had been a generous gesture on his part, and she hoped that he would find in the end that he had made the right decision in marrying Blanche. These past two months in New York had already confirmed to her that she had done the right thing in coming.

  She put the card on her desk, and stared at it. Julian. Conrad. Julian and Conrad. They were so different. Conrad was ruthless where Julian was considerate, and she was uneasy at having to pit her wits against him, or more correctly in this instance, for him, in order to survive.

  He was an irritatingly confusing person, she decided, and an extremely dislikable one too. But during the meeting earlier, she had found herself watching him with interest, and had once or twice been guilty of a lapse of concentration. Despite her feelings towards him, she couldn’t help wondering what he was really like – as a man. She was only too aware of what he was like as an employer, though grudgingly she had to admit that she did respect him. But what did he do when he wasn’t Conrad Frazier, Chairman of Frazier, Nelmes, New York? Without a doubt he must be one of the more eligible men in town, though she had never heard mention of a woman. And he was extremely good-looking, too good-looking in fact, Ashley thought. He knew it of course, and more than once she had seen him play on it where the wives of clients were concerned. But somehow, she sensed, behind his charm he was either bored or irritated by these women, almost as if he saw it as a weakness in them that they could be so easily flattered.

  Abruptly she pulled herself together. There was nothing to be gained from pondering over Conrad Frazier. She looked down at the files in front of her and felt a pang of nerves. For this campaign she would be pitting her brains against those of the most successful commercial people in the world. But everybody had to start somewhere, and she was only just beginning. Her ideas would be newer, fresher, and more ambitious. She would start by calling up Arthur Fellowman, the President of Mercer Burgess. She would have to persuade him into increasing his budget to at least twice what it already was. It was only a seed of an idea that she had been working on so far, but already it was beginning to grow, and by the time she left tonight she should have something that would convince him that he would be doing the right thing in considering the astronomical budget she needed for the high profile campaign she wanted to run.

  She picked up her pen and began to write, a tiny smile of defiance on her lips. If anyone was going to decide whether or not she stayed in New York, it would be her, and Conrad Frazier and his veiled threats could go to hell.

  At six thirty she stopped writing and looked at her watch. She felt a strange stirring sensation creep through her bones. It was giving her pleasure to think of standing up Conard Frazier. He’d be furious, and the very idea of making Conrad Frazier furious gave her an extremely smug feeling of satisfaction. She’d wanted to get her own back on him for so many things, and for so long; and now at last was her opportunity. It would teach him a lesson. Next time he wanted to ask her on a date perhaps he would make an attempt to be a little more civil in the asking. Her only regret was that she would not be there to see the look on his face when he found she wasn’t at home. She shrugged, and then picking up her pen carried on with what she had been doing.

  It was ten minutes past seven when the door of her office flew open and Conrad stalked across the room to her desk. His eyes were blazing and his face was dark with rage. Ashley felt herself shrink back.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’m getting . . .”

  “I don’t give a damn what you’re doing here!” he continued, through clenched teeth. “When I tell you to be ready at seven, I expect you to be there. Just what the hell do you think you’re playing at? This isn’t a game, you know. And I won’t have one of my staff trying to make a fool out of me. Now get to your feet,” and he caught her by the arm, and pulled her out of her chair.

  Her notebook and pen fell to the floor, and so did the card. She bent to pick them up, but the card had floated to his feet and before she could reach out for it, he picked it up. It had fallen open, and he couldn’t have failed to recognise the handwriting inside. As he handed it to her she didn’t miss the look of scorn that shot through his eyes. She looked away again.

  “Get your things.”

  “Now just a minute . . .”

  “Shut up,” he snapped, swinging round to face her. “Get whatever you need, you’ll have to go as you are,” and he started to walk towards the door.

  “I’m not going anywhere, with you or with anyone else. If you want me to go to the opera with you then you can damn well ask with a civil tongue in your head. But don’t bother, I’ll save you the trouble. The answer is no! I don’t want to go to the opera. And I won’t have anyone pushing me around like this, least of all you!”

  He turned back to her, and to her astonishment and fury she could see that though the anger had not disappeared entirely from his eyes, he was laughing.

  “Nice show,” he said. “But you flatter yourself. I am taking clients to the opera tonight. Clients of yours, actually, that you should get to know.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got a taxi waiting downstairs, you’ve got two minutes,” and he stalked out of the room.

  Ashley was glad that he didn’t look back. She was smarting with humiliation. Still, there was nothing for it but to pick up her bag and follow him down to the street.

  The door of the taxi was open so she slipped in beside him, and kept her face averted. This was the most ridiculous position to be in and she had brought it upon herself. She didn’t even know who the clients were. She wasn’t going to ask. Let him tell her. And her hair was a mess, she wasn’t dressed for the opera, and she wanted to freshen her make-up. Damn him! Damn him!

  “Ashley,” he said, interrupting her silent onslaught.

  She turned to glare at him.

  “Shut up!” he said, quite calmly.

  She gasped. “But I haven’t said anything.”

  “You don’t have to. Now calm down. If anyone should be angry around here it’s me. And I am, but I’m managing to keep myself under control. Try and do the same.”

  Ashley sat looking straight ahead, her mouth opening and closing like a flustered goldfish, unable to think of a thing to say.

  Neither of them spoke again until they arrived at the Lincoln Center. Conrad paid the fare, then turned and strode purposefully through the crowds, towards the Metropolitan Opera House. Ashley had to all but run to keep up with him.

  They met up with Mr and Mrs Halworth, of Halworth Foods, in the lobby, and Ashley didn’t miss the sweeping look Mrs Halworth gave her inappropriate dress. Ashley tried to smile, and felt even more foolish.

  She suffered, rather than enjoyed, Russalka, an opera that had never been a favourite of hers, and she was glad when it was over.

  Now what? She didn’t have to wait long to find out. A black limousine which looked as though it had spent many tortuous hours on a rack was waiting for them outside, and they were swept off into the hot, sticky night, to the Twenty-One Club.

  Ashley tried hard throughout dinner to make polite conversation with Mrs Halworth, but it was plain to
see that Mrs Halworth was only interested in Conrad. And, if Ashley wasn’t greatly mistaken, her interest would need little persuasion to extend beyond the restrictions of a business dinner. Ashley eyed her with distaste.

  During the course of the dinner she noticed several women looking in Conrad’s direction, and every now and again he would lift an eyebrow in acknowledgement of their looks. She wondered if he knew them, and felt inexplicably annoyed with him.

  She wasn’t too sure when it was that she first began to realise that Mr Halworth assumed she was Conrad’s wife, and when she did she found it so incredible it left her speechless. Surely Conrad must have told him who she was. But the introductions had been so brief that she had to struggle to try and remember exactly what it was Conrad had said. To her annoyance she couldn’t. But why didn’t Conrad put him right? Maybe he hadn’t noticed. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but his face told her nothing. She looked back to Mr Halworth who winked at her. She felt herself blush, then realised, with horror, that he probably thought that she and Conrad had had some kind of domestic fight before they’d come out this evening. She had to admit that he had good cause to think it, it was exactly how they were behaving.

  With relief Ashley saw the coffee being brought. She couldn’t wait to get home now.

  Mr Halworth ordered brandy, which Ashley refused and the others accepted, then he sat back in his seat and openly regarded both her and Conrad.

  Ashley lowered her eyes under such severe scrutiny, and began to twist the wedding ring she still wore on her third finger. But her head soon snapped up again when Mr Halworth said: “I had heard you were getting married, Conrad. Didn’t know you’d already gone and done it. When was the big day?” He didn’t add that he had thought that Conrad was marrying one of America’s most celebrated models, Candida Rayne.

  Ashley turned to Conrad, expecting him to lose no time in putting Mr Halworth straight. But his dark eyes were dancing, and it was quite plain to see that he was going to say nothing. His smile widened a fraction as he saw her eyes narrow. He lifted the brandy to his mouth, and she thought she saw him salute her with it. Right, she thought, he’s asked for it this time.