Getting Even (35 page)

Dan only hesitated for a split second. “No, I'm free.”

“Can I come over?”

“I'll come to you,” he offered.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure—that's why I was calling, in fact.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I wanted to talk—I was worried you were looking for another job, leaving the country.”

“What on earth gave you that idea? Not Ivy, by any chance?”

“No, not Ivy. So you're not?”

“No.”

“Ah, right. I must have got the wrong end of the stick.” He gave another sigh; this time she was certain it was relief. “Anyway.” Another momentary hesitation. “It would be nice to see you.”

“It would be nice to see you too.”

*   *   *

In all the months that he and Orianna had been dating, Dan had never got from Camden to Holloway so fast. He checked himself in the mirror—yeah, he looked fine—grabbed his car keys and his wallet, and within less than two minutes was behind the wheel. He found a space right outside Orianna's apartment.

It felt strange, going back after so many months apart. It was so familiar, yet different. When he'd last been there, the window box had been jaded, its geraniums blooming one last time. But now it was spring, the box was filled with daffodils.

“Hi,” said Orianna as she opened the door. She smiled.

She looks different, he thought. Her hair's longer, but that's not the only thing. She seems older, wiser somehow; it suits her.

“Hi.” He smiled back. I think it's going to be all right, he thought.

“I believe I've got some explaining to do.”

“Me too.” But first, forget talking. He held out his arms.

Orianna stepped forward, and embraced him. “I've missed you,” she said.

To:
Everyone

From:
Orianna Bianchi

Date:
Wednesday, March 24, 8:47

Subj:
Changes

It may have escaped your notice that Ivy Fraser hasn't been in the office for over a week. It's my understanding that rumors are rife, and I wish to be straight with you all: Ivy will not be returning to Green. She was found guilty of serious professional misconduct, not to mention various other, more personal transgressions which make it no longer viable to continue her working relationship with the agency.

It has also come to my attention that a few of you saw our financial director, Russell North, leaving yesterday afternoon alongside two police officers. He too will not be returning to the agency in the foreseeable future.

Unfortunately we have discovered major fiscal irregularities over the last few weeks and these implicate certain employees at the deepest and most serious level. The matter is currently at the hands of the fraud squad and under investigation. I am asking you all to keep this confidential while they do so, and we will let you know the outcome of their findings when full details emerge.

Finally, and on a more positive note, without wishing to embroil you all in my private life, a number of you have recently noted the ring on my left hand. I am delighted to announce that yes, indeed, Dan Cohen and I did get engaged over the weekend.

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 one 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.