A Wild Affair: A Novel

by Gemma Townley

  It was Hugh Barter. Hugh “Thinks-He's-Smarter,” as we used to call him, rather pathetically, I'll admit—“we” being most people at Milton Advertising. He used to work there, ages ago, when I'd first started. Only he always acted like everything he did was beneath him, like he was far too big a fish for such a small firm. Max, naturally, had blamed Anthony because Anthony had hired him, and Anthony defended him constantly for the same reason. The problem was, he was really good—at his job, at least. Clients loved him. And he always delivered—mainly because he'd tread on anyone and anything to get what he wanted, but clients didn't care about that. Everyone was relieved when he finally left to join a bigger firm called Scene It, even though he stole all our client lists when he went.

  I could see Helen pulling away from Sam to check Hugh out and moved slightly to block his view of her. I didn't want to encourage him, after all. He already thought he was the best thing that ever happened to the world.

  “I'm fine, thanks. You?” I asked, my voice slightly stilted.

  “Great,” he said easily. “I'm account director at Scene It now and pretty much the number two. You know we won an award last month? That was me.”

  “How nice,” I said unenthusiastically. Helen had now completely untangled herself from Sam and was looking at me expectantly. “Hugh used to work at Milton Advertising,” I said, shooting her a tight smile. “He works at Scene It now, another firm. Hugh, this is my friend Helen. And Sam.”

  Helen grinned; Hugh didn't seem to notice. He just nodded in their direction then turned back to me. “I hear Anthony has left Milton. Weren't you two getting married or something?”

  I cleared my throat, trying not to smile. When Hugh worked at Milton Advertising, some people used to call him “Mini Me” because he aped Anthony so much. Okay, maybe I started it, I can't remember. “Yes, he's left. Gone away, that is. For a bit. Or, you know, maybe longer. And yes, we were getting married. But we … we decided not to. I'm marrying Max now.”

  “Max?” Hugh looked at me like I was about to finish the joke. Then his eyes widened. “You're serious?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Completely.”

  “And he's the new managing director of the firm?”

  I nodded again, a bit more defiantly this time. Hugh emitted a low whistle. “Interesting. Didn't you get promoted?”

  “That's right.”

  Hugh grinned. “Well, well done you. Nice work. Didn't think you had it in you, but for what it's worth, I think getting rid of Anthony was a stroke of genius. Max is far better. Far more of a threat to us, of course, but that's the fun of it, isn't it? If you're going to fight a battle, make it one that's worth winning.”

  My eyes narrowed. “I didn't get rid of Anthony. He left. But you're right about Max—he's brilliant.”

  Hugh shrugged. “Brilliant might be an exaggeration, but he's good, I suppose, in his own way. So, what's the gossip? Any new clients? Anything I should know about?”

  “No,” I said, suspiciously, still wondering what he'd meant by “in his own way.” It wasn't that I didn't trust Hugh, it was more that … Okay, I didn't trust him. Not at all. And I didn't trust his firm either. It had history with Max, competing with Milton over every pitch, using whatever underhanded methods it deemed worthwhile to steal business. As Max had told me many, many times, Scene It stood for everything he didn't; every time he saw them mentioned in the advertising press he got this look on his face that made everyone keep a low profile around him. Scene It was, according to Max, singularly responsible for all the problems in the advertising world. They were scheming, overpriced, they lied, they spread malicious gossip, and worse, much worse, they once nearly bought Milton Advertising without Max even knowing about it. It had been years before when Anthony had been drinking and gambling and had gotten himself into trouble. The chief exec of Scene It had made him an offer to pay off his debts and install him as non-exec with a cushy salary; in return he would lay off all the staff and pass all his business to the Laythams. Max had only found out in the nick of time, but the memory had stayed with him—the underhandedness of it all, the lack of integrity showed by all involved. Hugh moving there and taking a whole load of clients with him hadn't helped much either. Actually, that had probably been the last straw.

  “I mean, no news that you'd be interested in,” I added.

  “Oh I bet that isn't true,” Hugh said, moving closer to me, smiling a little. “I bet there's loads going on within those walls. I've heard all about your Project Handbag campaign, for one thing. Sounds very impressive. It's your first big campaign, right?”

  “That's right,” I said. “I won the pitch, so, you know, it's …”

  “Your deal. Absolutely,” Hugh said, his smile warming. “Clever Jess. I always knew you had it in you.”

  “You did?” I looked at him carefully.

  “Told Max all the time. I probably told Anthony, too, but I knew he was only interested in who he could shag so there wasn't much point …” He met my eyes and grinned awkwardly. “I mean, I thought there wasn't much point. I didn't realize that you and he would … Well, anyway …” He looked from me to Helen and back again. “Anyone want to help me out of the hole I'm digging here?”

  I found myself laughing in spite of myself. “I think you're too far in,” I said, “but thanks for the sentiment. At least I think you were trying to say something nice. Right?”

  “Right,” Hugh said quickly, with a look of relief. “So, anyway, great to see you, Jess.” He looked at me intently, and I found myself averting my eyes. When I looked back at him, his eyes were twinkling, his mouth back to its laid-back smile.

  “Yes. And you,” I said, brightly. “But we should go. Hel?”

  “Right,” Helen said. “Sure. Bye Sam. Bye Hugh.” She blew a kiss to Sam and gave Hugh a long look, then followed me out of the shop.

  “What was that all about?” she asked, as soon as we were outside.

  “That?” I asked. “That was Hugh Barter.”

  “I know that,” Helen said impatiently. “I want to know why he was looking at you like that, all gooey-eyed.”

  “Gooey-eyed?” I asked, reddening slightly. “I don't know what you mean.”

  “Suit yourself,” Helen shrugged. “I suppose when you're madly in love you don't notice other men checking you out. Must be nice. He certainly didn't notice me.”

  As she spoke I realized that I'd completely forgotten about Max's odd behavior, about the strange woman on the phone.

  “I guess you're right,” I said, not entirely truthfully. “You don't notice other people when you're as in love as I am. So, curry?”

  Chapter 3

  I GOT BACK LATE from Helen's, and never got around to mentioning the phone call or running into Hugh to Max. He was waiting for me when I walked through the door and immediately enveloped me in this huge hug that kind of turned into something else and then we went to sleep and when we woke up, I was in such a good mood I didn't want to spoil it by asking questions that might make me sound like a jealous madwoman. So I pushed the whole phone call incident from my head and instead spent our lovely Sunday (brunch followed by a rummage around Camden market—my idea—and a walk along the embankment—Max's idea—then dinner at an Italian restaurant) pretending that I'd forgotten about it completely and doing my best not to stare suspiciously every time his phone rang.

  Except I couldn't actually forget about it. It wasn't at the forefront of my mind anymore—I'd pushed it back behind Project Handbag; behind finding a pair of tights that weren't torn; behind staring at my hair and wondering if Helen was right about it needing Pedro's touch; behind helping Max find his car keys; behind rushing back to the bathroom to apply just a bit of mascara because a bit of definition around the eyes wasn't going to hurt anyone—but the incident was still there niggling away. I was still waiting for Max to turn to me and tell me about a mad stalker who wouldn't leave him alone, about a client who had an embarrassing crush on him, about something that would explain t
he conversation with the strange woman, something that would stop my mind conjuring up images that I really didn't want to have in my head.

  “So Chester's coming in at ten,” Max said a few mornings later as we pulled into the company car park. “We're going to have a Project Handbag meeting, then he and I need to spend some time together.”

  “Really?” I looked at Max quizzically. “Why?”

  “Why? Because we do. Because we've got things to discuss.”

  I thought for a moment. “What things?”

  Max was looking at me strangely. “Just, you know, work things.”

  “Oh.” I opened the car door, then shut it again. “It's just …” I said as Max also started to get out. He turned, saw my expression, and got back in.

  “Just?” he prompted.

  “Just that if we're going to get married, I think we should trust each other,” I heard myself say. “I don't think we should have any secrets.”

  “Really? You honestly think that?”

  I nodded, my jaw set. “Yes, I do.”

  “You think that our marriage is doomed if I have a meeting with Chester that you're not in on?”

  His eyes were twinkling, but I refused to return the smile. “Chester, other clients …” I searched for the right words. Women who call your mobile and get freaked out when I mention I'm your fiancée. “I just think we should be open, that's all. So if there's something you want to tell me. Anything … just do, that's all.”

  Max sighed. “Okay,” he said, leaning back on his seat and turning to look at me. “There is something. But …”

  “But nothing,” I said firmly. “Max, you have to tell me.”

  “You really need to know? I mean, this is really important to you?”

  “Yes,” I said, feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden. Did I really want to know? Would I be able to deal with it if he was in love with someone else? If we were over, if …

  “It's just …” Max scratched his chin. “Look, I want to tell you, but it's difficult.”

  “It's always difficult,” I said tightly.

  “I know, but this particularly … If word got out, I mean I know it won't, but if it did, it could really ruin all sorts of things.”

  Like our wedding, I thought with a thud.

  “Max, you have to tell me. Our marriage is doomed otherwise.”

  “Doomed, huh?” He looked at me searchingly “Okay, but Jess, this is seriously confidential stuff. The city has rules and regulations about this sort of thing. You really think we're doomed if I don't tell you?”

  Rules and regulations? I had no idea what he was talking about. I mean, sure there were unspoken rules about honesty and stuff like that, but they didn't just apply in London, did they? “Yes,” I said. “I do.”

  Max thought for a moment, then leaned in closer. “Fine. But you can't tell anyone. I've signed a nondisclosure on this. But if you really want to know, if it's really pivotal to our marriage being a success …”

  “Yes?” My heart was beating loudly in my chest.

  “Jarvis Private Banking is in takeover talks with Glue, the Internet bank.”

  I stared at him for a second. “What?” He started to repeat what he'd just said and I shook my head. “I meant, that's it?”

  Max looked a bit put out. “That's it? It's huge. Glue's marketing budget is one of the biggest in the sector. If the takeover is successful, we'll get the whole lot. I'm helping Chester work out a positioning statement for the shareholders, to make sure they see the deal as attractive. He and the chairman of Glue have been working on this for months.”

  “Oh. Oh, I see.” I frowned. Then I thought of something. “The … um … chairman of Glue. Is he a woman?”

  Max raised an eyebrow. “Is he a woman? You mean like a transsexual?”

  I rolled my eyes irritably. “Not he. I mean, is the chairperson, is she, or he, you know …” I sighed because Max was laughing now and not taking me seriously at all. “Is it a man or a woman?”

  “A man,” Max said. Then he looked at me seriously. “I know, it's a shocking state of affairs, far too few women in top positions and I'm sure Chester will be keen to rectify the situation as soon as possible.”

  “Sure.” I looked out of the window. Actually, it was big news. It was great news. If he'd told me yesterday I'd have been firing questions at him about the service offering, the branding of the new business, the market and objectives. But right now I couldn't. Right now I couldn't think about anything except what Max wasn't telling me.

  “Jess, are you okay? You seem upset. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before, but I promised Chester. This is a huge deal. Monumental. And it has to be a secret until the announcement next month.”

  “No, no I'm fine,” I said quickly. “And I totally understand. It was a secret. I get it.” I looked down despondently. Why was he hiding things from me? Who was that bloody woman anyway? I forced a smile onto my face. “So this is pretty exciting, huh?”

  Max nodded, his eyes shining. “It really is,” he agreed. “But you won't talk to anyone about it? Won't let on that you know? Not even to Chester. Particularly not Chester. Well, particularly not anyone, actually. Seriously, Jess.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Max, I won't tell a soul. You know I won't.”

  “Yes, I do,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I love that about you. I can trust you with anything.”

  “Anything,” I agreed, getting out of the car for real this time. “Of course you can.”

  The office was bustling by the time we eventually made it through the doors. Max kissed me outside—we'd both agreed that kissing inside office walls was very inappropriate, even if we were getting married—and then he pinched my bottom as we walked toward reception, making me jump just as Chester rose from the sofa in the waiting area. I glared at him (Max, not Chester), but he just winked and held out his hand.

  “Chester,” he said, warmly. “How's it going?”

  Chester took his hand and patted him on the back for good measure. Chester was American and always liked to do things just a little bigger and better than everyone else.

  He grinned broadly. “Things are good,” he said. “And you? How are you, Max? You looking after Jess here?”

  He grabbed my hand and the next thing I knew he was patting me on the back, too. “Is he?” he demanded. “Is he looking after you?”

  I grinned back, weakly. “Oh, yes, you don't have to worry about me.”

  “Well, that's good,” Chester said seriously. “That's very good to hear.”

  The truth was that Chester had been a bit confused when Max had explained to him a few months before that I wasn't marrying Anthony after all, that Anthony had, in fact, decided to go on a jaunt around the world and that Max had bought him out so he was now in charge of the firm and was planning to marry me, too. We joked to each other that Chester probably thought it was some kind of package deal, a perk of the job, a strange kind of British custom that the new managing director inherits not just his predecessor's office and desk but his fiancée. But we'd done our best to explain it, between us, and it seemed to have worked. Which was a relief, because Chester was pretty important to Milton Advertising. Winning his pitch had been my best career moment ever—actually, one of my best moments period. It had been the moment I'd started to believe in myself.

  “Now,” Chester continued. “I'm sorry I'm here early, but I've got one hell of a day ahead of me. Max, I was hoping we might catch up before the Project Handbag meeting instead of after, if that suits you?”

  “Suits me perfectly,” Max said. “Come to my office?”

  “I'd be delighted. And Jess, I'll catch you later, okay? Can't wait to hear what you're planning for us.”

  “Great!” I said, watching the two of them disappear into Max's office before wandering over to my desk to turn on my computer.

  Funnily enough, while he had taken Anthony's fiancée (kind of—I mean, I feel I have to point out at this point that I was not some fift
eenth-century damsel waiting to be swept off my feet or anything; Anthony was a mistake and I liked Max all along), Max hadn't taken over Anthony's larger room; he'd turned that into a meeting room and kept his own, small office for himself. He said he didn't need a big room, but I think actually it was that he wanted to do things his own way from the office that had always said “Max Wainright” rather than the one that had always said, and always would say, “Anthony Milton.”

  That's what I loved about Max; he did things his own way. Well, it was one of the things I loved, anyway. Frankly, there were lots of them. Frankly, I loved everything about him.

  Well, nearly everything. Everything that didn't involve any women was fine by me. No, not all women. Just that woman. Whoever she was. Other than her, Max and I were great together. We were unbreakable. We were …

  “Jess?” Caroline, my account executive, was looking at me from her desk with a worried expression. “Jess, are you all right?”

  I looked up, startled. “Me? Fine. Yes. Why?”

  “You've been staring at your screen for, like, five minutes without even blinking. I thought you might have gotten some bad news.”

  Caroline was what's known in London as a nu-sloane. Not an old sloane, because she said “yeah” rather than “yah.” But the rest was true blue. She had partied with Prince Harry on several occasions, went skiing five times a year, and had long blond hair which she seemed unable to do anything with other than toss it from side to side. She was also one of the sweetest people I'd ever met in my whole life. I mean, when she'd come in for the interview, I have to confess I'd mentally struck her off my list the moment she opened her mouth. But then she was so earnest, so impossibly desperate to please, that I couldn't help deciding she was perfect, even though she had absolutely no experience whatsoever.

  So I'd offered the job to Caroline and she'd immediately burst into tears. Which made me nearly burst into tears, too, because I remembered how grateful I'd been for the chance to work in advertising, and it made me feel really great knowing I was giving the same chance to someone else.