“And a couple of days out will give us new perspective,” I said firmly. “We do have other clients you know, Caroline. Clients who depend on us.”
“Of course,” she said, reddening. “I mean, you know, obviously. I mean …”
“Good,” I said, walking over to my desk and putting my bag down. “I'll email you some stuff over, okay?”
She nodded; I could feel her big eyes staring at me but I refused to meet them. It was true; Jarvis wasn't our only client. We had lots of business. Loads of other really exciting campaigns. Like the Superfoods one. They wanted to attack the trade press with a string of adverts promoting their … I opened up the file to remind myself what they were promoting, then felt my heart sink. Their Investors in People accreditation. That was it. Still, people were important, weren't they? Investing in them mattered, right? This would be fun. This would be … worthwhile. I quickly emailed the spec over to Caroline with a cover memo, then leaned back in my chair.
“Jess, got some images for you to look at.” I looked up to see Gareth walking toward me. “It's the backdrop for the Project Handbag launch. We've got a few alternatives—some photographs that are more abstract, and then there's one that's kind of interesting, but I'm not sure because …”
“Actually, I'm kind of tied up right now,” I said, interrupting him midsentence. “But Caroline's got a spec for Superfoods that she'll need to talk to you about.”
“Superfoods?” Gareth looked at me uncertainly, then grinned. “Oh, right, a joke. Sorry, been too submerged in this campaign and I've forgotten what humor is. So anyway, have you got a moment?”
I sighed. “No. And I wasn't joking. To be honest, I think we're all focusing just a little bit too much on Jarvis and Project Handbag, you know? We're in danger of becoming a one-trick pony. So if you wouldn't mind switching your attentions to Superfoods for just a day or two, that would be great.”
“You're really serious?” Gareth was staring at me now. “What the hell? Jess, do you realize how much work there is to do on Project Handbag? Do you realize how many hours my teams have been putting in? This is going to be huge. It's going to win us awards and put us on the map. You yourself told me only a month ago that nothing else mattered for the next six weeks.”
“Right,” I said, swallowing uncomfortably. “You're right. But I just think a bit of distance … a bit of refocusing …”
“What's wrong?” Gareth said, his voice suddenly quieter. “What's happened?”
“Nothing's happened,” I said, rolling my eyes. “What, I suggest we do some work for one of our other clients and something has to have happened?”
Gareth moved closer. “Tell me, Jess. Tell me what's going on.”
“Nothing!” I stood up and pushed my chair away. “Nothing is going on. Just for God's sake, can we stop obsessing all the bloody time about Jarvis Private Banking and Project Handbag? You'd think that nothing else in the world actually mattered.”
His mouth was open; Caroline's was, too. Then, suddenly, Gillie was walking over. “This to do with the article in Advertising Today?” she asked, her face ashen.
“Article? What article?” Gareth asked, his voice more agitated now. Caroline rummaged around on her desk and dug out a copy, which he grabbed from her immediately. “What's going on?”
“No article,” I said, feeling my mouth going dry. “It's nothing. Honestly, there's nothing going on at all …”
“This?” He held the article up for me. “It says we're going to be getting more business.” His face crumpled in confusion. “It's a good piece,” he said.
“Exactly,” I said immediately. “It's a great piece, and everything is okay, and all I'm saying is …”
“Not that article,” Gillie said, raising an eyebrow. “It's the one online. The interview with Hugh Barter.”
“Hugh Barter?” I stared at her. “What about?”
Gillie brought up the article on my computer. “See for yourself,” she said.
I leaned down immediately and started to read. “Scene It to pick up Milton pieces,” I heard Gareth say, reading out the headline. I didn't even react; I had to know what he was saying. I scanned the first paragraph, then my eyes jumped out on stalks, Hugh Barter told us yesterday how unfortunate Milton Advertising's problems are, coming at a time when they finally seemed to be on the rise … He said that the firm had hit problems ever since Max Wainwright took the reins … Milton Advertising is understood to be having significant financial problems … Hugh Barter said that he had every sympathy for the firm and made the bold move of promising that Scene It will take on any of Milton's clients in a seamless transition to ensure that their own business is not affected by Milton's meltdown. Only yesterday, Milton's largest client, Chester Rydall, was understood to have dropped the firm over leaked information …
I couldn't believe it. It had to be a sick, sick joke.
“How long has this been live?” I asked.
Gillie shrugged. “About half an hour, I think. I only just got sent the link. It's going around the office.”
I felt myself go cold. “And Max knows?”
“I'd have thought so,” Gillie said, frowning. “Doesn't he have the Advertising Today front page as his homepage?”
“Oh God,” I said.
“Are we really in financial trouble?” Caroline asked, her voice quiet and trembling slightly. “I mean, isn't Jarvis like our biggest client?”
“Yeah, Jess,” Gareth said, his voice catching. “What did it mean about leaked information? What's going on? Is the firm going under?”
“No, it's not going under,” I said staunchly. “There are no financial problems—Hugh bloody Barter is up to his pathetic tricks again.”
“But we're not doing any more work on Project Handbag?” Gareth asked accusingly. “And that's just a coincidence?”
“Okay, there are a few problems with the Jarvis account,” I conceded. “But that's it. We've got plenty of other clients. Everything is fine.”
“Yeah, loads of clients. That'll be Superfoods and that nail polish company that never pays its bills,” Gareth said, shaking his head wearily. “Thanks for telling us, by the way. Great leadership, Jess.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but he'd already turned and stalked off.
“So what do we do now?” Gillie asked, folding her arms across her chest, then refolding them. I'd never seen her so nervous. “Come on, Jess, what's the big idea? I like it here. There must be something we can do.”
She looked at me expectantly; Caroline was looking up at me, too, her face full of trust. I looked at them for a few seconds, my mind racing, my heart aching for Max, for everything the two of us had worked so hard to build.
“We do nothing,” I said, in a low voice. “I, on the other hand, am going out.”
The Scene It offices were on Kingsway a dreary, gray, and busy street that lay between Holborn tube and Temple—it thronged with anxious-looking public sector workers and students from the London School of Economics clutching pads of paper and heavy textbooks that would no doubt lead to back pain later in life. And then, in an unlikely spot, was a building that, had it not been for the rather funky pink-and-turquoise sign on its door, you would probably walk past every day for forty years and never notice.
A man looked up at me from the front desk with a bored expression. “Yes?”
“I'm Jessica Wild, here to see Hugh Barter,” I said, trying to keep the anger out of my voice, doing my best to look like the sort of person he wanted to let into the building rather than a crazed madwoman out to wreak vengeance.
“Hugh Barter.” It wasn't a question; the man sighed and turned to his computer where he keyed in some letters. “How are you spelling Barter?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Personally, I'm spelling it you-total-bastard-and-I-hope-you-rot-in-hell.” Okay, I didn't say that. I just spelled it out through slightly gritted teeth.
“Right. Here we are.” He pressed another button. “He's on his way down.�
�
“Thanks.” I started to pace, suddenly feeling rather hot. I wanted to hit Hugh, not talk to him. I wanted to throw myself at him and push him to the floor and kick him and make him hurt like Max would be hurting right now. But I knew that wasn't a sensible approach. I was going to have to talk to him, even though I would barely be able to look at him, so strong was the contempt I felt for him. And then, just as I was trying to work out if I'd ever hated anyone more than I hated Hugh Barter, I heard the elevator door ping open.
“Jess! How lovely to see you. What a nice surprise.”
I couldn't believe it—he was walking toward me, arms outstretched like we were old friends.
“Nice surprise? You think reading that article in Advertising Today was a nice surprise for Max?”
Hugh's expression flickered slightly and he pulled me over to a corner of the reception area, out of earshot of anyone else. “Yes, I read the article today,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Poor old Max, eh?”
My eyes narrowed. “Poor old Max? You told them, you bastard. This is all your fault.”
“My fault?” Hugh's eyes widened. “My dear girl, I don't know what you mean.”
“You told Advertising Today about the deal. I know it was you.”
“You know. And that would stand up in a court of law, would it, Jess?” He was laughing at me, I realized with a shock. Counting to ten silently, I took a deep breath.
“You want money? Is that it?”
“Money?” Hugh shook his head. “How very uncouth you are, Jess.”
“Tell me how much you want to make this go away.”
Hugh looked at me for a few seconds, then started to laugh. “And there I was thinking you were good at your job,” he said, shaking his head. “Dear Jess. Don't you see? It's too late for money. Even if Chester believed that I was the leak—which I absolutely deny—what good would that do? The information would have come from you. And you, presumably, got the information from Max. Ergo, he leaked it. Don't you see? There's nothing you can do now.”
“But … but …” I stared at him in incomprehension. “But you can't … You won't get away with this.”
Hugh winked. “I'm on track for partnership now. My bonus is going to get me a down payment on that Mercedes I've always wanted. Then again, I deserve it. I treat my clients with integrity. I'm not like Max; I don't let them down when it matters, blabbing to newspapers to make myself look good.”
“Max didn't talk to a newspaper and you know it,” I said angrily.
“I know nothing of the sort,” Hugh said, shrugging. “But I do know that this is a game, Jess. A game which you've lost. So deal with it, move on.”
“Move on? Move where?” I asked incredulously. “You've wrecked my life.”
“Get a new one,” Hugh said dismissively “You could come and work for me if you want. Scene It's a great firm, and people have actually been promoted without even having to marry the boss.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “You bastard.” I stepped back. “This may be a game to you, Hugh, but it isn't to me. I'm going to tell Chester it was me. I'm going to make sure he knows what you're like. Then I'm going to resign from Milton Advertising, Chester will dump you and your crappy firm, and you will go back to being the pathetic loser that you are.”
Hugh smiled. “You've got it all worked out, haven't you.”
“Yes,” I said stiffly. “I do.”
“Good for you. So you're going to tell Max you slept with me, you're going to tell Chester that you told me about the takeover, landing Max with a prison sentence for leaking sensitive company information, and Milton Advertising will be no more. Great plan, Jess. Really top-notch.”
My mouth fell open. “So we did sleep together?”
“Now you've hurt my feelings,” Hugh said, affecting a disappointed look. “You mean you can't remember? Ah well, I'll get over it. Max, on the other hand, may not. He's lost a client, Jess. He'll get over that. Think about it before you take away everything else he's got.”
I swallowed uncomfortably. “I think I underestimated you,” I said, my voice hardly audible. “You're not a pathetic loser. You're a twisted, evil, manipulative bastard.”
Hugh smiled. “You flatter me,” he said, standing up and walking back toward the lift. He pressed the button and the doors purred open immediately. “Don't be bitter, Jess, it doesn't suit you,” he said as he got into the lift. “Gives you wrinkles.”
And like that, leaving me staring after him, he was gone.
Chapter 17
I CALLED HELEN as soon as I got outside. I was breathless, dizzy, gasping for air—I felt like I was having a panic attack. I probably was having a panic attack. And Helen being Helen, she called Ivana and Giles, just for good measure, and told me to meet her at a café around the corner in twenty minutes. I sat at a table in the café and waited for the others to arrive, my eyes looking straight ahead blankly, my mind going around and around in circles until I had to stop thinking completely because it was making me nauseous.
“So basically,” I concluded at the end of my slightly tearful explanation of the horrendous turn of events, “if I tell Chester the truth, he'll be able to sue Max for leaking the information, and Max will find out about me and Hugh. But if I don't tell him the truth, Milton Advertising will still be screwed and I'll hate myself forever.”
Everyone digested this for a few minutes as we shivered against the cold—Ivana's smoking habit had forced us out of the café we'd been sitting in and into its “terrace garden,” which constituted a plastic table and several chairs that wobbled violently every time you moved.
“You boom-boom with dis men?” Ivana asked eventually, blowing out a puff of smoke.
I shrugged helplessly. “I guess I did. I mean, I don't remember, but …”
“You don' remember boom-boom? Thet is not good,” she replied. “Thet is what you nid worry about.”
I sighed. “I don't want to remember. I wish it had never happened. I can't believe it did. It's just not me. It's just so …” As I cringed, my eyes welled up with tears again. “I hate myself,” I managed to say through tearful gulps of air. “I even hate myself more for being self-indulgent enough to be sitting here hating myself when I should be doing something instead.”
Helen raised her eyebrows, then leaned forward. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, let's just think this through. So, we have Max.” She took my cold teacup and put it in the middle of the table.
“That's Max?” Giles asked.
Helen nodded. “So we have Max. We have you. We have Chester, and we have Hugh.” She lined up Giles's glass of apple juice, her own latte cup, and Ivana's espresso in a line. I looked at her expectantly.
“Yes? So?”
She was staring at the cups intently, then she let out a deep sigh. “Oh, I don't know. You're sure your mother can't help? Couldn't she shag Chester senseless, then talk him into thinking that the deal was a terrible idea in the first place and to take Max back with open arms?”
“No,” I said flatly. “She couldn't get out of our apartment quick enough. To be honest, I don't even want to think about her. I wish I'd never met her.”
“Mebe she think the same,” Ivana said darkly. I stared at her in surprise.
“What? What did you just say?”
Ivana didn't say anything; she just looked at me defiantly.
“My mother,” I said, drawing breath, “has only ever taken from me. She's taken money, she's taken Chester, and now … now she's taken Max.”
“She no tek Max. You do boom-boom with this Hugh perrrrson,” Ivana said, her face contorting slightly. “She give birth to you, no? She get big scar. She carry you around for month and month getting fat, getting tired, getting upset for no reason …”
She trailed off and I found myself staring at her. “Ivana, are you crying?” It seemed so unlikely that I looked heavenward to check for rain. Ivana tossed her head backward.
“Mebe was hard for her. Mebe she no happy
you come along, but she mek best for you. Is all.”
Now we were all staring at her. “Ivana,” Helen said tentatively. “Honey, is there something you want to tell us?”
Ivana turned around in a huff. Then, slowly, she turned back to face us.
“Mebe I am pregnant,” she said, her lip quivering slightly. “Mebe I am shit scare.”
“Shit scared,” Giles said, reaching a hand out cautiously. She looked at it curiously and, eventually, he withdrew it.
“You're having a baby? Oh my God.” Helen wrapped her arms around Ivana, who managed a half smile. I joined in and Giles did, too, warily.
“You're going to be a mother,” I said, momentarily forgetting how shitty everything was. “Oh my God, that's amazing.”
“Not if ungrateful child het me,” Ivana said dolefully. “I will be crep mother. Sean good father, but bebe needs mother, too.”
“You'll be a great mother,” I said immediately. “And your baby will love you.”
“How you know?” Ivana asked, sobbing now. “You no love your mother.”
“I …” I frowned. “I don't not love her,” I said after a pause. “I just …”
“Yes?” Ivana asked, her eyes full of hope. It wasn't an expression I'd ever seen on her before.
“You'll be great,” I said immediately. “You'll be full of good advice. Look what you did for me, after all!”
Ivana shook her head. “That is with men. I know men. I no know bebes. I no know nothing.”
“You'll learn,” I said quickly.
“And I nid work. Can't work and love bebe. I vill be crep mother.”
“No!” Helen said, shaking her head vehemently. “You can work and have child care. Maybe a nanny. She could come to your work …” I caught her eye as we both contemplated the sleazy Soho bars that Ivana worked in. “Or, you know, not. Either way, you'll be fine. We'll all help.”
Ivana looked unconvinced, wiping away a tear. “You will? Why?”
“Because you helped me,” I said firmly. “You're our friend.”
“Really?” Ivana asked.
“Really.”
A Wild Affair: A Novel Page 17
