by D Latham
After making myself a coffee, I settled myself in my office, and began working my way through the dozens of emails that had arrived that morning, answering them methodically. I was pleased to see that the float had been publicised, and initial expressions of interest were being collected from institutional investors. I forwarded the email to Steve Robbins, to keep him in the loop, adding some notes of my own. With no work from Ivan, Paul's project in hand, and Mr Carey handling the work for Goldings, I found myself at a bit of a loose end. I decided to research the two authors that Justine was trying to poach.
Both appeared to have had very minor success with books on baking, and bread making. Neither seemed to be well marketed, or have a great web presence. I looked the first up on Amazon, and his ranking was 450000th in the list. Idly, I wondered how many books per week that equated to. I doubted if it was enough to justify a vast advance. Puzzled, I called Justine to ask why she felt these authors were so valuable. She explained that they had both written textbooks used in cookery schools, which were sold direct, and so had no bearing on their Amazon rankings. It still didn't ring quite right, but I accepted her explanation and informed her that I was meeting them both separately the following week. She authorised me to offer up to £75k each as a golden hello, should they agree to jump ship to Justine's company. Thankfully, neither writer had a literary agent to complicate matters, so I was fairly confident.
I wrapped up at five, and began to make my way back home, only to see the Mercedes waiting outside my flat. Roger hopped out, and informed me that Ivan had booked me an appointment at Harley Street at six. I gave me just enough time for a super quick shower and change. Within ten minutes, I was on my way.
"Why didn't you call and let me know about this?" I asked Ivan when he finally answered his phone.
"Mad busy day," he barked, "I'll be there as quick as I can," before ringing off. So.Bloody.Rude.
I was booked in to see a rather stern and disapproving looking lady doctor. She was one of those tall, willowy, rather sullen looking women, with thick glasses, and a superior air. She quizzed me on my general health, and medical history, before giving me a brief examination, and taking blood and urine tests. She peered over her glasses as she told me she would call me with the results on Thursday. Thanking her rather insincerely, I headed back to the car, where Roger informed me that I had been instructed to wait for Ivan.
"I think it would have been nice for Ivan to have asked me to wait himself, Roger. Now are you going to take me home, or should I call a taxi?" Roger looked a bit panicked, and held a finger up as he made a call. I tapped my foot impatiently.
"I'll take you home," said Roger, finally. "Mr Porenski is held up in West London, and sends his apologies. He will call you when he has seen his physician."
Back home, I poured myself a glass of wine, and heated up the slightly congealed lasagne. It tasted a bit past it's best, but I was hungry, so polished it off. I did a bit of housework and laundry, and waited.....and waited. By half nine, there was no sign of Ivan, so I gathered up my book, and got into bed.
I had got right into the story when my phone rang. I was surprised to see from the screen that it was Oscar.
"Switch the news on quick," he said. I jumped out of bed, and turned on the telly. Sky news or beeb?" I asked.
"Sky's probably your best bet." I found the channel, and watched as Ivan left the Conde Nast head office as its new owner, with Dascha on his arm, smiling triumphantly at the cameras. "Are you alright?" Oscar asked.
"Yeah, I'm ok, just a bit...disappointed." I replied, using all my self control to stop my voice from cracking. They looked impossibly gorgeous together, both imperious and charismatic. I felt like a small, brown, country mouse in comparison. I ended the call to Oscar, thanking him for alerting me, and headed back to bed to sob in privacy. Ivan didn't call.
The next morning, I dragged myself to the gym, and ran for the full forty minutes, until my legs were like jelly, and sweat was pouring off me. I followed my beloved routine, taking comfort in the discipline required to be perfectly turned out and professional looking, however, I did wear a suit that I bought myself. I couldn't bear to wear anything Ivan had bought me, even tucking the Prada bag away in my closet, and using my black bag from Next instead. I was in my office, and at my desk by 7.30, with my chin up, and my emotions firmly stuffed into an iron box.
Lewis poked his head round my door, "got a minute?" He said, before plonking himself down in the chair opposite. "I saw the news last night. Have you heard anything from him?"
"No. I'm assuming his in house team handled the acquisition. I wasn't instructed on it."
"That's not what I meant Elle," he said softly, "he introduced you as his girlfriend a week ago. I'm assuming you didn't know he'd gone back to that Russian woman."
"On the news, they said she was his long term girlfriend," I said, "I must have just been the short term one. Anyway Lewis, it's better to find out now, early on, than later when I'm in deeper. I knew he'd never stay with me." Lewis looked surprised. "He's a beautiful billionaire Lewis, he can take his pick. He only wanted me because I kept saying no."
"Personally, I find that hard to believe, I've got no idea why he's done this to you, all I can say is that I'm sorry, and I hope this doesn't put the company in a difficult position with our dealings with him."
"I'll make sure it doesn't. I refuse to allow my personal feelings to effect my work. I still have a superb professional relationship with Oscar Golding, despite a previous relationship."
"I hope so Elle. He opened a lot of doors for you, so do your best to keep him on side, even though I wouldn't blame you for kicking him in the balls." Lewis gave me a small smile, and left.
I spent the day doing paperwork, mainly for Goldings bank. I sat in with Mr Carey, and he explained the protocols for bank audits, and the elements of the banking code that were relevant to a privately owned entity, as opposed to a PLC. I was grateful for the diversion that such detailed work provided. I worked through lunch, and didn't even look at the clock until 7 that evening. I shut down my computer, and headed home, grateful to see Roger waiting outside, but puzzled as to why Ivan would still have his staff ferrying me around.
I heated up a ready meal, and poured a glass of wine, as I contemplated the envelope I'd placed on the island, clearly marked 'Coroners office'. Fortified by the alcohol, I opened it. I read that the verdict of the post mortem was that mum had died of a brain aneurysm, and that her body had been cleared for funeral arrangements to be made. Seeing it written in black and white slammed it home to me. It really had happened, and I was truly alone in the world. The dam burst, and the tears began to flow, until I was sobbing, sorry for both her, and myself.
I must have cried for a full hour, until I was left with dry, heaving sobs. I glugged a large glass of wine, and picked at the awful ready meal. At nine, my phone rang. It was Ivan.
"Hello Ivan, what can I do for you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"I need to see you," he replied.
"Certainly. Would Smollenskis at 8am suit?" I asked.
"I need to see you before that."
"I'm sorry, I'm not available. What's so important that it can't wait till tomorrow?"
"Elle, don't be like this. I need to explain to you. I'm taking it that you saw the news last night?"
"Yes I did. Congratulations on your acquisition. So... Do you need me to meet you at eight or not?"
"No. I need to see you now. There’s a lot I need to explain to you."
"No need. I understand what happened. You just do as you wish. It's a bit late for explanations."
"Elle, be reasonable, and give me the chance to explain.” I didn’t answer. “You don't get to dictate what companies I buy, where I go, or who I have to see, or do business with. Now I've asked nicely. If you insist on being childish, and refusing to see me, then you end up the loser." He was beginning to lose his temper. I flinched slightly as he began to shout down the phone. I didn't
reply to him, I just cut the call, turned my phone off, and went to bed. I could go back to being strong, assertive Elle tomorrow, as that night, I needed to hide away from the world.
I lay in bed, and sobbed my heart out.
Chapter 8
There was an email from Ivan on my screen as soon as I got into work the following morning.
From: Ivan Porenski
To: Elle Reynolds
11th June 2013
Subject: Explanation
Elle
My purchase of Conde Nast was designed to stop the publication of the article that you were so concerned about. My appearance with Dascha has put paid to her attempts to smear my character, and it also keeps you out of the limelight, so puts paid to the security issues that come with being my girlfriend, and also any rumours among your colleagues that you are only with me to further your own ambitions professionally. I probably should have told you what was going on, but we were working to get the deal done quickly, so I apologise that you had to find out via the evening news.
I didn't appreciate your rather juvenile refusal to see me last night. I would have rather told you all this in person, rather than having to send you an email.
I have some TUPE work I need doing at Conde Nast, which I would like you to oversee. Please contact Mr Ranenkiov for further instruction on that. You have his number.
I should be available this evening, if you would like to come over to my apartment.
Regards
Ivan
I read and re-read the email several times, trying not to read tone into it. Eventually I drafted a reply. I wanted to scream LIAR at him, but restrained myself. As it was, I was insulted that he clearly thought I was stupid enough to believe a pack of lies.
From: Elle Reynolds
To: Ivan Porenski
11th June 2013
Subject: your email
Thank you for your explanation as to why I found out via the evening news that you have a long term girlfriend. As I have no desire to be a short term girlfriend, bit on the side, or dirty little secret, it does indeed ensure my safety, as I am no longer involved with you in any other way than my professional capacity.
I will contact Mr Ranenkiov this morning regarding the TUPE work.
Thank you for the invitation, which I will have to decline. In my experience, personal and professional don't mix terribly well.
I hope we can continue to work well together.
Regards
Elle Reynolds
I pressed send, and got on with some of the work for Goldings. At nine, I picked up the phone and called Mr Ranenkiov, the director of HR for Retinski. He was his usual charming self, and we arranged to meet in my office at eleven to discuss his requirements at Conde Nast. I didn't hear any more from Ivan, so tried to put it to the back of my mind, and concentrate on the task at hand.
Mr Ranenkiov arrived dead on time. He shook my hand warmly, and sat down to run through the list of requirements. I had liked him from the first time I'd met him. He was sharply intelligent, but warm and pleasant, and came over as a great communicator, able to put his requirements across in a concise, exact way.
As Conde Nast had a substantial HR department already, I would simply oversee the transition to Retinski's system. It had been estimated to take around two days, as their computer system was fairly compatible with the one used by Retinski, and their paperwork was in good order.
"Your role will be mainly observational. Making sure any questions are answered, and procedures are followed."
"That's fine, but I'm surprised by this. Surely one of your in house team would be better placed?"
"Ivan wants you to do it. I didn't ask why, although he's like a bear with a sore head today. Any idea what's upset him?"
"No idea," I dismissed, "I haven't seen him. So, when do you want me over there?"
"Can you do Monday and Tuesday next week?"
I checked my calendar, "yep, that shouldn't be a problem." I blocked those days out of my schedule, while he took a file from his briefcase.
"All the details are in here, along with some information you may need, plus the address and directions." I thanked him, and we shook hands. After he left, I studied the file, and concluding that it all seemed rather straightforward, and I wondered why on earth Ivan would pay Pearson Hardwick day rates for such a simple project. I also struggled to get my head around why Ivan would buy a publication, and a whole lifestyle brand, rather than slap an injunction on it. It really didn't make sense.
I had a call that afternoon from the doctor, confirming that all was fine, and a letter was in the post. She also enquired as to where she should send her bill. I paid it there and then using my debit card. There was no way I was letting Ivan pay it, even though it had been his idea. I wouldn't even be using the information, so it felt like a waste of two hundred and fifty quid. Live and learn, I thought to myself.
I headed home around seven, pausing at the deli to buy some milk and a sandwich, fully prepared to spend my evening lost in Jeffery Archer's imagination. I was actually rather looking forward to it. After all my recent dramas, I needed some quiet time. I also needed some time without a man. I had found both Oscar and Ivan high maintenance, and rather draining. I was used to my own company, and although I'd had friends at school and uni, I wasn't one to spend lots of time out socialising. I decided to look up a few old pals, and arrange some nights out that didn't involve power crazed men.
I made a latte, changed into my pyjamas, and checked through my post. I noticed one for James with an Australian postmark. I frowned slightly, before adding it to the pile I was leaving on his desk, hoping it wasn't from Janine, as it would only upset him. I had just eaten my sandwich, when there was a knock on the door. I opened it to see Oscar standing there, a worried look on his face.
"Hiya, come in, what can I do for you?" I said, not acknowledging the fact that I was wearing pink jimjams.
"Are you ok?"
I frowned, "of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
"All the events this week. It can't have been easy for you."
"I think I'm still in the shock stage over mum. I got the results of the post mortem. It was an aneurysm as they thought. I'm going to register her death tomorrow, and arrange the funeral. I'm coping though."
"And what about Ivan?"
"Over. Still working for him. Doubt if he'll be bothering me much though, as I can pretty much deal with his staff for the type of work we do for him."
"How do you feel about it though?"
I thought about it for a moment. "Relieved if I'm honest. I always knew I was too ordinary for him, and I suspected it was the thrill of the chase for him. I'm not cut out to be a billionaire's girlfriend, so yeah, glad to be out of it."
Oscar scowled at me, and I realised I had ruled him out too. In truth, both men were way too complicated for me, and it was a relief to shed the sense of inadequacy I felt around both of them.
"Ivan isn't seeing Dascha you know. He can't abide the woman."
"He looked pretty comfortable with her hanging off his arm the other night. Besides, I really don't want to discuss this with you, so unless you have a legal problem, I need to make some phone calls, and head to bed."
"Mother suggested I invited you to Conniscliffe this weekend. There won't be anyone else coming. She suggested it might be a nice mini break for you."
"Don't you find it surprising that your mother is so nice to me?"
He shrugged, "not really. You are quite likeable. I think she 'gets' that you're different, and was impressed by the way you handled a difficult test of your integrity. She might be a bit of a gorgon, but she's really quite sharp."
"She's nobody’s fool, I'll give her that. I tell you what Oscar, I'd love to visit this weekend, but the caveat is separate bedrooms, and no assumptions that I'm going back to you, I'm not, and you need to accept that."
He nodded, "of course. I'll let mother know about this weekend, she'll be delighted. We'll go after work t
omorrow if that's ok?"
"Ok, great, and Oscar?" He looked expectant, "thanks for not judging me over Ivan." He gave me a sympathetic smile, and left.
I decided against phoning old friends, as I'd be away the weekend, so decided on a bath and an early night instead. I had just got into bed when Ivan called. I decided not to answer it, quarter to ten at night was veering towards booty call territory, and I wasn't going to be available. He called twice more before he took the hint that I wasn't picking up.
The next morning I did my usual routine, but had a strange sensation of being watched. I couldn't put my finger on it, a sort of prickling sensation at the back of my neck that caused me to turn around, as if there would be someone there. I experienced it from the moment I left the flat, until I got into my office. I told myself it was probably one of Ivan's team keeping tabs on me, instructed to do so by Mr Control Freak himself. He really had no concept of privacy.
I had a busy morning, full of meetings, and before I knew it, one o'clock had rolled round, and it was time to head off to the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages in Woolwich. Laura had organised a taxi for me, which would wait, and take me to my appointment with the funeral directors before bringing me home.
As soon as I left the office, the strange 'being watched' sensation began again. I looked around before getting into the taxi, but nothing seemed amiss. The driver had his ID, and was a regular with the car service that the company used. He chatted about the weather as we headed to Woolwich, but I wasn't paying attention, as I kept checking the side mirror to see if we were being followed.
He waited outside while I registered mum's death, producing the coroners letter as proof of cause. It was a shocking moment, seeing your parent's death certificate for the first time. I got three copies, and stuffed them in my handbag, wanting to get out of there.
