by Rosa Temple
As for Niles bloody Benson’s attempts to thwart my launch-day plans there was a buzz going on online about his new women’s range and someone had begun a moderate hate campaign about his latest line. Apparently the Niles B bags were being branded as cheap imitations in a YouTube video by someone who called herself Dr Martian Girl, whose face you couldn’t see, and who spoke with an odd-sounding Yorkshire accent.
There were plenty of close-ups of a Niles B bag she’d bought after the infomercial launched. It revealed how lightweight and poorly put together Niles B bags really were, warning everyone to not waste their money. In her words: Cheap is what it is and cheap is what you get.
I had it on good authority that Niles Benson’s infomercial attempt went completely pear-shaped and that a very small number of his bags actually left the factory floor.
Riley was also buzzing in the week that followed. So much so I couldn’t contain her. She had proved to be an absolute asset during the whole process, not one mess-up or forgetful moment to speak of. I remembered a time that Anthony, when he was my boss at Shearman, had rewarded me after a significant event with a large bouquet and I’d done the same for Riley. It hardly seemed enough but she loved the gesture anyway.
Spring was well and truly established, coats and thick jumpers had been discarded, and Riley had replaced her Doctor Martens with a sleek pair of kitten heels from a second-hand stall on the Portobello Road.
‘I never did get a chance to ask you, Riley,’ I said to her one morning, just days after the party. ‘Did you ever find out where and how all those posts about Niles Benson and his imitation Shearman Bright bags started? I think the YouTube video kicked it all off.’
She didn’t look up from the computer screen on her desk. ‘No,’ she said and picked up an empty cup of coffee to sip.
‘You sure?’ I leaned across the reception desk.
‘I just couldn’t say,’ she said. Rather diplomatically I thought. She didn’t reveal that she knew who started the rumour – only that she couldn’t tell me. ‘But what I can tell you,’ she went on, ‘is that I tracked Cassandra down.’
‘Really? How?’
‘A little thing called Google,’ said Riley. ‘I googled her ass, Magenta. I was still fuming with her even if you weren’t.’
‘I suppose she must still be up in Bristol with Niles, then?’
‘Was. But now she’s back in London and working in a teashop not far from your house. Sloane Square, I believe.’ Riley raised an eyebrow like a super sleuth and rested her elbow on the desk. ‘So if you wanted to confront her, you could.’
I shifted, crossed my arms, and considered the idea for a moment. I could march into the teashop, stand in the centre of the tables, and yell, “Judas,” at the top of my voice but, maybe not.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I won’t say anything to her.’ I walked to the door. ‘Or should I?’
‘Up to you, Magenta, but I know I’d want an explanation.’
‘If I did say something, all that business about me ratting her out to her prospective employer would come up and it’s probably best forgotten,’ I said, still envisaging a showdown with Cassandra. Handbags at dawn.
‘Fair enough,’ said Riley. ‘Whatever you think is best.’
‘I mean in some ways you can understand why she did it.’ I was stalling in the doorway. ‘Revenge for being so late with her reference for Launchester.’
‘Or maybe she’s just a two-faced cow who saw an opportunity and grabbed it?’
‘Mmm, maybe,’ I admitted. ‘It is strange, though. I really thought she’d changed. And anyway, she could have just run off with the designs altogether if it was an act of revenge. Why did she drop them in to production?’
‘To throw you off the scent. Stop you speeding up the rebranding if you thought your designs had been compromised. They worked like crazy, her and Niles, to beat you to the finish line. I can imagine them sitting there laughing up their sleeves.’
‘But all they came up with was a shoddy product, so, who’s laughing now?’
When I left the office I was more than a little curious about Cassandra, I had to admit. I was desperate to know how she thought she could get away with it but I really didn’t want to go down that road. I’d done something stupid and jeopardized her chances. She would know all about my call to Launchester so maybe she thought we were even.
I had to put Cassandra to the back of my mind. There was a lot of work to be done following the party after all. My life had gone from a rebranding party frenzy to a bit of a damp squib and then on to full-on businesswoman mode. Days later, I could honestly say that neither Niles nor Cassandra had crossed my mind once, so imagine my surprise when, out of the blue, the woman herself appeared at the office. She turned up at reception one evening when I was about to leave. Riley, who had been working late and had agreed to lock up for me, called me downstairs, telling me there was someone in reception I needed to talk to.
‘You’re the last person I thought I’d ever see,’ I said to Cassandra, stopping in my tracks.
‘Too right,’ said Riley.
I turned to Riley. ‘I can lock up,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you get going and I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Riley, with her fuchsia-pink pout, Forties’ pedal pushers and a man’s shirt with the tails knotted above her navel, shut off the computer. Her eyes bulged from her head as she glared at Cassandra. She put on her second-hand flight jacket.
‘You sure you won’t need me?’ she asked, the strap of her Shearman Bright man bag snapping over her shoulder and across her chest.
‘Positive,’ I said.
Cassandra stood there, patiently, as Riley circled her on the way out, prowling like a tiger about to strike. Although, as small as she was, Riley was more angry kitten than wildcat. Cassandra kept her eyes to the floor, hands gripped together. She swallowed hard as soon as Riley was out of the door.
‘I expected you to have stayed up in Bristol with Niles, unless this is a temporary visit.’ I didn’t let on that Riley had already given me the low-down on her.
‘Magenta,’ she said, moving towards me, hands in surrender. ‘I know you’ll probably never forgive me but I haven’t been able to live with myself since it happened and I just had to come.’
‘Hardly surprising you can’t live with yourself,’ I said. ‘You know you almost cost me months of planning, not to mention expense. What were you thinking?’
‘I don’t think I was. Not with my head.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? Was your heart so full of revenge for what I did?’ I asked her.
‘What you did? What did you do?’
‘I mean the application and the reference and everything.’
She looked puzzled. ‘Not sure I follow,’ she said. ‘You kept to your end of the bargain, wrote a brilliant reference.’
I stopped for a moment, knotted my brow. ‘So … didn’t anyone contact you from Launchester about your reference? Or about anything someone might have said about you?’
‘Well, no. In fact, they called to offer me the job, but … but I turned it down.’
‘You what?’
‘I know. It was my chance wasn’t it? Fresh start and everything,’ said Cassandra with a sigh.
I was puzzled that they should offer her the job. Obviously my discreet call to Launchester was either not followed up or dismissed as hearsay. Thank goodness.
‘So, if you got the job,’ I went on, ‘why not take it and why on earth did you copy my designs and send them to Niles? It makes no sense. You knew you’d be found out.’
‘Okay,’ she said, taking a seat on a chair against the wall. I perched onto the windowsill opposite and waited for her explanation. ‘Look, when I saw the designs I had so many thoughts go through my head. First I was going to call you and let you know they were still there, help you out. But then I got consumed by the next idea that popped into my head.’
‘Which was?’ I cros
sed my arms.
‘It’s Niles. I know you’ll think I’m a fool and I’m old enough to know better. But I knew he was always gunning for you, thinking of ways to get a bigger share of the market on the bags and everything. You know, he was losing money hand over fist trying to compete with you. He just couldn’t, of course. One of his German clients dumped him in favour of your products.’
‘I had no idea,’ I said. ‘I didn’t try to steal anyone away from him. How could I?’
‘I know that but he just had it in for you. Look, okay, I was in a bad place. Niles was stringing me along, telling me his Danish lover meant nothing. I knew it was a pack of lies but I just thought … I thought if I did something to undermine you, it might give him the kick-start he needed to dump the other girl.’
‘Oh, Cassandra. You’re right. You are a fool and you are old enough to know better. So that’s when you had your brainwave was it? Get on his good side and try to ruin me?’
She put her head down again. Though I was trying hard not to lose my cool she could tell I was furious.
‘I called him,’ she went on. ‘Told him what I had and what we might do. He jumped at the idea and I got myself up to Bristol the same day. That’s where I was when I called you.’
‘All the time ignoring my messages and texts.’
‘Well, yeah, of course. I figured the production people would call to confirm they’d got the designs or you’d call them and find out I’d delivered them. That way you wouldn’t know Niles was getting going on putting them out there before your rebranding event.’
I shook my head and stood up. She stood too.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘Spiteful bitch – am I right?’
‘To name a few choice words, yes. But the fact that you’re back here tells me Niles still hasn’t left the Danish housekeeper.’
She shook her head, eyes to the floor again. ‘He and I, we fought,’ she said. ‘It was a massive blow-out. I told him I’d turned down a great job to try to win him back but he didn’t even care. He got what he wanted and if I wanted to wait in the wings while he got on with her, then so be it. What did he care? He was in a win-win situation and it was pretty clear, finally, that he didn’t love me.’
I couldn’t meet her gaze. I was beginning to feel sorry for her, my anger quelling somewhat.
‘I guess you think it serves me right that I’ve had to come back here with my tail between my legs,’ said Cassandra.
I wanted to say a wholehearted “Too right, you stupid cow,” but I held back. Cassandra couldn’t have looked any sadder or more remorseful if she tried. She was fighting back tears as it was and I didn’t want to prolong her agony. In the end, everything worked out fine for me, anyway.
‘Cassandra, I feel sorry for you,’ I said. ‘Not in a pitying way. I just wish things could have worked out better for you and that you’d seen Niles for what he was ages ago.’
‘My own stupid fault. I didn’t want to believe he wasn’t in love with me.’
My urge was to hug her. I resisted, knowing full well that Riley would have had a fit if I did.
‘Anyway. I just wanted you to know,’ said Cassandra turning and heading for the door.
‘What happens to you now?’ I called after her. She turned slowly back and met my gaze.
‘Now I save like mad and find myself a place, better job. It’s not easy.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, Magenta. You know that’s one of the reasons I always hated your guts. No matter how awful I was to you, you never tried to get revenge.’
I shook my head, keeping schtum about the phone call I’d made to Launchester. That little incident could all be forgotten now.
I watched Cassandra leave and went upstairs to switch off my computer. I turned out all the lights and left the office.
Walking through Mayfair, thoughts of Cassandra and what she threw away for the sake of that idiot Niles were going round and around my head. In the various scenarios that were playing out as I let my imagination run riot, I wondered if there was any chance she and Niles could have been nicer people, maybe getting married and living happily ever after in the way I’m sure Cassandra would have wanted.
Their wedding sparked off the thought of Mother’s wedding dress. The day was fast approaching and I still had some finishing touches left that I needed to discuss with her. The dress was hanging in her dressing room and I could do with dropping in on my parents after such a dramatic week. So I hailed a taxi and took myself over to St John’s Wood.
They were happy to see me. I stayed for dinner and got a taxi home. It was almost eleven when I got in. In the living room a side light was on next to the armchair. Anthony was sitting there, elbows on the armrest. His chin was propped on top of the spire shape he made with his forefingers. I walked in and smiled. Anthony just sat looking at me, not returning my smile.
‘You’ll never believe the day I’ve had,’ I said to Anthony. I went over to him and tried to kiss his lips. He moved his face away.
‘Magenta, this was the last day of my art exhibition.’ His voice was clipped, chocolate-coloured eyes looking sad behind his glasses.
That’s when I stepped back and slapped my hands to my face.
‘Oh my God, Anthony. I’m sorry. I didn’t come, did I?’
He got up, slowly. ‘So I noticed.’
‘I-I’m sorry, Anthony.’ I went to touch his arm as he walked by me but he slipped out of my reach.
He stopped at the living room door. ‘Well, turns out it was quite popular,’ he said. ‘It’s been extended for another week.’
He closed the door after him on his way up to bed.
I followed him upstairs, like a puppy, running around his heels waiting to be patted on the head, yapping and wagging my tail in as endearing a way as possible. I pleaded my case hoping he would see how easy it was for me to have slipped up and miscalculated the time still left on the run at the gallery.
‘Cassandra turning up threw me.’ ‘I got so sidetracked.’ ‘I’ve been swamped and I thought I had a few more days.’ ‘Mother’s dress really has to be finished.’
But there was nothing I could say that would make it all right.
Anthony was naturally cool with me. As I yapped at his heels, he stripped down to his underwear, pulled an old T-shirt over his head and his hair from the collar, and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. In between my explanations he’d give short replies, like: ‘Really?’ ‘Mmm.’ ‘I see.’ ‘Fine.’ ‘Okay then.’
He got into bed and picked up his iPad from the side table. I sighed heavily and got ready for bed. I sat next to Anthony and watched him reading whatever it was on his iPad. I took a breath in, about to apologize again.
‘Magenta, don’t worry about it okay?’ Anthony turned to me with a whip of his head. ‘Like I said, the exhibition goes on for a few more days. You’ll see everything but the ones I managed to sell.’ He shrugged and I was dumbstruck. ‘Goodnight.’
My lips were on the verge of saying goodnight back but Anthony made a grand gesture of turning off his side light and settling under the covers. He punched his pillow a few times into the right shape, finally lying down, and then he was silent and very, very still.
To say the silence of the following morning was awkward would be an understatement. Each time I tried to catch his eye, Anthony would give a weak smile and look away. I was devastated by what I’d done, or didn’t do. How could I have messed up like that where Anthony was concerned?
He was giving me the silent treatment, deservedly so, and I thought it best to let him be. I still tried, however, to think up some way to make him see that I was sorry.
As it turned out, everyone I knew hadn’t been to Anthony’s art exhibition at the Slater Gallery except me – including Riley and Jimmy. I was beside myself. I went promptly the next day.
When I got to the exhibition I saw Anthony in conversation with some admirers of hi
s work and I waited until he was free.
I knew that begging or grovelling would be futile – Anthony would never have bought it. Instead, I went with an inquiring mind, heart swelling with pride as it naturally would have been, to see the work he’d been agonizing over for months.
Anthony acknowledged me with a slight smile and walked slowly towards me.
‘I think I’ve run out of ways to say how sorry I am, Anthony.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘You’re here now.’
‘But it does matter. It’s not that I didn’t want to come. I honestly and genuinely have been so distracted. I forgot where we were. I mean the date and everything – and I ran out of time.’
‘It’s okay, like I say, you’re here now.’
We spent several moments just staring at each other. There was nothing either of us could say; there was no way of making it right. Eventually a smile spread across Anthony’s face.
‘So,’ he said, taking my hand. ‘How about a guided tour by the artist himself?’
‘Does it cost extra?’
‘You’d have to sell that secret hoard of Glenfiddich in your wardrobe to afford me.’
‘Worth every penny.’
We walked around the three-room exhibition together, sometimes holding hands, sometimes arm in arm. Anthony would lean affectionately towards me as he went into great detail about each one of his pieces.
Despite what I did, despite how upset and angry Anthony had become, I could feel how much he loved me and I knew how much I loved him back. Yes there was the time before Christmas we were pulling apart and I knew I did very little to prevent it happening. Then we had the reconciliation on New Year’s Eve. But, and this is the big ‘but’, if I were perfectly honest, and if Anthony was too, traces of that distance before Christmas still remained.
We hadn’t made it back to each other, not in the way we had been when we first got together. We hadn’t managed it on New Year’s Eve, if the truth be told. There was still a crack there, not visible to the naked eye, but it was there all the same. We just never really admitted it to each other, so hell-bent on recapturing the Saturdays, the early days, the sex we had before things went wrong.
