A Wild Affair (26 page)

“Really?” Caroline looked at me in surprise. “How strange. Well anyway, I told him that I wasn't going to leave Milton Advertising. And then he said that the company didn't have any money and that I'd soon be considering his offer when my paycheck bounced.”

I flinched slightly. “He certainly didn't pull any punches.”

“I didn't like him,” Caroline said. “Not when he called me and certainly not now. He's a toad. And I'm not leaving, so there.”

“Thanks, Caroline,” I said warmly. “Really. But you have to think of yourself. Hugh's right about the money.”

“So don't pay me for a while,” she said brightly.

“Don't pay you? Don't be ridiculous. The whole point of a job is that you get paid for it.”

“No, it isn't,” Caroline said. She took another gulp of wine and put her glass down, rather less violently this time. “For me, having a job at Milton, working for you, is about being this person that I never thought I'd be. Someone with responsibilities. Someone that gets taken seriously. You know, I went to like a million interviews and no one gave me a job, and then I met you, and you did. You gave me a chance. And now you've got me. That's how it works. I don't need the money, not really. So you can't leave, because if you do, I won't know what to do with myself.”

Her eyes were boring into me, those clear, pure, blue eyes, and suddenly I felt like I wanted to cry. But I didn't; I just nodded, and managed a little smile.

“Okay,” I agreed. “I won't go anywhere.”

“There's one other thing,” she said, leaning over the table.

“There is?”

She nodded, her eyes glinting slightly. “When Hugh Barter called, he was asking about the celebrities who'd agreed to endorse the campaign.”

“You mean Elle? Beatrice?” I asked.

Caroline nodded. “He said that he'd promised Jarvis Private Banking that the same celebrities would take part in the campaign, that he'd put it in the contract. Apparently Chester insisted that he'd only switch agencies if Hugh could assure him the exact same launch and campaign.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding. I had a tiny inkling where this was going, but I didn't dare even think it in case I was wrong.

“I think that's why he offered to triple my salary,” Caroline said thoughtfully, taking a delicate sip of her wine and looking up, her eyes dancing.

“Quite possibly,” I said tentatively. “So did he manage to persuade them?”

Caroline's mouth creased upward. “Not so much,” she said seriously. “No, poor Hugh had a bit of a hard time of it. Apparently he called their ‘people,’ but their people said they didn't know anything about it. They said their clients never endorsed handbags, that he should try someone else.”

“They all said that?” I asked. “That's quite a coincidence.”

“Isn't it,” Caroline said, a conspiratorial smile appearing on her face.

“And they just said that off their own bat, did they?”

“Oh yes,” Caroline said innocently. “I mean, it had nothing to do with me. I was barely at Boujis last night. Barely saw anyone.”

“I see,” I said. I was actually smiling—and I hadn't smiled in what felt like a very long time. “Must have been hard for Hugh.”

“Oh, it was,” Caroline agreed enthusiastically. “I guess that's why he called me again this evening. He wanted to know about our contracts with them,” she continued, a little quiver of laughter
in her voice. “He was most upset when he found out we didn't have any.”

“Poor Hugh,” I said.

“Poor, poor Hugh.”

“So he doesn't have any celebrity endorsement, I take it?” I asked.

Caroline shook her head, grinning openly now. “Well, not anyone in my circle, or their circle's circle, or any of the circles that connect in any way to any of them,” she said, winking.

And suddenly I was beaming ear-to-ear; I felt a lightness I hadn't known for ages. I knew it wasn't much, not in the great scheme of things, but this little victory made me feel stronger suddenly, made me feel that everything wasn't hopeless after all. “How can I ever thank you?” I asked incredulously.

“You don't have to.” Caroline shrugged. “Like I said, it's me that's the grateful one. Consider this a little thank-you gift for giving me the job in the first place.”

“Best decision I ever made,” I said, reaching over to give her a hug. “You're the best assistant I could have asked for.”

Caroline blushed and returned the hug. I took out some cash and put it on the table. “Right,” I said, “there's somewhere I have to go. You settle up, then go back to the office and man my phone, okay? I'm not sure when I'll be back, but I'll keep in touch.”

“You're going to talk to Max?” Caroline asked.

“Nearly, but not quite,” I said, standing up. “I'm going to talk to the one person who can turn all of this around. I'm going to go and talk to Chester.”

CHESTER RYDALL WORKED in a very tall building in Canary Wharf, a strange outpost of London that was filled with skyscrapers housing bankers, fund managers, and analysts, people with serious expressions and even more serious suits. It felt a bit like a film set—like a slightly glossier, cleaner, better version of London, but one that lacked a certain soul, lacked a close link with reality. After studying the map outside the tube station, I made a couple of false starts then eventually found myself outside Jarvis Tower. It was immense. The reception area alone could have housed fifteen Milton Advertisings. Maybe even twenty. Rehearsing my little prepared speech over and over in my head, I walked toward the doors.

“Can I help you?” a voice asked. I turned, irritated at the security guard blocking my entrance.

“I'm here to see Chester. Chester Rydall,” I said, forcing a smile.

“And you've got an appointment?”

I smiled, patronizingly. “Actually, I don't need one,” I said.

“Everyone needs an appointment. Otherwise we can't let you in.”

I smiled. “Chester Rydall is marrying my mother. He's also my former client and the only man who can save my upcoming marriage
to the man I love more than anything in the world and whose life has been wrecked by a stupid, stupid mistake which I made and which I now intend to rectify. Only I can't rectify it unless you'll let me through these doors so I can tell Chester the truth and sort everything out. Okay?”

The guard looked slightly taken aback and stepped away. “He's on the thirtieth floor,” he said. “You'll need to get a security pass from reception.”

“Thank you,” I said, slightly surprised. I'd been preparing for more of a fight; adrenaline was zipping around my body madly. “Thank you very much.”

The doors opened in front of me and I walked into a large room where people were buzzing around everywhere, holding little meetings, huddled around low tables. Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the reception desk and asked for Chester Rydall.

“Chester Rydall is not here at present. Is he expecting you?” The girl in front of me looked at me expectantly.

I shook my head. “Is he … Do you know when he'll be back?” I asked. Of course he was busy. Had I really thought I'd just walk in and find him sitting around reading a newspaper?

“I don't have that information. Do you have an appointment with Mr. Rydall? Can I ask which company you're from?”

I shook my head. “Milton Advertising. And no, I don't have an appointment—I wanted to surprise him,” I said wearily. “Can I maybe leave a message?”

The girl nodded. “You want to leave him your business card?”

“No.” I frowned. “Not a business card. A message. A letter. I can write it, if you have some paper.”

The girl looked at me warily. “A letter?”

“Yes, a letter,” I said impatiently. “If I write it, can you make sure he gets it? I mean that only he gets it, and no one else. Can you promise me that?”

“I can get a message to him, yes.”

I looked at the girl suspiciously; she was smiling at me a little bit too sweetly, like I'd imagine bank tellers do when they've pressed the panic button.

“Actually I'd rather just see him for myself. Can you tell me where Chester is, please?”

She smiled again. “I'm afraid I don't have that information.”

“Don't have it or won't give it to me?”

“Don't and won't,” she said, her smile fading slightly.

“I see.” I leaned over the desk and touched her shoulder, reading her name badge as I did so. “Well, Sue, that's a shame. Because I really need to get a message to Chester. And I don't trust you to get it to him. So I'm going to need you to tell me where he is. Otherwise I'm going to cause a big scene in your pristine reception area and then I'm going to make it my mission in life to ensure that you never get anywhere in your receptionist career …”

I didn't get to the end of that sentence, unfortunately. Two men in uniforms arrived and maneuvered me out of the building. Turns out she
had
pressed the panic button, or whatever receptionists press when they think they have a dangerous stalker on the premises.

“Right,” one of the security guards said, dumping me on the pavement outside. “If there's any more trouble from you, we'll be calling the police, do you understand? We take threats on our staff very seriously at Jarvis Private Banking.”

“I didn't threaten her,” I said irritably. “I wanted to see Chester Rydall and she wasn't particularly helpful.”

“And I'd like to meet the queen,” the guard said. “Doesn't mean I go barging into Buckingham Palace making life difficult for people, does it?”

They left, and I saw the security guard who'd let me in initially look at me, then at the other security guards, disappointment splashed all over his face. And somehow, that look cut right through me. Because it hit the nail on the head. I was a
disappointment—to Max, to Chester, to myself. I'd let everyone down. I was taking out my anger on innocent bystanders, trying to blame anyone and everyone else. But the only person really at fault was me. I didn't even know what I was doing here—what had I been thinking? That I'd storm into the boardroom and save the day? There was no saving to be done; no quick fix to right my wrongs. I would come clean, but it wouldn't be triumphant. Things would still be terrible, and I would still be responsible for them.

Instead, my shoulders slumping, I walked away from the building and wandered down the road toward the tube station, trying to work out what to do next. I needed to tell Chester the truth, and I needed to do it now. And then I remembered something. I knew where he lived. He'd told me, weeks ago, when I'd had to courier something over to him on the weekend. I couldn't leave a letter for him at Jarvis where anyone might read it, but I could leave one for him at his house.

So that's where I went next. I hopped on the tube, and when I got off at Bayswater, I stopped at a stationery shop and bought some paper and an envelope and a pen. And then I found a café, where I bought a coffee, a huge croissant, and some water (I hadn't realized until the episode at Jarvis Private Banking just what half a bottle of wine can do to you when you drink it on an empty stomach; now I was feeling headachey and dehydrated and embarrassed in that slightly stomach-churning way that usually kicks in when you wake up the morning after a big night), and sat down to compose a letter, the most important letter I'd probably ever written.

And when I'd finished it, when I'd rewritten it about fifty times and finally come up with something that I felt was not too long, groveling but not cloying, heartfelt but not sickly sweet, when I felt that I'd made a compelling argument for abandoning all contact with Hugh Barter and reinstating Milton Advertising as the
real partner for the Project Handbag campaign, with Max at the helm and Caroline ably assisting, I folded it up and put it in an envelope, and made my way to number 23 Hereford Road where I put the letter through the slot in the door and slowly turned to make my way home. Once there, I resolved, I would tell Max I loved him, then I would pack up my things and leave, leave him to a better future without me, leave him with his reputation and his company restored.

I had barely stepped off the front step when I heard the door open and a familiar voice call out.

“Jess? Jessica, is that you? I thought I heard someone. Why didn't you tell me you were coming?”

I turned around in surprise. It was my mother, standing behind the open door. Which hadn't been part of my plan. Hadn't been part of it at all.

“Oh. Hi,” I said uncertainly, picking the letter up off the doormat where it had fallen. “Sorry, I didn't expect to find you here …” I cleared my throat. “Um, I just … Look, I just wanted to leave this for Chester.”

“A letter?” My mother took the envelope from me quizzically. “You came all this way to drop this off?”

I nodded tightly.

“You'll come in for some tea at least?” She held the door open wider.

I bit my lip. “Actually I can't. I've really got to go. Got to find Max.”

“Find him? You've lost him?”

Her words cut through me. I hadn't accepted it until now, but I
had
lost him. Tears started to prick at my eyes. “Kind of.” I nodded, not wanting to tell her anything, but not able to keep myself from babbling. “He's … he's going through a really tough time. My fault really. Well, that's sort of what the letter's about. If you could make sure Chester gets it?”