Getting Even (25 page)

 

29. I understand a fury in your words, but not the words

Hell, was it seven thirty already?

It was half past three before Dan had got to bed. A nighttime trip to the printers was always a chore, let alone one in Leicester. Left to his own devices, he'd have sped home to the accompaniment of his Ibiza mix on full volume, instead he'd had Cassie chatting incessantly all the way back. If he could have gotten away with it, he'd have dropped her at the taxi stand in Camden to get herself home. But that would be unkind, he'd told himself, so had driven miles out of his way to see her safely to her door.

To add insult to injury, his morning journey to work was fraught. The number 24 was packed, and he was wedged between a workman with bad BO and a woman of considerable bulk who kept treading on his toes. As the bus stop-started down Gower Street, he turned his mind to Orianna.

One of the things I like is her straightforwardness, he thought. She's so much easier to understand than most women—I felt I “got” her, and she “got” me. I mean I was even on the verge of suggesting we move in together. But yesterday—what was all that about? I couldn't get the measure of her remotely.

It was all very confusing and upsetting, and Dan was just hoping that today would be different when the bus took a 90 degree turn, swung onto New Oxford Street, and the large lady lost her balance and trod on his foot again. Dan grimaced in pain and was forced to acknowledge the signs did not bode well.

Arriving at his desk he saw his computer screen was already covered in Post-it notes from Ursula. Typical—she must have gotten into the agency at the crack of dawn and worked herself up into a state about what might—or might not—have happened at the printers. Totally uncalled for, of course.

It was at that moment Orianna phoned and said she wanted to see him. Whereas the previous afternoon he'd been feeling sympathetic, worried, and fond, but right then a confrontation with his girlfriend was the last thing he felt able to deal with. His heart sank at the prospect, nevertheless he headed over to her office, and shut the door.

“Orianna.”

“Dan.” She was sitting at her desk, a steaming cappuccino before her.

He pulled up a chair. “You wanted to see me.”

“Yes.”

“How are you? Feeling any better?”

“Not really, no.”

Great, he thought, heart sinking further. “Oh dear,” he said, but whether he meant “oh dear” for her or “oh dear” for himself, he wasn't sure.

“I think we should stop seeing each other.”

While Dan knew she was angry with him, he was utterly unprepared for this. It was as if he'd been kicked, hard; and he'd felt emotionally knocked around already. However dire things had been the day before, they hadn't been that bad, had they?

“Oh,” he said. It took a few seconds before he was able to ask, subdued, “Why?”

“You know why.”

He frowned. Did he? He didn't pretend to be perfect, and his immediate reaction was to feel guilty. Though I haven't
done
anything, he thought, I don't understand what she's angry about. Damn it, I've tried my hardest to be good and kind and generous and yet it seems that isn't enough. I do my best, and all at once there's no pleasing her.

“Think,” she said bluntly.

He scratched his scalp. In the past, if he'd upset a girlfriend, he'd have been able to see a conversation like this coming, but this was a shock. How could she perform such an enormous turnaround in such a short space of time? Usually Dan tried not to succumb to clichéd views of female behavior, but her conduct seemed to bear the hallmarks of a totally irrational, possibly hormonally induced mood swing. Though it's no mere mood swing, he thought, she's had a complete change of heart. And, because he genuinely loved her, this shook him to the core. Overwhelmed, he was unable to articulate any of his feelings. So, instead of protesting, asking for an explanation, or saying he cared, he simply shrugged, stumped.

This seemed to increase her fury: “Perhaps the name ‘Cassie' might guide you?”

“Huh?”

“Oh, come
on,
Dan.”

“No,
you
come on,” he said, patience wearing thin. “I honestly don't know what you're talking about.”

“Do me a favor, Dan.”

He hated this:
Dan.
She never used his name formally, like this. It made him feel like a naughty little boy. And she was staring at him, her eyes cold and hard, just as she had been yesterday.

“You're shagging her, aren't you?”

If what she'd been saying before was unfathomable, this was farcical. Cassie? Tedious, talkative, lettuce-loving Cassie? She was so irritating—the very idea! He laughed. Then he recalled Orianna had made a similar accusation the previous day. “What on earth makes you think that?”

“I'm not stupid, Dan.”

“I never said you were.”

“Admit it, will you? It would save us a lot of time.”

“There's nothing to admit!”

Orianna sighed. “I knew you'd try to deny it.”

“Deny
what,
for God's sake?”

“Look, Dan, do one thing for me. Don't let me be the last to know. OK? I've been through that before.”

“Orianna, sweetheart—”

“Don't ‘sweetheart' me!”

“OK. OK.” He held up his hand, a request for pause, peace. “I don't have a clue where you got this crazy idea from, but—”

“Don't tell me I'm crazy!”

Dan shook his head. “I wasn't.”

“That's so typical! Men! You always try and make out it's our fault. Please don't bother.”

He bristled. He resented it when women swept all men into the same pile. Nevertheless, he detected Orianna was fighting back tears. He had an impulse to extend a hand, touch her, hug her, but restrained himself, scared he'd make matters worse.

“It's exactly what happened with Clive—he ran off with that stupid little receptionist, and I thought she was a friend of mine and everyone knew before me. I told you that and I imagined you understood.” She gulped.

He looked down, trying to stop himself from reaching out and grasping her, shaking some sense into her.

“I really cared for you, Dan, I really did.” Her voice rose to a crescendo, then down with a bump that conveyed her disappointment and pain. “I thought more of you, of us, I suppose. And I believed you felt the same.”

“I do!” Dan took a deep breath. He was desperate to explain she was wrong, yet she seemed averse to logic, to listening. “I don't know what you've heard, or who told you,” he said, struggling to be rational and calm. “But it's not true. There's nothing going on between me and Cassie. Nada. Zero.” He held up three fingers, a pathetic gesture from his childhood all he could think of. “Scout's honor.”

She glanced up at him. For the first time he thought he could detect a touch of hope in her expression. Then her lips set in a firm line. “You gave her all my work.”

“Eh?”

“You allocated the Bellings Scott stuff to her instead of me. You planned to send her on the shoot.”

“I was trying to help you!”

“Oh come on, Dan—you took her to the printers. What kind of fool do you think I am?”

“It was business, for fuck's sake! Where on earth did you get the idea I'm having some sort of thing with Cassie?”

“I saw the evidence with my own eyes.”

“What did you see, exactly?”

“Oh, Dan.” Orianna shook her head, her dark locks swaying sadly. “Do I have to go into it all? I can't face it. I'm tired. I hardly slept a wink last night.”

“Nor me,” he whispered, equally miserable.

“Just take it that I've seen things—your watch in her bag—”

“What?”

“You heard me. I saw your watch. Your Paul Smith watch. In Cassie's handbag.”

“How could you have? When?”

“Yesterday. Yesterday morning.”

“But my watch wasn't in Cassie's handbag!”

She was vehement. “Yes it was; I saw it there.”

“No.” Dan shook his head emphatically. This was extremely alarming. Was Orianna deluding herself? “You're wrong,” he said firmly. “Rob had my watch. He gave it to Ivy. Ivy gave it to me.”

“Nice one, Dan. But it's too late. I said: don't bother denying it.”

“
ARRRRRRRGHHHHHHHH!
” Dan roared, frustration getting the better of him. He banged the table with his fist. “You're fucking bonkers!”

“I am
not
fucking bonkers!” Now Orianna was shrieking too. Dan glanced nervously behind him through the partition wall. He could see their colleagues coming and going, oblivious. Thank heavens the door was closed. “Do me the courtesy of not lying. And
don't tell me I'm imagining everything
! I've seen things, heard things—other stuff too—that means I won't believe you, whatever you say.” Her voice fell again, she finished, in a hush, “I don't trust you.”

Dan exhaled heavily and sat back in his chair.

“Anyway, I don't know why you bother trying to explain. It's pathetic. She said you'd make all these excuses.”

“
Who
said?”

“Never mind.”

“Did someone
tell
you about me and Cassie?”

“No. There was no need for anyone to tell me.”

“Who have you been talking to?”

“Ivy,” admitted Orianna, after a pause.

“Ivy? When?”

“She came over last night.”

“Did she?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Perhaps here, finally, a potential explanation. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't trust Ivy at all.

“What d'you mean—‘
ah
'?”

“Has she put you up to this?”

“
No, she damn well hasn't!
And don't you
dare
blame Ivy. She said you would. But I won't have it. I simply won't have it. You hear?”

Dan felt like he'd been punched again. However hard he tried, Orianna seemed determined to smother every word.

“She's been sweet to me, alright? She saw me through last night, and I'm not sure I'd have gotten through it without her. In fact, you could learn a thing or two about loyalty from Ivy. Just keep your observations about her—or anyone else, come to that—to yourself.”

So the final avenue was blocked. The portcullis was down; he was shut out of Orianna's world.

 

30. O! O! O!

Orianna's hands were trembling so much she could scarcely pick up her coffee. Slowly, she raised it to her lips. The liquid tasted the same as ever—warm, comforting, milky—yet everything,
everything
was different.

She looked at her watch. Nine fifteen. Was it possible such a lot had happened in so little time?

Through the glass wall it was business as usual. There was Ursula, striding across the department clutching some artwork, long hair flying behind her, purposeful as always, doubtless headed for the studio. There were Esme and Earl, chatting as they waited at the photocopier. Here came Ivy, carefully carrying a cup from the soda machine back to her desk—a black coffee, Orianna presumed. And then, right past her door, bounced Cassie—ghastly, bleached-blond Cassie—without a care in the world. And, by her side, Russell, of all people: they were laughing, or rather he was laughing; she was giggling.

Now Cassie's sucking up to
Russell,
thought Orianna. Before I know it, she'll be after my job. Well, she can steal my man—though Dan's a lying, conniving worm so she's welcome to him—such betrayal, they deserve each other. But she sure as hell can't have my career. It's all I've got left, and no one is taking
that
away.

No sooner had she avowed this than she was flooded by a wave of longing for things to be back the way they were; memories of her and Dan together, at their best.

How could he? she wondered. I don't understand. He told me he loved me; he acted like he did. What on earth have I done to deserve this? I was good to him, wasn't I? And he seemed to fancy me …

Oh no, she thought. Perhaps that's it. He doesn't find me attractive. I'm chubby, after all, especially compared to Cassie. And I feel horribly fat after that pizza … But I always thought Dan liked my curves. He said he did, although maybe he was only saying that to make me feel better. But why should he be bothered about making me feel better, if he doesn't care about me? He must have cared about me, surely, a bit. Though if he'd cared about me, how could he have slept with someone else?

Round and round her thoughts went, yet the harder she tried to puzzle them out, the more chaotic they became. She couldn't figure him out. She'd believed she'd known him, when she hadn't at all.

If I've got Dan so wrong, what else—who else—have I misunderstood, misinterpreted? Have I gotten everything—everyone—wrong, all these years?

Orianna cast her mind back to the morning, earlier that summer. She'd been gazing out of her bedroom window, contemplating the geraniums. That moment of complete happiness, when her future had stretched before her, filled with possibility.

How alive I felt! How blessed! she thought. It seems eons ago now. The world's not the way I thought it was; people aren't kind, loving, generous. It's the only explanation that makes sense.

Orianna held this observation, absorbed it, and braced herself. She could see Leon headed toward her, about to knock on her door. She had to face the day ahead.

This is how to play it in the future, she vowed. I'll never be so naïve again.

*   *   *

From her desk facing Orianna's office, Ivy saw Dan leaving, shutting the door behind him. He was whiter than she'd ever seen him.