Name & Address Withheld (31 page)

She dug out her best black trouser suit for the occasion and at 4:30 p.m. on Friday afternoon she swept into the eerily familiar reception area. She was hoping to catch Rachel off her guard, but first she had to get the full attention of the receptionist.

‘Clare Dexter…my God it is you. How the devil are you? Long time no see.’

A familiar voice, still steeped with plum. Clare wheeled. Ed Wallace. One of Joe’s better-looking, more genuine friends.

‘Ed? God. A blast from the past. I didn’t know you worked here.’

A blast from the past? Had she really said that? Aloud? Next she’d be adding ‘jolly good wheeze’ to her vernacular. She must be nervous if she was allowing her Enid Blyton back-catalogue of well-loved idioms to run riot. She was seriously in danger of being fifty years out of date—quite an achievement when you were only thirty-three years old.

‘I don’t. I think Joe would quite like to get me on board, but until he makes me an offer I can’t refuse I’m just visiting.’

‘That makes two of us. I’ve just popped in to see Rachel Baker.’ Please don’t ask me what about.
Please don’t ask me what about.
Clare was saved from having to fabricate a reason for her meeting. Ed didn’t seem at all interested in why she was in the building.

‘So what are you up to these days? You’re looking gorgeous. Black really suits you. Very sophisticated.’

Ed had always been a smoothie. Who didn’t look good in black? But a compliment never went amiss.

‘I’m still doing the restaurant thing.’

‘Fantastic. That place worked out, did it? Great… Whereabouts was it again? Sorry—you know what I’m like…mem
ory not my forte. Sometimes I struggle to remember where I live at the end of the day. Please don’t take it personally.’

‘I won’t. It’s in Notting Hill.’

‘You trendy young thing.’

‘Not so young and not so trendy these days, I’m afraid.’

‘What’s it called again? God, I’m hopeless. Good job I’ve never got married. I’d probably have trouble remembering her name.’

‘Why do you think so many couples call each other darling?’

‘Ha! Good point. I’d never thought about it like that.’

‘Anyway, it’s called Union Jack’s.’

‘I think I’ve heard of it…’

‘Probably from me…’

‘No. No. Oh, ye of little faith… Just give me a minute. British food with a twist and the odd celebbo hanging out there?’

Clare smiled and nodded. The power of celebrity never ceased to amaze her. Why was it that if people had been on television or in a magazine they were instantly more interesting?

‘That’s the one.’

‘So what on earth brings you to CDH on a Friday evening? Hot date?’ For some reason Clare blushed. Nothing could be further from the truth. ‘Does JD know you’re here?’

JD was what Joe had been called at college. Ed had endured three years at London University with him and so had earned the right to call him by his initials.

‘Of course not.’

‘Such a shame, you know.’

‘Ed…’

‘I know, I know—none of my business. I just thought that you two… I mean, he’ll never…’

‘This is your first official warning, Mr Wallace.’

‘Got it.’

‘It’s a long time ago now. In two months we’ll have been divorced for two years.’

‘Is it really? Unbelievable.’

A silence. Awkward? Reflective? Just a natural break? It was hard to tell.

Clare had always liked Ed. He was just one of the many casualties of her divorce, when people who had been ‘their’ friends had all regrouped into the ‘mine and yours’ camps post decree nisi. A shame. Ed could always be counted on to be hugely entertaining. Usually at his own expense.

‘So, have you got to dash off right now or have you got time for a quick beer for old times’ sake? I’ve got to be at some hideous leaving party later, but I don’t have to leave for an hour or so.’

Clare looked at her watch. 4:35. She could spare half an hour. ‘That would be lovely.’ She really meant it. Ed Wallace was good for the soul. And a sip of Dutch, French, Australian or even Russian courage wouldn’t go amiss.

After the standard What are you up to? and Where are you living? lines of questioning, and tongues loosened by an inter-beer round of vodka and tonic, they moved onto mutual acquaintances. Luckily Ed, like most blokes she knew, was only too happy to volunteer all the information he had on everyone she asked about.

Fortunately, Clare mused, men have never really grasped the tactics necessary for a good gossip. Ed hadn’t saved up any ammunition to exchange for more confidential info from Clare later. But thanks to his candour Clare now knew that Joe was still not in a serious relationship and strangely she was pleased. To bolster her ego further, in an equally only-makes-sense-if-you’re-female way, Ed harped on a bit more about the fact that everyone had thought that Joe would never find anyone as special as Clare again—although he couldn’t be sure whether anyone had bothered to tell Joe that was what they’d thought at the time, or just tacitly bought him a few beers to help him deal with putting it all behind him.

Ed grilled Clare about her love life and Clare did her utmost to make it sound a little less than non-existent. She knew that any information would be relayed to Joe and so adopted the enigmatic smile, less is more approach, disclosing nothing, which Ed fortunately and predictably took to mean everything.
Ed lapped it all up as Clare ordered another round and started to make her excuses. Five-fifteen. She couldn’t afford to miss Rachel.

Ed, it seemed, had another twenty questions.

‘So you’re here to see Charlie’s Angel. Business or pleasure? I didn’t realise you knew her.’

Clare had no idea what Ed was on about. Charlie’s Angel? Maybe he didn’t need another drink.

Ed obviously spotted Clare’s confused expression. ‘You did say you were seeing Rachel Baker back there, didn’t you? Or am I imagining it all?’

‘Yes…I’ve got a meeting with her…’

Clare racked the creative banks of her brain to try and come up with a professional reason for having an appointment with her at all.

‘She called me about organising a do at the restaurant. I don’t think she knows that I’m Joe’s ex-wife. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon if she proposes CDH have a party there.’

Clare decided to quit while she was ahead on the tall story front. Ed didn’t seem to think there was anything amiss, which was a relief. It suddenly occurred to her vodka-sullied mind that Ed’s seemingly bizarre ‘Charlie’s Angel’ reference was in some way connected to Rachel. But how had Rachel become associated with the trio of seventies sirens? Maybe she had a secret penchant for tight jumpsuits, blonde layers or lipgloss?

‘When you said Charlie’s Angel…you meant Rachel, didn’t you?’

‘Yup. Sorry. I didn’t stop to think that an in-house nickname would mean diddly-squat to you. I used to work with her before she joined CDH. Rachel has always been known as Charlie’s Angel—or just Angel throughout her department.

‘Oh…’

Clare thanked her lucky stars that she had nothing to do with the sort of industry where you had cliquey nicknames for people you worked with. The sort of industry where people still said things like diddly-squat… But on reflection that was probably just Ed.

‘So how did the Angel get her nickname?’

Clare just had to ask. She just had to know if it was the jump-suit thing.

‘Filthy coke habit.’

Clare nearly slid off her bar stool.

Ed was so matter-of-fact about it. Maybe she had misheard? Obviously she had ‘shocked’ written across her forehead.

Ed laughed.

‘Good to see that you’re just as innocent as you always were.’

Clare made a rapid recovery and punched Ed playfully.

‘Listen, I’m not that naïve. I’m just a bit surprised, that’s all. Isn’t she masterminding the anti-drugs campaign at the moment?’

Ed smiled at Clare’s well-intentioned concern.

‘She is—yes. I suppose it’s a little ironic, but then there aren’t too many people in the industry—and even fewer at her level—who haven’t dabbled once or twice. No one can afford to be judgmental, and to be honest no one really cares as long as the job gets done well or, better still, they get an award and some international recognition. From what I hear she’s got everything under control, and as long as she can handle it no one in the industry is going to bat an eyelid. Unless you are, in fact, an undercover tabloid hack and not a restaurateur at all, Rachel has nothing to worry about…’

Clare laughed. She could do this innocent, carefree, take-everything-in-your-stride thing when she had to. But her mind had lurched into overdrive. It appeared there were no saints in this little love triangle. The question was, How to play it? What if Ed’s knowledge was just hearsay? Alternatively, Ed might just have earned himself ‘hero of the month’ status in Putney. Clare hated to admit it, but she was obviously a bit squarer than she had thought. The only coke habit she had was the diet variety…even if she was partial to a few rocks of ice with it.

‘She’s quite a character. She seems to get away with letting young, talented, good-looking men do most of her work for her. Or, what I should say, if I am being politically correct, is
that she puts a good team together. She lives and loves the high life.’

‘Don’t you all?’

‘Well, I suppose there might be a small element of truth in that…’

‘Oh, come off it, Ed. Advertising is one big piss up. Launches, awards, lunches, team-building drinks. Don’t forget I was a Grosvenor House widow once…’

‘It’s quietened down in the last couple of years.’

‘Of course it has.’ Clare gave Ed her best and-of-course-I-was-born-yesterday look. He smiled to acknowledge it as he continued.

‘But all credit to her she’s made the system work for her. Rachel plays the game better than anyone I know. Watch this space. She’s going all the way to the top.’

Ed picked up his glass and drank to Rachel’s success. Clare used the break in conversation to look at her watch as pointedly as she could without actually rolling up her sleeve and bringing her wrist up to her nose. She feigned shock at the time, even though she didn’t have an appointment
per se
.

‘Shit—sorry, Ed, but I’m going have to shoot off. Thank you so much. Fantastic to see you.’

She leant over and gave him a kiss. He beamed at her.

‘Hey, no problem. It was only a drink.’

Oh, but it wasn’t. ‘Seriously, it was great to see you.’

Ed Wallace’s ego was responding well to its massage. He was beaming.

‘We should do it again. Maybe go the whole hog and do dinner too?’

‘Definitely. Why don’t you come over to Union Jack’s and I’ll give you the five-star treatment? On me, of course.’

Clare had better watch herself. At the delighted expression on Ed’s face she suddenly panicked that in the excitement of the moment she might have been sending out the wrong vibes. She didn’t want Ed telling Joe that she’d gone and flung herself at him.

‘Deal.’

‘What’s your number? Just in case the hanging-around-an-ad-agency-lobby trick doesn’t work twice.’

Ed laughed.

They programmed each others numbers into their mobiles in true twenty-first century style and promised to call each other. Gone were the days of scribbling deliberately unintelligible phone numbers on scraps of paper and pretending you’d lost them should the other party track you down. But Clare promised herself that she
would
give Ed a call. He’d earned a dinner, even if he would never know why.

chapter 24

A
t 5:58 Clare entered Rachel Baker’s corner office for their second introduction in twenty-eight hours and closed the door behind her for maximum dramatic effect.

‘Rachel.’

‘Clare.’ If she was surprised to see her, it didn’t show. She glanced towards the desk where Kitty sat, ostensibly to protect her from flatmates of husband’s mistresses just marching in unannounced, and rapped on the window of her door. Startled, Kitty looked up for long enough to see her boss mouth ‘glasses’ at her.

Clare didn’t wait to be offered a seat and sat down on the sofa. Beneath her carefully applied mask of make-up Rachel looked tired. The effect, Clare was sure, of an incredibly long week. Rachel perched on the edge of her desk. The last thing she needed was a do-gooder of a flatmate getting in her way. Where was Kitty with those glasses? She really needed a drink.

‘I don’t remember inviting you to my office?’

‘I invited myself.’

‘And to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’

Every one of Rachel’s words was intended to make Clare
feel as unwelcome as possible. She was glad that she’d decided on her thickest skin under her suit. From the minute she had locked the front door she had known this was going to be a tough one. She decided to take the more softly-softly approach and at least see how far that got her.

‘Look, Rachel. You can guess why I’m here. Lizzie is so desperately sorry. She never meant for any of this to happen. By the time Matt told her that he was married she was already up to her eyeballs. She had no idea that you had anything to do with him until much later on, at which point she did everything in her power to get you two back together at the expense of her own happiness.’

‘My heart bleeds.’ How could she be expected to feel anything other than contempt for someone who couldn’t even fight their own battles?

‘Believe me, Rachel, Lizzie is very sorry.’

‘I don’t see her cluttering up my office, begging for my forgiveness. Look, I appreciate your concern but I’m busy. I’ve got deadlines to meet. Lizzie should’ve thought about the consequences before she started sleeping with my husband.’ Boy, she needed a drink. Thank God for artificial stimulants. She owed her career to nicotine, coke, Diet Coke, espresso and Red Bull.

Thankfully Kitty had finally located a couple of clean glasses and was now waving them at Rachel through the door. Why she couldn’t just knock and enter with them like a normal PA, she had no idea. It felt as if everyone was conspiring against her to make her week as difficult as possible. Grumpily, Rachel waved Kitty in.