Chapter 26
26
GRETA
The roaring inside my head is back – but it’s unclear if it’s just nerves or nerves plus a hangover. It’s probably the latter, as ‘roaring’ brought along his friend ‘pounding headache’. I blame Tiggy, which is juvenile of me, but she’s the one who opened the second bottle of wine. And even though we finished a large pizza between us, we also finished that second bottle.
What was it she said last night? Something about being thirty-five and not a teenager? Though she was talking about my love life, not being able to drink as much as I once did without suffering the repercussions.
I’ve arrived at Nouveau very early, wearing more make-up than usual (to disguise the sins of last night) and wishing it was acceptable for me to wear sunglasses inside, à la Amelia Windsor.
It’s strange being here when it’s so quiet, which is doing nothing to ease my nerves. To take my mind off… well, everything , I log into my laptop and scroll through emails, deleting, filing, and typing out quick responses. There’s nothing of consequence until I get to the most recent email, timestamped 7.01a.m., which is four minutes ago, from Marie Maillot with the subject line: The Mole.
‘What? How did she find them so quick?—?’
I don’t finish the word, as I’m overcome by a wave of nausea. I gulp in a breath to stave it off, but saliva floods my mouth and there’s nothing more I can do but reach for the bin and retch into it. When my stomach eventually stops spasming, I wipe my face with a tissue. And only when I’m convinced I won’t be sick again, do I set down the bin and look at my laptop screen.
I open the email, immediately seeing that Marie has copied in Poppy and Anjali. Before I discover who’s been sabotaging Nouveau Life , I lift my gaze and take a series of steeling breaths. I’m placing bets on Ivy Jones. Ever since Anjali raised her as a suspect yesterday, I’ve been remembering instances of her being sarcastic or rude or condescending, even though I have several years’ more experience than her at the magazine.
Eventually, I’m ready to read the email – well, as ready as I’ll ever be. I scroll through the explanation of Marie’s methods, searching the dense email for a name. When my eyes land on it, I cannot believe what I’m seeing.
‘It can’t be…’ I gasp. But it says it right there in the email.
Rebecca Lovell
Bex. Bex is the mole, the one who’s been sharing our ideas – or IP – with Panache .
The nausea threatens again, but knowing is marginally better than not knowing and I’m able to breathe through it.
I go back to the start of the email and read every word – twice . Somehow, in less than twenty-four hours, Marie has uncovered call logs and an email chain that irrefutably links Bex to an editor at Panache – an unsavoury woman I know only by reputation. Stupidly, Bex was using her work-issued phone and Nouveau email address – I don’t want to know how Marie got access to those records. She’s attached several documents, one of which is the contents of the emails, something I suppose I’ll have to read at some point, but after I speak to Anjali.
Bex. I can’t believe it. She’s been my right-hand woman since I selected her as Nouveau Life ’s assistant editor months ago. She’s been with me every step of the way. We’ve even been to bloody brunch together and I rarely see my colleagues outside of work!
My phone rings, startling me, and I dig it out of my handbag. It’s Anjali.
‘Hi,’ I answer, my breathy voice betraying my maelstrom of emotions.
‘So, you’ve seen it then?’
‘Yes. I can’t believe it.’
‘Nor me. I hired her,’ she says.
‘So did I in a way, hand-picking her for Nouveau Life .’
‘We’ve both been duped.’
‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ I say sullenly. ‘The betrayal, it compounds it, doesn’t it?’
‘Absolutely! I wish it had been Ivy – much easier on us, if anything.’
I don’t mention that I’d had the same thought – there’s no point.
‘Look,’ she continues, ‘I’m heading in early – can you meet me at the office in half an hour?’
‘I’m already here.’
‘Oh. Well, I’ll see you soon then.’
She ends the call abruptly and my phone rings again before I’ve even put it down. It’s Poppy this time.
‘Hey, I was just checking emails over brekkie. Did you see it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m… I’m blindsided , Poppy.’
‘I can imagine. I’m really sorry, Greta. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. I’m coming in later to meet with Anjali, and I’ll pop by your office afterwards, okay?’
The reminder that Poppy and Anjali are meeting to discuss my love life cuts through the mental noise about Bex.
‘On that,’ I say. ‘What are you going to tell Anjali? About me, I mean.’
‘Just that I’m still on the case – your case – and I’m hopeful we’ll find you a match.’
‘Is that the truth?’ I ask.
She doesn’t reply right away, which sends yet another round of spasms through my gut.
‘Well, that depends,’ she says eventually.
‘On what?’
‘On you. Do you want me to keep the case open, or fall on my sword with Anjali and close it, leaving you to your own devices?’ She must be alluding to me pursuing things with Ewan. ‘I’ll do whatever you want, Greta. You’re my real client. But I should probably tell you about potential match number two before you make a final decision.’
The agency’s ‘one match at a time’ guideline comes to mind, now more pertinent than ever as I think of Ewan. Just last night, I was exchanging butterfly-inducing messages with him, and we have a date tomorrow night. It’s not fair to him – or me – to maintain the fa?ade with Anjali, especially when Poppy’s prepared to admit she didn’t find me a match.
Still… I should hear about the second potential match – if only for due diligence and to close the loop for good.
‘All right, quickly tell me about him,’ I say with a sigh.
‘The broad strokes are: he’s forty-one, has his own business – which is a recent career change, but has really taken off. He’s a foodie and loves travel. He’s been single for about a year, but is amicable with his ex, and he lives in Central London with his dog.’
‘Oh, well, I did ask you to make it quick.’
‘Does any of that sound familiar?’ Poppy asks, and something in her tone ignites an all-over tingling sensation.
‘And what’s his name?’ I ask slowly, the tingling intensifying as excitement bubbles up inside me. Because I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
‘Ewan Wilder.’
I was right! But now I’m also baffled. ‘Wait, what? How? And when did?—?’
Poppy laughs.
‘Did Ewan sign up with the Ever After Agency?’
‘Nooo,’ she replies.
‘Then how is he on the list?’
‘Because I’m good at what I do,’ she replies simply.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Well, when I met him, I saw there was something between you, so I had Marie do a little digging to make sure he was unattached and a decent human being and?—’
‘Wait – you had Marie investigate him?’ I ask, my voice high and screechy.
‘It was due diligence, Greta. We vet all our potential matches.’
‘Sorry, of course you do.’
‘But the rest was all you. I just paid attention to what you were telling me – and what you weren’t. If it didn’t work with Harrison, my next step was to nudge you towards Ewan.’
I chuckle – mostly at myself. First Tiggy, then Poppy… did everyone know how I felt about Ewan before I did?
‘We’ve actually got dinner plans tomorrow night,’ I say, an unbidden smile breaking across my face.
‘Great! See, you didn’t even need the nudge, and at least there’s something positive amongst all this sh—’ She stops herself.
‘Shit,’ I supply, making her laugh again. ‘It’s okay to call it that. This situation is a heaping pile of shit.’ Saying that, the gravity of what Bex has done lands with full force. ‘Oh, Poppy, I honestly can’t believe it’s Bex.’
‘I know,’ she says, her tone suddenly sobered. ‘I’m really sorry. I imagine you’ll be confronting her this morning?’
‘I’m not sure. Anjali’s on her way in now and I suppose we’ll work out what to do together.’
‘I hope it goes as well as it can.’
‘Thanks, Poppy.’
After the call, I rest heavily against the back of my office chair, staring at the wall and reflecting on the swings and roundabouts of my current life. I am eager to see where things can go with Ewan, but right now, that’s completely overshadowed by the dread of having to confront – and sack – Bex.
When Anjali first mentioned we had a mole – was that really only yesterday? – it seemed preposterous that it was someone in my own team. Of course, I’d extrapolated from there, imagining that if it was, I’d be held accountable. I pause at the thought. What if that’s the case? What if my head’s on the chopping block too?
I glance at the clock on my laptop screen. Anjali will be here soon. ‘Should I pre-emptively offer my resignation?’ I ask myself. ‘But what if she accepts it?’ Oh god .
My phone chimes with a message notification, a reprieve from my worrisome thoughts:
I hope you have a lovely day. Let me know if you’re coming to TDG and I’ll save your favourite table for you.Xx
Despite everything, it brings a smile to my face. I reply:
Thanks. Bit of a sticky situation here this morning. Not sure I’ll make it.
Three dancing dots, then:
Sorry to hear that. Will let you know about tomorrow night.
Thanks. *smiley face*
At least I have dinner with Ewan to look forward to.
I should probably head to Anjali’s office so I’m there when she arrives. I close my laptop and tuck it under my arm, then cast my eyes about my office. If the absolute worst does happen, this could be my last day at Nouveau . Even though that’s not likely – I hope it isn’t – tears prick my eyes. I’ve given so much of myself to this magazine, and I have so much more I want to do here.
Oh, Bex, what have you done?
Bex looks small and frightened when Anjali outlines what we’ve discovered.
We’re in the boardroom with me, Anjali, and Amelia Windsor (sans sunglasses) on one side of the large table and Bex on the other, visibly on the verge of tears. I fight the urge to run around and give her a hug.
‘Well, what do you have to say for yourself?’ barks Amelia Windsor.
Bex bursts into tears, burying her face in her hands, and I have to grip my chair with both hands so I don’t leap up to administer that hug. I glance to my left at Anjali, and she meets my eye, shaking her head slowly. We’re both feeling it – disappointment as well as betrayal. We trusted her, we believed in her.
‘Tears are not appropriate,’ Amelia Windsor continues. ‘You’re only crying because you got caught.’
Bex lifts her tear-stained face. ‘No, I…’ she stammers.
‘You what?’
‘I just… It was a mistake.’
‘A mistake ?’ asks Amelia Windsor, loading the word with incredulity and scorn.
Bex nods, her lower lip quivering, then looks right at me.
‘I’m so sorry, Greta. I was out with a friend of mine who works at Panache . Well, we’re sort of friends – I don’t really see her much these days. Anyway, we were at a bar, and I’d had a few drinks and it was stupid of me, but I wanted to show off to her, so I bragged about our advice column. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. Actually, I completely forgot about it, but the next day, her editor called me and said she might have a spot for me on her team – and not as an assistant editor but as an editor , which was really flattering. And then she put me on the spot and asked if I had any ideas I could bring to Panache and the only thing that came to mind was “Disasters of Dating”. It all just snowballed from there.’
Bex punctuates her rambling monologue with a loud sob, which echoes throughout the room, bounces off the glass wall, and reverberates in my ears, making me even more unsettled.
She betrayed us for a job at Panache ? One that probably never existed in the first place, if my knowledge of the editor in question is any indication. She isn’t known for her professional ethics.
Looking past Bex, I see a group of onlookers outside the conference room, boldly staring at us through the glass. I suppose it was a misstep to conduct this meeting where everyone could watch it play out, but perhaps it was a deliberate move by (the terrifying) Amelia Windsor. At least Taj and Lisa work on a different floor.
Anjali notices the onlookers too. She rises, strides around the desk, throws open the door, and bellows, ‘Back to work, everyone!’ like an angry school principal. I’ve never heard her shout like that, but it’s only the third most alarming aspect of this meeting after Bex’s sobbing and Amelia Windsor’s callous interrogation techniques.
There’s a chance I’ll be in that hotseat after Bex is dismissed and I gulp, swallowing the lump in my throat.
‘Rebecca,’ says Amelia Windsor evenly, and to her credit, Bex meets her eye. ‘Your paltry excuse may have explained the first indiscretion on your part, but not the second. You actively entertained being poached by a competitor to the detriment of Nouveau .’
Bex licks her lips. ‘I’m so, so sorry. It just all got away from me.’
‘So, this has nothing to do with your resentment over Poppy Dean being brought on?’ Amelia Windsor asks pointedly.
My head snaps towards her. This is new information to me – it must have been in the emails Bex exchanged with Panache . Which means Amelia Windsor has read them, something I couldn’t bring myself to do. No wonder she’s called the Thatcher of the magazine world – iron fist indeed.
‘You have nothing to say about that?’
Bex is frowning now, the frightened girl giving way to something harder, angrier. ‘It was a stupid decision to bring back that hack. She can’t write and it made so much extra work for me. Stupid advice column.’
My jaw drops open, but I quickly recover. ‘You should have said something,’ I say.
‘I did say something and you didn’t care,’ she retorts, lobbing the accusation with enough venom to fell an ox.
‘That’s… that’s…’ I splutter, but Amelia Windsor lifts her dainty hand in my direction, signalling that I should be silent. I close my mouth, looking at Bex through fresh – and very hurt – eyes.
‘Rebecca, you are terminated, effective immediately,’ Amelia Windsor says.
‘I’ll just get my things then,’ she replies, standing.
‘You will do no such thing. Your systems access has been revoked and your belongings removed and packed up. They will be sent to your residence.’ She lifts her gaze and signals for two security guards – who I’ve only just noticed standing outside the door – to enter. ‘These gentlemen will escort you out.’
Bex looks to me – clearly flabbergasted – and her bluster instantly evaporates. Tears gloss her eyes, but I steel myself against them. She is no longer my right-hand woman and she’s no longer my protégé. She’s just a young woman who made an egregious professional error, one she didn’t own up to until she was confronted with it, and one she may never recover from.
She drops her gaze and slowly crosses to where the security guards are waiting, and they march her out of Nouveau .
‘Is it too early for a dram of whisky?’ asks Amelia Windsor. ‘You look like you could use one – you both do.’
‘Thank you for handling that, Amelia.’
‘I’d say it’s my pleasure, but I hate this part of the job.’ This staggers me considering what I’ve just witnessed, which must be apparent, because her mouth quirks when she glances in my direction. Then she puts her sunglasses on and stands. ‘Good luck with your second issue, Greta. I have no doubt it will be as well-received as the first.’
And then she’s gone.
‘God,’ says Anjali. ‘I could actually go for a whisky.’ She checks her watch. ‘I can’t believe it’s only just gone nine.’
‘Mmm,’ I murmur, still not having recovered.
‘You going to be all right?’ she asks, eyeing me intently.
I nod. ‘I think so. Part of me was worried I’d get the sack too.’
‘ What? Hardly. I don’t know what we’d do without you. Besides, no matter what Bex said, none of this was your fault. This was all her.’
‘Thanks.’
Anjali sends me a tight-lipped smile. ‘Right, back to work, I suppose.’
She leads us out of the boardroom, and we take the lift, then head to our respective offices. When I arrive at mine, there’s a takeaway coffee cup and a paper bag on the desk, and on the bag is written:
I hope your morning improves. See you soon. Exx
‘It already has,’ I say, inhaling the delicious aroma of the cronut. I take a sip of the still-warm coffee, sit in my chair, and mentally prepare myself to break the news to Taj and Lisa.