When She Was Bad... (25 page)

Lira started to reply, then bit her lip.

‘Quitting while you’re ahead is one of the first rules of business,’ Weiss said dryly. ‘Now, I think we have some things to discuss. Are you free tonight for a working dinner?’

Lira looked at him warily. The rumours about the two of them hadn’t abated. She could see the typing pool watching them thro’ugh the glass walls of her office right now. If Weiss tried something on, this could be the end of everything she’d sweated for over the last year.

‘I guess,’ she muttered.

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‘Good. Then that’s settled. Meet me at six-thirty in the Oyster Bar.’ Harry ignored her lack of enthusiasm and left. Lita was like a spoiled child, he thought. Spoiled, but brilliant. He was not going to be influenced by her whims.

Norman had been waiting at the end of the hall. He scampered back into their office, lips pursed.

‘I hope you took what he told you on board, Lita. You must try to behave maturely. This isn’t modelling now.’

‘Oh, I did,’ Lita said. She wasn’t about to admit to dinner. Why give them any more ammunition?

She arrived at the Oyster Bar at six-thirty exactly. Harry had reserved a table, and Lita slipped in to join him, thankful for the bustle of the commuters thronging out of Grand Central bhind her.

You couldn’t get more public than this, and that was a good thing. Lita’s skin felt dry and flaky, the way it always got when she was extremely stressed. Copious amounts of shea butter rubs from L’Occitane didn’t seem to help. She was so paranoid about her colleagues that she half expected to see a bunch of giggling, bitchy women peer around a corner and hiss loudly about her and Harry. He was sitting in a corner by the rail, his head bowed, in his usual black, the frames of his Lennon glasses glinting. Lita felt resentment bubble up like acid in her stomach. She had fought tooth and nail just to get out of the typing pool; she had come up with strong campaigns, she’d sold products, she’d gotten this firm new clients. And now Harry Weiss was hitting on her and treating her like a piece of ass, making all the stupid rumours that said some hot tamale wetback could never have a brain in her head - would never have gotten any further than making coffee without giving sexual favours out like candy - look valid.

Lita wondered briefly if she had enough of a. reputation yet to quit. She didn’t think so. Her success at Doheny had been stellar, but not so stellar that it couldn’t be taken away by the firm’s spin-meisters. Hubert West had quit, and the Doheny corporate P1K machine went into overdrive, calling his clients and muttering dark things about colleagues carrying him, about cocaine use, alcoholism, wild mood swings. Lita had overheard some of the conversations herself. Hubert had been one of their biggest senior art directors, with major campaigns to his credit and industry awards on his desk. But by the time the Doheny machine was through with him, he’d had to accept a job with a much smaller firm for, it was reputed, only two thirds of his previous salary. And little firms didn’t get clients. They got only other little firms, firms who didn’t have the money to pay for proper advertising and campaigns. Nobody

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wanted to be Hubert West, and he’d had a five-year tracl( recora. Llta hadn’t even been in her senior position for two months yet.

Bristling, trying to shove down her annoyance so she could think clearly, Lita marched up to Harry’s table. He glanced up and smiled warmly at her, which annoyed her even more.

‘Lira. Good to see you. Have a seat. Do you like oysters?’

‘Not particularly.’ She didn’t see why she should make this easy for him. ‘I had a bad one once and I was ill for three days.’

‘I understand. Don’t worry, they do have other things on the menu.’

‘I’m really not that hungry,’ Lita said flatly, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite him.

‘Then you can watch me eat. I’m starving, so I’m afraid you’re going to be here for a while.’

Lita edged her chair back a few inches so there was no possibility her feet would touch Harry’s under the table and waited. He ordered twelve oysters, some caviar and smoked salmon with half a bottle of PouillyFuisee, and her mouth started to water. Never inind, she could grab a burger on the way home. She regarded Harry as the oysters arrived and he started to tip them into his mouth. He was wiry but distinguished. The glasses looked good on him, and the black picked out his eyes. He looked like a cross between a professor and a rock star. She knew half the secretaries had crashes on Weiss. That was unsurprising. He was one of the most powerful men at Doheny, certainly the most powerful guy anybody saw on a regular basis. He had celebrity within the industry and every executive in the company wanted to be in his good graces. She admitted to herself, grudgingly, that he was fairly good-looking. Nobody had ever seen his wife,’and he didn’t keep photos of her in his office. Maybe that was why the rumours about Harry and girls in the office were so frequent. Her story was only the latest that she’d heard. It was the current one, though, and that gave it power.

Weiss lifted his head and looked her directly in the eye.

‘I’ve got a proposal for you. Something that will really advance you in this company, Lira. It’s hard for women to make it in business. They mostly need a Bttle help. I’m prepared to give it to you.’

Lira swallowed hard, but her fury.just wouldn’t die down. The words spilled out of her as if she had no control oxer them.

‘Oh, yeah? Why don’t you go luck yourself, Harry? I fought my way past two sexist assholes to get here and I’m not going to get involved

with you. I make money for your shitty company and-‘ ‘Lita.’ Weiss paused, then started to chuckle. ‘It’s not goddamn funny,’ Lira spat. ‘You think I’m hitting on you.’

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‘What else would you call it?’

‘Offering to mentor you. I’m not interested in you, Lita. Personally, | mean. I love my wife. Why do you think I picked the Oyster Bar? It’s close to the trains. I have to be home in two hours.’

‘Oh,’ Lita said, in a small voice. She blushed purple.

‘Why on earth would you think such a thing?’

‘People in the office,’ Lita muttered. ‘They say I had an affair with you.’

Harry took off his glasses and robbed the lenses. ‘What?’

He really had no idea, she realized. Harry was one of those men who could be very focused in one area and completely oblivious in all others. ‘Who says that? I’ll fire them.’

‘Everybody.’ Lita sighed. ‘Nobody gives me credit for a brain.’

Harry chewed his smoked salmon thoughtfully. ‘And do you care what they think?’

‘Yes,’ Lita admitted.

‘Good. Neither do I,’ he said firmly, as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘Your ideas are bringing in clients. I want to see more of them. I want you to go away, do some research and get back to my office. Check out our competitors’ ads, come up with better ones. I want to use you to go poaching.’

‘iF i can get you new accounts, I want a raise,’ Lira said boldly. ‘And I don’t want to work with Norman any more. And I want to pick my own assistant instead of taking whoever the pool assigns to me.’ ‘We’ll see. Get me the accounts first, anl:t then we’ll talk.’

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Becky staggered back. Rupert’s eyes were hard, glittering, murderously angry. She glanced at the phone - it was all the way over the other side of the room. The door was closer. Becky wrenched it open. She heard

people moving about in the lower apartment. Thank God. ‘Don’t come any closer.’ ‘Becky …’

Rupert straggled and seemed to master himself. He was breathing hard. ‘I’m sorry, I lost it.’

!You certainly did. It’s over between us.’

He paled. ‘Darling, please. I said I was sorry. Truly. At least let me explain.’

He looked genuinely contrite, and for a moment Becky wavered. ‘Becky!’

There was a shout from the street. Becky looked down wildly and saw Sharon in the lobby, about to come upstairs, lupert’s sorrowful expression vanished. He walked past Becky and barked, ‘I don’t think

you’d better come up, Sharon. We’re having a private talk.’ Sharon looked at Becky, bewildered. ‘I said go away,’ P, upert snapped.

Becky said quietly, ‘R.upert, that’s enough. It’s time for you to leave

now.

l.upert’s eyes met hers and saw the hard knot of anger there. He breathed in sharply.

‘Very well.’ His voice was equally soft now. Tll call you later, and we’ll get past this.’

Well, I certainly will, Becky thought. Shaken, she drew back to let him get by her. R-upert took his coat from the door and walked down the stairs to the street, passing Sharon without ever glancing at her.

Her friend bounded upstairs and pressed her hands to her mouth. Becky’s fingers touched her cheek in disbelief. The white’mark of his

hand had already vanished and was glowing red. ‘He hit you? Are you OK?’ ‘I’m fine.’

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‘That bastard,’ Sharon growled. ‘You should call the police.’

‘For a slap round the face? Don’t be silly.’ Becky rubbed the mark, wishing it would go down, but she could already feel it swelling. ‘He

packs quite a punch, for a thin guy.’

‘Why did he do it?’

‘I told him I was giving Fairfield to the National Trust.’

Sharon’s eyes widened, then she burst out laughing. ‘You said what? Oh, man, I meant for you to confront him, but not like that. Not right

now.’

‘He said he was sorry. He asked me to hear his explanation.’ ‘There is no explanation. You’re not going along with that. He—’ ‘Relax.’ Becky spoke calmly, but she felt the tears start to prickle in her eyes. ‘I never understood women that stayed with men who hit them. I’m not going back to him. But maybe I was too harsh. I know how important the house and the family is to him. Not that that excuses what he did.’

‘You think he’s just about preserving the family honour?’ Sharon

snorted. ‘I’ve got a bridge in London I’d like to flog you. Going cheap.’ ‘He said he’d call me tonight.’

‘Let me stay with you, then. I’ll call Jack—’

‘No need. I can handle Rupert,’ Becky said, suddenly wishing mightily to be on her own. Sharon was a dear friend, but she couldn’t help her get through this. She could tell 1Zupert to sod off, but she couldn’t tell Becky where she was going to find another man who could mean anything to her the way he had. ‘

Her heart already hurt worse than her face.

Sharon could take a hint. She hugged Becky gingerly. ‘Just make sure you lock your door, OK?’

‘I promise,’ Becky said, but she wasn’t worried. Rupert hated scenes. He wouldn’t try to kick down the door of her flat She kissed Sharon on the cheek, which she took as just another Yank habit, and showed her out, then came upstairs and took a packet of peas out of the freezer, pressing it on her cheek. It was still going to be a nice welt. She wondered what on earth she could say back in the office to explain this.

She ran herself a bath, because she suddenly felt dirty. Becky brushed back the tears that were trickling down her cheeks, but it was no good. 1Kupert had been so much fun, he’d made her laugh, he’d gotten Aunt Victoria off her back, and he’d found her more friends than she could handle. Becky was a realist. She knew most of those ‘friends’ would drop her like a hot potato now. But she had hated her early days in strike-ridden, cold, damp England, and Rupert had shown her everything Sharon couldn’t.

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omeo and Juliet. What a joke.

Was it really that bad, though? The side of her that longed to forgive him would not shut up. What if he hit her because he was enraged that she was betraying the family? She had it in her power to destroy what had belonged to the Lancasters for countless generations. Family was important to her, too. Couldn’t she understand how he felt?

But what about what Sharon said? muttered the cynic in her other ear. Look at how much he was in the papers. You weren’t. All the PR was about him and ‘his’ Lancaster holdings. And is that small hotel really important? Or is it just a device for getting you out of the main Lancaster offices?

He was just using me, Becky thought, and she started to cry in earnest. She was too intelligent to pretend that wasn’t the case. In her living room, the phone started to ring. She ignored it. She wasn’t going to let him see how much he had mattered to her.

R.upert wasn’t going to give up and Becky didn’t really expect him to. The following morning, she took delivery of five separate bouquets, alternating red and white roses, two dozen each time. She called a taxi and had them delivered to the cardio ward at Nuffield Hospital. There they might cheer somebody up, instead of making her want to cry.

She ca[led the office and told them not to expect her in for the rest of the week.

‘Lord Lancaster has called looking for you, Miss Lancaster,’ Ellen told her. ‘He keeps calling. What am I supposed to tell him?’

‘Tell him that I’ll be back at work on Monday, please, Ellen,’ Becky said firmly.

‘But where will you be?’ Ellen insisted.

‘Out of the office,’ Becky replied. Then she hung up. She packed a small suitcase, locked up and stepped out into the street. Buses ran directly to Victoria Coach Station and there was one leaving in ten minutes. She couldn’t do anything about her heart. The only thing left to do was work.

Becky stepped out at the grimy kerb of the coach station, delicately picking up her shoes to avoid getting them filthy, and walked out on to the street to hail a cab. She had spent the journey thinking hard, and in the middle of feeling sick about Rupert she also felt a little embarrassed. She had been in England for nine months now, and she still hadn’t been into the headquarters of her father’s company.

She had allowed Victoria, Henry and Rupert to push her away. She had let lawyers advise her, she had asked for briefs, she had finally taken

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ontrol of the smallest and most insignificant part of the firm. But she had done nothing to establish herself. Nothing but allow other people to put her ofF.

Her father hadn’t allowed her to inherit, and fought with his cousin for so long, so that she could be the puppet of grey men in suits.