Who's Afraid of MR Wolfe? Page 10

  His eyes locked on to hers. She had never been in a fight, but she guessed this was how it must feel.

  Ellie found herself backing towards the door, trying to break eye contact with Jack as he started to move. She wanted to turn round but had a feeling that if she did, he would bring her down in an instant. She felt the wood of the door at her back and reached down for the door handle, clumsily managing to get the door open.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘That was too personal. I forgot where I was.’

  ‘Too fucking right,’ Jack said. He was close to her now. She could feel the heat coming off him and a flush of red was spreading across his cheeks. She took an awkward step backwards and felt the metal divider between Jack and Mrs MacEndry’s office under her foot.

  ‘Get out of my office,’ he hissed at her, and she actually jumped backwards seconds before he slammed the door shut in her face.

  Ellie stood staring at the door, unsure if her legs were going to support her. She knew Mrs MacEndry must be looking at her, so she tried to laugh, to pass it off as nothing. It sounded feeble, dead.

  ‘I suppose you get used to him doing that?’ she said with a wonky smile.

  ‘No,’ Mrs MacEndry said, shaking her head very definitely. ‘I’ve rarely seen him that bad.’

  Inside his office, Jack was leaning against the door, battling to control himself, his heart hammering in his chest. He was scared how much Ellie had annoyed him. He’d nearly caught hold of her and given her a good shake.

  He breathed out slowly. What she’d said had hurt. Really hurt.

  For if there was one thing Jack did understand completely it was loss.

  CHAPTER 11

  ‘Here you go, our Lord and Master wants you to do this.’ Gavin plonked a brochure into Ellie’s hand and she felt her life force drain away.

  She turned the brochure round for Lesley to see and a few seconds later she too was making a ‘Kill me now’ face.

  ‘Hurrah,’ Ellie said bleakly, ‘the yearly update to the Jubbitt & Jubbitt brochure, the poisoned chalice of the Creative Department.’

  Gavin gave a large, false smile. ‘And don’t forget, they may be small but they have important friends on the board. So …’

  ‘How come we’re getting it again?’ Lesley said so aggressively that Gavin took a little step backwards. ‘I thought we had an agreement that each team took it in turns. We did it last year. I remember Ellie almost had a nervous breakdown.’

  Ellie nodded. First there had been the usual battle with Jubbitt & Jubbitt to try to get them to produce something more attention-grabbing. Then there had been the copy. Jubbitt & Jubbitt did not believe that less was more. They liked lots of words in long, tortuous sentences.

  Ellie suspected that they priced out every paragraph to ensure they got the right number of words for their money.

  Gavin smirked. ‘Not my decision, girls. Anyway, plenty to get your teeth into there, Ellie. Lots of lovely meetings with Jubbitt Junior and his wandering hands.’

  Lesley gave Ellie a sympathetic smile and went to the mini-fridge and retrieved a bottle of lager. Wordlessly she handed it to Ellie, who held it to her forehead.

  After a little pause Lesley winked at Ellie and asked Gavin very innocently, ‘So how are things with you?’

  Immediately Gavin’s face clouded. It was common knowledge that ‘things’ were not good with Gavin, not good at all. He was now set on a collision course with Jack, who wanted him out of the Creative Department and out of the agency. Gavin might as well have had a line round his neck saying, ‘Cut here.’

  ‘Don’t pretend you haven’t heard,’ he said as though he had something sour in his mouth. ‘You know what happened at the suntan lotion screening.’

  Lesley did. Everyone did. The screening of the Sunny Sol Mio advert had replaced the ill-fated knickers idea as the number-one topic of agency tittle-tattle.

  Jack had been looking for one final excuse to show Gavin the door and unbelievably Gavin had served it to him on a plate. Ellie had not actually been in the screening room when Gavin proudly showed off the ad, but it had been a classic Wolfe moment.

  Jack had gone into the screening with the knowledge that the sixty-second ad was massively over budget, and as soon as the lights dimmed and the ad started to play, things got very nasty indeed.

  The ad had Gavin’s hallmark self-indulgence stamped all over it. Palm trees threw shadows on the sand; little waves ran up the beach and back out to sea; sunlight glinted off the water. There was no music, only random clapping. The overall effect was not of a sensuous, sundrenched holiday but of something sinister. It seemed that at any moment the happy sun-worshippers could be carried off by something unspeakable rising from the depths of the ocean.

  And that was another problem. There was a distinct lack of sun-worshippers, despite the fact that Gavin had interviewed over fifteen bikini models and selected the three most expensive ones. They were on the screen for less than ten seconds and shot in such soft focus that they appeared as if they were melting.

  But the final, final straw for Jack had been the almost non-appearance of the product in any size, shape or form apart from one hazy shot of the bottle lying half covered in sand. Unfortunately for Gavin, it was the wrong bottle; the client’s packaging was being revamped at the same time as its TV advertising and Gavin had not bothered to keep up with the latest design.

  After spending thousands of pounds of the client’s money shooting the ad in the South Pacific, the agency now had to hire a studio in Slough, fill it with sand and reshoot part of the ad to feature the new bottle. The client was incandescent with rage and was refusing to pay a large percentage of the bill, and the agency was the butt of a load of nasty jokes within the industry. For Gavin, it was walk-the-plank time.

  Those who had been in the screening session reported back that ‘Jack had verbally grabbed Gavin by the testicles and swung him round the room.’ He’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to do it.

  After the monthly board meeting the agency would be Gavin-less.

  Gavin perched himself delicately on Lesley’s desk, checking first that there was nothing on it that would besmirch his jeans.

  ‘That’s the trouble with advertising now, overrun by money men,’ he said to nobody in particular. ‘It’s full of men who wouldn’t recognise a creative idea if it bit them.’ He perused his nails and rearranged a cuticle. ‘What happened to the free spirits in us? What about poetry? What about art? What about ground-breaking design?’

  ‘What about your ruddy expenses?’ Lesley said under her breath.

  Gavin ignored her. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m not sure I can work with Jack.’ He was talking as if he still had a choice. ‘I’m thinking of going to Tuttlebacks.’

  Lesley and Ellie tried to dredge up amazed and sad faces, but it wasn’t news to them. Rachel had already told the entire agency.

  ‘Much more simpatico set-up there. People who know what a creative idea looks like and are willing to spend the money on it. It’s getting a good name for itself. And here … well, with the Yorkshire Axeman calling the shots, it’s only a matter of time before we have fluorescent flashes saying, “Great product, cheap price,” on every piece of work.’ Gavin flicked something invisible from his jeans. ‘I mean, this kind of set-up is fine for workmanlike creatives like you and Lesley, but I—’ Gavin stopped abruptly.

  Jack was in the doorway.

  ‘Word. Gavin. My office. Now.’

  Gavin went, nose in the air, an arrogant swing to his hips.

  Jack watched him go and then turned back into the room. ‘I see you got the brochure.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ellie. ‘We can’t wait to get started.’ She pushed the brochure along her desk as if it were a piece of radioactive waste. ‘Lucky us, getting it again this year. So how come it isn’t Jon and Zak’s turn?’

  ‘Gavin said you and Lesley have got spare capacity. Besides, nothing like keeping busy, eh? Take your mind off t
hings.’ Jack directed the last statement straight at Ellie. ‘Oh, and you wrote too much copy last time. Try and rein yourself in this year, will you?’

  He looked exceptionally pleased with himself as he left the room and Ellie felt the unfairness of his comment like a slap. Nobody had tried harder than she had to get that copy cut back.

  ‘No problem, Jack,’ she said loudly. ‘I’ll get Jubbitt Junior to cut it so that it will fit on the head of a pin. And while I’m about it, I’ll go and find the Holy Grail too, shall I?’

  Lesley stared at her as though she were insane, and then Jack reappeared in the doorway. His good humour had gone and Ellie felt the temperature inside the room drop.

  ‘Meaning what?’ Jack said extraordinarily slowly.

  ‘Meaning I tried like mad to get him to cut it back last time and it was impossible.’

  ‘Then why not simply say that?’ Jack snapped.

  ‘What?’ Ellie said, knowing exactly what point he was trying to make but deciding to annoy him further.

  ‘Why not just say that? Why go in for all that dramatic head of a pin and Holy Grail rubbish?’

  Ellie chanced a smile. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Jack. I thought that you employed me to be good with words.’

  Under the desk, Ellie felt Lesley’s foot connect sharply with her leg.

  Down went the temperature again, and Jack walked over to her desk. ‘Yes, Ellie, I do,’ he said, bending down so that his face was level with hers, ‘but the thing is, you see, I pay you to be good on paper. Not to show your verbal brilliance by being sarcastic when you’re not happy with the jobs you get.’ He straightened up. ‘And you know what? That little habit you have of always wanting to have the last word? I don’t pay you for that either.’

  Ellie bit down on her anger as Jack started to move out of the room. Reprimanding her like that in front of Lesley wasn’t on. She waited until he had reached the doorway before saying softly, ‘Are you sure that I always have to have the last word?’

  Jack came to an abrupt halt and Ellie received another sneaky kick from Lesley.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Jack said without turning round. His tone was clipped and mean.

  Ellie said nothing and Jack started to move again.

  Ellie coughed.

  Jack stopped walking.

  Ellie kept quiet again and saw Jack’s shoulders rise and fall rapidly before he left the room.

  One, two, three.

  ‘OK,’ she shouted. ‘Perhaps you have a point, Jack. I do always have to have the last word.’

  There was a muffled noise, which may or may not have been Jack swearing, and then Lesley jumped up and raced to the door. She scanned the corridor before returning to her seat.

  ‘You’re lucky, he’s gone,’ she said, ‘but, Jeez, Ellie, he looked really angry. Really hacked off with you. What are you doing?’

  ‘I just don’t like the way he dumped that Jubbitt & Jubbitt job on us.’

  ‘Well, you made it seem like you were making fun of him, as if you’re kicking against him being in charge.’ Lesley selected a pencil from her pot. ‘If you’re not careful, you’re going to make it seem like you’re on Gavin’s side.’

  ‘As if.’

  ‘That’s what it could look like. You’ve already had two run-ins with Jack, haven’t you? There’s no way you’re going to win.’

  ‘I’m not trying to win. I’m simply standing up for myself.’

  ‘Well, it’s not really working, is it? Seems to me that he’s proving a point by giving us the Jubbitt & Jubbitt brochure, and if you don’t mind, I could do without you annoying him any more since I’m the one who now has to photograph the pug-ugly Jubbitt & Jubbitt team. Again.’ She picked up the brochure and the brief and started to read them.

  Later on Ellie apologised to Lesley.

  ‘I’m being an idiot. I’ll make a real effort not to stir Jack up again.’

  Trouble was, even as she was saying it, a part of her knew she didn’t mean it. There were bound to be further fights; how could she avoid them when Jack thought he could walk into the agency and pulverise everything in his path?

  Three days later Ellie trailed up the road and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Half past pigging seven and she’d been discussing the position of full stops and semicolons with Jubbitt Junior for the last two hours.

  Jubbitt Junior? That was a joke: he was sixty if he was a day.

  Some time ago he had discovered that Ellie had an English degree and had been beside himself with joy. Now there was nothing he liked better than to show her how her grasp of English was, in fact, inferior to his own.

  ‘I’m a mere solicitor, Eleanor,’ he would begin, and then point out what grammatical murders she had committed.

  No matter how many times she tried to explain that she was writing selling copy and not an essay, he ignored her. Pulling his chair up close to hers, he would go through her copy with a red pen, destroying anything that was punchy, annihilating sentences starting with ‘and’ or ‘but’ and adding clauses, sub-clauses and extra paragraphs. And all the while taking every opportunity he could to touch her knee or her thigh. No amount of glaring on her part seemed to deter him, and Ellie was kicking herself yet again for letting him get away with it. She’d practised in her head over and over the little speech about respecting her personal space but always lost her nerve at the last minute. The man was a personal friend of Gerald Wiseman, one of the directors, and she wasn’t ready to commit professional suicide yet.

  Ellie dragged her feet and looked around her morosely. Jubbitt & Jubbitt’s offices were in Epping, right at the end of the Central Line, and she’d got so fed up with the sweaty, packed Tube journey back into town after the meeting that she’d come up for air at Marble Arch. Even up here it felt pretty stale and muggy. Spring had arrived, but today it felt like there was a thunderstorm coming.

  People barged into her as she moved along Oxford Street. The pavements were dirty. London didn’t look so great this evening.

  She’d been ravenous after the meeting and had just downed a chocolate brownie and a latte, some of which she’d spilled down her jumper. She picked at the stain with a nail and felt very, very tired. Ruddy Jack Wolfe; it was his fault she was trapped in the life-sapping Jubbitt & Jubbitt brochure. All because of one innocent ‘girlfriends’ comment.

  She decided to cut away from the crowds still choking Oxford Street and head down a quieter side road. She had a long journey home ahead of her and only the wilted contents of her fridge to welcome her when she got there. No Sam to help her poke fun at Jubbitt Junior. If she was really lucky, Edith would turn up for some X-rated Scrabble.

  She trudged on and then saw something that made her stop abruptly and nip into a doorway. There was Jack; Jack in a beautiful charcoal-grey suit with a tall, reed-like woman in a black dress. An aura of glamour hung about them and the woman’s blonde hair moved seductively in the slight breeze. Ellie recognised her as Leonora Pritchard, daughter of the sushi king. Feeling tired and dishevelled as she did, Ellie had no wish to bump into this golden couple and was about to retrace her steps back on to Oxford Street when she slowed down. Then she turned round and started to walk, with great determination, towards them.

  Jack had got himself into a bit of a tricky situation. He’d made the mistake of calling Leonora ‘Sophie’ for a second time and she had stalked out of the restaurant in a huge sulk. People passed by and looked at them as they stood on the pavement and he tried to smooth Leonora’s ruffled feathers. He was hungry and thirsty and this wasn’t how he wanted to spend his evening. His plans for good food, good wine and a good shag were rapidly disappearing.

  ‘That’s not the first time you’ve called me Sophie this evening. Who the hell is she?’ Leonora’s mouth formed itself into an ugly line.

  Jack decided that if he was going to lie, he’d have a go at a big one, just for the hell of it. Should be easy enough with Leonora: although she had many impressive features, her brain wasn’t o
ne of them.

  He shot her a wide smile that made his eyes twinkle. ‘Come on, Leonora, you know who Sophie is. She’s one of my sisters.’

  Jack saw Leonora’s gaze hold his and then flick to his mouth. ‘I thought they were called something like Grace and Louise. Or was it Laura?’ Her tone was slightly less sulky.

  He moved his hand gently to touch her arm, following up on his hunch that she was willing to be convinced.

  ‘Clever you,’ he said in his best low and husky voice. ‘You had the first name right – one is called Grace. But the other one is Sophie. And it’s her birthday soon and I’ve been thinking what to buy her, so she’s been on my mind and her name slipped out.’ As he talked, he moved his hand very gently to Leonora’s waist.

  ‘Hmm, well, I suppose you know your own sister’s name,’ Leonora said peevishly, but Jack saw her wet her lips a little with her tongue. He was nearly there.

  He pressed home his advantage by leaning forward and kissing her gently on her cheek. ‘Come on, honey, I hate it when you’re cross with me. Come back inside and let’s have some champagne.’ He gave her a tender look and then kissed her hungrily on the mouth, feeling her relax into him.

  ‘OK, Jack,’ she said, pulling away from him, ‘I forgive you. This time.’

  Jack chuckled at his own ability to turn the situation around. Sometimes this was too frigging easy. He took the now smiling Leonora by the arm and they were about to re-enter the restaurant when he spotted Ellie walking towards them.

  Despite her rumpled and stained appearance, she had a strange, triumphant look on her face, and Jack suddenly felt queasy.

  ‘Hello, Jack,’ she said, and then turned to Leonora with her hand outstretched. ‘You must be Jack’s new girlfriend, Sophie. I’ve heard so much about you.’

  Seconds later Leonora was stalking racehorse-like down the road and Jack was rubbing his slapped face. Ellie opened her eyes wide and met Jack’s glower with a glittering, green look of her own.

  ‘Have a nice evening, Jack,’ she said, and then pushed past him and was gone.