Christmas at Carrington’s (12 page)

‘Genius, Eddie. Well done,’ I cheer, feeling relieved that my bit is over. I’m made up for him. ‘Are you OK?’ He has actual tears in his eyes and I’ve never seen Eddie cry before. Never.

‘Oh it’s nothing. Stupid queen,’ he says, quickly brushing the tears away with the back of his hand before topping up his glass with more buck’s fizz.

‘Wow. Think I’d better call Claire, first thing tomorrow.’ Sam smiles. ‘A star is born! Don’t forget us two when you’re lounging by an infinity pool somewhere exotic with your pool boy bringing you piña colada spritzers.’ She gives him a nudge with her foot.

‘
Oooh
yes
, now wouldn’t that be fabulous? Eddie says, perking up. ‘Say it again,’ he insists, pulling his mirror out to preen some more, and we all laugh.

Turning back to the TV, my smile instantly freezes. Tom is on the screen. He’s wearing the midnight blue Mr Carrington tuxedo, which frames a crisp white shirt, the collar of which is undone to reveal a teaser of his black-curly-haired and very firm tanned chest that has just the right hint of sheen. His dark curly hair is gelled back and he has a shadow of stubble on his chin. His cheeky smile is in place and his eyes are twinkling. My stomach flips and my pulse quickens; he looks utterly gorgeous, as always, and all my doubts about him melt in an instance. It’s as if everything that’s happened between us is irrelevant, silly and inconsequential. I just want to touch him and feel his arms around me, talk to him, share a joke, inhale his delicious chocolatey scent and let him tickle me all over. Oh God, I miss him so much. And I don’t think I realised just how much, until now. Silence follows.

‘Cor! He scrubs up well.’ It’s Eddie who breaks the moment. Sam squeezes my hand tighter as we watch Tom’s scene unfold. He’s being shown around the actual House of Dior! Oh my God. I’m riveted to the screen. I’d love to go there. The bags are divine, and now he’s being shown the exquisite Granville in cruise blue, named after the fashion designer’s home town. I wonder if this means we’ll be stocking Dior bags – my pulse races at the prospect.

The camera follows Tom into a waiting car and we see him being shown the sights of Paris: iconic Métro signs, the Eiffel Tower, of course, the Moulin Rouge with its famous red windmill on the roof. The opulent Pont Alexandre III bridge with gold statues over a tree-lined River Seine, with bobbing houseboats at the water’s edge. Past cobbled narrow alleyways opening out into squares full of chic cafés with striped awnings and seats outside, mingled in with buckets of glorious multicoloured blooms from the many flower shops. Oh, I so wish I was there with him to share a croissant and drink espresso. It looks glorious and really romantic.

Tom arrives at a studio where he’s about to meet a jewellery designer, when the ad break starts.

‘Top-up,’ I say to Eddie, hoping neither of them notices my trembling hands. It’s incredible the effect Tom has on me. And then a thought pops into my head – I wonder if he misses me, I wonder if he’s watching the show. I know it probably isn’t broadcast in Paris, but he could be watching online. I hope he is, then he’ll have seen me looking my best – with the big hair and lovely outfit, and not the ladder bit, thankfully. And I’m not bothered about Zara saying I should have given the woman a discount, Tom knows that isn’t Carrington’s policy, and he’s the boss, not Zara, despite what she may think.

We’ve all been to the bathroom and topped up our drinks when the show comes back on. And I freeze. With the glass halfway to my mouth, which is hanging open, a horrible hot sensation trickles right through me. I place the glass down and hold my breath. There, on the TV screen in my shoebox lounge, is Tom, laughing and looking utterly beautiful in a white shirt and brown leather riding boots over tight white jodhpurs. He’s on a moonlit sandy beach under a starry night sky, riding bareback on a fiery steed, just like a hero in that Bonnie Tyler song … which incidentally is bellowing out in the background. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s an exquisite, olive-skinned, barefoot woman in a flimsy flowing gypsy dress that’s ridden up to show off her toned thighs – her arms are wrapped around his back and her long luscious dark hair is splaying all around them.
But he’s supposed to be in Paris?
Last I heard, they didn’t have beaches in Paris.

As if reading my mind, the voiceover guy explains, ‘Mr Carrington is enjoying a rare moment of R&R on the stunning shoreline along the French island of Corsica.’ He then introduces the goddess as Valentina Fernandes – even her name is romantic and exotic sounding. She’s a jewellery designer. I swallow hard and blink a few times on realising that I’m actually staring at the screen. Transfixed.

‘Isn’t she the one who designed the jewellery collection that you palmed off on that dodgy Russian customer? You know, the one who wanted you to launder his dirty money by sending merch he’d purchased to Moscow? He had a limp and a penchant for high-end handbags,’ Eddie says, flaring his nostrils.

‘Don’t remind me,’ I say, shuddering at the memory. ‘And yes. Her costume jewellery is hideous. So garish that Mrs Godfrey from the WI complained of a headache when she caught a glimpse of it under the spotlights.’ But what’s she doing in Corsica? And with Tom! I can’t help wondering if this is the reason he was so quick to suggest we call it a day. Maybe he had already set his sights on her, knew they’d be meeting up as part of the show and wanted to be single so he could get it on with her. The thought lingers.

‘Oh Georgie, please don’t get upset,’ Sam says. ‘We don’t know who she is, I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.’ And I know she’s just trying to soften the blow. The man of my dreams, or so I thought, is cavorting with probably the most beautiful woman in the world. If it was Nathan up there on the screen with Valentina, then I guarantee Sam would devastated too.

‘That’s right. Anyway, we don’t even know that he’s sleeping with this bird who makes trashy jewellery for nobody to buy.’ Sam nudges Eddie hard and flashes a ‘shut up’ look. ‘This footage of them together could just be scripted reality.’ Eddie sniffs and crosses his arms, as if he knows all about it. Since when did he become an expert?

‘What do you mean?’

‘A showmance!’ Eddie says, and my forehead creases. ‘Set up purely to entertain the viewers. KCTV could have staged the scenes to imply something else entirely, just like they did with you and your Beyoncé moment in the pilot.’ I give him a blank face. ‘The bottom wriggle, the Anya bag?’ he says, as a reminder. ‘All fabricated, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. I do remember – I just had been trying to block it out of my mind. So you think that’s what’s going on?’

‘It’s entirely possible,’ Sam joins in, ‘and I really didn’t think Tom was like that. He didn’t strike me as a player at all. Nathan has always said that he’s a true gentleman. Admittedly, he doesn’t know him that well – only from the squash club, but still … ’

‘Then why hasn’t he bothered to take any of my calls? And who was that woman who answered? I bet it was her, the one on the horse.’

‘You don’t know that. Try not to jump to conclusions,’ she says.

‘I’m trying. I’m trying really hard here, but it doesn’t look very good, does it?’ My heart sinks all over again.

‘Well I guess not,’ Eddie says. ‘But don’t be down. Look at your options. What about James? He’s here and you know he still holds a candle for you. I’m sure of it, I’ve seen the way he looks at you,’ he adds.

‘Don’t be daft. James is a good friend, nothing more. Besides, I can’t just flit from one man to the next,’ I snap angrily, quickly followed by, ‘Look, I’m sorry. This has really got to me, I didn’t mean to—’

‘We know, honey.’ Sam rubs my arm and gives Eddie a look. ‘But seriously, maybe Eddie has a point. Why shouldn’t you date someone else? If Tom is off gallivanting with the jewellery designer, then that means you’re a free agent too, surely. If it’s good enough for him … ’ Her voice trails off, and I ponder on what she’s saying. Maybe she has a point, why should I moon over him when he’s clearly having such a fabulous time without me?

‘Why don’t we press on and watch the ending? Only five minutes left,’ Eddie says to change the subject. ‘No need for hasty decisions.’

I finish the last of my buck’s fizz and wiggle further down into the beanbag. My head feels as though it might explode with all these developments. I try to focus on the TV screen. The voiceover guy is talking again now. The three of us watch in silence as snippets of what’s coming up in next week’s show appear. And, oh God, I thought it was too good to be true – there’s a clip of me hurling the crocodile skin bag into the Christmas tree next to the Lulu Guinness display. And they’ve done something to the film – speeded it up, and now keep showing the bag spinning into the tree, over and over, with comic-book-style bubbles flashing onto the screen with words like ‘pow’ and ‘thwack’ inside. And I knew I wasn’t mistaken – you can actually hear someone sniggering loudly in the background. Great.

Now they’re showing a clip of Tom in the boardroom at Hermès, where the table is swathed in a selection of exquisite silk scarfs. The voiceover guy is talking again. ‘Will Mr Carrington find love on the sensual sandy shores of Corsica?’ Cue another clip of him and Valentina on the horse. My stomach tightens again. ‘Or will Tom rekindle his romance with an old flame? Don’t miss next week’s episode to find out …’

Whaaaat?

Old flame …

It’s Zara! I knew it. And she’s snuggled up in a chocolate-brown fur coat looking stunning in a horse-drawn carriage in a twinkling, snowy Central Park. New York. Guess that’s Tom’s next stop then; unless he’s there already. Eddie did say they were filming all his scenes upfront. And then it’s confirmed. My heart sinks. Tom is back on the screen, with his boyish smile in place. He looks relaxed and laidback, just like he did on our last date, and I so wish he was here, tickling and teasing me. Messing around together just like we used to. He shares a joke with a couple of fit-looking American guys who look as if they’ve just stepped out of an episode of
Revenge
. They’re watching a giant Norwegian spruce Christmas tree being hoisted up into position at the Rockefeller Center. The film cuts to another scene, where the tree is decorated now, and it’s breathtaking. With a beautiful sparkly Swarovski star at the top and row upon row of gorgeous rainbow lights glittering in the dark evening sky, it’s magical. The Americans sure know how to celebrate the holidays. And I’ve always wanted to go to New York.

Sam grabs the remote control and quickly presses a button to make the screen go black, before she’s off the sofa and giving me a hug.

‘I think we’ve seen enough,’ she says, squeezing me tight.

‘Well, that settles it then. If
Mr Carrington
can go on dream dates and hook up with exes, then why shouldn’t you?’ Eddie huffs indignantly, before putting his arms around me as well to make a group hug. He pulls back to look me in the eye and Sam does too. ‘Let him see you whooping it up for a change.’

Sam nods in agreement.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, find yourself another man and flaunt him honey. F-L-A-U-N-T! It’s the only way.’ Eddie states.

‘Like I said before Eddie, that’s not my style – I’m not just going to flit between Tom and James. Besides, James is seeing someone.’

‘No he isn’t, that’s old news – Vicky is back with her ex. Flashing an engagement ring around too, she was, in the staff canteen just the other day.’

‘That’s nice,’ I murmur, feeling like a sad old sack all of a sudden. Vicky is years younger than I am. And Sam’s married, Eddie is settled down, and now even Dad seems to have found himself someone new. What’s wrong with me that I can’t even find a decent steady boyfriend and keep hold of him?

‘Anyway, it doesn’t have to be James if you don’t want to go there again. It can be anyone. Think of the end-of-show wrap party – you really don’t want to turn up all on your Bridget Jones, not when Tom might have the Brazilian goddess in tow, or worse still, that man-stealer, Zara!’ Eddie purses his lips. ‘I knew she was up to no good.’

I down the last of my drink and press my fingernails into the palm of my hand to stem the tears that are threatening, knowing that Zara isn’t really a ‘man–stealer’ as Eddie says. Tom has a mind of his own; he must have at least wanted to be ‘stolen,’ to be with someone else, I can’t imagine she forced him to be with her against his will. So, it really looks like we’re over, then. Properly over. I don’t believe it. I had been holding out for it to be just a horrible misunderstanding, heat of the moment brought about circumstance, and giving him the benefit of the doubt when he didn’t take my calls – telling myself he was just busy working and travelling. No time to himself. But I guess, deep down, I knew it was a fabrication. He wanted to call it a day, and now he’s moved on – or, more accurately, backwards … to his childhood sweetheart, with a beautiful Brazilian goddess on the side.

It’s Thursday and Annie is at the laser clinic, so I’m here behind the counter on my own and I can’t stop thinking about last night’s show. After Sam and Eddie left, I watched it again. And again. And again. I’m obsessed! I searched for clues to the seriousness of their relationship – scanning Tom’s face; I even freeze-framed a couple of shots of them on the horse just to see the look in Tom’s eyes – but I really can’t be sure if he’s into her or not. It’s driving me insane. And if he is, then why is Zara in New York? Tom must have invited her, or at least know she’s there; he could have put a stop to it, but he hasn’t, so he’s obviously fine with it. Happy about it, most likely. They could have been planning it for weeks – no wonder she was offish with me in his office … She already had her sights on him and didn’t want me hanging around, getting in her way. And then it dawns on me! I can’t believe I didn’t see it – of course, it all makes sense now, that’s why he was so quick to call it a day, to make way for Zara! I just made it easier for him by being so cross about my embarrassing debut on TV. I take a deep breath in a desperate attempt to stop my mind from spinning out of control with all the horrible possibilities.

And I feel like I’m in a goldfish bowl, with everyone watching me. There was a group of girls huddled by the staff entrance this morning when I arrived at work, one of them asked for my autograph and wanted to know a) where my new boots were from. She didn’t look impressed when I said River Island, and that they were a bargain in last winter’s sale, and b) is it true that Eddie is my GBF? And if so, then I’m the luckiest girl alive, apparently, and can I tell him that she’s set up a fan page for him on Facebook, and it already has four hundred and ninety-three ‘Likes’.

When I eventually made it to the staff room and changed the fleece-lined boots for my usual New Look heels, I overheard someone behind the lockers giggling about the bookmaker’s over the road from Carrington’s. Apparently, they’re taking bets on who Mr Carrington, aka Tom, will turn up with at the end-of-show wrap party – Valentina or Zara. No mention of me! Of course, they stopped talking when they realised I was there. I feel like such a fool, with people whispering and skulking around me.

I’m rearranging the Michael Kors display when Eddie appears; poking his head through the back of the open shelf unit, in between an oversized clutch and a signature monogrammed tote.

‘Cheer up, dollface. I have news,’ he says, quickly repositioning the bags back into place before darting around to stand opposite me.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re going on a date! It’s all organised.’ Eddie looks charged.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I head back to my counter and start shoving cocktail rings into their rightful slots in the tray – ‘
I wish the customers wouldn’t mess around with them
,’ I mutter angrily to myself, then suddenly feel paranoid that KCTV might have a lip reader watching me. You never know. I remember the row of little TV monitors in Tom’s office. It’s like being in a giant bubble, or a series of
Big Brother
without the audition or psychiatric evaluation first.

‘Oh don’t be like that, there’s nothing wrong with diving straight back into the dating pool to get you over a messy split.’

‘Do you have to sound like a trashy tabloid? Besides, I might not want to get “over a messy split”, as you so dramatically put it.’ I stop sorting the rings to look him in the eye.

‘Why on earth not?’

‘Because … well, just because,’ I say, feeling confused and unsure. I don’t really know what to think any more. I’ve got so many things whizzing around inside my head. ‘Anyway, I can’t talk now, customers to serve.’ I nod towards a loved-up couple, holding hands and sharing a joke, as they browse through the purses. A dart of longing shoots through me; they look so cosy and happy in love, and looking forward to a romantic Christmas together. And I still can’t believe that that was me, too, not so very long ago.

‘OK. But you must come and see me later. It’s vital.’ Eddie gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and heads towards the staff lift.

‘Maybe,’ I call out, as I walk towards the couple.

Later, on my lunch break, I push open the door to the anteroom outside Tom’s office. Eddie isn’t at his desk, but he can’t be far away, as Pussy is lying on her bed under the desk, dressed up in a Little Bo-Peep outfit. I decide to wait. She stretches majestically and then nuzzles my leg before spinning in a circle on seeing me. I scoop her up and snuggle in, grateful for a cuddle.

I’m hovering by the Christmas tree when I hear voices in Tom’s office. The door is ajar. I sidle closer and peep through the gap. Kelly is sitting at Tom’s desk, as if she owns the place – she even has her jingle-jangly feet up next to a laptop in front of her. I think she must be on a Skype call as there’s a female voice coming from the laptop, saying something about a hotel with underground parking. I wonder if Kelly is lining up her next series. Perhaps when she’s done with Carrington’s, she plans on filming in a hotel. But just as I lean in closer, the door slams shut. I instinctively clutch Pussy to me and jump back before ducking behind the tree out of sight, wishing my cheeks would stop burning. How embarrassing if Kelly actually caught me snooping. I wonder if she would insist on me being sacked, just like those people from the cruise ship in her last series.

‘Oh there you are.’ Eddie comes into the anteroom, bottom first, pushing the door open, and carrying a plate with two enormous cream horns on. ‘Hope you’re hungry. I’ve been all over looking for you. That girl from Lingerie, the one who’s covering your section, said you were in Sam’s café, but then Sam said she hadn’t even seen you today,’ he puffs excessively, as if he’s just run a half-marathon. ‘Here, pull up a chair and tuck in, this will cheer you up. Everyone loves a horn.’ He sniggers and gestures to the cakes. After placing Pussy back in her bed, I take one of the cakes and lick the gooey cream before sitting down opposite his desk.

‘Mmm, thanks,’ I say, biting off the bottom of the cake, savouring the sweet sensation on my tongue. ‘Sooo, why do you want to see me? And before you start, I’m not going on a blind date.’

‘But you must, it’s all arranged, and besides, it won’t be a “blind date” as such.’ He scoops some cream onto his fingertip for Pussy, who laps it up and then works off the sugar rush by hurtling around his office, the hem of her Little Bo-Peep dress flapping wildly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘
Weell
.’ His eyes dart from side to side. ‘It will be with me!’ he says triumphantly.

‘Don’t be silly.’ I crease my forehead.

‘That’s right. And … ’ He looks shifty now.

‘Who?’ I give him a nudge with my foot.

‘An actor.’

‘Nooo!’ I cross my legs and lean back in the chair. I know where this is leading – straight to YouTube.

‘But it’s all part of the show. Hannah was chatting about it and, well, Kelly is insistent. And we don’t want to upset her now, do we? She’s going to make us stars, plus you’d be doing me a massive favour.’

‘How come?’

‘I’m going to propose to Ciaran … on camera!’

‘Wow!
Really?
How romantic. But will Ciaran like that?’ I ask, knowing how he hates the limelight, in complete contrast to Eddie.

‘Absolutely. And he’s definitely going to say yes,’ Eddie states, swinging one leg over the other and looking very pleased with himself.

‘He is? But how do you know?’ I frown.

‘We’ve talked it all through – planned it out, if you like,’ he says, nonchalantly.

‘Doesn’t sound as romantic now.’ I polish off the last of my cream horn. ‘And isn’t Ciaran already married?’ I ask, remembering his disastrous wedding day to Tina. She used to work here in the cash office, and was after Ciaran’s money. He married her because he wanted to ‘fit in’ and, well, it’s a long story, but anyway, he’s come out now and is definitely gay and definitely committed to Eddie, even if the majority of his devout Irish Roman Catholic family refuse to talk to him any more.

‘Oh, but it totally is. We’ve been thinking about it ever since Ciaran’s annulment came through, and I guess when you meet your one, you just know … ’ I glance away and fiddle with my big hair. ‘Oops, so sorry, lover. Didn’t mean to rub salt in the wound.’ Eddie darts out from behind his desk to give me a hug.

‘Don’t be, I’m made up for you, really.’ I manage a wry smile.

‘Fabulous. And the most amazing bit of all – KCTV are going to film the wedding and pay for it all, natch. They’re talking Vegas
babeeee
. I can just imagine it all now, the Bellagio Hotel fountain and fireworks as a backdrop with a rodeo of topless cowboys, ooh … it’s going to be such a treat; maybe Liza Minnelli will swing by and belt out a show tune for us.’ He claps his hands together. ‘You’ll be my best girl, won’t you darling?’

‘Err, yes. Guess so,’ I say, quickly followed by, ‘Sorry, I’d be honoured to.’ I don’t want to spoil his moment. It’s not his fault I’m a dating disaster.

‘So why the long face then?’

‘Ed, are you sure about this?’ I ask, wondering what KCTV will want in return, and what if they fiddle with the filming? Who knows what they might do?

‘Of course, why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Well, it just doesn’t seem … very special. It’s almost as if you’re only doing it for the show. You know, to be on telly. It won’t be private, and think of all the viewers watching.’ I’d much rather have a romantic, intimate ceremony with just close friends and Dad there to give me away. But then I guess everyone’s different. I allow myself a moment to fantasise before snapping back to reality, because with my relationship track record, I’m far more likely to end up a wizened old woman, all on my own.

‘Exactly! Such a fabulous opportunity. And Ciaran agrees – why have boring old Mulberry-On-Sea register office when we can have
OK!
magazine?’ He makes big eyes. ‘Kelly reckons we’ll easily get a six-page spread, and they’ll pay us thousands for exclusivity.’ He laughs, and I can’t resist smiling at how he has it all worked out. ‘Now, let me tell you about this actor. In fact, I think you’ve already met him—’

‘
Nooo
way,’ I cut in. ‘If it’s the Chloé bag guy, then definitely not.’

‘OK, OK, don’t shoot the messenger. Hannah did mention another guy – the sound bloke, big hair with big matching microphone apparently.
Oo-err
, wonder if that’s some kind of euphemism.’ Eddie smoothes an eyebrow and does kissy lips in my direction.

‘
Leo?
’

‘Yep, that’s him.’ I shake my head emphatically and Eddie’s shoulders droop, his bottom lip too. ‘Georgie, flower, why not? It’s not like Tom’s here to mind.’ I give him a look. ‘Sorry, only joking kiddo. Oh
purlease
do it. All you have to do is walk into a bar with him, to make the scene look more authentic. Kelly said it would be dull for the viewer if I’m just sitting there with Ciaran, when he’s not even part of the show. And this is my chance to be really famous – get a free, fabulous wedding to the love of my life. Kelly might not go for it otherwise, you know how she rates you as the real star of the show. And you never know, it could spark something off. Maybe Leo’s your one … ’ I flash him another look. ‘Your
other
one!’ he quickly adds, before nodding and smiling enthusiastically, almost maniacally.

‘It won’t spark something off, as you say. Anyway, Leo’s not my type.’ I wonder if I would have been better off flogging washing machines down in the basement after all. I make a mental note to check with Amy. On second thoughts, I don’t want to annoy Kelly and end up getting sacked or something, like those sailors did. Probably best to suck it up. I’ll just make sure I steer clear of ladders from now on and do everything I can to not look like an idiot during filming. Plus, I’m really looking forward to doing the magazine column. I went through the goody bag and there must have been over thirty items inside. And Hannah cornered me in the staff canteen earlier to say that one of Kelly’s VIP friends has invited me to a red carpet event in London – the opening of a new cocktail bar. I just have to turn up and make sure the paparazzi snap me. Then share a few cocktails with the owners inside and give a short glowing review to a journalist. I’ll be paid four thousand pounds – I nearly passed out by the help-yourself salad bar when she told me that. Anyway, it’s all very exciting – but if I don’t do what Kelly wants, then that would all disappear in an instance.

‘Might make Tom wake up … ’ Eddie adds slowly, in a perky, persuasive voice, and changing tack now. ‘Nothing like another man on the scene to make you want someone and, trust me, honey, I should know.’ Eddie folds his arms and tilts his head to one side.

‘Hmm, let me ponder,’ I say, taking it all in. I think of the betting shop over the road. Valentina or Zara! And with only six weeks until the wrap party on Christmas Eve, I need to find a date – if only to save face. I couldn’t bear it if Tom walked in with Zara all over him, or Valentina or, worst still, both. Or all three of them crammed onto a horse with Bonnie belting out a power ballad in the background. And nothing would surprise me any more in this crazy, real-but-made-up world, I’ve found myself living in.