Читать книгу Carrington’s at Christmas: The Complete Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s, Ice Creams at Carrington’s - Alexandra Brown, Lindsey Kelk - Страница 17

I’m at the counter of Sam’s café when I feel an arm around my shoulders.

‘Mine’s a black coffee and one of those Valentine cakes.’ It’s Eddie, and he’s pointing to a luscious lemon cupcake with an enormous sparkly silver meringue peak on top, and he looks exactly how I feel.

‘God, I feel terrible,’ he moans as I add his order to mine (tea and my fave, the delicious red velvet) before handing over my staff discount card. ‘And so would you if you’d been beavering away for that old hag, Maxine,’ Eddie snorts. ‘I reckon she must be at least forty.’ He pulls a face and I laugh.

‘Slight exaggeration. I’d put her at thirty tops.’

‘Oh, don’t be fooled by all that work,’ he says, circling an index finger around his face. ‘Bucket loads of filler. And she’s a total femme fatale too, heard her purring like a phone sex worker into her BlackBerry the other day. Vom! And this morning she turned up in a fur coat and a skimpy playsuit … that’s all she had on underneath.’ He flares his nostrils. ‘And I swear she smelt of SEX!’

‘Eddie! Do you mind? I haven’t even had breakfast yet.’ He purses his lips and runs a finger over his hair.

‘Weell, I pity the poor man she bedded last night, I imagine he’s lying exhausted somewhere, covered in talon tracks and whimpering for mercy.’ We both laugh.

‘Come on. Let’s get a booth before they all go,’ he sniffs, nudging me with his elbow.

Taking his coffee and cake, Eddie flounces over to the far corner of the café. It’s the best spot for chatting and keeping an eye on the door. He flings his jacket down.

I follow Eddie’s lead and sit down next to him.

‘You’ve got your meeting with the stick insect at eleven, haven’t you?’ Eddie says, tipping a sachet of sugar into his coffee and stirring it vigorously.

‘Yep, can’t wait.’ I pull a face and for a moment I contemplate telling him about the conversation with Tom in the club, but decide not to. I want to see what Maxine has to say first.

‘Oh, it’ll be fine. Bound to be. I’ve not seen or heard anything about redundancies. Besides, there’s no way The Heff will let her get rid of our best sales assistant,’ he says, echoing Sam’s words. He nudges me playfully across the table.

‘But what if it comes out about Dad?’ I ask, dropping my voice.

‘But why would it? You don’t even use the same surname as him. Don’t worry so much, sugar plum.’

‘Well, you know how it is, especially in this new security-obsessed climate. It’s not like it was when I was starting out. What if Maxine decides to drag Carrington’s into the modern age and we have to go through stringent checks? You know Polly who used to work here in Celebrity Fragrances?’ Eddie nods. ‘I bumped into her the other day in Tesco on the industrial estate and she works in one of the big department stores up in London now. They did all sorts of security checks on her before they let her anywhere near the high-value goods. Even then they wanted to know about her immediate family too and I couldn’t bear everyone knowing about Dad’s mistakes and judging me with a suspicious eye. The shame of it.’ I shudder.

‘Honestly, you’ll be fine. I’m sure as hell not going to tell anyone.’

It’s nearly nine and I want to sort out the new Marc Jacobs display before we open.

‘I have to go, see you later,’ I say, giving Eddie a hug.

‘OK, sweetness. And good luck with the meeting.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, waving at Sam as she ducks her head out of the kitchen on my way past.

Later on, I’m serving a pretty, red-haired woman with twin baby girls asleep in a fuchsia-pink double pram.

‘Thank you. How would you like to pay?’ I say.

‘Card please.’ I tap out the price, £59.99, for a gorgeous, sparkly Biba purse, and she enters her pin number. ‘My treat for three months of sleepless nights,’ she says, smiling and glancing at the twins.

‘Ahh, they’re adorable,’ I say, handing her the carrier bag and sneaking a peek at the snuggly bundles with their fuzzy strawberry blonde hair and tiny rosebud lips.

‘You wouldn’t think so at three in the morning when one of them starts howling and sets the other one off.’

‘Oh dear,’ I smile diplomatically, handing her the receipt and card.

‘Thanks, love. I’m off to the café upstairs now for a nice cup of coffee and a cake while these two are still snoozing.’ She grins and loops the bag over the handle of the pram.

‘Well, you enjoy and I highly recommend the new pinkberry Valentine cake. Divine.’

‘Sounds like just the thing. See you next time.’ And she wheels the pram off towards the lift.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Walter’s wife, Camille, coming through the revolving door. Instinctively, I straighten the ring tray and busy myself with plumping a couple of bags. I catch Annie’s eye and nod in Camille’s direction. A breathtakingly beautiful older woman; she glides elegantly across the floor, patting her ice-blonde chignon as she heads towards my section.

‘My dear, how are you today?’ Camille arrives at my counter.

‘Very well, thank you,’ I say, politely. Camille shakes my hand and I have to mentally resist the urge to curtsey. A puff of Hermès floats around her; clad head-to-toe in Chanel, she really is something.

‘Splendid. I’m off to New York for Fashion Week and wondered if you’d be kind enough to select some luggage for me.’ She whips off her gloves and slips them into a vintage black Chanel bag.

‘Of course, we’d be delighted to,’ I say, beckoning Annie over.

‘Something understated dear, not those gaudy bright colours.’ Camille glances at a wheelie case in fluorescent lime green with a white splash print pattern.

‘Leave it to me. I think we have just the right collection for you,’ I say, swiftly retrieving a gorgeous, buttery, red leather vanity case from behind the counter. I flip open the lid to reveal the exquisite delicate pink silk interior and Camille twitches an immaculately groomed eyebrow in approval. ‘It arrived just this morning from Paris.’ Camille runs an expensively manicured finger over the handle.

‘Delightful. And rather appropriate in the Valentine red, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Absolutely. Especially with Fashion Week ending on the fourteenth February this year,’ I say, having read all about it in Grazia magazine.

‘That’s settled then. I’ll need the whole set and if you could organise the monogram too.’

‘It will be my pleasure.’ I glow.

‘Thank you. I’ll call by on my way back from the salon. Knew I could count on you, my dear.’ She pats my arm before gliding off towards the escalator.

After unpacking the luggage collection and calling Freddie at the engravers on Birtle Street, I go through everything with Annie, making sure she knows exactly what to say and do if I’m still in the meeting when Camille returns. I duck into the cupboard behind my counter to straighten my clothes and bouf up my hair. Grabbing my bag, I head off to the staff lift.

‘Chop chop.’ It’s Tina, and she has her crackle-manicured fingers around the cage door and a cross look on her face. ‘Where are you off to?’ she demands.

‘To see Maxine,’ I say, though it’s obviously none of her business.

‘Ooh, well you don’t want to be late then. Do you?’ she says.

‘No, of course not. Thanks for waiting for me,’ I say, feeling a little uneasy as I step into the lift and wrench the cage door closed.

‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you.’

‘You have?’ I say, warily.

‘Yes, it’s about your sales sheet. Half the time I can’t read your writing so if I’m to pay your commission correctly then you need to tidy it up,’ she says, smugly, like the money comes out of her own actual purse. And she’s only the blooming record keeper.

‘Fine, I’ll try harder,’ I say, feebly masking the sarcasm from my voice.

‘Good.’ She pauses. ‘And tell Annie too. That girl is practically illiterate, I know she’s half Traveller, but honestly, who spells Juicy Couture as Juicy K-A-T-O-O-R?’ I open my mouth to defend Annie, but Tina carries on. ‘Look Georgie, I’m sorry about snapping at you the other day. Don’t know what came over me.’ She smooths an imaginary stray hair from her swishy high ponytail that’s scraped back so tightly her face looks as though it might burst at any moment.

‘No worries, let’s just forget about it shall we? So, have you set a date for the wedding yet?’ I say, swiftly moving on to a topic that I know she’ll love.

‘Oh yes. It’s going to be on Valentine’s Day. Only four weeks to go!’ She claps her hands together. ‘And it’s just perfect that February the fourteenth falls on a Sunday this year so everyone can come, and of course it will be really romantic, with loads of balloons and hearts and swans. And there might even be a pink unicorn!’ Her eyes widen and my mind boggles. ‘I found a place that will spray-paint one of those dinky little horses, and then I’ll get someone to strap a horn to its head, plastic of course, I don’t want those animal rights freaks coming after me. It’s going to be a-mazing. Just like a fairytale. Of course, you’re invited, but only to the evening reception. You don’t mind do you?’ I shake my head as if on autopilot. ‘It’s just that I don’t think everyone will fit in otherwise,’ she adds.

‘Of course, I understand,’ I say, thinking how being home all alone suddenly seems so much more appealing now.

‘And you’ll need to bring a plus one. I’m not having any singletons, apart from Eddie, of course.’ It dawns on me … how the hell am I going to get a plus one at such short notice? Panic surges. I’ll be the only person there without a date in tow.

Tina purses her lips while I swallow hard and glare at the display that flashes a red five. Only one more floor to go, thankfully. The lift grinds to a halt, breaking the awkward silence, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief as I turn to leave. But she pipes up again.

‘And you will come to my hen do, won’t you?’ she smiles, her finger on the door hold button. ‘But don’t worry about trying to find someone to bring along. I have sooo many friends coming,’ she says. For a moment I’m speechless, but I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’s riled me, so I manage a grimace.

‘Thanks, sounds marvellous.’ I step out of the lift and, turning my back, mutter, ‘Can’t wait,’ under my breath, just as the lift starts moving again.

I make my way along the corridor towards the offices.

‘You OK? You look really stressed.’ Lauren’s head pops up over the enormous beechwood reception desk.

‘What? Oh yes sorry. It’s just other people, you know … annoying sometimes,’ I say, feeling flustered by Tina and the ridiculous competition she seems to have pulled me into. ‘How come you’re up here and not in the cash office?’

I notice that her eyes are swollen as if she’s been crying.

‘Oh, the new big boss wants me meeting and greeting. Talking of which, Maxine has insisted that I come and sit here all day. Said it looks more professional and that she doesn’t have time to keep coming to the door to get people herself. I have to run around after her constantly, meaning I can’t even get on with any of my real work. And now Tina’s told me that I’ve got to stay late to catch up,’ she sniffs. I shake my head. I bet she has, she’ll not want to miss an opportunity to exert her authority.

‘You poor thing. How’s Jack?’ I ask, remembering her baby.

‘He’s gorgeous, and he can just about walk now,’ she says, her eyes lighting up. ‘Thanks for asking, Georgie.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ I reply, thinking it must be hard for her being on her own and having to leave him with her mum all day. Then I remember the copy of Closer in the bottom of my bag. I quickly pull it out and hand it to Lauren. ‘Here, now don’t let her catch you with it though.’ With a quick pincer manoeuvre Lauren reaches over the desk and snatches the magazine, secreting it underneath the large appointment book in front of her. She grins up at me.

‘Down the corridor, in the room on the far right. She’s waiting for you. Oh, and good luck,’ she whispers in a much brighter voice, waving her flashing red heart pen after me.

‘Thanks Lauren,’ I call back to her, and make my way off down the corridor, hoping that I won’t need any luck. Please let me keep my job, Please let me keep my job, I say as a mantra, over and over inside my head, as I make my way along the long wood-panelled corridor.

I push open the door expecting to see Maxine, but she’s not here, and by the looks of it she’s got half of Home Interiors’ stock crammed inside her spacious office. There’s an oval polished wood table to the right of the room, while framed paintings that look expensive hang on the two walls cornering the table. There are two very large open glass cabinets containing various Swarovski crystal figurines that were definitely part of Chinaware’s display just a few weeks ago. I know, because I helped Mrs Grace dust them all. Nestled amongst the figurines are a couple of framed pictures of people that I presume are Maxine’s friends or family.

Slipping my handbag from my shoulder for fear of nudging one of the paintings from the wall, or worse still, crashing into the Swarovski showcase, I shuffle like a geisha over to the two black leather sofas that are positioned in a show-home style to look like a cosy seating area. Just as I’m sinking down into the soft leather, the door flings open and Maxine sashays across the room, just like the model in the Dior J’Adore advert. She’s got the leg movement down to a tee, making me wonder if she’s actually done professional modelling before.

‘See you’ve made yourself at home,’ she says, in a breathy American Deep South accent. Ahh, hence the pageant smile, I knew it! I bet she’s the former beauty queen of Alabama or somewhere. ‘Finally we meet. The infamous Georgina. Heard so much about you.’ Maxine extends her right hand towards me, not bothering to exert herself too much as I try to haul myself out of the cushions. I manage to scramble forward, jutting my hand towards her as I steady myself with the other. Her handshake is firm, so firm that my hand smarts from the crush. And what does she mean infamous? She walks over to her desk and gestures for me to follow.

I scuttle over, clutching my bag and notepad in my lap. My chair is really low so I have to peer upwards to look at her, like some obsequious minion, which I guess is the point. ‘Now let’s see. Georgina, bit of a mouthful isn’t it?’ she says, perching on the corner of her desk. She starts doing ankle circles with a black patent Loub-clad foot, and I see what Eddie means about the playsuit. ‘What about Gina? Yes that’s it, Gina, Gina, Gina,’ she says, each time in a different tone as if limbering up for an operatic performance. ‘Yes I like it,’ she adds, pronouncing it ‘Geee-na’, and slapping her hands together with glee. ‘You don’t mind do you?’

‘Err, well actually I prefer …’ I start, but her immaculately manicured hand whips up with such speed it causes her Agent Provocateur scent to catch in my throat. So I end up spluttering instead.

‘Oh dear, not ill are you? It’s very important to be fit in the retail industry. Very exhausting on the legs,’ she says, as if I don’t know that already. ‘You are fit, aren’t you Gina?’ she adds, smoothing a hand down over her bare thigh.

‘Err, yes,’ I manage.

‘Awesome, because we’ve got our work cut out over the next few months. This is going to be big. Huge,’ she says, whirling an immaculately manicured finger up in the air above her head like a cowboy with a lasso.

‘OK, so what does that mean?’ I have to know one way or the other. Maybe then I’ll be able to relax a bit, if I know what I’m dealing with. At least then I can face it head on.

‘Well, what do you think it means?’ she says, dazzling me with her pageant smile.

‘Well, I guess I want to know if my job is safe.’ There, I’ve said it. I sit back and listen to the blood pumping in my ears.

‘I can see why you might be worried about losing your job. Given the current financial climate and your family history … shall we say?’ She stops looking at me, and busies herself instead by circling her other ankle now. There’s an uncomfortable silence. I fidget in my chair.

‘How do you know about that?’ The words are barely audible and I can hear the panic rising in my voice.

‘Oh, someone mentioned it,’ she says, breezily. Oh my God! So who else knows? My cheeks flush and, as if reading my mind, she adds, ‘That’s it!’ as though it’s just popped into her head. ‘It was in your interview notes with something about it being your own personal business and not to mention it in case it upsets you. So I Googled it.’ James! Lovely kind James. I breathe a little sigh of relief, knowing I can probably trust him.

‘How is your father these days?’

‘Well, we don’t have much contact …’ I say slowly. ‘It was a long time ago,’ I add, tentatively. My mind is working overtime trying to fathom out where she is going with this.

‘Must have been hard though.’ I can feel my hands trembling so I push them underneath the sides of my thighs.

‘Yes it was,’ I mutter, looking at the floor and wishing I was anywhere but here.

‘I’m sure. Dreadful business. Losing everything like that. And then you being left all alone,’ she says, touching my arm briefly.

‘I lived with a foster family,’ I say, instantly hating myself for feeling a need to explain.

‘Oh dear, no other family then?’

‘Not really,’ I say quietly.

My only relatives, Dad’s brother and his family, were living in Dubai when Mum died, with ‘no space for an extra teenager’ they said. The memory is scalded onto my brain along with the clinical smell of the hospital as I cuddled and stroked Mum’s hair during the goodbyes. She’d been ill for so long … and I’d tried to look after her, even bunking off school on occasion, but it was the pneumonia that took her in the end. Her body, so weak with MS, just couldn’t fight it. A jolt of grief grabs me, and for a second tears sting in my eyes. She would have been celebrating her sixtieth birthday this year.

‘Well, good thinking on your part to use your mother’s maiden name,’ Maxine says. ‘Break from the past and all that …’

‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but where are you going with this?’

‘Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I trust nobody else knows, apart from James of course,’ she says, changing tack now. I shake my head, knowing Eddie would never breathe a word. ‘Good, because us girls have to stick together.’ She leans towards me in a conspiratorial way. ‘Just make sure everything else is in order, because in addition to revitalising the store, I’m going to attempt to modernise Carrington’s.’

‘What do you mean?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

‘Well, given that an exceptionally high volume of valuable items are handled on a daily basis, I’ve suggested HR pull their finger out and do proper checks on everyone, like other stores do. Credit checks and so on. I can’t believe they haven’t even bothered before now. I’ve already discovered there’s at least ten thousand pounds’ worth of shrinkage – stock unaccounted for in the last quarter alone.’

I knew it! I gulp and vow to get hold of my credit file. I’m going to have to get it sorted out, once and for all.

‘So I’m not going to lose my job then?’ And no sooner are the words out of my mouth, when I want to cram them back in.

‘There will be changes,’ she starts, and I brace myself. ‘There are way too many sections in this store that don’t make enough money. Every inch of floor space must earn its keep. So, I’ll be assessing the viability of each section and rationalising them into bigger, more lucrative ones. For example, those homemade silk purses you have taking up a lot of shelf space, how many do you actually sell?’

‘Err, well, I’m hoping to push them as Valentine gifts.’ Marigold, the designer, will be heartbroken if we stop selling her stuff. ‘And the tourists love them,’ I venture, thinking of her working away in the little weatherboard studio on the shingle with unbroken views of the sea. Admittedly, I don’t actually sell many of the purses, but customers are always intrigued to hear about the local artist who makes them.

‘They’re an indulgence. And one Carrington’s can’t afford if it’s going to be successfully rejuvenated, and that’s where you come in.’

‘I do?’ I say, perking up. Maybe this isn’t going to be so bad after all. My section does pretty well compared to the others.

‘I shall be assessing the sections on the ground floor by the main entrance first for visibility and profitability. Women’s Accessories, Men’s Accessories and Fine Jewellery. I can’t believe the cabinet is hidden away up in the personal shopping suite. No, it must be downstairs right by the door, where everyone can see it and be encouraged to buy from it before they waste their money on low-value items elsewhere in the store. I want their shopping fix satiated by high-end goods.’ I nod, thinking, so do I, means more commission for me. ‘And new brand names. Big names! I want Prada. Hermès,’ she gushes, her voice getting louder and more animated, and my nodding head speeds up. ‘And then I’ll decide who is best to sell such exclusive brands.’

My head stops and my heart sinks. Whaat? What does she mean? I’m the best sales assistant. Carrington’s finest …

‘Well, if you look at my sales figures, you—’

‘I like to shake things up a bit.’ Hmmm. Bully for you. ‘Show me your mettle. Let’s see who is really the best sales assistant and then they can sell those exclusive brands,’ she says, triumphantly.

‘Does James know about this?’ I manage to say, my mind reeling. I’m going to be in direct competition with James. And how is my section ever going to compete with Fine Jewellery? One piece alone can cost the equivalent of ten Louis bags.

‘He was the first to know,’ she replies, scribbling something on a page in her Filofax. The room reels as I try to take it all in. ‘So it will be the three of you section heads that I’ll be focusing on initially.’ Maxine carries on scrawling, not even bothering to look up at me.

‘Three of us?’ I ask tentatively, I’m guessing this is where Tom comes in. I’m glad she can’t see my face.

‘Yes, but you know that already, don’t you?’

‘Err, yes,’ I gulp. I fidget in my seat as she continues to hold my stare. So Tom must have told her about our conversation in the club; that I know how he was recruited – and what he’ll be selling. I knew he couldn’t be trusted.

‘Look Gina, there isn’t much that gets past me. Are you in or out?’

‘I’m in,’ I say quickly, panic mounting at the prospect of being forced to go head to head with James, but knowing I don’t have any choice.

‘Good, so this is all about riding the recession and revitalising Carrington’s. And trying to make money of course. You and …’ She pauses to glance at a list on the desk. ‘Annie is it?’ I nod. ‘Yes, you need to sell as much as you possibly can. The other sections will be doing the same, and then I can make a decision on what merch stays and who is best to sell it. I may even decide to scrap a lot of the smaller and less profitable lines to make way for just a couple of select high-end ones. In my experience, this always means less staff. But seeing as you’re a very good sales assistant and we have some strong in-store Valentine’s promotions going on, it shouldn’t be too difficult for you, should it?’ Standing up, she waves a dismissive hand in my direction. ‘And besides, I like winners, not losers.’ And she whips a hand up and does the actual L for loser sign against her forehead. I cringe inwardly. How embarrassing.

‘Of course,’ I mutter, glad to have my share of the Malikov sale. That’ll get my section off to a good start.

‘Oh, and you’ll report directly to me from now on. What day do you have off?’

‘Err, Monday,’ I say, praying she’s not about to make me give it up. Everyone knows it’s the best day off to make a weekend when you work every Saturday.

‘Then your weekly one-to-one meeting with me will be at seven sharp every Tuesday morning. I like to start bright and early.’ She rubs her hands together before flicking her big hair around for a bit.

‘Great,’ I say with a forced smile, feeling relieved that my day off is safe. Good for you. I bet she’s one of those crazy types that just lurrves a military-style boot camp session, preferably outdoors in the lashing rain, while normal people are still snuggled up in bed because it’s practically the middle of the night.

‘Oh, and keep the first Sunday in February free … the board thought a series of “team-building jollies” might keep spirits up, so I’ve put you down for the first session,’ she adds, pulling a face as if the whole idea is totally abhorrent to her.