Читать книгу Ice Creams at Carrington’s - Alexandra Brown, Lindsey Kelk - Страница 8

Taking Tom’s hand, I carefully step onto the narrow wooden gangway and through a twink-ling fairy-light-studded voile tunnel, arriving in a Maplewood-panelled stateroom swathed in streams of silver satin with opulent mountains of fruit – grapes, plums, pineapples and pears – all piled high in pewter platters set on head-height pillars. There’s even a ceiling curtain cascading from the enormous central chandelier. A string quartet is playing Mozart in one corner, and a group of waiters – who surely must be Ralph Lauren models, they’re that fit – are loading up silver trays with canapés in the other.

The whole yacht looks like an Italian Renaissance painting. On one wall, there’s even a giant mural of Botticelli’s The Birth Of Venus – I know, because I read up when Tom and I first got together. He’s a talented artist in his spare time, and I wanted to appear cultured and educated, show an interest in his passion for painting. And I can see where he gets it from now; I imagine he grew up surrounded by this stuff – a million miles away from the Take That poster I had pinned to the space beside my bed.

‘Ciao, mio bel figlio. Tom, daaahling, you made it!’ It’s Isabella, looking resplendent in a floor-grazing lemon lace Givenchy gown. And blimey, she’s even wearing a jewelled tiara on top of her immaculately coiffed jet-black hair. She loops her arm through Tom’s and immediately steers him away from me. I smile as he glances over his shoulder to mouth ‘sorry’ when Isabella refuses to let him go. She’s definitely not taking no for an answer; even when he tactfully tries to release his arm from her grasp, she grabs his hand instead and practically catapults him towards her guests. Poor Tom. He hates being cantered out like some kind of show pony.

‘What’s she come as? Queen of fucking everything!’

An arm circles my waist. I spin around – I’d recognise that outrageously acerbic voice anywhere.

Eddie!

Oh my God. We chat on the phone and Twitter all the time, but I haven’t actually seen Eddie, physically, in ages, and now he’s here, standing right in front of me and looking more like a superstar than ever. His dapper blond hair is now all messy quiff, and he’s wearing an exquisitely tailored charcoal grey Tom Ford suit. And on closer inspection he’s had a little lifting work around his sparkly blue-green eyes and his brows have definitely been manscaped. He looks fantastic. Flawless. And smells divine, too, of tropical summer holidays – coconut and citrus.

‘What are you doing here?’ I fling my arms around his neck and squeeze him tight. ‘God I’ve missed you. I thought you were in LA.’ Eddie is my other best friend and used to work at Carrington’s as Tom’s BA, or boy assistant – that was before he was ‘discovered’ on Kelly’s TV show and practically became a superstar overnight. He has his own chat show with a Saturday night primetime slot, and a reality series called Eddie: I Do It My Way, and lives between his villa in the Hollywood hills and a penthouse apartment overlooking Mulberry Marina. And he’s actually stayed at Simon Cowell’s house in America, as Simon’s personal guest! Doesn’t get much starrier than that.

‘Tom invited me – as a nice surprise for you,’ Eddie says, as we pull apart.

‘Aw, how lovely. He’s so thoughtful,’ I beam.

‘Ooh, he is – the quintessential gentleman. Delish too. Not as beautiful as my Ciaran, mind you, but still, a very close second.’ He nudges me.

‘How is Ciaran? Is he here?’ I scan the deck.

‘No, he’s looking after Pussy – you know what a diva that dog is, hates travelling and refuses to go in a crate, so Ciaran’s flown straight back to LA with her on his lap after she created the most almighty fuss when Claire dared to go near her.’ I laugh and shake my head. Pussy is Eddie’s fluffy white bichon frise, and thoroughly spoilt, so it’s hardly surprising. Claire is Eddie’s manager, Peter André’s too.

‘Straight back? What do you mean?’

‘Only a fleeting visit, petal. Filming starts on my second series tomorrow. We were in Ireland yesterday, at some windswept tiny town that time forgot …’ He rolls his eyes. ‘For Ciaran’s cousin’s wedding – Sinéad, Shona, Sorcha; something like that, anyway … I forget which one, he has that many … and I wasn’t even drinking.’ He waves a dismissive hand in the air and I smile, thinking, same old Eddie, as grandiose as ever, fame really hasn’t changed him one bit; he must be the only person I know who can go to a wedding and then claim not even to know the bride’s name the very next day. ‘Yes, it was a last-minute decision – we weren’t going to bother after the way his family shunned him when he finally leapt out of the closet. Anyone would think he’d tried to poke the Pope, the way they all carried on.’ Eddie pauses to pull a face while I wonder if perhaps it was just that they were a bit shocked. I mean, Ciaran did actually come out at his own wedding, to a woman, after all. It was all annulled quite swiftly, but still, his mother is practically on first-name terms with the Pope, so I can’t imagine it was easy for her. ‘But you know how Ciaran is for all that family stuff, and then when his Catholic guilt kicked in, I just couldn’t bear watching him perched on the proverbial spike doing all that hand-wringing, so we dashed to the airport and managed to get last-minute flights. Plus I needed to check on the apartment and then remembered Tom’s invite, so I thought, why not pop in and see my most fabulous bestie in the whole wide world. So, surprise surprise!’ Eddie bats a hand in the air. ‘But I haven’t got long, I have to check in for the return flight in like …’ he pulls back a sleeve to glance at his watch, ‘an hour!’

‘Oooh, get you. Jet-setter.’ I nudge him with my elbow.

‘I know. Fabulous, isn’t it? And see the group behind me …’ I glance over his shoulder, and a guy shaped like an American fridge-freezer stuffed into a black suit, with a curly plastic wire hanging from his ear, is lurking ominously nearby. And there’s a woman in leather skinnies and a floaty top who keeps checking her mobile phone and muttering something to a younger guy with an eager look on his face.

‘I see them.’

‘Meet my people!’ Eddie laughs.

‘You have people? Oh my God!’ I ponder for a second before adding, ‘Ed, do you actually need people?’ My forehead creases with curiosity.

‘Vital, darling! You can’t make it in Hollywood without an entourage.’

‘But what do they do?’

‘Well, Ross is security, natch … and a total leather queen! You’d never guess, would you?’ He makes big eyes, and I shake my head. ‘And Carly is my PA – the boy is her assistant.’

‘Wow! Your PA has a BA …’ Blimey, how things have changed. It feels like only yesterday that Eddie was Tom’s BA, bored and desperate to escape Mulberry-On-Sea for a mythical, seemingly unattainable world of stardom – or so it seemed back then. I shake my head, bemused but thrilled that Eddie is living his dream. I give him another hug.

‘So, how are you, sugar?’ he asks, letting me go – Eddie has never been big on prolonged displays of physical affection.

‘I’m very well, thanks. Life is wonderful for me too.’ I take two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, who looks as if he’s just stepped off the front page of GQ magazine, and hand one to Eddie.

‘Ooh, peachy! And I’m so happy for you, Georgie. Just one pesky fly in the ointment though …’ He raises an eyebrow.

‘What do you mean?’ I frown again.

‘Her highness over there.’ He flicks his eyes to the far end of the deck, where Isabella still has a vice-like grip on Tom’s arm. ‘Did she even acknowledge you from behind that surgically enhanced mask of hers?’

‘I think her gaze may have hovered on me momentarily,’ I smile magnanimously.

‘Darling, it’s called a bitchy resting face!’ Eddie plucks a canapé from another waiter’s tray and takes a big bite. I try not to smirk, just in case Isabella is watching, or Tom – he has no idea how Isabella makes me feel, and that’s the way I’d like to keep it. At least until I feel more relaxed around her … And then there won’t be an issue in any case – we’ll be best friends and everyone will be happy, especially Tom. I hope! Yeayy. Well, that’s the plan.

Sam arrives, looking exquisite in a crimson silk jumpsuit that flatters her tiny size six figure and perfectly frames her natural blonde corkscrew curls. She gives Eddie a hug before turning to me.

‘You look beautiful – no baby gunge in sight,’ I whisper in her ear as she engulfs me in a big Cavalli-fragranced cuddle. ‘How’s Holly doing after Yogurt-gate?’ I grin, hoping calm has now been restored.

Sam steps back to get a proper look at me.

‘Love the maxi-dress. But where’s Tom?’ she replies, swiftly sidestepping the yogurt enquiry. Oh well, maybe she just wants to put it behind her and enjoy the rare afternoon off.

‘Whisked away.’ I motion with my head towards the other end of the deck, where Tom is now getting his arm pumped and his back slapped by an older beer-bellied guy wearing a straw boater, navy blazer and pleated mustard-coloured corduroy trousers.

‘Ew, not up to your standards, honeypie.’ Eddie pulls a face and hands the rest of the canapé to Sam. She hesitates before popping it into her mouth, and then pulling a face too, in between chewing and swallowing as fast as she can.

‘Hmm, they should have come to Cupcakes At Carrington’s – we would have laid on a lavish feast compared to this manufactured mush,’ she manages, after rinsing her mouth with a generous swig of bubbles. ‘I’m going to find out who their supplier is – always good to keep one step ahead of the competition. Although, it does surprise me …’

‘What does?’ Eddie asks.

‘That they didn’t come to Carrington’s for the food! The store their son owns … Strange, isn’t it?’ And Sam heads off towards the catering area with a determined look on her face, leaving me to ponder on what she’s just said, because it’s true, it is strange. I wonder why they wouldn’t want to support him. And it is supposed to be a family store, after all …

‘Uh-oh. Here comes Her Majesty.’ Eddie elbows me. ‘Time for me to mingle.’ Isabella is heading straight towards us, closely followed by an entourage made up of the beer-bellied guy, a couple of men I recognise from the Carrington’s board and a woman with a static helmet hairdo, a sensible skirt suit and a very scary scowl.

‘Hey, don’t leave me to deal with her on my own.’ Panic darts through me.

‘Sorry, flower, I don’t do divas, unless it’s Pussy … or me! Tom will rescue you, I’m sure. Catch you later.’ He kisses my cheek and then disappears too, leaving me all alone. I scan the deck, looking for Tom, but can’t see him in the crowd. I brace myself and wonder what could possibly go wrong. Oh God.

Keen to keep a clear head, I surreptitiously place my flute on a nearby table. Calm with clarity, that’s me. I inhale hard through my nose before exhaling as Isabella and her entourage form a semicircle around me. My resolve withers only slightly.

‘Yes, that’s her.’ The beer-bellied guy pokes a finger at my chest, almost touching the fabric of my dress. Instinctively, I step back and rearrange my face into a smile. How rude!

‘Err, have we met?’

‘Only in my bedroom!’ he sniggers, making his shoulders pump up and down like he’s just told the funniest joke in the history of jokes, ever. And then quickly explains, ‘On the television,’ when the scowly woman gives him an extra-scowly look, if that’s even possible … which, by the looks of it, certainly is. Ooooh, scaareeee.

‘Geoooorgie,’ Isabella says in an extra-breathy voice as she steps forward to stand proprietorially by my side. ‘My dear, why did you lie?’

Whaaaat?

My heart immediately clamours inside my chest. Loudly – so loud I’m surprised someone hasn’t grabbed the crash kit that’s mounted neatly on the wall nearby. I rack my brain, desperate to fathom what she’s going on about. Lie? Sweet Jesus, I may have been economical with the details of my past, but an actual outright lie to my boyfriend’s mother who I’ve only met once before? I don’t think so. Or perhaps the jellybeantinis mushed my memory? Hmm … I swallow hard and smile, keen to ride it out.

‘Lie?’ I manage to squeak, suddenly wishing the Maplewood deck below my sandals would part and plunge me into the deep dark sea below – cold and wet, but definitely preferable to standing here while they all stare at the liar! And suddenly a ridiculous tune pops into my head – Liar liar, pants on fire. Oh God. Where the fuuuuuuck is Tom?

‘That’s right, my dear. Why didn’t you tell me you were famous?’

‘Um, well, I’m not exactly famous, not really, that happened quite a while ago now,’ I manage, practically shuddering with relief. Cringe. Maybe I should have mentioned Kelly’s TV show after all, but you’d have thought Isabella would have known all about it in any case. Kelly is her friend from university days. Isabella manages a half-smile and then actually loops her arm through mine before doing a weird kind of cuddly thing into me. Heeeelp. She’s being nice now, so why then do I still feel so edgy? I scan again … where is Tom?

‘Nonsense! Mr Dunwoody here says that you’re the nation’s sweetheart, and a columnist too; I’d say that’s a little more than being just a part-time shop girl. Sooo modest. You really should have told me, my dear.’ I open my mouth to speak, but Mr Dunwoody leaps in first.

‘Please. I may be the Member of Parliament for Mulberry-On-Sea, but no need to stand on ceremony.’ He puffs his beer-belly out a little further. ‘You can call me Dougie,’ he states, with an eager glint in his eye. Oh goody. After wiping a fleshy paw down the side of his cords, he offers it to me. Isabella drops my arm so I can shake Dougie’s hand. ‘And I was just saying that I need you.’

‘You do?’ I ask, raising one eyebrow while trying not to sound too sardonic.

‘That’s right. The town needs a high-profile person, someone in the public eye – I’d do it myself, but I’m not sure my constituents would thank me for it.’ He chuckles while I resist the urge to smirk. ‘No, my work is in Westminster! In London.’ Oh really. Like I didn’t know that already. I smile tightly. ‘But you would be perfect.’

‘Well I’m always happy to help if I can – what is it you’d like me to do?’ I ask tentatively, making sure I keep the smile in place while silently praying it isn’t something cringy or embarrassing: been there, done that, and on national television!

‘Help organise the Mulberry-On-Sea summer regatta, of course.’ It’s the scowly woman. ‘I’m Mr Dunwoody’s personal secretary,’ she says, fixing her beady eyes on me. Hmm, so you don’t have an actual name then …

‘Nice to meet you.’ I smile, but she doesn’t reciprocate.

One of the Carrington’s directors explains instead. ‘Georgie, Carrington’s are going to be sponsoring the summer regatta, in conjunction with the town council, the Mulberry Marina management company and the local radio station, Mulberry FM. It will be organised collaboratively by a number of retailers and community workers, together with the sponsors. Dougie asked if you could be involved, seeing as you grew up here, and you’re such a popular and well-known face in the town.’

‘Um, sure … and thank you.’ I feel flattered, and it sounds as if it might be fun.

‘We hoped you might help organise it on our behalf, be the face of Carrington’s? It’s such a fantastic opportunity for the whole community – to bring the town together, to have some fun, and for all of us retailers and local suppliers to make a bit of money too. It will really put Mulberry on the map if we can pull this off.’ He smiles and nods eagerly. ‘So, what do you say? Are you up for it? And it really would help with our expansion programme – to open a new store; help us to show how “community-spirited” the Carrington’s company is—’

‘What a fantastic idea.’ As if by magic, Tom appears with his dad, Vaughan, following close behind – a tall, robust, bear of man, with a crumpled cream linen suit and a weather-beaten face. ‘Georgie is an excellent organiser, a good team player, and she certainly knows how to look after people. She’s an expert when it comes to customer service. And all our regular customers adore her,’ Tom says, smiling proudly before taking my hand in his and giving it a big squeeze. Vaughan nods heartily in agreement. My heart melts, but the feeling quickly evaporates when I spot Isabella in my peripheral vision – she’s pursing her lips and gazing majestically into the middle distance. What is her problem? One minute she’s schmoozing me, the next she clearly hates me.

‘Wow, well, after that glowing recommendation, how can I refuse?’ I say, feeling thrilled. This could be really exciting – I’ll get to do something new and I love Mulberry, I’ve lived here my whole life, so what a fantastic opportunity to show what this wonderful, pretty, seaside-postcard of a town is made of. ‘When do I start?’ I grin.

‘Bravo!’ shouts Dougie.

‘Thank you. We really need Dunwoody on board if we’re to open another store, he’s heavily involved in planning and building regulations so could make it very difficult for us if he wanted to,’ Tom whispers in my ear as he leans in to give me a hug.

‘I wish you had mentioned it, though,’ I smile and whisper back.

‘Thought it would be a nice surprise, besides, we were kind of busy last night,’ he laughs sexily, standing next to me now and swinging an arm around my shoulders.

‘But Georgie, darling, you really shouldn’t make a snap decision, or feel pressured into helping out – it’s such a huge undertaking,’ Isabella starts, placing a hand on my arm and surreptitiously pulling me away from Tom. ‘Why don’t you have a think about it first? If it’s a little too much for you, then I could always get my events man, Sebastian, involved instead. See what a marvellous job he’s done with today’s spectacular soirée.’ Isabella gestures around the overly opulent deck as if to prove her point. But I’m not sure Mozart and plates of weird-looking canapés will cut it with the residents of Mulberry. Mrs Godfrey, one of Carrington’s regular customers, and a stalwart of the local WI, would definitely complain – ‘far too fussy’, I can hear her now. Oh no no no!

Ideas immediately buzz inside my head. I’m thinking ice cream in cones; donkey rides on the beach (if they’re still allowed, I make a mental note to put it on my ‘regatta things to do’ list and find out). Yes, I’m going to need a massive ‘to do’ list – a bumper pad, in fact. And it’s been years since I went on a donkey; the EU could have put a stop to it, for all I know, and what about a funfair? Everyone loves a carousel. And food! We could have stalls and marquees selling artisan breads – there’s that great new bakery just opened on Bay Street, I bet they’d love to get involved. Exotic cheeses from the local farm shop over in West Mulberry, I know they’d be up for it, and they do assorted olives too. And maybe a special ‘around the world’ tasting experience – the customers loved it when a Japanese chef came instore one time to do a Teppanyaki cooking demonstration. It was amazing – razor-sharp blades slicing and dicing slivers of garlic-infused lamb and vegetable accompaniments before sizzling them on a hot griddle right there on the counter. And Sam could sell her delish cupcakes, macaroons and éclairs. We’d need a live band, of course, and even a mini-film festival, perhaps – something for everyone. I have loads of ideas already and my regular customers are going to love it. It’s so exciting. Isabella pipes up again.

‘Yes, Sebastian is far more accustomed to these things. You know, he was very involved in Elton’s last black-and-white ball.’ This prompts Dougie to let out a long whistle and do big ‘I’m impressed’ eyes.

‘Well, I say we give Georgie a chance. I’m convinced she’ll bring her magic touch to the event,’ Tom steps in.

‘Superb,’ Vaughan interjects, clearly bored by the conversation already. ‘Now that’s settled, I’m off to purloin more refreshments. Anyone for a top-up?’ Vaughan waves his glass in the air and flashes me a cheery smile before wandering off in search of a waiter. Dougie and the directors follow suit while the scowly woman hovers awkwardly.

‘I wonder, Mr Carrington, if you have a moment perhaps to give a quote for Mr Dunwoody’s website. He’s keen to provide a platform for local businesses; might be useful for you, considering your expansion plans,’ she says tightly to Tom, who glances at me. I nod and smile, wondering why she’s being so hostile. It’s clear she doesn’t share Dougie’s enthusiasm for Carrington’s.

‘Sure, why not?’ he says, before steering the woman towards a quieter part of the deck. I turn to Isabella.

‘It’s going to be so amazing,’ I beam, my head still buzzing with all the ideas.

‘I truly hope so, my dear.’ Isabella leans into me and lowers her voice until it’s almost inaudible. ‘Especially after all the effort my son has made for the store. He has worked wonders with Carrington’s, after all, not to mention his plans for expansion. It would be such a shame if you somehow managed to ruin it!’

And with that parting low blow, she sweeps away, leaving me to reunite my jaw with my face.