Читать книгу Christmas Cracker 3-Book Collection - Lindsey Kelk, Alexandra Brown, Lindsey Kelk - Страница 13

^‘Hey dollface. What’s up?’ Eddie sprints around from behind his desk before smoothing down an immaculately cut charcoal grey suit with a cornflower blue open-neck shirt. His blond hair has been styled into a ridiculously dapper side-parting do with lashings of gel.

‘So what happened to your twist-cut chinos and espadrille combo then? Take it Ciaran found your best suit,’ I snap, thinking: so much for solidarity in the face of adversity. Eddie’s wasted no time in reinventing himself to look like a slick TV star.

‘Oh, those old rags?’ He waves an imperious hand in the air. I glare at him. ‘Why are you being so sulky?’

‘Sulky?’ I huff, making big eyes. ‘Wouldn’t you be if your boyfriend had sold you out to some TV company without even bothering to mention it?’

‘But you were amazing on screen,’ he says, enthusiastically.

‘Hmmm,’ I mutter as Eddie gives me a hug. He ponders for a moment before changing the subject.

‘Come and see my Pussy!’

And, suddenly, I feel as though I’ve slipped inside a parallel universe. Grabbing my hand, Eddie pulls me over to his desk and scoops up a fluffy white bichon frise from a Burberry print dog basket nestled underneath. Around the dog’s neck is a pink crystal collar, and all four of its spindly little legs are sporting lime- green knitted legwarmers. ‘She’s channelling her Eighties workout vibe, aren’t you Pussy?’ he explains. I stare for a bit before managing to drag myself back to reality.

‘Eddie! Are you insane? You can’t bring a dog into the store. And what kind of name is Pussy for a dog anyway?’ I say in an incredulous whisper-voice, while resisting the urge to pet the cute puppy that’s now licking the back of my hand with her tiny pink velvety tongue.

‘Of course I can, everyone has a furchild these days – they’re an essential accessory. And isn’t she a darling? Anyway, Kelly adores her and has already said she can be in the show,’ he says, pursing his lips and stroking the dog’s head. ‘And I’ll have you know that Pussy is a very apt name for a department store pet.’

‘Whaat?’

‘As in Mrs Slocombe’s cat, she called it Pussy.’

‘Who?’

‘Are You Being Served … ring any bells?’ he says, pulling an exasperated face.

‘What are you going on about?’

‘Oh never mind. Before your time, obvs. Although, of course, I only have an extremely vague memory of catching a glimpse of it once as a newborn peering up from my cradle,’ he quickly adds.

‘But this is Carrington’s. A department store, in case you’d forgotten. People don’t bring pets to work. And besides, since when did you have a dog?’ I ask, desperately trying to keep up with it all.

‘From about seven o’clock this morning when I arrived at work,’ he pauses, and a faint glimmer of shame darts across his face. Eddie never ever exerts himself by doing extra hours. ‘I thought it best to put in an early appearance, what with everything going on … Tom might need me,’ he explains, fiddling with Pussy’s collar to avoid eye contact. ‘I rescued her. Poor thing,’ he adds, kissing the top of Pussy’s head before settling her back down in the basket.

‘Rescued her?’

‘That’s right. From the Carrington’s pet spa,’ he says.

‘Pet spa?’

‘Yes! Angel, why do you keep repeating everything I say?’ Eddie tilts his head to one side and pulls an exaggerated curious face.

‘Hazard a guess. Maybe it’s because … I have no bloody idea what you’re going on about,’ I say, flinching as my voice jumps up several octaves. ‘It’s like I’ve stumbled into some weird dream sequence. A nightmare even.’

‘Oh don’t be so dramatic. I know you have a tendency to put two and two together and come up with five billion, but honestly darling … ’ He shrugs.

‘Ha! You’re a fine one to talk.’

‘Shush. I’m a queen. It’s my job.’ Eddie does kissy lips and tweaks my cheek. ‘Besides, it’s your most adorable foible.’

‘What do you mean? I don’t have foibles.’ I shake my head and pull a face.

‘Yes you do.’

‘No I don’t.’ Eddie puts his arm around my shoulders and gives them a quick squeeze.

‘Oh, you look so indignant. But that’s why I love you,’ he says. I stick my tongue out and Eddie laughs. ‘Anyway, where was I? Oh yes … about the spa, apparently it was one of Kelly’s genius ideas to boost revenue. That dingy hairdressing salon next door has been cleared out and transformed into Carrington’s very own pet boudoir … just like at Harrods.’ He drops his arm and makes impressive eyes. ‘There’s an adorable doggy exercise area, cute wardrobe accessories section and even an assortment of puppies and kittens to actually buy. I took one look at Pussy and thought enough!’ He flings up a palm. ‘I couldn’t bear to think of her cooped up in a pokey little cage all day long waiting for some RHONY wannabe with a penchant for baby-pink marabou puff mules to buy her and call her Viennetta or something equally ludicrous.’ He clenches his jaw in horror and I raise an eyebrow. ‘You should see it in there, the transformation is incredible; must have been like one of those interior design programmes where Melinda turns up with a flash mob of decorators and practically does out a whole house in like … under three minutes,’ he gasps in a very stagey voice, having obviously elevated himself to first-name terms with all the celebrities now.

‘Slight exaggeration.’

‘Whatevs! But I’m surprised you didn’t spot the difference on your way into work.’

‘I guess I had other things on my mind,’ I mutter, wondering how they managed the makeover in such record time. It was still a hairdresser’s when I left work on Saturday evening. ‘Look, I have to see Tom before this whole place goes nuts.’

Pulling my coat off and dumping my bag down on Eddie’s desk, I step around the enormous silver and purple themed Christmas tree, narrowly missing the mountainous pile of fake wrapped presents underneath, and head towards Tom’s office.

‘But you can’t go in there.’ Eddie does a running bodyslam at the door before pinning a hand on each side of the frame.

‘Try and stop me,’ I say, attempting to fling him out of my way by prising free the fingers of his right hand. He quickly caves in and turns around to face me.

‘Really. Georgie, please, you don’t want to go in there. Trust me. Not like this. Calm down first. Here. Open.’ Performing a spectacular pincer move, Eddie grabs my jaw between his thumb and index finger, and without thinking I open my mouth just as he squirts two puffs of Bach Flower Remedy onto my tongue. In a desperate attempt to get rid of the flowery perfume taste that’s swirling around my mouth, I quickly retrieve Mrs Grace’s pear drop from my pocket, shove it in my mouth and crunch it up furiously, almost biting my tongue in the process. ‘Oh dear. Here … ’ And Eddie grabs up a canary yellow paper fan from his desk and starts batting it around in front of my face. ‘For stress, sweetie. For stress.’

‘Will you just stop it?’ I say, pushing the fan away and almost choking as the remainder of the pear drop propels down my throat. I cough really hard. Eddie jumps behind me and slings his arms around my boobs.

‘Get off me,’ I say, untangling myself from his clutch. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ I turn around to face him.

‘Spoilsport!’ He sticks his bottom lip out. ‘I’ve been dying to do the Heimlich manoeuvre ever since I went on that course. There’s just no fun in being a Carrington’s designated first-aider if all I’m doing is dishing out plasters for boring old paper cuts.’

‘Well I’m sorry to disappoint,’ I say, straightening my uniform of V-neck black top, trousers and gold Carrington’s name badge.

‘Oh please don’t make a fuss. It’s sooo not a good vibe. And Kelly is adorable. I think you’re going to love her.’ I raise my eyebrows. He must be having a laugh. ‘Yes, I took the liberty of tactfully mentioning the … ’ he pauses, does a furtive left-then-right look before mouthing, ‘“shop girl” comment. And you know what, she just threw her head back and roared. Actually roared with laughter. She didn’t mean anything by it. She said it’s all part of the show, set up purely to entertain the audience, and she knows that you’re a fabulous sales person in real life,’ he gushes, like some deluded groupie.

‘Eddie, are you totally bonkers? That Ronald McDonald lookalike made a complete fool of Annie and me,’ I bellow. ‘And why does everyone keep on implying that the show isn’t real life? We’re real people with real lives working in a traditional department store. Get over it.’ I let out a big puff of air before smoothing down my hair.

‘Oooh. Harsh,’ Eddie whispers into my face, giving me a daggers look.

‘No. Reality. So stick that in your dramality pipe and smoke it,’ I say, suddenly desperate for a cigarette, even though I gave up smoking years ago. I only ever had a few on a Saturday night out anyway, not what I’d class as being a proper smoker, but I could really really do with a full-tar Benson right now.

‘OK. Calm down. Of course we are, but who wants to plod on with their real life when they can have a much more fabulous pretend one crammed full of staged spontaneity?’ Eddie says, clapping his hands together. And I give up.

Pushing past him into Tom’s office, I stop short and instantly want to die. Kelly is standing right in front of me with her Lord Kitchener pointy finger sticking out and a massive grin spread across her face. And I bet she’s heard everything.

‘Hi, I’m Ronald McDonald,’ she says, immediately confirming my fear and not missing a beat. ‘And you must be Georgie, the star of the show! Oh oh oh, oh oh ohhhh …’ she sings, whipping up her other hand and flicking it backwards and forwards, just like Beyoncé does in the ‘Single Ladies’ video. I stare goggle-eyed and speechless as she then turns to the side, tilts her body forward slightly, bends her elbows and starts pumping her arms up and down, left then right, in sequence with her alternating legs.’

Cuckoo! And she must know the whole dance routine. Sam was right, this woman is an utter fruit loop. Her big curls are flailing around. I jump back, suddenly conscious that she could whip my eye out without a moment’s notice if I’m not careful.

‘Err, yes. Um, sorry about that,’ I eventually manage to speak. ‘I, err … came to see Tom.’ I do a desperate scan of the room, but he’s not here. Kelly throws her arms around me, almost winding me in the process, before pulling back to study me.

‘Chillaaax,’ she says, in a kind of ‘far-out’, dreamy voice on seeing my tense face. She makes a peace sign with her fingers to emphasise her point. Whaaaat? Who even says that anyway? I resist the sudden urge to roll on the floor in hysterics and swivel my eyes around the room again instead. ‘You and I are going to be besties,’ Kelly ploughs on. ‘Calling me Ronald McDonald is hilarious and those Beyoncé moves of yours were TV gold. Priceless. But we’ll need to get Millie to sort you out before we can actually turn you towards the camera,’ she says, leaning in to scrutinise me while I wonder what’s wrong with my face.

‘Who’s Millie?’ I manage, desperately trying to get a grip.

‘The hair and make-up girl, of course. Will you want hair extensions?’ she fires. ‘Oh you’re bound to. Hang on.’ Looking back over her shoulder, she bellows towards Tom’s private bathroom. ‘Zara, call Xavier at Hair Fairies in Mayfair and tell him to bring the Balmain bag. Now, where were we?’ she turns back to face me.

‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude but where is Tom?’ I say, backing away from her. I wasn’t planning on having an audience when I confronted him.

‘Getting styled,’ she replies, as if it’s the most obvious answer ever. ‘Won’t be long. Come and sit with me and we can talk about my new show. Kelly Cooper Come Instore. Has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?’ She flounces around flamboyantly before flinging herself down on one of Tom’s leather sofas, kicking her pumps off and making a loud jangling noise when she swings her feet up onto a couple of raw silk Santa Claus motif cushions, which only last Friday were on display in Homeware. I know, because I helped Mrs Grace unpack them from their special cashmere dust bags. She said we were lucky to get them as Selfridges were still waiting, according to her friend’s granddaughter who works up there. Kelly crosses her legs, setting off the jingle-jangle sound again. She must have at least ten of those silver bohemian ankle bracelets on each leg. Hmmm, on closer inspection, a slight exaggeration maybe, but there’s definitely a lot.

‘I’d rather stand, thanks.’

‘Fair enough.’ She grabs a copy of OK! magazine and starts thumbing through it. Silence follows. I check my watch and see that it’s nearly eight thirty, opening time. I think of Annie. I hope she’s made it into work. She called me last night in tears. She’s mortified too. And convinced she’s going to be sacked and have to go back to cleaning and looking after her numerous brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews all day long. Annie is a Traveller and the first girl in her family ever to have a paid job. She said she’ll never get another one because jobs are like gold dust in these double-dip times. And people are reluctant to employ her when they find out that she lives on the Traveller site on the outskirts of Mulberry, so she’s worried she’ll end up with the Flo Rida tatt and the memory of Vince with the gold teeth for ever more. I make a mental note to tell Tom about that too. Maybe he can get her some flowers or something to apologise. He can’t just go around upsetting the sales assistants. ‘Ooh, will you look at them?’ Kelly pipes up, and thrusts the magazine out to show me a pic of Kate and Wills. You know, you have a look of her about you.’

‘Mmm, if I lose about two stone and hand out beer goggles to everyone who glances my way,’ I say, reluctantly. I don’t really want to get into a conversation with Kelly when there’s no point. The sooner this is over, the better, and I can go back to my normal life. Once Tom sees sense he’s bound to have second thoughts and send her on her way. Kelly snorts with laughter.

‘Don’t be daft … oh you are so hilarious,’ she chortles, eyeing me up and down. ‘And never mind, soon all the designer brand managers will be bombarding you with goodies; there’ll be red-carpet events and you’ll be getting free makeovers left, right and centre. I even had a sailor from my last series who got free sponsorship for a whole year from one of those gourmet diet delivery services. He lost six stone and scooped ten grand for a nearly nude spread in some sleb mag.’

‘Really?’ I say, instantly hating myself for showing an interest, but I’ve always fancied the idea of having food cooked and delivered to my door. Most of the time I’m so tired when I get home from work after being on my feet all day that I can’t be bothered to cook proper meals from scratch. And I wonder if Sam knows which sailor it was.

‘Oh yes, you wait and see. Ahh, here he is … ’ Kelly’s eyes swivel towards the door. But it isn’t Tom coming in, it’s Zara, and she’s swinging the gorgeous caramel-coloured Anya bag in her left hand. I bloody knew it. And Mrs Grace was right. She’s utterly stunning in real life. Oh God, even I’m doing it now. This is real life. I say it over and over as a mantra inside my head as a reminder. I’m convinced it’s the only way to keep a lid on this totally surreal scenario. ‘Where’s that gorgeous man, Tom? There’s somebody here to see him,’ Kelly says, flashing me a smile.

‘He won’t be long.’ Zara jumps up on the corner of Tom’s mahogany desk and tosses her cascade of honey-hued big hair around for a bit. And I’m sure her eyes narrow when she glances in my direction.

‘Nice bag.’ I can’t resist.

‘Perk of the job,’ she replies, giving the buttery soft leather a quick stroke before discarding the exquisite bag down on the floor next to a wire-mesh bin that’s overflowing with rubbish. ‘I can take a message if you like, save you hanging around. I’m guessing you need to dash back down below stairs, as it were, to dust your shelves or something,’ she giggles superficially, giving me the once-over like I’m the hired help. I ignore her and study the pattern on the wallpaper instead, wondering what her problem is.

The door opens again and Tom appears.

‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.’ He flashes a polite smile around the room but there’s a flicker of apprehension when he sees me. After jumping up, Kelly dashes towards him, flings an arm around his chest and gives him a big squeeze. ‘Oooh, the things I could do to you,’ she says in a saucy voice, nestling her face into his left pec before pushing up on tiptoes and planting a big kiss on his cheek. Tom coughs discreetly and adjusts his cufflinks.

Momentarily I waver, blown away by his looks, which literally take my breath away. His eyes are the darkest velvety brown and nestle in sumptuous eyelashes that make me want to lick them right here and now. The thick curly black hair – which only two nights ago was entwined in my fingers during our mammoth lovemaking session – is now slicked back, giving him the appearance of a gorgeous Hollywood heart-throb, or how I imagine a young Jon Hamm might look in a Mad Men prequel.

‘Georgie. What are you doing up here?’ He breaks free from Kelly’s grasp and walks towards me, his delicious chocolatey scent teasing all around me.

‘We need to talk.’ I swallow hard.

‘Sure,’ he says, easily. ‘You OK? It’s not Mr Cheeks is it?’ He looks directly into my eyes and creases his forehead slightly.

‘No, he’s fine. Err … ’ I glance towards Kelly who is still gazing up at him like some lovestruck fan-girl.

‘Right. Of course. Would you mind if we have a minute?’ he says, turning first to Zara and then to Kelly.

‘Catch you later. I’ve got a session with my shaman in any case,’ Zara sniffs airily. She bounces down from the desk, practically canters over to Tom, plants a big smoochy kiss on his lips and runs a finger down his lapel before tossing a look over her shoulder in my direction.

‘And I mustn’t miss my call from Isabella. Can’t wait to hear all about Costa Rica.’ Kelly blows Tom a kiss as she heads towards the door.

‘Then please give her my love and say that I’ve been thinking about her a lot. I promise to take her to lunch very soon.’

I wait for them to leave and then close the door before I turn towards Tom.

‘Isabella?’ I say in an accusatory voice, and the very second the word comes out of my mouth I want to shove my fist inside and pull out my tongue. This wasn’t what I had in mind at all when I was lying in bed last night planning out the scene in my head. And I’m not usually the jealous type.

‘Yes. My mother. Kelly and she were at Cambridge together,’ he states, and I swear his Downton accent (upstairs, naturally) just got a little stronger.

‘Oh, I see. That’s nice,’ I reply, feeling relieved and trying to make it sound as if it’s really no big deal, that in fact I was merely being polite. But I realise in an instance just how little I really know about him and his family, and I didn’t have Kelly down as a Cambridge University type at all. I imagine them all to be very serious and intellectual – she seems far too wacky to me. And I bet they don’t read OK! magazine at Cambridge, much preferring some ancient Latin parchment or whatever, requiring the handler to wear special white gloves just to unravel it because it’s tied up with a big scarlet ribbon made from real human peasant hair dyed with their blood.

‘So, what did you want to talk to me about?’ he asks casually, taking a step forward and circling an arm around my waist. I jump back. ‘Hey, what’s the matter?’ He sounds concerned.

‘What do you think?’

‘I’m not sure, but I can see that you’re upset. What is it?’ He looks puzzled, as if he genuinely has no idea why.

‘Upset? That’s putting it mildly. Did you get my messages?’

‘Yes,’ he replies. I stare, waiting for him to elaborate.

‘And?’ My forehead creases.

‘Oh, when I say I got them, I meant just a few minutes ago. Haven’t had time to listen properly or read the text messages yet, though,’ he explains, picking up a pile of papers from his desk and flicking through them.

‘I see,’ I say tightly, wondering why he’s being so indifferent. I clear my throat. He stops flicking and places the papers back on the desk.

‘Is this about the filming?’ he smiles.

‘Oh, duh! Ten out of ten, genius.’ I fold my arms, wishing I could be cool and calm like him, instead of borderline hysterical. Tom gives me a strange look, kind of a mixture of bafflement and disappointment, and one I haven’t seen on him before.

‘Georgie, why are you being like this? It’s not like you.’ He steps towards me again, hesitates, and places a hand on my arm instead.

‘Are you wearing guyliner?’ I ask, suddenly distracted.

‘Err, I think so.’ He shrugs his shoulders and grins. ‘The production team insisted on trying out some looks for the opening credits … hence the tux.’ He opens his arms to show off the midnight blue dinner suit and crisp white shirt, making him look even more adorable than ever. ‘They’re going with a “Mr Carrington” image, whatever that means.’ His smile widens as he raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

‘That’s nice for you,’ I say, in my best breezy voice.

‘Oh come on, don’t be like this.’

‘Like what?’ I ask, wishing I didn’t sound so much like a sulky teenager.

‘So emotional.’

‘Well I’m sorry if I have emotions, but why didn’t you tell me about the filming? Warn me at least?’

‘I couldn’t.’

‘Of course you could. You’re the boss, you can do whatever you like.’

‘It’s not quite as … simple as that.’ He glances down at the carpet and my cheeks smart from the implication.

‘Then why don’t you explain it to me then?’

‘Look, I didn’t mean anything malicious by it, but I can’t just … do whatever I like, as you say. Yes, Aunt Camille sold her majority share to me, to keep the store in the family – and with a bit of luck and lots of hard work, we’ll manage to turn it around and keep us all employed for many more years to come. But there’s the board to consider.’ I bite my bottom lip. ‘That’s what doing the show is all about; it’s an incredible opportunity for Carrington’s and we are really lucky to be given the series,’ he says, as though he’s learnt it off by heart from an official statement that somebody prepared earlier for him.

‘So it had nothing to do with your mother and Kelly being friends from Cambridge then?’

‘A little, but Kelly will transform the business and really put us back on the map. Help us fend off this terminal decline.’

‘And make fools of us. Me in particular – did you actually see the show last night?’

‘Not yet. I got caught up on a conference call with a foreign supplier,’ he explains. And I secretly wonder if it might be a blessing in disguise. I’m not sure I want him seeing my embarrassing debut on the TV screen, despite what Eddie says – he’s my friend so he’s bound to be kind about it.

‘Was it any good?’ Tom smiles and raises his eyebrows enthusiastically.

‘No, it blooming wasn’t! It was embarrassing, and they set me up. Annie too. Did you know they were going to edit the film to make us look like totally incompetent and inefficient sales assistants?’

‘I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.’ He frowns, and then quickly adds, ‘They didn’t show your faces, did they?’

‘Like that makes a difference,’ I say, resisting the urge to slap his beautiful cheek.

‘Well, they wanted to originally, but I stopped it,’ he says, looking pleased with himself. I smart from his indifference and obvious loyalty to Kelly and Zara over me.

‘You could have at least warned me.’

‘I couldn’t. The board voted in favour of signing the NDA with the production company.’ I give him a blank look, hating myself all over again for feeling so out of my depth. ‘Non-disclosure agreement,’ he says, tactfully. ‘So you see, I couldn’t tell you, even if I’d wanted to.’

‘So you wanted to then?’ I ask, my spirits lifting slightly at the prospect of redeeming something from this hideous situation.

‘I know how much you love these reality TV programmes. It was meant to be a surprise,’ he says, deftly avoiding my question. He looks away.

‘A surprise? Tom, you humiliated me. You kept a secret and it’s not the first time.’ I bite my lip again.

‘Hang on a minute. I thought you understood about that,’ he says, his voice dropping and his eyes flashing.

‘Oh, I understood plenty. That you didn’t trust me enough to let me know you were Tom Carrington posing as just another sales assistant.’

‘And is it any wonder when you react like this?’ he says, running a hand through his hair.

‘Like what?’ I say, glaring at him.

‘Practically hysterical.’

‘Well, I’m sorry if I’m too hysterical for you now.’ My heart is hammering inside my chest.

‘That’s not what I said.’ Silence follows. Tom clears his throat and turns away from me. ‘I can’t deal with this now, not here.’

‘But I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me. We’ve been flirting for months, and now dating. I thought we had something, or did I get it completely wrong?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘So I’m ridiculous now?’

‘Georgie, this is getting us nowhere.

‘I couldn’t agree more.’ An awkward silence follows.

‘So what do we do now?’ It’s Tom who speaks first.

‘I have no idea. Why don’t you decide … seeing as you’re the one in charge,’ I snap.

‘Fine,’ he retaliates, looking really fired up as he paces around the room, flicking his shirtsleeve back to check the time on his watch. ‘If I’m upsetting you so much, then maybe we should just call it a day … ’ He comes to a halt in front of me and stands with his hands on his hips, as if daring me to challenge his decision.

‘Good. I was thinking just the same thing,’ I say, desperately trying to keep my voice steady. I don’t want to split up. I want us to be together. Having fun. Falling in love. Just like other blissfully happy couples. But I do have some pride, and if he isn’t as into me as I thought, which is glaringly obvious given that he’s this quick to suggest we split up, then maybe it’s for the best we end it before it goes any further.

‘Look, we should talk about it … ’ he says, his voice softening as if he wants to let me down gently.

‘Sorry, I don’t have time.’ Ha! I’m busy too.

‘I’m sorry.’ He glances away.

‘Well so am I.’

It takes me less than three seconds to leave the room, my shoulders stiff and my back constricting with a whole raft of horrible emotions. I grab my bag and coat from Eddie’s desk, and quickly brush him away as he stands to reach a concerned hand out to my arm.

‘Hey Georgie! Hang on,’ Eddie calls out, but I’m gone, tears stinging my eyes as I run along the corridor and back to the safety of the staff lift. I push the cage door back and step inside before slumping against the wall and crying my heart out. And not graceful lady tears like Meryl at an Oscar acceptance speech. Oh no, these are big gulping heaving sobs that I just know are going to make my face look like a swollen blotchy balloon in about an hour or so.