Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s. Alexandra Brown
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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.’