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
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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