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
Читать онлайн книгу.
I walk through the grand entrance door and take a look around the hotel reception area. On every one of the surrounding armchairs and sofas there’s a Carrington’s employee. There must be about thirty people crammed into the room, some standing, the others elbow-to-elbow on the three padded window seats. Mrs Grace is sitting in a wing chair next to the real log fire, her knitting needles click-clacking away. Lauren is hovering by the bay window saying, ‘Mummy will see you tomorrow, now be a good boy for grandma’ into her mobile, and Betty is fanning herself with a drinks menu and mumbling something about ‘flaming hot flushes’. A couple of girls from Bedding turn up, closely followed by Suzanne from the cash office, looking fabulous in a midnight-blue maxi dress and chunky silver lace-up flatforms, with pregnant Emma from Stationery sipping from an Evian bottle while being all glowy and radiant.
I spot Eddie perched on the edge of a corner unit sipping a can of Red Bull, and let out a small sigh of relief. I make my way over. He looks wired and his eyes are like saucers, flitting around the room.
‘Good to see you, Georgie Girl.’ It’s Ciaran, and he’s standing in the centre of the room, simulating a ‘lock and load’ action with an imaginary machine gun. A passing waitress throws him a look of disgust, so he drops to one knee to apologise profusely to her. I’ve not seen Ciaran as gregarious as this before. Eddie rolls his eyes, before moving along to let me sit down.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ I say, turning towards him.
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he replies sarcastically, before looking away.
‘Eddie, what is it?’ I ask, wondering why he’s acting strangely. It’s unlike him to be so cold. He turns his face to mine and studies me for a moment, as if he can’t make his mind up whether to say anything. I wait for him to tell me, but he just shrugs instead.
‘Oh, it’s nothing.’
‘There is something, isn’t there?’ I ask, feeling uneasy.
‘No, honestly … I’m just thinking this is going to be a long weekend.’ He glares in Ciaran’s direction, but I’m not convinced. Oh God, maybe he knows something. Of course. He’s working for The Heff and Maxine now. He’s bound to know what she has in store for the ground floor.
‘Eddie, if you know anything, you would tell me, wouldn’t you … even if it was bad news?’ I ask, in a low voice.
‘Sure … but I don’t – stop being so paranoid.’ I manage a smile, but inside the feeling of unease is picking up speed again. I try to shove the worry from my head, but instead it just sits there gnawing away.
I can feel Eddie’s thigh twitching against mine.
‘Are you sure everything’s OK?’ I turn to face Eddie, and he bites his lip.
‘Yes, fine,’ he snaps. ‘I need another drink.’ He jumps up and stalks off towards the bar. My heart sinks.
‘What’s going on with him?’ Ciaran throws himself down next to me.
‘I don’t know, but Eddie is really uptight, and it’s not like him,’ I reply. He must know something, I feel sure. The uneasy feeling threatens again.
‘Maybe the stress of working for that ballbuster Maxine is really getting to him,’ Ciaran says, sounding concerned.
‘Maybe,’ I reply, distractedly. I think about work … and James. God, I wish he was here, and then I feel an overwhelming sense of sadness that our friendship has been ruined by a romance that barely got off the starting blocks. Maybe there’s a chance to fix it when I get back. I cling on to this thought as Melissa the self-appointed organiser takes to the floor.
‘Now, if you could all be quiet for a second, you’ll see that on the front of the T-shirt is your name, but the important bit is on the back, that old adage that we all know and lurrrrrve …’ She pauses for a second and sticks her arms out, as if she’s about to start conducting an orchestra.
We all shout back in unison with her, ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ Melissa is standing in the middle of the lounge clutching her T-shirt with both hands so we can see the slogan. She starts throwing the shirts out one by one. Mrs Grace stuffs hers into her shopper, not even bothering to look at it, and mine is the tiniest scrap of cotton Lycra mix I think I’ve ever seen.
‘Where did you find this one, Melissa, in Childrenswear?’ I yell, but she’s distracted by the door opening. ‘Ahh, nice of you to join us, lads. Only an hour late,’ Melissa says as two guys from Menswear saunter in, followed by a bloke from Home Electricals, two security guards and Charles, looking cool in a big woolly Rasta hat and leather jacket. They do lots of high fives and fist thumps before stacking their holdalls up in a mountain by the door. She hands them their T-shirts.
Melissa and one of the security guards are having a pretend boxing match when Amy, Carrington’s HR manager, walks in wearing an orange tabard and holding a clipboard.
‘OK, is everyone here now?’ She calls our names out, ticking them off as we answer. My heart sinks when she inadvertently calls James’s name and there’s a short silence followed by a monotone, ‘He changed sessions. My mistake’ from Eddie, who has just returned from the bar with another Red Bull. Turns out Maxine delegated the task of divvying up the names for each session to him and he forgot to scrub James off the list. ‘Great. Here’s a schedule for each of you. Early start tomorrow morning, nine sharp, here in reception. Tonight you can do your own thing … all part of the board’s aim for you to have some downtime and build teams.’ She grins. ‘Studies have shown that employees who play together, work hard together … so play nicely! I’m in room 109 should you need anything. I’ll hand you over now to DeWayne and Vince from “Train to Gain”. They’ll be co-ordinating the event for us.’
A couple of overly enthusiastic guys, wearing camouflage trousers and extra-tight muscle tops with whistles on ropes around their necks, and an assortment of camping-type paraphernalia slung about their bodies, bounce into the centre of the room.
‘What’s that whistle for?’ Mrs Grace pipes up, pointing at Vince with one of her knitting needles.
‘Oh, err … just in case we need to get everyone’s attention,’ he replies, looking a bit fazed.
‘Hmmm. I’m here to have a nice rest, not wriggle commando-style under one of those filthy nets you boot-camp boys are so fond of. Not with my hip playing up the way it is,’ she huffs. I catch her eye and she gives me a wink before getting back to her knitting.
‘Don’t worry, err …’ Vince pauses.
‘Mrs Grace to you,’ she sniffs.
‘Yes, Mrs Grace, we won’t be doing anything too arduous. We’ll be spending most of the time in the hotel conference room … with the occasional break-out session in the hotel garden.’ There’s a collective groan from the Bedding girls. ‘But we’ll fill you in tomorrow morning. See you all then.’ They both wave before throwing their hands up in the air and clapping furiously above their heads as they practically march off towards the door.
‘Crap! I thought it would be tug-of-war and sudden death games. You know, like proper team building … where one team wins and the other one is destroyed!’ Melissa says, before making a wanker sign towards the door. ‘Nobbers!’ she heckles. ‘Looks like we’ll just have to make the best of it. But in the meantime you heard what Amy said – teams that play hard and all that … sooo, it’s off to the dance floor.’ She makes a big Elvis-style circle with her right arm. ‘Let’s check out the rooms and meet back here later. We can go to the pier. Something for everyone on there,’ she bellows.
‘Oh, not for me dear. I’m not missing Strictly. And I’m looking forward to an early night with my dinner cooked for me, for a change,’ Mrs Grace says.
‘I’ll join you,’ Betty puffs, wiping her top lip with a tissue.
‘But I’ve booked us a room in the