Me and Mr Carrington: A Short Story. Alexandra Brown
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Sam says. She’s the reason I was in Italy – to be bridesmaid at her wedding to the lovely Nathan on a hilltop overlooking Lake Como, with my Dad giving her away. Her own dad, Alfie, had passed away just a few months earlier. Emotional doesn’t even come close to describing the moment she appeared to say her vows - stunning and breathtakingly beautiful in a raw silk ivory goddess gown, her blonde corkscrew curls loose around her shoulders and a pretty bouquet of assorted wild flowers in her arms.
Sam is a true Queen of Hearts, the ultimate matchmaker so she never could resist playing Cupid, and knowing that I’d been lusting after Tom ever since I first clapped eyes on him in the staff canteen a few months ago, she had secretly arranged for him to turn up – her wedding gift to me, she had said. Of course, I didn’t know he was actually Tom Carrington then; he went undercover, pretended he was just another sales assistant. All part of his plan to assess the store from the ground floor as it were, before buying it from his Aunt Camille, whose grandfather was the original Mr Harry Carrington, aka Dirty Harry, on account of his philandering ways with the showgirls from the old music hall on Lovelace Road. And it really was a perfect moment. It’s just a shame Tom could only stay for a few hours and now I’m back here in Mulberry-on-Sea, while he’s still there in Italy.
‘And what about Carrington’s other gorge guy, James?’ Eddie steps forward to scrutinise me.
‘What do you mean?’ I reply.
‘Well, not so long ago you were besotted with him.’
‘Hardly.’ I frown, and he gives me a look. ‘The way I feel about Tom is totally different. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Besides, James and I came to an understanding, we’re just good friends now.’ A short silence follows. ‘You know, Eddie … I think Tom really could be my one.’
‘Dreamy. And I truly hope so, because if there’s anyone who deserves to bag their prince charming, it’s you, flower. Especially after that slutty skank of an ex, Brett, or whatever his name was. I never liked him,’ Eddie sniffs, pulling a face.
‘Yes, thanks Eddie, like I need reminding.’ Brett was my last serious boyfriend, before he cheated two years ago with a tall beautiful blonde. I’ve had a few liaisons since, including a one-night-stand with James but none of that even comes close to how I feel when Tom is around.
‘So, are you two actually an item now?’ Eddie nudges my arm.
‘Not exactly.’
‘Well why not? If he really is your one, then what are you waiting for? You must go get him, honey.’ He looks outraged.
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Rubbish, it’s only complicated if you make it so. I bet it’s just a matter of time. Ooh, I wonder what the other staff will think … The wealthy store owner and the penniless shop girl, does have a certain Pretty Woman feel to it,’ Eddie says with a flourish while waving his free hand in the air like he’s Walt Disney pondering on a new fairytale film ending.
‘Will you please stop it – I’m hardly penniless. And shop girl sounds so old-fashioned and dull … I’m an experienced and well regarded sales assistant and newly-appointed supervisor,’ I say, mulling it all over as the creaky old staff lift shudders to a halt. We fling open the cage door, side-step a couple of stock trollies piled high with flattened cardboard boxes and walk along the dimly-lit corridor that’s like a time warp with its original 1920s faded floral wallpaper.
I suppose in a way Eddie does have a point. Sort of. Tom Carrington is the new managing director after all, the majority shareholder and what if he wants to focus on settling into his new position? Prove himself as a credible department store owner? He’s not going to want everyone on the shop floor tittle-tattling about his liaison with me, Georgie Hart, in charge of Women’s Accessories. And to be honest, his impromptu visit to Italy was so brief, I really didn’t want to waste a second of it by quizzing him about ‘next steps’ once we both got home to Mulberry-On-Sea. No, I had wanted to make the most of the few short hours we had together. That was before I got his email just as I landed at Gatwick airport.
Hi Georgie,
I hope you had a safe journey home. I’m going to be here in Sicily for a while longer.
Hope to catch up on my return.
Tom x
I knew he was travelling on to Sicily after surprising me, he told me he had a family matter to attend to, but I just assumed he would be back by now. If I’d known … well, then perhaps I would have broached the subject when I had the chance, and his email is far more formal than I had hoped for. Of course I read it a trillion times over the weekend, wondering exactly what it means – ‘catch up’ could be code for practically anything from ‘I’ll bump into you in the staff canteen sometime’ to ‘Let’s have gloriously filthy clothes-ripping sex the very second we next clap eyes on each other.’ And at first I was delighted to hear from him and felt really buoyant that he obviously wanted to continue things, why else would he send an email? He could have just ignored me. But now that I’ve let my thoughts spiral, I’m swaying between thinking his appearance in Italy was just a dramatic gesture engineered by Sam, because Tom was too polite to decline her invitation, or that perhaps he really does feel the same way I do, and as Eddie says … It’s just a matter of time until he’s back and we can really get to know each other and actually Get It On. God, I hope it’s the latter because he is hot – the archetypal (but 100% real) tall, dark, handsome guy with an actual personality. Bonus! And believe me, I’ve met some proper tools in my time.
But that’s not all. He has a wicked sense of humour – insisted I call him Mr Carrington and threatened to tip me off my sunlounger and flip me into the infinity pool if I didn’t. I ended up pushing him in first. That was after we had a tickling fight. He’s surprisingly down-to-earth, given his privileged background, being independently and tremendously wealthy from a proper Italian dynasty, but he doesn’t have any kind of annoying sense of entitlement that the beautiful people sometimes have. There’s just something SO irresistible about him. A spark. And he’s a really nice guy. An incredible guy. Sometimes I can’t believe that he’s interested in me, because let’s face it, he really could have his pick of women – supermodels or socialites from wealthy families with impeccable pedigrees. I’m just ordinary Georgie Hart from Mulberry-On-Sea with a brunette bob that often does a spectacular impression of a pair of floppy spaniel ears, especially if I don’t use my giant sleep-in Velcro rollers for a bit of extra bouf.
I pull out my iPhone to check for more messages. Nope, nothing. I tap through to my sent items just to be sure my reply to Tom did actually get sent. I hope so – I must have deleted the original and then tweaked it at least six times before I was satisfied it didn’t sound too needy, or clingy or desperate or whatever … I’m all in favour of appearing bright, breezy and chatty. Didn’t want to come across all bunny-boiler and scare him off. Frustrating, when what I actually wanted to write was, I literally CAN NOT stop thinking about you, hell, you’ve even appeared in my dreams, several times in fact. NAKED. Gloriously tanned, glistening in mist spray and begging to take me right there, wherever that may be. The last scenario was in the sauna (at the health club I joined and never went to but he doesn’t need to know that) resulting in me waking up in a very hot and highly sensitised state … or words to that effect.
And this situation would be so much easier if Sam was here, she’d know what to do, she’s an expert when it comes to bagging the man of your dreams, but she’s on honeymoon so there’s no way I’m interrupting her and Nathan to chat about my potential new lover … Hmm, steady on. It was just a kiss; several in fact. Yes, very passionate ones, but still, early days and all that. Besides, given my track record with men, I think it’s fair to consider that it could quite possibly fizzle away to nothing and I’ll miss out on having incredible sex with the sexiest man I’ve ever had the resoundingly good fortune to meet. Not to mention the chance of an actual bona fide relationship.
We make it in to the staff room and after hanging up my mac and checking my make-up for rain slippage,