Christmas Cracker 3-Book Collection: Three Cosy Christmas Romances. Lindsey Kelk
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cafés with striped awnings and seats outside, mingled in with buckets of glorious multicoloured blooms from the many flower shops. Oh, I so wish I was there with him to share a croissant and drink espresso. It looks glorious and really romantic.
Tom arrives at a studio where he’s about to meet a jewellery designer, when the ad break starts.
‘Top-up,’ I say to Eddie, hoping neither of them notices my trembling hands. It’s incredible the effect Tom has on me. And then a thought pops into my head – I wonder if he misses me, I wonder if he’s watching the show. I know it probably isn’t broadcast in Paris, but he could be watching online. I hope he is, then he’ll have seen me looking my best – with the big hair and lovely outfit, and not the ladder bit, thankfully. And I’m not bothered about Zara saying I should have given the woman a discount, Tom knows that isn’t Carrington’s policy, and he’s the boss, not Zara, despite what she may think.
We’ve all been to the bathroom and topped up our drinks when the show comes back on. And I freeze. With the glass halfway to my mouth, which is hanging open, a horrible hot sensation trickles right through me. I place the glass down and hold my breath. There, on the TV screen in my shoebox lounge, is Tom, laughing and looking utterly beautiful in a white shirt and brown leather riding boots over tight white jodhpurs. He’s on a moonlit sandy beach under a starry night sky, riding bareback on a fiery steed, just like a hero in that Bonnie Tyler song … which incidentally is bellowing out in the background. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s an exquisite, olive-skinned, barefoot woman in a flimsy flowing gypsy dress that’s ridden up to show off her toned thighs – her arms are wrapped around his back and her long luscious dark hair is splaying all around them. But he’s supposed to be in Paris? Last I heard, they didn’t have beaches in Paris.
As if reading my mind, the voiceover guy explains, ‘Mr Carrington is enjoying a rare moment of R&R on the stunning shoreline along the French island of Corsica.’ He then introduces the goddess as Valentina Fernandes – even her name is romantic and exotic sounding. She’s a jewellery designer. I swallow hard and blink a few times on realising that I’m actually staring at the screen. Transfixed.
‘Isn’t she the one who designed the jewellery collection that you palmed off on that dodgy Russian customer? You know, the one who wanted you to launder his dirty money by sending merch he’d purchased to Moscow? He had a limp and a penchant for high-end handbags,’ Eddie says, flaring his nostrils.
‘Don’t remind me,’ I say, shuddering at the memory. ‘And yes. Her costume jewellery is hideous. So garish that Mrs Godfrey from the WI complained of a headache when she caught a glimpse of it under the spotlights.’ But what’s she doing in Corsica? And with Tom! I can’t help wondering if this is the reason he was so quick to suggest we call it a day. Maybe he had already set his sights on her, knew they’d be meeting up as part of the show and wanted to be single so he could get it on with her. The thought lingers.
‘Oh Georgie, please don’t get upset,’ Sam says. ‘We don’t know who she is, I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.’ And I know she’s just trying to soften the blow. The man of my dreams, or so I thought, is cavorting with probably the most beautiful woman in the world. If it was Nathan up there on the screen with Valentina, then I guarantee Sam would devastated too.
‘That’s right. Anyway, we don’t even know that he’s sleeping with this bird who makes trashy jewellery for nobody to buy.’ Sam nudges Eddie hard and flashes a ‘shut up’ look. ‘This footage of them together could just be scripted reality.’ Eddie sniffs and crosses his arms, as if he knows all about it. Since when did he become an expert?
‘What do you mean?’
‘A showmance!’ Eddie says, and my forehead creases. ‘Set up purely to entertain the viewers. KCTV could have staged the scenes to imply something else entirely, just like they did with you and your Beyoncé moment in the pilot.’ I give him a blank face. ‘The bottom wriggle, the Anya bag?’ he says, as a reminder. ‘All fabricated, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. I do remember – I just had been trying to block it out of my mind. So you think that’s what’s going on?’
‘It’s entirely possible,’ Sam joins in, ‘and I really didn’t think Tom was like that. He didn’t strike me as a player at all. Nathan has always said that he’s a true gentleman. Admittedly, he doesn’t know him that well – only from the squash club, but still … ’
‘Then why hasn’t he bothered to take any of my calls? And who was that woman who answered? I bet it was her, the one on the horse.’
‘You don’t know that. Try not to jump to conclusions,’ she says.
‘I’m trying. I’m trying really hard here, but it doesn’t look very good, does it?’ My heart sinks all over again.
‘Well I guess not,’ Eddie says. ‘But don’t be down. Look at your options. What about James? He’s here and you know he still holds a candle for you. I’m sure of it, I’ve seen the way he looks at you,’ he adds.
‘Don’t be daft. James is a good friend, nothing more. Besides, I can’t just flit from one man to the next,’ I snap angrily, quickly followed by, ‘Look, I’m sorry. This has really got to me, I didn’t mean to—’
‘We know, honey.’ Sam rubs my arm and gives Eddie a look. ‘But seriously, maybe Eddie has a point. Why shouldn’t you date someone else? If Tom is off gallivanting with the jewellery designer, then that means you’re a free agent too, surely. If it’s good enough for him … ’ Her voice trails off, and I ponder on what she’s saying. Maybe she has a point, why should I moon over him when he’s clearly having such a fabulous time without me?
‘Why don’t we press on and watch the ending? Only five minutes left,’ Eddie says to change the subject. ‘No need for hasty decisions.’
I finish the last of my buck’s fizz and wiggle further down into the beanbag. My head feels as though it might explode with all these developments. I try to focus on the TV screen. The voiceover guy is talking again now. The three of us watch in silence as snippets of what’s coming up in next week’s show appear. And, oh God, I thought it was too good to be true – there’s a clip of me hurling the crocodile skin bag into the Christmas tree next to the Lulu Guinness display. And they’ve done something to the film – speeded it up, and now keep showing the bag spinning into the tree, over and over, with comic-book-style bubbles flashing onto the screen with words like ‘pow’ and ‘thwack’ inside. And I knew I wasn’t mistaken – you can actually hear someone sniggering loudly in the background. Great.
Now they’re showing a clip of Tom in the boardroom at Hermès, where the table is swathed in a selection of exquisite silk scarfs. The voiceover guy is talking again. ‘Will Mr Carrington find love on the sensual sandy shores of Corsica?’ Cue another clip of him and Valentina on the horse. My stomach tightens again. ‘Or will Tom rekindle his romance with an old flame? Don’t miss next week’s episode to find out …’
Whaaaat?
Old flame …
It’s Zara! I knew it. And she’s snuggled up in a chocolate-brown fur coat looking stunning in a horse-drawn carriage in a twinkling, snowy Central Park. New York. Guess that’s Tom’s next stop then; unless he’s there already. Eddie did say they were filming all his scenes upfront. And then it’s confirmed. My heart sinks. Tom is back on the screen, with his boyish smile in place. He looks relaxed and laidback, just like he did on our last date, and I so wish he was here, tickling and teasing me. Messing around together just like we used to. He shares a joke with a couple of fit-looking American guys who look as if they’ve just stepped out of an episode of Revenge. They’re watching a giant Norwegian spruce Christmas tree being hoisted up into position at the Rockefeller Center. The film cuts to another scene, where the tree is decorated now, and it’s breathtaking. With a beautiful sparkly Swarovski star at the top and row upon row of gorgeous rainbow lights glittering in the dark evening sky, it’s magical. The Americans sure know how to celebrate the