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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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 a red five. Only one more floor to go, thankfully. The lift grinds to a halt, breaking the awkward silence, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief as I turn to leave. But she pipes up again.
‘And you will come to my hen do, won’t you?’ she smiles, her finger on the door hold button. ‘But don’t worry about trying to find someone to bring along. I have sooo many friends coming,’ she says. For a moment I’m speechless, but I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’s riled me, so I manage a grimace.
‘Thanks, sounds marvellous.’ I step out of the lift and, turning my back, mutter, ‘Can’t wait,’ under my breath, just as the lift starts moving again.
I make my way along the corridor towards the offices.
‘You OK? You look really stressed.’ Lauren’s head pops up over the enormous beechwood reception desk.
‘What? Oh yes sorry. It’s just other people, you know … annoying sometimes,’ I say, feeling flustered by Tina and the ridiculous competition she seems to have pulled me into. ‘How come you’re up here and not in the cash office?’
I notice that her eyes are swollen as if she’s been crying.
‘Oh, the new big boss wants me meeting and greeting. Talking of which, Maxine has insisted that I come and sit here all day. Said it looks more professional and that she doesn’t have time to keep coming to the door to get people herself. I have to run around after her constantly, meaning I can’t even get on with any of my real work. And now Tina’s told me that I’ve got to stay late to catch up,’ she sniffs. I shake my head. I bet she has, she’ll not want to miss an opportunity to exert her authority.
‘You poor thing. How’s Jack?’ I ask, remembering her baby.
‘He’s gorgeous, and he can just about walk now,’ she says, her eyes lighting up. ‘Thanks for asking, Georgie.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I reply, thinking it must be hard for her being on her own and having to leave him with her mum all day. Then I remember the copy of Closer in the bottom of my bag. I quickly pull it out and hand it