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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she emerges from the low-level seat, her brown cord skirt rides up over her perfect legs, and they splay open. And as she turns to step out of the car, she inadvertently flashes me a glimpse of her knickers. With a speed that could induce whiplash, I turn my head to hide the giggle, but it’s no use, so I disguise it as a cough instead.
‘Not ill again, are you?’ She treats me to her pageant smile.
What is it with her and illness? She’s obsessed. She turns back to the car and attempts to haul a pile of folders out from the foot well, after flinging a grey silk tie out of the way. Hmmm, I wonder who the tie belongs to? She’s obviously had a man in her car and he’s taken his tie off. I wonder what else he took off?
‘No, I’m fine. Here, let me give you a hand,’ I say, reaching out to take the folders from her and thinking surely it wouldn’t have been James? I forcibly shove the image from my head. I really don’t want to go there.
‘Oh, what a good Samaritan you are,’ she says jovially, and shoves the enormous stack of manila folders at me. With my chin barely reaching the top, I struggle to keep my handbag about my person. Thinking she’ll take the folders once she’s locked the car, I wait by the bonnet. But instead she strides off towards the staff entrance, swinging her gold-chained mini Chanel handbag with the gaiety of a Parisian girl skipping down the Champs Elysées in springtime. Presuming that I’m to follow her, I stagger along behind and then veer off towards the lift, thinking what a bloody cheek she has. I wish I hadn’t bothered to give her a hand now.
‘Oh no!’ she bellows, with such force, for a second I contemplate flinging the folders and body-slamming the floor in case she’s spotted a suicide bomber lurking. ‘The lift is for fat people,’ she continues, and with a self-satisfied shake of her head she breezes off.
‘Well, these weigh a ton, so I’ll have to see you up there,’ I quip, feeling pleased with myself for standing up to her as I stomp off.
‘All right then,’ she calls airily.
‘What are you doing in so early?’ It’s Eddie and he’s skulking in the corner of the lift.
‘I could ask you the same thing. I have my weekly one-to-one with the stick insect, what’s your excuse?’ I ask, my hackles still up. Eddie looks tired and dishevelled. His tie is crooked and his hair, which is usually all gelled and immaculate, is a squashed heap.
‘Been here since hell o’clock typing up her endless reports, that’s all. I’m just on my way home to get showered and changed as that ridiculously high-maintenance sex fiend,’ he pauses to jab an angry finger towards the doors, signifying he’s referring to Maxine, ‘has only insisted I come straight back.’
‘Oh Ed, that’s torture.’
‘Exactly! Even galley slaves got a break sometimes,’ he says, pulling a sucking-on-a-lemon face.
I try not to laugh at his indignation.
‘Do you know she even told me to find another job, if I didn’t like it? Said there are plenty of people who’d jump at the chance to work with her.’ Eddie crosses his arms and rolls his bloodshot eyes up towards the ceiling in a huff.
‘I’m sorry. Just try to ignore her,’ I say, wishing I could take my own advice. I manage to hoist the folders up against the handrail in an attempt to get some relief from their weight when the lift shudders to a halt.
‘For crying out loud, not again … must be the second time this week I’ve been stuck in this sodding lift.’ Eddie uncrosses his arms and stabs at the ‘call’ button. ‘How come you’ve got these?’ he says, glancing at the folders. ‘They’re personnel records … Maxine made me get them from HR. Of course, I checked with Walter first because they’re highly confidential, but he said to do whatever she asked. The flaming turncoat that he is,’ Eddie snorts.
‘Oh, like an idiot I offered to give her a hand with them. I bumped into her as she pulled up in her Audi TT,’ I tut.
‘Oh yeah, don’t start me on that. Bending my ear for days, she was, over that car. And what I’d like to know is how come Carrington’s is forking out for a company car? I thought we were on the verge of a terminal decline. Walter must be dafter than he looks. “Make sure it’s the gun-metal grey”,’ he says, running a suggestive hand down his chest and mimicking her breathy voice. ‘Over and over, to the point where I felt like pummelling her with some gun metal myself, and you know I’m not a violent man.’ He attempts a weak smile and I give him a sympathetic look.
‘So how come she’s managed to wangle a sports car and not a normal car then?’
‘Search me. It seems madam gets whatever she wants. And you want to see how much gear she has delivered to her office every day. All designer stuff too. But one thing is for sure, the board think she’s the best thing since sliced foie gras, and as for Walter, well, she’s got him wrapped right around her toothpick of a pinkie.’ He wiggles his little finger in the air, before yelling, ‘Hellooo, is anyone actually there?’ into the little speaker on the wall of the lift.
There’s a crackle of static before a male voice bellows, ‘Sorry guys, technical hitch. You’ll be on your way soon.’
‘Well, that’s just grrrreat,’ Eddie yells back.
‘You know she flashed at me when she dragged herself out of the car earlier on,’ I say, lowering my voice in case the speaker is still active.
‘Oh purlease. That’s way too much information,’ he says, holding his hand up.
‘So, how’s your love life?’ I ask, changing the subject, wishing I could tell him about my drink with James.
‘Oh don’t. Smith deserted me … for somebody else. Story of my life,’ Eddie says, sticking his bottom lip out.
‘Oh, Ed, I’m so sorry. I’d give you a hug if I could but …’ I nod towards the folders.
‘And get this, only said we could still see each other. I ask you … flaming cheek,’ he sniffs, haughtily.
‘Damn right. Hope you told him to sod off.’
‘Weell, let’s just say I’m working on it.’ Eddie purses his lips, and I roll my eyes at him.
‘You’re such a manwhore.’
‘I know. Isn’t it fabulous,’ he sniggers. The lift rumbles into action again. I glance at the digital display.
‘Ed, you do know this lift is going up, don’t you?’ I tell him, and wonder if James will be in yet.
‘Well there you go, proof I’m officially mentally impaired from sleep deprivation,’ he sighs, waving jazz hands in the air. Then he pushes the button for the next floor.
‘I’m going to knuckle-drag my weary body out here and take the customer lift down. And you know what, I don’t give a fuck if I’m caught and disciplined, they can kiss my big queen arse,’ he says with a flourish.
‘Well try to get some sleep in the next few days,’ I call after him as he staggers out theatrically. He gives me a withering smile as he slides the cage door shut behind him.
The lift is just getting ready to move when a hand flies in between a gap in the metal. Instinctively, I lean over to press the ‘lift hold’ button, and momentarily forget about the folders. They crash to the floor as the cage door is slid open.
‘I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you.’ It’s Tom. I scrabble around trying to retrieve the folders, the contents of which have cascaded everywhere. Frantically, I try and cram the papers into their rightful folders. Tom is crouched down next to me, and his face is just a few centimetres from mine. I tug at the collar of my jacket. The heat in the confined space is suffocating. He hands me a heap of papers and then suddenly loses his balance and accidentally bumps into me. He quickly springs back up.
‘I’m so sorry. You’re not hurt are