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‘That they didn’t come to Carrington’s for the food! The store their son owns … Strange, isn’t it?’ And Sam heads off towards the catering area with a determined look on her face, leaving me to ponder on what she’s just said, because it’s true, it is strange. I wonder why they wouldn’t want to support him. And it is supposed to be a family store, after all …
‘Uh-oh. Here comes Her Majesty.’ Eddie elbows me. ‘Time for me to mingle.’ Isabella is heading straight towards us, closely followed by an entourage made up of the beer-bellied guy, a couple of men I recognise from the Carrington’s board and a woman with a static helmet hairdo, a sensible skirt suit and a very scary scowl.
‘Hey, don’t leave me to deal with her on my own.’ Panic darts through me.
‘Sorry, flower, I don’t do divas, unless it’s Pussy … or me! Tom will rescue you, I’m sure. Catch you later.’ He kisses my cheek and then disappears too, leaving me all alone. I scan the deck, looking for Tom, but can’t see him in the crowd. I brace myself and wonder what could possibly go wrong. Oh God.
Keen to keep a clear head, I surreptitiously place my flute on a nearby table. Calm with clarity, that’s me. I inhale hard through my nose before exhaling as Isabella and her entourage form a semicircle around me. My resolve withers only slightly.
‘Yes, that’s her.’ The beer-bellied guy pokes a finger at my chest, almost touching the fabric of my dress. Instinctively, I step back and rearrange my face into a smile. How rude!
‘Err, have we met?’
‘Only in my bedroom!’ he sniggers, making his shoulders pump up and down like he’s just told the funniest joke in the history of jokes, ever. And then quickly explains, ‘On the television,’ when the scowly woman gives him an extra-scowly look, if that’s even possible … which, by the looks of it, certainly is. Ooooh, scaareeee.
‘Geoooorgie,’ Isabella says in an extra-breathy voice as she steps forward to stand proprietorially by my side. ‘My dear, why did you lie?’
Whaaaat?
My heart immediately clamours inside my chest. Loudly – so loud I’m surprised someone hasn’t grabbed the crash kit that’s mounted neatly on the wall nearby. I rack my brain, desperate to fathom what she’s going on about. Lie? Sweet Jesus, I may have been economical with the details of my past, but an actual outright lie to my boyfriend’s mother who I’ve only met once before? I don’t think so. Or perhaps the jellybeantinis mushed my memory? Hmm … I swallow hard and smile, keen to ride it out.
‘Lie?’ I manage to squeak, suddenly wishing the Maplewood deck below my sandals would part and plunge me into the deep dark sea below – cold and wet, but definitely preferable to standing here while they all stare at the liar! And suddenly a ridiculous tune pops into my head – Liar liar, pants on fire. Oh God. Where the fuuuuuuck is Tom?
‘That’s right, my dear. Why didn’t you tell me you were famous?’
‘Um, well, I’m not exactly famous, not really, that happened quite a while ago now,’ I manage, practically shuddering with relief. Cringe. Maybe I should have mentioned Kelly’s TV show after all, but you’d have thought Isabella would have known all about it in any case. Kelly is her friend from university days. Isabella manages a half-smile and then actually loops her arm through mine before doing a weird kind of cuddly thing into me. Heeeelp. She’s being nice now, so why then do I still feel so edgy? I scan again … where is Tom?
‘Nonsense! Mr Dunwoody here says that you’re the nation’s sweetheart, and a columnist too; I’d say that’s a little more than being just a part-time shop girl. Sooo modest. You really should have told me, my dear.’ I open my mouth to speak, but Mr Dunwoody leaps in first.
‘Please. I may be the Member of Parliament for Mulberry-On-Sea, but no need to stand on ceremony.’ He puffs his beer-belly out a little further. ‘You can call me Dougie,’ he states, with an eager glint in his eye. Oh goody. After wiping a fleshy paw down the side of his cords, he offers it to me. Isabella drops my arm so I can shake Dougie’s hand. ‘And I was just saying that I need you.’
‘You do?’ I ask, raising one eyebrow while trying not to sound too sardonic.
‘That’s right. The town needs a high-profile person, someone in the public eye – I’d do it myself, but I’m not sure my constituents would thank me for it.’ He chuckles while I resist the urge to smirk. ‘No, my work is in Westminster! In London.’ Oh really. Like I didn’t know that already. I smile tightly. ‘But you would be perfect.’
‘Well I’m always happy to help if I can – what is it you’d like me to do?’ I ask tentatively, making sure I keep the smile in place while silently praying it isn’t something cringy or embarrassing: been there, done that, and on national television!
‘Help organise the Mulberry-On-Sea summer regatta, of course.’ It’s the scowly woman. ‘I’m Mr Dunwoody’s personal secretary,’ she says, fixing her beady eyes on me. Hmm, so you don’t have an actual name then …
‘Nice to meet you.’ I smile, but she doesn’t reciprocate.
One of the Carrington’s directors explains instead. ‘Georgie, Carrington’s are going to be sponsoring the summer regatta, in conjunction with the town council, the Mulberry Marina management company and the local radio station, Mulberry FM. It will be organised collaboratively by a number of retailers and community workers, together with the sponsors. Dougie asked if you could be involved, seeing as you grew up here, and you’re such a popular and well-known face in the town.’
‘Um, sure … and thank you.’ I feel flattered, and it sounds as if it might be fun.
‘We hoped you might help organise it on our behalf, be the face of Carrington’s? It’s such a fantastic opportunity for the whole community – to bring the town together, to have some fun, and for all of us retailers and local suppliers to make a bit of money too. It will really put Mulberry on the map if we can pull this off.’ He smiles and nods eagerly. ‘So, what do you say? Are you up for it? And it really would help with our expansion programme – to open a new store; help us to show how “community-spirited” the Carrington’s company is—’
‘What a fantastic idea.’ As if by magic, Tom appears with his dad, Vaughan, following close behind – a tall, robust, bear of man, with a crumpled cream linen suit and a weather-beaten face. ‘Georgie is an excellent organiser, a good team player, and she certainly knows how to look after people. She’s an expert when it comes to customer service. And all our regular customers adore her,’ Tom says, smiling proudly before taking my hand in his and giving it a big squeeze. Vaughan nods heartily in agreement. My heart melts, but the feeling quickly evaporates when I spot Isabella in my peripheral vision – she’s pursing her lips and gazing majestically into the middle distance. What is her problem? One minute she’s schmoozing me, the next she clearly hates me.
‘Wow, well, after that glowing recommendation, how can I refuse?’ I say, feeling thrilled. This could be really exciting – I’ll get to do something new and I love Mulberry, I’ve lived here my whole life, so what a fantastic opportunity to show what this wonderful, pretty, seaside-postcard of a town is made of. ‘When do I start?’ I grin.
‘Bravo!’ shouts Dougie.
‘Thank you. We really need Dunwoody on board if we’re to open another store, he’s heavily involved in planning and building regulations so could make it very difficult for us if he wanted to,’ Tom whispers in my ear as he leans in to give me a hug.
‘I wish you had mentioned it, though,’ I smile and whisper back.
‘Thought it would be a nice surprise, besides, we were kind of busy last night,’ he laughs sexily, standing next to me now and swinging an arm around my shoulders.
‘But Georgie, darling, you really shouldn’t make a snap decision, or feel pressured into helping out – it’s such a huge undertaking,’ Isabella starts, placing a hand on my arm and surreptitiously pulling me away from Tom. ‘Why don’t you have a think about it first? If it’s a little too much for you, then I could always get my events man, Sebastian, involved instead. See what a marvellous job he’s done with today’s spectacular soirée.’ Isabella gestures around the overly opulent deck as if to prove her point. But I’m not sure Mozart and plates of weird-looking canapés will cut it with the residents of Mulberry. Mrs Godfrey, one of Carrington’s regular customers, and a stalwart of the local WI, would definitely complain – ‘far too fussy’, I can hear her now. Oh no no no!
Ideas immediately buzz inside my head. I’m thinking ice cream in cones; donkey rides on the beach (if they’re still allowed, I make a mental note to put it on my ‘regatta things to do’ list and find out). Yes, I’m going to need a massive ‘to do’ list – a bumper pad, in fact. And it’s been years since I went on a donkey; the EU could have put a stop to it, for all I know, and what about a funfair? Everyone loves a carousel. And food! We could have stalls and marquees selling artisan breads – there’s that great new bakery just opened on Bay Street, I bet they’d love to get involved. Exotic cheeses from the local farm shop over in West Mulberry, I know they’d be up for it, and they do assorted olives too. And maybe a special ‘around the world’ tasting experience – the customers loved it when a Japanese chef came instore one time to do a Teppanyaki cooking demonstration. It was amazing – razor-sharp blades slicing and dicing slivers of garlic-infused lamb and vegetable accompaniments before sizzling them on a hot griddle right there on the counter. And Sam could sell her delish cupcakes, macaroons and éclairs. We’d need a live band, of course, and even a mini-film festival, perhaps – something for everyone. I have loads of ideas already and my regular customers are going to love it. It’s so exciting. Isabella pipes up again.
‘Yes, Sebastian is far more accustomed to these things. You know, he was very involved in Elton’s last black-and-white ball.’ This prompts Dougie to let out a long whistle and do big ‘I’m impressed’ eyes.
‘Well, I say we give Georgie a chance. I’m convinced she’ll bring her magic touch to the event,’ Tom steps in.
‘Superb,’ Vaughan interjects, clearly bored by the conversation already. ‘Now that’s settled, I’m off to purloin more refreshments. Anyone for a top-up?’ Vaughan waves his glass in the air and flashes me a cheery smile before wandering off in search of a waiter. Dougie and the directors follow suit while the scowly woman hovers awkwardly.
‘I wonder, Mr Carrington, if you have a moment perhaps to give a quote for Mr Dunwoody’s website. He’s keen to provide a platform for local businesses; might be useful for you, considering your expansion plans,’ she says tightly to Tom, who glances at me. I nod and smile, wondering why she’s being so hostile. It’s clear she doesn’t share Dougie’s enthusiasm for Carrington’s.
‘Sure, why not?’ he says, before steering the woman towards a quieter part of the deck. I turn to Isabella.
‘It’s going to be so amazing,’ I beam, my head still buzzing with all the ideas.
‘I truly hope so, my dear.’ Isabella leans into me and lowers her voice until it’s almost inaudible. ‘Especially after all the effort my son has made for the store. He has worked wonders with Carrington’s, after all, not to mention his plans for expansion. It would be such a shame if you somehow managed to ruin it!’
And with that parting low blow, she sweeps away, leaving me to reunite my jaw with my face.
4 (#ulink_58a241bf-cdfe-5adb-a1c9-69ac1f7373a1)
‘Shut uuup, you are.’ It’s Wednesday morning. I’m at work in the VIP shopping suite and Eddie is calling on the staff wall phone from LA.
‘Stop laughing. I really am. And it will be fun. If you hadn’t abandoned me on board the yacht, then you would have heard all about it,’ I say quietly, just in case a customer wanders in unannounced. Highly unlikely, as my assistant, Lauren, who used to work in the cash office but fancied doing something different when her little boy, Jack, started school, usually escorts them up, but you never know. And I’m guessing Lauren is already here, as the magazines have been fanned nicely on the gold marbled rococo coffee table, pink lilies placed on the matching side cabinet and the plum brocade cushions plumped and artfully arranged on the oversized chaise in the centre of the room.
‘Yes, sorry, it was a bit mean of me,’ Eddie apologises.
‘And then disappearing without even saying goodbye.’
‘Well, I tried to find you but the deck was heaving by then, and I was in serious danger of missing the flight. Carly was practically growling at me to get a move on.’
‘Hmm … Well OK, I’ll let you off. But only because she did look super-scaareeee!’
‘So, what do you know about boats?’ he sniffs.
‘Nothing. But the regatta isn’t about the boats.’ Silence. ‘Well, I guess it is a bit about the boats,’ I quickly add. ‘I’m guessing someone from the marina will be in charge of all the actual sailing stuff – the races, that kind of thing. My job is to make sure Mulberry puts on the show of its life, that Carrington’s is represented well and we utilise the opportunity to attract more high-end customers instore. The first committee meeting is tomorrow.’
‘Have you finished?’
‘Whaaaat?’
‘You sound like some soulless corporate brochure.’
‘Oh, go away, don’t be calling me from exotic locations just to wind me up, what do you want?’ I pretend to be cross, but I’m well used to his teasing by now.
‘Charming!’ Eddie laughs. ‘Listen, petal, I didn’t get a chance at the yacht party to tell you I’m going to be back in Mulberry for the summer and thought it might be nice if we all do something together – the three of us: you, me and Sam. Can we pencil something in?’
‘Of course – we can hang out like we always have for years and years; it’ll be just like old times. Can’t wait. We can watch TV and eat cake, but since when did we need to “pencil something in”?’ I laugh – this summer is going to be brilliant. Even the weather is getting involved; the sun is still shining and I managed without a jacket this morning. A bit chilly, but once the clouds had cleared it was gloriously warm.
‘Since Carly lectured me on forward planning, that’s when! You know, she even had the cheek to reel me off a list on what makes an efficient PA. Like I never existed before I became famous. Honestly, she really thinks she’s the boss of me. Anyway, how’s that delicious boyfriend of yours? I didn’t even get a chance to talk to him at the soirée.’
‘Ah, Tom is brilliant as always.’
‘Although he’s hardly a boy now, is he? Oh no, all man. I clocked those beautifully built biceps.’
‘You know, he’s asked me to move in with him.’
‘Awesome. Next you’ll be getting married, sugar. Oh, promise I can be your best man. Sam will be bridesmaid, of course, but I’m in charge of your hair and makeup. And shoes! Oh yes, the shoes. How many pairs do you think you’ll need for the day?’ He pauses to let out a long sigh.
‘Err, one?’ I say, playing along with his fantasy wedding.
‘Don’t be daft. Three pairs at least!’ He sounds outraged. ‘And you’ll need a proper planner. Me, of course.’
‘Steady on. Haven’t you got a career being famous and fabulous to keep you busy?’
‘I’m deadly serious. Darling, you need to plan ahead, especially if you want a venue that’s anywhere near wonderful. You don’t want to have to settle for some draughty village hall in boring old Mulberry-On-Sea, all because you didn’t bother to get organised already. What would Queen Isabella say?’ He makes a tut-tutting sound.
‘Stop it. Anyway, Mulberry isn’t boring.’
‘Well, it is compared to Vegas, or … how about Necker? Oh my God, you could get married on Necker Island and we could film it as part of my show. I bet Her Madge could swing that for you – she’ll want the best for her son, and Tom’s bound to have the money stashed in his trust fund or whatever—’
‘Please, Eddie. When I get married, it will be here in Mulberry, with Dad giving me away and Nancy helping out with the arrangements: small and intimate and magical. You know how I hate being in the spotlight, especially when it comes to TV cameras.’
‘Spoilsport. I’ve always fancied myself as a bridal stylist. It’ll be just like dress up, but with an actual real audience. And I could be your very own David Tutera.’
‘Who?’
‘Oh, you won’t know him – he’s the dreamy host of My Fair Wedding – it’s a TV show on over here,’ he says in an extra-blasé voice.
‘Then I’ll bear you in mind should I ever need a wedding stylist,’ I laugh.
‘Well, what are you waiting for? Men like Tom don’t come along twice in a lifetime.’
‘True. But don’t you think you might be getting a little bit carried away? We haven’t even talked about any of that.’
‘Well do. Talk. Try it; you might like it, instead of just having sex all the time. You must be the only couple I know who still have that all going on. Everyone else settles into twice-weekly sessions after a while – if they’re unlucky: sex is so overrated!’ I laugh, thinking: typical Eddie. ‘Not twice-nightly!’
‘Ha-ha! But we’re not like normal couples who can see each other whenever they like. You know how busy Tom is building the Carrington’s brand. I’m lucky if I get to see him twice in any one week! Besides, it’s just living together …’
‘But we all know what that really means,’ he states authoritatively.
‘We do?’
‘Of course. It’s man-speak for “I might want to marry you. Just not right now, but in a year or so when I’m really sure you’re not some kind of crazeee control freak who won’t let me leave wet towels on the bathroom floor, etc., etc.” It’s down to you to convert the offer of living together into your very own happy-ever-after. Go on, get that rock on your finger, darling – you know you want to.’
‘Eddie! Must you be so clichéd about everything? These days couples do actually discuss important things like marriage, you know – and I’m not some feeble female eagerly waiting for a man to sweep me off my feet. I make decisions.’
‘True. But you just said yourself that you don’t have time to discuss things. And there’s nothing wrong with helping things along a little, if it’s what you really want.’ Silence follows. ‘It is what you want, isn’t it?’
‘It is! Oh God, yes, it sooooo is,’ I say, suddenly realising that it actually really is – I think I’ve focused so much on the physical aspect of our relationship until now – enjoyed it, no, scrap that, adored it – that I’ve somehow forgotten about the emotional side. Tom and I have both neglected it. Well, that needs to be fixed, right away, or just as soon as we next see each other.
‘Brilliant. Then get a venue booked. Or, if you can’t decide, then at least put a selection on retainer … it’s the norm over here. My executive producer has had the Terrace Room at the New York Plaza booked since her Sweet Sixteen. It’s the only way, she said.’
‘Oh, Ed, there’s someone here.’ I can hear voices in the little anteroom outside. I pop my head around the door and see Lauren taking care of our guests. They’re enjoying a welcome glass of buck’s fizz, and so I reckon I’m OK for ten minutes or so. Give them a chance to relax – there’s nothing worse for a customer than feeling rushed.
‘OK, honeypie. But think about it. A year! Mark my words! I’ll even put a wager on it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That Tom will propose within a year of you living together.’
‘You’re on,’ I say, impulsively.
‘Well, now you’re talking – let’s go for it: a hundred quid says he proposes within six months of you officially living together. You can go for between six months and a year, seeing as you’re being Miss Evasive today, but if it’s within the first six months, then you pay me a hundred, and if it’s after six months but less than a year … then, well … you still pay me a hundred.’ He laughs.
‘But,’ I start, feeling totally confused, then quickly realise it’s pointless: Eddie has made up his mind. And besides, from what I can gather, if Tom doesn’t propose within either timescale, then I stand to win £200. Hmmm, but on second thoughts – at what cost? And I suddenly feel really disappointed. Damn you, Eddie, I now want Tom to propose to me more than anything … I realise that I actually don’t want the £200. And to think I was blissfully and obliviously happy before we started this conversation.
‘No buts! Right, I’m off to film a scene in a swim-up suite at a luxury hotel, with Carly tapping her watch every five seconds no doubt,’ he puffs, pretending to be put out.
‘Stop it!’
‘Oh, you’re just jel! But you’re welcome here any time, you know that,’ he laughs.
‘I’m not jel at all!’ I feign swagger, because secretly I am a bit jealous. Yes, I love my job, I love Tom, I love Mulberry-On-Sea, but it would be so nice to travel too, to see more of the world. I’ve spent my whole life here in Mulberry and it can be stifling at times. Of course I’ve been to other places – Spain, Sam surprised me once with a weekend away for my birthday, and there was Lake Como for her wedding. Oh, and I’ve been to London loads of times, it’s only an hour away on the train and great for nights out and exclusive West End shopping. Mum and Dad used to take me there too as a child to shop and see the sights. We’d make a day of it, first visiting an old-fashioned, posh little department store – it only had three floors but Mum loved it, and it sold my boarding school uniform (which I had to have before I got turfed out, of course), plus it made a change from Carrington’s. But it closed down years ago. Then on to Big Ben, Trafalgar Square to feed the pigeons, Buckingham Palace and not forgetting the museums, a boat trip along the Thames, followed by fish and chips smothered with salt and vinegar straight from the paper, sitting on a bench beside the Cutty Sark. Ah, I cherish those memories of me, Mum and Dad, all happy together – this was years before Dad got into trouble and everything changed.
There was the private jet trip to Paris as well, but that doesn’t really count as I only got to see the road through the taxi window from the airport to the hotel, and then back again. Eddie and Ciaran’s wedding in Vegas was pretty spectacular, but I’m not sure the big glitzy bubble that is Vegas really counts as ‘travelling’, not when there’s an actual escalator to perambulate you to the other side of the street. Mind you, I did manage to sit in a gondola and be serenaded along a pretend Venice waterway while I was there … hmm, on second thoughts, nope, not as good as the real thing. I’d love a proper Venetian experience. I promptly make myself a promise to travel more – take Eddie up on his offer and visit him in California, perhaps. Now that would be very exciting indeed. I’ll be thirty in August, so I don’t want to be heading for forty and to have never really travelled. And I reckon Tom could do with a holiday too. We could go to Venice for real, I could treat him just as soon as the summer regatta is over. It would certainly give us a proper opportunity to talk and move our relationship on in preparation for living together.
‘Be good. Laters,’ Eddie says to end the call.
I smooth down my duck-egg blue fit and flare dress. A signature piece – because when Carrington’s staff wear Carrington’s clothes, our customers see it, want it, buy it! True fact! And there’s a duplicate dress just like this one currently being displayed on a podium in the main Carrington’s window, which directly fronts the high street with its white colonnaded walkway of olde-worlde streetlamps and pretty hanging baskets bursting with sunny bright orange nasturtiums. It’s the most prominent spot in the store and right next to Women’s Accessories, which is where I used to work before I took over up here.
And I loved that job too – selling high-end handbags all day long: who wouldn’t? I may not have been able to afford to own one back then, even with my staff discount, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate an exquisite piece of arm candy when I saw it. And there isn’t anything I don’t know about handbags – they’re my passion – and it’s even better now that I’m up here, as my customers always want the perfect bag to complement their new outfit. You know, I even met Anya Hindmarch one time. I’m a big fan of her designs.
My counter was next to the floor-to-ceiling window display, giving me a panoramic view of the bandstand opposite. During quiet times, I used to love watching all the people milling up and down outside, or relaxing in a deckchair enjoying a musical performance on the bandstand opposite. On a clear early morning, when the town was still empty, I could see as far as the peppermint-green railings down by the harbour and out to the glistening sea beyond.
Mulberry-On-Sea is the perfect location to host a summer regatta. I bet people will come from miles around; we may even get tourists travelling down from London, not forgetting the visiting glamouratti berthing in the marina for a few days. I can’t wait to get involved, and show Isabella what a good job I can do – there’s no way I’d ever let Tom down – or Carrington’s, for that matter.
Smiling, I bouf up my hair in the mirror as I pass by and head towards the anteroom to greet my customers – mother and daughter, by the looks of it, and they’ve just finished their drinks, so perfect timing to bring them through.
