Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s

by Alexandra Brown

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it, and I have to say you’re looking mighty fine these days, young lady.’ Alfie looks me up and down before smiling appreciatively.

  ‘Daaad, stop flirting.’ Sam gives Alfie a gentle nudge and we all laugh.

  ‘Well, I better be off. Leave you two girls to it. Samantha’s such a bore when she gets going,’ he winks at me.

  ‘Love you too, Daddy,’ Sam teases.

  ‘Here, have a good night.’ Alfie pulls a roll of £20 notes from his pocket. ‘And make sure you take taxis. No walking the streets.’

  ‘Oh Dad, put it away,’ Sam says, waving a hand.

  ‘I insist.’ He splits the notes in two. ‘Here.’ He hands half to me and half to Sam. ‘And no arguments. From either of you,’ he says, pretending to be stern as he wags his index finger between us both. I glance at Sam, feeling a bit awkward and waiting for her cue as Alfie presses the notes into my hand.

  ‘OK. If you insist.’ Sam grins at me as she reaches up to give Alfie a kiss.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, knowing from previous experience there’s absolutely no point in arguing with Alfie. I was sixteen when he first tried to give me money one Christmas. I refused, of course, only to find it inside my coat pocket when it was time to return to Nanny Jean’s. I hid it inside a book in my locker at school, and later used it to buy a duvet when I moved to the bedsit.

  ‘My pleasure. Have fun girls,’ Alfie says, pulling the door open.

  Once we’ve finished waving goodbye and Alfie’s roared off in his Aston Martin, I reach inside my handbag, pull out a little gift bag and swing it in front of Sam. Her eyes light up like a child’s. I’m so pleased I could get it for her.

  ‘Happy Birthday lovely.’ I lean forward, and give her a big birthday kiss on each cheek. She peers into the bag.

  ‘Thank you honey.’ She lifts out the box. As she opens it she lets out a little squeal.

  ‘It’s gorgeous, how did you know that I’ve always wanted one of these?’ she says, holding the rainbow crystal Shamballa bracelet against her wrist.

  ‘Lucky guess. Or maybe it was the trillion hints you’ve been dropping.’ I can’t help teasing her. She’s like a big kid when it comes to birthdays, and not just her own. On my last birthday, she thoroughly spoilt me with a weekend in Barcelona that she had meant to be a surprise, but that she just couldn’t resist telling me about beforehand.

  ‘Was it really that many times? I’m so sorry, how boring,’ she says, handing me the cocktail. I take the mini rose-pink macaroon from the side of the glass and take a bite before quickly slurping a big mouthful of liquid through the silver bendy straw as we walk along the hallway and into the kitchen.

  ‘Mmm, what’s in this? It’s heavenly,’ I say, my mouth full of the luscious concoction.

  ‘It’s a secret recipe. Do you like it?’

  ‘Like it? I love it.’ I laugh, letting the liquid linger in my mouth. ‘I’m ravenous. I’ve only had a Wispa since breakfast time.’

  ‘There’s a lasagne in the oven if you want some, with no garlic in it of course. Just in case you pull. I’m determined to find you a Valentine’s date,’ Sam says, with a cheeky grin as I swing myself up onto the granite-topped breakfast bar and kick off my wedges.

  ‘Oh go on then, just a little bit though, not one of your monster helpings,’ I reply, hoping she ignores my half-hearted instruction. Sam is a fantastic cook. The year she spent at the culinary school in Paris was definitely worth it, even if she didn’t think so at the time. She spent months begging Alfie to let her go on a round-the-world cruise instead, but he was having none of it; said if she was serious about cooking then she needed to learn properly, luckily for me and my rumbling tummy.

  ‘Don’t tell me, another diet. Georgie, why do you bother? You know they don’t work. And I bet Wispas aren’t allowed.’ She snorts at me with disapproval. It’s OK for her, she’s one of those lucky people who really can eat whatever they want and stay slim.

  ‘Well, I lost six pounds doing No Carbs Before Marbs,’ I say, swinging my legs and flexing my crumpled toes.

  ‘So why are you doing another diet then? It’s not like you even need to lose weight. I’d love to have your gorgeous hourglass figure. Very Marilyn Monroe. Oooh, it’s the bombshell, isn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I smile coyly.

  ‘Well I hope so. And are you are all set for tonight? Nathan said he’ll see us there … with a few friends,’ Sam says, quickly changing the subject.

  ‘What did I say about trying to fix me up?’ I ask, pretending to be cross.

  ‘I don’t know, couldn’t hear … remember?’ Sam replies, flippantly.

  ‘Well I hope his friends are an improvement on the last batch of that – whatever his name was – guy you were seeing before Nathan.’

  ‘Trust me, if they have a fraction of the hotness that Nathan exudes, then you’ll have no complaint, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Cor, I’m not sure I can wait.’ We both laugh. I already feel more cheerful, looking forward to a good evening out. ‘And thanks for picking up my dress for tonight. I can’t believe I forgot to bring it with me this morning.’ I’d been in such a mad rush when I got up that I dashed out with only my shoes, make-up and Velcro rollers, so I had to make a mercy call to Sam and plead with her to bomb over to my flat on the other side of town.

  ‘No problem. That’s what BFFs are for. Follow me.’ I grab the bowl of lasagne from the worktop and take a forkful – it tastes divine. I then follow Sam as she runs off into her baby-blue-coloured dressing room with Sylvester, her chubby cat named after his striking resemblance to the cartoon version, springing along behind her.

  As I enter the room I see Sam standing by one of her wardrobes. She’s beaming.

  ‘This is your gown for this evening, madam,’ she says, sounding like a camp fashion stylist. My gaze follows her outstretched arm towards the wardrobe door as she flings it open to reveal a vintage halter-neck investment dress hanging on the inside of the door.

  ‘Where did you find this?’ I ask, running my hand down the silky material.

  ‘In the back of your wardrobe, screwed up in a ball. It still had the price tag on it. Honestly, this dress is gorgeous,’ Sam says, indignantly.

  ‘Oh Sam, you shouldn’t have. I can’t wear it, I’ll never get into it,’ I whine, with trepidation, as the memory of trying to squeeze into it comes flooding back. ‘Besides, it’ll smell all musty, won’t it, having been scrunched up in the wardrobe for years,’ I add, panic mounting at the thought of wedging my curvy bits into the ultra-clingy dress.

  ‘I got it cleaned for you. So don’t worry about that.’ Sam waves her hand dismissively.

  ‘But where’s my dress? The one I planned to wear tonight? It was hanging on the back of the bathroom door,’ I say. ‘So I wouldn’t forget it,’ I then add, lamely.

  ‘Oh, that old rag. Trust me, this dress is reeeem,’ she says, in her best TOWIE voice, as she gestures her hand in a circular movement over the front of the dress. ‘Just try it … with this miracle suit thing.’ And she pulls a surgical-looking square of Lycra from behind her back and dangles it in front of me. Grabbing the pork-chop-coloured monstrosity from her, I scrutinise it. I think it is what is laughably called a ‘body-shaper’. It’s minuscule but I decide to give it a go. I don’t have much choice, unless I want to go clubbing in my black top and trouser work combo, complete with Carrington’s name badge, the pin of which has bent somehow, making it impossible to remove.

  ‘Right, out of the room, I want to see if I can wedge myself into this. Which I imagine is going to be some feat, which I’d rather not attempt with you standing there.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ Sam shrieks, and claps her hands together. ‘Just shout if you need a hand,’ she adds.

  ‘No thank you, now shoo,’ I say, flapping my hand at her.

  ‘OK, OK, I’m going.’ Sam backs out of the room and closes the dressing room door behind her.

  After managing to sh
oehorn myself into the dress, I call Sam back into the room.

  ‘Bloody hell Georgie! You look fantastic, very curvaceous and sexy. And that dress really brings out your blue eyes and glowing complexion,’ she shrieks. I feel a bit constricted, though, as the suit is an underwired all-in-one corset that vacuums everything in.

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Sam grins.

  ‘Thanks, honey. Just need to get my shoes now.’ I head off to the hallway.

  ‘Hang on. Try these. They’ll be perfect with that dress.’ From underneath the scarlet chaise longue, Sam brings out her new Gina sandals. They are absolutely exquisite, with little diamanté stones running across the strappy ankle and toe parts of the delicate shoes.

  ‘Oh Sam I can’t. They’re your new ones, you haven’t even worn them yet,’ I say, instantly touched by her generosity.

  ‘Please, have them, I’ve got loads … and besides, I’m not really sure they’re me,’ she says, crossing her slim legs and leaning back on the chaise longue.

  ‘But I can’t,’ I say, desperately trying not to eye up the sandals.

  ‘I insist.’

  ‘Sam, I can’t. Really. You could always take them back if you don’t like them.’ They must have cost a fortune.

  ‘Oh, it’s not that I don’t like them. I just think they’d suit you better. And I’ll be offended if you don’t take them,’ she laughs. I look again.

  ‘Are you definitely sure? They really are beautiful,’ I say, not wanting to offend her but secretly wondering if she ever had any intention of keeping them for herself.

  ‘Yes.’

  I give her a huge hug.

  ‘In that case, thank you my GBF.’ Sam raises an eyebrow.

  ‘Gorgeous best friend of course,’ I explain, smiling and making a mental note to send her a proper thank-you card. I slip my foot into the right sandal. Twiddling my ankle in the mirror I feel a little shiver of excitement. Not bad at all – my stomach is almost flat and my best feature, my arms with their light sprinkling of freckles on the shoulders, can be seen quite nicely. Always highlight your best asset, isn’t that what Gok says? Sam has certainly come up trumps this time.

  ‘Right, so are we ready then?’ I grab my clutch bag and Sam stands up and smooths down her Hervé Léger bandage dress in nude. She’s teamed it with a pair of blush patent Kate Kuba wedges and fuchsia-framed geek glasses that almost cover her tiny elfin face. Her curly hair is bobbing around her shoulders and the Shamballa bracelet is sparkling on her wrist. She looks stunning.

  ‘Come on, we’d better go before we spontaneously combust with the glamour of it all.’ I slip my arm through hers. We’re both chatting and giggling as we head off into the night.

  8

  After paying the taxi driver, we pass through a red rope that’s unclipped by a doorman who looks as if he’s just stepped out of a Calvin Klein photo shoot, and emerge into the club. I feel as though I’ve walked into a Moroccan wonderland – there are orange and gold glittery soft furnishings draped between mosaic fountains. There are even olive trees dotted in amongst the leather ottomans. We’re both handed one of those cute mini Moët bottles with the drinking spouts. Complimentary to the first fifty clubbers as it’s opening night.

  ‘Mmm, I must say the view is scorching in here,’ Sam says, lifting my hair to talk straight into my ear. The pulse of the uplifting Happy House beat thuds against my chest. Everywhere I look there are male models, smiling when they catch my eye, as if telepathically telling me I’m their dream woman. Whoever’s come up with this marketing idea must be a genius, because it’s working. Oh yes, it’s working all right. I can almost feel a physical tingle of hedonism on my bare shoulders. Scrutinising the drinking spout more closely, I see that it has Bushka Launch Party inscribed in rose-gold lettering on the side. Nudging Sam, I raise an eyebrow and she nods back. Simultaneously we both whip the little spouts off and stash them in our bags.

  Sam yells, ‘Over here,’ before waving wildly. With her left hand above her head, her dress rides up and briefly flashes the side of her diamanté-topped stocking. A group of guys standing nearby nudge each other with appreciation. I glance in the direction of her yell, and striding towards us is a group of men. All of them are stunning, and a tall, athletic and seriously handsome blond one, who I guess must be Nathan, is carrying a giant heart-shaped helium balloon. He steps towards Sam, grabs her up in the air and spins her around.

  ‘So how is the sexy birthday girl?’

  Sam screams with delight, trying to keep the back of her dress from riding up too high. The pair of them lock lips. ‘Ahh, and here are the others,’ Nathan says, prising himself away from Sam. ‘You don’t mind, do you, only I invited some guys from the squash club.’

  Looking to where Nathan’s waving, I see a couple of tall men coming towards us. For a moment I don’t believe it. I blink again to be sure, and yes, it’s definitely him. Tom is heading straight towards us. My heart races. He looks even more incredible than he did in the staff canteen. I see a couple of girls eyeing him up and down as he strides past, but before I can get myself together he’s standing right in front of me.

  ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’ Tom says, fixing his chocolate-brown eyes on mine as I fidget nervously from one foot to the other.

  ‘Oh I’m not sure,’ I reply in a breezy voice, wondering if he can tell that the memory of him appearing through the canteen doors has made its way into my dreams several times already this week. Only in the dream he’s naked, drenched in massage oil accentuating a rock-hard muscular chest, and begging to take me there and then across the help-yourself salad bar. Naturally the canteen of my dreams is festooned with tea lights creating a sexy shimmery glow. And I look like a siren with really big hair.

  ‘Yes, I’m definitely sure. I know I’ve seen you somewhere before. Where do you work?’ he says, seemingly oblivious to the effect he’s having on me.

  ‘At Carrington’s. And you?’ I reply, trying to sound nonchalant.

  ‘That’s it.’ He looks pleased with himself at having worked it out. ‘I was there for the announcement. Must have seen you then.’ He beams a beautiful smile and my heart immediately melts. The feeling is incredible.

  ‘Of course. Silly me, I didn’t recognise you,’ I say nervously, twiddling the silver stud in my right earlobe and feeling my neck tingling with the first creep of a flush from the blatant lie.

  ‘Nice to meet you, again.’ Still smiling, he puts his hand out to mine and the sensation is like an electric charge as his warm fingers touch mine. He leans down to my hot cheek and plants a kiss. Momentarily distracted by the faint but delicious chocolatey scent of his aftershave, I giggle in a way that I haven’t since I was about five years old and instantly regret it. I’m conscious that Sam and Nathan are looking at us.

  ‘Do you two know each other?’ Sam asks, but before either of us can answer, Nathan butts in.

  ‘See you in a sec, honey.’ He makes off in search of the loo, accidentally bumping into Tom who quickly sidesteps and ends up standing adjacent to me.

  ‘Err, no not really. Sam, this is Tom,’ I say. Sam’s face goes all airy as she cottons on immediately. I make big warning eyes at her not to let on that I’ve mentioned him and luckily our telepathic powers connect in an instant.

  ‘Oh, how lovely to meet you.’ She extends her hand without so much as a glimmer of knowing.

  ‘Shall I get some drinks while you two find seats?’ Tom offers, sounding like the perfect gentleman.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. And without hesitation, Sam and I nod at each other before heading off.

  ‘Ohmigod Georgie, he’s hot, hot and more hot.’ Sam clutches my arm. ‘Bloody hell, I can see what you mean,’ she squeals, performing a little skip the minute Tom is out of earshot. ‘He looks like he’s just stepped out of a Hollywood movie.’

  ‘I know, but I can’t believe it. Why didn’t you tell me Nathan knew him?’

  ‘I didn’t know
. I’ve not heard him mention him before, but I can get the lowdown on him now,’ Sam says, triumphantly.

  ‘No! Yes! Oh I don’t know. He’s way out of my league.’

  ‘No he’s not. Yes he’s bloody gorgeous, but no man is out of your league, do you hear me?’ Sam hisses, pretending to be cross.

  ‘I hear you. But be discreet. Just find out if he’s attached … a girl can dream after all, can’t she?’

  Finding a Moroccan mini-sofa thing, Sam sits and I carefully perform a small Houdini contortion act to get down low enough to sit next to her. As I wriggle around trying to get comfortable, the miracle suit presses on my bladder, so I have no option but to haul myself into a standing position to go in search of the Ladies.

  ‘Where are you off to? They’re going to be back soon.’ Sam clutches my arm.

  ‘Sam, it’s no good, I’m busting for the loo,’ I groan.

  ‘I’ll come with you, I could do with a lippy touch-up,’ she replies, even though her cerise gloss is still immaculate. ‘Let’s wait for them and then we’ll go.’ She smiles.

  ‘I’m not sure I can.’ Wincing, I lean forward and put the bottle down on a low table. Sam has the same idea and leans over too. The sudden shift in the weight on the cushion propels me forward and I’m launched mercilessly onto the little dance floor. The drink flies out of my hand, shoots up and splatters all over my face. I attempt to get up but just can’t bend enough. The floor is really slippery so I end up writhing around like an amateur contortionist. I try again to scrabble up onto my feet.

  Sam meanwhile has managed to get up and is now bent over in hysterics as she tries to pull me up. Her laughter is infectious, which just makes it worse as I beg her to stop. Within seconds, one of the models appears. He’s towering over me with a look of utter disgust on his pinched face.

  ‘Would you like some assistance?’ he drawls in an effeminate Aussie voice that completely belies his physical appearance. Feeling mortified, I shoo him away and manage to control myself a bit, but then start panicking. Tom is going to come back any second.