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

by Alexandra Brown

  Maxine’s face is a picture of disbelief mixed with pure white rage. Her pouty lips are pursed tight.

  ‘Oh, and I think there might be more,’ Camille says, calmly, and out of the corner of my eye I spot Eddie smirking and slowly nodding his head, relishing his moment of revenge. Camille clicks the machine again, and this time Maxine is congratulating me for stealing Malikov away from James and gushing at how pleased she is I’m in the lead and that a woman is teaching those men a thing or two. I clasp a hand to my neck. My face flushes. I look over to James, and he looks back this time, and shaking his head he smiles.

  Sucking her teeth like Hannibal anticipating a nice Chianti, Maxine’s raging eyes hover on each of us in turn before landing on Camille.

  ‘How dare you illegally bug my office?’ she screeches, fury pulsing through her.

  ‘Oh it wasn’t me. Didn’t I say?’ Camille casually glances around the room before taking another big lungful of her More Menthol and puffing it up into the air. ‘It was Eddie. And, because he’s so loyal – you know that quality I hear you’re always claiming to possess and inspire in others – well, naturally he had to make me aware of your machinations.’ Then Camille takes another draw before puffing a huge smoke circle into Maxine’s seething face. Eddie looks as though he might burst with satisfaction as he witnesses Maxine being slapped down to size. ‘Let’s play the last part.’ Camille presses the play button again, and this time Maxine and Walter are whispering; she’s telling him he must leave Camille and what a powerful force they would be, running Carrington’s together, and then a series of moans and grunts fill the air. The sound of Walter and Maxine getting it on makes me feel queasy and I have to steady myself against the corner of her desk. Camille stops the tape. Eddie lets out a muffled snigger and Walter storms out of the room, leaving Maxine to face the music alone.

  I spot Lauren hovering in the doorway with a huge grin on her face. She’s heard it all. I beckon for her to come in and she does. I want her to witness Maxine, her bully, being slapped into place.

  ‘Oh and there’s something else my husband didn’t tell you,’ Camille continues, smiling in Tom’s direction. I look over at Eddie – what’s going on now? But he shrugs and then shakes his head like he has no idea either. ‘Walter is retiring.’ There’s a collective gasp.

  ‘Yes, and I’ve bought the store.’

  We all stare at each other in disbelief. I can feel my chest quivering as I attempt to try and cope with this rollercoaster of revelations. My mouth falls open. I quickly close it. My pulse is racing. Oh my God. OH MY ACTUAL GOD. I can’t take my eyes off him. It’s Tom. What is he talking about?

  ‘Tom is the new major shareholder of Carrington’s,’ Camille says, smiling again at Tom. ‘He’s my nephew … My brother, Vaughan Carrington, never showed much interest in the store, which is why our late father left it to me. And Tom’s mother is Isabella Rossi from the Italian Rossi dynasty. You obviously don’t know the name,’ she adds, casting a dismissive look in Maxine’s direction. ‘Well, Tom’s independently and tremendously wealthy and, after seeing the potential of Carrington’s from the ground floor, as it were, has made me an exceedingly generous offer that, well, I simply can’t refuse.’ She takes one last puff before letting the cigarette butt fall into a cup on Maxine’s desk. ‘Yes. It’s been finalised, and the board is in agreement. Walter wanted to make the announcement himself, naturally, but after his recent disastrous decision,’ she pauses to glance at Maxine again, ‘I decided to take matters into my own hands and put a stop to all this silliness. What Carrington’s needs is an enthusiastic, energetic leader with a team of loyal, longstanding staff, not divisive competitions to see who gets to keep their job.’

  Tom turns to face me, his eyes searching mine for forgiveness. It starts to sink in. Tom Rossi is really Tom Carrington. James and I stare at each other in disbelief. So that’s why Tom called the London number from the hotel, probably updating Walter on his undercover findings … and Walter must have been at the mews house with Maxine. That’s how she came to answer the phone. Tom was calling Walter, not Maxine!

  It all makes sense now. The secret phone calls Tom used to spend all day conducting; when we all thought he was schmoozing the brand managers, he was probably chatting to his lawyers and business advisers. Then there was the secrecy shrouding his appointment in the first place. I knew it didn’t stack up. And he hardly sold any of the Fine Jewellery collection, but then obviously he’s not a real sales assistant at all.

  Maxine is coughing now, practically choking. She’s raging. She’s been sleeping with the wrong man. Walter has been taking her for a ride, literally. The thought makes me laugh, and the relief of it all fitting into place gives my laugh a tinge of hysteria. Tom is up on his feet now and he glances at me again before turning to Maxine.

  ‘And you’re the one who is no longer required,’ Tom says, his voice sounding sexy and very authoritative all at the same time. Maxine’s jaw drops.

  ‘Whaat? You can’t fire me on the back of a stupid tape. I, I … err, was just seeing who was most committed to Carrington’s,’ she splutters, stalling for time as she concocts her explanation. Her lips, which are caked in scarlet lipstick, part into a hideous grimace.

  ‘I think you’ll find that blackmail constitutes an abuse of your position,’ Tom says, calmly.

  ‘What are you bleating on about? You’re just a … secret aristocrat hiding behind your mummy’s name,’ she stutters. ‘You won’t last five minutes running this faded dump. Run it into the ground, more like.’ Maxine’s eyes are glinting at Camille now, as she looks her up and down, the disgust growing on her tight face, like cultured mould in a Petri dish. There’s a silence as she scans the room and then she explodes.

  ‘Well this is very cosy. Is this the best you could all come up with?’ she hisses, switching her glare over to Eddie. ‘What a pathetic bunch you are. And what about your dirty little secret?’ She turns to face Eddie. ‘Oh yes, I’ve known what you’ve been up to for some time now, all that emotional wanking down the phone to lover boy. Did you really think I wouldn’t work it out?’ Nobody moves and none of us dares to say anything. The atmosphere is charged with her venom. It’s as if we’re all frozen with shock. ‘And not forgetting your fag-hag.’ She throws a sarcastic-looking smile at me. ‘Manage to run up any more debts recently?’ She glares at me, rage seeping from every pore. I feel the creep of a flush – so she knew all along, and then I realise. Of course, she kept quiet about it on purpose – more ammunition to use against me.

  ‘That’s enough. And there’s also the matter of your expense claims.’ Tom steps forward and pulls a thick white envelope out from his inside breast pocket and hands it to Maxine. ‘It’s all inside. Details of your four-hundred-pound bottles of wine. Cashmere sweaters. Burberry handbags. A selection of Anne Summers special, err –’ Tom pauses to clear his throat – ‘Valentine-themed toys. And a two-thousand-pound designer cocktail dress couriered all the way from Harrods … if I’m not mistaken. And, of course, your formal dismissal letter for gross misconduct.’ Maxine looks as if she might explode with indignation. Of course, the Prada dress, so that’s how she got her immaculately manicured mitts on one. I absolutely knew none of the shops in Mulberry-On-Sea stocked Prada. And I can’t believe she tried to wangle that lot through on expenses.

  After the wedding, Lauren had called me at home and, during our heart to heart, she’d told me all about Maxine’s expenses fiddle and how unhappy she was that Maxine was getting her to fill in her expenses spreadsheet with more and more illicit items, on top of the daily humiliation rituals. So, naturally I passed the evidence on to Eddie, who gave it to Camille to go with the tape. We knew the tape alone wouldn’t be enough to bring her down. Camille must have then given the evidence to Tom and, given his secret position – well, no wonder he was sitting there looking so unfazed when I revealed Maxine’s trump card to sack them both and make me her puppet.

  Camille steps over to the phone on
Maxine’s desk and makes a quick call.

  ‘Yes, we’re ready for you now.’

  Eddie smiles at me. We both know what’s coming next. Then I turn to look at James and his eyes meet mine. He smiles broadly and then slowly nods his head. I knew he’d understand. There was no way I could just leave without making sure Maxine went too, and that he’d then be in with a chance of keeping his job.

  The door flies open again and two sturdy-looking men in dark suits stride into the centre of the room. Security. Camille nods her head towards Maxine.

  ‘You’ll need to come with us,’ the bald one says, as he steps over to where Maxine’s standing.

  ‘Get your hands off me,’ she screams at the taller of the two men, when he places a hand around her elbow. She then yanks her arm away and attempts to launch herself over her desk in an attempt to get to the drawers.

  ‘Please touch nothing. Your personal items will be packaged up for you.’

  The other man turns to Lauren.

  ‘Would you mind bagging up Maxine’s personal items?’ he says, handing her a roll of black sacks.

  ‘It will be my pleasure,’ she grins, ripping one of the sacks from the roll and flashing a smug smile in Maxine’s direction.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch my stuff. I’ll sue you for this. You won’t get away with it, cretins, the lot of you. Feeble, weak-minded cretiiins,’ Maxine screeches as the security guys each grab an arm and bundle her from the room. ‘Walteeer. Where the fuck are you? How dare you deceive me like this? You spineless bastaaard!’ she shrieks as she’s marched down the corridor.

  I let out a massive sigh of relief and feel thankful we managed to pull it off. James and Eddie are deep in conversation now. Camille is helping Lauren in tossing Maxine’s stuff into a sack. Tom moves close to me, provoking the now familiar tingle to shoot up my thighs.

  ‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ he says, managing to sound intimate, despite the others being here. I hesitate. I love working at Carrington’s. And my friends are here. ‘There’s no need to leave now.’

  ‘But what about James?’ I ask, holding his eye contact. A fluttery feeling trickles through me.

  ‘Don’t worry, I have a new position in mind for him.’ Tom turns to face James, who breaks off from his conversation. ‘How do you fancy being our new customer relations manager? I hear you’re very good with high-end private customers, and I seem to have gone off consultants.’

  My phone vibrates inside my pocket so I leave everyone talking and step outside the room. Seeing it’s Sam, and I can’t ignore her, she might need me, I press to answer immediately.

  ‘Sam, you are not going to believe what’s happened today,’ I gush. My heart is pounding and my hands are shaking with the sheer magnitude of it all.

  ‘Come and tell me … please. I’m in the café doing some baking. I find it helps. Quite cathartic really. And I’ve got a giant red velvet cupcakezilla here with your name on. Still warm, and I’m just about to lash a dollop of butter cream frosting with pink glitter sprinkles all over it,’ Sam says. Her voice is quiet but then she adds, ‘I’ve really missed you,’ and sounds lighter than she has for several weeks now.

  ‘Try and stop me. I’m on my way.’ I slot the phone back into my pocket and head off to Cupcakes at Carrington’s. I can’t wait to tell Sam all about it. And I can practically taste the gooey cakey-sweet loveliness already. Mm-mmm.

  Epilogue

  Italy, three months later …

  The blistering sun dazzles my eyes as I glance up from the sun lounger. I can hear the faint sound of Adele’s velvety voice floating up from the veranda beneath me. The electric blue and green hue of the lake glistens in the distance down the hillside. I shake out the day-old air-freighted copy of The Times and scan the pages. I’m just about to flip over another page when something catches my eye. Malikov. Pushing my sunglasses back, I sit up to read the article.

  Russian businessman, Konstantin Malikov, was arrested yesterday as he stepped off his yacht in Cannes, amid allegations of bribery, money laundering and illegal arms supplies. Bratva connections have not been ruled out.

  I snap the paper shut and push it back under the sun lounger. Thank God that’s all behind me now. I lie back down. I can hear footsteps in the distance. Lifting my sunglasses again and squinting in the sun, I look around the infinity pool. Somebody is walking along the very far side, but I can’t make out who it is. As the sun shimmers against the water it blinds me, and I’m forced to look away. I trickle sun cream over my hot skin and start blending in the divine coconut and almond lotion. The figure is heading towards the little bar area now; maybe it’s another guest arrived early for Sam and Nathan’s wedding on Saturday, here at his parents’ villa overlooking Lake Como. They opted for just family and very close friends. An intimate gathering.

  After wiping my hands on a towel, I take a sip of the Parma Violet cocktail Sam created especially for the occasion. Her signature drink, as she calls it. I glance over towards her sun lounger. It’s deserted.

  Soon after the funeral, held in the packed Our Lady Star of the Sea Church in Mulberry-On-Sea, followed by a private scattering of Alfie’s ashes on the moonlit beach, just Sam and I, as she requested, stood together on the sand listening to Alfie’s favourite song, ‘Moon River’, on an iPod. I held her hand tightly in mine and whispered words of comfort, willing her to be brave. The following morning, Sam decided life was far too short. She had met her ‘one’ and promptly proposed to Nathan. He, of course, was delighted, and immediately produced an exquisite pear-shaped pink diamond ring he’d been planning to surprise her with on the evening of that horrible day of Alfie’s death.

  I smile at the memory of her phone call, where she shrieked with delight before sobbing her heart out on remembering that Alfie wouldn’t be around to give her away. And then I promptly burst into tears when she asked if I thought my dad would mind doing the honours in his place. Dad was thrilled, and came over a little teary when Sam took him off to Alfie’s favourite restaurant, The Ivy, for dinner, and told him that she’d be very proud if he would step into Alfie’s shoes and escort her down the aisle.

  Things are going really well between Dad and me now, and Sam asking him to give her away was a huge turning point for us both, like he finally has a real seal of approval.

  My ringing mobile interrupts my thoughts. So, on seeing that it’s Eddie, I press the green answer button to talk to him.

  ‘Baby cakes! Just a quickie.’ He pauses for maximum impact. ‘I have delicious gossip,’ he adds dramatically, to open the conversation. I laugh, typical Eddie, although I have to say he’s calmed down a little since he and Ciaran moved in together.

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘You’ll never guess who I spotted in Boots selling Z-list celebrity perfumes?’ But before I can hazard a guess he screams in my ear. ‘Only that shovel-carrying troll. Tina!’ I think back to her departure. Remember those diversity awareness forms, the highly confidential ones? Well, Tina only went and left them out on her desk one night and didn’t even realise when a kind Samaritan – rumour is it was Lauren – took them for safekeeping and later gave them to Amy with an anonymous Post-it note explanation on. Tina was disciplined over it, which she took great offence at, and ended up leaving in a huff when her demands for the ‘real culprit who grassed her up’ be sacked instead, fell on deaf ears.

  The upside of the whole sorry affair was that Lauren passed her NVQ exams, got promoted, and now works properly alongside Doris and Suzanne in the cash office while Jack plays happily in the new Carrington’s crèche. One of the first things Tom did when he took over was organise a staff questionnaire, asking what single change would make the most difference to everyone. Accessible and affordable childcare was the answer. Which is hardly surprising given that the majority of Carrington’s employees are women. Mrs Grace said it was a miracle, and something she never envisaged witnessing in her lifetime, before launching into a long story about how her Terry had a wooden be
er crate for a crib because everyone just had to make do back then.

  ‘Poor Tina. Well I actually feel sorry for her,’ I say. ‘It’s a bit of a slap down from calling yourself the accounts manager,’ I remind him, before draining the last of my cocktail.

  ‘Oh purlease. Cry me a fucking river. That girl is pure poison. No it serves her right.’ He sniffs. ‘And what about the prom queen?’

  ‘Oh God, what about her?’ I say, not wanting to be reminded of all that. Eddie draws in a big breath to create maximum impact.

  ‘I heard she’s been deported!’

  ‘What do you mean, deported?’ I snort.

  ‘Back to Alabama, or wherever it is she comes from. Melissa told me.’ Eddie drops his voice. ‘OK, this is strictly confidential. Mel could lose her job at the prison. Swear on your life.’

  ‘I swear.’

  ‘Apparently, Maxine was caught trying to flog stolen goods – a ruby necklace belonging to that Russian oligarch, you know, the one with the waterbed.’ I laugh. Trust Eddie to remember the embellishment. ‘Can you believe it?’ Oh my actual God. So she didn’t even give the necklace back, she kept it for herself. No wonder she was so desperate to launch herself across the desk to grab her stuff before Camille had it all bagged up. It was probably in the drawer the whole time. ‘Anyway enough of her, I want to hear about you. What are you wearing to the pre-wedding meal?’

  ‘Weell, it’s a one-off. A lovely floral maxi dress. And I made it myself,’ I say, proudly.

  ‘SHUT UUUP you did!’ Eddie squeals, and I laugh out loud. ‘Are you serious? I know you’ve been busy executing your master plan, but hey, where did you learn to sew?’

  ‘I taught myself, using Mum’s old sewing machine,’ I explain, smiling as I recall the many disasters at the start before I got the hang of it. He’s right about my master plan. Oh, I forgot to say, that hefty 125 per cent mortgage? Well, the fixed rate ended, so with the rent from my new flatmate covering the now vastly reduced monthly payments, and my pay rise, of course, I was able to come to an agreement with my debtors to let me pay off the debts more slowly. And learning how to dramatically reduce my overheads has made a huge difference too. You know, they have magazines in libraries these days, and I cook with produce from a little allotment I managed to find up near Mulberry Common. I also sold some shoes and clothes on eBay and used the money to pay off the jeweller and clear the shortfall on the car loan, so I could return the car. Of course I had to keep the Gina sandals because they hold so many memories for me. I smile, as I glance down at them, twinkling like jewelled stars on my feet. I love to sunbathe in them because … well, just because I can.