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

by Alexandra Brown

  ‘Good for you, honey. You really have set yourself free.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply, relishing how great it feels.

  ‘Anyway, glad you’re OK. Enjoy the meal. Give that cupcake queen a squeeze from me and tell her we can’t wait to see her on Saturday. Our flight arrives on Friday and it’s going to be fabulous standing on the Italian hillside in the glittering sun, witnessing her wedding ceremony, flooded with scent from the local lemon grove. Sooo romantic … Oh, hang on, Ciaran has just arrived home and is blowing you a kiss.’

  ‘Ahh, blow one back from me,’ I say, delighted they’re still so happy together.

  ‘Will do, sweetie. Chat more tomoz. Mwah, mwah, sending you cupcakes and puppies and all things lovely.’ The line goes dead.

  Shaking my head and smiling to myself, I flip over and lie on my front. Turning my face to the side, I close my eyes to soak up the last of the now setting sun. A magnificent smudge of orange and gold stretched across the horizon.

  I can hear footsteps again – closer this time, much closer. They stop. I open my left eye and see the figure standing right beside me now. And then I realise who it is. And I can’t believe it. I’m stunned. I open my mouth but words won’t come out. I throw myself up into a sitting position. Balancing a cocktail tray in his right hand, he offers me a drink with the other. Parma Violet. Instantly I know Sam has had a hand in this guest appearance – as Queen of Hearts, she never could resist playing Cupid.

  ‘Thanks. But, err, what are you doing here?’ I manage, barely able to believe my own eyes.

  ‘I came to see you. Sam invited me … you don’t mind, do you, only I never did get an answer.’

  Tom is standing over me, the sun dazzling like a giant halo all around him. He’s wearing just a pair of aviator shades and fitted black Daniel Craig-style trunks. A little squeal of delight screams out inside me. His tanned body is magnificent, muscular and solid, and his chest hair is the darkest black, trickling down and underneath the waistband of his trunks.

  ‘An answer to what?’ I just about manage to squeak.

  ‘Will you be my Valentine?’

  But before I can respond he bends down, places the tray on the floor and brings his free hand around the back of my head and up under my hair, pulling my lips to his. My whole body tingles with desire. The feeling is incredible as the fireworks reignite and explode all over again. He pulls away, but I’m not letting him go this time, so I reach my hands around his back and down to his firm backside. ‘One on each cheek’, that’s what Sam said.

  Tom laughs and brings his hands up to tickle me.

  ‘So you really are a cheeky cow,’ he breathes into my ear before nuzzling the side of my neck.

  ‘Hey, you were the one who went undercover. Now, I think that’s very cheeky indeed. Tell me, why did you do that exactly?’ I grin and raise an eyebrow. That little-boy look from the crazy golf course darts across his face, making my heart melt.

  ‘Georgie, I wanted you right from the very first moment I saw you in the club. Laughing as you rolled around on the floor and then interrogating me at the bar. I couldn’t get you out of my head after that … just like I said in your Valentine’s card.’

  Valentine’s card? What’s he going on about? And then I remember. The crimson envelope under my front door. Ahh, so it was from him. How romantic. I smile.

  ‘But why did you keep your position a secret?’

  ‘I had to. I started off wanting to see Carrington’s from the inside, but that all went a bit pear-shaped when I met you.’ He grins and shakes his head. ‘Then all I wanted to do was to get to know you and see if you might be interested in the real me. Without everything else getting in the way. My family background,’ he says quietly, and looks away. ‘And then there was James, I thought there was something going on between you two …’ His voice trails off.

  I think of James. We met up, shortly after that day in Maxine’s office, and he told me he’d had time to think and realised he was still in love with Rebecca. He asked if we could go back to being just friends. I’m so pleased things are back to normal between us. Lovely, kind James.

  ‘It was nothing serious,’ I say, gently pushing his chin back to see into his eyes.

  ‘Where are those cheeky cow knickers? I think you need to put them on right now, Madam.’ He tries to tickle me again, but I’m too quick for him.

  ‘Come on. You might as well get it over with,’ I say, trying to keep a straight face.

  ‘OK,’ he clears his throat. ‘I deliberately seduced you over a game of crazy golf, which was totally shameless of me given my secret position.’ We both burst out laughing. ‘And I loved every minute of it,’ he whispers suggestively into my ear, making my whole body burn with longing.

  Of course, since Tom revealed his true position, we’ve seen each other at work and chatted over a cupcake or two on a few occasions, and every time, the sparks have been there and the connection so intense it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. We even arranged a proper dinner date, but he had to cancel. Tom has to travel a lot, meeting suppliers and sourcing new lines, as he’s determined to restore Carrington’s to its former glory, so there never seems to have been the right moment for us. Sam has been badgering me for weeks now to make a proper move on him, but he’s the boss. He owns Carrington’s, and he’s seriously wealthy, but really, I can’t hold that against him now, can I? And he has come all this way to find me.

  I pull away from his sexy embrace, to contemplate while I scan the view. The scene is fantastic. A gorgeous sunset. Tom. My secret Valentine. A perfect moment.

  To be continued …

  In Conversation With Alexandra Brown

  What was the inspiration for Carrington’s department store?

  I’ve always loved department stores, there’s just something so magical and euphoric about them, so when I met my husband and found out that his family used to own a department store in Ireland, I was beyond excited and my father-in-law was very generous in sharing his childhood memories of visiting the store. The other inspiration was Hannington’s department store in Brighton where I grew up. I have fabulous memories of going there with my Nan, the smell of newness, the bright lights, the cage lift, the polite staff with their receipt pads – I loved everything about it, and of course, nothing bad ever happens inside a department store. Truefact.

  Have you always wanted to become a writer?

  Yes, as a child I loved reading and writing, it was an escape, a solace, and English Language and English Literature were the only subjects that interested me at school, which is probably why they were the only two exams I managed to pass. But I assumed writing was for other people – brainy, glamorous people who lived in London, which is probably why I ran away to London as soon as I left school. I soon realised this was a fantasy though, and quickly got myself a proper job. It took me twenty years to make my dream of writing all day, as well as all night, come true.

  What was your worst job before becoming a writer?

  Working in a bank, I was only nineteen – naïve and shy, and the manager would tap my bottom with his umbrella whenever I bent over to put the cash boxes into the safe. He was about a hundred years old and a total caricature with his pinstripe suit and bowler hat. I’ve had some fantastic jobs too though – switchboard operator in an old-fashioned telephone exchange where I got to listen in on famous people having conversations, a highpoint for a nosey writer like me. I loved being an usherette in a 1920s theatre and also working for a retired drag queen in his T-shirt printing kiosk on Brighton Pier.

  What does your typical writing day look like?

  I’m a complete routine addict, but also incredibly lucky in that my husband works from home too, so he takes our daughter to nursery, which means I can be at my desk by eight. I have a little ritual of lighting a candle and spraying the ‘books’ perfume 1 on my wrists, and then I write until she comes home, with a half-hour break for lunch and a catch up on Twitter, Facebook and the Daily Mail sideb
ar – I’m addicted to that too. If I’m nearing a deadline then I’ll write at night, but never at weekends – that’s thinking and family time. I also force myself to exercise regularly as sitting down for hours on end isn’t good for my backside.

  Do you put anything of yourself into Georgie?

  Absolutely, especially the relationship with her dad, and her tendency to put two and two together and come up with five trillion. I’m a complete drama queen, but then there’s part of me in Sam and Eddie too. Sam is my fun, Pollyanna side and a fantastic cheerleader, and Eddie – well, he’s the naughty bit in me, the part that might think the outrageous things he says, but wouldn’t dare say them out loud, unless I was chatting to my husband or very best friends.

  Do you plan to write any more books about Carrington’s?

  Yes – there are currently three books planned in the Carrington’s series, the second, Christmas at Carrington’s, is coming soon and continues Georgie’s story when she becomes a reluctant reality TV star.

  What would be your desert island books?

  Can I take a Kindle? There are so many books that I go back to time and time again, if I had to whittle it down, then it would be anything by Jackie Collins and Harold Robbins, Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann, the Shopaholic series by Sophie Kinsella, the Malory Towers series by Enid Blyton and the Tales of the City series by Armistead Maupin.

  What is your guilty shopping pleasure?

  Bags! Bags, bags and more bags – I’m addicted to them, hence Georgie works in Women’s Accessories (my other dream job), even my husband has become a connoisseur of bags, he knows all the types, names, what’s in, what isn’t and for an ex-bodyguard from Belfast I’d say that’s pretty impressive. Bags to me represent memories, the significant moments in my life – I have a beautiful rose pink Anya bag which my husband bought for me on my first Mother’s Day after we adopted our daughter. I have a gorgeous emerald Dior top handle bag that I spotted in duty free at Hong Kong airport on the way home after our honeymoon six years ago, and I still use it every weekend. I have a gold beaded Fifties clutch from a charity shop that smells of nostalgia, lipstick and had a handwritten note inside from a man called Cyril – it holds glorious memories from my clubbing days, and there’s even my old Ministry of Sound membership card still in it, circa 1993.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As a child growing up in Brighton, I have happy memories of wandering around Hannington’s, a magnificent department store on the corner of East Street. It was a place where nothing bad ever happened or so it seemed to me. It smelt of Revlon lipstick and Chanel perfume (the glorious old one). It exuded luxury, from the Art Deco tearoom to the attendant in the Ladies powder room; even the open gilt-caged lift fascinated me. So my first thank you goes to Hannington’s, I couldn’t have written this without you.

  Kate Bradley for laughs, chats, tears and being everything I hoped for in an editor, but most of all for making my dream come true. SCREAM.

  Penny, Claire, Jaime and all at HarperCollins for their support, talent and patience.

  Jackie Collins for giving my teenage self an escape when I really, really, really needed it, and also for tweeting me last year. FAINT.

  Lisa O’Carroll for giving me my first break and liking my writing enough to actually pay me proper money to write a newspaper column every week for two years.

  My wonderfully kind and generous author friends, Victoria Connelly, Miranda Dickinson, Elizabeth Haynes, Sue Hunter, Lola Jaye, Chrissie Manby, Jacqui Rose and Sasha Wagstaff – your emails, chats and fabulous cheerleading is so very much appreciated.

  Caroline Smailes for being such a dear friend, your patience astounds me and the Poundland chat will never ever leave me. NEVER. Not that I’m bothered, of course x

  Lisa Hilton and Rachael Hale for reading those early drafts, girls I made it out of the cellar, now where’s that paper bag to go over my head?

  Carla Berryman for being excited and making me crack up with your ‘Loub-for-a-phone’ pic.

  Jadzia Kopiel for changing my life, you’re the wisest woman I know.

  My lovely, supportive father-in-law, Dr Brown, for sharing the memories of his family’s department store, Brown’s in Newtownards, I hope I’ve captured a whiff of the memory.

  Yeeman To, for being a fantastic sales assistant and telling me all about it, your generosity is very much appreciated and any exaggerations or fabrications are totally down to me.

  C and L for bringing my beautiful, vivacious and funny daughter, QT, into my life while writing this book.

  QT for making me whole again, I love you sweetheart with all my heart xoxoxo. Oh gawd, I’m going to cry.

  My husband Paul, aka Cheeks, for ‘knowing’ it would happen, for the plot brainstorming sessions and for telling me what happens next when I had no idea and just wanted to run away and stuff my face with cake. I love you, now go and get me a cheeky box of macaroons …

  And you lovely reader for picking up this book and actually buying it. I really really hope you love it, that it makes you laugh, that it makes you cry but most of all you tell everyone you know just how fabulous it is, and yes, I have no shame but then would you if you once did a running bodyslam at the hottest actor on earth, only to fall flat on your face and have the whole thing posted on YouTube by someone who is no longer a friend, natch?!? Hmm, exactly!

  Footnotes

  1. Cupcakes at Carrington’s perfume is Jean Paul Gaultier Classique.

  ALEXANDRA BROWN

  Me and Mr Carrington

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter One

  It’s Monday morning in Mulberry-On-Sea and to say that I’ve come down to earth with a bump would just be a massive understatement. A crash landing, more like. On this feeble excuse of a spring day, I’m about to start work in Carrington’s department store and don’t get me wrong, I love my job running the Women’s Accessories section. But it’s a trillion miles away from sunning myself beside an infinity pool on an exquisite Italian hillside, with a Parma Violet cocktail in one hand and Tom, aka hottest man alive for sure, in the other. And that’s exactly what I was doing this time last week.

  ‘Georgie! Baby cakes, I’m literally dying to know what happened next …’ Eddie pants like he’s just run a half marathon to catch up with me as I pull back the metal cage door of the staff lift and step inside.

  ‘Oh, it was just another week in paradise, you know how it is …’ I say, shrugging nonchalantly.

  ‘Well, if your post-sex glow and lack of real tan is anything to go by then you definitely went to your happy place, sprawled across the Venetian four-poster bed all week long. Dirty girl.’ Eddie follows me in to the lift, shuts the cage door and presses the button to take us up, then takes a sip of his Costa coffee before winking and giving me a saucy up-and-down look.

  ‘Stop it. Do you really have to embellish everything quite so extravagantly?’ I shake my head.

  ‘Oh, why not. Certainly livens up this boring place.’ He pulls a face.

  ‘Mulberry-On-Sea isn’t boring, it’s just … well, it’s pretty and quaint,’ I venture.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘And homely,’ I quickly add, but he’s not convinced. ‘And what about the new marina … All those super yachts are bound to bring a bit of glamour to the area.’

  ‘Hmm, maybe. Anyway, enough of Mulberry. I want to hear all about your fabulous adventure in Italy. I still can’t believe Tom turned up out of the blue to surprise you like that! He sure gets my vote. Swoon.’

  ‘Nothing happened. And I always use SPF 50, I’m very fair-skinned, if you really must know.’ I turn to check my brunette bob in the mottled mirror on the lift wall, wishing again that I could magic myself back in time. But I can’t. And there’s nothing more depres
sing than returning from a sun-soaked idyllic holiday full of fabulous moments wearing flip-flops to then shoehorn your feet back into last winter’s boots because it’s blooming raining. I brush the front of my drizzle-covered mac as if to underline the point.

  ‘Don’t be coy. Sam told me everything went to plan and Tom turned up right on cue, I just wish I’d been there to witness the look on your face. Bet you couldn’t keep your hands off him, and who can blame you? I mean, he is delicious, in a ridiculously beautiful, chiselled Henry Cavill kind of way. All messy dark curls and velvety brown eyes nestling in those extra-long dark lashes. Such a shame he isn’t gay.’ Eddie pouts. I smile at the memory – Tom in black Daniel Craig-style trunks, his naturally tanned body all solid, muscular and magnificent. His lips on mine, his fingers entwined in my hair, his cheeky grin, his divine chocolatey scent, his … Stop it. I have to get a grip. It’s the only way. I’ll pop otherwise. I’m convinced of it. Unadulterated lust that can’t be acted upon right away will do that for sure. Send me insane. ‘Such a shame he’d disappeared by the time I got there. Why didn’t he stay for the duration?’