‘Lucia! Thank heavens you’re here …’ The Countess clears her throat as if she’s relishing in the showdown that’s about to unfold.
‘Why, what’s up? And wow, we weren’t expecting a welcome party, were we Tom?’ Lucia laughs pleasantly, smiling around the room and I instantly want to hate her, but I can’t, she seems really nice, bubbly and fun. Tom looks directly at me but I study the pattern on the carpet instead.
‘These ridiculous shop girls …’ the Countess continues, making me bristle, ‘have plastered one of your exclusive designs all over the world wide web.’ Who even says that? And oh purlease, don’t tell me Lucia designs for Dior … In addition to being the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in real life, she also has my dream job. Some people have all the luck! ‘That’s right. One of them … this, err … gypsy girl or whatever she calls herself,’ she flicks a finger in Annie’s direction, ‘took it upon herself to put a picture of your latest masterpiece, the gold keychain, on to Twitter. And completely ruined the surprise that is the essence of your new collection to be revealed exclusively in Carrington’s next month.’ She finishes with a flourish before clasping her chest like she’s the leading lady in a Shakespearean tragedy.
‘I’m so sorry, Lu. It’s my fault really.’ Adrianna looks up. ‘I put the keychain on my handbag when I came to the store last night and—’
‘Both of them should be sacked,’ the Countess spits.
‘But it’s not Georgie’s fault,’ Annie interjects.
‘Well, she’s the supervisor and should keep you in line. Sack the pair of them!’
‘OK, that’s enough. I’m sure it can be sorted out,’ Tom steps in.
‘Of course it can. Honestly Mother, from the sounds of it …’ Lucia pauses. ‘Sorry, I don’t know your name?’ she asks, politely.
‘Annie.’
‘Thank you. I think Annie has done me a favour, Mother. My office called just before we boarded the plane and pre-orders are phenomenal, and surely an ‘exclusive glimpse’ of my new range of key chains is a good thing. I’d love to see the tweet.’ Annie hesitates, before pulling her phone from her pocket to show Lucia. ‘Fantastic, and well done you for mentioning the family name.’ Annie beams. ‘Best advertisement ever, and so funny.’ Lucia laughs. ‘I bet my competitors and critics are assuming it was a deliberate stunt. Oh well, keep them on their toes …’
‘Lucia darling, tell me your news?’ the Countess says, flicking on a simpering voice and totally ignoring what just happened as she attempts to marshal her overly-Botoxed face into a smile position – the result is a kind of freaky grimace. I hold my breath and bite my bottom lip. Please please please don’t let this be what I think it is …
‘Well, Tom and I have done the deal as they say …’ Lucia smiles in Tom’s direction, and I will myself not to cry. Oh God, I blooming knew it.
‘Daaaaarling, I’m so delighted. Come here, let me give you a kiss. And my new son-to-be, Tom!’
‘What do you mean? Mother have you been at the bubbles again?’ Lucia asks, looking at Adrianna for confirmation.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, it isn’t even eleven o’clock.’ The Countess sniffs. ‘Stop teasing me, when are you and Tom getting married?’
I shift from one foot to other. This is hideous. Tom steps forward and gently places a hand on Lucia’s arm. I want to run away. The beautiful people, the happy couple together. NO. So I was just a distraction, a dalliance, after all …
‘Paola, your daughter, Lucia, is an amazing woman,’ Tom starts and I resist the urge to scream out loud. ‘Adrianna too, but—’
‘Oh, this is ridiculous,’ Lucia jumps in. ‘Don’t be silly Mother. I’ve been telling you this for years … Tom is like a brother.’ She shakes her head. ‘Besides, he has a girlfriend.’
He does?
WHO IS SHE?
I glance at Tom.
‘Paola, meet Georgie,’ Tom says, moving closer to me, and the Countess’s jaw actually drops open.
‘Oh wow. Georgie I’ve heard so much about you,’ Lucia says, warmly. ‘This man is smitten.’ She laughs and slaps Tom on the arm before taking me by the shoulders and giving me three air kisses. Stunned and delirious, I catch Eddie smiling and nodding his head in my periphery vision. ‘And honey, you must come to my wedding next summer.’
I nod and grin like a looper as I try to take it all in, instantly shoving any doubts I had about Tom from my head. Lucia is a designer! And one of Carrington’s suppliers. Of course she is! I do an almost-crying-but-not-quite sort of laugh in relief. No wonder Tom invited her to meet up in Sicily, it was for business that’s all. Thank you, God. THANK YOU.
‘Wedding? What wedding? I thought you said …’ The Countess barks.
‘That’s right Mother. It’s all arranged, I’m marrying Massimo.’
‘Over my dead body!’
‘Then so be it,’ Lucia responds in a very breezy voice, before going over to Adrianna. ‘And you’ll be my bridesmaid, won’t you sweetheart?’ She puts an arm around her sister and smiles kindly. ‘Although on second thoughts, I don’t want you upstaging me on my big day with your gloriously natural beauty …’ Adrianna manages a watery smile before the Countess sweeps from the room in disgust, instructing them both to follow. Lucia rolls her eyes and carries on talking to her sister.
‘And I’ll be needing you with me when I’m living with Massimo in his castle. You’ll have your own wing of course.’ Adrianna’s eyes light up at the prospect of escaping her overbearing mother. Lucia loops her arm through Adrianna’s as they leave the room.
‘Are you OK?’ Tom asks, turning towards Annie.
‘Sure, take more than that old hag to rile me. She was just trying to save face because she made a show of herself last night by getting shit-faced, and if that wasn’t bad enough, her poor daughter bought a sale item, sweet baby Jesus help her!’
‘Maybe so, but it’s probably not a good idea to tweet pictures of customer’s handbags in future, especially if you’re going to say who the bag belongs to as well,’ Tom says, and I can see that he’s doing his best to sound serious and in charge.
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘OK.’
‘Can I go now? Only I don’t want to leave those two downstairs with our merch for longer than is necessary … That Denise will be thinking she’s having my job, and that ain’t ever gonna happen,’ Annie says, indignantly.
‘Yes, go on.’ Tom laughs, shaking his head and smiling. Annie does a silent OMAG scream at me as she goes to leave. ‘Amy and Eddie, would you mind leaving too, please? I need to talk to Georgie alone.’
Eddie leaps up and practically runs from the room, winking at me over his shoulder as he turns back by the door. Amy stalks after him with her poker face still on.
The door closes and Tom puts his hands on my arms, triggering an exquisite charge to circuit my whole body. Boom.
‘God, I’ve missed you.’ Tom smiles, gently lifting a stray hair away from my face.
‘I’ve missed you too, Tom.’ He raises one eyebrow.
‘Whaaaat?’ I tease, as he lifts me up and onto his desk. He runs a finger over my lips and I can bear it no longer so I pull him closer to me. He tilts my chin, looks straight into my eyes and smiles cheekily.
‘It’s Mr Carrington to you …’
To be continued …
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chap
ter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
A message from Sam …
Acknowledgements
Georgie Hart’s Guide to a Fabulous Festive Party Season
Prologue
I never used to believe in lust at first sight. You know, the kind where your tummy tingles and your heart soars so high it feels as if it might just burst right out of your chest, cartoon style, and do a deliriously euphoric freeform dance around the room? But I certainly do now. Oh yes, because that’s exactly how I felt the very first time I clapped eyes on Tom. And he’s going to be here, right outside the door to my flat in approximately five minutes. I literally can not wait. I truly think he might be the one. I hope so. Now, that really would be pretty special indeed.
The doorbell buzzes, sending my pulse into overdrive. He’s here. And on time – previous boyfriends could certainly learn a thing or two about timekeeping from him. I practically tear down the hallway to press the intercom before pausing to inhale hard through my nose and exhale even harder, keen to create a modicum of breeziness.
‘Hello,’ I breathe, in what I hope is a sophisticated, nonchalant-sounding voice, à la Angelina Jolie, or someone equally poised. I can’t imagine she ever legged it down her hallway gushing to let Brad in. Oh no no no.
‘It’s me,’ Tom says. Mmm, familiar. And I like it. For a nanosecond I contemplate asking ‘Who?’, to create an airy, elusive aura, but quickly decide against it. It’s not my style to play games, even if the relationship is brand new and we’re both still learning how to ‘be’ with each other. Besides, I don’t want him thinking I’m some kind of a milly with a stack of men on the go.
‘Hi Tom.’ I glance at the screen and smile on seeing him attempt to smooth his tangle of thick dark curls. With his velvety brown eyes and year-round Mediterranean real tan, he’s utterly delicious and, to be honest, I never in my wildest dreams thought I stood a chance. He has the kind of looks and background that could bag him a supermodel, but without any trace of arrogance or sense of entitlement that the beautiful people sometimes have. And occasionally I have to pinch myself … that he wants me, ordinary Georgie Hart from Mulberry-On-Sea, a size 14 on a good day, with a brunette bob that often does a spectacular impression of a pair of floppy spaniel ears, especially if I don’t use my giant sleep-in Velcro rollers for a bit of extra bouf.
‘Georgie, can you come downstairs please?’
‘Sure,’ I reply, wondering what he’s up to as I reach for my coat. We had planned to snuggle up and watch a film. I have popcorn and Häagen-Dazs.
‘Change of plan. It’s a surprise. Quick, you must come down right now.’ His voice is full of boyish excitement and I love this side of him – the stark contrast to his usual serious, business-like demeanour at work. Tom works at Carrington’s too, the department store where I run the Women’s Accessories section. In fact, he owns the store; he’s the managing director, the majority shareholder, so we have to be discreet. Not that the other staff mind – quite the opposite, in fact, they all really like him – but still, nobody wants to see the boss indulging in a PDA in the workplace. I’m sure it’s not the done thing for people in his position. An ‘emerging captain of industry’, as one FT reporter recently crowned him.
After grabbing my key and pulling the door closed behind me, I bomb down the stairs and arrive in the little foyer area. Tom is leaning casually against the row of mailboxes with an extremely cheeky-looking smile on his beautiful face. Mm-mmm, dreamy. He’d be perfect starring in one of those rom-com films. I tiptoe up to give him a kiss and he circles my waist before pulling me in close to his left hip and treating me to a burst of his delicious chocolatey scent. I’m just about to press my tingling body against his when he takes a quick step backwards.
‘Oops, careful. Don’t want to squash this little dude.’ He winks.
‘Little dude?’ I crease my forehead.
‘That’s right. Mr Cheeks.’ Tom gives me one of his ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’ looks.
‘Mr Cheeks?’ I repeat, my eyes flicking towards Tom’s jacket. And, oh my God. He pulls the zip down and a tiny black fluffy head pops out.
‘Georgie, meet Mr Cheeks, named on account of him being very cheeky.’
‘A kitten! You have a kitten.’ Wow. How cute is that? Not only is he an incredibly sexy man with a fantastic sense of humour, but he loves animals too … he’s practically perfect. ‘How come you never said?’ I ask, giving Mr Cheeks a stroke. ‘And why have you brought him with you?’
‘Err, well, he’s not actually my kitten.’ Tom gives me a sheepish look.
‘Who does he belong to, then?’
‘You?’ His mouth twitches into a smile as he lifts one eyebrow.
‘Don’t be silly. You can’t buy me a kitten,’ I say, incredulously. I’ve never had a pet of my own before.
‘Of course I can. I can do whatever I like,’ he jokes, treating me to a huge grin. ‘Isn’t he sweet?’ And he lifts Mr Cheeks out of his jacket and snuggles him in the crook of his elbow.
‘Aw, poor thing, he’s trembling all over.’
‘And is it any wonder?’ Sighing, Tom shakes his head. He looks really concerned.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on, let’s go upstairs and I’ll tell you all about it.’
It turns out that Mr Cheeks is a stray. He arrived at Tom’s back door in the middle of the night, meowing and whimpering, trembling all over and covered in mud. Tom took him in and hand-fed him cooked chopped chicken before bathing him and letting him sleep on his bed.
‘So, you’ll let Mr Cheeks stay then?’ We’re sitting side-by-side on my sofa with the kitten still snuggled in the crook of Tom’s elbow. Mr Cheeks is really timid and seems to have latched on to Tom like a security blanket. Tom turns to me and tenderly pushes a stray chunk of hair out of my eyes, making my face tingle.
‘Weell … he is too cute for words.’ I hesitate momentarily. ‘But I can’t, really I can’t. He’ll be here on his own all day while I’m at work.’
‘I’m sure he’ll get used to it … I bet he’ll be out swaggering around the neighbourhood, or whatever it is cats do all day, in no time. Or I’d be happy to pay for a cat-sitter if he starts to pine through loneliness,’ Tom suggests, entwining his fingers around mine.
‘Don’t be daft. Why don’t you keep him yourself? He seems to have really taken to you … ’
‘I’d love to, but my house just isn’t practical, not with my canvases and paint everywhere, and he’s already clawed through the Venice waterway.’
‘Ooops,’ I say, remembering the exquisite picture. Tom had just started painting it the first time I went to his house, and it’s truly magnificent. He has a real gift, even if he does nonchalantly dismiss it as ‘Just something I do to relax.’
‘And you know how often I’m away from home, travelling to meet suppliers and up to board meetings in London. It really wouldn’t be fair. Anyway, I think he’d much sooner snuggle up to you of an evening – just like me.’ Tom grins as he puts an arm around my shoulders and gently pulls me in close before kissing the bridge of my nose.
‘Stop it,’ I tease, pressing my palm against his firm chest. ‘I know what you’re doing.’
‘Whaaaat?’ Tom replies, trying to sound and look all innocent. ‘It’s the truth, isn’t it Mr Cheeks?’ And he takes the kitten’s little paws and places them on my arm. ‘Aw, look at his little face. Those soulful green eyes. And he has nobody. He’s just an orphan. And, ahh, looooook … ’ Tom pauses as the kitten leans his tiny chin on my arm. ‘See, he absolutely adores you already,’ Tom beams, after giving Mr Cheeks a quick proud-dad glance for his perfect timing.
‘No he doesn’t,’ I smile. ‘He adores you.’
‘Hmm, I’m not so sure. Hang on a minute.’ Tom lifts the kitten up to his ear and pretends to listen to him talking. ‘What’s that, little fella?’ he asks Mr C
heeks before turning back to face me. ‘He says I should kiss you and that will make you take him in.’
‘Oh did he?’ I try not to laugh.
‘Yep.’ Tom places Mr Cheeks down on the rug before lifting my chin and pushing me back on the sofa. But he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he lifts my hands up over my head, secures them under a cushion and then tickles me all over until I can bear it no longer.
‘Stooooop. Please,’ I gasp, now desperate to feel his lips on mine. Having his face in such close proximity is divine, but such a massive tease, especially when I can’t move to touch him.
Eventually, I manage to wriggle my arms out from under the cushion and slip them around Tom’s back instead.
‘So you’ll let him live with you then?’ Tom props himself up on one elbow so he’s lying next to me now, and does puppy-dog eyes. ‘I’ll cover all his expenses. Vet bills, vaccines, food, etc.,’ he pleads, and I can’t help thinking how incredible he is. Kind, funny, and he seems to really care about this stray kitten – which, let’s face it, he could have just ignored, as I’m sure lots of men would have done after being woken up in the middle of the night. But not Tom, he was giving the scrawny, bedraggled cat a bath at 4 a.m.! That’s proper tenderness right there …
‘OK, on one condition.’ I shake my head in surrender.
‘Anything. I couldn’t bear to leave him at an animal shelter. Not now. Not after everything he’s been through, and he’s already used to a certain living standard too. It would be too cruel for words. We could share him. And then at least I’d know he was safe when I’m away on business.’ Tom tickles me again.
‘OK. Don’t milk it,’ I say, trying to catch my breath as I push his hand away.
‘Ha! Nice pun. I like it.’ I give him a blank look. ‘Cat. Milk lovers.’ He winks. ‘Oh never mind,’ he adds, smiling cheekily. ‘So, what’s the condition?’
‘That you do everything Mr Cheeks tells you to,’ I say, trying to keep a serious face.
‘Hmmm, OK,’ Tom replies slowly and suggestively, circling his index finger over the back of my hand. I lean towards Mr Cheeks, pretending to listen to him speak.
Carrington's at Christmas Page 32