I grab my phone, and without hesitation I press to call his number, one last time. I PM’d him on Facebook days ago which he’s ignored, I even tried Skypeing him but that request was ignored too. I’m going to try again, if not for our fledgling romance, then for Carrington’s, before it’s too late. The number rings out. Sam and Eddie stare at me. Eddie swipes the remote from the coffee table, pauses the programme and frantically mouths.
‘What the hell are you doing? We’re going to miss the start.’
I’m just about to hang up when the international ringing tone stops. Tom’s voicemail doesn’t kick in this time. I hold my breath. Silence follows.
‘Hello, Tom?’ I eventually manage. Sam is shaking her head.
‘Hang up,’ she whispers quickly, and tries to take the phone from me. It ends up being suspended midway between the two of us when a voice talks out into the open air of my lounge.
‘He is busy.’ It’s a woman’s voice. With a French accent. Sultry and breathy-sounding. Sam wrenches the phone from my hand and quickly presses the button to end the call.
‘What are you doing? You can’t chase him,’ she says, with a horrified look on her face.
‘Calling him, like you told me to,’ I say, desperately trying to keep my voice even. I want to yell. Who is she? He’s only been gone a little while and already another woman is fielding his calls. Answering his mobile – doesn’t get more intimate than that. Unless they’re actually having sex. The thought makes my vision filmy and my chest tighten.
‘But that was then, hun,’ Sam says, gently.
‘And now is now – which explains why he’s ignoring you,’ Eddie butts in, wagging a pointed finger in the air.
‘Eddie!’ Sam snaps.
‘Sorry, was just saying … ’ He shrugs his shoulders.
‘Well don’t.’ She glares at him.
‘Oh, I’m only joking. Georgie knows I adore her and, well, if I’m totes honest, then I’m cross – how dare Tom do this to her and then swan off?’ Eddie grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. ‘Push it out of your mind, babycakes. You know how easily you jump to conclusions – she’s probably a production assistant and ugly as hell, with a Cyclops eye and a snaggle tooth. Maybe Tom was on the loo or something.’ He grimaces. ‘Tell you what, let’s watch the show and then you can see for yourself. They might show him scouring the Champs-Elysées looking for gorgeous handbags for you to sell. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’ Eddie pats the back of my hand as if he’s placating a toddler.
‘Yes, maybe,’ I manage, calming down a bit. He’s right, the sexy-sounding woman could be anyone, and I mustn’t judge all men by my ex’s, Brett’s, standards. I take my phone back from Sam and surreptitiously swipe through to the world clock app. It’s ten p.m. here, which means it’s eleven p.m. in Paris – surely Tom wouldn’t be filming this late in the evening? The thought lingers as Eddie presses play on the remote control, and Kelly comes back onto the screen.
The first half of the show is mainly Kelly talking about her years of experience serving customers in the fashion and retail business, with clips of old film footage from the Sixties of her strolling down Carnaby Street in London, dressed in a mini dress and long white vinyl boots on her way to work in a trendy boutique with freaky-looking mannequins in the bay window. And now she’s talking about Carrington’s staff, introducing each of us as if we’re celebrities.
‘Remember to look out for the gorgeous Georgie Hart who runs Women’s Accessories; she’ll also be sharing her fashion and beauty tips next week in Closer magazine.’ Wow, how nice of her, and I find myself smiling, despite still feeling disgruntled over the French woman answering Tom’s mobile, and the very real possibility that Kelly may change Carrington’s beyond recognition – and not necessarily in a good way. Eddie and Sam give me a round of applause. ‘And Eddie, the boss’s BA. What can I say? He’s a natural star. Born for this.’ Eddie glows as he beams at Sam and me.
‘See! I told you she adores me,’ Eddie says. ‘You too Georgie.’ And maybe he has a point. I glance at the bulging goody bag nestling under my little silver Christmas tree (I couldn’t wait to put it up) which arrived from a PR company. It’s crammed full of lotions and potions for me to try out and talk about in the column. Hannah said not to worry if I can’t be bothered to actually test the products and then write about them, as she’ll get one of KCTV’s people to do it for me. But I can not wait to dive in. I’ve already had a peep and saw a Jo Malone candle in a new gingerbread Christmassy scent, a beautifully fragrant Soap & Glory strawberry body scrub, there’s even a full-size pot of that new CC cream that everyone is raving about – it costs a fortune and they gave it to me for free! I really could get used to this celebrity lifestyle, especially as ASOS are couriering a selection of accessories for me to try out and write about too.
Next up on screen is Zara, donning her floppy hat, which is pretty pointless, given that all of the Carrington’s staff know who she is now. She does a spiel about having identified several areas of Carrington’s customer service that ‘need work’ – flaming cheek. And now I’m on the screen, with the poker-face woman going on about the scratch on the crocodile skin bag, and I don’t believe it. The voiceover guy is wittering on about me just not getting it. Not getting what? Sam tuts. Eddie is up and pacing around now, and I’ve got my face half hidden behind the cushion. I don’t look too bad, my hair and make-up is fab, and the DVF suit nicely accentuates my curves. That old adage of the camera adding on ten pounds doesn’t seem true, as I still look fairly slim – not as slim as Annie, of course, she’s tiny, but not too bad, even if I do say so myself.
Zara is back now and is saying that I should have offered the woman a substantial discount to compensate for the scratch, and that’s why I lost the sale! Unbelievable. If she was half the retail expert that she thinks she is, then she would have familiarised herself with Carrington’s pricing policy – if there’s any kind of hesitation over the quality of the bag, then we always offer another unopened one from the stockroom, which I did. Every decent sales assistant knows that knocking money off the high-end bags just depreciates their value and perceived specialness. It’s a basic. I take a big gulp of buck’s fizz. At least they cut the ladder incident – something to be grateful for, I suppose.
After the ad break, they show me dealing with the complaint, but have cut out the bit where the actor accuses Annie of having used the bag, and also my ‘Zara’ comment. And now Kelly is talking about the new pet spa, and how it’s already boosting revenue for Carrington’s. Eddie is silent, he’s actually got his palms pressed together in a kind of meditative state as we watch him appear on the screen, and he looks fantastic. Really suave, and sort of … illuminated. He’s got a ton of make-up on and has the ‘tits and teeth’ thing going on too, with his shoulders back and an enormous gleaming white smile fixed into place, and the camera really loves him. It’s amazing. It’s as if he was born to it. He’s parading around the spa now, pretending to be looking for a mate for Pussy – introducing all the dogs by name and telling the viewers about each one’s personality. Trixie the poodle loves cuddles. Albert the puppy mutt likes lots of exercise. And oh my God – Eddie is looking directly into the camera now, adopting Kelly’s pointy finger pose and asking the viewers to go online after the show to vote for their favourite friend for Pussy. He’s just like a pro.
‘Genius, Eddie. Well done,’ I cheer, feeling relieved that my bit is over. I’m made up for him. ‘Are you OK?’ He has actual tears in his eyes and I’ve never seen Eddie cry before. Never.
‘Oh it’s nothing. Stupid queen,’ he says, quickly brushing the tears away with the back of his hand before topping up his glass with more buck’s fizz.
‘Wow. Think I’d better call Claire, first thing tomorrow.’ Sam smiles. ‘A star is born! Don’t forget us two when you’re lounging by an infinity pool somewhere exotic with your pool boy bringing you piña colada spritzers.’ She gives him a nudge with her foot.
‘O
ooh yes, now wouldn’t that be fabulous? Eddie says, perking up. ‘Say it again,’ he insists, pulling his mirror out to preen some more, and we all laugh.
Turning back to the TV, my smile instantly freezes. Tom is on the screen. He’s wearing the midnight blue Mr Carrington tuxedo, which frames a crisp white shirt, the collar of which is undone to reveal a teaser of his black-curly-haired and very firm tanned chest that has just the right hint of sheen. His dark curly hair is gelled back and he has a shadow of stubble on his chin. His cheeky smile is in place and his eyes are twinkling. My stomach flips and my pulse quickens; he looks utterly gorgeous, as always, and all my doubts about him melt in an instance. It’s as if everything that’s happened between us is irrelevant, silly and inconsequential. I just want to touch him and feel his arms around me, talk to him, share a joke, inhale his delicious chocolatey scent and let him tickle me all over. Oh God, I miss him so much. And I don’t think I realised just how much, until now. Silence follows.
‘Cor! He scrubs up well.’ It’s Eddie who breaks the moment. Sam squeezes my hand tighter as we watch Tom’s scene unfold. He’s being shown around the actual House of Dior! Oh my God. I’m riveted to the screen. I’d love to go there. The bags are divine, and now he’s being shown the exquisite Granville in cruise blue, named after the fashion designer’s home town. I wonder if this means we’ll be stocking Dior bags – my pulse races at the prospect.
The camera follows Tom into a waiting car and we see him being shown the sights of Paris: iconic Métro signs, the Eiffel Tower, of course, the Moulin Rouge with its famous red windmill on the roof. The opulent Pont Alexandre III bridge with gold statues over a tree-lined River Seine, with bobbing houseboats at the water’s edge. Past cobbled narrow alleyways opening out into squares full of chic cafés with striped awnings and seats outside, mingled in with buckets of glorious multicoloured blooms from the many flower shops. Oh, I so wish I was there with him to share a croissant and drink espresso. It looks glorious and really romantic.
Tom arrives at a studio where he’s about to meet a jewellery designer, when the ad break starts.
‘Top-up,’ I say to Eddie, hoping neither of them notices my trembling hands. It’s incredible the effect Tom has on me. And then a thought pops into my head – I wonder if he misses me, I wonder if he’s watching the show. I know it probably isn’t broadcast in Paris, but he could be watching online. I hope he is, then he’ll have seen me looking my best – with the big hair and lovely outfit, and not the ladder bit, thankfully. And I’m not bothered about Zara saying I should have given the woman a discount, Tom knows that isn’t Carrington’s policy, and he’s the boss, not Zara, despite what she may think.
We’ve all been to the bathroom and topped up our drinks when the show comes back on. And I freeze. With the glass halfway to my mouth, which is hanging open, a horrible hot sensation trickles right through me. I place the glass down and hold my breath. There, on the TV screen in my shoebox lounge, is Tom, laughing and looking utterly beautiful in a white shirt and brown leather riding boots over tight white jodhpurs. He’s on a moonlit sandy beach under a starry night sky, riding bareback on a fiery steed, just like a hero in that Bonnie Tyler song … which incidentally is bellowing out in the background. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s an exquisite, olive-skinned, barefoot woman in a flimsy flowing gypsy dress that’s ridden up to show off her toned thighs – her arms are wrapped around his back and her long luscious dark hair is splaying all around them. But he’s supposed to be in Paris? Last I heard, they didn’t have beaches in Paris.
As if reading my mind, the voiceover guy explains, ‘Mr Carrington is enjoying a rare moment of R&R on the stunning shoreline along the French island of Corsica.’ He then introduces the goddess as Valentina Fernandes – even her name is romantic and exotic sounding. She’s a jewellery designer. I swallow hard and blink a few times on realising that I’m actually staring at the screen. Transfixed.
‘Isn’t she the one who designed the jewellery collection that you palmed off on that dodgy Russian customer? You know, the one who wanted you to launder his dirty money by sending merch he’d purchased to Moscow? He had a limp and a penchant for high-end handbags,’ Eddie says, flaring his nostrils.
‘Don’t remind me,’ I say, shuddering at the memory. ‘And yes. Her costume jewellery is hideous. So garish that Mrs Godfrey from the WI complained of a headache when she caught a glimpse of it under the spotlights.’ But what’s she doing in Corsica? And with Tom! I can’t help wondering if this is the reason he was so quick to suggest we call it a day. Maybe he had already set his sights on her, knew they’d be meeting up as part of the show and wanted to be single so he could get it on with her. The thought lingers.
‘Oh Georgie, please don’t get upset,’ Sam says. ‘We don’t know who she is, I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.’ And I know she’s just trying to soften the blow. The man of my dreams, or so I thought, is cavorting with probably the most beautiful woman in the world. If it was Nathan up there on the screen with Valentina, then I guarantee Sam would devastated too.
‘That’s right. Anyway, we don’t even know that he’s sleeping with this bird who makes trashy jewellery for nobody to buy.’ Sam nudges Eddie hard and flashes a ‘shut up’ look. ‘This footage of them together could just be scripted reality.’ Eddie sniffs and crosses his arms, as if he knows all about it. Since when did he become an expert?
‘What do you mean?’
‘A showmance!’ Eddie says, and my forehead creases. ‘Set up purely to entertain the viewers. KCTV could have staged the scenes to imply something else entirely, just like they did with you and your Beyoncé moment in the pilot.’ I give him a blank face. ‘The bottom wriggle, the Anya bag?’ he says, as a reminder. ‘All fabricated, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. I do remember – I just had been trying to block it out of my mind. So you think that’s what’s going on?’
‘It’s entirely possible,’ Sam joins in, ‘and I really didn’t think Tom was like that. He didn’t strike me as a player at all. Nathan has always said that he’s a true gentleman. Admittedly, he doesn’t know him that well – only from the squash club, but still … ’
‘Then why hasn’t he bothered to take any of my calls? And who was that woman who answered? I bet it was her, the one on the horse.’
‘You don’t know that. Try not to jump to conclusions,’ she says.
‘I’m trying. I’m trying really hard here, but it doesn’t look very good, does it?’ My heart sinks all over again.
‘Well I guess not,’ Eddie says. ‘But don’t be down. Look at your options. What about James? He’s here and you know he still holds a candle for you. I’m sure of it, I’ve seen the way he looks at you,’ he adds.
‘Don’t be daft. James is a good friend, nothing more. Besides, I can’t just flit from one man to the next,’ I snap angrily, quickly followed by, ‘Look, I’m sorry. This has really got to me, I didn’t mean to—’
‘We know, honey.’ Sam rubs my arm and gives Eddie a look. ‘But seriously, maybe Eddie has a point. Why shouldn’t you date someone else? If Tom is off gallivanting with the jewellery designer, then that means you’re a free agent too, surely. If it’s good enough for him … ’ Her voice trails off, and I ponder on what she’s saying. Maybe she has a point, why should I moon over him when he’s clearly having such a fabulous time without me?
‘Why don’t we press on and watch the ending? Only five minutes left,’ Eddie says to change the subject. ‘No need for hasty decisions.’
I finish the last of my buck’s fizz and wiggle further down into the beanbag. My head feels as though it might explode with all these developments. I try to focus on the TV screen. The voiceover guy is talking again now. The three of us watch in silence as snippets of what’s coming up in next week’s show appear. And, oh God, I thought it was too good to be true – there’s a clip of me hurling the crocodile skin bag into the Christmas tree next to the Lulu Guinness display. And they’ve do
ne something to the film – speeded it up, and now keep showing the bag spinning into the tree, over and over, with comic-book-style bubbles flashing onto the screen with words like ‘pow’ and ‘thwack’ inside. And I knew I wasn’t mistaken – you can actually hear someone sniggering loudly in the background. Great.
Now they’re showing a clip of Tom in the boardroom at Hermès, where the table is swathed in a selection of exquisite silk scarfs. The voiceover guy is talking again. ‘Will Mr Carrington find love on the sensual sandy shores of Corsica?’ Cue another clip of him and Valentina on the horse. My stomach tightens again. ‘Or will Tom rekindle his romance with an old flame? Don’t miss next week’s episode to find out …’
Whaaaat?
Old flame …
It’s Zara! I knew it. And she’s snuggled up in a chocolate-brown fur coat looking stunning in a horse-drawn carriage in a twinkling, snowy Central Park. New York. Guess that’s Tom’s next stop then; unless he’s there already. Eddie did say they were filming all his scenes upfront. And then it’s confirmed. My heart sinks. Tom is back on the screen, with his boyish smile in place. He looks relaxed and laidback, just like he did on our last date, and I so wish he was here, tickling and teasing me. Messing around together just like we used to. He shares a joke with a couple of fit-looking American guys who look as if they’ve just stepped out of an episode of Revenge. They’re watching a giant Norwegian spruce Christmas tree being hoisted up into position at the Rockefeller Center. The film cuts to another scene, where the tree is decorated now, and it’s breathtaking. With a beautiful sparkly Swarovski star at the top and row upon row of gorgeous rainbow lights glittering in the dark evening sky, it’s magical. The Americans sure know how to celebrate the holidays. And I’ve always wanted to go to New York.
Christmas at Carrington’s Page 12
