Carrington's at Christmas

by Alexandra Brown

  ‘Oh bore off. You hideous little troll,’ Zara hisses into Sam’s face. ‘No wonder your baby died, probably couldn’t stand being inside you.’ There’s a collective gasp. Nathan and I immediately step towards Zara. My hand actually comes up to slap her – how dare she hurt my best friend like this? – but it’s Kelly who grabs Zara from behind and drags her away.

  ‘That’s enough! It shames me to say this, but you’ve always been an obnoxious madam. And now you really have crossed the line. You need to apologise.’ Kelly tightens her grip on Zara’s shoulders.

  ‘She started it,’ Zara retorts like a sulky teenager, shrugging herself free.

  ‘Apologise godammit!’ A loaded silence hangs in the air. ‘Just bloody do it,’ Kelly screams, her face turning a violent rhubarb-red.

  ‘Jeez, can’t anyone take a joke around here? I’m sorry. OK?’ Zara says reluctantly, rolling her eyes and flicking her hair.

  ‘Look, please. Can we all just calm down?’ Tom looks around the room. ‘Sam, I’m so sorry. Are you OK?’ he asks quietly and politely. Sam waves a dismissive hand in his direction before leaning into Nathan. I touch her arm and she mouths ‘thank you’ at me. I nod my head in solidarity.

  ‘I have no idea what is going on here, but can someone please tell me?’ Tom looks around the room, waiting for one of us to speak. Zara’s bee-sting lips are pursed tight.

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sakes. I hold my hands up – shoot me why don’t you? It’s only a tacky little shop, for crying out loud. Ameerah and I go way back. Boarding school. Anyway, she’s been on the lookout for a project, so I gave her the nod on Carrington’s. Perfect location, not far from the marina – only bit of glamour in this twee town, I might add. So why not rip it out and turn it into a hotel? Simple. And Mummy wasn’t interested in coming in on the deal, so you can leave her out of it. Serves you right, Tom.’ There’s a stunned silence. We all stare at Zara. What’s she going on about? Hardly the actions of a loving fiancée …

  ‘But why would you do that?’ Tom asks, his jaw tightening.

  ‘Why not?’ Her eyes flash around the room before landing on me. ‘But it doesn’t matter now, Ameerah didn’t win the auction,’ she shrugs nonchalantly, and I really have to resist the urge to punch her now ugly-looking pinched face.

  ‘And what about my phone? Why would you deliberately hurt Georgie?’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t going to just stand by and let you ruin your life by settling for … her!’ she screeches in my direction, ‘a ridiculous shop girl!’ She jabs a heavily jewelled finger in my direction. ‘Not when you can do so much better.’ She tosses her hair around for a bit, daring any of us to disagree that she is, in fact, the ‘better’ option. I hold my breath.

  ‘Yes.’ Tom steps forward. My heart misses a beat. My palms are drenched in sweat. I discreetly wipe them across the back of my clutch. The room sways. It’s as if time has stood still. Suspended. ‘You’re absolutely right, Zara. I can do better … than you!’ I gasp. ‘I told you in New York that I wasn’t interested; I suppose this is your way of paying me back – by trying to destroy everything that’s important to me. And why would they think you’re my fiancée?’ He gestures towards Sam and me.

  ‘Yes Zara?’ Sam says pointedly, as Hannah steers the cameraman into place.

  ‘Fine. You’re obviously more stupid than you look. I saw you sneaking around behind that shoji screen in the restaurant, so, well … I thought I’d toss you a scrap to gnaw on with your pathetic little friend.’ She gives me an up-and-down look. I don’t believe it. So Tom isn’t engaged at all. Zara made it up!

  Tom is right next to me now. He touches my arm, sending a surge of electricity to circuit my body.

  ‘I think we need to talk,’ he says, his eyes still flashing as Zara storms from the room.

  ‘So you haven’t sold Carrington’s?’ is all I manage to say, but I have to be sure. He shakes his head and his eyes soften.

  ‘No. It’s not mine to sell. Carrington’s leases the building. My great grandfather, Mr Carrington, aka Dirty Harry,’ he lifts his eyebrows, ‘sold the freehold years ago after he got into bother financially – frittered the profits on showgirls, apparently. He had no choice and had to raise funds to save the store. I know the freehold changed hands recently, though, because I was notified of the pending auction and put in a sealed bid right away, naturally, but without success. The board were told of the new freeholder’s details, care of their lawyer in London, but that’s all we know. I’m sure there’s no cause for alarm,’ he says casually. But I can’t believe he’s being so blasé about it all.

  ‘No cause for alarm?’ I repeat. They could pull the rug from under us at any time. Give notice and take back the building. What if the new freeholder has the same idea as Princess Ameerah and turns us into a hotel with underground parking? ‘Well it bothers me,’ I tell him firmly. ‘If Princess Ameerah didn’t buy it, then who did? We need to find out!’

  Another silence follows.

  ‘I did.’

  Whaaaat?

  Oh my God. My pulse quickens. I can feel my legs wobbling as I attempt to try and cope with this rollercoaster of revelations. My mouth falls open. I quickly close it. What is she talking about? Oh my actual God.

  Sam steps forward, wiping tears away with the back of her hand.

  ‘Yep. That’s right.’ She pauses and our eyes meet. ‘Sorry I didn’t say,’ she mouths in my direction, and gives me a watery smile. Tom’s jaw actually drops.

  ‘But how? When?’ I ask, in a daze.

  Kelly whips open the door so the cameraman can capture the deafening applause that’s coming from the ballroom. The whole of Carrington’s is watching us on the big screens. They must have continued filming in there too – I can see Mrs Grace on the row of monitors, with her hand over her face. She’s clearly in shock. Melissa is on screen now, chest-bumping Mick, the security guard and shouting, ‘Yo, go Sam.’

  Annie is up on some guy’s shoulders bellowing, ‘Sam, I love you babe,’ and sloshing a cocktail in the air.

  ‘So you were the mystery bidder who came in at the last hour,’ Tom interjects, shaking his head with an incredulous look on his face.

  ‘That’s right. And I’m sorry, Tom, we didn’t know you were the other bidder.’ Sam looks apologetically at Tom. ‘As you know, Alfie Palmer, owner of Palmer Estate Agents and, more importantly, my wonderful Dad, passed away at the start of the year and left his fortune and his business to me. So, after overhearing Zara talking about a hotel on the Carrington’s site, I asked the managing director of Palmers to find out what was going on. Then, when Mandy from the town hall told me about the enquiry, and after a bit of delving with the help and expertise of my brilliantly clever legal advisor, aka my husband, Nathan,’ Sam pauses, ‘we came up with a way to save Carrington’s.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Nathan steps forward. ‘My wife liked it so much, she bought the store.’ He laughs and shrugs.

  ‘Err, not the actual store … just the freehold for the building. The store still belongs to the Carrington family and I have no intention of giving notice on the lease. Absolutely not. Ever! Freeholds don’t come cheap, I’m relying on your rent to pay me back,’ she grins, and offers her hand to Tom, who shakes it enthusiastically.

  ‘Sorry Georgie.’ Sam moves close to me.

  ‘Um, what for?’ I just about manage.

  ‘For going AWOL on you recently.’

  ‘Hey, no need to apologise,’ I say, in a soft voice, thinking how magnificent she is. Her whole world fell apart when Archie died, and then the miscarriage – I can’t imagine the feelings of loss will ever disappear; yet she’s keeping on. Strong and strident. Buying up freeholds in her spare time. No wonder she wasn’t around or answering her phone – she was blooming busy!

  ‘I had to move fast. I was up in London trying to sort everything out quickly, and I really wanted it to be a surprise, for, well … for Christmas,’ Sam says, taking my hands in hers. ‘For the both of us. For
you, and for your mum,’ she drops her voice and my eyes fill with tears. Happy tears. ‘I know how much you love Carrington’s. Me too. And, like I said, I wasn’t going to stand by and lose my café, the same café that Dad helped me set up, not on top of everything else I’ve lost … ’ Her voice wobbles. I throw my arms around her and squeeze tight.

  ‘Oh Sam, you’re incredible. This is the best Christmas present ever,’ I breathe, pulling back to kiss her cheek. ‘But tell me something.’

  ‘Sure.’ She raises one eyebrow.

  ‘How on earth did you manage to keep it a secret? I thought we told each other everything,’ I pretend to chide.

  ‘With a lot of difficulty, I can tell you.’ She laughs and rolls her eyes. ‘But I just couldn’t; the freeholder insisted on total confidentiality until all the legalities were finalised, which only happened last night. Literally.’ She shakes her head. ‘We managed it just in time, before everything closes down for Christmas.’

  ‘And then Georgie, when I saw you on TV, saying what you did on that stage, I bombed down here as quickly as I could,’ Nathan interjects, ‘Sam had wanted to reveal all tomorrow over lunch, but I knew right away she wouldn’t last that long.’

  ‘Now that’s been cleared up – Georgie, will you please come with me? We need to talk.’ Tom holds out his hand. I glance at Sam. She nods in approval before whispering in my ear.

  ‘Hear him out.’ I squeeze her hand and she adds, ‘and then think of the incredible sex you’ll have making up … ’

  ‘Trust you,’ I whisper back and laugh. Typical Sam.

  ‘Now go.’ She shoos me away with her hand.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Tom grins.

  I put my hand in his, relishing the warmth of his fingers as they grip tightly around mine, my stomach flipping over and over. He leads me through a door, out into the night, and soon we’re running as fast as we can across the lawn towards another section of the hotel. And as the freezing air whips my cheeks and furls around my legs, heightening every one of my senses, I feel so alive. Exhilarated. And it’s utterly glorious.

  25

  We’ve arrived at a service area in the basement of the hotel. Enormous metal cage laundry trollies line the walls of the long corridor in front of us.

  ‘This way.’ Tom looks charged as he strides towards a door at the far end and I have to jog to keep up with him. He pushes the door open and leads me down a flight of stairs to a narrow underground tunnel of exposed brick. It’s dimly lit and smells damp. I hesitate, fear and excitement surging through me. ‘It’s OK. I know the way.’ He looks back over his shoulder, his eyes locking with mine. He grips my hand tighter. I nod and follow behind as he navigates us through the junctions and around the corners, running along lengths of tunnel until eventually we come to a steel door. My heart pounds as he taps a number into the security pad before pushing hard with his shoulder, forcing the door open. We step though into a carpeted lift with a metal cage door. A Tiffany wall lamp flickers into life.

  Carrington’s! We’re inside Carrington’s. I bet we’ve just come through one of the tunnels that Dirty Harry used to visit the showgirls – the Mulberry Grand Hotel is almost as old as Carrington’s, so it makes sense. Or maybe it was the tunnel that Mrs Grace told me about, where the staff and their families took shelter during the Blitz? Either way, it’s magical. It’s like being a part of Carrington’s history.

  As the lift rises, we stand in silence, side by side, with me listening to the drumming beat of my heart and praying that the lift breaks down so we end up having to stay the night in here, together. One last time. Because Tom might not have sent that horrible message, but he still wanted to split up, that day in his office. For all I know he could be seeing Valentina; just because she wasn’t at the party tonight doesn’t mean they’re not together, especially after Zara’s antics. It all makes sense now – his white-jodhpured hero moment on the moonlit Corsican beach with her, and then their steamy hot-tub scene in Lapland. I shudder and brace myself. Maybe this is his way of letting me down gently. We’re going to his office so he can feel business-like and detached, away from the crowds. Maybe he thinks I’ll make a scene and this is his best chance of damage limitation. I saw the way he avoided me earlier; didn’t want to be associated with the crazy cow lying in the field.

  Eventually the lift judders to a halt and Tom flings back the metal concertina grille. He taps on another security pad and leads me through a door. A sudden gust of invigorating cold air billows all around us as Tom starts climbing up a long narrow flight of steps. I quickly follow behind. And we’re outside. I can see the Christmas lights of Mulberry-On-Sea twinkling all around us and it looks magical. Breathtaking.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ Tom says. I do as I’m told, relishing the thrill of this utterly exquisite secret adventure, and I might as well make the most of this time with him – it could be the last we have together. I can feel Tom’s hands on my face making sure I don’t peep. I shiver with the sensation of his warm body up close against my back. ‘Take five steps forward.’ He turns me around and whispers into my ear, his breath hot on my cold skin. ‘Now you can open them.’ And I do. The circular ice rink glistens before me, bathed in a golden glow from the giant neon Carrington’s sign high above us. I gasp. It’s incredible. Amazing. Like something out of a fairytale.

  After pulling off his jacket, Tom swings it around my shoulders and leads me over to the wooden skate-hire booth, deftly flipping the padlock free and opening the door.

  ‘What are you doing? Kelly will go mad if we break in,’ I say, the feeling of danger and excitement making my voice sound all breathy.

  ‘Well, it is my store. I can do what I like,’ he smiles, quickly kicking off his shoes. ‘What size?’ He glances at my feet. ‘Mmm, a five I reckon.’ He gestures for my heels. I quickly slip them off and pull on the skates. He flicks a switch and a swingy Rat Pack song starts playing. ‘And we need heat, it’s freezing up here,’ he says, selecting another switch and helping himself to a couple of padded body warmers from a coat stand in the corner behind the till. He puts one on and hands the other to me. ‘That should do it.’ I leave my clutch on the bench and turn to see. Around the rink’s perimeter are a trillion tiny halogen heat lamps studded into the safety wall, twinkling and looking utterly beautiful.

  On the ice, and Tom is a pro, or so it seems. He leads me into the centre and twirls me around and around before gliding us to a halt. We’re standing opposite each other, with me clinging to his arm, hoping I manage to stay upright.

  ‘Now we can talk,’ he says.

  ‘Oh, I see.’ I raise an eyebrow and try to ignore the knot forming in my stomach.

  ‘Which is what we should have done, the last time we were together.’

  ‘But you didn’t have time,’ I say, gripping his arm tighter as my skates wobble on the slippery ice.

  ‘Well, I have time now,’ he replies, not missing a beat, and graciously forgetting that I had said the same.

  ‘So what’s changed then?’ I say, searching his eyes.

  ‘Well, what I really meant that day in my office was that I couldn’t talk right then, but before I could explain why, you had gone.’ I study his face.

  ‘But you didn’t come after me.’ I quiz, and my forehead creases.

  ‘I couldn’t. I had Kelly herding me towards a car waiting to take me to the airport, and Zara suggesting I let you cool off and … ’ His voice trails off.

  ‘But you must have known Zara had her own agenda, that she was after you. I saw the way she was all over you that day in your office.’

  ‘Not exactly.’ He glances away.

  ‘What do you mean, not exactly?’ I venture, immediately wondering if I really want to know.

  ‘Just that it, well, it happens all the time,’ he shrugs, and looks a bit embarrassed.

  ‘What does?’ I ask quietly.

  ‘Nothing.’ He shakes his head. ‘Forget I said anything. Come
on, let’s look at the stars,’ he adds to change the subject.

  ‘But you can’t say something like that and then not carry on.’ He avoids my gaze by looking up at the sky.

  ‘OK. What I meant is that I’m used to it, I suppose,’ he starts, slowly. ‘But I’ve become immune. Women flirt … ’ he says, before quickly adding, ‘it doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘Well I don’t. I wouldn’t dream of pawing a man like Zara does,’ I sniff. ‘And Kelly, she was just as bad – doing her cougar act all over you.’ He smiles softly.

  ‘And that’s why you’re like no other woman I’ve ever known before,’ he says softly.

  ‘I’m not?’ I grin and raise an eyebrow.

  ‘Most definitely not. Look, I don’t want to talk about other women, so can we drop this and talk about us?’ And the way he says ‘us’ – so intimately – makes my heart lift and my guard lower. He moves in a little closer.

  ‘Sure. But for the record, when I first saw myself on TV looking ridiculous … well, I felt really betrayed, as if I what we had together meant nothing much at all to you.’

  ‘I understand that now.’ He pauses to study my face for a moment. ‘Georgie, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about the show.’ He tilts his head to one side. ‘I should have put my foot down and explained to the board, or I could have just told you anyway, and then sworn you to secrecy.’