Carrington's at Christmas

by Alexandra Brown

  ‘What I do know is, that if Tom had wanted me to know about his past relationships, then he would have told me himself.’ I lift my head to look her straight in the eye.

  Silence follows while she stares right back. And there’s no way I’m breaking the eye contact. Sam’s right, I am good enough. More than good enough.

  And then she laughs.

  Throws her head back and does a proper big belly laugh.

  Oh my God. What the hell is going on?

  ‘Perfect!’ she says, leaning across the table towards me. ‘My dear, why don’t we eat and really get to know each other and I’ll explain why I thought you needed the trip to New York.’ Hmmm, curious! She gestures grandly over the food mountain in front of us, before lifting a pair of silver tongs and selecting a seeded bread roll which she places on the side plate to my left. ‘Tuck in!’ And the way she says it, adopting a plummy Home Counties accent, makes me want to laugh – though I don’t, of course.

  ‘Oh, um, sure … OK,’ I say, figuring it best to go along with her because, to be honest, what else can I do? This whole scenario feels a bit surreal, a bit parallel universe. She’s definitely a control freak. She might even be a bit cuckoo. I break off a piece of the roll and push it into my mouth.

  ‘Here’s to us. And Georgie, don’t look so petrified, I don’t bite.’ She laughs, but I’m not so sure. Eek! I manage a feeble grin, and she smiles, a proper smile, before pressing a button on the panelled wall beside us. A few seconds later, the guy in the navy polo shirt and shorts combo appears. ‘Let’s have fun. A bottle of champagne.’ And the guy is duly dispatched to the temperature-controlled cellar, or wherever it is the good stuff is kept on board a yacht. ‘So, was the trip truly amazing?’ she asks, eagerly.

  ‘It was pretty exciting. The apartment I stayed in was awesome; it had its own concierge and a bed so enormous I had to do a running jump to …’ My voice trails off when I realise that she probably thinks I’m a looper – I’m sure a swanky Manhattan mansion is the norm for her.

  ‘I’m so pleased you liked it. I thought you might.’

  ‘Have you been there before then?’ And she does a gracious giggle.

  ‘My dear, the apartment belongs to the family. And you can stay there whenever you want to – a long weekend with Tom, perhaps,’ she says, pleasantly. Hmm, maybe, if Tom forgives me … The waiter reappears with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, which he sets down beside the table. Silence follows as he fills a flute for each of us.

  ‘Um, yes, that would be lovely,’ I say politely, thinking, blooming hell, I had no idea – how on earth did she manage to organise it all without Tom knowing? And then it dawns on me, maybe Tom was in on it – he was quite keen for me to go to New York! And the basket of flowers he had delivered to me on arrival! How did he know where I was staying? I can’t even remember if I had given him the address. On second thoughts, I don’t think I did, and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that. But before I can dwell on it further, she continues.

  ‘Did you manage to see all of the tourist spots?’

  ‘Yes, we visited all those places that I’ve only ever seen on TV before in, you know, shows like Sex and the City and more recently, Girls,’ I say, trying to find common ground, but then I bet she never watches television – this is a woman who has a Nobel prize for her pioneering work in global economics. I bet she much prefers watching TED lectures or whatever in her leisure time.

  ‘Oh yes, wasn’t Girls a hoot? Rather good, I thought, although Gossip Girl has to be my favourite.’ And I’m flabbergasted. Well I never. Maybe we have more in common than I ever imagined.

  We sip champagne and help ourselves to more food – gravlax with dill, quail eggs; I even try a tiny forkful of caviar and instantly wish that I hadn’t when I have to discreetly swill the salty little balls down my throat with a big swig of champagne – until, eventually, I pluck up the courage to ask why she engineered the trip to New York in the first place.

  She places her flute on the table and dabs at the corners of her mouth as if deep in thought before she replies.

  ‘You remind me so much of myself.’

  ‘Really?’ I say, creasing my forehead.

  ‘Oh yes. Don’t be taken in by all this …’ She gestures around the deck. ‘My dear, it hasn’t always been this way. How is your father, by the way?’

  ‘Err, he’s recovering well, the surgeon reckons he’ll be up to travelling home soon,’ I say, feeling flummoxed by her sudden change of topic, and noting that she’s deftly managed to avoid answering my actual question.

  ‘Oh gosh, is he ill?’ She clasps at her neck dramatically.

  ‘Yes, I, um … I thought that’s what you meant.’ I swallow hard.

  ‘I’m sorry, no. I meant his … misfortune. Prison. Something like that takes a long time to get over.’ I glance away, wondering exactly what else Tom has kept from me – like having told his mother about Dad going to prison. No wonder she was frosty at that dinner in the private dining suite and then at the soirée – probably horrified that her son had hooked up with the daughter of an ex-con. So I wonder what’s changed. Why is she being quite nice to me now? Surely it can’t just be because she heard good things about me on her trip to Carrington’s?

  I decide to brave it out. Gone are the days when I would have been mortified. I made Dad my guilty secret for far too many years and it just made me an easy target for people to judge and bully, especially at school. But I’m older and wiser now. I take a deep breath and look her in the eye again.

  ‘Yes, it does take a long time to deal with. And he’s coped remarkably well – turned his life around. I’m very proud of him.’ I pause. ‘But I’m intrigued to know how you knew about it. Did Tom tell you?’

  ‘Oh gosh no. Tom is a gentleman – you know that. And so he should be, given his expensive education. Tom would never gossip about something personal, not even to me. He’s very loyal. No, Gaspard mentioned it … He and I also go way back. We dated for a while at university, before he came out and admitted that he preferred boys, that is – only to the inner circle, of course, the group of friends that he trusted.’ She smiles as if reminiscing a whole lifetime ago. ‘Times were different then – it was the Sixties and still illegal to be gay.’

  ‘Illegal?’ I say, thinking how ridiculous that was, as if it was some kind of lifestyle choice. Or a crime even. Hardly.

  ‘Yes, seems preposterous now, doesn’t it?’

  I shake my head in disbelief and think of Eddie and Ciaran, and wonder how they would have coped if they had been born just a few decades earlier.

  ‘Anyway, as I said – I see so much of myself in you. I was just the same when I first met Vaughan’s family – the wealthy Carrington dynasty, or so it seemed. I was in awe, having come from a far more modest background back home in Italy. My stepfather worked in an olive grove and my mother was a cleaner. You know, my father went to prison too …’ Blimey! I’m speechless. It takes me a few seconds to respond.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. He was a nasty drunk and got into a bar brawl where a man died. I was a toddler at the time. My mother kept up the monthly prison visits for a while, but then she met my stepfather, and well … that was that,’ she says, pragmatically.

  ‘Wow! But I just assumed you were …’ I stop talking, unsure of what it is I really want to say, but rapidly realising what Marco meant now with his ‘not that they always had it, mind you’ line.

  ‘Everyone does,’ she says, quietly. ‘But no, I did well for myself, I was smart, I learnt languages at school, figuring they’d be most useful, and I was right – I got a special scholarship to a school in England and then a place at Cambridge University. I was very ambitious and had already embarked on a successful career in business and economics when I met Vaughan. That’s the difference between us – he’s not at all ambitious. No, I’m the one who built our empire.’ She casts an eye over the deck, glorious in the midday sun, while I surreptitiou
sly glance at the wooden maritime clock embedded in the Maplewood-panelled wall. It’s 2.30 p.m., so there’s still time for me to make it to the music festival, and Dan isn’t on stage until 5 p.m.

  ‘But then, I was the one who knew what it was like to struggle, to have to go without. I guess it spurred me on … made me more determined.’ Isabella laughs. And I know exactly what she means. I left the care system with my whole world stuffed inside a couple of black sacks and a jaded social worker to guide me. I was on my own, eking out a junior sales assistant’s salary as best I could. ‘No, what Vaughan and I had in common was wanderlust! I had a yearning to travel, so did he. It’s how we met, actually – on safari in Zanzibar.’

  ‘Yes, Tom told me. It sounds so romantic.’

  ‘Did he? Well I never. Funny isn’t it, what we remember? I used to tell him that story when he was a child – embellish it a bit, of course. Each time there were more lions and tigers, and elephants so close you could touch their trunks.’ She shakes her head in amusement.

  ‘Ah, that’s nice,’ I say, trying to imagine Tom as a little boy – I bet he was really cute; all curly black hair and big, velvety-brown eyes.

  ‘It was, but that yearning to see the world has never really left me – I guess it’s why we move around so much now. Remember, I had spent my whole life, until I came to England, in a primitive little village in a remote part of Sicily, where they all presumed I would be a good Catholic girl – marry and settle down to have lots of babies at the first opportunity. But I wanted more.’ I chew my lip. She’s right – we do have stuff in common. And I’m still not sure I want to have babies, even if I have satisfied my yearning to see a world outside of Mulberry-On-Sea. ‘And I saw that wanderlust in you.’ She enjoys another oyster followed by a sip of champagne. ‘That’s why I arranged for you to satisfy your desire to see something more, before … Well, let’s just say that I did it to protect Tom too.’

  ‘To protect him? I don’t understand …’

  ‘My dear, he’s so in love with you, anyone can see that. You’d have to be blind not to. And it’s only natural to want to see the world. You’re young, I was just the same … but I couldn’t risk him getting hurt all over again, undo everything he’s achieved since he turned Carrington’s around – not when he’s on the brink of expanding the empire, as it were. Not if you weren’t ready.’

  ‘Ready? I am ready, I love him too.’

  ‘I know you do, my dear. I can see that now, and please forgive me if I was a … um,’ she hesitates momentarily, ‘a little distant with you at first. Lots of girls can appear quite charming at first, only to then show their true colours. I think you met Zara, my dear friend Kelly’s daughter?’ Isabella closes her eyes briefly and lets out a long sigh.

  ‘Err, yes, I did have that pleasure,’ I say, remembering how awful Zara was.

  ‘So I do hope you can understand why I was wary.’ She reaches a hand across the table and pats my arm.

  ‘I can. We both love him very much,’ I smile, placing my hand on top of hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

  ‘Marvellous. I think you and I are going to be the greatest of friends.’ She beams. ‘But I’m curious … Tell me, why aren’t you wearing the ring?’

  ‘The ring?’ I squeak, the smile freezing on my face. What is she going on about? And, just when we were getting on so well, maybe she is crackers after all. Oh well, I guess it’s not the end of the world. It could be quite fun, in a fabulously eccentrically bonkers kind of way. She’ll be like the Dowager Countess of Grantham in Downton, making me laugh with her hilarious one-liners.

  ‘That’s right. Ahh, I get it, you’re a modern girl, have you got it locked away for safekeeping? I don’t blame you. It’s a beauty. I gasped when Tom showed it to me. And I was so delighted – I knew you were the one for him and I couldn’t be happier. Between you and me, I never liked that other girl – the one who broke his heart. Last I heard she had run off to Tinsel Town to try her hand at adult movies.’ Isabella pulls a face.

  ‘Err, I’m sorry, the ring? I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘The engagement ring. Oh gosh, you did say yes, didn’t you?’ She makes big eyes and leans forwards towards me. ‘He was so excited planning the weekend – the helicopter ride, the picnic, the breathtaking view. Just perfect.’ She beams and claps her hands together.

  Oh my actual God.

  Nooooo. No. No. No.

  Not only did I ruin my thirtieth birthday surprise, I ruined my own ring moment. Tom was going to propose!

  The deck sways. My hands are trembling. My mouth drains of saliva. What have I done?

  ‘I have to go. I’m so sorry Isabella. I’ve really enjoyed our lunch, but I err, I’m expected at the music festival right now, I forgot the time,’ I babble before standing up, placing the napkin on the table and lifting my bag off the seat beside me.

  ‘Yes, yes of course. I totally understand. You must go; I mustn’t keep you from making the regatta a success. Goodbye, my dear. Perhaps we can do this again, another time.’ And she smiles, kindly. A proper smile. I stop moving.

  ‘I’d like that very much.’ And I would, I really would. But right now, I have to find Tom. I’ve got to see him. Go all out to apologise. No wonder he was too annoyed to talk to me when I phoned him from Vegas Airport. And who can blame him? I know I would be mightily irked if I had gone to all that trouble to arrange a brilliant birthday surprise and proposal bonanza weekend only for it to crash and burn at the last minute. It might not be so bad if he had actually seen me at the airport, at least then he would have known I had tried, that I was there after all … No, I need to find him and make it up to him. And fast.

  24

  Five minutes later and I’m at the entrance to the marina, next to the Hook, Line and Sinker pub, and the music festival is just about to start. Marco’s van is in place, maybe he’s seen Tom – I head there on the off-chance, figuring it has to be worth a shot.

  ‘Sorry, love, not seen him around, but then there are so many people here, I could easily have missed him. Maybe he’s in hiding, you know, to escape the crowds,’ Marco laughs.

  ‘OK. Thank you. And for what you said to Isabella – that was very kind.’

  ‘Ah, don’t be daft.’ Marco bats the air with his hand.

  And then I have an idea. A brilliant one. Well, two in fact. One that might just make things all right between Tom and me, if I can pull it off. It would be even better if I could do it today, but there’s no way – I have something else in mind for that.

  ‘Can I ask you a favour?’

  ‘Sure. Hop in and tell me what it is …’

  *

  The Mulberry Mittens, a glamorous all-girl Golden-Era vocal group are singing a big-band-style number when I make it to the music festival – all crimson movie-star red lipstick and Forties pin-curl roll hairdos – they look sensational. They finish their last number and the huge crowd cheers and claps as they head off stage. I look around, chuffed to see so many people, girls mainly; trillions of girls in Dan Kilby T-shirts – chanting his name and shouting out declarations of their love for him as they hold their mobiles up in the air to take Snapchat pics of the stage. Some even have DK stencilled on their faces with makeup; others have photos of him, presumably on the off-chance of getting close enough for an autograph opportunity, and lots of them have flowers, pink carnations – I’m guessing in tribute to his new album, which has a pink carnation on the cover. The atmosphere is amazing, buzzy and charged, just how I imagine a One Direction concert to be, or like a proper festival, a mini-Glastonbury, or a Party in the Park, only much better because this is on an actual beach. And the sun is gloriously hot, making the mood happy and summery; everyone is smiling and laughing and having a wonderful time. I love it. I just need to keep my fingers crossed that my plan will come together with Tom and everything will be perfect.

  I whizz around to the side of the stage and duck into the VIP area at the back.

  ‘Hey
lady, how are you?’ It’s Annie, and she looks radiant.

  ‘Not as good as you by the looks of it. You look sensational. Wow!’ I smile, taking in her white halter-neck playsuit and long chestnut curls loose around her shoulders.

  ‘Thank you. Oh G, I’m going to burst if I don’t tell you.’ She does a little squeal and claps her hands together.

  ‘Go on,’ I say, suddenly desperate to know her news right away.

  ‘Dan has asked me to have a drink with him tonight, just the two of us … When he comes off stage, he asked me to meet him here and then we’re going to his boat.’

  ‘Oh my God. Annie, that’s amazing. But tell me, when did this all happen?’

  ‘Well, we kind of got chatting while you were away; obviously I had to talk to him quite a lot. To, um, you know, make sure I got everything organised properly for the green room – his favourite fruit, snacks, drinks, relaxation methods, favourite shower gel, Cher let us have one of the en-suite bedrooms upstairs in the pub, that kind of thing …’ She grins, counting off Dan’s perceived requirements, one by one, on her fingers.

  ‘Obviously. In fact, I would have been extremely disappointed if you hadn’t bothered; it was a vital part of your role as team manager.’ I grin, going along with her enthusiasm.

  ‘Anyway, we kind of got close, and then he called me last night, on my mobile …’

  ‘I’m so happy for you. And good luck, Annie, I truly hope he’s your one.’

  ‘Thank you. I hope so too.’ And she heads over to the refreshments marquee that Cher has set up especially for the performers.

  Jared, from Mulberry FM, is standing near me with a young boy of about sixteen who looks familiar. I think he might have been on last year’s X Factor and asked to leave at judges’ houses and, by the glimmer of terror in his eyes, I’d say he’d rather be anywhere but here. A rotund woman hovering nearby grabs his face and gives it a big squelchy kiss before wiping her fluoro pink lipstick stain off with a tissue.