Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s
14
It’s seven o’clock on Thursday evening, late-night shopping, and I feel sick. I’m on a break and I’ve already eaten two mini-tubes of sour cream and onion Pringles, half a family bag of Haribo Favourites and, in a vain attempt to ease the guilt at having eaten so many E numbers, I polish off the last of a tub of fruit salad. The canteen is empty, but as I chase a slice of kiwi around the bottom of the plastic container, James appears.
‘I thought I was the only one in here,’ I say, feeling uncomfortable as we haven’t actually discussed the competition yet, or how he snapped at me on the phone. But before I can ask him about it he says,
‘Georgie, I want to apologise for the way I spoke to you the other day. It was totally unforgivable.’ He drops his eyes.
‘Oh forget it. As long as you’re OK,’ I smile.
He hesitates before replying.
‘I’m fine, just a bit stressed. Friends again?’ he grins, and I smile back.
‘Friends,’ I agree.
‘How’s it going?’ He perches down on the bench seat, just a few centimetres from me.
‘So-so …’ I start, but it’s no use. ‘Actually, that’s not true. This is awful, I feel so guilty after you employed me in the first place and now we’re having to compete.’ He looks at me with sparkly enquiring eyes.
‘Don’t be, these are tough times and we all have to do what we need to.’
I can’t believe he’s being so decent about it.
‘Look, I’ll live, let’s just see what happens.’ He grins at me and I grin back at him and try to shove the feeling of guilt aside. He holds his gaze on me and I shift uncomfortably.
‘James, I didn’t tell you what happened with Malikov. He only went an—’ But he holds a hand up as a signal for me to be quiet.
‘I think we should stop talking about work. And seeing as I’m not your boss any more, why don’t we go and grab a bite to eat later?’ he says, enthusiastically.
‘I’d love to but I’m fit to burst. I’ve just eaten my way through enough food to feed a small principality.’ I instantly wish that I hadn’t given him quite so much information. But James just laughs and follows it with, ‘Georgie, it doesn’t have to be dinner … you know a drink would suffice. Anyway, you have to come out with me, if only because you feel sorry for me.’ I study him carefully. Is he actually asking me out? I’m not sure. It feels like he is, but after hearing about him and Maxine, not to mention the fact he’s married, it’s as if I don’t know him any more – maybe I never really did. But then he didn’t have to put a note on my file to make sure my personal business was never mentioned, and he’s hot. It’s been ages since I lived dangerously.
‘Come on … a quick drink.’ He nudges me, and a giddy excitement suddenly bubbles through me. He flashes me a grin. I tell myself one drink won’t hurt.
*
As we step through the low door of the intimate candlelit bar, James heads straight over to one of the booths.
‘More privacy here,’ he says, gesturing for me to take a seat. ‘What can I get you?’
‘A rosé, please,’ I say, pondering on what he means by ‘more privacy’ while he heads over to the bar. I can’t believe I’m actually alone in a bar with him. Earlier on it seemed a daring adventure, but now it feels weird, a little sordid even. What about his wife? I glance around to check there isn’t anyone from work in here and then quickly bring myself back down to earth … it’s just a drink with a work friend, that’s all. But when he reappears and his fingers brush mine as he hands me the glass of wine, I know that I’m kidding myself. Maybe I should try and probe him a little, find out what he’s playing at. I try the thought on for size, wishing I could just seize the moment and enjoy being alone with him. Maybe James does like me, and more than just as a colleague … or maybe he has a habit of having affairs with women at work. My head feels as if it might burst, it’s so full of possibilities, so I take a sip of wine and ponder on what I can say to find out. I open my mouth to speak at precisely the same time as his mobile rings.
‘Mind if I just get this?’ he whispers, gently touching my arm, and then quickly pulling his hand away before taking the call.
‘Of course,’ I reply, feeling tingly from his touch. He’s definitely being flirty … I know I’m not mistaken but I’m not sure I like it. I watch him for a moment as he wanders towards the bar, pushing his hand through his hair, his shoulders relaxed. I enjoy being with him, but not like this, not in secretive booths skulking around bars praying his wife doesn’t spot us. Mulberry-On-Sea can be such a small place sometimes. I’m not sure I could do that.
I quickly finish my wine and motion to him that I have to go.
‘Hold on a second,’ he says into the phone, and then to me, ‘Please … don’t go, I won’t be long.’ He covers the phone with his free hand and pulls a disappointed face.
‘Sorry James, I have to be up early,’ I say with a wry grin, before glancing at my watch to emphasise how late it is.
‘Sure, another time perhaps?’ he asks, his face scanning mine as I pull on my coat.
‘Maybe.’ I head off, wishing I knew what was going on and vowing to definitely find out … if there is another time. And part of me can’t help secretly hoping there is, even though I know I really shouldn’t.
15
On turning the corner of the street on my way into work for the red-eye meeting with Maxine, I see her pulling into the car park in a brand-spanking-new Audi TT. As I’m pondering on how she affords such an expensive car, she spots me.
‘Terrific timing,’ she gushes, as the electric window slides down. The door flings open just as the car park security guy runs over to assist her. ‘Too late,’ she says, dismissively, and shoos him away. As she emerges from the low-level seat, her brown cord skirt rides up over her perfect legs, and they splay open. And as she turns to step out of the car, she inadvertently flashes me a glimpse of her knickers. With a speed that could induce whiplash, I turn my head to hide the giggle, but it’s no use, so I disguise it as a cough instead.
‘Not ill again, are you?’ She treats me to her pageant smile.
What is it with her and illness? She’s obsessed. She turns back to the car and attempts to haul a pile of folders out from the foot well, after flinging a grey silk tie out of the way. Hmmm, I wonder who the tie belongs to? She’s obviously had a man in her car and he’s taken his tie off. I wonder what else he took off?
‘No, I’m fine. Here, let me give you a hand,’ I say, reaching out to take the folders from her and thinking surely it wouldn’t have been James? I forcibly shove the image from my head. I really don’t want to go there.
‘Oh, what a good Samaritan you are,’ she says jovially, and shoves the enormous stack of manila folders at me. With my chin barely reaching the top, I struggle to keep my handbag about my person. Thinking she’ll take the folders once she’s locked the car, I wait by the bonnet. But instead she strides off towards the staff entrance, swinging her gold-chained mini Chanel handbag with the gaiety of a Parisian girl skipping down the Champs Elysées in springtime. Presuming that I’m to follow her, I stagger along behind and then veer off towards the lift, thinking what a bloody cheek she has. I wish I hadn’t bothered to give her a hand now.
‘Oh no!’ she bellows, with such force, for a second I contemplate flinging the folders and body-slamming the floor in case she’s spotted a suicide bomber lurking. ‘The lift is for fat people,’ she continues, and with a self-satisfied shake of her head she breezes off.
‘Well, these weigh a ton, so I’ll have to see you up there,’