Me and Mr Carrington: A Short Story

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

It’s Monday morning in Mulberry-On-Sea and to say that I’ve come down to earth with a bump would just be a massive understatement. A crash landing, more like. On this feeble excuse of a spring day, I’m about to start work in Carrington’s department store and don’t get me wrong, I love my job running the Women’s Accessories section. But it’s a trillion miles away from sunning myself beside an infinity pool on an exquisite Italian hillside, with a Parma Violet cocktail in one hand and Tom, aka hottest man alive for sure, in the other. And that’s exactly what I was doing this time last week.

‘Georgie! Baby cakes, I’m literally
dying
to know what happened next …’ Eddie pants like he’s just run a half marathon to catch up with me as I pull back the metal cage door of the staff lift and step inside.

‘Oh, it was just another week in paradise, you know how it is …’ I say, shrugging nonchalantly.

‘Well, if your post-sex glow and lack of real tan is anything to go by then you definitely went to your happy place, sprawled across the Venetian four-poster bed all week long. Dirty girl.’ Eddie follows me in to the lift, shuts the cage door and presses the button to take us up, then takes a sip of his Costa coffee before winking and giving me a saucy up-and-down look.

‘Stop it. Do you really have to embellish everything quite so extravagantly?’ I shake my head.

‘Oh, why not. Certainly livens up this boring place.’ He pulls a face.

‘Mulberry-On-Sea isn’t boring, it’s just … well, it’s pretty and quaint,’ I venture.

‘Exactly.’

‘And homely,’ I quickly add, but he’s not convinced. ‘And what about the new marina … All those super yachts are bound to bring a bit of glamour to the area.’

‘Hmm, maybe. Anyway, enough of Mulberry. I want to hear all about your fabulous adventure in Italy. I still can’t believe Tom turned up out of the blue to surprise you like that! He sure gets my vote. Swoon.’

‘Nothing happened. And I always use SPF 50, I’m very fair-skinned, if you really must know.’ I turn to check my brunette bob in the mottled mirror on the lift wall, wishing again that I could magic myself back in time. But I can’t. And there’s nothing more depressing than returning from a sun-soaked idyllic holiday full of fabulous moments wearing flip-flops to then shoehorn your feet back into last winter’s boots because it’s blooming raining. I brush the front of my drizzle-covered mac as if to underline the point.

‘Don’t be coy. Sam told me everything went to plan and Tom turned up right on cue, I just wish I’d been there to witness the look on your face. Bet you couldn’t keep your hands off him, and who can blame you? I mean, he is delicious, in a ridiculously beautiful, chiselled Henry Cavill kind of way. All messy dark curls and velvety brown eyes nestling in those extra-long dark lashes. Such a shame he isn’t gay.’ Eddie pouts. I smile at the memory – Tom in black Daniel Craig-style trunks, his naturally tanned body all solid, muscular and magnificent. His lips on mine, his fingers entwined in my hair, his cheeky grin, his divine chocolatey scent, his … Stop it. I have to get a grip. It’s the only way. I’ll pop otherwise. I’m convinced of it. Unadulterated lust that can’t be acted upon right away will do that for sure. Send me insane. ‘Such a shame he’d disappeared by the time I got there. Why didn’t he stay for the duration?’

‘He had a family matter to attend to in Sicily; his mother is Italian,’ I explain, trying once again to push away the nagging creep of doubt.

‘Hmm, so he was already en route when he decided to detour via Lake Como to bring you a cocktail by the infinity pool …?’ Eddie says, amplifying my fear that Tom turning up to surprise me wasn’t really the most romantic thing a man has ever done for me AT ALL.

Well, we’ll see. I intend on grabbing my chance to be with him with both hands … one on each bum cheek as my best friend Sam says. She’s the reason I was in Italy – to be bridesmaid at her wedding to the lovely Nathan on a hilltop overlooking Lake Como, with my Dad giving her away. Her own dad, Alfie, had passed away just a few months earlier. Emotional doesn’t even come close to describing the moment she appeared to say her vows - stunning and breathtakingly beautiful in a raw silk ivory goddess gown, her blonde corkscrew curls loose around her shoulders and a pretty bouquet of assorted wild flowers in her arms.

Sam is a true Queen of Hearts, the ultimate matchmaker so she never could resist playing Cupid, and knowing that I’d been lusting after Tom ever since I first clapped eyes on him in the staff canteen a few months ago, she had secretly arranged for him to turn up – her wedding gift to me, she had said. Of course, I didn’t know he was actually Tom Carrington then; he went undercover, pretended he was just another sales assistant. All part of his plan to assess the store from the ground floor as it were, before buying it from his Aunt Camille, whose grandfather was the original Mr Harry Carrington, aka Dirty Harry, on account of his philandering ways with the showgirls from the old music hall on Lovelace Road. And it really was a perfect moment. It’s just a shame Tom could only stay for a few hours and now I’m back here in Mulberry-on-Sea, while he’s still there in Italy.

‘And what about Carrington’s other gorge guy, James?’ Eddie steps forward to scrutinise me.

‘What do you mean?’ I reply.

‘Well, not so long ago you were besotted with him.’

‘Hardly.’ I frown, and he gives me a look. ‘The way I feel about Tom is totally different. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Besides, James and I came to an understanding, we’re just good friends now.’ A short silence follows. ‘You know, Eddie … I think Tom really could be my one.’

‘Dreamy. And I truly hope so, because if there’s anyone who deserves to bag their prince charming, it’s you, flower. Especially after that slutty skank of an ex, Brett, or whatever his name was. I never liked him,’ Eddie sniffs, pulling a face.

‘Yes, thanks Eddie, like I need reminding.’ Brett was my last serious boyfriend, before he cheated two years ago with a tall beautiful blonde. I’ve had a few liaisons since, including a one-night-stand with James but none of that even comes close to how I feel when Tom is around.

‘So, are you two actually an item now?’ Eddie nudges my arm.

‘Not exactly.’

‘Well why not? If he really is your one, then what are you waiting for? You must go get him, honey.’ He looks outraged.

‘It’s complicated.’

‘Rubbish, it’s only complicated if you make it so. I bet it’s just a matter of time. Ooh, I wonder what the other staff will think … The wealthy store owner and the penniless shop girl, does have a certain
Pretty Woman
feel to it,’ Eddie says with a flourish while waving his free hand in the air like he’s Walt Disney pondering on a new fairytale film ending.

‘Will you please stop it – I’m hardly penniless. And shop girl sounds so old-fashioned and dull … I’m an experienced and well regarded sales assistant and newly-appointed supervisor,’ I say, mulling it all over as the creaky old staff lift shudders to a halt. We fling open the cage door, side-step a couple of stock trollies piled high with flattened cardboard boxes and walk along the dimly-lit corridor that’s like a time warp with its original 1920s faded floral wallpaper.

I suppose in a way Eddie does have a point. Sort of. Tom Carrington is the new managing director after all, the majority shareholder and what if he wants to focus on settling into his new position? Prove himself as a credible department store owner? He’s not going to want everyone on the shop floor tittle-tattling about his liaison with me, Georgie Hart, in charge of Women’s Accessories. And to be honest, his impromptu visit to Italy was so brief, I really didn’t want to waste a second of it by quizzing him about ‘next steps’ once we both got home to Mulberry-On-Sea. No, I had wanted to make the most of the few short hours we had together. That was before I got his email just as I landed at Gatwick airport.

Hi Georgie,

I hope you had a safe journey home. I’m going to be here in Sicily for a while longer.

Hope to catch up on my return.

Tom x

I knew he was travelling on to Sicily after surprising me, he told me he had a family matter to attend to, but I just assumed he would be back by now. If I’d known … well, then perhaps I would have broached the subject when I had the chance, and his email is far more formal than I had hoped for. Of course I read it a trillion times over the weekend, wondering exactly what it means – ‘catch up’ could be code for practically anything from ‘I’ll bump into you in the staff canteen sometime’ to ‘Let’s have gloriously filthy clothes-ripping sex the very second we next clap eyes on each other.’ And at first I was delighted to hear from him and felt really buoyant that he obviously wanted to continue things, why else would he send an email? He could have just ignored me. But now that I’ve let my thoughts spiral, I’m swaying between thinking his appearance in Italy was just a dramatic gesture engineered by Sam, because Tom was too polite to decline her invitation, or that perhaps he really does feel the same way I do, and as Eddie says … It’s just a matter of time until he’s back and we can really get to know each other and actually
Get It On
. God, I hope it’s the latter because he is hot – the archetypal (but 100% real) tall, dark, handsome guy with an actual personality. Bonus! And believe me, I’ve met some proper tools in my time.

But that’s not all. He has a wicked sense of humour – insisted I call him Mr Carrington and threatened to tip me off my sunlounger and flip me into the infinity pool if I didn’t. I ended up pushing him in first. That was after we had a tickling fight. He’s surprisingly down-to-earth, given his privileged background, being independently and tremendously wealthy from a proper Italian dynasty, but he doesn’t have any kind of annoying sense of entitlement that the beautiful people sometimes have. There’s just something SO irresistible about him. A spark. And he’s a really nice guy. An incredible guy. Sometimes I can’t believe that he’s interested in me, because let’s face it, he really could have his pick of women – supermodels or socialites from wealthy families with impeccable pedigrees. I’m just ordinary Georgie Hart from Mulberry-On-Sea 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.