Carrington’s at Christmas: The Complete Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s, Ice Creams at Carrington’s. Alexandra Brown
Maxine necks in one before tossing the strawberry into her mouth too.
‘Zakuska?’ Another waitress appears in front of us, bearing a tray with a selection of bite-sized pickles and rolled-up fish on miniature slices of black bread. But Maxine bats the girl away before I get a chance to decide what to try and then turns her back to me while she hunts for another vodka waitress. She’s wearing a back-plunging Prada dress that clings to her frame as if she were sewn into it. So she managed to find a stockist then.
‘I thought you’d be wearing the necklace.’ Malikov makes me jump as he booms the words out over my shoulder. Turning to face him, his eyes fix on mine before flickering over towards Maxine’s back. It’s as though he’s telepathically telling me that he intended on her hearing him. Then his mouth curls up at one side until it resembles a nasty sneer. An icy hand clutches at my heart. What the hell is he playing at? I thought it was to be our secret. Maxine turns back to join us.
‘I’m off for a cigarette,’ she says, her face giving nothing away as she sashays off. Maybe she didn’t hear him. And she obviously doesn’t realise Malikov is standing next to us, because if she did then surely the cigarette could have waited. I let out a tiny sigh of relief and wait for Malikov to stop ogling Maxine’s pert bottom.
‘Well, I err, didn’t think it really matched this dress.’
He glances down at my body before bringing his eyes back to mine.
‘My associate is very disappointed.’ So that’s his game. The short-notice invite … he’s annoyed after the message I left for him earlier on, saying that we couldn’t supply the bags without ID verification. ‘I thought we were friends.’ He stares at me. My stomach tightens.
‘Of course,’ I smile. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that we have to have his ID an—’
‘But you said you would ship the goods to Russia. For the sisters.’
‘And I will, just as soon as the paperwork is in place. It’s a legal thing. Perhaps I should talk to him and explain,’ I say, seeing the Chiavacci sale and my chance to appease James floating away right before my eyes.
‘You already are.’ Whaat? What’s he going on about? So there is no associate. The bags were for him all along … but why didn’t he just say? And then I get it. He couldn’t, that’s the whole point. He wants the high-value goods but doesn’t want to be associated with them. No wonder his ‘people’ made all those calls asking about CCTV, on the pretext of protecting Malikov’s security. He didn’t want his ugly mug caught on camera. No wonder he wanted the most expensive items and paid in cash. Dirty cash. It has to be. Probably from the sale of his guns … and God knows what else.
The room sways. I’m in way too deep. His disgusting flirting, planting the necklace. Why the hell didn’t I just return it? I must be going mad not to have realised.
‘I don’t understand,’ I say, desperately trying to buy some time to get my head together. He leans in towards me and, with a voice as cold as ice, he whispers,
‘I know all about you.’ My thighs tremble. I remember the gun. For a moment I’m scared I might actually pass out. ‘Why else would I bother with you and your provincial little store when I can buy whatever I want, wherever I want?’
I place my hand on the table to steady myself. Of course, right at the start he said he’d carried out checks. God knows what he found out about me, but he’s obviously targeted me as a weak link – up to her eyes in debt so might just go for it. Ship stuff to Russia. No questions asked. Certainly no requirement for him to be bothered by mere ‘paperwork’. I hate myself. What an utterly stupid fool I am.
‘Perhaps I should tell your boss you accepted the necklace as a gift. Or maybe you stole it when you were in my car. Wanted to treat yourself ahead of Valentine’s Day … because I doubt very much anyone else will be bothering,’ he says, tossing me a nasty up-and-down look. I bite down hard on the inside of my bottom lip.
Malikov surveys me, scanning my face as he waits for my next move, taunting me like a cat with an injured mouse. Then something comes over me – it’s like an animalistic instinct.
‘What do you want?’ My voice trembles, the words barely audible, but I manage to keep my eyes fixed on his. I pray to myself that the jeweller still has the necklace. And then a chilling thought seeps into my head. Something that could ruin me forever … if I get found out. What if he still wants me to ship stuff to Russia? What if there’s drug money too? I’ll be implicated. I could go to prison and end up in some tiny cell no bigger than my bathroom with bunk beds chained to the floor and a geezer bird who stashes mobile phones up her Aunty Mary. Oh yes, I’ve watched the Channel Five documentaries. This is bad. Really really bad. He hesitates briefly before delivering his verdict.
‘Nothing,’ he spits.
‘I’ll return the neck—’ I start, but he cuts me short.
‘What are you talking about? I said nothing.’ And he turns his back on me and limps away.
My head is spinning. I quickly drain the orange juice, wishing that I’d opted for one of the vodka shots now, and then manage to force my legs to carry me into the corridor. I find the bathroom and, after locking the door behind me, I crumple to the floor. My whole body is trembling. Tears fly uncontrollably down my cheeks. I feel like such a disaster – he played me right from the start in the personal shopping suite. Banking on my stupidness and desperation. The feeling of self-loathing is unbearable. I’ve ruined everything.
After what feels like an eternity I manage to haul myself back up onto a chair. I sit and stare at myself in the mirror, trying to unravel what just happened. And I get it. Of course. He was lying. I let out a laugh. A horrible, hysterical laugh. There is something he wants, something money can’t buy, not even his vast fortune. He wants respectability. And respectable people don’t resort to underhand tricks to get what they want. No wonder he was so happy to develop sudden memory loss over having given me the necklace. Thank God he didn’t want it back. It’s a small comfort, though, seeing as I’m now going to be looking over my shoulder, forever wondering what his next move might be.
When I return to his suite the drinking is in full swing, but I can’t see Maxine or Malikov. Oh Jesus. What if he’s busy stitching me up right now? As I’m working myself up into another state of frenzy, a door at the far end of the room opens and Maxine appears. She does her model walk towards me, closely followed by Malikov, but I can’t quite see her face through the thick of the crowd mingled together with the Valentine’s balloons. I pray my hunch is right and he’s kept his mouth shut.
‘Time to go,’ she says, without a trace of knowing. I smile, and quickly glance at Malikov, who ignores me and turns his attentions on Maxine. ‘One of my assistants will be in touch,’ she says, sounding showy. ‘I do hope you enjoy your opera this evening.’ She treats him to her pageant smile and a big hair toss. He kisses the back of her hand, lingeringly, gazing up at her face from under his fleshy eyelids.
‘Enchanted,’ he says to Maxine, before throwing me a quick look of disgust. He turns back to join his friends.
‘I’m going to be managing his shopping requirements from now on. Seeing as he’s such a big customer,’ Maxine says, tossing her hair around again as we leave the room and make our way towards the foyer.
‘Oh, OK,’ I say, tentatively.
‘It’s not a problem, is it?’ she says, breezily.
‘Err, no, should it be?’ I ask, wondering where she’s going with this.
‘I don’t think so.’ And then she hits me with it. ‘But of course the necklace will need to be returned. You know the rules.’ My blood runs cold, the acid taste of bile swirls into the back of my throat. So she did hear him after all. But I can’t return it, Malikov will go mental, especially after his ‘nothing’ comment. And I can’t afford to buy it back in any case, even if the jeweller hasn’t sold it on. My head spins, and the saliva drains from my mouth.
‘But