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
you up.’ Mrs Grace is already stowing her knitting inside her shopper and reaching for the room service menu.
‘OK. Well everyone else has to come then. Be there or be square, as they say.’
*
My room is in a converted old carriage block through a walkway at the back of the main hotel, so after dropping my room card into the slot of the lock, I push the door open and make my way into the bedroom with its beautifully designed array of chocolate, baby blue and caramel-coloured soft furniture. Kicking my ballet pumps, top and skinny jeans off, I lie back on the bed and my mind starts wandering. I feel sad. This damn revamp. And damn Maxine, stirring things up and distorting the facts. She probably did it on purpose, delighting in telling James how well I’ve been cultivating Malikov’s business.
Thinking of Malikov makes me cringe. Well, Maxine is welcome to him. I just hate it that she has another secret on me. I vow to talk to James as soon as I get back. I have to try again to make him see that I didn’t do it on purpose. That he can trust me. I have to at least try.
Swinging my legs down onto the floor, I get up and go over to my suitcase and grab my toiletry bag. I push the bathroom door open and the lights come on automatically. I spot the hospitality box hidden behind a brochure advertising a variety of special Valentine-themed getaways. It’s black lacquered wood and crammed full of goodies. The special monogrammed toiletries smell divine, fruity like peaches and cream with a twist of citrus. There’s even a plastic case of assorted nail enamels that would look great on my dressing table at home. I wonder if anyone would notice if they disappeared into my suitcase. At the very bottom, discreetly placed under a packet of strong mints, is a box of extra-pleasure condoms. Hmm, I won’t be needing those. My throat tightens and the sadness over James returns.
I wander back out of the bathroom and scan the room. There’s an impressive minibar stocked with chocolate, various different nut selections and every alcoholic beverage one could desire. The sight of three red mini-tubes of Pringles makes me weaken and I lift out a tub and peel back the silver foil. Savouring the taste, I walk over to the other side of the room. There’s a huge wardrobe almost covering the length of one wall. I pull open the doors with my free hand, one, two, three … they’re all the same. Rows of wooden hangers mingled in with a few pastel-pink satin-covered soft ones. There’s an ironing board and a few spare blankets. I grab at the fourth door. It’s another bedroom. Of course, the adjoining room. James must have forgotten to cancel it.
I can’t resist having a peek inside and, seeing as the others are all over in the main part of the hotel, I decide to risk it. The room is a mirror image of mine, only with a different colour scheme, emerald green and chocolate brown. I tiptoe over to the bed and gaze down at it, thinking of what might have been if James was here. After peeping over my shoulder towards the door to check nobody is coming, I sit down. I pop another Pringle into my mouth and swing my legs over until I’m lying down. I gaze up at the ceiling; the crunching noise in my ears is deafening against the silence of the room. I close my eyes and let my mind drift off for a second, wishing our friendship wasn’t ruined.
‘What are you doing?’ My eyes snap open with panic, and the Pringles cascade down onto the floor as I throw myself up into a standing position.
‘Jesus, you scared the living daylights out of me,’ I screech.
I’m standing by the side of the bed in my oldest, greyest bra, which many years ago used to be white, and my extra-comfortable-for-travelling, big red-and-white cow-print knickers that have the words ‘Cheeky Cow’ emblazoned across the back. Tom is standing right in front of me.
I clutch the Pringles tube to my chest like a miniature comfort blanket. My heart is pounding and panic is swirling through me like a baby tsunami.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he replies, managing to look amused and concerned all at the same time. I open my mouth but the words won’t come out. I have to get back to my room. I drop the Pringles tube and leg it as fast as I can, slamming the adjoining door behind me.
Back in my room, and I’m trembling all over with the shock and shame of the too-close encounter. I pull off the manky underwear and ram it into the rubbish bin before flinging open the door to the minibar and grabbing two Jack Daniel’s miniatures. I run into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Feeling mortified, I guzzle one whiskey after the other, fling an enormous white fluffy towel around my body and punch out Sam’s number.
‘What’s the matter?’ In between hiccups I describe the moment of horror to her. ‘OH MY GOD. OH MY ACTUAL GOD …’ She keeps shrieking it over and over. ‘He’s there. How exciting … well, he’ll certainly take your mind off James,’ she giggles. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but look, keep calm, it’s not that bad.’
Not that bad? It’s a total embarrassment, off the scale even by my standards.
‘It’s horrendous,’ I manage to say, dramatically, before letting out another ricochet of hiccups. I put my phone down beside the bath and, pinching my nose, I hold my breath for a count of five in a desperate attempt to steady my breathing.
‘Are you still there?’ Sam’s voice trills out from the phone. I pick it back up.
‘Yes, just trying to clear these bloody hiccups.’ I hiccup again.
‘Oh dear, it must be bad,’ Sam giggles, remembering how this happened at school whenever I got totally overwhelmed.
‘Bloody right it is. I have to spend the whole night here with him in the next room thinking I’m some kind of lunatic stalker woman with a fetish for themed knickers,’ I say, and burst into a fit of nervous laughter, punctuated by more hiccups. Sam is laughing too, and for a moment neither of us can talk. I can’t believe I’ve made such a show of myself in front of him – yet again. ‘Oh God,’ I groan, as fresh waves of mortification wash over me.
Sam is the first to recover.
‘Right! Fetish woman, get yourself together, and if Tom says anything about, the … err, encounter,’ she pauses momentarily to have another chuckle, ‘then, like I always tell you, just laugh it off.’
‘Laugh it off?’ I say, incredulously. ‘Oh Tom, I just love prancing around in other people’s bedrooms in my manky underwear, it’s such a hoot.’ We both chortle again, with me venturing into hysteria territory.
‘Well, you could always pretend you don’t know anything about it. Like you were sleepwalking or something.’ There’s a short silence. ‘I know! Tell him you have narcolepsy.’ We both crack up laughing again.
‘But I was still in his bloody bedroom and I shouted at him for startling me, so that’s not going to work, is it?’
‘Well, just brave it out. But don’t – whatever you do – apologise. He probably couldn’t believe his luck in any case.’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous. He’s probably on the phone to Maxine right now, telling her what an idiot I am, and to bin me as soon as she’s got enough sales commission out of me.’
‘Hardly. Stop being so paranoid.’
‘I can’t. Ever since she turned up, my nerves have been all over the place.’ I let out a feeble laugh.
‘Well, you deserve a bit of fun then … and it was only a couple of dates with James. And I have to say that he wasn’t exactly slow in condemning you, was he?’ I mull over what she’s said, and I know that she has a point. I’m just not sure I’m quite ready to hear it.
‘Oh, I don’t know, part of me thinks that James just needs more time, he’s bound to be suspicious and unwilling to trust after what he’s been through with his wife cheating, but Tom … well, he’s sooo hot, but he’s shagging Maxine.’ I pause to fantasise about him for a bit, he really is gorgeous. ‘But whenever he and I are alone there’s a spark … something. I don’t know what the game is.’ There’s a silence while I try and work it out. ‘Listen to me, like I even stand a chance with him,’ I say, rapidly coming to my senses.