Ice Creams at Carrington’s. Alexandra Brown
‘Shut uuup, you are.’ It’s Wednesday morning. I’m at work in the VIP shopping suite and Eddie is calling on the staff wall phone from LA.
‘Stop laughing. I really am. And it will be fun. If you hadn’t abandoned me on board the yacht, then you would have heard all about it,’ I say quietly, just in case a customer wanders in unannounced. Highly unlikely, as my assistant, Lauren, who used to work in the cash office but fancied doing something different when her little boy, Jack, started school, usually escorts them up, but you never know. And I’m guessing Lauren is already here, as the magazines have been fanned nicely on the gold marbled rococo coffee table, pink lilies placed on the matching side cabinet and the plum brocade cushions plumped and artfully arranged on the oversized chaise in the centre of the room.
‘Yes, sorry, it was a bit mean of me,’ Eddie apologises.
‘And then disappearing without even saying goodbye.’
‘Well, I tried to find you but the deck was heaving by then, and I was in serious danger of missing the flight. Carly was practically growling at me to get a move on.’
‘Hmm … Well OK, I’ll let you off. But only because she did look super-scaareeee!’
‘So, what do you know about boats?’ he sniffs.
‘Nothing. But the regatta isn’t about the boats.’ Silence. ‘Well, I guess it is a bit about the boats,’ I quickly add. ‘I’m guessing someone from the marina will be in charge of all the actual sailing stuff – the races, that kind of thing. My job is to make sure Mulberry puts on the show of its life, that Carrington’s is represented well and we utilise the opportunity to attract more high-end customers instore. The first committee meeting is tomorrow.’
‘Have you finished?’
‘Whaaaat?’
‘You sound like some soulless corporate brochure.’
‘Oh, go away, don’t be calling me from exotic locations just to wind me up, what do you want?’ I pretend to be cross, but I’m well used to his teasing by now.
‘Charming!’ Eddie laughs. ‘Listen, petal, I didn’t get a chance at the yacht party to tell you I’m going to be back in Mulberry for the summer and thought it might be nice if we all do something together – the three of us: you, me and Sam. Can we pencil something in?’
‘Of course – we can hang out like we always have for years and years; it’ll be just like old times. Can’t wait. We can watch TV and eat cake, but since when did we need to “pencil something in”?’ I laugh – this summer is going to be brilliant. Even the weather is getting involved; the sun is still shining and I managed without a jacket this morning. A bit chilly, but once the clouds had cleared it was gloriously warm.
‘Since Carly lectured me on forward planning, that’s when! You know, she even had the cheek to reel me off a list on what makes an efficient PA. Like I never existed before I became famous. Honestly, she really thinks she’s the boss of me. Anyway, how’s that delicious boyfriend of yours? I didn’t even get a chance to talk to him at the soirée.’
‘Ah, Tom is brilliant as always.’
‘Although he’s hardly a boy now, is he? Oh no, all man. I clocked those beautifully built biceps.’
‘You know, he’s asked me to move in with him.’
‘Awesome. Next you’ll be getting married, sugar. Oh, promise I can be your best man. Sam will be bridesmaid, of course, but I’m in charge of your hair and makeup. And shoes! Oh yes, the shoes. How many pairs do you think you’ll need for the day?’ He pauses to let out a long sigh.
‘Err, one?’ I say, playing along with his fantasy wedding.
‘Don’t be daft. Three pairs at least!’ He sounds outraged. ‘And you’ll need a proper planner. Me, of course.’
‘Steady on. Haven’t you got a career being famous and fabulous to keep you busy?’
‘I’m deadly serious. Darling, you need to plan ahead, especially if you want a venue that’s anywhere near wonderful. You don’t want to have to settle for some draughty village hall in boring old Mulberry-On-Sea, all because you didn’t bother to get organised already. What would Queen Isabella say?’ He makes a tut-tutting sound.
‘Stop it. Anyway, Mulberry isn’t boring.’
‘Well, it is compared to Vegas, or … how about Necker? Oh my God, you could get married on Necker Island and we could film it as part of my show. I bet Her Madge could swing that for you – she’ll want the best for her son, and Tom’s bound to have the money stashed in his trust fund or whatever—’
‘Please, Eddie. When I get married, it will be here in Mulberry, with Dad giving me away and Nancy helping out with the arrangements: small and intimate and magical. You know how I hate being in the spotlight, especially when it comes to TV cameras.’
‘Spoilsport. I’ve always fancied myself as a bridal stylist. It’ll be just like dress up, but with an actual real audience. And I could be your very own David Tutera.’
‘Who?’
‘Oh, you won’t know him – he’s the dreamy host of My Fair Wedding – it’s a TV show on over here,’ he says in an extra-blasé voice.
‘Then I’ll bear you in mind should I ever need a wedding stylist,’ I laugh.
‘Well, what are you waiting for? Men like Tom don’t come along twice in a lifetime.’
‘True. But don’t you think you might be getting a little bit carried away? We haven’t even talked about any of that.’
‘Well do. Talk. Try it; you might like it, instead of just having sex all the time. You must be the only couple I know who still have that all going on. Everyone else settles into twice-weekly sessions after a while – if they’re unlucky: sex is so overrated!’ I laugh, thinking: typical Eddie. ‘Not twice-nightly!’
‘Ha-ha! But we’re not like normal couples who can see each other whenever they like. You know how busy Tom is building the Carrington’s brand. I’m lucky if I get to see him twice in any one week! Besides, it’s just living together …’
‘But we all know what that really means,’ he states authoritatively.
‘We do?’
‘Of course. It’s man-speak for “I might want to marry you. Just not right now, but in a year or so when I’m really sure you’re not some kind of crazeee control freak who won’t let me leave wet towels on the bathroom floor, etc., etc.” It’s down to you to convert the offer of living together into your very own happy-ever-after. Go on, get that rock on your finger, darling – you know you want to.’
‘Eddie! Must you be so clichéd about everything? These days couples do actually discuss important things like marriage, you know – and I’m not some feeble female eagerly waiting for a man to sweep me off my feet. I make decisions.’
‘True. But you just said yourself that you don’t have time to discuss things. And there’s nothing wrong with helping things along a little, if it’s what you really want.’ Silence follows. ‘It is what you want, isn’t it?’
‘It is! Oh God, yes, it sooooo is,’ I say, suddenly realising that it actually really is – I think I’ve focused so much on the physical aspect of our relationship until now – enjoyed it, no, scrap that, adored it – that I’ve somehow forgotten about the emotional side. Tom and I have both neglected it. Well, that needs to be fixed, right away, or just as soon as we next see each other.
‘Brilliant. Then get a venue booked. Or, if you can’t decide, then at least put a selection on retainer … it’s the norm over here. My executive producer has had the Terrace Room at the New York Plaza booked