point.’ He nods. ‘I was headhunted,’ he says, slowly.
‘What for exactly?’ I’m conscious that I’m now practically interrogating him, but I have to find out more.
‘Weell,’ he starts slowly, as though he’s buying time to make it up as he goes along. ‘Look, please don’t take this the wrong way,’ he eventually adds, tracing his finger around the rim of a glass. ‘I was recruited a month ago by Walter to sell jewellery.’ His mobile flashes again and he’s saved from saying any more.
‘Sorry,’ he mouths, taking the call and heading towards the Gents, leaving me puzzled. My mind races through the options. Why would Walter have brought Tom in? And why did Tom imply that James’s job isn’t safe? What does he know?
I decide to call it a night and grab my bag from the bar. I don’t fancy sitting here while Tom shows more interest in his phone than talking to me. After making my excuses to Sam, I go in search of a taxi to take me home. I need some time alone to think this all through.
9
I’m at the counter of Sam’s café when I feel an arm around my shoulders.
‘Mine’s a black coffee and one of those Valentine cakes.’ It’s Eddie, and he’s pointing to a luscious lemon cupcake with an enormous sparkly silver meringue peak on top, and he looks exactly how I feel.
‘God, I feel terrible,’ he moans as I add his order to mine (tea and my fave, the delicious red velvet) before handing over my staff discount card. ‘And so would you if you’d been beavering away for that old hag, Maxine,’ Eddie snorts. ‘I reckon she must be at least forty.’ He pulls a face and I laugh.
‘Slight exaggeration. I’d put her at thirty tops.’
‘Oh, don’t be fooled by all that work,’ he says, circling an index finger around his face. ‘Bucket loads of filler. And she’s a total femme fatale too, heard her purring like a phone sex worker into her BlackBerry the other day. Vom! And this morning she turned up in a fur coat and a skimpy playsuit … that’s all she had on underneath.’ He flares his nostrils. ‘And I swear she smelt of SEX!’
‘Eddie! Do you mind? I haven’t even had breakfast yet.’ He purses his lips and runs a finger over his hair.
‘Weell, I pity the poor man she bedded last night, I imagine he’s lying exhausted somewhere, covered in talon tracks and whimpering for mercy.’ We both laugh.
‘Come on. Let’s get a booth before they all go,’ he sniffs, nudging me with his elbow.
Taking his coffee and cake, Eddie flounces over to the far corner of the café. It’s the best spot for chatting and keeping an eye on the door. He flings his jacket down.
I follow Eddie’s lead and sit down next to him.
‘You’ve got your meeting with the stick insect at eleven, haven’t you?’ Eddie says, tipping a sachet of sugar into his coffee and stirring it vigorously.
‘Yep, can’t wait.’ I pull a face and for a moment I contemplate telling him about the conversation with Tom in the club, but decide not to. I want to see what Maxine has to say first.
‘Oh, it’ll be fine. Bound to be. I’ve not seen or heard anything about redundancies. Besides, there’s no way The Heff will let her get rid of our best sales assistant,’ he says, echoing Sam’s words. He nudges me playfully across the table.
‘But what if it comes out about Dad?’ I ask, dropping my voice.
‘But why would it? You don’t even use the same surname as him. Don’t worry so much, sugar plum.’
‘Well, you know how it is, especially in this new security-obsessed climate. It’s not like it was when I was starting out. What if Maxine decides to drag Carrington’s into the modern age and we have to go through stringent checks? You know Polly who used to work here in Celebrity Fragrances?’ Eddie nods. ‘I bumped into her the other day in Tesco on the industrial estate and she works in one of the big department stores up in London now. They did all sorts of security checks on her before they let her anywhere near the high-value goods. Even then they wanted to know about her immediate family too and I couldn’t bear everyone knowing about Dad’s mistakes and judging me with a suspicious eye. The shame of it.’ I shudder.
‘Honestly, you’ll be fine. I’m sure as hell not going to tell anyone.’
It’s nearly nine and I want to sort out the new Marc Jacobs display before we open.
‘I have to go, see you later,’ I say, giving Eddie a hug.
‘OK, sweetness. And good luck with the meeting.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, waving at Sam as she ducks her head out of the kitchen on my way past.
Later on, I’m serving a pretty, red-haired woman with twin baby girls asleep in a fuchsia-pink double pram.
‘Thank you. How would you like to pay?’ I say.
‘Card please.’ I tap out the price, £59.99, for a gorgeous, sparkly Biba purse, and she enters her pin number. ‘My treat for three months of sleepless nights,’ she says, smiling and glancing at the twins.
‘Ahh, they’re adorable,’ I say, handing her the carrier bag and sneaking a peek at the snuggly bundles with their fuzzy strawberry blonde hair and tiny rosebud lips.
‘You wouldn’t think so at three in the morning when one of them starts howling and sets the other one off.’
‘Oh dear,’ I smile diplomatically, handing her the receipt and card.
‘Thanks, love. I’m off to the café upstairs now for a nice cup of coffee and a cake while these two are still snoozing.’ She grins and loops the bag over the handle of the pram.
‘Well, you enjoy and I highly recommend the new pinkberry Valentine cake. Divine.’
‘Sounds like just the thing. See you next time.’ And she wheels the pram off towards the lift.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Walter’s wife, Camille, coming through the revolving door. Instinctively, I straighten the ring tray and busy myself with plumping a couple of bags. I catch Annie’s eye and nod in Camille’s direction. A breathtakingly beautiful older woman; she glides elegantly across the floor, patting her ice-blonde chignon as she heads towards my section.
‘My dear, how are you today?’ Camille arrives at my counter.
‘Very well, thank you,’ I say, politely. Camille shakes my hand and I have to mentally resist the urge to curtsey. A puff of Hermès floats around her; clad head-to-toe in Chanel, she really is something.
‘Splendid. I’m off to New York for Fashion Week and wondered if you’d be kind enough to select some luggage for me.’ She whips off her gloves and slips them into a vintage black Chanel bag.
‘Of course, we’d be delighted to,’ I say, beckoning Annie over.
‘Something
