the Carrington’s crèche and is very pretty and petite. Apparently, they were spotted in the Dog and Duck, the pub next to the cinema in the centre of town, and Vicky was all breezy and pretending to be uninterested, according to Emma, who works part-time in Stationery. But I’m pleased for him. We’re just good friends now. He deserves to find his happy-ever-after.
‘Well, if she’s having a sea view, then so am I,’ Zara says, before throwing a daggers look in Millie’s direction, which she doesn’t even notice. Millie is too busy reading the instructions on the back of an Illamasqua box of extra-length false eyelashes in intense blue. I can’t help wondering who they are for? Oh God, not me I hope. Nooo, surely not. I’ll look like a blow-up doll. And our regulars won’t like it, that’s for sure. I can just imagine Mrs Godfrey from the WI, all flaring and huffy, if I flutter long blue lashes while helping her to select a new rain bonnet. We tried to phase the bonnets out at one point, but the local WI had a word with Betty, our mumsy switchboard supervisor, who had a word with someone on the board, so the bonnets had to stay.
‘Darling, you can have whatever you want,’ Kelly says, sounding exasperated with her own daughter. Millie glances up from the crate, and on catching my eye she pulls a face before looking at Zara’s back. So Millie has the cut of Zara then, I see.
‘Well, in that case, I want to go to Paris.’ Zara kicks the point of her left Loub against the cherry-wood panelling next to the fireplace.
‘Oh not this again. Can’t you just make do with more money instead?’ Kelly sighs heavily and reaches for her handbag. ‘Anyway, don’t be ridiculous. You’re needed here to help me with the show.’
‘It’s so unfair. How come everyone else gets to do the exotic bits while I’m stuck in this provincial dump that doesn’t even have a wait list for Birkin’s.’ Zara jabs the panel again. I turn to look at Kelly, wondering what she’ll come back with. It’s like following the ball at Wimbledon.
‘Sweetie, if you want another Birkin, then you only have to say and I’ll put in a call to François. He owes me some merch, especially after all that product placement I did for him in my last series.’ Kelly plucks a black credit card from her purse and waves it in Zara’s direction to placate her. Zara ignores it.
My ears prick up at this revelation. Does this mean, then, that Annie and I will be selling Hermès bags? Oooh, I hope so. I wonder if this is one of Kelly’s ideas to boost revenue for Carrington’s and put us on a par with the famous department stores up in London. Or, better still, Annie and I could actually carry a Birkin bag in the show? They could film us arriving at work or something. You never know, we might even get to keep one, especially if it’s been used and thereby can’t be sold instore – now that would be amazing. And it would mean that I could dump the fake one I bought from a street seller in Marbs. Although, I can’t see our regular customers forking out thousands for a handbag. Who can afford to do that?
Or perhaps Kelly has ideas to attract new customers too, from out of town. Maybe down from London for a weekend, or how about a special exclusive event for the glamouratti from the boats moored up in Mulberry Marina. They all seem to be flocking here since the new casino opened, much to the annoyance of the local residence committee, I have to say. My neighbour, Frank, who does something on the parish council, ran a petition for well over a year and collected nearly nine hundred names. But anyway, I’ve seen some amazing super-yachts, and I’ve often wondered why we don’t make more of this untapped flow of high-end customers. I’ll talk to Tom about it, when we’re alone. Could be my way of showing him that, actually, there are no hard feelings, and I’m keen for Kelly to work her magic and make Carrington’s magnificent again. In just the same way he is. He could go back to confiding in me and it would become like our project, chatting and dissecting Kelly’s progress together. You never know, KCTV may even do a second series. Tom did say that he’d been thinking about opening another store, perhaps, and what better way to drum up publicity than by involving the viewers – read, potential new customers – right from the start. I make a mental note to chat to Tom about this too.
Glancing at the wall clock, I see there’s only five minutes left of my lunch break. I clear my throat.
‘Oh, didn’t see you there with all this junk in the way,’ Kelly says, and I’m sure I detect a hint of frostiness in her voice. I wonder if Tom has had a go at her for making Annie and me look like fools. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve come to see Tom.’ I smile.
‘Oh he’s gone. You just missed him,’ Kelly replies, in a very airy voice.
‘Ahh, that’s right. Totes forgot,’ Zara chips in, unconvincingly, as she gives me an up-and-down look before raising a sardonic eyebrow. What is her problem?
‘Gone where? Do you know how long he’ll be? I could come back later,’ I say, deliberately keeping my voice light and breezy. I’m not giving Zara the satisfaction of seeing me rankled.
‘To Paris, of course.’
‘Paris.’ The floor sways beneath me.
‘Yep. To film the other half of the show. The exciting bit,’ Zara adds, pointedly. ‘The bit where the viewers will get to see him visiting high-end fashion houses – Paris, Milan, New York.’ She counts off the cities on her fingers. ‘Sourcing new stock lines, meeting suppliers, that kind of thing. And with a bit of luck I’ll get to join him.’
I feel as though I’m suffocating. Tom has gone! Gone a trillion miles away, or it might as well be, seeing as we’re over. How are we going to talk now? It just won’t be the same on the phone; no – some things just have to be sorted out face to face. Silence follows.
‘But he never said,’ I manage, instantly hating myself for sounding all ‘little girl lost’.
‘Maybe he was too busy focusing on his priorities,’ Zara offers, before inspecting her nails.
‘It was very last-minute, to be fair. The flight was only booked this morning.’ It’s Millie, and she gives me a sympathetic smile.
‘What’s it to you, anyway?’ Zara butts in, twiddling a diamond earring and flaring her nostrils.
‘He’s my … ’ I hesitate. What is he exactly? Before last night I thought he was my boyfriend, but now I have no idea. He never even mentioned Paris. I know he travels a lot, but since we started seeing each other he’s made sure to tell me when he’s going away. I’m stunned. How could I have got it so wrong? If he just wanted a good time, a casual fling, then why didn’t he say so? Why did he come all the way to Italy to surprise me at Sam’s wedding? Then appearing at my sun lounger wearing Daniel Craig-style trunks to show off his practically perfect body, teamed with an irresistibly cheeky grin. Why did he let me think we had a future? We had even chatted about spending Christmas together. I distinctly remember us laughing and saying how fab it would be to stay in one of those picturesque log cabins, with a roaring log fire, snuggled up together in red tartan blankets while sipping mugs of hot chocolate and looking out through frost-cornered windows as snow floats silently down from the sky. Just like in one of those soppy, old-fashioned Technicolor films, with Bing Crosby crooning in the background. It just doesn’t add up. I feel so confused.
‘Friend,’ I finish lamely.
‘And he’s also the boss around here, so he doesn’t have to answer to you.’ It’s Zara again. I give her a look. She throws me a sarcastic smile.
‘Girls. Girls. Come on. Play nicely,’ Kelly interrupts, before putting her arm around Zara and
