Me and Mr Carrington: A Short Story Read Free Page B

to find me a millionaire, get whisked away to his castle or whatever – and God knows I need the rest. I love the kids to bits but they drive me mental.’ Annie is a Traveller and the first girl in her family to ever have a paid job, but when she isn’t working at Carrington’s she ends up looking after her numerous brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews all day long. ‘Look, it’s really quiet today,
sooo
…’ Annie gestures across the floor, and she’s right, there’s a woman with a double buggy admiring an oversized black Belstaff tote in the long mirror. The mirror I had installed because every decent sales assistant knows
those who try it buy it.
Hmm, on second thoughts, scrap that, it seems it’s not love at first sight in this instance – the woman dumps the bag back on the shelf and wheels the buggy away. ‘If you want to bomb downstairs and take a peek, they are truly beautiful. Expensive-looking too. I can hold the fort and if anyone wonders where you are, I’ll just say you’ve gone for more stock.’ She nudges me conspiratorially.
    ‘Thanks doll.’ I give her a quick kiss on the cheek, and feeling full of happiness I race off towards the staff lift, fling back the cage door and bounce inside with a massive smile on my face. And wanting to cherish the moment, I instantly push away the obvious question that could tarnish it just like that … How on earth did Betty know the flowers were from Tom?

Chapter Three
    When I open the door to the stock room down in the basement, Mrs Grace is busy unpacking a box of silk scarves.
    ‘Ooh, hello lovey, I wondered when you’d pop down. Come and have a look …’ she says, patting her big Aunt Bessie bun with one hand while holding out the other. Taking my hand, she leads me down to the back of the long narrow room, lined on either side with rails of clothes in cellophane covers, where there’s a little kitchenette area, a couple of armchairs covered in cotton dust sheets and a coffee table with an impressive-looking china tea set complete with sugar bowl and milk jug. ‘Seconds from Homeware,’ she states, when I pick up one of the delicate rose-patterned cups with fine gold detailing. ‘And such a pity. But we can’t sell faulty chinaware, not when it’s vintage Royal Albert,’ she adds, knowingly. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’
    ‘Um.’ I hesitate, wondering if Annie will mind. I place the cup back on the table.
    ‘Call it an early tea-break,’ she instructs.
    ‘Sure, go on then,’ I smile, knowing it can’t be easy for Mrs Grace being stuck down here on her own all day long. She used to run Women’s Accessories and taught me everything I know about selling handbags. That was before she retired, only to have to return on a part-time basis to look after the stock room, because her husband, Stan, had spent all their savings. I glance at my watch and then at the staff phone hanging on the wall by the door. I’m pretty certain Annie will call down if she needs me in the unlikely event of a sudden stampede of customers all wanting high-end handbags at the exact same moment.
    ‘Lovely. I’ll put the kettle on,’ she beams, bustling towards the sink while I sit in one of the armchairs and brace myself for a lecture on fraternising with ‘them upstairs’. I look around, wondering where the flowers are. Mrs Grace seems to read my mind.
    ‘In the cupboard.’ She flicks the kettle on and pulls open the doors of the unit under the sink. ‘Ta-da.’
    Mrs Grace claps her hands together with glee, and I gasp. The cupboard is bursting full of plump peach peonies mingled with cream-coloured roses, hand tied in a crystal vase with an enormous silver ribbon. Dotted in between the flowers are twinkling diamanté studs on long wire stems.
    ‘Wow!’ I jump up to lift the vase from the cupboard and place it on the coffee table, drawing in the divine scent. The flowers are truly exquisite. ‘But why the cupboard?’
    ‘Best place for them. It’s the dark you