Ice Creams at Carrington’s (13 page)
‘So, tell me, Georgie Hart, what is it you do in Mulberry-On-Sea?’ Gaspard slides a silver-embossed cigarette case from his breast pocket. He flips it open and offers me a cigarillo. Shaking my head, I politely decline. ‘Then I shan’t either,’ he says smoothly, before slipping the cigarette case away.
‘Oh, don’t stop on my account. I love the smell – my dad used to smoke them when I was a child before he went to … err.’ I stop talking, suddenly very conscious that I’m blabbering like a looper. A short silence follows.
‘Went?’ Gaspard’s monobrow twitches. ‘Where did he go?’
‘Um, oh, it doesn’t matter,’ I say, trying to sound breezy, but wishing I could run away back to the bar to be with Tom and Dan. Gaspard is staring at me, waiting for a response, and I get the distinct impression that he’s used to people answering him right away. He’s very formidable.
‘Of course it does. He’s your father. Where did he go?’ There’s a short silence. ‘Was it to heaven?’ Gaspard’s eyes go all Bambi and for some ridiculous reason I want to laugh, and mix it up with a tinge of hysteria.
‘Oh no, nothing like that, he err …’ I pause, suddenly shocked at how the feeling of people knowing, and judging, still catches me unawares sometimes. ‘Went to prison.’ I drop my gaze and study the sparkly flecked carpet.
‘Is that all?’ Gaspard booms. His face breaks into a broad smile. ‘My dear, it’s practically de rigueur these days,’ and he actually nudges me conspiratorially. ‘Dolce et Gabbana, John Galliano … they’re all getting convictions.’ And then he leans into me and lowers his voice. ‘What did he do?’ He looks intrigued and there’s a hint of naughtiness in his voice.
‘He, um, he … it was insider dealing, he sold information from the trade floor of the bank he worked at—’
‘Pah!’ Gaspard waves a frivolous hand in the air. ‘And those who bought the information from him ran free, no doubt.’ I smile wryly. ‘Sooo, you still haven’t told me what it is you do in the department store.’ Gaspard’s face softens as he tactfully changes the subject, thank God.
‘Well, I used to run the Women’s Accessories section, selling luxury handbags among other things, but now I’m a personal stylist and I write a—’
‘Ahh, yes, it’s all coming back to me now – Kelly said you stole the show, described you as an everywoman, the nation’s sweetheart … She also said that you’re very knowledgeable when it comes to women’s accessories.’ I smile graciously, but –
stole the show?
Hijacked it more like, by making an utter fool of myself, and as for being a nation’s sweetheart, well – I’m hardly Cheryl Cole. But get me chatting about handbags, and, yes, I can do that all day long.
‘So what’s your favourite style of bag?’ He looks amused as he tilts his head to one side.
‘Oh, God, I’m not sure I could whittle it down to just one … I mean, there are so many – top handle, tote, crossbody; it really depends on the occasion. I love all the bag babies,’ I gush, like a proper handbag fangirl.
‘Interesting. But if you could have the perfect handbag, then what would it look like?’ I ponder for a moment. And then I know.
‘Well, that’s easy.’
‘It is?’ He seems amused.
‘Of course. It would look personal.’
‘Personal?’ His forehead creases.
‘Yep, maybe with a unique sparkly keychain or a customised colour, you know – like the paint mixer in Homebase where you can mix up practically any shade of paint that you like.’ I pause briefly but he looks completely baffled – they obviously don’t have Homebase in France, or wherever it is he lives. ‘Or, oh my God, what about this?’ I say, getting really excited now. His eyes widen, scanning the room, most likely searching for Kelly to come and rescue him from this
crazeee
English shop girl talking about paint in places he’s never heard of. Unperturbed, I keep on. ‘A message of my choice, a poem perhaps, inscribed.’ I clap my hands together in glee. I can’t help myself, as I’m that into this whole design-my-perfect-bag conversation we’re having now. ‘Gold leaf lettering!’ I practically gasp, clearly losing the plot. ‘Or a cartoon caricature – I saw something similar, it was amazing … I’m not sure I’d have a cartoon of myself, though … no, someone far more gorgeous to look at, Ryan Gosling perhaps. Topless. Oh my God, can you imagine? Ryan embossed on the inside of your bag, naked torso winking every time you rummage for your purse?’ I laugh, definitely venturing into crazeee looper-land now.
Silence follows. Oh God. And then Kelly appears.
‘I knew you’d love her, Gaspard. Isn’t she a doll?’ Kelly says, adopting a weird American accent.
‘She sure is! And exactly what I was looking for.’ Gaspard eyes me up and down.
Whaaaat?
Oh no! He’s old enough to be my dad, ugh. I turn to leave, but Kelly grabs my hand.
‘Excellent!’ She rubs Gaspard’s arm affectionately, and then turns to me. ‘Georgie, Gaspard is looking for a muse …’
Oh, right! No. Do I even look like Edie Sedgwick? I saw that film
Factory Girl
– so no! No, no, no, no, no.
But, ‘Ummmm’ is what comes out of my mouth.
‘And now I have found her. You must come to my design studio at once.’ Gaspard flings a hand in the air. ‘I want to …’ He pauses and looks baffled, ‘How do you say it? Pickle your brain.’
Fuuuuuuck.
‘Oh darling, don’t look so horrified.’ Kelly pulls me in for one of her cheek-crushing cuddles before quickly whispering in my ear. ‘Just smile and say yes.’
She swivels me back around towards Gaspard, and breathes, ‘You’re going to launch the new Georgie Bag range! How epic is that?’
Faints.
S
o it turns out that Gaspard is a famous international designer – up there with the likes of Dior and de la Renta! That’s right. So much for my fashion awareness – I had no idea who he even was at the party, or that he was at the helm of the famous House of Mercier, for my shame – but then his pieces are for a more mature woman and far too expensive for the older Carrington’s customers. I certainly know all about him now, though! That’s right, I Googled him the very second I stepped outside that penthouse suite. Of course I did. And then felt marginally more on-trend when I discovered that he’s very reclusive, likes to stay away from the media spotlight, and his surname is actually Pumphrey, far less exotic. His mother was French. And he was at the party as Kelly’s plus one – they go back years, apparently.
Anyway, he’s looking to branch out into women’s accessories aimed at a younger market and, rather than consult with his usual panel of experts, he wants me, Georgie Hart, from Mulberry-On-Sea, to help him design a range of handbags to appeal to, and I quote his exact words, ‘the ordinary girl-about-town’, but – and he was very fastidious in pointing this out as well – to ‘a girl who dreams of something more …’ That’s me, apparently. Gaspard reckons it emanates from my soul, and to quote him some more, ‘quicker than a ray of light’
.
Hmm, interesting theory, or perhaps he’s just been listening to that Madonna song for way too long, but whatever it is, I’m delighted to help out and can’t wait to get involved.
And then Gaspard went off on one talking about monogrammed interior fabrics and metal work but, to cut a long story short, the party was last Saturday, seven days ago, and I’m now at Heathrow Airport waiting to board a flight to his funky design studio in the Tribeca district of
New York City
– it’s where Robert De Niro has a restaurant. And Beyoncé and Jay-Z have a house there too. And I’m so damn excited I could actually burst. Of course, I also got straight on Google Earth the very minute I came off the phone from his PA, the day after the party, and the pictures I saw are just how I imagined, dreamed, they would be – a cast-iron building with huge windows and fire-escape ladders running down the front. Honestly, it was just like something out of
Sex and the City
, and I literally can-not wait to get there and see it all for myself.
Gaspard also told me that he caught a whiff of wanderlust wafting around me when we spoke at the party, and it’s true, I have been hankering to travel, as you know, but it’s funny how the universe sends a curveball when it’s least expected. To be honest, it’s not really the best timing, with the regatta and everything (the bank holiday weekend is only three weeks away), but there was no way I was turning down an opportunity this good. Even if I am a bit petrified of the potential consequences, both here – remember Isabella and her ‘it would be such a shame’ line re. the regatta – and abroad in NYC where, let’s face it, it’s entirely possible my design ideas could end up being a big pile of pony poo and I’ll be on the first plane home and back in Carrington’s personal shopping suite quicker than Gaspard can speed-dial a proper professional designer.
I turn to face Tom. ‘Are you definitely definitely definitely sure?’
‘Like I said the last time you asked, I’m definitely sure, a trillion times over, it will be fine.’ He smiles and shakes his head before pulling me in close for a cuddle. ‘It will be an adventure, Georgie. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And if your Georgie Bag is any good then, who knows, we might even stock it in Carrington’s …’
‘Hey, what do mean,
might
?’ I play-punch his arm.
‘Only joking. Of course we will – just make sure it’s a quality item.’
‘Ha ha, like I’m going to help design a piece of old tat.’ I pull a face. ‘My bag will be epic.’ I laugh and make big eyes before stretching a palm through the air for added impact. ‘It will be the best handbag ever.’
‘See, you’re getting excited about it now, too, so why wouldn’t you go? And please don’t use the regatta as an excuse. Or Mr Cheeks – he’ll be having the time of his life in that cat hotel you found for him, with his own room and a little chaise to lounge around on, while waiting for his daily pampering session in the grooming parlour.’ Tom laughs. ‘We’ve been over it so many times. Your team, the hashtag, or whatever it is they’re called,’ he rolls his eyes and smiles, ‘will make sure everything stays on track; and besides, it’s only for a fortnight. You’ll be back before you know it, and certainly in plenty of time to make the final tweaks.’
‘Well, four days, to be exact. I get home on Monday and the regatta starts on the Saturday …’
‘Stop worrying!’ He kisses the top of my head before pulling back to look me in the eye. ‘Honestly, it will be brilliant. You’ve spent months organising everything, so it’ll really just be a case of executing your best-laid plans on your return. And the team won’t let you down.’
‘True. I know I can count on them. And Annie was delighted to be made acting team manager while I’m away.’ Although on hearing that Dan’s a definite yes for the headline act, she was ecstatic and practically ripped the piece of paper with his manager’s number on from my hand. I’ve also left her in charge of liaising with Cher to sort out the ‘green room’ for him.
‘And I’ve rescheduled all my personal shopping clients – they can always Skype me, and Ruby in Womenswear has said she will help Lauren out with any emergencies. She’s also happy to courier clothes on my behalf – sales are sales, at the end of the day, plus she’s getting married next month, so is keen to get as much commission as possible.’
‘So you have it all organised. I’m sure Carrington’s can cope without you for a bit – see, nothing to worry about.’ I glance away, knowing this isn’t strictly true. Isabella was all for calling Sebastian in when Tom mentioned my trip on the phone to her the other day. I could hear her on the other end of the line. I’m sure she thinks I’m shirking my responsibilities just to run off on a jolly. And maybe I am a bit, but Tom’s right, it is the offer of a lifetime, to work with a top designer on creating my perfect handbag. I’m sure chances like this don’t come along twice. So I’d be a fool not to grab it with both hands. I just wish fate, the universe, or whatever, had sent this chance to me a few months in the future – when the regatta was over, and my best friend’s estranged mother hadn’t just reappeared after a twenty-five-year disappearing act.
I’ve tried calling Sam every day this week, but haven’t managed to talk to her, so I’ve no idea how things are going for her with Christy. And in the end I had to leave a voice message to explain about the trip to New York, which certainly isn’t ideal. And probably a bit insensitive. I should have gone to her house, but things have been so manic since Saturday, getting everything organised for the trip, I just ran out of time. I make a mental note to call her the very minute the flight touches down in JFK! Hmm, perhaps not, it’ll be the middle of the night in the UK … but certainly soon. I’ll definitely call as soon as I possibly can.
‘Come on, let’s get a coffee while we wait,’ Tom says, picking up my carry-on bag and turning towards a nearby Costa Coffee.
‘Sure, why not? Plenty of time.’ I glance at my watch. Four hours left before check-in even opens.
‘Indeed.’ Tom smirks. ‘I did say you might be giving yourself just a bit too much extra time …’ He laughs and holds up his left thumb and index finger in front of my face as a measure.
‘OK, smartarse.’ I bat his hand away. ‘But you can never be too careful when it comes to getting to airports on time.’
I have an intense fear of arriving too late for check-in – or having to run at speed all the way to the gate with my name being Tannoyed around the airport so everyone knows I’m the one who will make them miss the flight departure slot when my luggage has to be chucked off due to me being a ‘no show’! But I guess in this instance, I probably was a little overzealous in my timings. Oh well, more time together before we’re apart for two weeks – the perfect opportunity to have that chat about us living together. We still haven’t really talked about it, and Tom hasn’t mentioned it for ages now. I’m going to miss him like crazy. We’ve agreed to call every day. It would have been great if Tom was able to come too, but he has back-to-back meetings lined up in his quest to find suitable premises for the new store. Apparently, the board has whittled it down to a shortlist of three now, but it’s all top secret – Tom has promised to tell me the very minute he can.