Ice Creams at Carrington’s Read Online Free Page A

like a superstar than ever. His dapper blond hair is now all messy quiff, and he’s wearing an exquisitely tailored charcoal grey Tom Ford suit. And on closer inspection he’s had a little lifting work around his sparkly blue-green eyes and his brows have definitely been manscaped. He looks fantastic. Flawless. And smells divine, too, of tropical summer holidays – coconut and citrus.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ I fling my arms around his neck and squeeze him tight. ‘God I’ve missed you. I thought you were in LA.’ Eddie is my other best friend and used to work at Carrington’s as Tom’s BA, or boy assistant – that was before he was ‘discovered’ on Kelly’s TV show and practically became a superstar overnight. He has his own chat show with a Saturday night primetime slot, and a reality series called Eddie: I Do It My Way , and lives between his villa in the Hollywood hills and a penthouse apartment overlooking Mulberry Marina. And he’s actually stayed at Simon Cowell’s house in America, as Simon’s personal guest! Doesn’t get much starrier than that.
    ‘Tom invited me – as a nice surprise for you,’ Eddie says, as we pull apart.
    ‘Aw, how lovely. He’s so thoughtful,’ I beam.
    ‘Ooh, he is – the quintessential gentleman. Delish too. Not as beautiful as my Ciaran, mind you, but still, a very close second.’ He nudges me.
    ‘How is Ciaran? Is he here?’ I scan the deck.
    ‘No, he’s looking after Pussy – you know what a diva that dog is, hates travelling and refuses to go in a crate, so Ciaran’s flown straight back to LA with her on his lap after she created the most almighty fuss when Claire dared to go near her.’ I laugh and shake my head. Pussy is Eddie’s fluffy white bichon frise, and thoroughly spoilt, so it’s hardly surprising. Claire is Eddie’s manager, Peter André’s too.
    ‘Straight back? What do you mean?’
    ‘Only a fleeting visit, petal. Filming starts on my second series tomorrow. We were in Ireland yesterday, at some windswept tiny town that time forgot …’ He rolls his eyes. ‘For Ciaran’s cousin’s wedding – Sinéad, Shona, Sorcha; something like that, anyway … I forget which one, he has that many … and I wasn’t even drinking.’ He waves a dismissive hand in the air and I smile, thinking, same old Eddie, as grandiose as ever, fame really hasn’t changed him one bit; he must be the only person I know who can go to a wedding and then claim not even to know the bride’s name the very next day. ‘Yes, it was a last-minute decision – we weren’t going to bother after the way his family shunned him when he finally leapt out of the closet. Anyone would think he’d tried to poke the Pope, the way they all carried on.’ Eddie pauses to pull a face while I wonder if perhaps it was just that they were a bit shocked. I mean, Ciaran did actually come out at his own wedding, to a woman , after all. It was all annulled quite swiftly, but still, his mother is practically on first-name terms with the Pope, so I can’t imagine it was easy for her. ‘But you know how Ciaran is for all that family stuff, and then when his Catholic guilt kicked in, I just couldn’t bear watching him perched on the proverbial spike doing all that hand-wringing, so we dashed to the airport and managed to get last-minute flights. Plus I needed to check on the apartment and then remembered Tom’s invite, so I thought, why not pop in and see my most fabulous bestie in the whole wide world. So, surprise surprise !’ Eddie bats a hand in the air. ‘But I haven’t got long, I have to check in for the return flight in like …’ he pulls back a sleeve to glance at his watch, ‘an hour!’
    ‘Oooh, get you. Jet-setter.’ I nudge him with my elbow.
    ‘I know. Fabulous, isn’t it? And see the group behind me …’ I glance over his shoulder, and a guy shaped like an American fridge-freezer stuffed into a black suit, with a curly plastic wire hanging from his ear,