Marrying well was never just a case of two star-crossed lovers meeting by chance – not in the real world, anyway. It involved a lot of careful planning and manoeuvring. It was an art, thought Molly, an art she had studied for a long, long time.
‘You never did show me that apartment you promised,’ said Molly, touching Marcus’s arm.
‘It’s all locked up for the night.’
‘Oh, come on. You’re the boss around here. Surely you have a key?’
Marcus nodded and patted his pocket. ‘The reason I know the show apartment is locked is because I locked it myself.’
He put his hand lightly on her waist to steer her through the crowd to a private lift. Marcus slotted a card into the wall and the doors hissed open. They stood silently as the lift took them up to the fifteenth floor.
‘Wow,’ whistled Molly as she stepped out onto carpet so thick it almost covered her shoe. It was really was quite impressive what £10 million bought you in real estate.
Molly made her way slowly through the flat, Marcus silently following behind, lapping up her effusive compliments. And there was much to admire: floor-to-ceiling ‘his-and-hers’ plasma screens in the master bedroom, a walnut kitchen with white resin walls, climate-controlled closets and a polished bamboo floor in the bathroom. The look was cool minimalist with luxurious flourishes. Each apartment even came completely fitted out with bespoke cutting-edge Italian furniture. And then there was that view, high over Hyde Park.
‘You’ll see best from the balcony in the master bedroom,’ said Marcus slowly. Molly looked at him, then kicked off her heels and walked across to open the doors. She didn’t go out onto the balcony, just stood in the doorway, letting the cool night air ruffle her hair.
‘Is it embarrassing to admit I had your calendar on my wall at college?’ said Marcus behind her. Molly smiled; she knew she had him. Marcus was your typical Master of the Universe in the boardroom, but his devotion to work had starved him of passion. No regular girlfriend, possibly a few hookers. He was ripe for the picking.
‘Come over here,’ she said, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, ‘The breeze is lovely.’
Marcus walked over hesitantly. His eyes were hungry but nervous.
Molly gently took his hand and placed it on her breastbone, sliding it down her dress until his fingers brushed her hard, erect nipple. ‘Look what you did to me,’ she whispered, leaning so close that her bottom lip brushed his ear lobe.
‘Molly, Harry is my friend,’ said Marcus, the words catching in his throat.
‘I don’t want Harry,’ she purred, brushing her lips across his neck as she spoke. Her fingers traced down the line of his shirt buttons until she found his zip. ‘I want you,’ she whispered, ‘I’ve wanted you from the second I saw you.’
Suddenly their mouths were together, Marcus hurriedly undoing his trousers and pulling his boxer shorts off as they shuffled towards the bed. Pushing Molly back onto the expensive linen, Marcus hiked up her dress and roughly pulled down her panties, dipping two fingers into her wetness.
‘Now, don’t wait,’ she said, her voice shuddering. She wrapped her legs around him and guided him into her inch by inch, slowing him, taunting him, until he was fully inside her. Marcus was groaning in pleasure, reaching down to spread her legs wider, lifting her buttocks off the sheets so his cock could reach deeper and deeper.
‘Oh God, yes, harder,’ she begged, arching her back as Marcus thrust faster and faster into her, before he erupted, crying out, his face twisting, his nostrils flared.
He held on to her for one moment, then rolled to the side; they were both gasping.
‘Can I call you tomorrow?’ asked Marcus finally, as Molly sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling her panties back on.
‘I’ll call you,’ she said with a dirty smile, before smoothing down her short gold dress and moving towards the door. Three minutes later, she was back at the party, where Harry was frantically searching for her, clutching her jacket.
‘There you are darling,’ she said, kissing Harry on the lips. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
10
The weather in Venice was remarkably good for late winter. A strong sun dazzled the city, the colourful landscape of ice-cream coloured buildings and red-brick palazzos looking even more striking against a clear blue sky. Karin and her friend Ileana Totti, heiress to her family’s luxury goods company, were in the lobby of the Danieli Hotel catching up.
‘So you lied to Adam Gold that you were going to be in Venice for carnival?’ laughed Ileana, taking a sip of her Bellini. ‘I never knew you were so devious.’
‘It was a white lie,’ said Karin. ‘I am in Italy, aren’t I?’
She had spent the last two days visiting a fabric manufacturer in Bologna. ‘I mean, I didn’t honestly expect him to want to hook up in Venice. He said he was only coming for a couple of days. Now he wants me to come with him to some masked ball.’
‘What a drag,’ said Ileana, teasing Karin with a hint of sarcasm.
Karin chuckled. She had tried to sound disgruntled, but they both knew she had been delighted when Erin had called her two days after the Knightsbridge Heights launch to arrange a Venetian rendezvous with Adam.
‘So will you sleep with him tonight?’
‘Illy!’ said Karin, feigning shock. ‘He hasn’t even been in touch to say when or where we’re meeting. It might not even happen.’
‘Well, call him then!’
‘No.’
‘Mia cara,’ purred Ileana, playing with the large canary diamond on her finger, ‘you’ve just faked a trip to carnival. Now is not the time to play hard to get.’
‘You’re right,’ smiled Karin, imagining herself naked in bed with Adam. ‘I don’t need games – he’s already in the bag.’
‘I know he is, darling,’ smiled her friend, and they clinked glasses.
After she had said goodbye to Ileana, Karin took a shiny walnut and chrome motor launch over the Grand Canal to the Cipriani to check in. When there had been no message from Adam waiting for her on arrival, she had felt a slight rumble of anxiety. Don’t panic, she reassured herself, He’ll call. Why wouldn’t he? By 4 p.m., however, that confidence had evaporated, to be replaced by an unfamiliar sense of insecurity.
‘Sigñor, can you check again?’ asked Karin, calling down to reception.
‘Sigñora. I assure you il Sigñor Gold has not left a message. I will let you know if he does,’ was the polite but firm reply.
Karin paced around her suite, a sumptuous, spacious room where marble and velvet managed to feel modern rather than dowdy. She couldn’t settle, throwing down a book after just a few lines, flicking the TV on and off. Earlier that week she had requested a local costumier send over a selection of gowns for the party which had been laid out on the bed. She tried to distract herself by pulling them out of their heavy plastic wrappers. There were two glorious period dresses, one scarlet brocade, one a thick jade silk, both with low scooped neckline, a big bustle and layers of lace under a thickly gathered skirt. But even the beautiful clothes couldn’t distract her from Adam and she flung them back on the bed angrily.
Karin looked out of the window; the sky was beginning to darken, low clouds glowing rosy on the Venetian horizon. She would give Adam until 5 p.m., and then that was it. Or maybe 6 p.m.
She ran herself a hot bath, letting herself sink into the suds and willing her anxieties to melt away. Surely she hadn’t misread the situation so badly? After all, he had contacted her to meet in Venice, not the other way around. And yes, it was through his PA, but that was how rich men dated, just another window in a busy diary. Besides, if he wanted some bimbo model, he could have settled down years ago. And yet here she was, successful, sexy and clever, exactly the kind of woman Adam Gold needed – even if he didn’t know it yet. Ah, fuck him, she thought, jumping out of the bath and stomping back into the bedroom. I’ll meet up with Illy. She’ll be more fun, anyway.
She was just w
rapping a bathrobe around her when the suite’s buzzer went. She opened the door to find a bellboy holding an envelope. ‘This have just arrived for you, signora,’ he said in broken English, trying hard not to look at Karin’s curvy wet body.
Back inside, she tore it open and a stiff white invitation peeked out from gold tissue paper.
You are invited to dinner, drinks and dancing at the Palazzo Sasso. 8 p.m. Dress: Masked ball.
She noticed some black inky squiggles on the back. See you later. Adam. Karin jumped on the bed and whooped.
Molly was meeting Marcus at the Ivy. The restaurant was one of Harry’s favourite places for supper and she was half hoping to bump into him, as she still hadn’t quite got round to breaking the news that it was over between them. The morning after the Knightsbridge Heights party, she had given him one last mercy fuck, cleared all his coke from his sock drawer and disappeared. But, instead of getting the hint, Harry had left a dozen increasingly soppy messages on her answerphone, his latest communication informing her that he had booked them into the Paris Ritz for that weekend. While she was tempted to make contact, if only to slip into the fluffy peach robes at her favourite French hotel, she exercised restraint. Overlapping lovers didn’t usually bother Molly; it wasn’t unusual for her to have two or three on the go if they were particularly generous or useful. But Harry and Marcus were friends. She had principles, for God’s sake!
The taxi waiting on the street tooted its horn once more. Molly tutted and painted on a final slash of lip gloss, then stood back to check the black Alaïa dress that clung to every curve in the mirror. Then she grabbed her bag and ran for the stairs. She was just closing the front door when she saw a scruffy young man standing at the bottom of the steps.
‘Excuse me,’ he said.
‘I don’t want one, thank you,’ said Molly tartly, double-locking the door.
‘You don’t want what?’ asked the man.
‘A Big Issue,’ said Molly. ‘And this is a residential street, so I’d be grateful if you moved along.’
Molly had walked to her taxi but he was still standing there.
‘No, I just wanted to ask: is this where Summer Sinclair lives?’
‘And who is asking?’ asked Molly, rather perplexed.
‘Charlie McDonald. I’m a … a friend,’ he said cautiously.
Charlie? The name didn’t ring any immediate bells.
‘We arranged a date on Wednesday, but I lost her number,’ Charlie added. ‘I just remembered she said she lived on Basset Road. That lady with the dog thought she lived here,’ he said, pointing vaguely down the street.
Summer arranged a date? thought Molly, confused. Where was she on Wednesday? Then she recalled with a shudder something about a rock gig in Camden. Something to do with a male model from the bridal shoot. She gave him a second glance. Hmm, well, he was certainly good looking enough to model underneath that stubble and dirty leather, she thought. But even so! Had she not taught Summer anything over the years? It was rule number one: no creatives. Not unless you were talking musicians like Rod Stewart. Creative people just didn’t make money. It was so typical of sweet, simple Summer to let her head be turned by some long-haired poet with holes in his jeans.
‘I’m so sorry, Charlie, but you’ve had a wasted journey,’ said Molly sadly. ‘She lives here alright, but she’s hardly ever here. Spends most of the week at her boyfriend’s house in Mayfair.’ She smiled kindly. ‘But I’m her mother, Molly. I can pass a message on if you like.’
Charlie mouth was firm, but his eyes told of his disappointment.
‘It’s okay,’ he replied with a shrug, ‘I was just passing.’
She climbed in the taxi and pulled away. Molly looked through the rear window, watching Charlie McDonald get smaller and smaller until he had disappeared out of sight and out of Summer’s life forever.
The Palazzo Sasso was like some Shakespearian fantasy. An enormous labyrinth of rooms with high painted ceilings, arched windows and ornate plasterwork, all lit by enormous fat lamps hanging from the walls that sent a flickering yellow light around the ballroom. Entering the room alone, Karin was immediately glad Adam had chosen this place to meet. She had been to so many fantastic parties all over the world, but this room looked so sexy, mysterious and theatrical that it was impossible not to be impressed. There were fire-eaters, jugglers and a string quartet that could just be heard above the hum of the crowd, the whole atmosphere pulsing with decadence. All the guests were in full costume for Carnevale; there must have been enough velvet in the room to stretch from Venice to the moon. The men were either in black tie with capes or in authentic period dress of doublet and hose, the woman straining in fitted corsets and flowing skirts. Everybody’s faces were obscured by masks made from papier-mâché or thick brocade, making it impossible to spot Adam, but the sensation of being alone, hidden, was exciting, almost a sexual thrill for Karin. God, she had to find Adam – and quickly. She moved through the crowd, passing from the main ballroom into the tangle of anterooms, soaking up the delicious atmosphere, listening to the babble of different languages. Finally she came across a smaller room, filled with people, crackling with excitement. Walking closer, she understood why she had been given a handful of casino chips on entry; it was a roulette table. She found a place at the table, put all of her chips on red and held her breath as the ball bounced around the wheel.
‘Red, twelve,’ said the croupier and pushed over a pile of chips. With a growing confidence, she moved half of her stash onto zero.
‘No more bets,’ said the croupier as the ball began to rattle round the walnut wheel. Karin dropped her cool and clapped with excitement as the ball came to rest on zero. A respectful hum ran around the crowd.
‘Go for broke,’ said a man standing next to her. ‘After all, it’s not real money is it?’
Carried along by the moment, Karin moved all her chips onto number twenty-nine, watching, waiting her heart pounding as the white ball swirled, rattled and slowed.
‘Red, thirteen.’ There were hoots of excitement as the croupier scooped up all Karin’s chips with his rake and pushed them towards the end of the table. Karin looked down the table to see the victor. His eyes met hers and he smiled. He was wearing a gold mask with a long curved nose, but she could see the bottom half of his face and that square jaw was unmistakable. Adam. The bastard.
‘Thirteen. Lucky for some,’ laughed Adam, leading Karin back into the ballroom.
‘Lucky for you, you mean.’
‘Don’t be so competitive,’ smiled Adam. ‘Not when there are more important things at stake.’ They reached the edge of the dance floor just as the sound of Mozart soared into the air. With a curt nod of invitation, Adam took Karin in his arms to dance.
‘When you said we should see Venice, I didn’t think it would be from behind two papier-mâché slits,’ smiled Karin, enjoying the feeling of closeness as they whirled around the room.
‘I like the idea of masks, don’t you?’ said Adam. ‘The idea of being someone else for the night? It has so many possibilities. That’s why the Venetian lords threw big balls for carnival – they wanted to allow their guests to adopt a different party personality to the one they usually had.’
‘So who are you tonight?’ asked Karin playfully. ‘The King of Roulette?’
‘Casanova,’ he joked, leaning his mouth close to her ear.
‘I thought you said different personas.’
The air was thick with chemistry; a thick wall that both separated and pulled them together. Karin was enjoying putting Adam on the spot. She was naturally direct, challenging and cool. It worked in business and she also found it drove certain men crazy.
‘Don’t believe everything you read in the New York Post,’ scolded Adam.
‘You’re forty-something and unmarried – people draw conclusions.’
The music stopped and Adam took a flute of champagne.
‘I’ve never married because my parents had a wonderful marriage and I�
�ve spent my whole life comparing my relationships to theirs,’ he said more seriously.
‘Well, not everybody wants marriage,’ said Karin quietly.
‘You’ve never tried it?’ asked Adam.
‘My first, only, husband died last year in a boating accident,’ she said. She wasn’t sure if she had needed to tell him quite yet; but she knew he’d find out. And besides, it made her seem more sensitive, more mysterious and certainly less predatory than a single, unmarried woman in her thirties.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know,’ he said softly, reaching up to touch her face. They both looked away, out onto the dance floor.
‘It’s quite incredible,’ she sighed. ‘So decadent.’
‘I love Venice. It reminds me of Manhattan.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘Seriously,’ said Adam. ‘They’re both islands built around commerce; Venice was once the wealthiest city in the world. There’s an old Venetian saying that a man without money is a corpse that walks.’
‘I’m sure thousands of New Yorkers think that every day,’ said Karin dryly.
He laughed. ‘Not just New Yorkers.’
They fell silent again, watching the masked dancers revolving around the floor.
‘Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about,’ said Adam, still looking at the ballroom.
Karin felt a little leap of excitement in her belly.
‘It was something you said at the Knightsbridge party. That we both sell lifestyle statements,’ he continued. ‘I’ve been to your stores and I think your corporate identity is really strong.’
Karin felt the delicious bubble of anticipation pop. ‘I think your corporate identity is strong’? she thought furiously. Had he brought her all the way to Venice to talk business? Whatever happened to ‘I think you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen’ or ‘I think we could be great together.’ She’d even settle for I think you have great tits. She’d gone to enormous lengths to be here and that was the best he could do? Did he have any idea how difficult it was to get a room at the Cipriani during the carnival?
Gold Diggers Page 9
