Gold Diggers

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘How about I make a offer of four hundred a week?’ she said, smiling as sweetly as she could. ‘I can supply excellent references. I actually work for Adam Gold, you know, the property developer?’ said Erin hopefully.

  But Ryan Hall didn’t need any more incentive. He was already thinking that, if he could get a nice low rent for this very pretty girl, then she might somehow owe him a favour. Like dinner at Lola’s.

  ‘Tell you what, I’ll put in a few calls and we’ll see if I can wave my magic wand,’ he said with a wink.

  Erin drove all the way back to her single bed in Bayswater, hoping that Ryan Hall would do just that.

  15

  Alexander Delemere, fifth Lord of Stowe, thought his cock was about to explode. Molly Sinclair sat astride him, grinding her hips into his, the muscles of her pussy tightening exquisitely around his shaft, dipping her body so she lowered a sweet brown nipple into his mouth. Molly leant back, her spine arched, her rounded breast pointing skywards.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she screamed, feeling the sweet pulse of orgasm swell around her body. ‘Hell yes!’ shouted Alex in reply, before collapsing on the crumpled linen of the hotel sheets.

  ‘Good Lord,’ he whispered, as Molly slid herself off his cock and lay down beside him to light a cigarette.

  She propped herself up on a pillow and looked at Lord Alexander Delemere through a haze of grey smoke. Ever since Marcus had come on the scene, Molly had cut down her current list of lovers, but Alexander Delemere was one fix she was not prepared to give up, no matter how serious things were getting with Marcus. It never ceased to amaze Molly how good sex with Alexander Delemere could be. Age was not an issue when it came to Molly’s lovers: but enjoying sex, not having to fake orgasm, certainly was. Men over sixty were so soft – their crepe-textured skin, their blancmangey buttocks and their baggy balls could be quite off-putting unless she was drunk, but Alex was in fine shape for a man his age.

  They had been meeting once a week at the Basil Street hotel ever since Evie Delemere’s christening, and the pattern was always the same. They would meet for a quiet lunch in Mayfair in dusty restaurants so far off the social scene they might as well have been in Scotland. Alex would have fish or pheasant. They would take a black cab to the Basil Street hotel where the concierge would pretend each time not to know them. They would undress, have sex, a little conversation, each time getting to know one another a little better. Sometimes Alex would present her with a gift. He was not a generous man. So far she had received an obvious red satin camisole that was too big, a box of chocolates and a small butterfly-shaped brooch with coloured stones that Molly thought were rubies but later discovered were merely crystal.

  She was realistic enough to know that at this point she was no threat to his marriage, and that although Alex seemed to crave her body like some infatuated teenager it was going to take a good deal more than a handful of fucks in a Mayfair hotel to break up his marriage to Lady Vivian. He was old money, and that meant golden handcuffs and traditional values. But Molly wanted to keep this iron in her fire to see what would happen. And there were worse things to be than the mistress of one of the richest men in the country, after all.

  She watched him get out of bed and put on a towelling robe.

  ‘Shall I order a little room service?’

  Molly shook her head. ‘I assume you have to be going soon.’

  ‘You assume correctly,’ he replied, glancing at his watch. ‘Although I might ring down for a pot of tea.’

  Molly had to suppress a smile. Rock and roll.

  He sat back on the edge of the bed and Molly knelt behind him to give his shoulders a rub.

  ‘How’s Evie?’ she asked playfully. ‘As gorgeous as her granddad?’

  Alexander turned to face her. ‘Do you have to remind me of my advancing years?’

  She wrapped her arms around his body, her fingers probing between the fold of his robe. ‘You’re only as young as the woman you feel Alex.’

  ‘Since you ask, Evie is a delight. Donna on the other hand …’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry, she is a friend of yours, I’m being rude.’

  Molly sat back on the bed and took a drag of her cigarette to stop herself smiling. Do-gooder Donna was no friend, just someone useful. ‘Please, be my guest and continue,’ she said, lying back on the pillow.

  ‘It’s just her plans for the estate,’ he said, pacing around the floor with visible irritation. ‘I assume you’ve been?’

  Molly nodded. The Delemere estate comprised two main parcels: the main house, a vast Queen Anne mansion often described as an ‘architectural national treasure,’ where Alexander and Vivian lived, and a smaller manor house on the edge of the grounds, where Donna and Daniel resided and where Donna had spent the best part of last year renovating the barns to create the Delemere farm store and spa.

  ‘She spent the better half of two million pounds on her little alternative health and farming fantasy. Two million pounds,’ continued Alexander, his eyes blazing like dark coals. Molly knew that, while she could reduce him to a purring kitten in the bedroom, Alexander Delemere had not built up one of the country’s foremost industrial empires by being soft.

  ‘That she is spending my son’s money as if it were water is one thing, but the fact that she has hoodwinked my wife into this New Age mumbo-jumbo folly is another. They are partners now apparently in this ridiculous New Age business. Vivian,’ he paused, seemingly embarrassed to utter his wife’s name, as if it might summon up her physical presence in the room. ‘Vivian is now insisting she use our money, my money to expand.’

  Molly didn’t like to point out that the Delemere shop and spa was probably a very good business investment where London’s social elite flocked to buy overpriced sausages and organic cheese or pick up an expensive facial. Organic ‘natural food’ destinations were hot, but she suspected Alexander didn’t want to hear that point of view. ‘It is a rather absurd notion,’ agreed Molly, pulling a sheet around her body. ‘Then again, Donna has always been – how can I put this politely? – on the make.’

  ‘Really,’ said Alex coolly, suspecting she was a sympathizer. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Oh nothing,’ replied Molly, taking a lengthy drag of cigarette. ‘Just things I hear.’

  She really had his attention now.

  ‘Well, if you ever hear anything else, please let me know immediately,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I will not have that woman go through my son’s money, my wife’s money, my money as if it were her own. I won’t have it.’

  The doorbell rang. It was a bellboy with tea.

  ‘Mmm … why don’t we have our Earl Grey in bed, Alex?’ purred Molly. ‘Shame to let it get cold.’

  16

  Summer Sinclair stood waist-deep in the warm Caribbean waters, hands placed provocatively on her hips, and pouted. Her skin glistened with grains of pinky-white sand, the sun had toasted her a pale bronze, while hair and make-up artists hovered in the background to ensure that Summer stayed the right side of casually sea-drenched.

  As Dan Stevens snapped away with his Nikon camera, Summer wondered whether she was doing a good enough job. This was by far the sexiest shoot she had ever done, and for the first hour she had felt completely self-conscious; she had spent hours preparing for the shoot. No other model she knew did homework, but Summer had pored over Sports Illustrated, old Pirelli calendars, Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar editorials, photography books from David Bailey and Helmut Newton, scrutinizing poses of the great, sexy models past and present: Gisele, Cindy Crawford, Jerry Hall; angle of head, the facial expressions, the hair and make-up. She had spent her entire life in the shadow of her gorgeous mother but today, standing in the bright Anguillan sunlight, she felt like her own woman.

  ‘Okay. Let’s take a break,’ shouted Dan Stevens, looking up from his camera. ‘Summer, put something else on and we can try another setup.’

  Karin looked at her watch and stalked over the sand to Dan. ‘Well I’m due back at the hotel. D
on’t start before I’ve returned.’

  ‘The light is going to start going soon, Karin,’ complained Dan, looking irritated. ‘We have to get a move on.’

  ‘I’ll be twenty minutes,’ she mouthed, walking to the huge white hotel in the distance.

  Mike, the genial photographer’s assistant, handed Summer a towelling robe and she looked over at Dan anxiously.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘You look gorgeous, honey.’

  ‘Have you got the shot?’

  He shrugged and then laughed.

  ‘That’s a no,’ Summer smiled, feeling a little deflated. She bet Molly would have captured the magical image that would be used in the campaign after seven hours of shooting. She always used to boast that when she worked with photographers like Bailey, they’d get the picture in the first dozen shots.

  ‘You’re doing great,’ said Dan kindly. ‘Go and get changed and when we start again we’re going to nail it, okay?’

  She walked over the hot sand to the trailer that had been set up at the edge of the beach. Tessa Samuel, the stylist, was sitting on the steps sipping an iced tea and listening to her iPod. She was a leggy brunette, with the high cheekbones and broad mouth of a former model, and wearing a white bikini top and a pair of denim shorts cut high up her legs.

  ‘Dan wants me in something else. What do you suggest?’ asked Summer.

  Tessa walked into the trailer and began flicking through the racks of swimsuits, bikinis and kaftans. ‘What does Kaiser want you to wear?’ she said sulkily.

  ‘Kaiser?’

  ‘Karin,’ smiled Tessa. ‘She told me this morning in no uncertain terms that she was creative director of the shoot and would be choosing all the outfits.’

  ‘What are you here for then?’

  ‘Dunno. Decoration,’ she smiled, playing with her gold hooped earrings. ‘I’ve been like a spare part all bloody day. Still suits me getting paid to do nothing.’

  ‘Well, she’s gone back to the hotel, so I think you’d better pick something out,’ replied Summer, taking a cup of water from the cooler.

  ‘That’s right, she’s got her boyfriend coming, hasn’t she, lucky bitch,’ sniffed Tessa. ‘Have you ever met him? Sexy as fuck. Too good for Kaiser.’

  Summer laughed. ‘I’ve seen Adam. Never met him, though. Men like that scare me a little. Too good-looking. Too rich. Too much. I’m sure Karin can handle it though.’

  ‘A man can never be too sexy or too rich,’ said Tessa, her fingers speeding through the racks. She pulled out a tiny white bikini and handed it to Summer.

  ‘Try that. You’ve got the body for it.’

  Summer stripped off and poured her curves into the bikini. ‘It’s a bit small,’ she said, struggling to fasten it. ‘Can you help me?’

  ‘Your tits are massive,’ grumbled Tessa, pulling the white strip of Lycra tight across Summer’s back.

  Summer breathed in, the fabric like a straitjacket across her chest, and walked out of the trailer, feeling fat and uncomfortable.

  Karin hadn’t wanted to miss a second of shoot time, but she knew she had to freshen up before Adam’s arrival. She’d almost jumped for joy when she had told Adam about the shoot in Anguilla and he had suggested coming along so they could tag a few days in St Barts at the end of it. But the fact that Summer Sinclair was also going to be there had made her feel a little nervous. The young model was looking fabulous. Too fabulous, thought Karin, considering Adam’s imminent arrival. Her eyes, an iridescent lavender in the bright Caribbean sun, exuded the right amount of both sensuality and innocence. Her incredible body – her slim hips and round, voluptuous breasts – was sexy and womanly. She was a goddess; perfect for the campaign. Karin knew that thousands of women would want to look like her. But the last thing she wanted was Adam to want her.

  She picked out a sheer printed Ossie Clark kaftan, chic and sexy, showing the outline of her perfect figure underneath. She wasn’t going to try and compete with Miss Sexpot down on the beach; she had her own brand of potent sexuality.

  Taking a seat by the plunge pool of her suite, she heard the door clatter open and a bellboy put Adam’s expensive-looking leather suitcase on the bed.

  Adam followed behind him; he walked onto the balcony and wrapped his arms around Karin’s waist. He looked good, in cream trousers and a Hermès belt, leather flip-flops and a pale blue Lacoste shirt. He had the smooth olive skin that tanned in seconds and had already caught some sun across the bridge of his nose.

  ‘Fancy a dip?’ he smiled, walking over to the minibar and pouring himself a vodka miniature.

  ‘Tempting,’ she smiled, walking back into the room, ‘but I’ve got to be at the shoot.’

  ‘Of course. I can’t wait to see the master at work.’

  She knew it was the truth and threw him a dazzling smile.

  He opened his case and changed his T-shirt.

  ‘Marcus said that the model is Molly’s daughter,’ he said, climbing into the golf buggy that was to take them to the beach.

  ‘Small world, hey,’ replied Karin, putting her hand on his knee.

  ‘Apparently Molly was angling to get a lift in the jet and come over.’

  ‘Well I’m glad that never happened,’ said Karin tartly. ‘She’d have been sneaking off to take coke every two minutes and no doubt taking her daughter with her.’

  Adam laughed. It was a throaty, knowing chuckle. ‘I’m not sure what you have against the poor woman. You make out as if she’s Keith Richards or something. She doesn’t seem that bad at all. In fact, Marcus seems to really like her.’

  ‘She likes Marcus’s position in your company. She’s a fortune-hunter, plain and simple. She likes the drinks invitations to your house, the little weekends in St Moritz courtesy of Marcus’s bank balance. He should be careful.’

  ‘Marcus can look after himself. Anyway. Is she hot?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Molly’s daughter.’

  Karin turned and frowned. ‘What? Hot like Molly?’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘Well, you can see for yourself,’ said Karin moodily as they rounded the corner and the white strip of beach, fringed with palm trees and a sweep of emerald ocean, came into view.

  Summer was back in the surf by the time they had reached the beach and walked over to where Dan was peering into his camera.

  ‘Look at me like you wanna have sex with me, Summer,’ shouted Dan, his tousled head bobbing up to watch her.

  ‘Dream on, Dan,’ laughed his assistant Mike, adjusting the silver bounce board at right angles to Summer.

  Summer stretched out on the beach, where the waves were breaking on the shore, letting white surf swirl under her and tickle her stomach.

  ‘Is this okay?’

  ‘Gorgeous,’ shouted Dan.

  Summer looked up. She could see Karin and Adam walking towards the shoot from the hotel. Adam looked directly at her and smiled as Summer suddenly felt very exposed and naked. Shit, he was good-looking, she thought, fiddling with her bandeau top to pull it up a little higher. She felt self-conscious enough on shoots as it was – she had never learned to fully relax in five years of modelling, but it was easier when she wasn’t surrounded by good-looking men.

  ‘Dan, I told you not to start without me,’ snapped Karin, fanning herself with a magazine.

  ‘There’s only another hour of good light.’ Dan was peering into his camera, not bothering to look up.

  ‘Why is she wearing that thong with a bandeau?’ Karin asked, looking around for Tessa. ‘They’re not a set.’

  Tessa came running clumsily over the sand with an armful of swimsuits. ‘Do you want to change it?’

  ‘Of course I want to change it. Get the chocolate-brown tankini.’

  ‘It looks good to me,’ smiled Adam, who had his arms folded and was watching the action intently.

  Karin looked at Summer lying in the sand like a wanton sea siren. In the tiny white thong, her buttoc
ks rose out of the sand like two perfectly ripe peaches. She had to admit she looked sensational.

  A big wave swooshed onto the shore and Karin heard a ping.

  ‘Argh!’ screamed Summer, as her bandeau top popped off and was swept away along the beach.

  Tessa scampered after it as Summer lay rigid on the sand to stop her breasts being exposed to everyone.

  Dan Stevens kept peering intently into his camera. ‘Summer, honey. Can you just relax your expression and let’s keep shooting?’

  ‘But my top!’ she said with a half laugh.

  Karin saw immediately what Dan was thinking. ‘Yes. Just trust him.’ The image in front of them, Summer, almost naked and glorious, was more potent.

  Her mind whirled into action. She could see the billboard in her mind, crystal clear. A potent image, a provocative shout-line. This campaign was going to be sensational. It was going to cause a stir. It was going to make Summer a star, she thought with a grimace.

  Shooting wrapped at six.

  Adam treated everyone to a lobster supper at the clapboard seafood restaurant on the seafront and, as darkness fell, everyone adjourned, drunk and happy, to the Beach Barbecue that the hotel threw every Wednesday. A steel band played a Bob Marley medley. Dan was helping himself to a second dinner, piling a huge mountain of jerk chicken onto a plate, Mike the photographic assistant was chatting up the make-up artist.

  The beach was swarming with guests from the hotel. A bonfire crackled, its orange flames leaping into an ink-black sky.

  Karin sipped a little rum punch and felt smug. Summer stood alone at the water’s edge, dipping her toes into the cold, foamy surf, glad it was over, daring to think it had been a success.

  ‘You were really great today.’

  Summer stopped listening to the waves on the shore and looked up to see Adam. ‘Sure I didn’t look like a porn star?’

  ‘Have you seen any porn magazines recently? Believe me, they don’t look like that shoot this afternoon.’