It was good to see her grandmother so happy. To think Erin had nearly not moved to London because she thought that Jilly couldn’t cope without her. Well, she was glad to be proved wrong. The other thing that Erin noticed was that the house seemed tidier. No piles of glossy magazines on the kitchen table, no trainers strewn across the floor, no laptop on her desk. No sign of her having lived here at all, thought Erin, feeling a little cross.
‘It’s Erin,’ shouted Jilly in a merry voice over the music and hubbub.
A dozen smiling faces turned to look at her. She could see Janet with her swollen pregnant belly, Eric MacIntosh, the landlord from the local pub; almost every one of the party guests knew her and shared a history, in some cases a whole life. She felt welcome. She felt at home. She took a sip of white wine from her glass and helped herself to a sausage roll, grinning. She’d been so used to being served Krug and exotic canapés at parties, something as plain as a sausage roll was a treat.
‘What are you doing hiding all the way back here?’ said a strange voice. Erin turned to see her aunt Louisa, her arms open wide. ‘I’m the one who doesn’t know anyone,’ said Louisa after giving her a squeeze. ‘Come and mingle with me.’
Erin smiled warmly. Louisa was a dead-ringer for Jilly, only about twenty-five years younger. It had been three years since her last visit from Perth and she had aged a little. Her strawberry-blonde hair had streaks of grey at the temples, and her skin was more lined and bronzed from the West Australian sun where she had lived for the last twenty years. But Erin noticed that their eyes were the same: deep green and framed with long lashes. The same eyes that Erin had looked into as a child; her mother’s eyes. She looked at her aunt and wondered if this is how her mother would look if she was still alive.
‘So, what have you been doing?’ asked Louisa, looping her arm through Erin’s. ‘It’s been ages, tell me everything.’
‘Just taking some time out,’ smiled Erin. ‘I drove up this morning so I’m pretty knackered. Still, I didn’t have as far to come as you, did I?’ Louisa laughed and grabbed a bottle of Chianti from the dining-room table.
‘I suppose. The jet lag hasn’t hit me yet, so expect to see me in a pile on the floor a little later.’
She grabbed Erin’s glass and filled it to the brim. ‘Speaking of motoring down from London, Jilly tells me you have a fancy new car and some high-flying job. I want to hear all about it.’
Erin felt a little embarrassed thinking of her blue Audi. She had also been careful to tone down her appearance today. Gone were her standard office attire of Jimmy Choo heels and the Gucci suits; instead she wore a pair of jeans, a pretty pale blue Gap top and some gold ballet flats. The last thing she wanted was for people to think she had ‘gone all London’.
‘It’s really nothing fancy,’ shrugged Erin, ‘I’m only a personal assistant. It pays quite well but I have to work every hour God sends.’
‘“Only a personal assistant”?’ mimicked Louisa. ‘Only to some billionaire. Apparently you’ve been swanning off around the world in private jets and helicopters.’
Erin laughed at the suggestion. ‘It’s not as glamorous as you may think. I’m the one cleaning up the champagne bottles at the end of those jet-set parties, not enjoying myself.’
‘So, what happened to your book?’ asked Louisa, remembering the pages of chatty letters she used to get from her niece talking of her dream to write the great British novel.
Erin shrugged uncomfortably and tried not to meet her aunt’s gaze. ‘I have an agent,’ she replied, trying to sound breezy.
‘That’s brilliant. So you must have written something?’
‘Well … I did,’ said Erin slowly. ‘But I’ve had to start again. I’m much more excited about what I’ve written this time.’
At least that much was true. After Cliveden, Erin had begun work on her novella on a fictitious London beau monde, exactly as Chris had suggested. She wasn’t sure if she was writing out of enthusiasm for her subject matter, or to show Chris that she didn’t need his help but, whatever the reason, she had managed to craft over 15,000 words in three weeks – and it was pretty good, she thought. All she needed was to polish it a little and she felt ready to give it to Ed Davies.
Her aunt smiled. ‘Well I shall be the first one in the queue to buy a copy. But, in the meantime, I think it’s time we found the birthday girl and have a family toast.’
She waved at Jilly, who was opening another present in the middle of the room. She turned to an elderly ruddy-faced man in a yellow jumper and kissed him on the cheek before she came over to join Louisa and Erin.
‘I need some fresh air,’ said Jilly, taking Erin by the hand and leading the two women outside to stand in the sun. The village sparkled in front of them, the sun bouncing off the whitewashed walls of the cottages, the grape-green sea rippling in the harbour.
‘So who was that man?’ asked Erin, raising an eyebrow.
‘Which one?’ asked Jilly playfully.
‘The man you just kissed on the cheek,’ said Erin.
‘I was just saying thank you for my present. Just being polite.’ Louisa and Erin didn’t miss a slight blush on Jilly’s cheeks.
‘It’s Jim Latimer. Erin, you don’t know him,’ said Jilly quickly, pre-empting her granddaughter’s next question.
‘He moved into Port Gaverne about six months ago. Retired, widower. I met him at the choral society …’
There was an excited hesitancy in her grandmother’s voice that made her wonder if Jilly and Jim did more than sing together. Maybe her grandmother had moved on more than she thought.
‘Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you,’ said Jilly. ‘Jim’s taking a trip to London next Saturday. He has a grandson in London too. I thought perhaps …’
‘Oh, I’m away next weekend,’ said Erin, feeling a wash of guilt. ‘What about the weekend after? I’d love to make a fuss of you.’
‘Not to worry, lovie,’ said Jilly, trying not to look disappointed. ‘Where are you off to this time?’
‘Lake Como.’ She tried to say it casually but didn’t miss Louisa’s raised eyebrows.
‘My boss, Adam, is getting married to my former boss Karin. They’re having some glamorous engagement party in Adam’s villa in Italy.’
‘Is that the boss you like and the former boss that’s a bit of an old cow?’ said Jilly, her intelligent eyes twinkling. Jilly might be seventy, but she didn’t miss a trick.
‘Something like that,’ said Erin. ‘Actually, I can’t wait. I will no doubt be made to work like a dog – they’ve been trying to arrange this huge bash for a hundred and fifty people in less than three weeks – but the palazzo is supposed to be gorgeous.’
‘Gosh,’ said Louisa, loving all the jet-set tittle-tattle. ‘If the engagement party is being held in an Italian villa, where will the wedding be?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Erin. ‘I heard Adam talking about having it in Nassau or a private island in Greece which could be lovely. It will be super-glamorous, wherever it’s held, although one thing is making me laugh already.’
‘What?’ asked Louisa, seeing a mischievous grin on her niece’s face.
‘The thought of their vows. I found out the other day that Karin’s real name isn’t “Karin Cavendish”, it’s plain old “Karen Wenkle” – at least that’s what it says in her passport. All her flights are booked under the name of “Wenkle”. That’s not going to sound quite as glamorous when the priest reads out the vows, is it?’
Jilly’s face went pale, her eyes suddenly clouding over with displeasure. ‘Karin Cavendish is Karen Wenkle?’ she repeated.
‘Well, yes,’ said Erin, her smile fading. ‘What’s wrong?’
Jilly and Louisa shot each other a look.
‘How old is Karin?’ asked Louisa, taking a nervous gulp of wine.
‘Thirty-two. It was her birthday the day after they got engaged.’
Jilly was nodding, as if calculating dates. Again Erin caught a glance between
the two older women, a look loaded with apprehension.
‘Gran, what’s wrong? Louisa?’ She looked at her aunt who was staring at the ground. ‘Louisa, tell me!’
Jim Latimer walked out into the garden. He had a purposeful stride and smiling eyes. He was holding a glass of champagne. ‘You’d better start drinking this, Jilly, or it’ll lose its fizz.’
He glanced first at Jilly and then at Erin, as if hoping for an introduction. Jilly looked at Jim and shook her head in a tiny movement. Jim took the cue. ‘It’ll keep,’ he said, and moved back indoors.
‘Gran, tell me,’ urged Erin.
Jilly drew a breath, as if she was about to speak, and then held it for a moment, letting her glance drift up the hillside behind the house. She fixed her gaze on the line where the hill met the sky and the silhouetted shape of a herd of cows. Then she sighed deeply.
‘What’s this all about?’ said Erin, exasperated. She had a thumping sense of foreboding, but couldn’t possibly fathom how Karin had been the catalyst for this conversation.
‘Your father’s death, his suicide …’ said Jilly quietly. ‘As you know, it was because of financial problems.’
Erin nodded. She had been told about how and why he died when she was fourteen. Back then she had been angry, frustrated, cheated; unable to compute how something as trivial as money could drive someone to abandon his family, to end his life.
‘Your father did a lot of business with a London jeans wholesaler,’ continued Jilly. ‘Your dad’s firm made jeans for lots of different companies, but as orders increased from this one particular company, the MD of that the company – WD Fashion – insisted that your father stop supplying to other clients or lose his business.’
‘So what happened?’ asked Erin.
‘Your dad did what was asked but, after twelve months, WD Fashion transferred all their business to somewhere in the Far East; basically left your dad’s business high and dry. Didn’t pay your father anything they owed him, either: you know the trick – they filed for bankruptcy and then started trading under another name two minutes later.’
‘But what’s this got to do with Karin?’ asked Erin, frowning.
Jilly paused. ‘WD Fashion was owned by Terence Wenkle. A real East End shark, possible criminal connections. When your dad tried to get his money back, he was threatened and intimidated. Your father’s business was ruined, but Wenkle’s went through the roof. Within the year he was living in some fancy house in Surrey, his daughter sent to boarding school – your typical nouveau-riche lifestyle. Your father couldn’t stand it. That was the life he wanted for his family. While Terence Wenkle was living the good life, the bank foreclosed on your home. You were only four at the time, so you all came to live with me. Erin, it was awful. Your dad was such a strong, confident man, but the whole business had sapped every ounce of self-worth from him.’
Erin looked out beyond the village where the sun was fading, smudging apricot behind the high hills.
‘And Karin is Terence’s daughter?’ asked Erin.
‘It appears that way,’ said Jilly grimly. ‘Karen was about seven years older than you. I’ve seen pictures of Karen – sorry, Karin – in the Daily Mail but I hadn’t made the connection without the surname.’
‘It seems an awful coincidence that you ended up working for her,’ added Louisa.
‘Coincidence?’ asked Erin, feeling a knot of dread in her stomach. ‘I know Karin Cavendish, and nothing is ever a coincidence with that woman.’
60
For the one hundred and fifty guests going to Adam and Karin’s engagement party, it was a long and weary journey. The early start to get to Heathrow, the two-hour flight to Milan’s Linate Airport on the specially chartered 737, the ninety-minute drive to the shores of Lake Como in a fleet of Mercedes and then, finally, the short trip by motor cruiser to the palazzo itself. But there was not one person who did not agree that it was worth the wait as the launch finally docked at the jetty. Adam Gold’s palazzo was magnificent: a sumptuous wedding cake of a building transported to a magical timeless setting by the glistening waters. It had Doric pillars, painted ceilings and long windows that looked out onto gardens bursting with flowers of saffron, scarlet and blue, tumbling down towards the cyan-blue waters of the lake. Adam had bought the property lock, stock and barrel from an impoverished comte, and with it came a catalogue of superb art and marble statues, some by Canova and Bellini. No one could fail to be impressed.
Karin threw her vanity case on the canopied bed in the master bedroom and flopped down next to it. It had just gone noon and a glorious September afternoon stretched out in front of her. The sun was streaming in through the windows and dappling the marble floor with spots of light. It couldn’t be more perfect. Their engagement party was the hottest, most exclusive ticket anywhere on the social circuit from Miami to Monaco. Any social triumph or professional success she had had up to this point was just a starter for the main course. Today, Karin Cavendish had arrived. She was now up there with the Lynn Wyatts, the Lily Safras, the queen of a new generation of super-wealthy society wives: glamorous, powerful women who enhanced their husband’s success and ruled with charm, style and mega-wealth.
Adam came over and sat on the bed, stroking her hair. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m tired already,’ he said with a slow smile. ‘I could do with me and you crawling into this bed right now, and not being disturbed until Monday.’
‘Well, sorry to break it to you but we have a hundred and fifty people about to descend on the pool for cocktails and we have got to be charming and chatty to every single one of them.’
Adam sighed. ‘Whose idea was it to have a party anyway?’
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Karin. ‘The whole world has been waiting for Adam Gold to get married. You know you didn’t want to go quietly.’
Karin had a shower and changed into a bikini and a long sheer black kaftan shot through with gold thread. She had skin that tanned within minutes, so there was no need for make-up, except a little liquid blush and a slick of gloss across her lips. Throwing open the French windows that led into the grounds she could see that waiters in white tails were already putting out champagne flutes onto long tables covered in starched ivory tablecloths. Around thirty-five guests were staying at the palazzo; the rest were staying at the big five-star hotels around the lake: the Villa d’Este and Villa Serbelloni. A fleet of motor cruisers were due to bring them over any time now: it was 1 p.m. She held up a hand to shield her eyes and squinted at the lake, a slab of shimmering silver in front of her. She frowned. Nobody was allowed to be late to her engagement party. No one.
Erin had never seen anything like it. Not in the movies, magazines or coffee-table books. She didn’t know that she was in the smallest room at Palazzo Verdi, an attic garret once used for the servants, but she wouldn’t have cared. To have any room in this hotel was, to Erin, like having her own little pocket of heaven. Feeling like a Greek goddess, she stopped unpacking her suitcase and pushed open a small window to let a gust of warm, sweet-smelling air rush onto her face.
She was determined to enjoy herself this weekend, she thought, gazing at the lake with its steep cliffs and cream and terracotta villages. How could she not? She was in a picture-postcard movie set, she was off-duty – Adam had insisted this weekend would be all play and no work for his hard-working executive assistant: it should have been the most perfect weekend of her life. Perfect except for two words: Karin Cavendish. Despite her own feelings for Adam, she had accepted his engagement with a detached resignation. After all, who was she kidding? Adam was never going to want anybody like her and, while Erin knew from experience that Karin could be hard, demanding and sometimes insufferable, she was still cut from the same cloth as Adam: successful and glamorous.
But now Erin felt cheated. Karin was a fraud. She wasn’t that much different to Erin – she had just spun her own story better, bluffed her way into a world far beyond her beginnings. She thought back to Jilly’s revelati
ons at the party and grimaced. One event had elevated Karin’s life into the vaulted glittering theatre it had become, and sent Erin’s tumbling to the ground. Surely it wasn’t a coincidence that she had ended up working for Karin – it was a plan. A plan to suck Erin into a more glamorous world, to give her a taste of what should rightly be hers, but because her role was servant and not master, she could only taste it and not fully enjoy it. Karin might have taken Adam, but she had taken something much worse from her. She had taken her life, and now she was dangling it back in front of her like forbidden fruit. A jumble of questions rushed through Erin’s mind. How could she? Why would she? And how was she going to get even?
Well, this is more like it, thought Molly, stepping out onto her own private terrace in a tiny scarlet bikini. She scooped her hair up into a ponytail and surveyed the villa, deciding that, with the exception of the room that had the huge balcony next to them – presumably Adam’s – she was definitely in the best bedroom in the house.
‘Why does Adam not come out to this place more?’ asked Molly, as Marcus walked out to join her in a pair of cream linen shorts and a plum polo shirt. ‘We could have spent all summer here if he hadn’t been hiding it away.’
‘He’s only had it about twelve months,’ said Marcus, handing her a chilled cocktail. ‘Maybe next year.’
‘Why can’t we have a place like this?’ she pouted. ‘Everyone I know has a summer place. I think it’s time we started seriously keeping up. I don’t mind starting to look; I can visit some estate agents when I go to Milan for the shows.’
Marcus shifted uncomfortably and moved over to the rail. ‘Oh look, I think the boat has come from the Villa d’Este. Shall we have a wander downstairs and meet them?’
Molly walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You know how you hate being the first at a party,’ she murmured in his ear. ‘Let’s go back into the bedroom and think of some way to waste a bit of time.’
Gold Diggers Page 40
