She looked at Adam, who was nervously running a finger around the sugary rim of the glass, and smiled broadly at Marcus. ‘I’ll see you later.’
The gazebo was away from the main throng of the party and much quieter. Karin could just hear the strains of a clarinet floating on the air, and the low murmur of background chatter. Molly was walking back to the pool and having trouble with her kitten heels in the grass. ‘You should have used the phone in the house,’ said Karin, looking her up and down. She did look good, she thought begrudgingly. Molly’s blousy leopard-print dress was so short it barely covered her thighs; her tawny hair hung loose on her shoulders, and even her low heels gave her a statuesque appearance.
‘It’s fine,’ smiled Molly. ‘I can get reception out here.’
‘So, how’s Summer? I’m surprised she took off so early this morning.’
‘She’s okay,’ said Molly, trying to dodge around Karin to continue back to the pool.
‘What did she have to say?’
‘How did you know that was Summer?’
Karin shrugged and took a sip of drink. She made the silence hang in the air to unnerve Molly. For a second they could hear the crickets in the trees and the quiet splash of waves lapping on the shore.
‘She really did miss all the action this afternoon, didn’t she?’ said Karin casually. ‘I think she’d have found it quite interesting if she’d hung around.’
Molly flicked her hair behind her shoulder and pushed her clutch bag under her arm, gripping it with white fingertips. ‘Well, we’ve both been to Bellagio before, and you can only do so much lounging around a swimming pool,’ smiled Molly lightly, even though the expression looked troubled.
‘That’s right, isn’t it?’ Karin pressed on. ‘I saw you getting a bit bored of sunbathing earlier, although frankly I didn’t think that was in your nature.’
They were only thirty or so feet away from the main action. Marcus lifted a hand in the air to wave. Molly’s face looked frozen, as if she’d had a Botox overload.
‘Look, Karin, I’ve got to get back. Do you want anything from the bar?’
Karin shook her head politely and adopted a butter-wouldn’t-melt expression.
‘No, I just wanted to know what you thought of the grounds when you went exploring. Did you know they were designed by Luigi Belmondo, Italy’s answer to Capability Brown?’
‘They were gorgeous,’ smiled Molly thinly. ‘Although I didn’t really have much of a look.’
‘What did you think of the temple?’
Despite the darkness, Karin could see Molly’s face redden and her long fingers grip her clutch bag even harder.
‘I don’t think I saw that,’ she said.
‘That’s odd, because I could have sworn I heard you in there. Either that or it was a wounded pig squealing.’
‘Oh fuck,’ mumbled Molly.
‘Exactly,’ said Karin coolly. She paused for a long moment, her head cocked to one side, examining Molly’s face carefully.
‘So what was it like having sex with my fiancé? Or should I say, your daughter’s lover?’
Molly was now so red in the face she looked sunburnt. Karin took a breather, surprised after everything that had happened that she was enjoying it.
‘I think that maybe the hostess was drunk this afternoon,’ said Molly, finally lifting up her chin arrogantly.
Karin snapped. ‘The final insult!’ she laughed harshly.
‘Well, what do they say about it taking two to tango?’ said Molly, realizing that there was no point pretending. ‘I can’t even begin to think how bad your sex life is when your fiancé has to come looking to me. No, to us.’
‘Well, you should know all about a bad sex life, isn’t that right, Molly? It must be hard trying to orgasm when you’re too busy thinking about bank balances.’
‘Fine, have your fun. I’m not going to listen to this,’ said Molly, trying to push her way past Karin.
‘Oh yes you will,’ said Karin, grabbing a handful of leopard-print chiffon. ‘What do you think is going to happen, Molly? That Adam will break off his engagement with me and propose to your little daughter? To you?’ she mocked. ‘Don’t you understand? Nobody marries a nobody.’
Molly tried to pull herself free. ‘I’m really not listening to this.’
‘Not only will you listen to me, I’m going to make sure Summer does too,’ hissed Karin. ‘I wonder what she’ll make of all this. She’s a terribly sensitive young girl.’
Molly went white. She knew she was cornered and desperately tried to think of a way out. ‘Karin, don’t,’ she said gently, trying to appeal to a better nature that Molly wasn’t even sure Karin had.
Karin pulled back, for one moment surprised by the pleading expression on Molly face. She had never before seen even a hint of her vulnerability. She let her speak.
‘Slag me off all you like,’ said Molly. ‘Hate me for what I did this afternoon, but please don’t tell Summer. Please.’
‘If you’re so desperate for me not to tell Summer, why did you screw Adam?’ she asked coldly. ‘You weren’t being quite the caring mother then, were you?’
Molly looked down at the ground, examining every blade of grass, hoping that, when she looked up, Karin would be gone and the whole conversation would have been just like a nasty acid trip. After all, she could hardly tell Karin the truth, that she wanted Summer to be engaged to Adam. For the money, for the status, for the reflected glory. But that, as the weeks of Adam and Summer’s illicit afternoon sex had yielded nothing except Adam’s engagement to Karin, Molly had decided to wade in and have a go herself. No, she could hardly tell her that.
‘It was just a fuck,’ whispered Molly. ‘He was drunk, so was I. It was over in five minutes, it meant nothing,’ she said, her voice getting louder, stronger, more desperate. ‘Summer doesn’t need to know. Please. She loves Adam. It will crush her.’
Karin fell silent, her face expressionless. They could hear the crickets again and the tension that moments earlier had swelled between them like a giant wave just ebbed away. For just one second, Molly thought that Karin was going to let the matter rest. But then she opened her mouth and her top lip twisted into a snarl.
‘I’m going to tell Summer as soon as she gets back to London,’ she said. ‘And I’m going to tell her everything.’
62
The plane ride home on Monday morning had been quiet, the atmosphere on the 737 subdued and bloated. Champagne and croissants were available, but most people chose to sleep. Erin, however, had spent the entire flight staring out of the cabin window, her eyes searching the swirls of clouds beneath her, wondering whether she should listen to Julia Gold, whether she should say goodbye to her life with Adam. Much as she loved the excitement, importance and – on occasion – sheer luxury of her job, a life with Adam Gold meant a life with Karin. And, at that moment, Karin’s very existence seemed too painful a reminder of what had happened to her father. She thought about her pep talk with Julia, wondering if the old lady was right, that she should try and make a career writing books. But if only she knew it was going to work out – after all, having an agent was one thing, actually selling her book was quite another – it might make a decision to leave the Midas Corporation easier. A Mercedes was waiting at Heathrow for Erin to take her back to the office; she was hoping that it was going to be a relaxed day ahead. Adam hadn’t joined the rest of the guests on board the party plane; his Learjet had been waiting for him at Milano Linate to take him on to Paris for a meeting, and he hadn’t needed Erin to accompany him.
She was back at her desk by noon, when her mobile rang. She hesitated before picking it up. Even though she had officially been ‘off-duty’ at the weekend, she had still been pestered with a hundred and one requests from party guests, who expected Erin to fix the plumbing, press their clothes or order them a helicopter. She looked at her phone, hoping it wasn’t some disgruntled party guest complaining that their Louis Vuitton boîte flacon had been left at t
he palazzo, or that they had lost a pair of holistic flight slippers on the plane. She took a deep breath and pressed ‘connect’.
‘Ah Erin! Finally. I’ve left you a message on your home phone, but I suspect you’ve been out gallivanting?’
Ed Davies, her agent. Erin hadn’t spoken to him since she’d sent the first fifteen thousand words of her new novella over to him and had been discouraged by his silence.
‘Sort of,’ said Erin warily, ‘I’ve been in Italy for the weekend.’
Ed chuckled indulgently. ‘Well, I should have told you this news before you went away so you could celebrate.’
Erin pulled a face. She doubted anything could have lifted her spirits from the mood she’d been in in Como.
‘So what’s happened?’ She hoped he wasn’t going to ask for a rewrite. Any more setbacks from Ed Davies would knock her confidence even further.
‘Well, I got those fifteen thousand words from you. Sorry I haven’t been in touch, but I’ve been in Tuscany for the last couple of weeks. You know how the publishing industry gets very quiet over summer? Anyway. It starts picking up now. Editors want to snap things up before the Frankfurt Book Fair.’
Get on with it, thought Erin with irritation.
‘So I sent your manuscript to an editor over at Millennium Publishing who I thought might like it.’
‘You sent it out?’ said Erin, her heart pounding. ‘But I, I didn’t think, I mean I …’
‘Yes, yes, I know you didn’t mean for me to show it anyone,’ said Ed. ‘But I rather liked what you’d delivered. Not a great deal of it, but what was there was super.’
Erin’s mouth had gone dry with anticipation. ‘So … what did they think?’
Ed paused for dramatic effect. ‘They loved it! Charles, the editorial director over there, said it reminded him of Bonjour Tristesse.’
A smile spread across Erin’s face. Françoise Sagan, the sixties French novelist, was one of her favourites, and Bonjour Tristesse, the story of a troubled little rich girl, was her masterpiece.
‘Anyway, the best news is that he’s made a pre-emptive offer of forty thousand pounds for a one-book deal, which I think is super considering it’s only a part manuscript.’
‘Oh gosh,’ said Erin, her heart flip-flopping at this totally unexpected development. ‘What do we do?’
Ed chuckled again. ‘Ball’s in your court, my dear. But what I would say is that Charles won’t hang around with something like this. He definitely wants to get it out by summer next year. So that means he wants the book delivered by Christmas.’
‘Christmas?’ said Erin, panicking. She’d written just a few chapters and, while it was only ever going to be a short novel, Erin knew that it would mean leaving work immediately to get it done.
‘Yes, well, I wouldn’t normally encourage an author to stop work,’ said Ed, ‘not until they were very established anyway, but there does seem to be an issue of time here.’
‘I … well, I need to think about it,’ said Erin.
‘Okay, but Charles has given us 48 hours to accept his offer.’
Erin’s heart felt as if it had been turned up to maximum volume. ‘Then what?’
‘Then the offer lapses. Of course there may be other publishing companies interested but, to be honest, it’s a gamble. Why don’t you sleep on it and get back to me in the morning?’
By 8 p.m., Karin was exhausted. After the flight home she had popped into the office, answered some emails, called her PR, who had been inundated with calls from journalists wanting details about the party, and then had returned home for a long soak with Jo Malone bath oils. As she wallowed in the silky water, she let her mind drift back to the party. She couldn’t remember a more eventful forty-eight hours, and it had filled her with a rush of different emotions. Guilt and discomfort at Erin’s outburst, rage and heartache at the revelation that Summer was Adam’s secret lover. And, as for Adam and Molly … In the quiet of her bathroom she could still hear the raw, frantic moans of them having sex in that marble temple. She felt sick.
Karin picked up a sponge and squeezed it over her face. She had to get some perspective, she thought: focus on the positive. Because if she played this right, the positive could be very good indeed. Her knowledge about Summer and Molly gave her leverage, and the conversation she’d overheard between Adam and Jonathan Parsons trading company secrets – well! Everything had changed with that one twist of fate. Yes, she thought, on balance this weekend had strengthened her position. And that could only be a good thing in the long run.
Smiling to herself, she got out of the bath, rubbed herself down with a fluffy white towel and slipped on a thin Sabbia Rose dressing gown.
She padded downstairs and noticed that the big vases of Verbena roses in the hallway were dying. She tutted; her housekeeper Reya had the week off to go and see relatives in Estonia, so she supposed she would have to deal with it herself. Not in the mood for supper, she opened a packet of organic rice cakes and began to nibble at one as the phone rang. She perched on a kitchen bar stool to answer it and smiled as she heard the voice. ‘Ah, Molly. What a surprise to hear from you.’
He couldn’t help himself. The papers were full of pictures of her because of the party. He couldn’t believe she was getting engaged. The pain at the thought of her being lost for ever was searing. He just had to come, to see her. To look at her. Pretend she was his. One last time.
It was a balmy evening. Warm for September. The sky had darkened to a deep purple, but in Karin Cavendish’s back garden it was almost pitch-black. There were a few lights on in the house. Two upstairs, three downstairs. It looked like a face laughing at him.
One of the kitchen windows was slightly open, the blind only half down. From a distance he could only see her torso, a hint of breast hidden behind coffee-coloured silk. He had to get closer so he could see her face and a tumble of hair. She was on the phone. He heard her voice floating on the breeze like the smell of honeysuckle, sweet and heady. He closed his eyes, feeling drunk, taking in every sensation for one final time. He loved her. He wanted to be with her. He knew she could never be his.
63
Erin was going to resign. She had chosen to wear her chicest power-dressing outfit: a black crêpe Donna Karan dress with three-quarter sleeves, and some Gucci heels she had bought herself with her first pay-packet. Looking into the mirror, pulling back her strawberry-blonde locks into a severe ponytail, she wondered if she didn’t look too much as if she was on her way to a funeral, before deciding such a formal, sombre look was probably appropriate. It was the end of something – the end of her new life. In eight months, her life had been transformed from unemployed misery, living in her grandmother’s cottage in Port Merryn and dreaming of one day becoming an author, to a jet-setting PA with a fast car, faster lifestyle and a chic apartment. She was going to miss them all, but the phone call from Ed Davies had changed everything. Eight months ago, she had zero options; now she had too many. Now, she had the power to make positive decisions about her life, but she wasn’t entirely sure if she preferred it to the narrow options of her life in Cornwall.
Erin had spent the entire night tossing and turning, knowing that the decision she was about to make would change her life forever. It was an embarrassment of riches, really. To stay as executive assistant to Adam Gold, sexy billionaire, or finally to have the chance to make her dream come true and become a novelist. This time last year, she knew the decision would have been instantaneous, obvious: write that book, get it published and see it on the shelves. That would have been a lifetime’s ambition fulfilled. But, somewhere along the road her dream, once so clear in her mind, had become murky and opaque. An author’s life was a lonely life and forty thousand pounds wasn’t going to buy the trips on the private jets and the blue Audi parked outside her fantastic flat. Then there was Belvedere Road, which she hardly dared think about. Planning permission still hadn’t come through and, if she didn’t get it developed and let within the next couple of month
s, she was going to have to sell the building: she could only go on haemorrhaging mortgage payments for so long. In so many ways, staying with Adam would be the easy, safe option. But she had to make a decision and the decision she had chosen was the decision she knew her mum, her dad and Jilly would have chosen for her. She would choose her own life. Not somebody else’s. She picked up her clutch bag and made for the door. It was time to stand on her own two feet.
Eight hours later, she still hadn’t told Adam. It had been a busy day; he had been tied up in meetings all morning, there had been an investors lunch, followed by his session down at the Bath & Racquet Club and, before she knew it, 5 p.m. had rushed around. And the truth was, Erin was terrified about resigning. Erin had only ‘left’ one job before, a waitressing job when she’d been a student at Exeter; she’d been so scared of the slimy manager, Keith, she had decided that the simplest solution was to stop going in to work. She’d spent the entire duration of her time left in Exeter avoiding the restaurant, and Keith had left two messages on her answer machine accusing her of stealing her uniform. She had briefly considered using the same tactics at Midas, but had quickly decided that the grown-up thing to do was to resign face to face. The prospect, however, was making her sick.
‘Erin can you just step through one minute, please?’ called Adam from his office. ‘And can you get me a drink?’
Right. This was it. She was determined she was going to do it. It was tempting to wait until the end of the week, of course – surely Friday afternoon with its natural finality was the best time to hand your notice in? – but Ed Davies had called her three times demanding to know what to say to Millennium Publishing. As she was on a month’s notice at Midas, it meant she had to move immediately. She grabbed a cup of black coffee and walked through. The sky outside his office window was a lacklustre gunmetal grey.
Gold Diggers Page 44
