Molly waited until 7.30 p.m. before she made her move. She left her small cubicle in the Midas Events Department and rode up to the executive floor, where Adam, Marcus and the Midas top brass had their offices. Marcus had left the building a couple of hours earlier for a business dinner with one of their main contractors, but Molly had learnt from Adam’s mousy assistant Erin that Adam would be working late. Molly’s first job at Midas was to plan Adam’s birthday weekend, to be held in Monte Carlo during the grand prix, and it was the perfect excuse for regular tête-à-têtes with her boss.
As the lift hissed open, Molly found herself surrounded by shadows. Most of the lights were off, with the odd grey glow of a computer screen adding an eeriness to the scene. Molly walked down the long corridor towards Adam’s office, her heels tapping lightly on the polished floor. She had taken particular care over what to wear that morning. A pair of slim tailored black crêpe trousers skimmed every curve, her four-inch slingback Manolos exaggerated Molly’s long legs. Her fitted shirt was unbuttoned just a shade too low for the office, and worn without a bra, so that when Molly had
grazed her fingers over her nipples during the short journey in the lift, they had stood to attention like hazelnuts. Molly knew she looked good, powerful and sexy, like a Guy Bourdin model.
As she got closer, she could see a shaft of light coming from Adam’s office and, peering through the crack, she could see him bent over his desk, reading a document under a blade of lamplight. He looked up as she tapped lightly on the door.
‘You’re here late, Molly,’ he said, putting down his pen. She noticed him rake his eyes over her body as he motioned her to sit. ‘I’m just finishing up here myself.’
‘I’ve been making some calls to Monaco. It’s taken me all day to get through to some people.’
He motioned to a decanter of bourbon on a table by the window. ‘Drink?’
She nodded, willing him to make it a good measure.
‘So, how’s it going?’ he asked, handing her a tumbler. ‘As I’m sure you’ve discovered, the team have solid business PR backgrounds, so I’m really glad you can bring some flair to our entertaining.’
‘Well, parties are what I’m good at,’ smiled Molly, sliding back in the chair and crossing her long legs. She liked this; the pair of them sitting in half light, Adam’s desk a barrier between them like the chessboard in
The Thomas Crown Affair
when sexual tension crackled between Faye Dunaway and Steve McQueen.
She looked up and he was staring at her. ‘So?’ he asked, a slight smile on his lips.
She picked up the see-through folder she had been carrying. ‘I wondered if you had a few minutes to go over the plans for your birthday party in Monte Carlo, but if you have to dash off …’
He glanced at his watch and shrugged. ‘No. It’s fine, I have a few minutes.’
To Molly’s annoyance, Adam meant what he said. If he had initially appeared interested in the curve of her breast underneath her thin shirt, now he wanted a swift summary of the menus, schedules and whether he could get into the royal box to watch the grand prix. Molly leant even further forward in her chair so her elbows rested on Adam’s desk, hoping he could get a glimpse of her deep cleavage. She glanced up and saw the scene reflected in the darkened window behind them, his back strong and muscular underneath his white gleaming shirt, her cheekbones accentuated by the lamplight.
Oh, we look so good together
, she thought, a smile playing on her lips.
We fit.
‘You’re in a hurry. We can do this tomorrow,’ she said, hoping she could goad him into offering another drink.
Adam leant back and pulled his jacket off the back of the chair. ‘You know what? Let’s do that,’ he said, as Molly’s smile instantly disappeared.
‘I said I’d go round to Karin’s, and I’m sure you’re seeing Marcus. He has the most dull dinner guests at the Savoy tonight, so he’ll be glad of your company.’
Molly stood up quickly, irritated but not beaten. Men usually fell like dominos when she was looking this hot, but if Adam Gold was going to play hard to get, then fine. She would bide her time. There would be other moments like this, of that she was sure. But still, she didn’t want to waste the moment.
‘It’s probably out of place for me to stay this,’ she said carefully as he slipped his diary and laptop into his briefcase. ‘But I’m glad you’ve come along for Karin after everything that’s happened.’
Adam smiled. It was a mischievous ‘I’m-not-sure-I-believe-you’-smile, but a smile all the same.
Molly pressed her point. ‘You obviously know about the death of her husband Sebastian last year,’ said Molly gravely.
‘Of course,’ he nodded.
‘It was such a difficult year,’ said Molly, shaking a tumble of hair from her shoulders. ‘I mean the loss of a partner is bad enough, but then having to cope with that whispering campaign? Well, that’s got to be tough for even the most strong-minded of people.’
Adam’s eyes narrowed and she knew she had got his attention. ‘Whispering campaign?’
Molly pretended to look flustered. ‘Oh, I … I’m sorry,’ she stuttered. ‘As I say, it’s none of my business. I’m sure Karin will tell you in her own time.’
‘Molly, tell me,’ said Adam, looking cynical. ‘What whispering campaign?’
Molly paused. ‘About how Seb fell off the yacht.’
Adam raised an eyebrow. ‘But he was drunk. The man sounded like an alcoholic.’
‘Yes, but people said the most wicked things,’ said Molly softly.
‘Just tell me, Molly,’ snapped Adam.
‘People were saying that she pushed him off.’
Adam laughed, although it sounded hollow in the empty office.
‘That’s just fucking ridiculous,’ he said with a half-smile. ‘I think someone, somewhere has an overactive imagination.’
Molly’s expression remained earnest as she continued. ‘You’re right, there was clearly nothing in it. I did hear that a
Vanity Fair
journalist was sniffing around the story for one of those society crime stories they like doing, but I don’t remember seeing it run, so there obviously wasn’t anything to find.’
‘No, no, of course not,’ said Adam. Molly’s eyes searched Adam’s face, which suddenly looked a little more anxious.
‘Poor Karin,’ said Molly quickly. ‘But, as I say, it’s good she’s found you. She deserves a break after all that.’
Adam smiled, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere as he gathered his things and showed Molly out of the office.
‘Have a lovely time tonight!’ said Molly cheerfully as she turned and stalked off down the corridor, swinging her hips as if she was on a catwalk. If Adam could have seen her front, he would have seen a wide smile break out across her face.
Erin could hardly believe how easy property developing was, particularly when you were creative with the truth. After leaving Jeremy Sergeant in the Rachman offices, Erin immediately made an appointment at the bank. The Midas Corporation banked with one of the large multinationals, and Barty Clark, the firm’s client manager, ran through the spectrum of options for buy-to-let mortgages.
Erin needed a £400,000 mortgage to cover buying the property and the renovation costs. The problem was, despite her small inheritance, she didn’t quite have the twenty per cent deposit required by the bank.
‘I know you work very closely with Mr Gold,’ said Barty, peering over his glasses at Erin. ‘Will he be making any input in your project?’ he enquired.
‘Adam is my mentor and is very supportive with me,’ she said, trying not to grimace.
Barty nodded slowly then, seeming to make a decision, ticked a few boxes on the application form. ‘Congratulations, Ms Devereux,’ he smiled, ‘I’m sure you’ll make a great deal of money on this venture. I look forward to helping you invest in it.’
Erin walked out onto Lombard Street with a sigh of relief. It was amazing how many doors the name Adam Gold opened. At this rate she would be able to buy the real Peony House by the end of the year. A sense of unease rattled around at the back of her mind, but she tried to squash it
immediately. Adam had faith in her. He’d told her so, and to be a success in business you needed confidence and front. The rewards were worth it. She smiled and wondered if there was time to pop into Gucci before she headed back to the office.
The Midas Corporation had worked a miracle. By giving Molly a purpose, it had turned her into a power-suited, arse-kicking businesswoman. Efficient, driven and no-nonsense, she strode around her office in spiked heels and pencil skirt, barking orders and watching with a satisfied smile as her minions jumped. Midas – or Marcus, to be precise – had put her in charge of organizing Adam’s birthday party on board the 245-foot company yacht
The Pledge
during the Monte Carlo Grand Prix. It was a huge job and, to the surprise of everyone, not least of Molly herself, she had thrown herself into it with an energy she usually reserved for pursuing men. Even though the cosy catch-ups with Adam she’d envisaged hadn’t quite come off, Molly suddenly felt as if life was full of possibilities – and she was actually enjoying herself, bossing people around and keeping an eye on every last canapé. And Molly knew where every last honey-glazed fig skewer would be at any point, just as she knew exactly how many bowls of Krug would be on every table. Molly had found that her attention to detail was second to none when she knew that Adam would be judging her; she was going to make his party fabulous or she was going to die trying.
‘Adam wants a full rundown of where we’re up to with planning,’ said Molly to Erin, ‘so I want to know which guests have confirmed and who is staying where. I need all the schedules from the limos to the fireworks. I need to know
everything
, Erin.’
It was Saturday lunchtime, the day before the race, and Molly and Erin had been there since the previous night, checking that every last detail was perfect. Erin Devereux was scribbling into her notebook at high speed, keen not to miss anything that came out of Molly’s mouth. The girl irritated Molly – she was too strait-laced, too eager to please when Adam was around – but she had decided that, as Adam’s executive assistant, Erin could be useful, so she had taken a softer line with her. ‘Do we have final numbers on the confirmations, darling?’ asked Molly with an over-wide smile.
Erin looked in her big leather-bound journal. ‘Sixty-three,’ she said, ‘but I don’t know where they’re all going to stay. Rooms at the big three hotels in Monaco have been booked for months.’
Molly smiled, happy to show off. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, tapping her nose, ‘I have my ways. Twenty people will be at the De Paris – that’s the top tier of friends who aren’t staying on the yacht. The yacht can sleep twenty, tops, but the Hermitage is beautiful too and we have another twenty there. And I’ve got a couple of villas on stand-by in Roquebrune. Adam said it’s not a milestone birthday so he didn’t want to make too much fuss, and I advised we keep it small and exclusive, manageable. I think he’ll prefer it that way,’ she added smugly. ‘Okay, so read me back the schedule.’
Erin cast her eyes down the list. ‘We have the drinks reception which starts seven p.m. Saturday. Sunday, there’s brunch on the yacht from ten-thirty. Two o’clock, watch race. Seven p.m., cocktail party. Midnight, everyone moves to Jimmy’z nightclub.’
Molly walked to the window, nodding her approval and mentally adding the other ‘off-piste’ events she had also scheduled. A table had been booked for lunch at the Moulins de Mougins, the smart restaurant in the tiny gastro village a thirty-minute drive away. Reflexology was available at Les Thermes Marins, the delicious spa whose floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the harbour. Molly smiled, satisfied the event would be a success.
‘Are we sure we’ll be able to keep everyone to the timetable?’ asked Erin, who was just as keen for this party to go without a hitch.
‘Yes, well, there will be a bunch of other yacht parties,’ said Molly confidentially. ‘But to be honest I think everyone is going to want to come to Adam’s.’
She smiled to herself. She was sure of it.
Down the road in Menton, Summer tried not to feel as if she’d been short-changed. She was only three miles from Monte Carlo, but Menton was a world away from the glitz and glamour of the neighbouring principality. She looked around the dingy hotel room and sighed. She supposed she should have been grateful; after all, she was here to see her friend, not the celebrities. Sarah Simpson, a bubbly blonde party girl who had been Summer’s flatmate in Japan, had just returned to London, where she had landed a job fronting a reality show about the rich and famous called ‘On Heat’. As a way of catching up, Sarah had invited Summer to come along to the first weekend’s filming at the Monaco Grand Prix. Having been brought up on Molly’s glamorous stories of Monte Carlo – Princess Grace, the Red Cross Ball, the De Paris – Summer had jumped at the chance, but the Menton Auberge was not exactly the Hermitage. One room served as bedroom, lounge and kitchen, there was no air-con, and the only window opened onto the eight-lanes and diesel
fumes of the Cannes – Milan autoroute. Just then, Sarah wandered in from the bathroom, wearing only bra and knickers.
‘One of us is going to have to get lucky tonight,’ said Sarah pointing to a very small sofa bed underneath the window. ‘Because two of us are never going to fit on that thing.’
Sarah pulled a Cavalli cocktail dress from her case and hung it on the curtain rail.
‘I can’t believe the production company have put me up in this dump. You wouldn’t get Cat Deeley putting up with this shit,’ she sniffed, pinning up her hair carelessly. She was unkempt, thought Summer, but she was sexy. She was far more suited to TV presenting than modelling: curvy, boobs, full lips and slanting grape-green eyes. Plus Sarah had a definite look – unpinned, sultry sex kitten – rather than the bland chameleon looks that so many of the big models had right now; models were, after all, a blank canvas onto which you could paint the client’s desires. Sarah was the real thing. Maybe a little too real.
‘So, tell me about this party tonight,’ said Sarah, flopping into a chair and lighting a Gauloise.
‘Shouldn’t you be working?’ asked Summer.
‘Nah. The researchers are already scouting out places where we can film, people we can talk to. People like your mum’s friends, in fact. So I suppose I am working really.’
Summer smiled thinly. She was not exactly looking forward to spending another night out with her mother, even if it did mean they would be moving among the richest of the rich. Molly had, of course, been delighted when Summer said she was going to Monte Carlo. Even for someone with Molly’s front, it had been simply too awkward to ask Adam if Summer could join the select number of guests for the birthday weekend, but the drinks reception
was more of an open-house invitation and Summer and Sarah were on the list for the soiree on Adam’s yacht that evening.
‘It’s fine for us to go to the party,’ said Summer nervously. ‘But I’m not sure Adam and Karin will be happy about a camera crew coming onto the yacht.’
‘Relax,’ smiled Sarah. ‘Who mentioned anything about a camera? We’re there to mingle, baby.’
Summer looked at Sarah and smiled ruefully. There was a look in her eye that she recognized only too well: social ambition. Sarah didn’t want to go home with a showreel. She wanted to find a boyfriend. A rich boyfriend. Her friend was turning into her mother.
Karin was enjoying Monte Carlo already. She had been several times before, of course: twice to the grand prix, once to the annual music awards and a couple of times to the Red Cross Ball. But today felt special. Today she was here with a powerful connected billionaire, staying in the master suite of one of the sleekest yachts in the harbour. Previously, she had just been a yacht-hopping guest among thousands in Monaco’s packed harbour. Today she felt a special sense of belonging; she felt as if this could become a habit.
Perhaps it was their dramatic entrance that had begun her good mood. Adam’s jet had flown into Nice Airport that morning and they had got a helicopter straight to Monte Carlo’s heliport. A sports car was waiting for them and they had then zipped through the narrow Monegasque streets, the breeze whipping Karin’s hair around. Now, pausing while she dressed for the evening, she looked out of the picture window of their suite at the stern of the yacht and sipped a glass of chilled champagne with a soft smile on her lips. The sun was lowering in the sky, casting Monaco in an apricot light. It looked just perfect.
‘Pretty good weekend to have a birthday, huh?’
Adam had approached Karin from behind, wrapped his arms around her and clinked his own champagne flute against hers. Karin was only wearing her bra and pants and his hand trailed up and down her taut stomach.
‘Did you have to make this a work thing?’ said Karin sulkily. They could hear Adam’s banker clients drunk and guffawing at the bow of the yacht.
‘Oh baby, I wish it was just us too,’ said Adam, kissing her on the neck. ‘But
The Pledge
is officially the company yacht … and you know what it’s like: when it’s your own business, you can’t switch off.’
‘So who’s the blonde?’ asked Karin, pulling away from his embrace and moving over to top up her glass, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
‘Just a banker baby,’ smiled Adam. ‘Don’t give me a hard time’
‘I’m not, I’m just curious. She’s definitely not your typical banker.’
‘She’s called Claudia Falcon,’ said Adam, unbuttoning his shirt. ‘Heads up Hudson Capital. She’s helping us with an acquisition.’
‘Oh yes?’ asked Karin, her business sense kicking in. ‘Of what?’
Adam smiled and tipped his head back to drink his champagne.
‘I thought you didn’t want this to be a business trip.’
Karin moved back to his side and ran her fingers through his chest hair. ‘I’m just interested in your company, honey.’
Adam slid his hand around the thin curve of her waist. ‘You know, I’ve never had a girlfriend who gave two shits about my company – other than for the parties.’
‘I’m not like other girlfriends,’ she smiled.
‘No. You’re tougher. Cleverer. Sexier, and I adore that
about you.’ He came towards her and planted a soft kiss on her neck. Her nipples immediately stood to attention. She moaned.
‘You don’t mind us having the party on the yacht, do you?’ he mumbled into her hair.
She stepped back and looked at him, puzzled. ‘No. Why would I mind?’
Adam looked into her eyes, a serious expression on his face. ‘I just thought … about what happened with your husband last year.’
It was the first time she and Adam had ever discussed the night of Sebastian’s death. She hadn’t wanted Adam to see her as a widow, which she did not consider to be particularly sexy. Moreover, she didn’t want him to think she was an unlucky charm. Men like Adam wanted to be surrounded by beautiful, blessed people; money men were some of the most superstitious people on earth.
‘It was a terrible, horrible accident, but it doesn’t mean I won’t ever step foot on a yacht again,’ said Karin coolly, turning away from him and walking over to the wardrobe, where she started flipping through the rail of clothes, her hand stroking the acres of silk, chiffon and tulle. She felt his presence behind her and then a hand on her bare shoulder.
‘Karin, you can talk about this, you know,’ he soothed. ‘Why do you always have to behave like some robot, as if you have no feelings?’
‘Oh yes, and what about you?’ she snapped, pulling away from him. ‘It’s not like you’ve got where you are today without being tough.’
He laughed. ‘Tough and emotionless are not the same thing, honey. There’s nothing clever about admitting to yourself, to me, how hard things have been. Losing Seb, that must have been hard, but then having people talking afterwards, well …’
Karin felt a sudden chill. ‘What do you mean, “people were talking”?’ she said. ‘What were they saying exactly?’
Adam flushed slightly, uncharacteristically embarrassed. He cleared his throat. ‘They were saying … that it wasn’t an accident,’ he said solemnly.
Karin dropped the red silk Cavalli dress she had been holding to the floor. Her face had drained of colour. ‘They’ve been saying that?’ she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. ‘Do they think that I had something to do with it? Who has been saying it?’
Adam went over to her and put his arm around her shoulder, but she shrugged it off violently. She looked at his face, desperately trying to read it. What had he been told? What did he believe? What was he thinking about her?
‘Molly told me you’d had a tough time after Sebastian’s death because there had been a whispering campaign against you.’
‘She’s a liar,’ said Karin angrily. ‘How can anyone have been talking about me? I didn’t do anything. I
loved
my husband.’
‘I know,’ said Adam softly, ‘I know, but if other people have been talking, then we have to face it …’ She caught a look in his eye. Was it pity or suspicion? Either way it scared her. She felt fury wash over her. She could see exactly what Molly was doing and loathed her for it, because she knew that it might work. She lifted another dress from the rail, but then threw it down in frustration, tears finally welling under her eyes.
‘Seb was drunk and high and he fell off the boat,’ she whispered, staring down at the dress on the floor as she spoke. ‘His business was failing, he was on self-destruct. I was at the nightclub on shore with about twenty-five other people. Dozens of witnesses know that. But I wish I had been there; God, I wish I had, but he was alone.’ A tear
dropped onto the carpet and she looked up at Adam. ‘Molly is trying to poison your mind against me. Can’t you see that?’
Adam let out a small, low laugh. ‘Honey, stop overreacting. She didn’t tell me out of spite.’