‘Are you still with my mother?’ asked Summer, slightly concerned.
‘No. I think she’s gone. But it doesn’t matter, because I’ve met everyone. Sum, I’ve just met this guy who plays for AC Milan but he’s injured.’ Sarah was giggling hysterically and slurring her speech.
‘Sarah, come back to the yacht,’ scolded Summer.
‘Oh, don’t be such a party-pupper … piper … pooper,’ slurred Sarah. ‘Anyway, I won’t be long. Just another ten minutes.’ She began giggling and was clearly talking to somebody away from the phone.
‘Sarah? SARAH?’ said Summer, but the phone had gone dead. She looked at Erin apologetically. ‘Look sorry, that’s my friend Sarah, I think I’m going to have to go and get her.’
Summer had switched into responsible mode. She had done it a thousand times before, when Molly had been coked out of her face at a party and needed a taxi summoning to some remote spot on the outskirts of London, or when a friend had called to say her mother was passed out cold in a bar.
‘Who the hell is Barry Nelson?’ asked Erin.
‘One of the richest men in the world.’
‘So why don’t you leave her to it?’ asked Erin. ‘I’m sure she’s enjoying herself.’
Summer glanced at her watch and frowned. ‘Hmm, I would, but she’s supposed to be in the Casino Square in twenty minutes. She’s presenting a programme about the lifestyles of the rich and famous. It’s the first night of filming tonight and she sounds totally out of it.’
‘Do you want me to come and retrieve her?’
Summer smiled that warm smile and nodded. ‘Would you?’
At 325 feet long,
Bratsera
was too big to dock at the harbour and instead had to join the other mega-yachts moored
offshore like a flotilla of super-rich invaders. Erin and Summer took a tender to the yacht. As they approached, they felt dwarfed by the sheer size of the five-deck monster, towering over them like a floating office block. It was so large, it even had its own helicopter landing pad; the girls could see some of the crew playing basketball there as they climbed aboard. As soon as they stepped onto the first deck, the girls were handed cocktails from silver salvers. There were at least sixty people on the main deck, circulating and drinking champagne. ‘Who are all these people?’ hissed Erin from behind her hand.
‘Oh, billionaires, heads of state, Euro-celebrities; just your average Saturday evening party,’ smiled Summer.
Several women – all tall, slim and glamorous – were wandering around in bikinis.
‘… And there might be a few hookers as well,’ she added.
It was, however, far too crowded and dark to see Sarah.
‘Oh, where the bloody hell is she?’ groaned Summer, as they threaded their way through the crowd. It was 9 p.m.: Sarah was so late for the filming.
‘Wait here. What does Sarah look like? I’ve got an idea,’ said Erin, and disappeared towards the back of the ship. Standing at the side of the party and scanning the faces, Summer recognized Barry Nelson, the yacht’s owner, leaning against the rail in a pair of cream chinos and a green open-necked shirt. He was quite plain-looking, but there was an undeniable halo of power and confidence around the man, she thought. Amazing what $20 billion in the bank will add to a man’s allure.
Erin reappeared with a smile on her face. ‘I’ve just been sweet-talking those crew guys we saw playing basketball. One of them saw a girl who looked like Sarah going into a stateroom on the third level. Come on.’
The third deck was just a long row of doors and, after a
brief knock, they peeked behind the first. Nothing beyond a beautifully panelled cabin with the finest cream linen sheets on the king-sized bed. The same at the next door. On the third, they found her.
‘Fuck. It’s you.’ Sarah was sitting on the end of the bed in a pair of coffee-coloured lace panties and bra. Her hair fell loose and tousled on her shoulders and her eyes looked glassy. She was wavering from side to side, trying to pour brandy into a tumbler. ‘What are you doing here, Summer? I know I said come, but you’d better clear off.’
Summer took the bottle from her friend’s wobbling hand. ‘Why would we do that?’ she asked.
‘Johnny will be back any minute.’
Summer picked up the dress that had been flung over a Biedermeier chair and handed it to Sarah. ‘Get dressed,’ she instructed, ‘we’re going back.’
Sarah flung the dress down and bared her teeth. ‘Don’t you fucking understand?’ she slurred angrily. ‘Johnny is Johnny
Galanos
. The Greek ship guy. He’s bloody loaded and he’s dead fit too.’
‘But Sarah, you’re supposed to be filming right now!’
‘Oh, we can do some tomorrow,’ said Sarah vaguely, waving her glass in the air. Suddenly Sarah froze. ‘Oh shit,’ she said, and bolted in the direction of the bathroom. ‘I’m going to puke.’
Erin had been standing at the cabin door watching it all. She pulled at Summer’s arm. ‘Come on, don’t bother with her. She’s wasted. Let’s go and find her producer and tell him his star presenter is a dead loss.’
‘Where the fuck is that silly cow?’ Simon Garrison, the producer/director of ‘On Heat’ was angrily stalking around the square, a mobile phone clamped to his ear as he tried to call Sarah for the fifth time in as many minutes. This was the nightmare scenario for Simon. A very expensive, very impatient crew, standing around in one of the most expensive square footages in Europe were ready to roll, and their presenter was AWOL. He was ready to kill.
‘Simon?’ The director turned to face a beautiful girl with incredible lavender eyes.
Summer had identified Simon immediately from Sarah’s description earlier that day. ‘Always wears a baseball cap,’ she had said, ‘thinks he’s Steven fucking Spielberg.’ Along with the navy Yankees cap, Simon also had a couple of days’ worth of stubble around his chin, intelligent eyes and a deep furrow between his brow to indicate he was very, very hacked off.
‘Not now sweetheart,’ he muttered, gesturing to his mobile, ‘bit busy at the moment.’
‘No, you don’t understand, I’m a friend of Sarah’s,’ said Summer with an apologetic smile. Simon immediately snapped the mobile shut and turned to Summer.
‘Well, where the hell is she?’ he demanded, looking behind Summer hopefully.
‘Not here, I’m afraid,’ shrugged Summer.
‘I can see that,’ snapped Simon impatiently. ‘It’s nine fucking thirty and she was supposed to be here half an hour ago. Please tell me she’s on her way. Tell me.’
‘Actually …’ The look on Summer’s face said it all. ‘Actually she’s really ill. Food poisoning, I think. Someone is just putting her in a cab back to Menton.’
Simon went pink. If it had been a cartoon, steam would have come out of his ears.
‘Menton?’ he shrieked, ‘what frigging good is she to me in Menton? We’ve only got about ten minutes of film so far and most of it is shit!’
Simon’s researcher, a pretty blonde girl with her hair in a pony tail, coughed discreetly and offered a solution.
‘Maybe we can just get a lot of colour?’ she suggested. ‘You know, film everyone going into the casino? Try and get into Harry’s and so on. Do we really need a presenter on film all the time?’
Simon looked as if he was thinking about it and then shook his head. ‘No, I wanted the grand prix segment to kick off the show. This is the start of the season. If we ever needed the presenter, it’s here.’
‘Maybe we could do more filming with her tomorrow?’ asked the researcher.
‘Has to be tonight,’ said Simon, rubbing his eyes. ‘We’ve only got permission to film in some locations today. Plus, there’s a massive party going on tonight at the Sporting Club. Diddy is going to be there.’
Simon turned to Summer. ‘Just how ill is she? Is it worth me going round and kicking her arse in a cab?’ he asked hopefully. ‘We’ve got a make-up artist if she’s looking too green.’
Summer winced. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Last time I saw her she had puked about half a dozen times. I don’t think a dab of foundation’s going to fix it.’ She didn’t like to add that her friend was also so loaded it would probably take her until this time next week to come down.
Simon swore under his breath. He’d suspected something like this might happen. Sarah Simpson had been a royal pain in the arse from the start: constantly late for production meetings and a complete diva to boot. What they really needed was a no-name presenter who would do exactly what she was told. Suddenly a light went on in his head and he looked Summer up and down. ‘You’re another model, right?’
‘I saw you in
Elle
this month,’ said the eager-to-please researcher, ‘in that Karenza swimwear advert.’
Summer flushed a little. It was only the second time she’d been recognized. ‘Yes, that was me,’ she smiled shyly.
‘Ever done any TV? Any presenting?’ asked Simon hopefully.
‘No, sorry. I’ve only ever done print work.’
Undeterred, Simon muttered some instructions to the cameraman, who trained his lens on Summer. Simon leant over to watch the digital image playback.
‘Talk to me,’ said Simon, looking intently at the picture. ‘Tell me what you’ve done this evening.’
‘Oh no, come on, this isn’t my sort of thing …’ Summer could feel her cheeks redden and had no idea what to say.
‘Just relax,’ coaxed Simon. ‘Tell me where you’ve just come from.’
Summer shrugged. ‘I’ve just spent two hours on Adam Gold’s yacht, aka HMS
Gold-digger
,’ she smiled. ‘Lakes of Krug, herds of Cavalli, hundreds of innocent ostriches slaughtered to make handbags for old women whose faces don’t move.’
She could see Simon’s face beaming behind the camera. This girl was dynamite. When she started talking, that gorgeous face lit up and the megawatt smile flashed, words flowing fluidly. He couldn’t believe that this shy, polite girl in front of him had transformed into a glorious witty live-wire. She was just what he needed.
‘Why the fucking hell have you never done telly before?’ he asked, smiling.
Because it’s always the pushy girls like Sarah that get put forward for the TV gigs
, she thought.
‘Dunno. Why do you swear so much?’ she replied playfully. Simon laughed.
‘Well, right now would be a good time to shut the fuck up because I’m about to make you an offer you can’t refuse. Luckily for you, the commissioning editor of the channel is in town and I’m going to get him down here to see what he thinks of these clips; but if he thinks what I’m thinking, I don’t think we’ll have any problems.’
Summer’s head was reeling. ‘Sorry,’ she asked, ‘what exactly is this offer I can’t refuse?’
‘Fuck me, girl!’ laughed Simon, ‘I’m asking you if you fancy being a household name, a star of the small screen, the next big thing. I’m asking you if you would like to replace your deadleg friend and take over presenting the show?’
The Villa La Vigie was one of the most beautiful properties on the whole Côte D’Azur. A primrose-yellow jewel perched on a hill just outside the principality, it had once belonged to Karl Lagerfeld and had also featured in the film
Tender Is the Night
. With its manicured, sweet-smelling gardens bursting with bougainvillea, it summed up the Côte D’Azur elegance. Tonight the villa was the venue for one of the most exclusive bashes of the grand prix weekend. Lynn Hanson, wife
of the Texan billionaire William Hanson, was hosting a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party and the entire villa had been swathed in silver and white especially for the occasion. Karin and Christina walked out into the gardens and smelt the honeysuckle-infused air. It was a beautiful warm night and the Italianate gardens had been lit by flickering torches, but not even the sound of a famous Italian tenor singing heartbreaking melodies from the candlelit temple at the bottom of the lawns, or the free-flowing grand cru champagne could lighten Karin’s mood. She was feeling as if her world was falling around her ears. It was now way past midnight and there was still no sign of Adam, or anybody else from the Midas party, in fact. She had phoned Erin to find out where everyone had got to, but had been put straight through to message. Besides which, she thought with a shiver, if Adam didn’t want to be found, his assistant wasn’t going to be able to do much about that, was she?
‘Are you sure this was where everybody was coming?’ asked Christina, craning her long neck to survey the crowd.
‘Not everybody, no,’ said Karin. ‘Lynn and Bill’s is strictly invitation only. Molly has arranged for “everyone” to go to Jimmy’z, but when I spoke to Erin earlier, she said Adam was coming along here.’
‘He can’t still be at the casino, can he?’ said Christina, waving to someone in the distance.
Karin shrugged, not wanting to tell Christina about their fight. She had enough problems, without alerting the most predatory woman in gold-digging history to a possible target.
‘I suppose if he’s losing money, he’ll be there until he wins it back,’ she said vaguely.
‘Well, I hope Ari does well at the tables,’ said Christina.
Karin looked at her friend quizzically. ‘After what happened tonight?’
The two women had walked to the edge of the gardens,
where the scent of honeysuckle was even stronger, and beyond them lay the crescent of Monte Carlo, twinkling like a Utopian playground.
‘Do you remember when I had to break into the house and bruised my arm?’ asked Christina, running her finger around the rim of her champagne glass. ‘Well, the diamonds weren’t all I took from the safe. Ari keeps copies of all his offshore accounts in the house. I have details of every numbered account he possesses in Switzerland, Bermuda, the Isle of Man and Jersey.’
Karin whistled. ‘You wouldn’t use them though, would you?’
‘I could have the Inland Revenue go crawling so far up his ass they could see his dental work,’ said Christina with a thin smile.
‘But Tina, you can’t mean to send him to jail for tax evasion?’ asked Karin.
Christina shrugged and took a sip of Krug. ‘Well, I guess he could go to jail. But I think he’s smarter than that. This is a business, pure and simple, and Ari will understand that all information has a price.’ Christina looked at her friend with steely eyes. ‘I would have preferred not to use the information. I would have preferred that he gave me a decent settlement without the need for a courtroom. But no, Ari decided he would have his PR company spin lies about me all over the newspapers, making me out to be a whore, when all the time he was screwing Emily Kent.’
Karin could sense her friend’s deep-seated anger as Christina continued. ‘Ari could have settled it like a gentleman, but he tried to play dirty. Well, now the rules have changed and now it doesn’t matter if we have a pre-nup or if I fucked the gardener or if he fucked the man in the moon. I think he’ll roll over and beg for me. And now my price has just doubled.’
‘So what do you want?’
‘I want to see what price he puts on his own freedom. I think we’ll start at one hundred million.’
The women smiled at each other and Karin clinked her glass against her friend’s. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
Just then Karin’s mobile rang. It was Erin. ‘Hi Karin. So sorry for not getting back sooner. My phone was out of juice.’
Karin tutted. ‘Well, Christina and I have been stuck at the Hansons’ party for the last hour with no sign of Adam or anybody. Can you tell me exactly what he said again?’
Erin sounded awkward. ‘I think there’s been a bit of a mix-up.’ She stuttered, ‘I didn’t actually speak to Adam; it was Molly who told me he would be at Villa La Vigie. She said it was on the schedule.’
Like hell it was
, thought Karin as she snapped her phone shut.
Molly! That bitch was pulling every trick in the book to get her out of the way. Karin looked at Christina and remembered what she had said about playing dirty.
Two can play at that game
, she thought, and smiled as a plan began to form in her head.
‘These women look good,’ said Simon, pointing at three tall blondes who had just got out of a cab outside Jimmy’z. ‘Summer – go grab them!’
Talk about a baptism of fire, thought Summer, picking up her microphone and pulling down her dress. Silverland Media hadn’t been allowed to film inside the exclusive nightclub and instead were trying to catch people on their way in and out.
She trotted up to the entrance where Ferraris were being valet-parked. A cameraman was following close behind Summer until she suddenly stopped walking. ‘Shit, it’s my mother,’ she whispered.
Somewhere between the drinks on the yacht and here, Molly had changed into a black micro-mini dress that showed off her long legs to perfection. She was wearing a pair of very high, very strappy sandals and Summer had to admit she looked incredible; you’d never guess she was forty-three.
Molly spotted her daughter and strode over. ‘Where the
hell
have you been?’ she began then, spotting the microphone, gave Summer a sideways look. ‘And what on
earth
are you doing?’
Summer flushed and shrugged, feeling like a little girl caught playing dress-up with her mother’s best clothes. ‘I’m … ah … it’s a long story.’
‘Try,’ said Molly sternly, turning to wave her two friends inside.
‘Well, Sarah had to go home ill,’ said Summer, twisting the microphone lead in her fingers. ‘I went to tell her producer. And they asked me to fill in.’
She smiled hopefully, for one moment thinking that perhaps her mother might congratulate her. Instead a black cloud swept across Molly’s face.
‘Television?’ she hissed, grabbing Summer’s arm and pulling her to one side. ‘What have I told you all these years? Modelling, then movies. Not TV. TV’s cheap, it’s small-time. You will never meet a decent man in the ITV canteen.’
‘But it’s a good opportunity, mum,’ said Summer, cursing herself for sounding like a teenager.
‘No, the good opportunities are inside that club,’ snapped Molly, gesturing towards the entrance. ‘Look, over there.’ As she spoke, the crowd parted to let Prince Albert pass inside.
‘Listen, Adam is on his way over from the casino with a group of rich players. Real men with real prospects. Why are you wasting your time pretending you’re Davina bloody McCall?’
Summer flushed again, but with the TV crew hovering in the background, she somehow felt stronger. ‘And why are you wasting your time on Adam when he’ll be coming with Karin?’ she hissed back. Molly’s mouth dropped open. She looked as if she had been slapped.