Tom Archer had now auctioned off a week in the Goldsmiths’ Mexican retreat, a fortnight at Michael Sarkis’s
de luxe Mustique home and a weekend in Tuscany for a private yoga session with Sting.
‘Okay, now we’ve got rid of all you flash bastards who have just come to book another holiday,’ said Tom to laughter. ‘It’s time to dig deep for some real charity.’ A montage of medical equipment, ambulances and water pumps flashed up on the screen behind him, and the auction sprang to life. The bidding was so frantic, the room sounded like a trading floor on Wall Street. ‘I do prefer the charitable lots to those holidays in exotic places. Less vulgar,’ whispered an elderly neighbour who had been introduced to Molly as Judith Portman, wife of a retired Lazard’s banker.
‘Totally agree,’ smiled Molly. ‘Why buy a fortnight at Michael Sarkis’s house when, if you know him, you can go there for free?’
Summer saw the old lady’s face cloud and quickly jumped in. ‘She’s joking, of course. Obviously charity is our life – and those ambulances really do save lives.’
A loud cheer went up.
‘Two Red Cross ambulances sold to Adam Gold for a hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds!’ said Tom, bringing down the gavel. ‘Thank you very, very much.’
Molly’s ears pricked up and she craned her neck to scan the crowd. There he was, sitting near the catwalk. Even from a distance, Molly could see the broad shoulders, his handsome square jaw dipped modestly as he accepted Tom Archer’s praise. Her gaze flicked to the woman besides him. Karin Cavendish.
Damn her
.
‘Next we have five hundred acres of rainforest in Mozambique,’ said Tom Archer.
‘Where shall we start …? Ah, our first bid of five thousand from our cautious hostess, Karin Cavendish. Any advance on five?’
‘Oh, I want this,’ said Judith, waving her pink hand in the air.
‘Do I see six thousand at the back?’ said Tom, ‘Yes, six it is!’
Adam Gold looked over and smiled at the old woman as Karin countered the bid. Just then, Molly’s finger soared skywards.
‘Molly! What the hell are you
doing?’
hissed Summer, nudging her mother sharply.
‘Getting Adam Gold’s attention,’ whispered Molly.
‘Ah, and I see lovely Molly Sinclair has bid eight thousand pounds for this glorious stretch of rainforest. Well done, Molly!’ announced Tom, as the heads of the audience swivelled towards Molly, who quickly lowered a strap of her dress to show off a little more curve. For a second Molly bathed in the glory, knowing every man’s eyes were on her plunging neckline. Adam Gold smiled at Molly from across the ballroom and Molly’s eyes locked with Karin’s.
‘Any advance on eight thousand?’
To Summer’s relief, Judith Portman’s hand stretched in the air. ‘Nine thousand pounds from the lady next to Molly,’ said Tom. ‘I see we’ve got a little duel going over this fine lot. Excellent stuff, ladies.’
Suddenly, as if it had a life of its own, Molly’s hand jumped into the air again.
‘Ten thousand pounds! Ten thousand from Molly!’ said Tom excitedly. ‘Any reply from your neighbour?’
Molly turned nervously to Judith.
‘No, no, you’ve worked so hard tonight, darling,’ said Judith, reaching over and patting Molly’s hand. ‘The rainforest is yours. I’ll make do with a couple of water pumps in Nepal.’
Molly’s hands felt clammy and her heart was racing.
‘I’m going to have to rush anyone else wanting the
Mozambique rainforest …’ said Tom, waving his gavel in the air.
Karin looked over at Molly, a thin, triumphant smile on her lips. Molly felt her heart race, her mouth suddenly dry.
‘Judith, please, you have the rainforest,’ said Molly desperately.
‘Going … going … GONE!’
The gavel came crashing down. Molly smiled but her eyes weren’t laughing as her stomach felt as if it had plummeted to the floor.
‘I do hope you’ve enjoyed yourself,’ said Karin, turning to face Adam. Sticking to her game plan, Karin had managed to practically ignore Adam Gold all the way through dinner, allowing all the other female guests on their table to flirt outrageously with him. But now she had seen Molly Sinclair making her move – she didn’t remember seeing
her
name on the guest list – Karin decided that it was time to up the ante. While she had no intention of sleeping with him that evening, she wasn’t going to let him go home with anyone else either. Especially not Molly.
‘It’s been a triumph,’ said Adam, raising his glass of champagne towards her in salute. ‘Thanks for inviting me. Looks like the auction made around two million bucks as well.’
‘You’ve been counting?’ said Karin.
Adam smiled and his eyes twinkled. ‘I’m always counting,’ he said.
Karin looked away as the jazz band launched into a tune on the stage.
‘So did you find this place?’ asked Adam, his eyes drifting around the room and up to the gilded ceilings. Karin watched him discreetly. He had the casual confidence of someone completely assured of his position in life. ‘Buildings like this remind me why I’ve moved to London,’ he said. ‘Back in
New York we throw a party at the Frick and think, “Man, this place is awesome!” But this place, it’s the real thing. Well, Gothic Revival, first time around, anyway.’
‘Mmm, you know your stuff,’ she said, nodding. ‘It belonged to the son of our first prime minister who went crazy adding turrets and extra wings, turning it into Sleeping Beauty’s castle.’
‘And you clearly know
your
stuff,’ he smiled back. ‘How about you give me the guided tour?’
Smiling inwardly, Karin allowed Adam to lead her out of the room, his warm hand pressing against her bare back until they had walked out of the rear of the house. Outside the sky was black and cold and there was an intimate stillness that made Karin feel slightly exposed.
‘So, why did you move to London?’ asked Karin, standing with her back to the house, knowing that with such a backdrop she must look like some splendid romantic heroine. ‘To turn all our listed buildings into apartment blocks?’
‘You are quite a minx,’ he said, smiling suggestively. Karin looked away.
‘Well, property developing only makes up about forty-five per cent of the business of the Midas Corporation. We have interests in investments, manufacturing, export/import …’
‘So why are you here?’
‘Don’t you want me here?’
‘I’m merely curious,’ she replied, her teeth chattering as she did.
Adam took off his jacket and placed it around her bare shoulders. Karin could smell expensive cologne and warm cigar smoke. ‘London is the new financial capital of the world,’ he said seriously, gently rubbing her cold arms through the jacket. ‘There doesn’t seem to be a more exciting place to do business right now. Plus, my company has interests in London, Moscow and Dubai. The East is the big
emerging market and I want to build in India, China and Macao. London is at the heart of all of it.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she smiled, her eyes meeting his. ‘Admit it’s the tax breaks and not the time zones and I’ll buy you a beer. I read the business papers, Mr Gold. I know why London is flooded with men like you.’
‘And what’s a man like me?’
‘Successful, ruthless, arrogant,’ she said.
‘Don’t be mean to me, Karin Cavendish,’ he said softly. ‘After this evening, you’re probably the woman I know best in the whole city.’
‘I find that hard to believe,’ she replied, trying to sound more aloof than she felt. She could see the look in his eyes; the look of someone who wanted her.
Well, you’re not going to have me, Adam Gold
, she thought. Not tonight anyway. She had to make him wait. Make him long. A gust of wind whistled through the gardens and whipped her hair up around her face.
‘We’d better go back inside. The guests will be wondering where on earth I’ve gone.’
‘Okay,’ said Adam, ‘but can I make a request?’
‘What’s that?’
‘I sort of like it when you’re mean to me.’
Erin felt physically shattered. She’d been on her aching feet for fifteen hours, but the excitement and adrenaline were still coursing through her body like an electric current. Everything had seemed to go smoothly, the show was spectacular, even Irina had been happy; so happy, in fact, that she had ended up making a £400,000 bid for the diamond bikini.
‘It will be perfect for Nikki Beach next summer,’ she had purred to Erin on her way out, kissing her on both cheeks and saying goodnight in Russian.
She wondered anxiously what Karin had made of it all. The last three weeks she had been barked at, abused, pushed to the very limits of her ability. It had been twenty-one days of fetching, carrying, sorting, running – she had been little more than Karin’s slave. And for what? So 800 fabulously wealthy people could get pissed, flirt with their friends’ husbands and show off how rich they were by buying holidays that they would never go on or jewellery they would never wear. She wanted to hate this world but, realizing her time in it would soon be over, she felt a pang of regret. Karin’s universe was like a Scott Fitzgerald novel and she did not want to let it go, certainly not to return to Cornwall and unemployment. She allowed herself an illegal swig of Evian and went to find Karin; she had a message from Adam Gold’s helicopter pilot that the winds were getting up and that they needed to leave soon.
‘Erin, right? Karin’s PA?’ said a tall, dark-haired man collecting an overcoat from the cloakroom.
‘That’s right,’ she said distractedly. She was still scanning the room looking for Karin.
‘Adam Gold. I was on Karin’s table. I was just looking for her to say thank you and goodnight.’
Adam Gold! She looked up.
Christ, he was handsome
, she thought, unable to tear her eyes away from him. Businessmen weren’t her usual type and this guy must be at least forty, but still … his eyes had the sexiest glint she had ever seen.
‘Ah, um, Mr Gold. Actually I was looking for you,’ said Erin awkwardly, ‘I have a message from your pilot.’
He smiled so the corners of his eyes crinkled. ‘Nice work with the Russians, by the way. I thought you handled it brilliantly.’
‘And to think I thought my Russian degree was wasted serving drinks,’ she smiled.
Adam paused for one moment, his eyes searching hers. Erin could feel her face begin to flush.
‘How do you like working for Karin?’ asked Adam.
‘It’s great,’ said Erin cautiously. ‘
Was
great. It was only a temporary gig. Tomorrow’s my last day really.’
Adam smiled that crinkle-eyed smile again, making Erin feel a little weak. ‘Oh, well, that’s convenient. I’d hate to poach anyone from the hostess.’
Erin took a breath, but nothing would come.
‘You speak languages?’ he asked her.
Erin nodded. ‘Russian, French, and a bit of Italian.’
‘Are you organized?’
Erin barked out a laugh and spread her hands to indicate the party. ‘After this week, I should hope so!’
‘Listen, Erin, I need a PA. Mine came over from New York with me but she’s missing her family and wants to go home. Goddamn lightweight,’ he grumbled.
Erin nodded in sympathy, which she immediately decided was a mistake.
‘So are you interested?’
‘But you don’t even know me,’ said Erin, totally gobsmacked.
‘How do you think I made the
Forbes
four hundred?’ he said bluntly.
‘Um, property?’ guessed Erin, wincing.
‘By trusting my instincts,’ he replied flatly.
‘So you’re offering me a job?’ she said, unable to stifle a small, incredulous laugh.
‘You’ve impressed me,’ he said, the eyes crinkling again.
‘I can’t type.’
‘I got that covered. You just have to do whatever I say,’ he said with a small smile. ‘Seriously, it’s running my diary, making travel arrangements, fielding calls. All sorts of shit I could be here all night describing. It’s long hours and
hard work, but I pay well and you might see a little of the world.’
‘Pay?’ ventured Erin. She was the worst money negotiator ever, her boyfriend Richard always teased her about it.
‘How does seventy sound?’
‘A day?’ squeaked Erin weakly. It wasn’t that much more than she’d got behind the bar at the local pub in Exeter.
‘A year, Erin,’ said Adam. ‘Seventy thousand a year, plus my PAs usually get a car.’
Erin stood looking at him for a moment, feeling as if she was going to burst out singing.
‘When do I start?’
‘Oh God, oh God, you’re too sexy! I’m not sure I can make it to the bedroom,’ panted Harry Levin, his tongue licking Molly’s neck like a hungry wolf. They had only just burst in through the front door and already Harry’s hand had plunged down Molly’s halterneck to grab at her hard brown nipples. His free hand was undoing the belt of his trousers and he had slipped off his shoes, rendering him at least three inches shorter.
Insoles
, sighed Molly, trying not to flinch as his teeth bit the tips of her breasts like a randy teenager.
She had picked up her latest paramour – cosmetic surgeon to the stars, no less – at the end of the Stop Global Warming benefit, when it was so late that the waiters had begun stacking up tables. To Molly’s great annoyance, Adam Gold had left halfway through the jazz band’s set, before she had even had time to introduce herself. There hadn’t been a great number of other single men at the party, although she had counted four ex-lovers, all married, all with their wives and all who had chosen to ignore her. She didn’t want to waste the night, not when she looked so hot. Her Cavalli dress was cut so low at the back you could see the dark tip where her spine met her ass. So when Harry Levin was pointed out to
her as Harley Street’s premier tit man, she knew that she’d go home with him.
‘Spank me,’ growled Harry, when they had made their way up his sweeping staircase, tearing at each other’s clothes as they reached his bedroom. Welcoming the opportunity to inspect his five-storey Hampstead home further, she let him bend over the mahogany sleigh bed, slapping his skinny white arse while she looked around the room.
‘You’ve been a very bad boy,’ she purred theatrically, noting the walnut-panelled walls and fifty-inch plasma television over the exquisite marble fireplace.
‘Harder!’ groaned Harry, clutching his dove-grey duvet in pleasure. Mmm, that bed linen was definitely Pratesi, noted Molly as she smacked him harder, observing the tell-tale scalloped edges of the pillowcase. She also spotted a Picasso sketch on the wall above the bed and the many silver-framed photographs of Harry: Harry skiing, Harry on a yacht, Harry looking tanned, happy and rich. This one was definitely promising.
He rolled over to face Molly, his dextrous fingers pulling down Molly’s tiny chiffon thong in one movement. His eyes widened when he saw her totally bald bush; Molly had waxed it off earlier that day after discovering some tufts of grey.
‘I fucking love that,’ he mumbled, sinking his face between her thighs. She got onto the bed, long hair splayed across the pillow, one leg artfully bent at the knee, her arms thrown back over her head as if she was posing for a
Playboy
spread. His hands were all over her, and after a couple of minutes of licking her nipples, leaving her breasts cold and wet, he fumbled around with a condom as he prepared to enter her. His cock was small, but he thrust himself in so hard it was like a bullet. She ran her long fingers down his back, but Harry was beyond subtleties: his ass was bobbing up and down like a cork at sea.
She shut her eyes and thought of Adam Gold, but not even that could make this sexual encounter more enjoyable.
Christ, let’s get this over with
, she thought, making a few half-hearted groans and digging her nails into his thrusting arse as she prepared to fake orgasm.
‘Now! Now!’ he shouted before collapsing onto her, his head on Molly’s chest.
‘Incredible,’ he whispered, ‘just fucking incredible.’
Molly lay motionless, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as she tried to work out whether it was a Lalique or a Murano light-fixture above the bed.
She stroked her hand across the top of his head, wondering if she could get Harry Levin to cough up for that five hundred acres of Mozambique rainforest she’d won at the auction and not yet paid for. At the very least, she was sure he would give her a good price for that tummy tuck she’d been meaning to get.