Gold Diggers (42 page)

‘The necklace was for someone who doesn’t matter half
as much as you matter to me,’ he said, stroking her fingers with the curve of his thumb. ‘Someone who doesn’t even come close.’

She snatched her hand away from his and stepped back. ‘How dare you?’ she spat. ‘How dare you treat me with so little respect. You’re lucky to have me. You know that, don’t you?’ she said defiantly.

Adam reached forward and touched her arm. ‘Kay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was a mistake. I was weak. I was foolish. Give me the chance to make it up to you.’

She took hold of his arm and threw it away from her. ‘There’s no second chances, Adam. I’m not like all the other women you’ve taken advantage of.’

He picked up her hand again and began unfastening the bracelet from around her wrist. She felt a rush of warm tears sting at the back of her eyes, wondering if she had pushed him too far. He was taking it all away from her.
Everything
.

‘So this is it?’ she said softly, biting her lip to stop her voice from cracking.

‘Sssh,’ he said softly, lifting her fingers to his mouth and kissing their tips.

Karin just stared at him, the tears flowing down her face now. ‘What … what are you doing?’ she croaked.

‘I want to make it up to you,’ he said quietly.

He held her left hand in his and began to wrap the bracelet around her third finger. Karin felt her heart skip a beat as the cold diamonds pressed against her skin.

‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to improvise,’ he whispered as he held the glittering bracelet in place and sank to one knee.

‘Karin, will you marry me?’

Karin looked down at him, his eyes so blue in the lamplight, her third finger obscured by diamonds, and began to
laugh softly. Then she nodded. Adam pulled her down to him and pressed her hand against his face.

‘Baby, I want you. I love you. I need you,’ he said, kissing each finger in turn.

Karin laid her head against his. ‘The feeling’s mutual,’ she murmured, before words were lost in the swell of a passionate kiss.

‘What do you mean, they’re
engaged
?’ Molly spluttered to Marcus, trying very hard to conceal her emotions after he had told her the news. ‘They’ve only been going out two minutes! I have bottles of shampoo on the go longer than their relationship.’

‘Well, she’s done something right, because I never thought I’d see the day when Adam headed down the aisle,’ smiled Marcus. ‘They’re having a party to celebrate as soon as Karin can organize something suitably grand. Probably at Adam’s palazzo on Lake Como.’

That final detail made it even more painful for Molly. She didn’t even know he owned a villa in the Italian Lakes. She had been to the Versaces’ villa on Como and had often pictured herself in the role of a beautiful contessa. It was really all too terrible, especially when he had seemed to be getting along with Summer so well. She took a long drag of her Sobranie cigarette and began to think.

Engaged.
Summer had almost choked on the word when she repeated it back to Adam. Moments earlier she had been feeling so happy. Adam had driven her out to the Fat Duck
restaurant in the tiny Berkshire village of Bray, one of the few three-Michelin-starred restaurants in the country. She had been thrilled that Adam had wanted to see her the moment he’d arrived back from Ibiza, and was looking forward to a perfect night together. Instead, just as the starter had arrived, he’d said those three little words:
‘I’m getting married’.

‘Why did you bring me somewhere so special to tell me you were engaged?’ said Summer, aware of a large tear trembling on her eye-lid.

Adam folded his napkin on his lap and looked around in case anybody was eavesdropping. ‘Honey, it’s only just happened,’ he whispered. ‘I wanted to tell you as soon as possible and I was going to bring you here anyway.’

‘Don’t make it sound like you’re doing me a favour, you insensitive bastard,’ hissed Summer.

He leant over the table to stroke her cheek and she jerked away from him as if she’d been stung.

‘You’ve always known about Karin,’ said Adam. ‘This doesn’t have to change anything.’

‘Of course it changes things. You’re getting married.’

‘Don’t get all fucking sanctimonious, Summer,’ said Adam sharply. ‘I’ve been in a serious relationship the entire time we’ve been seeing each other. You’re not exactly in the best place to be taking the moral high-ground.’

‘But you’ve just made a commitment to her. That’s what changes things.’

Aware that a waiter was looking at them, Adam leant forward. ‘What hasn’t changed is the way I feel about you. I care about you.’

‘So much so that you’re marrying Karin,’ said Summer, taking a glug of Chablis.

‘Summer. Karin knows I’ve been seeing someone.’

Summer thumped her glass down on the table. ‘Oh I see,’
she said sarcastically, ‘so you proposed as a way of saying sorry?’

They looked at each other, neither one knowing what to say.

Summer looked down as a tear landed on the white tablecloth. ‘I want to go home,’ she whispered.

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Adam. ‘We’ve only just got here.’

‘I feel sick.’

‘Summer, stop being dramatic.’

Shaking her head, she pushed her chair back with a screech, ran to the toilets and threw up violently.

Early September was Erin’s favourite time in Port Merryn. Although it was still warm and sunny, the tourists had begun to clear so the streets and harbour had reclaimed their still charm. Knowing her Audi wouldn’t fit through the tiny village streets, she parked it at the top of town and walked down the winding lanes, taking it all in. Seagulls squawked, the air smelt clean and salty and there was space to breathe. Only a year ago it had been this very quietness that had driven Erin half mad, but now it was a welcome relief to stroll in the sun and relax. Things had been getting a little too stressful in London in recent weeks, and the fresh air seemed to unjumble all the knotted thoughts in her head. She’d greeted the news of Adam’s engagement with mixed emotions. She tried to tell herself that, if he was genuinely happy with Karin, then she was happy for him, but the little stab of disappointment she’d felt when Adam had told her still refused to go away. She was also saddened at the deterioration of her relationship with Chris. After their argument at Cliveden, the only contact she had had with him had been a few awkward hellos in the corridor of Peony House. The last two times she had seen him with
a pretty redhead, but he hadn’t even bothered to introduce Erin to her, which had irritated Erin inordinately.

She shook her head, trying to forget about London, and walked down the steep cobbled path into the village. She had to admit she felt a little nervous being home and she couldn’t quite place why. After all, this was Jilly’s seventieth birthday – that was supposed to be great fun, wasn’t it? Everyone was coming, Jilly had assured her over the telephone: friends from the village; even Erin’s only other living relatives – her aunt Louisa, who now lived in Australia, was making the trip over specially.

Erin realized that a lot of her uneasiness was down to guilt. She wished she had thought of throwing her grandmother a party herself, but she had been so busy with Adam’s summer schedule and now the wedding plans. It was no excuse, of course, and she was determined to make it up to her. She had gone to Gray’s Antique Market and bought her a beautiful gold brooch encrusted with topaz and pearls. It had cost her a week’s salary, but she hoped her grandmother would love it as much as she did.

The back door of the house was open, so the background noise of the party, Sinatra and the low hum of happy conversation was pierced by the loud caw of seagulls.

Erin stood in the doorway and looked on at the scene: Jilly surrounded by a throng of well-wishers, a large glass of red wine in one hand and a plump iced cupcake in another. She had dressed up in a red and cream floral dress, open-toed sandals over tan tights, her grey hair fastened on top of her head with a big tortoiseshell clip.

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.’