Gold Diggers (44 page)

Erin laughed bitterly. ‘Does Adam know he’s marrying Mother Teresa?’

‘I saved you from some shitty little life in Cornwall.’

‘My life wasn’t shitty,’ said Erin, suddenly full of protective pride.

Karin rolled her eyes and began to walk away, but Erin stood in front of her. ‘You
used
me to make you feel better about having a ruthless crooked shark for a father,’ she said. ‘You are only where you are today because he shafted and murdered people, to make money and give you opportunities.’

Karin’s expression instantly hardened. ‘Erin, darling, I would be up here, and you would be down there, regardless of what our fathers might have done twenty-five years ago. It has nothing to do with where we came from, but who we are.’

‘Well I’d certainly hate to be you,’ said Erin as calmly as she could, her cheeks blazing with humiliation.

‘Really,’ smiled Karin, lifting one perfectly shaped eyebrow. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at Adam. You expect me to believe you wouldn’t rather be the successful businesswoman about to marry Adam Gold? That you’d rather be the failed writer who answers his phones? I don’t think so, darling. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to get back to the party.’

She turned back to look at Erin. ‘Oh, and Erin? I suggest
you stop having little tantrums like this; otherwise you might find it’s the last party you ever go to.’

The pink champagne was flowing, the ice sculpture was melting, the atmosphere fizzed with the chatter and laughter of everyone having a fabulous time at somebody else’s enormous expense. There was dancing in the ballroom, cigar chomping on the terrace and, in the conservatory, transformed into a casino for the evening, Molly and Summer were standing over the blackjack table, wondering when their luck was going to turn.

‘Well? Have you spoken to him yet?’ asked Molly, eyeing her daughter up and down. Even in such glamorous company, surrounded by New York and London’s most gorgeous creatures, Summer Sinclair stood out with her natural beauty. Her face did not need Botox or eye-lifts or any of the other cosmetic procedures on display in the palazzo. Her long thin silk Versace gown, in the palest apricot, made her skin seem to glow; her hair, dyed back to its natural honey blonde, made her look like a pearly goddess who had just stepped out of an oyster.

Summer placed a pile of blue chips in front of her and watched as the croupier dealt the cards. A queen and a seven.

‘Seventeen, signorina?’

Summer bit her lip. ‘Stick,’ she said.

The dealer flipped over his cards. An ace and a jack. Twenty-one.

‘I don’t seem to be having much luck tonight,’ said Summer, pretending to concentrate on the croupier raking up all the losing chips. She didn’t want to talk about Adam. She didn’t want the pressure from her mother. She felt sick enough at the prospect of seeing him tonight, let alone speaking to him.

‘We make our own luck, darling,’ replied Molly, taking
Summer by the arm and leading her away from the table. She led her into a corner behind a pillar and fixed Summer with her best ‘displeased’ glare.

‘What are you playing at, Summer?’ she snapped. ‘I’ve counted at least half a dozen opportunities when you could have caught him on his own, but you don’t seem to have taken any of them.’

Summer looked at her mother, who had the confident self-important air of somebody on coke.

‘I want you to go and find him now,’ said Molly, pushing her face up close to Summer’s. ‘Because if you don’t, I will.’

The enormous sweeping marble steps that led from the French windows of the ballroom down to the edge of the lake were like a set from an Audrey Hepburn movie, the perfect place for a heroine to finally kiss her hero to a swelling string quartet and tears from the popcorn-munching audience.
Well, there was going to be nothing like that tonight
, thought Erin, walking to the final step and sitting down so that her feet almost dangled in the water.
Not for me, anyway
. She rested her elbows on her knees and listened to the gentle lapping of the lake. If she half closed her eyes it was as if she was back in Cornwall, walking back home from the Golden Lion pub in the village, always taking a minute to pause on the harbour wall and listen to the waves. She looked up at the palazzo behind her, its windows glowing yolky light, illuminating men in tuxedos like tiny penguins. She pulled a face. She wasn’t in Cornwall any more and she had never felt more lonely.

She heard a gentle tapping behind her and Erin looked up. High heels coming down the terrace, then the shape of a woman coming down the stairs towards her. For a second Erin thought it was Jilly. There was the same volume of grey hair piled on top of her head, the same slender
figure showing the slight gnarl of age. As she came closer, Erin could see that the woman was a lot more polished than Jilly. The silver hair was brushed and coiffed, her long dress was made of blue silk that screamed Oscar de la Renta and shimmered in the low light. She had a strong face, but the same intelligent, questioning eyes as Erin’s grandmother.

As she got closer, Erin saw that it was Adam’s mother. Erin had only spoken to her briefly at the airport, but Erin knew quite a lot about her. She knew that she lived in Greenwich, Connecticut, that she had been sixty-seven last birthday and had received a walnut Steinway piano from her only son. She knew all this because she had bought it and arranged for it to be delivered at Adam’s request. She also knew that Julia was going to receive a Hockney painting for Christmas, which Adam had just bought from a recent Sotheby’s sale and which he was keeping for her until 20 December, when he would spend two days in Connecticut before flying off to spend Christmas in St Barts with Karin. It was the most important job skill for a PA: you had to know.

‘What are you doing out here all alone?’ asked Julia Gold. ‘Didn’t you know one of Europe’s most glittering social occasions is occurring right behind you as we speak?’ She smiled kindly. ‘… Or so I read on
Page Six
anyway.’

‘I don’t think I’m here to enjoy myself,’ smiled Erin, immediately warming to her.

‘Just because you work for Adam, doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you to have fun. He’s not that bad, is he? Or have I raised a monster?’

‘He’s not bad,’ smiled Erin, ‘for a global tycoon.’

‘Funny, most people expect him to be like that.’

‘Me too. I come from Cornwall, where there aren’t too many billionaire industrialists. I’d watched
Wall Street
and
that’s how I expected everyone to be. Hideous and ruthless.’

‘So I take it you’ve survived? Not been chewed up and spat out?’

Not by Adam, maybe
, thought Erin.
But try his fiancée
.

Julia Gold was too graceful to crouch on the floor like Erin, who had got the hem of her long midnight-blue dress dirty and dusty. Instead, Julia rested elegantly against a pillar and looked thoughtfully out at the lake, which had now turned black and was framed by the looming shadows of the cliffs surrounding it.

‘It’s funny,’ she said after a pause, ‘I never thought Adam would end up doing what he does. I don’t know how much you know about our family?’

Erin shrugged. She knew a little colour from a
Forbes
magazine feature she had read on Adam, but her boss gave out very little personal information on himself.

‘Adam’s grandfather Aaron was a very rich man, but Adam’s father didn’t inherit a cent because Aaron didn’t approve of our marriage. Adam’s father and I were happy and comfortable enough and we did our best for Adam, but we couldn’t really afford the fancy prep schools or those exclusive summer camps.’

She paused and looked back at the magnificent palazzo in the background. ‘Adam was very driven from an early age. He was good at everything, he made sure of it. He always used to say, “We’ll show grandfather, we don’t need him.” I don’t know if you know, but Adam is a wonderful artist. He had a place at Parsons to study graphics. But he didn’t think a career in art could make him money. Not the serious money he wanted, anyway. So he studied economics at Yale and dropped out when Wall Street came calling.’

‘I really didn’t have Adam down as the creative type,’ said Erin, genuinely shocked.

Julia shrugged and smiled. ‘Well, now he buys art instead of painting it. I still have some of his old drawings hung up in the house. They mean more to me than any Hockney.’

Erin thought of Julia’s very expensive Christmas present and winced.

‘And what do you want to do with your life, Erin?’ asked Julia suddenly.

‘Why do you ask?’

The old woman smiled kindly; even in the dark Erin could see the lines around her eyes crinkling with amusement. ‘I consider myself to be a fairly good judge of character, and I wouldn’t have put you in the ruthless world of business.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Erin. ‘Don’t tell your son that.’

Julia looked embarrassed. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. It was meant to be a compliment. And anyway, Adam thinks you’re marvellous.’

Erin felt her heart flutter. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t say I’m “in the world of business”, as you put it,’ said Erin. ‘I’m only his executive assistant – his PA really. It started off as a way to make money while I was writing a book, but now Adam says I have a future with the company and that maybe I could eventually move into marketing or something …’

‘I knew it!’ Julia looked remarkably gratified. ‘I knew you were a creative soul.’

Once again, Erin didn’t know whether it was an insult or a compliment.

‘Well, don’t hold your breath, Mrs Gold,’ said Erin. ‘I think I’ve been sidetracked.’

‘Really?’ said Julia thoughtfully. ‘Well, let me ask you a question, then. Would you rather have a library lined with beautiful first editions or a bookshelf stacked with your own novels?’

‘Oh, the second one, definitely,’ said Erin immediately.
‘That’s what I’ve always wanted. Just to see a novel I’ve written in a bookshop.’

‘So why are you wasting your time with Adam?’ asked Julia.

The words ‘For the money’ were on the tip of her tongue, but she kept her mouth closed. But she could see that Julia was right. Who was she to look at Molly Sinclair, even Karin, and criticize them for money-grabbing and social climbing, when she was prepared to shelve her own ambition for a fat pay cheque?

‘I’ve written something I’m pretty pleased with. I gave it to my agent last week and he loves it too.’

‘Can I read it?’ asked Julia.

Erin hesitated before recognizing the enthusiasm in Julia’s eyes. ‘I have my laptop with me, but I’m sure you don’t want to read it at the party.’

‘I’m nearly seventy,’ smiled Julia, ‘it’s too boisterous for me back there. I want to be tucked up with a good book.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure, Erin. Now come on and impress me.’

Karin stood on the terrace of the palazzo’s master bedroom feeling a discomfort she couldn’t quite place. She had come upstairs for an aspirin, but she knew that her headache wasn’t the source of her disquiet. She leant against the balcony and looked out at the pool shimmering beneath her in the streaky silver moonlight. She shuddered, thinking back to the earlier scene with Erin Devereux, wondering if she been a little hard on her. There had been no reason to imply she was bitter and jealous; Erin was just a lonely, angry kid who had just discovered the grim truth about her father.
Well I can empathize with that
, she thought, kicking off her heels and sitting down on one of the balcony chairs. Karin knew full well that her father Terence Wenkle was
the ruthless bully that Erin had described. Yes, she worshipped him, because he had treated her like a princess and told her she could be whatever she wanted to be in life. But she also knew he was a crook, a liar, a greedy con man who didn’t care who he walked over to get what he wanted. She remembered the first time she had heard the Devereuxs’ name. She had been ten. The Wenkles had moved from their Essex detached house to a mansion in Surrey with stables and a swimming pool, because ‘Daddy was doing so well.’ One evening, after she had been sent to bed, she was creeping downstairs for her new Sony Walkman cassette-player when she had heard the raised drunken voices of her parents. Not daring to go any further, she had waited on the top step, listening to her mother shouting at her father.

‘Terry, you shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have made him drop all his clients if you knew you were going to drop him.’

‘Business is business. It’s not my fault if he trusted me.’

‘Think of his wife, Terry. Think of his little girl Erin. He killed himself because of you and now that little girl hasn’t got a dad.’

‘It’s not my fucking problem.’

Then Karin had heard the unmistakable sound of a backhanded slap followed by her mother’s scream. Karin had covered her ears with her palms to stop herself hearing any more and had run back to her room, hiding under the duvet, praying for it to stop. People had said that Karin’s steely ambition stemmed from the confidence Terence Wenkle had instilled in his daughter, but deep down Karin knew it was something else. Her desire to succeed was a desire for reinvention; to wipe clean all traces of Terence Wenkle from her life and forget that she was really just a gangster’s daughter from Essex.

She took a glug of water to wash down her aspirin and thought about heading back downstairs. It was gone
midnight and out along the driveway she could see guests stepping into cars to take them back to the Villa d’Este, but the party was still in full swing. The sound of the jazz band floated up to the balcony, along with a rumble of merry conversation. Karin slipped her heels back on and turned to go back into the bedroom. Her fingers were on the brass door handle when she saw two shadows behind the thin voile curtain. Still suspicious of Adam’s womanizing, she froze, immediately wondering if he would have the audacity to bring anyone into their bedroom. It was Adam alright, but the other voice was male and it was raised, angry. Curiosity made her wait outside in the dark to listen.