Gold Diggers (22 page)

Summer pulled her arm away from her mother and walked back towards the club, beckoning the cameraman as she went.

‘I’ll come in later,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I’ve got work to do first.’

That ungrateful little bitch
, thought Molly as she took a seat at one of the reserved tables by the dance floor.
After all I’ve done for her. Well let her play her little games. I’ve got bigger fish to fry
. Molly smiled as she remembered Summer’s comment about Adam. Of course Adam wasn’t coming with Karin, she smirked to herself. She clicked her fingers to summon the wine waitress and ordered an extortionately priced bottle of vodka and champagne for the table. She’d find someone to pay for it later.

But two hours later there was still no sign of anyone from the Midas party and, although Molly had kept herself entertained flitting from one old acquaintance to another, she was beginning to get bored and anxious.

‘Well, well … Here’s somebody I haven’t seen in a long time,’ said a voice behind Molly.

She turned and groaned inwardly. ‘Gunter. How are you?’

Gunter Strauss was a German industrialist. Rich and flash, he liked to dip in and out of the circuit when his fierce wife in Düsseldorf would allow him. Molly had met him at the Red Cross Ball five years earlier and he had invited her to Necker Island six months later. Gunter slid into a seat beside Molly, his long face twisted in a leer.

‘Here for the race, Molly?’ he asked.

‘No, actually,’ she said, turning away from him slightly. ‘I’m working with Midas Corporation this year.’

‘Ah, Adam Gold,’ nodded Gunter, ‘I was just going to meet him.’

Molly looked at him, surprised. ‘Meet him where?’

Gunter smiled and ran a hand lightly up Molly’s bare thigh. ‘On his yacht. He’s moored a couple of berths down from mine. I saw him at the casino about an hour ago. Said I should drop by for a drink.’

‘So he’s not coming to Jimmy’z?’ said Molly, pursing her lips.

Gunter shook his head. ‘It appears not. But how about we go for that drink together? Then I can show you my yacht. I believe I have a bigger one than Gold’s,’ he smiled lasciviously. ‘Why don’t you come and measure up?’

With a mounting bar bill, Molly had no intention of staying at Jimmy’z if Adam wasn’t coming along. If she could get Gunter to settle it and get a lift down to the harbour, then all the better. She could dump Gunter once she got to Adam’s tub.

Gunter’s car was a blue BMW with cream interior. Molly got into the passenger seat and sank back into the soft leather as Gunter gunned the engine and sped off, leaving rubber on the road. Monaco was tiny and the drive from Jimmy’z to the harbour was short, but it would never do to be seen tottering down the narrow streets to the yacht, especially not when there were so many prestige cars to travel in. But Molly knew immediately that they were going in the wrong direction, heading out of the small town into the hills of Roquebrune.

‘Gunter, I think maybe you have had too much to drink because the harbour is that way,’ she said, feeling her nerves begin to jangle.

‘I just want to take you for a spin,’ said Gunter, smiling. ‘You like my car, don’t you?’

‘Well yes, but I would like to go back to the harbour now,’ said Molly more forcefully.

They were out of Monte Carlo now. They had taken a turn off the coastal road and Gunter was slowing the car into a viewing bay at the side of the road. They could see the orange lights of Monaco to their right. Out in front of them, beyond the pine trees clinging onto the cliffs, the Mediterranean spilled out jet-black towards the horizon.

‘I love Monte Carlo, but sometimes it gets a bit crazy, no?’ said Gunter, sliding his hand onto her bare thigh again. ‘Sometimes you just need to be alone …’

Molly twisted away from him, illuminated only by the car headlights spilling out onto the soil in front of them. She knew why they had come out here. His wife was probably on their yacht, waiting for him, and Gunter wanted some fun beforehand. Six months ago she would have given him what he wanted, a little sexual buzz to end his evening, but tonight she was angry. She had been tricked away from Adam and she wasn’t in the mood to be playing with the likes of Gunter.

‘Can we go back, please?’ said Molly loudly, removing Gunter’s hand from her thigh. Gunter just chuckled and unclicked his seat belt, moving closer to Molly.

‘Now, tell me you haven’t gone all chaste on me?’ he sneered. His lips were close to her neck and she could smell a £500 bottle of bourbon on his breath. ‘Because that would be a real waste.’

‘Get off me!’ she spat, quickly rolling away from him and grabbing the car door. It was locked. Gunter’s fat, sweaty hand was back riding up her thigh so his fingers were touching the rim of her panties.

‘I’ve missed you, Molly,’ he whispered, ‘I’ve missed you sucking my cock. No one can suck cock better than you, Molly. I want you to remind me how good you are.’ He was
almost on top of her now, groping at her breasts and fumbling with the zip of his trousers.

‘Get the fuck off me,’ she screamed, but Gunter was strong, pushing her down with his weight, guiding her hand to his cock, tugging roughly at Molly’s panties.

‘Please, Gunter. I don’t want to. I’m with someone now and I have to get back to the yacht.’

Gunter was smiling malevolently now. He had pinned her to the seat and hissed in her ear, ‘Oh yes, you’re quick to take my hospitality, aren’t you, Molly? Quick to come and stay in my villas. Quick to get me to pay your bar bills, to accept the ride home in my car. But it’s not all “take, take, take” in this world, darling. Sometimes you have to give something back.’

He tore at her panties, and she heard them rip away. Molly knew it was no good trying to overpower him so she relaxed her body and forced a thin smile onto her lips.

‘Well, I don’t want to be seen as ungrateful,’ she whispered, twisting her hips towards him and spreading her thighs until she could see his eyes widen and glint with lust. Smiling like a little boy at Christmas, Gunter moved away from her to pull down his trousers properly. At that moment, Molly bent her legs and kicked against his chest as hard as she could.

‘You fucking bitch,’ snarled Gunter, slapping her hard across the face. Molly felt her head vibrate and her skin sting, but the anger numbed her pain. This bastard was getting between her and her prize. A desperate rage possessed her. She flung her body forward, and grabbed the handbrake of the car, clicking it off. The car jerked forward and began to roll.

‘You crazy whore!’ screamed Gunter, scrabbling desperately to untangle himself from his trousers and to find the brake before the car toppled off the cliff. Given a brief
breathing space, Molly punched the car’s central locking button and yanked open the door. Gunter howled and grabbed at Molly’s legs, failing to prevent her escape, but flipping her out of the car, sending her spinning into the soil, dirt flying in her face. She rolled away from the door, one shoeless foot slipping on gravel, terrified that Gunter would follow her and continue his violence.

Her heart leapt again as she heard the car engine roar into life, and she flailed backwards, landing by the side of the road. She lay there, hoping she was hidden by the brush as the blinding headlights swung across her face. The car stopped and the window buzzed down. She looked up and could see the shadows of Gunter’s face in the light of the dashboard, his eyes angry, his lips in a snarl. ‘You pathetic fucking whore,’ he said, and flung her shoe out of the window. It landed just in front of Molly’s face, coughing up a little cloud of dirt.

Her heart was beating so fast that she had to shut her eyes and breathe deeply to calm herself down. As the rear lights of Gunter’s BMW faded into the night, Molly slowly, shakily pulled herself to her feet. Her throat was dry. She felt a tear sting at the back of her eye as she looked at her knees, grazed and bloody from being thrown on the ground. She bit her lip and shook away her emotion. At least he had paid for her bar bill, she thought defiantly.
At least he had paid for the bar bill.

She was surrounded by complete darkness, but she could just make out the line of the road. The lights of Monte Carlo did not seem too far away. She took off her other shoe and started walking.

Overnight, Summer’s life had changed. The executive producer of ‘On Heat’ had been delighted with the segments Summer had shot in Monaco and now wanted her on board for every production meeting. Her arrival back from Monte Carlo also coincided with the appearance of the Karenza spring/summer advertising campaign. It was nothing short of sensational: Summer’s body, naked except for a tiny white thong, the sheen of Caribbean water on her skin sparkling like diamonds, her skin so tanned and polished it looked as if she’d been dipped in molten gold. Best of all, the ads were everywhere:
Vogue, Harper’s, Elle, Marie Claire
, even on selected crash-inducing billboards around London. AdWeek called it the sexiest campaign since Brooke Shields told the world what came between her and her Calvin’s, and the Advertising Standards Authority denounced it for its ‘gratuitous sexual content’. That was enough to turn a great ad campaign into a public event. The
Daily Mail
ran an angry editorial about the damage Summer’s body was doing to impressionable young minds, while the
Sun
ran a centre-spread image with a ‘Who’s That Girl?’ headline. Summer had arrived and she was on a high. Even Sarah Simpson had taken the news of
her replacement by Summer surprisingly well. She’d met an Italian at the casino and she was considering relocating to Milan to be with him.

Molly, of course, was delighted, and decided to take her daughter’s success into her own hands. She fired La Mode agency and put in a call to IMP, who had taken Summer onto their books, immediately being snowed under with offers. The fashion industry were like sheep; if there was a hot girl in a hot campaign, then everybody wanted to use her. Molly’s interest in Summer’s career wasn’t entirely altruistic, however. Two days after Summer appeared in the
Sun
centre spread, Molly’s agent Eric Snowdon gave her a call for the first time in years. ‘Remember what Twiggy did for Marks and Spencer?’ he said. Apparently
Playboy
were also interested. The fee was huge but Molly reluctantly told Eric to turn them down. She gave him some faux-modest flannel about being too long in the tooth, but the truth was Molly was embarking on another career now. True, there were some men who liked seeing their girlfriends in
Playboy
. But not many. Not Marcus, not Adam, and certainly not Alex Delemere.

Molly was already at Le Caprice, flicking through a copy of
Tatler
, when Summer arrived to a flurry of platitudes from the maître d’. She put down the magazine to embrace her daughter and kiss her fondly.

‘It’s so nice being able to do lunch,’ gushed Molly as they sat down. ‘And table seven,’ she whispered, referring to the restaurant’s most sought-after spot.

‘Shall we get a bottle of wine?’

‘Actually yes,’ smiled Summer, who usually stuck to water at lunchtime. ‘We have something to celebrate.’

‘Yes, we do,’ said Molly, already speed-reading the list of champagnes. ‘I’ve been doing some thinking and I’ve decided to become your manager.’

Summer felt a blur of conflicting emotions all at once: flattered and excited that her mother thought that much of her, but insulted and mildly panicked that Molly would now be controlling her life even more than before. Summer didn’t need a shrink to tell her that the thing she had really enjoyed about the Karenza campaign was that she had done it all herself without any interference from her mother.

‘But I already have an agent,’ said Summer quietly.

‘Different things, darling. IMP are fabulous and you need them for shoots, but they’ve got hundreds of other great girls on their books who are essentially in competition with you. I, on the other hand, will proactively steer your career in the direction I think you should take.’

‘Which is what?’ said Summer suspiciously.

‘Darling, you could be the new Heidi Klum.’ She stabbed her fork into her tomato galette.

‘Heidi’s the cleverest model out there. She knows she’s not the most cutting-edge girl on the circuit, but does she go crying into a copy of
Spoon
magazine? No. She’s designing for Birkenstock and jewellery houses, making millions with Victoria’s Secret. And she still makes the cover of American
Elle
. Modelling’s not everything, darling. It’s just the start.’

Summer took a breath. ‘Thanks for the offer, Molly. But don’t you think you’re too busy with the job at Midas?’

Ignoring her, Molly pressed on. ‘I don’t know why you are bothering with this presenting business. It’s not really the right image.’

‘Heidi Klum does TV.’

‘She also gets to be executive producer,’ said Molly sagely.

Summer felt herself bristle. Filming in Monaco had been the most fun she’d ever had working. Already she had been to a production meeting at Silverland Media and had spent an hour bouncing ideas around, brainstorming episodes and even coming up with ideas for other shows she could be
involved in. She had loved it and she was not going to let Molly sabotage it.

‘Mother, I’m not going to—’

‘At least you’ll be going to the right places with this TV thing, I suppose,’ interrupted Molly. Summer looked surprised at her mother’s turnabout. ‘Because my number one priority is to find you a boyfriend.’

Summer sighed. So Molly hadn’t changed her tune, after all; she just wanted to get her married off to some fat hairy millionaire.

‘I mean, have you even had a date since you’ve been back in London?’ asked Molly.

Summer shrugged. She had had plenty of men offer to take her on dates, alright. They stopped her on the streets, at the gym, on photo-shoots, but she liked to keep her distance. For a moment she allowed herself to think about Charlie McDonald, wondering if he had ever got his record deal. Molly grabbed her daughter’s hand across the white starched tablecloth.

‘Darling, you are the star of the sexiest ad campaign of the summer and you should be capitalizing on this. Plenty of good men have become available recently, and we all know they don’t hang around for very long. I’m going to set you up on a date.’

Summer couldn’t help but giggle nervously. ‘I thought you wanted to be my manager, not my pimp.’

Molly threw down her fork. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! I’m your mother and I want the best for you. I always have.’

Maybe Molly was right. It was a long time since she had had any fun; she could do with some male company. No, it wouldn’t do any harm to go on one date, would it?

It wasn’t exactly a blind date. Molly had taken Summer out for dinner to Cipriani and had invited half a dozen friends,
who spent the entire evening knocking back Bellinis and talking excitedly about where they were spending the summer. It was like an episode of ‘On Heat’, Summer thought to herself with a smile. She found herself seated next to Ricardo Lantis, a second-generation Panamanian businessman whose family had made millions in supplying food to supermarket chains around the world. He looked in his early forties; skin tanned, expensively dressed in a blue open-necked shirt, a hint of black chest hair. Ricardo had a permanently serious expression, but lively green eyes and his powerful charisma made up for his rather average looks. Molly had whispered that he had a house in Belgravia and a sprawling estate on Mykonos, where he held the ‘most decadent’ parties every July.

‘It’s impossible to think why we have never met before,’ said Ricardo to Summer as his lobster linguine arrived.

‘It’s probably because I’ve been living in Japan for the last four years,’ she said. ‘It’s been strange coming back. Things seem to have changed completely.’

‘Well, you must let me show you around,’ he said, pouring her a glass of Chablis. ‘London is so underrated, but it is far more exciting than Tokyo, Paris, New York, or wherever your modelling exploits have been taking you.’ He paused, ‘Your mother’s been telling me all about your glittering career.’

Summer wondered how well he knew her mother. She was intrigued by Ricardo, but found him a little intimidating, with his stories of international business. He told her he had studied law at Harvard, but he quit his studies at the age of twenty-four when the lure of the family business – one of the biggest wholesale food businesses in the world – became too much to resist. Now Ricardo was a multimillionaire and commuted between Panama City and London twice twice weekly. On top of that success, he had
climbed the Matterhorn, competed in a triathlon and was a black belt in tae kwon do. He was the archetypal alpha male; just the sort her mother approved of.

When the dinner party disbanded, Ricardo proposed leading a party in the direction of Annabel’s, but Summer made her excuses – she had a meeting at a cosmetics giant in the morning – a possible campaign, said her agent.

‘Oh come on, darling,’ hissed Molly, who was clearly taking advantage of the fact that Marcus was in Dubai on business.

‘I can’t, mum,’ said Summer. ‘Tomorrow is business.’

As they waited in the street for their drivers, Ricardo asked Summer for her number.

‘How about we do dinner on Thursday?’ he said, handing her a card. ‘I’ll send the car to collect you at eight. You can text me your address beforehand.’

As she pulled away in a taxi, Summer sank back in the seat with a satisfied feeling. Her mother certainly seemed pleased for once, and Ricardo was interesting company. Not drop-dead gorgeous but, yes, he was certainly attractive. She closed her eyes and began to look forward to Thursday.