Gold Diggers (54 page)

Once
Krakatoa
had finished filming, and word spread about what an exciting new acting talent Summer Sinclair was, she was inundated with offers of roles. With money in the bank and a lot more promised, she moved to a bright, airy apartment in Chelsea that overlooked the Albert Bridge, which twinkled gloriously and made every night feel like Christmas. She also began getting to know James Bailey. An art teacher who lived in Dorset, he had a warm and friendly wife who had welcomed Summer with a generosity she had never encountered before, while James’s two teenager daughters Katie and Alice couldn’t believe their luck at having
the
Summer Sinclair as a half-sister. It was going to take a long time to catch up on all the wasted years but she had the rest of her life to do it. She had spent years looking for a father figure but, now that she had one, she wondered how she could ever have found the forty-something men on the Cipriani and Chinawhite circuit attractive.

At the
Krakatoa
premiere in London, with the paparazzi screaming her name and glowing reviews in the trade papers, she couldn’t believe how far she’d come in the last twelve
months. After her ectopic pregnancy and the end of her relationship with Adam, she had felt that she could never feel happy again. She smiled to herself and turned behind her, where Charlie McDonald was signing autographs for screaming girls behind the crash barrier. In a midnight-blue suit, his blondy-brown hair flopping onto his face, he looked gorgeous.

Charlie looked up and grinned. And, as their eyes met, the noise and people seemed to bleed away until it was just the two of them.

Lovers. Friends.

He walked over to Summer and whispered in her ear. ‘Come on, honey. I think it’s time to go in.’

He squeezed her hand and she felt safe. Life got better all the time.

Adam Gold was investigated by the FSA. He vigorously denied receiving any tips about share purchases of Ginsui and, since there was little or no evidence to the contrary, he was cleared of insider dealing. His appearance at the FSA’s Canary Wharf offices did not however, go unnoticed, and Midas Corporation’s share price wobbled. For six months it looked as if the company might even go under. But when Midas suddenly announced it was to build a thirty-acre residential, shopping and leisure complex by the Thames the company’s fortunes recovered. Adam climbed twenty-five places on the
Sunday Times
Rich List. He moved more heavily into philanthropy. A Karin Cavendish scholarship fund for gifted students at St Martin’s College of Art was one of several donations. Adam Gold is still single. Huge sums of money are exchanged at charity functions to sit next to him.

Christina Levy is about to move into Reggie Bryce’s twenty-bedroom mansion in Bel-Air which has a bowling alley, a
soccer pitch and en-suite everything. She considers herself to be going home. Reggie’s place is only fifteen miles away from Christina’s childhood home, a trailer in the Valley.

Diana Birtwell finally left Martin, who went running back to Tracey and their children. His Internet business promptly stalled. Diana is pregnant with an Icelandic sportswear millionaire, four hundred places above Martin on the
Sunday Times
Rich List.

Donna Delemere’s organic food empire goes from strength to strength. In time, Donna and Daniel forgave Alexander. Alex in turn grew to respect Donna for her sassy business skills and forgiveness.

Molly would have stood by Marcus during his time in prison; she had grown terribly fond of The Standlings. Marcus, however, had other ideas and insisted she moved out after his arrest. ‘It was all a sham,’ he’d told her after the trial. ‘I don’t love you. I love Karin.’

Molly posed nude for an American men’s magazine and is currently living off the proceeds. After bemoaning the lack of decent men in London – it was quite pathetic, she would tell anyone who would listen, how men were only interested in twenty-two-year-olds in skinny jeans – she decided that she could do worse than reunite with Harry Levin. He refuses to take her calls.

Marcus is serving ten years for manslaughter in HMP Risley. With good behaviour he is expected to get out in six.

Adam begged Erin to do two months’ notice. ‘This is the last thing you do for me. You’ve got a book to finish and a building to develop,’ he told her, promising to give her a large bonus for the duration of her stay at Midas. Erin’s last
job in his employment was to go and box up everything in Karin’s home.

‘I’m kind of going to miss him,’ she told Chris while they were taking silver photoframes from the expensive looking cabinets and covering them in bubble wrap.

Chris looked bruised. ‘You don’t feel anything for him still, do you?’ he asked, taking her hands and pulling her towards him.

She shook her head softly. She didn’t hate herself for falling for Adam. Every girl was allowed an unsuitable crush, an unrequited love. But true love was a different beast, she thought, looking at Chris. Love crept up quietly on you. She didn’t need the fancy restaurants or the private jet to have fun with Chris. She just needed him there. And, standing in Karin’s hallway, he had never looked more handsome; her feelings towards him had never been more certain.

‘There’s only one person I’m in love with, and he’s standing in front of me.’

‘In that case, I think we’re wasting money,’ he said with a smile.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Two apartments. How about, after this, we go home and move all your stuff into mine? I’ve got a feeling the landlord might let you off a month’s notice.’

He grinned, and Erin rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Stuff that,’ she laughed. ‘How about you move into mine?’

Suddenly it felt strange, laughing and kissing in Karin’s house, and they moved away from each other, speeding up the packing. The underfloor heating was turned off. It was the middle of November and the air had the sharp pinch of winter. It was quiet, still and haunting.

‘Who is going to get the house?’ asked Chris to fill the silence.

Erin shrugged. ‘Karin’s got no family, but there was a
will. Adam gets the house and most of her shares in the business. Can you believe she wanted Diana to have twenty per cent of her shares?’

‘Maybe she wasn’t all bad.’

Erin didn’t want to speak ill of the dead and said nothing. ‘Adam wants all the personal belongings boxed up so he can collect them later.’

‘Let’s split up. It’ll will be quicker. And I can’t wait to get you home,’ he grinned.

While Chris stayed downstairs to pack away Karin’s books into boxes, Erin went upstairs to her bedroom. What a beautiful room, she thought, standing gingerly at the doorway. Cold, bright sunlight flooded in through the long windows hung with heavy cream shot-silk drapes. The en-suite bathroom was still piled high with expensive beauty products and creams that would never be used. A white fluffy towel had a smudge of black mascara on it. She shuddered and walked to the wardrobe and opened it. A row of beautiful clothes, acres of silk and chiffon and tulle in all the colours of the rainbow.

She folded them carefully in layers of plastic and tissue and loaded tea chests until the closets were empty.

The last thing she had to clear was Karin’s dressing table, which was in front of the long windows that looked out onto the sleepy Kensington street. It was a beautiful piece of furniture. Venetian glass with carved black-wood legs and a tall concertina of mirrors in the shape of Doge windows, beautifully etched with flowers. Erin traced her fingers over it and smiled. If there was one thing she did not regret about this year, it was how she could recognize and appreciate beautiful things. That was a gift for life now. She sat on the stool, putting the bottles of perfume into a shoe box, her jewellery into a leather pouch she had found in the dressing room. Hundreds of thousands of pounds’ worth of things,
folded and stored away in boxes. What would be the fate of all these beautiful things, she wondered? Finally she opened the drawer. It was empty except for a couple of bottles of nail polish, a silk scarf and a wooden box.

Erin heard footsteps at the door and turned round to see Chris.

‘Are you nearly ready? I bet the traffic is bad, so it will take us ages to get home.’

‘Nearly done,’ she said distractedly, holding the box in the palm of her hand and removing the lid. Sitting on the red velvet lining of the box was a small shiny silver object.

‘Wow, that’s nice,’ said Chris, picking it up and feeling the satisfying heaviness between his fingertips.

‘What is it?’ asked Erin.

He held it up between his thumb and forefinger to show her. ‘A cigar cutter. It’s a beauty,’ he whistled. ‘Solid silver. Asprey,’ he continued, looking at the hallmark.

Erin took it from him. Her fingerprint left a greasy smudge on the metal.

‘Look, there’s a message on it. “Dear Seb. All my love. K.” I wonder why she’s kept this locked away in a box?’

‘I dunno. Who’s Seb, anyway?’

‘Karin’s husband who died last year. He fell off a yacht in Turkey and drowned. It was all pretty murky. For a while they didn’t know if he fell or was pushed. I heard that for a time they thought Karin might have done it, but the police decided it was an accident.’

‘She had a pretty tragic life really, didn’t she?’ said Chris, pulling on his coat and waiting for Erin to finish.

She closed her fingers around the cigar cutter. ‘Yes. I suppose she did.’

All my thanks to my husband John for making me laugh, making me finish and whose suggestions and editing make my work so much better.

To my mum and dad for surrounding me with books from an early age and always encouraging me to be creative. To my brothers and sister for their support and my son Fin for making me smile when a deadline is looming.

I couldn’t ask for better publishers than HarperCollins. A huge thank you to my wonderful editor Wayne Brookes, as good a dinner companion as he is a publisher. To Amanda Ridout for her enormous support and infectious enthusiasm. To the fantastic sales, marketing and press teams and art wizard Lee Motley – I appreciate all your work so much.

Continuing thanks to my agent Sheila Crowley and Judy-Meg Kennedy, Linda Shaughnessy, Teresa Nichols and Valentina Zanca at AP Watt (sorry for being so disorganised).

Thanks to all my friends to told me things I needed to know: Tamasin, Sam, Louise, Niki, Heids, Scott, Will, Jenny – I owe you all cocktails.

Last but by no means least, to all the wives and girlfriends of rich men who told me their secrets – thank you for the stories. Fact is sometimes more incredulous than fiction.

Tasmina Perry left a career in law for the glamorous world of women’s magazine journalism. She has written on celebrity and style for many national magazines including
Marie-Claire, Glamour
and
Heat
and was most recently Deputy Editor of
InStyle
magazine. She has also found time to launch her own travel and fashion magazine
Jaunt. Daddy’s Girls
and
Gold Diggers
were both
Sunday Times
bestsellers. She lives in Surrey with her husband and son. Author photograph by Paul Rider.