‘Our Surrey place. You know, I find it so fucking boring out there, but then he came along, Jamie, and now I can’t keep away from the place … Honestly, Kay, Ariel is so uptight these days. I’m not sure he can cope with a business that size,’ she said. ‘Anyway, he’s making me feel so stupid and awkward these days, that the arrival of Jamie on the scene is such a release.’
Karin laughed out loud, beginning to feel a little bit better.
‘And, honey, you’ll find a way to fix it too,’ said Christina, putting her hand over her friend’s, the diamonds on her fingers sparkling in the sun. ‘You’ll fix the situation with Adam, if you want it to be fixed.’
Karin nodded. Christina was right; she had spent a lifetime getting what she wanted and, at thirty-one, at the height of her power, the height of her beauty, she wasn’t going to let that situation change any time soon.
They stayed at Nikki Beach for a couple of hours until the cheesy Europop and self-satisfied Eurotrash spraying Cristal into the swimming pool started to grate. They moved on to Cartier, where Christina enquired about the possibility of a custom-made piece. Legend had it that, many years ago, Mexican actress Maria Felix had gone into Cartier in Paris with her pet baby crocodile and requested its likeness be fashioned into a diamond and emerald necklace. Christina had decided that she wanted something just as personal and unique, although she couldn’t decide if she wanted a brooch in the shape of her chihuahua Kiki or a tiara in the image of a dolphin in honour of the Big Blue. By the time they reached the harbour’s edge in Gustavia, the turquoise water had already deepened to cerulean in the late afternoon sun.
‘Have I had too many cocktails, or am I seeing things?’ asked Christina, looking unusually puzzled.
Karin had noticed it too. The Big Blue, which only hours before had taken centre stage in the sweeping crescent of Gustavia Harbour, was no longer there.
‘Shouldn’t it be where it was?’
Christina looked perplexed. ‘Maybe Ariel’s got bored and they’ve taken it round the bay,’ she said, dipping her hand into the Birkin to pull out her phone. ‘Let me call him.’
She angrily pressed a few buttons and cradled the phone to her ear.
‘Dammit, it’s going straight to voicemail. Where is he? This is fucking ridiculous!’
Karin instinctively knew something was wrong from the wobble in Christina’s voice, a feeling that was confirmed when a black Mercedes pulled up beside them at the dock.
A stocky man holding an attaché case climbed out. ‘Mrs Levy. Good afternoon,’ said the man.
‘And who are you?’ asked Christina haughtily.
‘Barry Rosen. I’m a colleague
of your husband’s. I have been instructed by Mr Levy to give you these,’ he said, handing her a large brown envelope before turning back to the car. He opened the rear door and pulled out a suitcase that Karin immediately recognized as her own.
‘I do believe these are all your belongings, Ms Cavendish?’ he said politely, placing the case on the dockside. ‘Mr Levy says he is terribly sorry to inconvenience you, but he has booked you into the Eden Rock hotel in St Jean, for which he will naturally pick up the bill.’
‘What the hell is going on?’ said Christina, her voice beginning to quaver. ‘Where the fuck is the boat? Where the fuck is Ariel?’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to contact your husband for those details,’ said Rosen, before climbing back into the Mercedes.
‘Where is he?’ screamed Christina as the car pulled away. ‘Where’s my fucking boat?’
She tore open the envelope and scanned the contents, letting out a long guttural cry of despair as the truth sank in. Christina’s legs buckled and she crumpled to the ground like a wounded animal.
Karin pulled the sheets of paper from Christina’s trembling fingers and put an arm around her friend’s shoulder to comfort her as she read them. There in black and white was confirmation that the lifestyle she had so coveted could collapse like a house of cards. Divorce papers. The Big Blue wasn’t coming back.
Even though her body was telling her it was still the middle of the night, Erin could tell from the light pouring through a crack in the curtain that it was morning. She got out of bed, threw back the curtains and apricot light flooded into the room; the first bright sunny morning of the year. She took a deep breath and smiled. There was nothing like sunshine to remind her of home and, although she badly needed rest after her exhausting week, the lure of a perky spring morning was too strong; she knew she had to get out of the flat. Knocking at Chris’s door, she was mildly disappointed when a woman had answered, but Chris had been good enough to offer her use of his bicycle and a dog-eared A – Z and she felt a small thrill of excitement at the prospect of exploring London on two wheels.
She bumped the bike down onto the street and swung into the saddle, feeling suddenly full of energy as she pedalled away. Her legs were still strong and fit from the daily walks she used to take in Cornwall, but this time the view was very different. No cliffs, hawthorn bushes and crashing waves. Instead it was red buses, black cabs and street-corner newspaper vendors. Everywhere she looked there were people: families popping into the deli, tired-looking workers coming back from late-night shifts and giggly girls in party clothes from the night before. She coasted down Rosebery Avenue, past the stately Inns of Court, by-passing the West End, bloated with shoppers and tourists, and made her way along the river, watching the boats tug up and down, the steely water twinkling in the sunshine. She kept pedalling until she found herself in Battersea, right by the crumbling power station. This part of town had never registered on her radar before now, but as she stood there by the river, she could feel the energy of the place, the air of expectation that surrounded an area in the middle of a regeneration as developers injected life back into the old buildings. She had always thought you had to be a writer or a painter to create, but here, in the heart of the metropolis, she could see that creativity was being driven by commerce. It was the developers and the businesses that were forcing this organic city to grow, building new places where people would live, work, eat and fall in love. Jilly was wrong to dismiss London as a faceless, impersonal wasteland where only fat-cat corporations could prosper. Here Erin could see little cafés, bars, boutiques and small businesses springing up, their owners full of excitement and expectation and she felt herself energized by the place.
She wheeled her bicycle a little bit further along the towpath and took a few random turns down backstreets, remembering a favourite game of when she was little – getting lost. Finally, she stopped outside a long row of black railings where she chained up the bike. There was a thick wedge of privets behind the railing, which made Erin instantly wonder what was behind them. She followed the railings until she found a rusty gate. Feeling a little naughty, she pushed it open and poked her head inside.
It was a beautiful old red-brick building. Its walls had been scrawled with graffiti, the windows were covered with chipboard, the drainpipes covered in moss. But the building itself was wonderful; proud and Gothic and just a little eerie, as if it had been an old workhouse. She looked up at the roof, which was missing half its slates, and thought that all those rooms hiding in its eaves would have magnificent views of the river and the Albert Bridge. She took out her mobile phone and used its little camera to capture the building’s image. It was perfect for a Midas Corporation boutique development. She would find out who owned it and report it to Adam immediately. That would put a smile on his face.
19
Karin Cavendish was not at home to Adam Gold. She did not answer her mobile, screened her calls and refused to accept the huge bouquets and neatly wrapped gifts he sent to her home and office. Adam had started bombarding Karin with phone calls the second she had left Anguilla, but she had made him wait. On the third day after she’d returned from St Barts, she finally took his call.
‘Well?’ she asked.
‘I want to make it up to you,’ said Adam.