Summer frowned. ‘No, she didn’t. Perhaps you better had.’
‘Darling, everything I do is in your best interests,’ said Molly, sitting back on the sofa and examining her teeth in a silver compact mirror. Summer had only just arrived home from the Norfolk shoot when Molly had breezed in to show her the results of a Wimpole Street teeth-whitening session. Summer hated confrontation at the best of times – especially with her mother – but she was so angry at Molly’s meddling that, for once, she couldn’t keep it in.
On the journey back from Norfolk, Summer had tried to rationalize why Molly had lied to Charlie McDonald, but there was no obvious, acceptable explanation, and it incensed Summer even more that her mother was showing no signs of remorse.
‘You lied to me and you lied to Charlie McDonald,’ said Summer with irritation. ‘How could lying be in my best interests? You had no right to send him away and tell him I had a boyfriend. He’s a great guy.’ The force of Summer’s feelings surprised her.
‘Oh, I had every right,’ said Molly, coolly snapping her compact shut and looking at Summer with disdain.
‘When a third-rate male model turns up at your hous
e and starts sniffing around, a mother has to act. I mean, honestly Summer, he was so unkempt that at first I thought he was homeless.’
‘You weren’t to know he was about to get a million-pound record deal,’ replied Summer sarcastically.
‘Hmm, that was unfortunate, yes. But things have worked out for the best, haven’t they?’ said Molly. ‘If you’d have started a relationship with this Charlie, Adam Gold would have slipped through the net. This boy’s record deal might sound like a lot of money, but, believe me, once he’s paid his record company back for tours and videos, there’s not that much left over.’
Summer laughed incredulously. ‘It’s always about money with you, isn’t it? But you’re missing the point as usual, mother. It’s not about who’s better off, or even who I prefer.’
‘Then what the hell is it about?’ snapped Molly.
‘It’s about the fact that you lied to me, mother. It’s about you interfering in my life and trying to manipulate my choices and decisions.’
The night with Ricardo Lantis suddenly slipped into Summer’s head, and she tried to blot it out immediately. There was no point making this conversation any more complicated than it needed to be, but it gave her added resolve to be strong.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Summer, I’m only trying to do the best for you, it’s all I ever do. What do you want from me?’
‘I want my life back, mother. I don’t want you interfering in it again.’
Molly stood up suddenly, her eyes flashing and angry. ‘Don’t talk to me about interfering,’ she yelled.
Summer recoiled in surprise and fear.
‘You are the one who has interfered in my life since the day you were born. I could have had everything without you. The brilliant career, the rich husband; but how could I, with you hanging around?’
At first Summer was too shocked to speak. The unspoken resentment that Summer had felt underpinning their life together had finally surfaced, was finally out in the open.
‘Don’t, mother, please,’ cried Summer.
‘Even when I found someone, you had to poke your nose in and spoil it for me, didn’t you?’ said Molly, looking at her daughter sourly. ‘You and Graham bloody Daniels deceived me perfectly, didn’t you, with your filthy little goings-on. I devote my life to you and that’s how you repaid me? Think about that before you start accusing me of meddling in your life.’
‘Stop it, stop it!’ screamed Summer, sinking to the floor sobbing. ‘Stop it, stop it!’ she repeated over and over again, her hands over her ears, her eyes tightly shut. Without another word Molly left the flat.
57
The beautiful Ibizan finca La Toreador had been taken out on a three-week August rental by Diana and Martin which, as far as Karin was concerned, was perfect timing. August was a flat month in the fashion industry, and it neatly coincided with her thirty-second birthday. Arriving at the finca on the eastern coast of the island late on Friday morning, she knew that Adam was going to love it. He wasn’t due to arrive until later that evening, but as Diana had arranged for Karin to get a lift on a private jet owned by one of Martin’s friends, Karin figured she was better off getting to La Toreador sooner rather than later. Besides, she smiled to herself, shielding her eyes as she gazed up into the cornflower-blue sky, the extra hours at the villa meant that she could have a beautiful tan in time for that evening’s soiree.
Having been shown to her room by the housekeeper, Karin took a few minutes to wander around the villa, before joining the other guests who were out by the pool. It was a huge whitewashed finca on the side of a hill overlooking the eastern coastline. It had recently been featured in Russian Vogue and it was easy to see why they had called it the last word in rustic chic. Expensively pared down, it had white voile curtains wafting in a soft breeze, the colour scheme was cream and chocolate brown, while the furniture was a mixture of rattan and heavier, more expensive pieces of oak. There were ceiling fans and big squashy beds covered with Portuguese linens, while at the window were pots of lavender and bougainvillea and orange, peach and lemon trees growing in the garden. In the 1960s, La Toreador’s bacchanalian parties had been legendary, and it hadn’t slowed down much since – only the week before it had hosted a supermodel and her rock-star boyfriend with a legendary drug habit.
Karin had a shower and changed into a skimpy snakeskin Karenza bikini, with a dramatic décolletage with low hipster pants. She smothered herself in a factor four suntan oil that smelt of coconut and lime, then fastened a sheer brown sarong around her slim waist. She then made her way to the back of the finca, where a huge kidney-shaped pool shimmered in the hot Balearic sun. Although it was almost lunchtime, a couple of people were having a very late breakfast under a vanilla-coloured parasol, while the rest of Diana’s house guests were lounging around the pool on a mixture of sun-loungers and big white day beds. At the sound of Karin’s bejewelled flip-flops clattering across the terrace, Diana swung off her sun-lounger, her voluminous fuchsia kaftan billowing in the breeze.
‘The birthday girl!’ she smiled, spreading her arms in extravagant declaration, ‘Now the party can really start!’
Karin embraced her friend and narrowly avoided knocking her oversized Gucci sunglasses with her own huge Prada shades as they air-kissed a greeting.
Diana tapped one of the white-coated Hispanic-looking waiters on the arm. ‘A cocktail for the new arrival please!’ she said, before showing Karin to a sun-lounger next to hers. ‘How incredible is the finca? I told you, didn’t I? Turns out that the owner used to be a stylist before she met her husband. Now all she does is shop for herself, never other people. Isn’t that fabulous?’
‘Who’s here then?’ asked Karin, sipping her drink. Diana wafted a manicured hand across the swimming pool.