‘Oh, hello,’ said Molly flatly.
‘Expecting somebody else?’ said Karin archly. ‘Oh, yes. It was Adam wasn’t it?’
‘And what is that supposed to mean?’ asked Molly, her disappointment turning to anger.
‘Oh, has the strain of making lunch taken the edge off your razor-sharp mind?’ said Karin flatly. ‘You’ll work it out.’
‘I’ll have you know I worked very hard on—’
‘Oh give me a break,’ mocked Karin. ‘I’d be very surprised if you could boil an egg. I’m not entirely sure how long you can keep us this Martha Stewart charade up, but at least Marcus seems taken in by it. By the way, what happened to poor Harry Levin after you got him to pay for all that Mozambique rain-forest?’
‘Leave Harry out of this,’ said Molly thinly.
‘The Standlings was a more attractive proposition than a discount tit job?’
Molly was staring at Karin with undisguised rage. ‘You rude bitch,’ she whispered.
Karin shrugged. ‘Astute rather than rude, I think you’ll find.’
Molly took two steps towards Karin, making her flinch. The horse caught the movement and tossed its head, snorting. ‘Ooh, feeling nervous are we, Karin?’ smiled Molly, taking another step. ‘I don’t think you liked Adam’s suggestion that he and I start working closely together.’
‘Don’t you mean waitressing at a few of the firm’s parties?’ scoffed Karin. ‘No sweetheart, I’m not really worried about that.’
‘You should be,’ said Molly, her eyes narrowing. ‘You really should be.’
The overt challenge made Karin catch her breath and fired up her fury. ‘Don’t even think about threatening me, you opportunitistic whore,’ spat Karin, unable to keep her cool.
‘You’re just a washed-up, gold-digging little coke-head. It might take Adam and Marcus a little while to see it, but we both know what’s under that sweet smile.’ She moved down the stables towards Molly, slapping a riding crop against her thigh.
‘This little setup with Marcus is the very best that an old hag like you is going to ever get, so I’d hang on to it, darling,’ she said. ‘Don’t think that you can trade it up for something shinier, because you can’t. He’s mine.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Molly coolly, putting her hands on her hips and standing her ground, the two women now facing each other, eyes locked. ‘For someone who’s not threatened, you sound awfully rattled.’
‘Rattled?’ laughed Karin smugly. ‘I don’t think so. In the meantime, a word of advice …’ She smiled sweetly and pointed the whip at Molly. ‘Don’t ever think about crossing me, Molly, because, if you do, I will become the biggest bitch you’ve ever seen.’
They stood there, neither woman moving an inch, until suddenly Olympia whinnied and stamped, breaking the deadlock.
‘Coming, sweetie!’ called Karin, still not taking her eyes off Molly. Then she turned on her heel and walked back to the horse, taking the reins to lead him out of the door.
‘Oh, and Molly?’ she said, turning and throwing the riding crop so that it went skittering across the cobbles to land at Molly’s feet. ‘I think you might be needing that more than me.’
22
Adam Gold personally received about 5000 items of post a week. Gifts from clients, promotional items from companies keen to get the Midas Corporation using their goods or services, letters begging for money, letters begging for jobs, even crazed paternity demands from women Adam had never met. It was Erin’s job in her new role as Adam’s executive assistant to sift through this mountain and dig out the possible gold: speculative brochures and particulars of property for sale that Adam might be interested in looking at. In a single day she would come across lighthouses, stately homes, rows of terraces in inner-city slum areas, even billboards and telegraph poles, all up for sale, all wanting Adam Gold’s attention.
It had not taken Erin long to work out the sort of things Adam would be interested in. Acres of wasteland in strategic locations, interesting architecture, hotels with heritage. If it was struggling to gain planning permission, so much the better: Adam had the planners in his pocket. That particular morning, Erin was leafing through a high-end estate-agent’s brochure, flipping past more of the same – Edwardian terraces, new-build faux-farmhouses, bland country estates – when suddenly she stopped. It was gorgeous. A perfectly formed Georgian terrace. It instantly reminded her of Peony House, only a pocket-sized version. She quickly read the particulars. The location was hardly Belgravia: it was in a little pocket in Crystal Palace. Erin felt elated, excited. And slowly an idea began to germinate. She had spent the last four months sitting outside the office of one of the greatest property developers in the Western world. She had listened. She had learned. She had met scores of businessmen and-women who had started with next to nothing and had built up a development fortune. Property. It was the way to make money for people in a hurry. And Erin was starting to get itchy feet.
Jeremy Sergeant, head of auction sales at Rachman Estate Agents, had been having a bad day when Erin had called. His girlfriend of seven months, Miranda Coulston, was having a hissy fit because Jeremy was taking his mother instead of her to the Rachman annual party. This meant that Miranda would not get to meet – and, as she saw it, seduce and possibly marry – George Rachman, the super-loaded, very single owner of the business. Not that Miranda was expressing it in those terms. ‘You can forget about ever seeing that Myla lingerie you bought me,’ was how she put it. And she had already called him three times that morning to remind him. When Erin walked into his office, however, wearing a Marc Jacobs skirt so short that it made him swallow his morning latte rather too quickly, Jeremy’s day began to improve.
He had fixed the appointment immediately when she had called him, introducing
herself as an executive from the Midas Corporation. Sergeant knew all about Adam Gold – who didn’t? Midas was one of the biggest players in London now and, to anyone with an interest in property, Adam Gold was a superstar. Jeremy was actually feeling a little nervous about meeting someone who worked alongside him.
‘Good of you to see me,’ smiled Erin with a confidence she didn’t feel, handing him one of the generic Midas Corporation business cards she kept in her top drawer. ‘Let me get straight to the point,’ she said, after he had shown her into his office. ‘I work very closely with Mr Gold but, as you can imagine, he delegates a lot of the smaller acquisitions.’
Jeremy Sergeant smiled to himself and nodded. She was awfully young, he thought, but terribly pretty. Typical of the Americans to surround themselves with gorgeous little ball-breakers like this one. He offered a cup of tea and then settled back in his Eames chair to admire the view. Erin snapped open her briefcase and took out the auction brochure.
‘So, how can I help you?’ he asked. ‘Will a representative of the Midas Corporation be attending the auction on the fifth? As I’m sure you’ve seen, there’s a lot of fabulous property with bags of potential. Longton Ness, for example …’