Page 46 of Gold Diggers

r.

‘It’s creative,’ she said, her face flushing slightly, ‘and kind of romantic too. You come across a building. Maybe it’s neglected, or no one wants it, or maybe everybody wants it and you have to head the competition off at the pass. You develop it, nurture it, and then, just as you’ve got it how you want it, you have to let it go.’

Adam was smiling to himself and nodding. ‘I’ve always thought the process was a little like a love affair, too.’

His green gaze met hers and Erin felt a flutter of excitement. ‘You won’t know this,’ said Adam, ‘but Eleanor handed her notice in to me this morning. She’s going back to New York.’

‘Eleanor leaving!’ said Erin. ‘But I thought she was devoted to you.’

‘Well, it seems “was” is the word,’ he smiled. ‘Apparently I worked her so hard she didn’t socialize, never went to parties or bars and consequently she never met anyone. But then a couple of weeks before she was due to come to England, she fell in love with some guy who works for FedEx who kept coming into the office to pick up my packages.’

‘You can’t begrudge her that,’ laughed Erin.

‘Of course, I’m happy for her. Anyway, that leaves a vacancy as my executive assistant.’ He paused and stared at her while Erin felt her heart stop.

‘Me?’ she asked quietly.

‘Erin. This is a considerable step up from what you’re doing now. This isn’t just diary dates and RSVPing to parties. You have to be my eyes and ears. You’ll be making decisions that affect the company. You know that some CEO’s exec assistants have MBAs from Harvard? Well, you’ve got my faith.’

Erin’s head whirled. Adam made it sound like an honour. He made her feel special. He made her feel wanted. Erin looked at Adam and she wanted him right back.

‘I won’t let you down,’ she said.

21

Clutching a handful of retouched photographs from the Anguilla shoot, Karin took her freshly squeezed raspberry juice out onto her bedroom’s roof terrace to decide which of the glorious images of Summer Sinclair she was going to use for the Karenza swimwear campaign. For the first week of April it was unusually warm. The air smelt fresh, of grass, spring flowers and promise. It was the perfect morning to plot, plan and think, if only there wasn’t that terrible clatter coming from the guest bedroom.

This is the last time I play Good Samaritan, thought Karin crossly, swatting the photographs down on the wrought-iron table. Out of the goodness of her heart, Karin had allowed Christina to move in. It was only a temporary arrangement, she had made that clear – or at least she thought she had. Karin tutted and tried to read her copy of Vanity Fair, but she just knew she was about to get summoned at any moment.

‘Kay! Kay!’ Christina’s shrill voice cut through the peace. Used to a maid, chef, butler and masseur at her beck and call, Christina was seemingly unable to grasp the fact that Karin was not hired help. She was constantly bombarded with requests, demands and criticisms of her lifestyle: ‘What do you mean you don’t have a chauffeur? You drive yourself?’ ‘What’s the thread count on these sheets?’

‘Karin,’ said the voice, more irritable now.

‘What do you want?’

‘I need you.’

Sighing, Karin got up and stalked back through her bedroom and onto the landing, where Christina was standing in a pair of ivory silk pyjamas, one sleeve rolled up. She looked pathetic and helpless and Karin instantly regretted her irritation; after all, Christina had been through a lot since they had returned from St Barts. Ariel was petitioning for divorce on the grounds of adultery, and Jamie Bacon, their new organic gardener, had been cited in the papers. Christina was stunned – it was the only time in the seven-year marriage she had been unfaithful and she’d been caught out royally first time. She knew that British divorce law was not apportioned on blame, but she didn’t want to take any chance with the settlement.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Karin. ‘Do you want to borrow a dressing gown? I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with La Perla.’

‘I don’t want a dressing gown,’ said Christina tartly, ‘I want you to go and get a camera.’

‘A camera, whatever for?’ asked Karin, following Christina into the guest bedroom, which was crowded with Goyard trunks and shoe boxes, couture dresses spilling over every surface. She grimaced at the mess. She hated mess.

‘I want you to take a photograph of this!’ said Christina dramatically, rolling up the sleeve of her ivory silk pyjama top to expose a slim, tanned arm. Just below the shoulder was an ugly lilac and blue bruise.

‘Urgh! What’s that?’ asked Karin.

‘A huge fucking bruise! What does it look like?’ snapped Christina, pushing it in front of Karin’s nose. ‘Go on, get the camera out. I need a picture.’

‘Whatever for?’ asked Karin, examining her friend’s skin more closely.

‘Evidence,’ replied Christina flatly.

‘Did Ariel do this?’ whispered Karin, frowning. ‘He didn’t hit you, did he?’

For a moment Christina refused to meet her friend’s eye. ‘Not exactly,’ she replied.