Page 54 of Gold Diggers

As soon as the words came out of Karin’s mouth, she knew she had made a huge mistake. She cursed herself. Had she learnt nothing over the years? Women like Molly were cunning and clever and they pushed all the right buttons, while men were always completely blind to their scheming. But striking back at her only served to make Karin look bitchy and paranoid. She could see she was right; Adam was shaking his head, a disappointed look on his face.

‘I’m gonna take a shower,’ he said.

Karin sat on the bed and nodded, looking out at the sunset again, which was now draining to dark. Suddenly her hold on this fabulous life didn’t seem quite so strong.

Molly and Sarah were getting on famously. Lying back on the top deck of The Pledge, they were drinking cocktails and giggling like old friends.

‘Tell me again about that

time you met Rod Stewart,’ laughed Sarah, knocking back her fourth Martini which, she had to admit, did taste so much better with a twist of lemon; Molly knew so much good stuff. Molly was also having a great time, having found an audience for all the anecdotes about the rich and famous she had accumulated over the years, but which impressed nobody in her circle of friends. She also found Sarah spunky and great fun; she wished her own daughter could be more like her.

‘Oh, Molly, I need a rich man,’ moaned Sarah, throwing her arms in the air dramatically. ‘I’m sexy, I’m available, where are they all?’

‘Well, you’re not going to find one like that,’ laughed Molly.

‘How do you mean?’ said Sarah, sitting up and paying attention.

‘Think rich, get rich, my dear,’ she smiled knowingly, raising her glass for emphasis.

‘Okay, so how do I do that? In fact, how do I know who’s even rich?’ asked Sarah, swivelling her head to gaze up and down the rows of yachts sandwiched together along the quayside.

‘Everybody’s rich here, darling,’ smiled Molly. She was beginning to feel drunk and a bit frisky. Having ensured that every last detail for the party was in place, Molly had finally passed the hands-on organizational duties to one of the junior members of the Midas events team. Having worked hard, Molly felt it was definitely time to play hard, and from where she was sitting she could see ten of the world’s top thirty biggest motor yachts. It was the world’s greatest playground.

‘But who’s everyone?’ insisted Sarah, her words a little slurred.

‘Oh, Eddie Jordan, Flavio Briatore,’ began Molly, pointing to their yachts and quickly pointing out a dozen more from her impressive database of wealth. ‘See the big ones at the end?’ she said, pointing to the far end of the marina. ‘They will belong to people like Paul Allen, the Microsoft billionaire: he has one of the biggest yachts in the world – and one of the biggest bank balances, of course. And the others –’ she swept her arm back down the harbour ‘– well, they’re all still pretty rich. Darling, Monaco is just one of the biggest melting pots of rich men in the world. Americans, Russians, Greeks, they all come.’

‘And who’s the best?’ asked Sarah eagerly.

Molly laughed. ‘I prefer the oilmen.’

‘Oilmen?’

‘O-I-L,’ smiled Molly. ‘Old, ill and loaded.’

Sarah pulled a face. ‘Ooh, I don’t think I could manage an old man,’ she said, shivering. ‘What about the real oilmen, all the Russians and Arabs?’

‘Well, Russians tend to go for other Russians – models usually. Plus they almost always have wives because they marry young. The oil sheiks from Brunei, Saudi, the Emirates and so on are generous but don’t expect a relationship. Plus, they usually have five or six wives. Americans? Well, take your pick. Movie types are either sexually uptight or kinky. Miami guys are total druggies or total playboys. New Yorkers – they’re fun but, baby, you’d better take good care of yourself.’

Sarah was waving her hand in the air for another Martini. ‘What do you mean, “take good care of yourself”?’

Molly leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Gary, an investment banker I once dated, used to check my bikini line every time we made love. He loved me clean-shaven and if it was beginning to look a bit chicken-plucked down there, he would run a mile.’

Sarah brayed with laughter, spilling her cocktail. ‘So what did you do?’

‘Got a waxer on speed dial.’

Sarah sighed heavily. ‘It’s time I met some decent men. London is shit for it.’

‘Well, maybe you’re looking in the wrong places,’ smiled Molly.

‘How about you show me the right places to look then?’

The older woman laughed. ‘You’re on. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

Sarah looked up as she heard a clatter of flip-flops moving along the top deck towards them.

‘Summer,’ she squealed, ‘come and join the party. Your mum is just about to take me yacht-hopping.’