Gold Diggers. Tasmina Perry
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his factories. Karin was oblivious to this until the day her mother called her in Palm Beach to say that her father had wrapped his Rolls Royce around a lamppost.
She had returned to Surrey immediately, but was an hour too late. She attended the funeral wearing Dior, sandwiched between her aunties and uncles in their East End market suits, and vowed that her destiny would be much bigger and better than this.
‘Darling! This place is just A-mazing,’ said Christina, kissing Karin on the cheek. ‘Ariel wants to know if it’s for sale.’
‘Actually, my wife is the one with the English country house obsession,’ corrected the chubby middle-aged man at Christina’s side.
‘Ariel, sweetie,’ said Karin, air-kissing him. ‘You already have an amazing English country house.’ The Levys had recently purchased a vast shooting estate in Yorkshire.
‘It’s too far and too draughty,’ said Christina, prompting her husband to turn purple. ‘But this is perfect. I could be in Harvey Nicks in thirty minutes and it’s got one of those Rapunzel towers. I wonder if there are bears in the grounds?’
‘Karin, can’t you do something about this bloody table plan?’ interrupted Martin Birtwell, Diana’s husband. Karin forced a smile. Of all her friends’ husbands, Martin was Karin’s least favourite. He was a loud, pompous, new-money bully: the complete opposite of elegant, refined Diana. When they had first married, their circle had considered it to be a good match. Diana was from a upper-crust family that had buckets of class but no money, while Martin had hustled his way onto the Rich List from an inner-city start. But Martin’s increasingly obvious drinking and Diana’s growing timidity made Karin suspect that, if not violent, Martin was certainly difficult to live with behind closed doors.
He sidled up to Karin and slid his hand around her waist. ‘Sort it out, sweetheart,’ he said, patting her on her bottom. ‘Pop us on the top table with you, eh? Our table is full of Diana’s New Age freaks from her colonics clinic. What if they want to examine our shit after the meal?’
‘I asked Martin to invite some of his friends, but I don’t think he was listening to me, as usual,’ said Diana.
Martin flashed her a threatening look and Karin was disturbed to see Diana flinch. It was such a shame she had picked so badly, she thought, because she looked so gorgeous in that white Grecian gown with an ivory mink stole across her shoulders.
‘But good luck with your table,’ whispered Diana with a knowing smile. ‘I’ve seen him, and he’s a dish.’
Karin smiled. ‘Talking of which, I really must fly.’
As the guests began to settle down into their seats, Karin moved regally through the sea of bodies, greeting as many people as she could, finally sitting down at a table at the end of the catwalk. She picked up a place setting between her manicured fingertip and turned to the gentleman on her left.
‘I believe I am next to you,’ she smiled.
Adam Gold turned and took Karin’s hand.
What a fox! she thought, slightly surprised. Short salt-and-pepper hair, a handsome, lightly tanned face with a firm jaw and a wide smiling mouth. His round, intelligent eyes were dark, like liquid chocolate, framed with thick black lashes.
How the hell has Adam Gold not been snapped up before now?
‘Great party,’ he smiled, eyes darting up and down her long jade gown.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Of course, you do know it’s all for you, don’t you?’ She instantly regretted her flirtation.
When Karin had telephoned Adam’s office to invite him personally to the party, she had only been able to get as far as his assistant. She had decided then and there that if Adam Gold did deign to attend, she was not going to treat him like anything special. Seeing how sexy he was, feeling his eyes undress her, she knew that was the correct approach. Men like Adam Gold would have had women flirting, simpering, flaunting themselves all their lives. It wouldn’t do any harm to make him work a bit.
Adam was laughing. ‘Well, thank you,’ he grinned. ‘But I’m sure you say that to all your guests.’
Karin smiled coolly. ‘Only the ones with the big cheque-books and a love of the environment.’
Adam laughed again. ‘Well, it’s good to know you’re not after me for my sparkling personality,’ he said. ‘Still, thanks for asking me. It’s been pretty crazy since I moved. There hasn’t been much time for socializing but apparently you’re the girl to know. Guess I got lucky sitting next to you.’
Luck didn’t have anything to do with it, thought Karin.
‘We’ll see, Mr Gold,’ she said. ‘The night is still young.’
The benefit was buzzing and so was Erin. She had spent the first half of the evening with her mouth hanging open as a throng of socialites and stars poured along the red carpet. She had met Daniel Craig and Ewan McGregor and felt woefully underdressed in her Next shift, surrounded as she was by the acres of silk and chiffon worn by all the glamorous female guests. She had been running on adrenaline since eight o’clock. As Karin had predicted, Erin had received literally hundreds of phone calls about everything from Strawberry Hill’s Ordnance Survey coordinates for a helicopter landing, to whether there was a fruitarian option on the menu. Talk about in at the deep end: three weeks ago the only event Erin had ever organized had been Richard’s twenty-first party in the upstairs of a pub in Exeter; now she was having to run a dinner for 800. She was exhausted, but it had barely got under way. The guests were tucking into their desserts – well, the men were, she smiled, watching the twiglet-slim wives play with the chocolate on their spoons. And if coffee was being served, that meant that the catwalk show was about to begin. At least that was one part of the night’s schedule that Erin didn’t have to worry about. Madeline Barker, Karin’s head of production, was in charge of supervising and coordinating the runway, so Erin knew she could take a five-minute breather.
She crept backstage which, in contrast to the sedate dining area, was a riot of bodies in motion. Tall, skinny models, pouring themselves into primary-coloured bikinis, dressers flapping around with tit-tape, high heels and jewellery. Hairdressers fussing with gels and clips and sprays, make-up artists in a cloud of bronzing powder, their fingers black with kohl. In the corner, seemingly oblivious to all this chaos, reading a dog-eared novel, was Alexia Dark, the supermodel Erin recognized from the cover of this month’s Vogue. In the centre of the action was Madeline Barker, wearing an expensive midnight-blue Lanvin dress. She pulled on her cigarette in between gesticulating wildly at the models.
‘Hi Maddie, how’s it going back here?’ asked Erin, clutching her clipboard to her chest and feeling about four stone too fat.
‘Oh, hi honey,’ said Madeline. ‘Chaos, chaos, chaos, as always.’ She broke off to grab a stunning redhead who was naked except for her tiny pair of white bikini bottoms. ‘Not that one, Jemma! You’re in the forest-green tankini, darling.’
Madeline dropped her cigarette into a half-full flute of champagne and turned back to Erin.
‘Have you seen Karin anywhere?’ she asked. ‘It’s not like her not to be taking total control. We’re on in five minutes and I want her to check she’s happy with everything.’
‘I passed her a couple of minutes ago,’ replied Erin. ‘She seems to be engrossed in conversation at her table.’
‘Engrossed in Adam Gold, more like,’ smiled Madeline.
‘Who’s he?’ asked Erin.
‘Ah, the latest victim,’ chuckled Madeline, then glared at another model. ‘No Alana! You’re behind Mischa, get in line. And what is that necklace supposed to be? A Hoover hose?’
Sensing she was getting in the way, Erin headed back into the main room and went to stand by the side of the stage where she was in shadow. From there she could