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airline on a romantic weekend, but Marcus was a useful pit stop and, she had been pleased to discover, he was actually quite good company. In the two weeks following the Knightsbridge drinks party there had been three Mr Chow suppers and as many all-night sex sessions at his pied-à-terre in Chelsea or his country house in Buckinghamshire. Finally, Marcus had invited her to St Moritz to ski. Not that they ever made it to the slopes; the closest they got to the snow was dislodging some powder from the roof as they had sex in the penthouse suite at Badrutt’s Palace.
She glanced at Marcus’s profile, dark against the morning light that was pouring through the aeroplane window. Square patrician forehead, nose, slightly broken, firm chin. Fucking him wasn’t hard work at all. Not like Momo, the overweight oilman from Brunei. Not like Giles, the peanut farmer’s son from Georgia, or Jeff, the gnome-faced Hollywood producer she had met at the BAFTA party who had wanted her to piss all over him. Or even Harry, poor tiny-cocked Harry, who was still calling despite the fact that Molly had not returned any of his phone calls. No, Marcus was definitely a find.
A Midas Corporation car picked them up at the airport and dropped Molly at home, where she deposited her bags and freshened up before she set off for work. Work! The very thought of going in to Feldman Jones Productions made her groan. Although she only went into the events planning company two days a week, they were the longest two days of the week by far. She really didn’t know why she bothered with it sometimes. But rent was expensive, coke was expensive and the prices of ‘it’ bags had shot through the roof. And in return for rolling into Feldman Jones Productions a couple of days a week, she had a ten per cent share in the company. Thank you and good night.
‘Where is everybody?’ Molly sauntered in and sat down at her desk, dropping her Bottega Veneta bag by her chair and rifling through a mountain of post had that accumulated since her last appearance in the office. It was 11.30 and Feldman Jones’ office – on the top floor of a pretty pale blue mews-house in Westbourne Grove – was empty except for a couple of work-experience girls manning the phones.
‘Becca and Jenna are at the venue for tonight’s party,’ said one nervously, ‘and Lindsey and Sophie went to a meeting in the City first thing this morning.’
Molly nodded, enjoying her moment in charge. ‘Great. Well can you get me a strong black coffee? And when you’ve done that, can you go through those files over there? I want you to dig out any pitch documents we’ve done for Filey Walker.’
Molly was surprised just how together and authoritative she sounded. She certainly didn’t feel it. She felt dead on her feet; not enough sleep by a long chalk. Just then, Sophie and Lindsey walked in; the moment they saw Molly their expressions clouded.
‘Ah, Molly, there you are.’ Despite her butter-wouldn’t-melt Home Counties accent, Sophie Edwards-Jones had a core of steel. Feldman Jones Productions was her life. She had grown it from a fax and phone in her kitchen to being one of the top events planners companies in the country.
‘Yes, here I am,’ said Molly brightly, pointedly ignoring the atmosphere. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late but the traffic from Heathrow was a bitch.’
‘So you’ve been away?’
‘Yes,’ said Molly, flicking a sheaf of hair over her shoulder. ‘Back to Badrutt’s Palace. Gorgeous as ever. Didn’t I tell you?’
‘No, you didn’t tell us actually,’ Lindsey Feldman’s voice was harsh. She was a five-foot-two-inch dynamo who didn’t take any shit and was the perfect foil to Sophie’s silver-spoon polish. ‘If you had told us, we might have had something to say about it, seeing as we had a pitch with a client this morning that we needed you to be at.’
Molly looked bemused. ‘We had a meeting? With who?’
‘Callanders, the stockbrokers, remember?’ said Lindsey with a hint of sarcasm. ‘Want us to do their Christmas corporate event? Two thousand guests? We did discuss this, Molly. It was rather embarrassing when you didn’t turn up.’
‘Callanders. Oh shit. Yes. I completely forgot. As I said, my flight didn’t get in until nine-thirty. Then I had to pop home to freshen up.’
Sophie stared at Molly for a long moment. ‘Can we just have a chat in the meeting room, Molly?’
Molly pushed her chair back and walked after the women, seething. How dare they talk to her like that in front of the workies? Making her feel as if she was a teenager caught smoking behind the bike sheds. The nerve! Molly sat down truculently and Lindsey got straight to the point.
‘This can’t go on, Molly,’ she snapped.
‘Jesus, Lindsey. I miss a meeting. I’m sorry,’ said Molly, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. ‘I can take the client out again if it means that much to you.’
‘It might well be too late for that.’
‘Oh don’t worry, we’ll get the pitch,’ said Molly. ‘We always get the pitch.’
‘If we do it will be no thanks to you, Molly,’ said Lindsey abruptly.
Sophie held up a hand, stopping the argument mid-flow. ‘Molly. We might as well cut to the chase,’ she said. ‘This arrangement just isn’t working. You’re hardly in the office, you don’t come to pitches, and when we hold an event you spend the whole time socializing.’
‘Socializing! Isn’t that what you want me to do?’
Sophie nodded. ‘It was what we wanted you to do when we started, but things have changed.’
It was true Molly Sinclair had been a definite asset when Feldman Jones had launched – she had high-class contacts and clients were flattered to see a supermodel at pitches. She certainly added an undeniable sheen of glamour to a party too. But she was simply not doing what they had brought her on to do – attend pitches, charm the CEOs, bring in new clients. Put simply, she was baggage.
‘Molly, we want you out of the partnership.’
Molly felt her blood run cold. She didn’t exactly enjoy working at Feldman Jones, but being a partner in a company gave her credibility. It also gave her a salary. Okay, it wasn’t much, but she relied on it. A woman like Molly could expect swish nights out and holidays to be paid for by some rich guy in return for a blowjob in the shower, but even she had overheads to pay. She hated to admit it, but she needed this job.
‘You can’t do that,’ said Molly, struggling to appear calm and confident, ‘I’m a director of this company.’
Sophie smiled. ‘Yes we can. We’ve already had a lawyer look into it. Don’t worry, you won’t be out of pocket, we’ll get a valuation and buy out your shareholding for a fair price.’
‘But you need me,’ said Molly, a waver of panic in her voice now. ‘You need me to bring in the business.’
Lindsey couldn’t suppress her smirk. ‘Molly, you haven’t brought in any business for over a year, and Feldman Jones Productions generates its own business now. We have a fantastic reputation and we need everyone to be pulling their weight.’
‘I do pull my bloody weight!’ said Molly indignantly.
Lindsey couldn’t resist a jibe. ‘The only thing you pull, Molly, is the clients.’
Molly jumped to her feet and strode to the door. ‘I will enjoy watching this tinpot company crash to its knees when word gets around that I have resigned,’ she said haughtily.
Sophie smiled. ‘I think we’ll manage,’ she said.
‘Oh and Molly?’ Lindsey called after her. ‘Could you clear out your desk? We don’t want the drug squad round again.’
‘Don’t we have any more girls to see?’ sighed Karin, snapping the portfolio shut and