The Midas Corporation had worked a miracle. By giving Molly a purpose, it had turned her into a power-suited, arse-kicking businesswoman. Efficient, driven and no-nonsense, she strode around her office in spiked heels and pencil skirt, barking orders and watching with a satisfied smile as her minions jumped. Midas – or Marcus, to be precise – had put her in charge of organizing Adam’s birthday party on board the 245-foot company yacht The Pledge during the Monte Carlo Grand Prix. It was a huge job and, to the surprise of everyone, not least of Molly herself, she had thrown herself into it with an energy she usually reserved for pursuing men. Even though the cosy catch-ups with Adam she’d envisaged hadn’t quite come off, Molly suddenly felt as if life was full of possibilities – and she was actually enjoying herself, bossing people around and keeping an eye on every last canapé. And Molly knew where every last honey-glazed fig skewer would be at any point, just as she knew exactly how many bowls of Krug would be on every table. Molly had found that her attention to detail was second to none when she knew that Adam would be judging her; she was going to make his party fabulous or she was going to die trying.
‘Adam wants a full rundown of where we’re up to with planning,’ said Molly to Erin, ‘so I want to know which guests have confirmed and who is staying where. I need all the schedules from the limos to the fireworks. I need to know everything, Erin.’
It was Saturday lunchtime, the day before the race, and Molly and Erin had been there since the previous night, checking that every last detail was perfect. Erin Devereux was scribbling into her notebook at high speed, keen not to miss anything that came out of Molly’s mouth. The girl irritated Molly – she was too strait-laced, too eager to please when Adam was around – but she had decided that, as Adam’s executive assistant, Erin could be useful, so she had taken a softer line with her. ‘Do we have final numbers on the confirmations, darling?’ asked Molly with an over-wide smile.
Erin looked in her big leather-bound journal. ‘Sixty-three,’ she said, ‘but I don’t know where they’re all going to stay. Rooms at the big three hotels in Monaco have been booked for months.’
Molly smiled, happy to show off. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, tapping her nose, ‘I have my ways. Twenty people will be at the De Paris – that’s the top tier of friends who aren’t staying on the yacht. The yacht can sleep twenty, tops, but the Hermitage is beautiful too and we have another twenty there. And I’ve got a couple of villas on stand-by in Roquebrune. Adam said it’s not a milestone birthday so he didn’t want to make too much fuss, and I advised we keep it small and exclusive, manageable. I think he’ll prefer it that way,’ she added smugly. ‘Okay, so read me back the schedule.’
Erin cast her eyes down the list. ‘We have the drinks reception which starts seven p.m. Saturday. Sunday, there’s brunch on the yacht from ten-thirty. Two o’clock, watch race. Seven p.m., cocktail party. Midnight, everyone moves to Jimmy’z nightclub.’
Molly walked to the window, nodding her approval and mentally adding the other ‘off-piste’ events she had also scheduled. A table had been booked for lunch at the Moulins de Mougins, the smart restaurant in the tiny gastro village a thirty-minute drive away. Reflexology was available at Les Thermes Marins, the delicious spa whose floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the harbour. Molly smiled, satisfied the event would be a success.
‘Are we sure we’ll be able to keep everyone to the timetable?’ asked Erin, who was just as keen for this party to go without a hitch.
‘Yes, well, there will be a bunch of other yacht parties,’ said Molly confidentially. ‘But to be honest I think everyone is going to want to come to Adam’s.’
She smiled to herself. She was sure of it.
Down the road in Menton, Summer tried not to feel as if she’d been short-changed. She was only three miles from Monte Carlo, but Menton was a world away from the glitz and glamour of the neighbouring principality. She looked around the dingy hotel room and sighed. She supposed she should have been grateful; after all, she was here to see her friend, not the celebrities. Sarah Simpson, a bubbly blonde party girl who had been Summer’s flatmate in Japan, had just returned to London, where she had landed a job fronting a reality show about the rich and famous called ‘On Heat’. As a way of catching up, Sarah had invited Summer to come along to the first weekend’s filming at the Monaco Grand Prix. Having been brought up on Molly’s glamorous stories of Monte Carlo – Princess Grace, the Red Cross Ball, the De Paris – Summer had jumped at the chance, but the Menton Auberge was not exactly the Hermitage. One room served as bedroom, lounge and kitchen, there was no air-con, and the only window opened onto the eight-lanes and diesel fumes of the Cannes – Milan autoroute. Just then, Sarah wandered in from the bathroom, wearing only bra and knickers.
‘One of us is going to have to get lucky tonight,’ said Sarah pointing to a very small sofa bed underneath the window. ‘Because two of us are never going to fit on that thing.’
Sarah pulled a Cavalli cocktail dress from her case and hung it on the curtain rail.
‘I can’t believe the production company have put me up in this dump. You wouldn’t get Cat Deeley putting up with this shit,’ she sniffed, pinning up her hair carelessly. She was unkempt, thought Summer, but she was sexy. She was far more suited to TV presenting than modelling: curvy, boobs, full lips and slanting grape-green eyes. Plus Sarah had a definite look – unpinned, sultry sex kitten – rather than the bland chameleon looks that so many of the big models had right now; models were, after all, a blank canvas onto which you could paint the client’s desires. Sarah was the real thing. Maybe a little too real.
‘So, tell me about this party tonight,’ said Sarah, flopping into a chair and lighting a Gauloise.
‘Shouldn’t you be working?’ asked Summer.
‘Nah. The researchers are already scouting out places where we can film, people we can talk to. People like your mum’s friends, in fact. So I suppose I am working really.’
Summer smiled thinly. She was not exactly looking forward to spending another night out with her mother, even if it did mean they would be moving among the richest of the rich. Molly had, of course, been delighted when Summer said she was going to Monte Carlo. Even for someone with Molly’s front, it had been simply too awkward to ask Adam if Summer could join the select number of guests for the birthday weekend, but the drinks reception was more of an open-house invitation and Summer and Sarah were on the list for the soiree on Adam’s yacht that evening.
‘It’s fine for us to go to the party,’ said Summer nervously. ‘But I’m not sure Adam and Karin will be happy about a camera crew coming onto the yacht.’
‘Relax,’ smiled Sarah. ‘Who mentioned anything about a camera? We’re there to mingle, baby.’
Summer looked at Sarah and smiled ruefully. There was a look in her eye that she recognized only too well: social ambition. Sarah didn’t want to go home with a showreel. She wanted to find a boyfriend. A rich boyfriend. Her friend was turning into her mother.
Karin was enjoying Monte Carlo already. She had been several times before, of course: twice to the grand prix, once to the annual music awards and a couple of times to the Red Cross Ball. But today felt special. Today she was here with a powerful connected billionaire, staying in the master suite of one of the sleekest yachts in the harbour. Previously, she had just been a yacht-hopping guest among thousands in Monaco’s packed harbour. Today she felt a special sense of belonging; she felt as if this could become a habit.
Perhaps it was their dramatic entrance that had begun her good mood. Adam’s jet had flown into Nice Airport that morning and they had got a helicopter straight to Monte Carlo’s heliport. A sports car was waiting for them and they had then zipped through the narrow Monegasque streets, the breeze whipping Karin’s hair around. Now, pausing while she dressed for the evening, she looked out of the picture window of their suite at the stern of the yacht and sipped a glass of chilled champagne with a soft smile on her lips. The sun was lowering in the sky, casting Monaco in an apricot light. It looked just perfect.
‘Pretty good weekend to have a birthday, huh?’
Adam had approached Karin from behind, wrapped his arms around her and clinked his own champagne flute against hers. Karin was only wearing her bra and pants and his hand trailed up and down her taut stomach.
‘Did you have to make this a work thing?’ said Karin sulkily. They could hear Adam’s banker clients drunk and guffawing at the bow of the yacht.
‘Oh baby, I wish it was just us too,’ said Adam, kissing her on the neck. ‘But The Pledge is officially the company yacht … and you know what it’s like: when it’s your own business, you can’t switch off.’
‘So who’s the blonde?’ asked Karin, pulling away from his embrace and moving over to top up her glass, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
‘Just a banker baby,’ smiled Adam. ‘Don’t give me a hard time’
‘I’m not, I’m just curious. She’s definitely not your typical banker.’
‘She’s called Claudia Falcon,’ said Adam, unbuttoning his shirt. ‘Heads up Hudson Capital. She’s helping us with an acquisition.’
‘Oh yes?’ asked Karin, her business sense kicking in. ‘Of what?’
Adam smiled and tipped his head back to drink his champagne.
‘I thought you didn’t want this to be a business trip.’
Karin moved back to his side and ran her fingers through his chest hair. ‘I’m just interested in your company, honey.’
Adam slid his hand around the thin curve of her waist. ‘You know, I’ve never had a girlfriend who gave two shits about my company – other than for the parties.’
‘I’m not like other girlfriends,’ she smiled.
‘No. You’re tougher. Cleverer. Sexier, and I adore that about you.’ He came towards her and planted a soft kiss on her neck. Her nipples immediately stood to attention. She moaned.
‘You don’t mind us having the party on the yacht, do you?’ he mumbled into her hair.
She stepped back and looked at him, puzzled. ‘No. Why would I mind?’
Adam looked into her eyes, a serious expression on his face. ‘I just thought … about what happened with your husband last year.’
It was the first time she and Adam had ever discussed the night of Sebastian’s death. She hadn’t wanted Adam to see her as a widow, which she did not consider to be particularly sexy. Moreover, she didn’t want him to think she was an unlucky charm. Men like Adam wanted to be surrounded by beautiful, blessed people; money men were some of the most superstitious people on earth.
‘It was a terrible, horrible accident, but it doesn’t mean I won’t ever step foot on a yacht again,’ said Karin coolly, turning away from him and walking over to the wardrobe, where she started flipping through the rail of clothes, her hand stroking the acres of silk, chiffon and tulle. She felt his presence behind her and then a hand on her bare shoulder.
‘Karin, you can talk about this, you know,’ he soothed. ‘Why do you always have to behave like some robot, as if you have no feelings?’
‘Oh yes, and what about you?’ she snapped, pulling away from him. ‘It’s not like you’ve got where you are today without being tough.’
He laughed. ‘Tough and emotionless are not the same thing, honey. There’s nothing clever about admitting to yourself, to me, how hard things have been. Losing Seb, that must have been hard, but then having people talking afterwards, well …’
Karin felt a sudden chill. ‘What do you mean, “people were talking”?’ she said. ‘What were they saying exactly?’
Adam flushed slightly, uncharacteristically embarrassed. He cleared his throat. ‘They were saying … that it wasn’t an accident,’ he said solemnly.
Karin dropped the red silk Cavalli dress she had been holding to the floor. Her face had drained of colour. ‘They’ve been saying that?’ she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. ‘Do they think that I had something to do with it? Who has been saying it?’
Adam went over to her and put his arm around her shoulder, but she shrugged it off violently. She looked at his face, desperately trying to read it. What had he been told? What did he believe? What was he thinking about her?
‘Molly told me you’d had a tough time after Sebastian’s death because there had been a whispering campaign against you.’
‘She’s a liar,’ said Karin angrily. ‘How can anyone have been talking about me? I didn’t do anything. I loved my husband.’
‘I know,’ said Adam softly, ‘I know, but if other people have been talking, then we have to face it …’ She caught a look in his eye. Was it pity or suspicion? Either way it scared her. She felt fury wash over her. She could see exactly what Molly was doing and loathed her for it, because she knew that it might work. She lifted another dress from the rail, but then threw it down in frustration, tears finally welling under her eyes.
‘Seb was drunk and high and he fell off the boat,’ she whispered, staring down at the dress on the floor as she spoke. ‘His business was failing, he was on self-destruct. I was at the nightclub on shore with about twenty-five other people. Dozens of witnesses know that. But I wish I had been there; God, I wish I had, but he was alone.’ A tear dropped onto the carpet and she looked up at Adam. ‘Molly is trying to poison your mind against me. Can’t you see that?’
Adam let out a small, low laugh. ‘Honey, stop overreacting. She didn’t tell me out of spite.’
‘Oh please! Can’t you see why she told you?’ shouted Karin, losing all control, her grief turning to anger. ‘The woman is a troublemaker. You’re her next victim and she doesn’t want me in the way to stop it.’
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.’
Summer looked at them and felt a little stab of jealousy. Sarah had her hair long, blonde and loose like Molly’s; they were both in tiny dresses that skimmed mid-thigh, drinking and giggling. They looked like sisters.
‘Come on, sweetheart,’ said Molly, standing up and slipping on her silver flip-flops. ‘We’re going to go across to Abdul’s first. He always has the best caviar.’
Summer turned to her friend. ‘Sarah, shouldn’t you be getting back to your shoot? It’s almost eight o’clock already.’
Sarah waved a hand in the air, then had to quickly put it down again to steady herself. ‘Oh don’t fuss, Sum. I’m only going to be half an hour. Anyway, I’m scouting locations. They’ll understand.’
‘Are you coming?’ Molly asked Summer, a hint of impatience in her voice.
Summer could see Molly was coked-up, she knew those eyes well, and she shook her head. She knew where this night was going. Molly responded with a narrowing of the eyes, a look that said ‘killjoy’.
‘Well, if you must stay here, don’t spend all night giggling with that frump Erin. Go and find yourself a man; there’re some loaded bankers down the front. No point in wasting the whole trip.’
As Molly and Sarah staggered off arm in arm, Summer called after them, ‘What should I tell Marcus if he asks where you are?’
‘As Sarah says, we’re going to be half an hour. Don’t wait up!’
Summer rolled her eyes. Some things never changed.
‘Look at us, gambling widows,’ smiled Diana, settling back into a chair in Le Bar Américain in the Hôtel De Paris. Karin picked a pistachio nut from the table in front of her and offered a thin smile. After the scene with Adam on the yacht, she had felt glad to retreat to the De Paris, opposite the casino, for drinks with Diana and Christina.
‘This is exactly why I hate grand prix weekend,’ sniffed Christina. ‘Not only does the noise of those cars zooming round the track give me tinnitus, the men just turn into total bores. I tell you, Ari used to say he was popping into the casino, and fifty grand later he’d still be there. Deaf and poor: that’s where grand prix weekend leaves you.’
‘So who was that blonde at the tables?’ asked Diana, sipping her Bloody Mary.
Karin pulled a sour face. She didn’t want to be reminded; her day was going from bad to worse. After their spat, she and Adam had hardly said two words to one another during the cocktail reception on board The Pledge. When one of the party of bankers had suggested a trip to the casino, Adam had pointedly asked Claudia Falcon to accompany them to the leather-lined salon privé of the casino. With everyone watching, Karin had had to ask for a lift to the casino bar. It had been humiliating.
‘It’s a bit strange, isn’t it?’ said Christina. ‘I’ve never seen them let a woman join the table before. It’s usually all boys together.’
‘Well, she’s practically a man,’ sniffed Karin. ‘She’s MD of some investment bank. Real ball-breaker by the sounds of it. Helping Midas finance some brownfield site or something.’
‘Well, watch it,’ warned Christina. ‘You don’t want Adam to … Shit.’ Christina’s face had suddenly turned as white as paper.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Diana, twisting around to follow her gaze.
‘Emily Kent has just walked into the bar.’
The name didn’t sound familiar to either Karin or Diana.
‘Joshua’s maths tutor,’ murmured Christina distractedly. ‘Joshua was falling behind with his schoolwork so I got someone to help him out. What on earth is she doing here?’
Karin looked around to see a slim, nondescript brunette standing at the entrance of the bar as if she was looking for someone. She didn’t look anything like the average De Paris guest. Mid-twenties, a floral summer dress hovering at her knee, her face freshly scrubbed and free of make-up, her light brown bobbed hair pushed back off her face. She looked more like a librarian than a grand prix goer – and her face fell as she spotted Christina rising and walking towards her.
‘Emily. What a surprise!’ said Christina, kissing the air lightly in the direction of her cheeks.
‘Likewise,’ replied Emily, her eyes still scanning the room. ‘I thought you gave the grand prix a wide berth.’
‘Yes, well, here I am.’ She paused. ‘And who told you that? Ari?’
Emily nodded awkwardly as a thought popped into Christina’s mind. But surely not, she thought, that’s just not possible.
‘So who are you here with?’ asked Christina, trying hard to sound casual.
‘Just a friend,’ stammered Emily. ‘And how’s Joshua? I haven’t seen him in a little while.’
‘Really? I wasn’t aware that Ari had stopped tuition.’
Over Emily’s shoulder, Christina could see through the glass door of the bar and into the foyer of the hotel where, at that moment, she saw Ari walk in through the revolving doors towards reception.
‘If you’re looking for my husband, sweetie, he’s just walking in,’ said Christina. Emily had the look of a rabbit caught in a trap.
‘Christina. Look, I … I’m sorry. I thought he had told you. We didn’t realize you’d be here this weekend.’
‘Why would he tell me, you stupid bitch?’ hissed Christina. ‘That bastard’s filing for divorce on the grounds that I have been unfaithful, and all the while he’s fucking the maths tutor.’
Guests in the bar were beginning to look round. Karin leapt from her chair and put her hand on Christina’s shoulder. ‘Tina, it’s not worth it,’ she muttered as Christina shook her hand away.
‘You little whore!’ growled Christina. ‘What right have you got to parade yourself in front of everyone, in front of my friends?’
Emily moved for the door. ‘I think I had better go,’ she said quietly.
Christina laughed cruelly. ‘The fucking maths tutor? This is more of a mystery than Pythagoras’s theorem. What on earth does he see in you?’
Emily turned back and looked at Christina with surprisingly cold eyes. ‘I’m not you,’ she whispered.
Christina laughed again. ‘That’s right. And don’t think a mousy frump like you is going to replace me, sweetheart!’ she shouted.
Emily casually held her wrist up and jangled a string of diamonds.
Christina stopped cold. She immediately recognized it: a Tiffany tennis bracelet worth at least £30,000.
‘Christina,’ smiled Emily as she turned from the room, ‘I think I already have.’
Erin had been expecting to hate Molly’s daughter. After all, Summer was younger than Molly, considerably more beautiful and, having spent twenty-something years in Molly’s shallow world, she was bound to have the same expectant arrogance, the same hard-faced ambition. But when Summer arrived on The Pledge earlier that evening, Erin had liked Summer immediately. She was modest, funny, polite, and had a smile that was warm and genuine. Plus, unlike most people she had encountered in Adam’s world, Summer spoke and listened to Erin as an equal.
Summer had a body made for sin, that much was obvious, the simple white jersey dress she was wearing could not disguise her spectacular figure. But even though she looked like every man’s fantasy, she was quite clearly a girl’s girl, chattering to Erin about shoes and ice cream and rom-coms. It was just like going down the pub with one of her best friends. In Summer’s company, Erin felt herself properly relaxing for the first time in months.
‘I expect you come here every year, don’t you?’ asked Erin. The two girls had retreated to the top deck for cocktails as Adam had joked that Erin was only ‘half on duty’. He wanted to her to relax and enjoy the party, but to be there to sort out any complications. And Erin was glad Adam had been so generous as they had a spectacular view of the harbour.
‘Oh no, this is my first time,’ said Summer, ‘My mother always wants to drag me to these sorts of places, but thankfully I’ve been out of harm’s way in Japan for the last four years.’
‘Dragged to these sorts of places? What’s there not to like about yachts and champagne?’ laughed Erin at Summer’s objections.
Summer gave a half-smile and put her flute of Krug down on the walnut deck. ‘Hang on,’ she said distractedly, ‘my mobile is going.’ She looked at the screen. It was Sarah.
‘Summer! You’ll never guess where I am!’ gushed Sarah as Summer made a face to Erin. ‘I’m on Larry Nelson’s yacht! It’s that white and blue one right at the end of the dock. It’s so big. And the men here are lovely! Why don’t you come over?’
‘Are you still with my mother?’ asked Summer, slightly concerned.
‘No. I think she’s gone. But it doesn’t matter, because I’ve met everyone. Sum, I’ve just met this guy who plays for AC Milan but he’s injured.’ Sarah was giggling hysterically and slurring her speech.
‘Sarah, come back to the yacht,’ scolded Summer.
‘Oh, don’t be such a party-pupper … piper … pooper,’ slurred Sarah. ‘Anyway, I won’t be long. Just another ten minutes.’ She began giggling and was clearly talking to somebody away from the phone.
‘Sarah? SARAH?’ said Summer, but the phone had gone dead. She looked at Erin apologetically. ‘Look sorry, that’s my friend Sarah, I think I’m going to have to go and get her.’
Summer had switched into responsible mode. She had done it a thousand times before, when Molly had been coked out of her face at a party and needed a taxi summoning to some remote spot on the outskirts of London, or when a friend had called to say her mother was passed out cold in a bar.
‘Who the hell is Barry Nelson?’ asked Erin.
‘One of the richest men in the world.’
‘So why don’t you leave her to it?’ asked Erin. ‘I’m sure she’s enjoying herself.’
Summer glanced at her watch and frowned. ‘Hmm, I would, but she’s supposed to be in the Casino Square in twenty minutes. She’s presenting a programme about the lifestyles of the rich and famous. It’s the first night of filming tonight and she sounds totally out of it.’
‘Do you want me to come and retrieve her?’
Summer smiled that warm smile and nodded. ‘Would you?’
At 325 feet long, Bratsera was too big to dock at the harbour and instead had to join the other mega-yachts moored offshore like a flotilla of super-rich invaders. Erin and Summer took a tender to the yacht. As they approached, they felt dwarfed by the sheer size of the five-deck monster, towering over them like a floating office block. It was so large, it even had its own helicopter landing pad; the girls could see some of the crew playing basketball there as they climbed aboard. As soon as they stepped onto the first deck, the girls were handed cocktails from silver salvers. There were at least sixty people on the main deck, circulating and drinking champagne. ‘Who are all these people?’ hissed Erin from behind her hand.
‘Oh, billionaires, heads of state, Euro-celebrities; just your average Saturday evening party,’ smiled Summer.
Several women – all tall, slim and glamorous – were wandering around in bikinis.
‘… And there might be a few hookers as well,’ she added.
It was, however, far too crowded and dark to see Sarah.
‘Oh, where the bloody hell is she?’ groaned Summer, as they threaded their way through the crowd. It was 9 p.m.: Sarah was so late for the filming.
‘Wait here. What does Sarah look like? I’ve got an idea,’ said Erin, and disappeared towards the back of the ship. Standing at the side of the party and scanning the faces, Summer recognized Barry Nelson, the yacht’s owner, leaning against the rail in a pair of cream chinos and a green open-necked shirt. He was quite plain-looking, but there was an undeniable halo of power and confidence around the man, she thought. Amazing what $20 billion in the bank will add to a man’s allure.
Erin reappeared with a smile on her face. ‘I’ve just been sweet-talking those crew guys we saw playing basketball. One of them saw a girl who looked like Sarah going into a stateroom on the third level. Come on.’
The third deck was just a long row of doors and, after a brief knock, they peeked behind the first. Nothing beyond a beautifully panelled cabin with the finest cream linen sheets on the king-sized bed. The same at the next door. On the third, they found her.
‘Fuck. It’s you.’ Sarah was sitting on the end of the bed in a pair of coffee-coloured lace panties and bra. Her hair fell loose and tousled on her shoulders and her eyes looked glassy. She was wavering from side to side, trying to pour brandy into a tumbler. ‘What are you doing here, Summer? I know I said come, but you’d better clear off.’
Summer took the bottle from her friend’s wobbling hand. ‘Why would we do that?’ she asked.
‘Johnny will be back any minute.’
Summer picked up the dress that had been flung over a Biedermeier chair and handed it to Sarah. ‘Get dressed,’ she instructed, ‘we’re going back.’
Sarah flung the dress down and bared her teeth. ‘Don’t you fucking understand?’ she slurred angrily. ‘Johnny is Johnny Galanos. The Greek ship guy. He’s bloody loaded and he’s dead fit too.’
‘But Sarah, you’re supposed to be filming right now!’
‘Oh, we can do some tomorrow,’ said Sarah vaguely, waving her glass in the air. Suddenly Sarah froze. ‘Oh shit,’ she said, and bolted in the direction of the bathroom. ‘I’m going to puke.’
Erin had been standing at the cabin door watching it all. She pulled at Summer’s arm. ‘Come on, don’t bother with her. She’s wasted. Let’s go and find her producer and tell him his star presenter is a dead loss.’