Tasmina Perry - Gold Diggers

‘Excuse me,’ he said.

‘I don’t want one, thank you,’ said Molly tartly, double-locking the door.

‘You don’t want what?’ asked the man.

‘A Big Issue ,’ said Molly. ‘And this is a residential street, so I’d be grateful if you moved along.’

Molly had walked to her taxi but he was still standing there.

‘No, I just wanted to ask: is this where Summer Sinclair lives?’

‘And who is asking?’ asked Molly, rather perplexed.

‘Charlie McDonald. I’m a … a friend,’ he said cautiously.

Charlie? The name didn’t ring any immediate bells.

‘We arranged a date on Wednesday, but I lost her number,’ Charlie added. ‘I just remembered she said she lived on Basset Road. That lady with the dog thought she lived here,’ he said, pointing vaguely down the street.

Summer arranged a date? thought Molly, confused. Where was she on Wednesday? Then she recalled with a shudder something about a rock gig in Camden. Something to do with a male model from the bridal shoot. She gave him a second glance. Hmm, well, he was certainly good looking enough to model underneath that stubble and dirty leather, she thought. But even so! Had she not taught Summer anything over the years? It was rule number one: no creatives. Not unless you were talking musicians like Rod Stewart. Creative people just didn’t make money. It was so typical of sweet, simple Summer to let her head be turned by some long-haired poet with holes in his jeans.

‘I’m so sorry, Charlie, but you’ve had a wasted journey,’ said Molly sadly. ‘She lives here alright, but she’s hardly ever here. Spends most of the week at her boyfriend’s house in Mayfair.’ She smiled kindly. ‘But I’m her mother, Molly. I can pass a message on if you like.’

Charlie mouth was firm, but his eyes told of his disappointment.

‘It’s okay,’ he replied with a shrug, ‘I was just passing.’

She climbed in the taxi and pulled away. Molly looked through the rear window, watching Charlie McDonald get smaller and smaller until he had disappeared out of sight and out of Summer’s life forever.

The Palazzo Sasso was like some Shakespearian fantasy. An enormous labyrinth of rooms with high painted ceilings, arched windows and ornate plasterwork, all lit by enormous fat lamps hanging from the walls that sent a flickering yellow light around the ballroom. Entering the room alone, Karin was immediately glad Adam had chosen this place to meet. She had been to so many fantastic parties all over the world, but this room looked so sexy, mysterious and theatrical that it was impossible not to be impressed. There were fire-eaters, jugglers and a string quartet that could just be heard above the hum of the crowd, the whole atmosphere pulsing with decadence. All the guests were in full costume for Carnevale; there must have been enough velvet in the room to stretch from Venice to the moon. The men were either in black tie with capes or in authentic period dress of doublet and hose, the woman straining in fitted corsets and flowing skirts. Everybody’s faces were obscured by masks made from papier-mâché or thick brocade, making it impossible to spot Adam, but the sensation of being alone, hidden, was exciting, almost a sexual thrill for Karin. God, she had to find Adam – and quickly. She moved through the crowd, passing from the main ballroom into the tangle of anterooms, soaking up the delicious atmosphere, listening to the babble of different languages. Finally she came across a smaller room, filled with people, crackling with excitement. Walking closer, she understood why she had been given a handful of casino chips on entry; it was a roulette table. She found a place at the table, put all of her chips on red and held her breath as the ball bounced around the wheel.

‘Red, twelve,’ said the croupier and pushed over a pile of chips. With a growing confidence, she moved half of her stash onto zero.

‘No more bets,’ said the croupier as the ball began to rattle round the walnut wheel. Karin dropped her cool and clapped with excitement as the ball came to rest on zero. A respectful hum ran around the crowd.

‘Go for broke,’ said a man standing next to her. ‘After all, it’s not real money is it?’

Carried along by the moment, Karin moved all her chips onto number twenty-nine, watching, waiting her heart pounding as the white ball swirled, rattled and slowed.

‘Red, thirteen.’ There were hoots of excitement as the croupier scooped up all Karin’s chips with his rake and pushed them towards the end of the table. Karin looked down the table to see the victor. His eyes met hers and he smiled. He was wearing a gold mask with a long curved nose, but she could see the bottom half of his face and that square jaw was unmistakable. Adam. The bastard .

‘Thirteen. Lucky for some,’ laughed Adam, leading Karin back into the ballroom.

‘Lucky for you, you mean.’

‘Don’t be so competitive,’ smiled Adam. ‘Not when there are more important things at stake.’ They reached the edge of the dance floor just as the sound of Mozart soared into the air. With a curt nod of invitation, Adam took Karin in his arms to dance.

‘When you said we should see Venice, I didn’t think it would be from behind two papier-mâché slits,’ smiled Karin, enjoying the feeling of closeness as they whirled around the room.

‘I like the idea of masks, don’t you?’ said Adam. ‘The idea of being someone else for the night? It has so many possibilities. That’s why the Venetian lords threw big balls for carnival – they wanted to allow their guests to adopt a different party personality to the one they usually had.’

‘So who are you tonight?’ asked Karin playfully. ‘The King of Roulette?’

‘Casanova,’ he joked, leaning his mouth close to her ear.

‘I thought you said different personas.’

The air was thick with chemistry; a thick wall that both separated and pulled them together. Karin was enjoying putting Adam on the spot. She was naturally direct, challenging and cool. It worked in business and she also found it drove certain men crazy.

‘Don’t believe everything you read in the New York Post ,’ scolded Adam.

‘You’re forty-something and unmarried – people draw conclusions.’

The music stopped and Adam took a flute of champagne.

‘I’ve never married because my parents had a wonderful marriage and I’ve spent my whole life comparing my relationships to theirs,’ he said more seriously.

‘Well, not everybody wants marriage,’ said Karin quietly.

‘You’ve never tried it?’ asked Adam.

‘My first, only, husband died last year in a boating accident,’ she said. She wasn’t sure if she had needed to tell him quite yet; but she knew he’d find out. And besides, it made her seem more sensitive, more mysterious and certainly less predatory than a single, unmarried woman in her thirties.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know,’ he said softly, reaching up to touch her face. They both looked away, out onto the dance floor.

‘It’s quite incredible,’ she sighed. ‘So decadent.’

‘I love Venice. It reminds me of Manhattan.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘Seriously,’ said Adam. ‘They’re both islands built around commerce; Venice was once the wealthiest city in the world. There’s an old Venetian saying that a man without money is a corpse that walks.’

‘I’m sure thousands of New Yorkers think that every day,’ said Karin dryly.

He laughed. ‘Not just New Yorkers.’

They fell silent again, watching the masked dancers revolving around the floor.

‘Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about,’ said Adam, still looking at the ballroom.