Gold Diggers by Tasmina Perry Read Free Book Online Page B

Karin moved to New York after her father, pulling strings in the industry, landed her an internship at Donna Karan. Her weekends were spent in The Hamptons, where she was surprised to find that friends’ ‘cottages’, in English-sounding places like Southampton, were actually vast coastal mansions straight out of The Great Gatsby , with shingle drives and white verandas that looked straight out onto the ocean.
    She rarely saw her parents but they didn’t mind. They fully approved of Karin’s ‘grand tour’ and were glad their daughter was capitalizing on Terry’s success. In Karin’s absence, however, Terry’s fortunes were fading. He had sunk his money into a new venture manufacturing cheap jeans for the high street just as the designer denim market was exploding. Terry’s instincts had been correct, but the punters wanted branded jeans, not cheap imitations, and he had been forced to close 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 manypeople 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