‘It is my turn to be impressed,’ said Mikhail with the hint of a smile. ‘Few Western friends recognize important Russian artists.’
Karin nodded thoughtfully. ‘Most people seem to think Russian art is all about Malevich, Chagall and Kandinsky, but I am a big fan of the artists less well known to the West.’ She shrugged modestly. ‘I have to thank my late husband. He was an art historian and owned a gallery.’
As lunch was served – Sevruga caviar, cold meat and exotic salads – Mikhail leant across the table and began to talk with passion about his collection. As he listened, Adam threw Karin a grateful glance and she smiled back. The truth was, Sebastian had never had any real interest in Russian art at all. But Mikhail was not to know that.
Finally Mikhail turned to Adam. ‘And how are you enjoying London?’ he asked, draining some mineral water from a crystal tumbler. ‘It is easier for Americans to fit into the London establishment than us Russians, yes?’
‘I haven’t had any problems so far,’ he replied cautiously, detecting an edge to Mikhail’s voice.
‘What about the gentlemen’s clubs? Do you belong to those?’
Adam shrugged. ‘Clubs like White’s, you mean?’ He shook his head. ‘That English old-boys’ club scene isn’t really my thing, to be honest.’
‘I have tried to join Hamilton’s. Are you aware of it? It is the most exclusive club. But they, how do you say, blackballed my application. It is ridiculous. Do they think Russians are thugs? Criminals? Not worthy of drinking with them?’ Karin noticed that Mikhail’s hand had curled into a fist. ‘I have a good mind to buy their little club and close it down.’
Karin cleared her throat. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary, Mikhail. My late husband was on the membership committee of that club. A lot of his friends are still members. I’m not making any promises, but how about I introduce you to some of them socially and see how you all get along?’
Mikhail’s fingers began to uncurl. ‘Really? That would be most kind of you,’ he said, smiling. ‘Very kind indeed.’
After lunch, Adam and Mikhail went into the library to talk business, leaving Daria and Karin alone.
‘Would you like the grand tour?’ asked Daria, seeing Karin’s eyes darting around. ‘We only finish the property six months ago, so some of it is still new to me.’
‘Oh, yes please.’
Karin was about to get a lesson in how vast wealth and good taste could make a home into a palace. ‘I am a big fan of your swimwear,’ said Daria, as she led Karin upstairs towards the bedrooms. ‘When Miki said he was due to meet Adam, I insisted you come along too. I read a lot of English magazines, you see.’
Karin immediately liked Daria, who seemed much more approachable than many of the Russian wives she had met in London. In fact, she seemed a little lonely. The dacha was surrounded by high walls, and there had been a platoon of security on the gate when they had entered. Karin suspected it would be like living in a gilded cage.
Still, as they moved through the house, Karin marvelled at every room. Daria’s dressing room was the most spectacular, filled with exquisite clothes of every kind. There was a climate-controlled closet for Daria’s collection of sable minks, and shelves of cashmere sweaters, colour-coded like the rainbow. The walls were lined with rails upon rails of designer clothes, many of them, judging by the cut and exquisite embroidered fabric, clearly couture. On another rack, Karin was pleased to note, were about thirty Karenza swimsuits and bikinis. Catherine the Great was rumoured to have over 5000 dresses, but Daria couldn’t have been far off that number, thought Karin, spying another glass closet devoted entirely to long gowns.
‘Wow,’ said Karin, unable to disguise her envy.
‘I got a taste for clothes when I was modelling in New York,’ she said frankly. ‘You see, I’m from a very small village near Kiev. My parents were poor. I used to help them on their fruit stall and I wore rags until I was spotted by a model agent. I guess now I am making up for all the dresses I never had when I was a little girl.’
What a transformation, thought Karin, looking at elegant Daria. It was hard to picture her in rags.
‘Do your parents still sell fruit?’ she asked, fascinated.
Daria laughed. ‘Mikhail has moved my parents into the next village. Now they do very little, but I’m not sure they prefer it that way.’
They walked out of the house and into the grounds, slowly sipping iced mineral water from Baccarat tumblers, the smells of the summer countryside – grass, pine and berries – filling the air. After ten minutes of walking they came to a lake filled with tiger lilies. Next to it stood a cherry-wood lodge with a black pointed roof and low eaves. It looked like a painting of imperial Japan.
‘It’s a Japanese teahouse,’ said Daria, beaming. ‘I come in here for calm.’
Her childlike pride in the little house made Karin smile. She was still reeling at the sheer scale and luxury of the dacha, but for Daria, this was clearly the jewel in the crown.
They stepped inside. It had the same cherry-wood floors as the main house. Karin followed Daria’s lead as she took off her heels and changed into a pair of white slippers. They sat down on a teak lounger with cream cushions and Daria poured some tea.
‘Excuse me for asking,’ said Karin, breathing in the cherry blossom from a tree standing just outside the shuttered window of the house, ‘but why exactly do you need calm? Everything seems rather good in your world.’
Daria’s expression instantly changed from the excited little girl playing house to the more knowing expression of a woman who had seen more in her life than most twenty-somethings. She fixed Karin with a searching look.
‘You are a woman dating a very wealthy man, Karin,’ she said frankly. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what I mean.’
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ replied Karin, taking a small sip of green tea.
‘My husband has a mistress,’ said Daria simply. ‘It has always been this way since very soon after we married, and until recently I have accepted it. In our circle, a mistress is on the list of things for men to have, like a yacht and a 737.’
Karin saw the sadness in her eyes, and for a moment she thought about her own recent paranoia. ‘I’m not quite sure having a mistress is acceptable,’ said Karin cautiously. ‘But rich men will always take what is thrown in front of them, that’s true. Men are weak, whether they come from Moscow or Manhattan.’
Daria nodded, staring at the branches of the cherry blossom tree waving slowly in the breeze.
‘I have never been worried before,’ she said quietly, ‘but his latest is troubling me. She lives in London, she is very beautiful. Her father is rich, important and connected.’ Her eyes had half closed, making them look feline, like a cat sizing up its prey. ‘I know she calls him all the time. I hear them talking on the telephone when he thinks I am asleep. I think it is getting serious.’
‘But Daria, you’re beautiful. Why would he look at another woman?’ she asked, genuinely curious and surprised at Daria’s candidness.
‘I am his wife,’ shrugged Daria, ‘a mother. This immediately makes me less sexy than a beautiful eighteen-year-old he sees twice a month.’
Karin nodded. ‘And is there anything else that makes you think it’s serious?’
‘We have a couple of apartments in your city, and I think she now lives in one of them.’
‘That’s outrageous,’ cried Karin, feeling a sudden sense of solidarity with Daria. ‘You must tell Mikhail that you know and that you won’t tolerate it.’
Daria laughed softly. ‘And when he calls my bluff, then what do I do?’
‘Well, I will tell you what we would do in England. We would go and see a divorce lawyer.’
‘In Russia we now have London’s boutiques, your restaurants, your bars; but we do not yet have your divorce laws. If I divorce Mikhail I will be lucky to end up with an apartment as big as this teahouse.’
Karin looked at Daria and her sad big blue eyes,
eyes that knew she could be back selling fruit as quickly as she had escaped it.
A fire suddenly burned inside Karin as she found herself becoming protective of this woman. ‘Well, you have to fight back,’ she said quickly.
‘How?’ said Daria.
‘Why do you think Mikhail likes this woman so much? Surely she is no more beautiful than you?’
‘Mikhail loves glamour. He loves status. This mistress – she runs around with a very glamorous crowd in London.’
‘Then so shall you.’
She laughed. ‘I live in Moscow.’
‘Do you want to save your marriage?’ asked Karin sharply.
Daria nodded.
‘If Mikhail is as impressed with the London scene as I think he is, then he might sit up and take notice if his wife is a major player. A woman other women want to be, and other men want to sleep with. Men can be simple creatures. A rich man likes the woman that every other man likes; he wants other men to look at him and envy him not just for the money in his bank but for the woman in his bed.’
Karin put her hand on Daria’s knee. ‘You have to put the excitement, passion and glamour back into your marriage.’
Daria looked at Karin with those little-girl eyes. ‘Can you help me?’
Karin laughed. ‘You will have to help yourself, but I can help you make a start. Next time you are in London, give me a call. I can introduce you to everyone who is worth knowing. Even the committee members of the Hamilton Club,’ she smiled playfully.
‘And then let me help you,’ said Daria, looking at Karin shrewdly. ‘I am still Mikhail’s wife, the mother of his child, and he wants to keep me happy. I think that, in twenty-four hours, Adam may just have his contract to build the skyscraper.’
The two women looked at each other, each recognizing how they could help each other, and smiled.
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Karin.
‘Thanks for coming, honey,’ said Adam, pulling Karin close. ‘Mikhail loved you.’
It was 2 a.m. and they were back at the Moscow Park Hyatt hotel, lying between crisp white sheets; but Adam was clearly wide awake. It was always the same way when he was trying to land a deal, when an almost feral energy inside him made him jumpy and on edge.
‘I aim to please,’ smiled Karin. ‘So when do you think you’ll hear about whether he’s giving you the contract?’ she asked, running her finger up and down his arm.
Adam shrugged and popped another goosedown pillow under his head. ‘Don’t get too excited just because we managed to charm him at dinner. I’m sure that was just one of many hoops I’ll have to jump through before Mikhail even thinks of giving the job to Midas,’ he said, frowning.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure,’ said Karin, stroking his hair.
She’d been wrestling all evening with the dilemma of whether to tell Adam about her conversation with Daria. To tell Adam ran the risk of denting his ego. He was a Master of the Universe, he could close any deal, talk anybody into anything; did he really want his girlfriend interfering; single-handedly influencing a billion-dollar development? But then again, if Daria had the power she said she had, then there was no way Karin was going to keep quiet about swinging the deal.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Adam, propping himself up on one elbow.
Slowly, cautiously, Karin recalled her conversation with Daria, and waited in silence to hear Adam’s reaction.
‘Fuck me, Dr Ruth,’ he said, smiling. ‘It really has been worth you coming.’
Karin’s heart was pounding. ‘So you’re pleased?’
He flipped up the duvet and rolled on top of her. ‘I’ve got a feeling that you are going to be really, really good for me,’ he whispered into her ear as his lips began a trail of moist kisses down her neck.
The next day, Mikhail rang Adam as they were on the way to Domodedovo Airport. He would be delighted to subcontract the building of the Moscow Supertower to the Midas Corporation. Sitting on the black leather seat of the Mercedes beside Adam, Karin had to turn her head to look out of the window to stop Adam seeing her Cheshire Cat grin. She took his hand and squeezed his fingers, silently predicting that, by this time next year, she would be Mrs Adam Gold.
54
There was no answer at Eton Square. Molly had tried the front doorbell of Donna and Daniel’s house and peered in through the windows, but there was no sign of life. Luckily, she knew exactly where to go. Daniel’s father Alexander owned a small apartment in Holland Park, where Molly and Alex had occasionally met for sex. It was like a tiny literary bolthole, crammed with books and journals, and Alex had told Molly nostalgically that Daniel had used it to revise for his finals twenty years earlier. It was the perfect place to lock himself away, Alex had told her.
‘Well done. You found me,’ said Daniel flatly as he buzzed Molly into the small top-floor space. He was standing by a window that overlooked the park, arms folded across his chest. It was a bright day, but the sun was shining on the opposite side of the street, which gave the room a sombre cast that perfectly matched Daniel’s expression.
Molly sat down on an antique leather sofa without being asked. ‘Donna’s sister has been trying to reach you.’
‘Well, I haven’t wanted to be found,’ said Daniel tartly. He looked up and glared at her.
Molly frowned and avoided his gaze, a little unnerved by his hostility. Okay, so he was angry and upset, but he didn’t have to take it out on her, did he?
Daniel shook a cigarette out of a packet and lit it, giving a small shake of the head.
‘Starting smoking again wasn’t part of the plan, but when you’ve got every bloody hack in London chasing you for a comment …’
‘Well, I think you might need that cigarette,’ said Molly.
‘What do you mean?’
Molly paused before speaking.’It’s Donna. She’s okay now, but she took an overdose.’
Molly saw his jaw slacken and more colour drain out of his face. ‘What?’ he said, his voice small and cracked. He walked over to the sofa and sat down, burying his head in his hands. ‘Jesus,’ he said, muttering to himself. ‘I am so stupid. I’ve been so bloody selfish.’
‘I think you left your mobile at Delemere so nobody could reach you,’ said Molly. ‘But don’t worry, Patsy is with her. Evie is okay. And Donna’s okay too, really she is.’
All of a sudden he looked up; Molly could see his fingers were curled into a tight fist. Daniel was not usually an aggressive man – he was certainly the most placid of the husbands in Molly’s circle of friends – but the atmosphere was now prickling with enmity. He jumped to his feet and took a step toward Molly. ‘Donna is clearly not okay, you stupid fucking bitch,’ he said through clenched teeth.
Molly stood up, holding her hands out in front of her in a placating gesture. ‘Now calm down, Daniel. What I meant was that it could have been so much worse, but the doctors have all said she is going to be fine.’
Daniel stood there, clenching and unclenching his hands, his shoulders shaking with suppressed violence.
‘You’ve not cottoned on that I know, have you?’ he sneered, shaking his head slowly. ‘That I know what a vicious, conniving little cow you really are.’
‘I honestly don’t know what you are talking about,’ said Molly, her voice shaking, tripping over her heels as she tried to back away from him.
‘Oh, I always knew you were self-seeking,’ spat Daniel, ‘but I really didn’t think you would have the gall to do what you have done and then come here posing as a friend of my wife.’
‘But I am a friend, Daniel,’ said Molly, backing right up to the door. ‘I don’t know what you think has happened, but I haven’t done anything except come to find you, to tell you about Donna and to say she is sorry. She is so sorry.’
‘Sorry?’ yelled Daniel, lunging across at Molly and gripping her arms, pinning her against the doorframe.
‘Sorry? You’re the one who should be sorry, you sad little whore!’
Daniel’
s face was only inches from hers, his eyes blazing with fury. She could feel his arms shaking and his fingers pressing into her flesh. Molly was terrified, unable to utter a single word, barely breathing.
Suddenly, Daniel released her and turned away, walking back to the window. He stared out at the street and shook his head slowly. ‘Donna thinks we were both tipped off about the story on Saturday night, but a friend at the newspaper had told me a couple of days earlier. I had tried to get an injunction to stop it being published, but was unsuccessful,’ he said flatly. ‘So, I hired a private investigator.’ He barked a hollow laugh. ‘When a reporter tells you that your wife was a high-class hooker, you want to find out if it’s true or not.’
The look on his face was one of anger and confusion as he ran his hand through his blond hair. Molly was unable to do anything except stand frozen by the door.
‘It didn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to track down Sharif Kahlid.’ He looked up at Molly with probing, accusatory eyes. ‘At first he wouldn’t talk. But it’s amazing what a suitcase full of cash will do. Apparently you found the same thing out yourself.’
Molly opened her mouth to defend herself, but she knew it was pointless.
‘The investigator, terribly good at his job, I might add, followed you.’ He wagged a finger in the air while walking over to a walnut bureau. He opened it and removed a large brown envelope, flinging it onto the coffee table.
‘I have pictures. Go on, open it. Meeting my father at the Hilton at Heathrow Airport on Friday afternoon. I assume you met to have sex as well as to conspire. I have to admit, I really didn’t think you were my father’s type.’
‘But that’s bloody illegal!’ blustered Molly, regaining a little of her composure. ‘You can’t just have me followed!’
Daniel seemed unnaturally calm now. His voice had regained its cool elegance and was beginning to sound more icy with every word. ‘I could strangle you right now if I didn’t pity you so much,’ he said. ‘Really, I’m serious. What would drive you to destroy my wife’s life? Are you so stupid that you believe my father will somehow want you more? That he will be so grateful for this information, that he will somehow divorce my mother so he can marry you?’ He gave a cruel laugh that made Molly shudder. She couldn’t believe that little, mousy Daniel Delemere could be so icy, so devastatingly brutal.
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