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Longton Ness was the jewel in the crown of the auction, a Grade I listed, fifty-bedroom Palladian stately home in Oxfordshire. It was the ancestral home of the aristocratic Montague family, but they were being forced to sell it off in lots to meet crippling death duties. Jeremy had been running a sweepstake in the office on who would buy it. Jeremy had £100 on Gupta Roy, the Indian steel magnate said to be shopping around for a country estate. But you could never discount the stately home being bought up by a developer to turn into more luxury apartments.
‘Obviously, I can’t reveal all the Midas Corporation’s plans this early,’ said Erin smoothly, although inside her stomach was churning. ‘But there are certainly a number of lots that have taken Mr Gold’s fancy,’ she continued, taking a delicate sip of tea.
Jeremy smiled. With the Midas Corporation in the room, bidding on the properties could go crazy. Thirty, maybe even fifty per cent more than the guide price. He smiled at the amount of extra commission he could make for himself. Enough to take Miranda on that week to Reethi Rah in the Maldives that she was always banging on about. That’d get her lingerie out.
Erin picked up the brochure and opened it to the page marked with a Post-it note. ‘The property that had immediately caught our attention is this one,’ she said, pointing at the miniature Peony House. Jeremy looked puzzled.
‘Hmm, not a typical Midas acquisition then?’
Erin laughed politely. ‘No, this wouldn’t be for commercial development. Adam is keen to acquire a property to be used as company apartments for Midas junior personnel coming over from New York.’ She felt sick at telling the lie, but if there was one thing that she had learnt from her short time at Midas it was that you sometimes had to be economical with the truth to get what you wanted.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Jeremy, smiling. ‘And with the new East London line …’
‘Precisely,’ said Erin, filing the brochure back in her briefcase to stop her fingers from trembling.
‘The thing is this, Jeremy. We want this property quickly. We have the interns coming in October, and there is obviously considerable renovation needed on it to make it habitable.’
Jeremy nodded.
‘So what I am proposing is that you take it out of the auction, accept the guide price now and we can complete within, say, four weeks.’
Jeremy steepled his fingers in front of his lips. ‘Well, I was expecting this SE19 to go for considerably more than the guide price,’ he said cautiously. ‘The area is something of a hot spot, what with the improved transport links and so on. At auction it could go for—’
‘You would be doing the Midas Corporation a considerable favour,’ interrupted Erin. ‘In fact, we’re having a cocktail party at The Sanderson on the fifteenth. It would be lovely to see you down there; we can talk about how our two companies can work more closely together in future. I know Adam is looking for an agent for one of the Canary Wharf developments.’
Jeremy’s eyes lit up like a Roman candle. Some of the Midas developments were worth millions: hundreds of millions. If he could be responsible for brokering a deal like that, he’d be made partner in no time.
‘I suppose Belvedere Road is really a very inconsequential lot,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s a probate property; I’m sure I can persuade the vendors to take it off the market for a very quick sale.’
‘You understand that we’ll only pay the guide price?’ said Erin, holding her breath.
Jeremy waved a hand. ‘Fine. Let me make a few phone calls and we can get this ball rolling. And can I just ask? Could I bring a plus one to the party?’ he said. Miranda had always said how she’d love to meet Adam Gold.
23
Molly waited until 7.30 p.m. before she made her move. She left her small cubicle in the Midas Events Department and rode up to the executive floor, where Adam, Marcus and the Midas top brass had their offices. Marcus had left the building a couple of hours earlier for a business dinner with one of their main contractors, but Molly had learnt from Adam’s mousy assistant Erin that Adam would be working late. Molly’s first job at Midas was to plan Adam’s birthday weekend, to be held in Monte Carlo during the grand prix, and it was the perfect excuse for regular tête-à-têtes with her boss.
As the lift hissed open, Molly found herself surrounded by shadows. Most of the lights were off, with the odd grey glow of a computer screen adding an eeriness to the scene. Molly walked down the long corridor towards Adam’s office, her heels tapping lightly on the polished floor. She had taken particular care over what to wear that morning. A pair of slim tailored black crêpe trousers skimmed every curve, her four-inch slingback Manolos exaggerated Molly’s long legs. Her fitted shirt was unbuttoned just a shade too low for the office, and worn without a bra, so that when Molly had grazed her fingers over her nipples during the short journey in the lift, they had stood to attention like hazelnuts. Molly knew she looked good, powerful and sexy, like a Guy Bourdin model.
As she got closer, she could see a shaft of light coming from Adam’s office and, peering through the crack, she could see him bent over his desk, reading a document under a blade of lamplight. He looked up as she tapped lightly on the door.
‘You’re here late, Molly,’ he said, putting down his pen. She noticed him rake his eyes over her body as he motioned her to sit. ‘I’m just finishing up here myself.’
‘I’ve been making some calls to Monaco. It’s taken me all day to get through to some people.’
He motioned to a decanter of bourbon on a table by the window. ‘Drink?’
She nodded, willing him to make it a good measure.
‘So, how’s it going?’ he asked, handing her a tumbler. ‘As I’m sure you’ve discovered, the team have solid business PR backgrounds, so I’m really glad you can bring some flair to our entertaining.’
‘Well, parties are what I’m good at,’ smiled Molly, sliding back in the chair and crossing her long legs. She liked this; the pair of them sitting in half light, Adam’s desk a barrier between them like the chessboard in The Thomas Crown Affair when sexual tension crackled between Faye Dunaway and Steve McQueen.
She looked up and he was staring at her. ‘So?’ he asked, a slight smile on his lips.
She picked up the see-through folder she had been carrying. ‘I wondered if you had a few minutes to go over the plans for your birthday party in Monte Carlo, but if you have to dash off …’
He glanced at his watch and shrugged. ‘No. It’s fine, I have a few minutes.’
