There had been a time when Lara and Alex had been completely on the same page, sharing ideals and dreams, even sharing the same room on mini-breaks to Rome and Istanbul, but lately Alex had changed. The suits, the playboy apartment, the way he seemed to care more about ‘the business’ than the actual truth.
The bedside phone rang.
‘Miss Lara? It is reception. I have visitors for you.’
Her heart jumped. Alex. She couldn’t remember telling him where she was staying, but perhaps he was feeling guilty and had tracked her down. She glanced in the mirror and grimaced: she looked like death.
‘Visiteurs?’ she asked. Plural? Her pleasure faded; he must have brought Charlie with him.
‘Oui, Mademoiselle, deux. Eduardo Ortega et Monsieur Stefan Melberg.’
‘What on earth are you two doing here?’
They were sitting in the courtyard garden under a pergola twisted with honeysuckle, radiating a sweet, heady and floral scent. Lara felt far from fragrant. She’d had the world’s quickest shower and tied her still-damp hair up into a bun, but even a slick of red lipstick couldn’t disguise her crumpled clothes – or her crumpled face, come to that.
‘Pleased to see us, then?’ said Stefan, rising to give her a double-kiss.
‘It’s a long way from Shoreditch.’ said Lara. ‘How the hell did you get here? Gulfstream?’
It was meant to be a joke – as a member of the Ortega family, she was sure he was used to flying private, but Eduardo just shrugged.
‘Easyjet,’ he replied.
Eduardo smiled gratefully as an elderly man with a tray brought them a jug of ice tea, jingling with ice.
‘After you rang me yesterday to tell us about Jago Bain, I made a few calls myself,’ said Eduardo, as he poured the tea. ‘Turns out he is in Monaco this weekend. I’ve arranged a meeting.’
‘Bain’s here?’
She was impressed. Lara liked can-do people, but Ortega was on another level.
Lara sat forward eagerly. Perhaps it was the aspirin she had dry-swallowed, but the moment Eduardo mentioned the meeting, she felt her headache ease; this was what she needed. Energy and forward motion.
‘So what do we know about him?’
‘Bain is an operator. Always on the lookout for business and feathering his contacts with the press.’
‘No wonder he’s in Monaco this weekend,’ noted Stefan.
Eduardo continued. ‘He runs his own corporate PR firm, but he functions more like an old-school lobbyist, a middle man between politicians and finance. Lately he’s moved heavily into reputation management.’
Lara hadn’t heard of Jago Bain before the previous night, but reputation management was something she knew all about. She’d seen Felix Tait’s spin doctor go into action during the trial, portraying him as a virtuous philanthropist, sending out press releases emphasising his charity work, making sure he was photographed at the right sort of events – benefits and gala dinners. It was the same all over the corporate sector. The energy company liable for a disastrous oil-spill had careful strategies to rehabilitate its image, the billionaire who had made his money in arms threw lavish parties to launder his reputation – all of them had teams of strategists, lawyers and publicists to deflect, distract and in some cases, punish journalists who sought to reveal the truth.
‘Do you know him personally?’ asked Lara, the sweet, cold tea soothing her gravelly throat.
‘We are slightly acquainted,’ said Eduardo, with a hint of discomfort. ‘But I can tell you that Bain has a reputation for getting results. And a reputation for being something of a hedonist.’
‘To put it politely,’ said Stefan.
‘Hedonist?’
‘Party boy. Word around town is that Jago has an escalating drug problem.’
‘Is that why he was kicked off Jonathon Meyer’s boat? Bad behaviour?’
Eduardo sat back in his chair and looked at Lara.
‘Perhaps you can ask him that tonight.’
Lara tipped her sunglasses forward.
‘I see,’ she smiled. ‘So that’s my role? To sweet-talk Jago Bain?’
Stefan laughed.
‘Lara, your reputation precedes you. You’re the best at getting answers from reluctant subjects.’
‘I’m flattered,’ she said sceptically, searching their faces. ‘And what if he won’t speak to me?.’
Stefan looked at Eduardo, who shrugged.
‘Then we’re screwed.’
As her taxi rolled down through the hills and out onto the coast road, Lara turned her face towards the open window, feeling the rush of sea air, a faint tang of salt and sand and cut grass; she was at least feeling human again. She was sorry to leave Roquebrune behind. After Eduardo and Stefan had gone, she had gone for a walk around the old town, a rambling hill settlement of steps, cobbled squares and red slate roofs. In the local coffee shop, someone had told her how Coco Chanel had once lived in the village, and pointed out an olive tree that was over a thousand years old. Lara had taken a seat beneath its branches and read a pulpy novel she’d found in the little post office. It felt like the first time since leaving the Law Courts that she had actually allowed herself to relax. Even her argument with Alex seemed to have faded into the distant past, a mere irritation.
Now the car was weaving through the back streets of Monte Carlo, down past gated dwellings, neon-lit cafes and endless lines of parked scooters, finally reaching the Buddha-Bar, the restaurant/nightclub where a bottle of champagne could set you back 10,000 euros. No big surprise that someone like Jago Bain had chosen it for their meeting.
Walking up the grand steps to the building, Lara suddenly felt exposed in her green dress. This was the playground of the super-rich and she suspected there weren’t many people who were wearing what they’d had on the night before. Even so, the receptionist-cum-host took Lara’s name and told her that her party was already here, leading her into a magical Eastern-style indigo-lit space, heaving with the glamorous crowd. She crossed the floor towards where Eduardo and Stefan were already waiting.
It was still early in Monaco terms but already the place was rammed; refugees from the casino next door, middle-aged men with slightly too-small shirts and willowy women in slinky dresses. And then she saw him coming into the bar: Jago Bain. He was forty-something, good-looking although slightly going to seed, with a heavy tan, swept-back, thinning hair and a blue shirt beneath a light grey suit. Bain spotted them and walked over.
‘Heyyy, Eduardo, looking good,’ he cried, faking a punch.
Eduardo actually flinched, but he did his best to cover it up. ‘Join us Jago, please.’
‘You’ve met?’ asked Lara.
‘Only once,’ smirked Bain, raising an eyebrow at Eduardo. ‘Your brother’s 40th at Annabel’s, wasn’t it? What a night that was.’
Lara couldn’t picture Eduardo strutting around one of the smartest members’ clubs in London. She imagined that sitting at home reading leather-bound books or watching heavyweight documentaries was more his speed. Jago squeezed himself in next to Lara, both arms spread along the booth behind. He clicked his fingers at a waitress, mouthing the word ‘Krug’ and pointing to Eduardo’s table.
‘So you’re the famous Lara Stone, hmm?’ he said, greedily looking her up and down.
‘Famous?’ said Lara, refusing to react.
‘I don’t think anyone can have missed all that Felix Tait nonsense. I know your cousin Charlie too.’
‘Of course.’
The champagne arrived and Stefan made a toast. ‘To money.’
It was meant to be ironic, even mocking perhaps, but Bain grinned. ‘Very apt,’ he said, knocking back the fizz like it was Evian and reaching for the bottle.
‘So what can I do for you folks?’ he said, filling his own glass.
‘I hear you were a friend of Jonathon Meyer’s.’
Bain shook his head.
‘Ah Jonathon, that was awful. We had our differences, but still sad. Very sad.�
�
‘What happened with you and him?’ asked Lara, as casually as she could.
‘What do you mean?’ said Jago, sniffing his champagne glass before taking a sip.
‘I heard you were thrown off his boat last month.’
Jago pointed a finger at her, then looked at Eduardo and Stefan.
‘She’s good, this one. Keep hold of her.’
He shrugged and tipped back his champagne. ‘I got a bit too boisterous. Went a little too heavy on the bubbles.’
‘So who was on the boat? Who was Jonathon trying to impress?’ asked Eduardo. Lara saw Jago flinch and flashed Stefan a look. To her relief, Stefan understood immediately: Lara needed to get Jago on his own. Stefan pretended to look at his phone, then tapped Eduardo on the knee. ‘Apologies, Jago,’ he said, getting up. ‘Eduardo and I have to go and make a quick work call.’
‘We do?’ said Eduardo.
‘Can we leave you with Lara for five?’
‘Take all the time you need,’ he said wolfishly. ‘Lara’s in safe hands.’
I’m not entirely sure about that, thought Lara, sliding a little further down the booth.
‘We’re better off without Eduardo anyway,’ said Jago, lowering his voice. ‘Bit of a stiff, that one, nothing like his brother Felipe.’
Lara was intrigued and would have loved to quiz him for more insights into the Euro elite, but she knew she needed to stick to the plan.
‘Why are you here, Jago?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘When an Ortega rings, you take the call. If I do him a favour, I can call one in later down the line. It’s how the world works, sweetheart.’
‘Okay, so do me the favour and tell me about Meyer,’ said Lara. ‘Why was he so popular? Surely there are lots of generous hosts in this part of the world.’
‘Correct. Anyone can throw a party but people went to the Pandora because of what Jonathon could do for them,’ said Jago with a touch of contempt.
‘Do?’ said Lara, topping up his glass. ‘What did he do?’
‘You don’t know? Jonathon was a fixer, a fluffer. Okay, sure, he was a fund manager too, but Meyer’s gift was connecting people. You needed investment? He knew where to send you. Got a problem? Jon had a man who could fix it. Jon was smart. Brilliant, really. They came for the advice, not for the party.’
Lara watched Bain’s face as he spoke. She had no reason to believe he was lying. Yet.
Jago pushed himself up and held out a hand.
‘Talking of which, come on, let’s dance.’
Lara gave a nervous laugh.
‘Dance?’
‘Dance. It’s party time. Indulge your old Uncle Jago.’
Reluctantly, Lara allowed herself to be led to the small dancefloor at the far end of the bar. There was one other couple dancing cheek-to-cheek, but that didn’t seem to deter Jago. He threw out a hand and whirled Lara around. As he dropped her into a dip, Bain’s mouth came close to the side of Lara’s face.
‘Because I have morals,’ he said into her ear.
‘What?’
‘That’s why they threw me off the boat,’ he said with a smile. ‘I know, right? The irony.’
He was making a joke of it, but Bain wasn’t an idiot. He knew she was a journalist and he wanted this information to get out into the world. She took his hand and led him outside onto a terrace, away from the crowds, but with enough bass-thump to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard.
‘Who are they, Jago? You said “they” threw you off the yacht.’
‘Jon’s inner circle.’
‘Inner circle?’
Melissa had also mentioned them.
‘Jon had a circle of mates. They had an insiders-only syndicate, sunk their own personal cash into sure-fire growth investments.’
‘Why did they invite you, Jago?’
He shrugged. ‘Advisory capacity. I’d worked with Jon and a couple of his inner-circle guys before. They liked me. Or rather they liked what I could do for them.’
‘And what did they want you to do for them this time?’
‘They wanted me to “rehabilitate” one of their investments.’
Lara felt the hairs on her bare arms raise; she knew this was important.
‘Which investment?’
‘A cobalt mine in the Congo,’ said Bain, looking away, his bullishness having disappeared. ‘They bought it three or four years ago; it’s doubled in value since then. Apparently, cobalt’s important in electric cars, so suddenly everyone wants it.’
Lara didn’t know anything about cobalt, but she did know that mining in the DRC – Democratic Republic of Congo – was a political mess, with accusations of environmental violations and health hazards for the miners.
‘And you didn’t want to work with them on it because…?’
Bain pursed his lips.
‘A rare attack of conscience.’
Jago looked less sure of himself now, the cockiness gone. Lara didn’t want to lose him. She stepped closer.
‘Jago, let me help you. I can tell you think what they are doing is wrong.’
She met his eyes. ‘What is it?’
He exhaled loudly.
‘Look, I don’t have many standards, but I do believe you should leave children out of it.’
‘Children?’
He pulled a face.
‘They use kids in the mine. Some as young as seven working in the tunnels. Terrible injuries, deaths, parents quietly paid off, but it starts to leak out just as an American automobile giant shows interest in buying the mine. So Jon and his mates wanted me to clean up its reputation, come up with a bunch of bullshit initiatives aimed at making the mine look good. Holiday camps for the kiddies, all that crap.’
‘Where is the mine, Jago?’
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
‘I’ve already told you enough,’ he said, turning back towards the bar. Lara took his arm.
‘Jago, please. Tell me.’
Bain opened his mouth to speak, then both of them saw Eduardo approach them. Coming to check on her presumably, which was sweet, but terrible timing.
‘You want the name of the mine, pay me,’ said Bain, his bravado coming back. ‘You can both afford it.’
Lara caught Eduardo’s eye and shook her head.
‘I thought you said you had a conscience, Jago.’
‘And I also need to make a living.’
‘Those guys humiliated you, Jago, because you’re a better person than they are. Or at least you want to be, otherwise why did you come here tonight?’
He didn’t speak for a few seconds.
‘The Kanjomo mine,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s owned by an off-shore company belonging to the inner circle. You’ll have to find it yourself. The people on the Pandora that night were Richard Stewart, Donald Van Leder, Bernard Gander, Philippe Marsaud, Eugene Dre and Jonathon Meyer – you’ll have to remember all that, because I won’t be repeating it and, in fact, I never said it in the first place.’
His eyes met Lara’s and he waved his empty glass.
‘Now if you don’t mind, I have some champagne to drink. Tell Eduardo he will be covering my tab.’
He turned and walked back towards the thumping music of the bar.
‘Jago,’ called Lara, but he just raised a hand as if he were flapping a fly away.
‘Thank you, Jago,’ she said to his back. ‘Thank you.’
Chapter 16
Monaco was buzzing. The Place du Casino was packed, well-dressed tourists rubbing elbows with the ultra-rich, high-rollers with rubber-neckers. Race weekend was Monte Carlo’s biggest weekend of the year and there was a carnival atmosphere in the air; lights and laughter and couples walking arm in arm, some women’s heels so high they could barely walk any other way.
Lara and Stefan stood by the Hotel de Paris watching Eduardo ascend the wide steps and push through the revolving doors. No one had been particularly surprised when Eduardo had cried off after they’d left the Buddha Bar: Mo
nte Carlo clearly wasn’t his kind of town.
Lara, on the other hand, was beginning to love its energy and spectacle. And the company wasn’t too bad either.
‘So you’re not at the De Paris?’ she asked Stefan as they turned away from the hotel.
Stefan shook his head.
‘I was amazed Eduardo managed to get a room at such short notice, but his magic and my bank account didn’t stretch to two of them. So I’m in an Air B and B in Menton.’
‘I’m not in Monaco either,’ replied Lara. ‘I’m in Roquebrune. It’s going to be murder getting a taxi home.’
‘Then we’ll have to sit it out until it quietens down.’
‘How about we go to the Casino and put everything on red.’
‘Hmm, one problem with that…’
Stefan mimed pulling out his pocket linings to reveal empty hands.
He was flirting with her, but she didn’t mind. It had been a long time since Lara had had a boyfriend, and sometimes she thought she’d forgotten how to flirt back. But there was a charge between them that wasn’t just the Grand Prix buzz.
‘Why don’t we just walk,’ she said, inhaling the sugary evening air.
They walked down the steep avenue toward the port, the pavements choked with idling pedestrians, the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the road barely moving any faster.
‘I love how F1 cars go at 200mph, but in Monte Carlo, no one gets out of first gear,’ said Lara. It was a petrol-head’s version of an evening stroll, dozens of super-sleek supercars crawling at 5kph then – if they tipped enough – briefly pulling into a rare parking space in front of one of the hotels where they could loiter and soak up the admiring glances from the passing tourists.
‘Those things cost $500,000 new,’ said Stefan, nodding towards a Lamborghini in a vivid lime green. ‘Do you think the reward is worth the cost? Half a million for a few guys going ‘wow, nice car’?’
‘I’m more of a ‘two wheels’ kind of girl.’
As they approached the port, Lara could feel the deep bass thump from parties on board the yachts positioned all along the front. This was the Yacht Party phenomenon in microcosm: she and Stefan strolled past each gangplank, craning their necks to look inside. Lara didn’t have any great desire to be part of this crowd, but she was still curious, and it was hard not to wonder if she was missing out on some amazing experience behind the velvet ropes. That psychology was why Jonathon Meyer had bought the Pandora, why he held those networking parties on a boat. Yes, they were expensive and glamorous, but so were nightclubs like Jimmyz or the Buddha Bar, why not hold his parties there? Because only the chosen few had been allowed onto the Pandora: only la crème de la crème. The very size of a boat limited the guestlist so even the Goliath was small when compared to somewhere like the Buddha Bar. It was exclusive in every sense.
The Yacht Party Page 12