The Yacht Party

by Perry, Tasmina

  ‘As a model, you get invited to lots of parties. I met Jonathon at one of them.’

  ‘In London?’

  Josie shook her head.

  ‘In Monaco. I went out there in September to do a job at the Yacht Show.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A festival for superyachts. If you want to buy or charter one, you go there. If you want people you think you might be buying one, you go there. It’s easy to get caught up in all that glamour.’

  She smiled sadly. ‘I went to Monte Carlo for three days and stayed three weeks.’

  Lara glanced at her.

  ‘You stayed because of Jonathon?’

  She nodded. ‘I met Melissa on the night I arrived and she invited me to a party on board Pandora. Then Jonathon invited me out for dinner. That was it.’

  ‘But you didn’t move to Monaco full-time?’

  ‘No. Jonathon liked his space. I knew from the start that he wasn’t going to ask me to move onto the Pandora. It was his workplace.’

  As Josie talked, Lara quickly realised that, despite being his girlfriend, Josie hadn’t spent much time with Jonathon Meyer. In October, the yachting season in the Mediterranean ports wound down with the charter boat crowd and the party scene that came with it moving on to the Caribbean and the Indian Ocean. Meyer used the time for business trips to New York, Singapore and Beijing, only meeting up with Josie when he flew into London. The remote nature of Meyer’s relationship didn’t surprise Lara – for men like Jonathon Meyer it was about following the money, not your heart. They stopped near the stone lions beneath Nelson’s column.

  ‘Why did you want to see me, Josie?’ asked Lara.

  ‘Melissa called me. She said you’d spoken and that you thought Jonathon’s death was suspicious.’

  ‘I told her that was one theory I was investigating.’

  A group of Spanish students jostled past them, shouting and laughing, and Lara saw Josie flinch, glancing around.

  ‘I think I might be in danger too,’ said Josie.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  The girl seemed to be looking at something over Lara’s shoulder. She turned: a middle-aged man wearing an overcoat was striding towards them. As Lara watched, the man took a selfie with the fountains in the background, checked it, then apparently satisfied, walked off towards the National Gallery. Josie shivered. She was skittish, something had clearly rattled her.

  ‘Look,’ said Lara, pointing to a brightly lit cafe on the other side of the square. ‘Why don’t we get out of these crowds? We can sit there and you’ll still be able to see anyone coming – and we can talk more easily?’

  The girl looked dubious, as if being cornered was worse than being attacked in the open.

  ‘Please, Josie,’ said Lara. ‘I want to help you.’

  The girl reluctantly nodded and followed Lara across the road into the cafe. Once they were settled at a table, Lara jumped straight into the question that had been on her lips.

  ‘Jonathon had an inner circle of friends. Did you ever meet them?’

  She told her the names of his investment syndicate that Jago had mentioned.

  ‘I met lots of people in passing,’ she said. ‘But Jonathon tended to keep his business associates to himself.’

  ‘Josie, you’re scared,’ said Lara quietly. ‘Tell me why.’

  Josie paused, looking away as if she wasn’t sure whether to say it.

  ‘Jon had an apartment in town but we mostly stayed on the yacht. His stateroom was on the top deck which was out of bounds during parties. There was a passcode to get in but I had it. The night of the party, I felt terrible, pounding head and aching body. I kept smiling, drinking, hoping I would feel better, but small talk is exhausting when you’re ill. By ten o’clock, I ducked out and went to Jonathon’s cabin. No-one was going to miss me.’

  Josie looked down at her hands and Lara saw that while the rest of Josie Bourne was super-groomed, her fingernails were chewed to the quick.

  ‘So I was lying in the dark and the window was open: I heard Jon outside talking to another man. It sounded like business chat, like they’d come up to get some privacy away from the party. But then they started talking about a woman. The other guy? He told Jon he needed to get rid of her.’

  ‘Get rid of her? In what context?’

  ‘At first, I assumed they were talking about someone who was underperforming at work. But then the other guy said we need to “shut her up”. Like, once and for all. And he wanted Jon’s help to do it.’

  Lara looked at her, her heart thumping. Was it Sandrine they had been talking about?

  ‘Did they say what this woman had done?’

  ‘No. It sounded like something they both already knew about, something they’d been discussing before.’

  ‘So what did Jonathon say?’

  ‘I couldn’t hear everything. I could still hear the music from the party. But I could tell Jon didn’t want to do whatever it was. The other guy kept pushing; he said, “You owe me, Jon. You owe me for everything.”’

  ‘Owed him for what?’

  ‘He didn’t say – but it must have been a big favour because finally Jon said he would arrange it. He wasn’t happy, but he agreed.’

  Lara leant forward.

  ‘Who was this other man?’

  ‘The blinds were closed so I didn’t see him. I didn’t recognise his voice either. But I heard a name.’

  Lara waited, breath held.

  ‘Jonathon call him Mike.’

  ‘And the woman they wanted to get rid of? Did she have a name?’

  Lara’s heart was in her mouth. She had no idea how long Sandrine had been working on her story, but if these powerful men had heard about her investigation, it was more than possible they might arrange to make that particular problem go away.

  ‘Was it Sandrine? Sandrine Legard?’

  Josie shook her head.

  ‘No. The woman was called Helen.’

  It was a name Lara immediately recognised. Could it be Helen from the post-it note? Helen… Michael… Jonathon. All in a rush, it all seemed so plausible.

  Helen… Michael… Jonathon, her mind thought, trying to connect the dots. This ‘Mike’ was the link between two people who had met violent ends.

  ‘Do you think I’m in danger too?’

  Josie seemed to be reading Lara’s face.

  ‘You do, don’t you?’ said the girl in a panic.

  Lara reached out to touch Josie’s hand, to reassure her, but the girl kicked her chair back and grabbed her bag.

  ‘I should go,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Josie, please…’

  But then she was gone, running out into the square and lost in the dark.

  Chapter 18

  Alex took a deep breath and blew. The candles fluttered, then blinked out.

  ‘HAP-py BIRTH-day!’

  A huge cheer went up and Alex winced as a host of party-poppers fired and a dozen hands threw streamers in the air. Family, friends and colleagues gathered around to clasp his shoulder and slap him on the back and Alex found that, despite his embarrassment at all the fuss, he was having actual fun.

  ‘Speech!’ shouted a voice he recognised from the Chronicle contingent. Reluctantly Alex stood up and raised his hands for quiet.

  ‘Thank you all for coming to my birthday party at…’ he looked around. ‘Where am I?’

  There was a big laugh.

  ‘The Bankside Cafe, darling,’ whispered Alicia. Alex was joking of course; his post-Monaco hangover was bad, but not that bad. The Bankside was a classic venue for a media power lunch and Alex adored the parmesan linguine, their signature dish.

  ‘Thanks for coming to my favourite restaurant in the world and I’m so happy to be here to share it with all of you. I have no idea how Alicia did it in complete and utter secrecy.’

  More laughter from those who knew Alicia and how super-organised she was. More still from those who knew that Alicia had consulted Ale
x at every stage of the ‘surprise’ from venue to cake to guest list. ‘There’s no point in wasting time or money on people you dislike,’ she had said crisply during one of their planning meetings. She had even insisted on holding the party on a Monday night: the Tuesday edition was always slow. No point in letting festivities get in the way of your career.

  But Alex had to admit the end result had been worth it all. It was a perfect evening, from the blood orange Negronis at the drinks reception to the petit fours, it had all been thought through and perfectly executed. There was only one thing missing, but Alex knew he only had himself to blame for that.

  Speech over, Alex shrugged off a final round of applause and made his way over to Alicia.

  ‘Hey you,’ he whispered into her ear, snaking a hand around her waist and kissing her neck. She smelt great. Even better than she looked. And Alicia always looked terrific.

  ‘It was just perfect Alicia, thank you.’

  She smiled modestly.

  ‘You’re very welcome. I love to see you smile.’

  ‘Meaning I don’t usually?’

  She laughed.

  ‘Meaning I don’t see it enough.’

  Alex nodded, feeling a pang of guilt, because she was right. He had met Alicia at a Christmas party just a week after he’d been promoted to Deputy Editor, so to Alicia his 15-hour working days were normal. But they weren’t, he knew that.

  ‘I’ll work on that smile with you,’ he said. ‘But first I should go and talk to my dad,’ he said, noticing Terry Ford leaving the dining room.

  ‘And thanks for bringing him down. Now that was a surprise.’

  ‘Always like to keep you guessing,’ she said, throwing a grin over her shoulder as she went to mingle. Alex followed his father out through double doors into a small courtyard garden filled with flowers and potted ferns. It was good to get out into the fresh air, even if he was closed in on all sides by other parts of the restaurant.

  ‘Great speech, lad,’ said his father as Alex approached. ‘Great party too.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ said Alex, as he embraced the old man. Terry felt small, thinner, but Alex held on, enjoying the feeling. It had been six months since he’d last seen his father and it was only now that he realised just how much he had missed him.

  ‘So you’re coming back to mine tonight?’

  ‘No, Alicia’s put me up in Claridge’s.’

  Alex couldn’t hide his surprise.

  ‘Claridge’s?’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ grinned Terry. ‘I was as gobsmacked as you. Not that I’m complaining. 24-hour room service, everything laid on. Been a long time since I was so pampered.’

  Alex examined his father’s face: was that a comment about his mum? Since she had passed away five years before, Terry had been fending for himself, juggling his newsagent’s shop in the village with domestic life. The shop had closed the previous year – his father had tried to keep it going as long as he could, selling loo roll, baked beans and tea bags alongside a dwindling stock of magazines and papers, but had finally flipped the ‘closed’ sign for the last time, calling it early retirement rather than pointing out the real cause: newspapers just weren’t selling any more. Still, even though Terry had less to worry about now, Alex wasn’t sure how well his father was coping. He was the kind of man who liked to stay active.

  ‘Next time I’ll do the pampering,’ said Alex. ‘And we should definitely do this more. We don’t see enough of each other.’

  Terry squeezed his shoulder.

  ‘You have a big newspaper to run, son. You’re busy.’

  ‘But I could come up more. I don’t want you thinking I don’t want to see you.’

  Terry was shaking his head, an amused smile on his face.

  ‘That genuinely never crossed my mind,’ he said. ‘Seriously Alex, I’m your dad, all I want is for you to go out into the world and succeed at whatever you do. And…’ he gestured towards the sumptuous surroundings. ‘…it definitely looks like you’re succeeding. It’s a long way from the White Lion, that’s for sure.’

  Alex smiled, thinking about his 18th party at the local pub. Wilted cheese and pickle sandwiches and thirty quid behind the bar.

  ‘So how’s things back home?’

  ‘I saw Gaz Dickenson the other day. He was down the pub with that other reprobate, Jacko. Same old, same old. Drinking, singing, arguing about football. They said to say hello.’

  There had been a time – around that 18th birthday in fact – when Alex had wanted nothing more than to get the hell away from the Lake District village where he had grown up. It was too small, too claustrophobic and Alex needed to get out into the world, find action and adventure, get his boots dusty in far-flung hot-spots. Now? Now he was looking at Gaz and Jacko through rose-tinted spectacles. Maybe they were the ones who’d got it right, surrounded by friends and good tunes on the jukebox. Alex looked back at the private dining room. Plenty of friends, sure. But would they join in if he started singing ‘Wonderwall’?

  ‘So where’s Lara tonight?’ asked Terry.

  ‘I’m not sure. You know how it is, Dad, always running off chasing some story. You can’t always schedule social arrangements around the news.’

  Alex had hoped after their awkward meeting on the harbour front in Monaco that she had forgiven their disagreement on the yacht. Lara had sent a bland ‘happy birthday’ text earlier in the day, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her in person. It had hung over him like a rain-cloud all day.

  ‘Alicia’s really done you proud though, hasn’t she?’

  He was sure his dad hadn’t meant it to sound like a consolation prize, but that’s how it felt.

  ‘You know, I wasn’t sure about her at first,’ said Terry, lowering his voice. ‘But she’s won me round. She’s a good ’un.’

  Alex was surprised to hear him say it. The first time he had taken his new girlfriend up to visit, there had been a definite frostiness. It wasn’t for any lack of effort on Alicia’s part; she had taken a Single Malt Whisky and was polite and attentive, but Terry hadn’t warmed to her. Too posh, too southern, Alex had thought at the time, but actually it wasn’t that. Lara was pretty posh but Terry and Diane Ford had treated her like a daughter they’d never had. Terry felt around inside his jacket and pulled something out. He thrust a black velvet pouch towards Alex.

  ‘I thought you might want this.’

  Frowning, Alex opened the bag and there, flat on his palm, was his mother’s engagement ring.

  ‘You’ve been together for a while now, so I thought I’d give it to you just in case you’re having thoughts about something more permanent. If Alicia’s special to you, I know your mum would want her to have it.’

  Alex looked down at the ring. It was simple, a single small diamond on a plain gold band. Unbidden, a memory flashed in: his mum’s hand lying on the white sheets of the hospital bed, Alex squeezing her fingers and feeling this ring press into his skin.

  ‘It’s a lovely thought,’ said Alex. And it was, especially as Alex knew how hard it would have been for Terry to part with the ring, but Alex also knew something else: he knew that Alicia would hate it. Alicia would want some giant rock with a brand name like Cartier or DeBeers, something she could flash at her envious girlfriends. Alicia wasn’t entirely hard-hearted – she would appreciate the sentiment of Terry’s gesture – there was just no way she would actually wear the ring. But Alex wasn’t about to say any of this to his dad; not the time, not the place. Instead he hugged Terry tightly.

  ‘Thanks Dad,’ he said. ‘But don’t hold your breath, eh?’

  ‘No rush lad. Whenever you’re ready. Although I get the distinct feeling your good lady is more than ready.’

  He glanced across at Alicia who was standing by the door. It wasn’t as if it hadn’t crossed Alex’s mind either. Alex slipped the ring into his pocket and patted it. ‘I’ll keep it safe Dad, don’t you worry.’

  Terry winked at him and squeezed his arm.
/>   ‘I know you will, son.’

  Weaving through the guests, Alex crossed to Alicia.

  ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘I’ve been looking for you. Guess who’s here?’

  ‘Here’s the birthday boy,’ said a deep voice. Ah crap. It was Darius. Alex had, of course, invited his editor – office politics demanded it – but he hadn’t actually expected him to come. Darius was the kind of man who would treat a no-show at a party as a power-play.

  ‘Hey Darius, glad you could come,’ said Alex, as warmly as he could. ‘Shame you missed the meal. It was an awesome beef en croute, wasn’t it Alicia?’

  ‘Yes, I had the beef when I was here with Jonathon and Olivia last week,’ said Darius. Of course he had. And in one seemingly innocuous sentence, Darius had reminded him of the pecking order and the fact that he had the ear of the company power couple. Nice.

  Sensing a captive audience, Darius launched into a retread of the Felix Tait affair with himself as the crusading hero of the piece, blind-sided by a blinkered judiciary.

  Alex was still nodding and making sympathetic noises to Darius when he saw Lara walk in, holding her bike helmet and looking nervous. A smile immediately spread across his face. Leaving Darius with Alicia, Alex strode across.

  ‘Hey! You came,’ he said.

  ‘I did,’ Lara replied shyly. ‘Oh, and happy birthday. I’m so sorry I missed it, I was interviewing someone. I thought I might make it in time for pudding, but… sorry, I…’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘I’m just glad you’re here’.

  ‘Well, looks like you’ve come up in the world, Ford,’ said Lara, gesturing towards the restaurant. ‘I’ll have to remember that next time I throw you a bash.’

  For his birthday two years ago – pre-Alicia – Lara had hosted an impromptu barbeque on Misty, inviting as many of their City University friends as she could round up in twenty-four hours and the spontaneity had added to the fun. Sandrine had been in town and had come along too. The thought stopped him: Alex realised that was the last time he had properly spoken to Sandrine.

  ‘I’ve got you something,’ she said, pulling a slim package from her rucksack. ‘I hope it makes up for my tardiness.’