The Yacht Party

by Perry, Tasmina

‘I have a thirty-minute window with Simon Meyer so I’ve got to shoot. He’s fitting me in before seeing a client in Mayfair.’

  ‘Great, sure. I just wanted to check you were okay.’

  Lara gave a half-smile. Even with pink cheeks, she couldn’t deny how good he looked. The Monaco tan brought out the blue in his eyes; he looked more like an off-duty surfer than an investigative reporter, even with a pencil tucked in the top pocket of his shirt. Which, now she noticed it, was adorable. Geeky, but adorable.

  ‘I called you last night,’ said Stefan. Lara nodded. She’d got his message but hadn’t been in the mood to speak to him. Alex and the ring had unsettled her. Another friend gone.

  ‘I’m sorry, Stefan,’ she said quickly. ‘I had to meet Josie, then I had to go to my friend’s birthday thing… I just went home and flopped.’

  He nodded, like he understood.

  ‘And the meeting,’ he pointed his chin back in the direction of the office. ‘I’m sorry if Eduardo sounded harsh. He gets like that.’

  ‘Seriously, Stefan, I understand. I’m a big girl; it’s not the first time I’ve had a tricky editorial meeting.’

  ‘So come to Geneva with me,’ he said suddenly.

  ‘Geneva?’ she laughed. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m sure you’ve got the whole thing covered. You don’t need me.’

  ‘It’s not a matter of “need”, it’s a matter of “want”, he said. ‘The hotel I’ve booked isn’t fancy but the lake is beautiful at this time of year and I know this great bistro…’

  Lara gave a soft laugh. There was a time when she would have jumped at the chance to go to Geneva with a sexy, talented and adorable Dutchman. In fact, she wouldn’t have thought twice about it. So why was she hesitating now? Was it because she liked Stefan more than she wanted to admit? If she went off on a romantic mini-break to Switzerland, they might well come back as a couple. And then where would she be? Happy?

  ‘Lara, when was the last time you had fun?’

  ‘Saturday night,’ she said, without having to think about it.

  Stefan grinned back.

  ‘So…?’

  She put her hands on her hips.

  ‘Look, Stefan. We’re in the middle of a story and we’re working together. What would Eduardo say if…’

  ‘Eduardo guessed.’

  That stopped her. She felt strangely uncomfortable, like hearing that your dad knew you were sleeping around.

  ‘Alright, so no Geneva. How about I just take you for dinner when I get back? Is that okay?’

  ‘Okay then,’ she said quietly. ‘That would be nice. How long do you think you’ll be away for?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I will be hurrying back.’

  He stepped forward and kissed her tenderly. Lara thought of the engagement ring at her feet the night before, then put her hand on the back of Stefan’s neck, losing herself in his soft lips. Then she pulled away.

  ‘It’s a date,’ she said. She could feel his eyes on her all the way down the street.

  Greys was a Mayfair dining institution, at least if you were the sort of person who wore a three-piece suit and believed Eton had been the best days of your life. The décor certainly reminded Lara of the headmistress’s study at her boarding school, all dark wood panelling and gilt-framed portraits; in Greys they were of its most famous patrons, most with drooping moustaches and stiff collars. Still, the little booths with their red leather banquettes and crisp linens did look tempting and Lara was now wishing she hadn’t turned down Stella’s bacon sandwich earlier that morning. But she wasn’t here to eat, she was here to speak to Simon Meyer. This was business.

  Lara had contacted him at his Cobham office, but Simon had sent her a message saying he was in London and could squeeze her in for a drink. He was perched on a stool by the bar nursing a glass of something she suspected was gin.

  ‘My client gets here at one o’clock, but he’s always late,’ said Simon, standing to greet her with a formal handshake.

  ‘Snack?’ he asked, noticing Lara’s eyes following a passing waitress with a bread basket. ‘The olives are also very good.’

  Lara had once been embedded with The Royal Marines, who had taught her that in the field, the rule was ‘eat when you can’ because you never knew when you’d get another chance. Lara was unlikely to find herself pinned down in a foxhole, but the principle was sound. She helped herself to the silver bowl in front of her.

  ‘So how was Monaco?’ asked Simon.

  ‘Useful. Thanks for connecting me to Tom. I also spoke to Jonathon’s girlfriend Josie.’

  ‘Jon had a girlfriend?’ said Simon, sipping his gin. ‘I didn’t think commitment was his thing. Does she live in Monaco?’

  ‘No, she’s Canadian. Josie; she’s a model. I don’t think it was serious. Or at least, I didn’t get the feeling Jonathon had been treating it that way.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, as if it was no surprise.

  Lara leant forward.

  ‘Simon, I need to pick your brains. Do you know any of Jonathon’s friends or clients called Mike or Michael?’

  Simon shook his head slowly.

  ‘As I’ve said to you, we weren’t close. Our lives were very different and I didn’t know Jon’s social circle. And of course, he kept his client base closely under wraps.’

  ‘As executor of his estate, do you think you could find out?’

  Simon sighed.

  ‘I suppose I could, yes.’

  ‘But you don’t want to?’

  He rubbed his face wearily.

  ‘Look, as you can imagine, the thought of administering Jon’s affairs is terrifying. Like going into a bear cave – you never know what you’ll find there. There’s his apartment to sort out, the sale of the yacht, winding up his businesses – God, the paperwork.’

  ‘I suppose it will be worthwhile, though?’ said Lara, wiping her oily fingers on a napkin.

  Simon raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that your way of asking if I am his main beneficiary?’

  Lara waited.

  ‘Yes, I am. But I strongly suspect it will be something of a poisoned chalice. Not only will I be tied up in legal disputes with his investors for years to come, there’s a damn good chance we will end up with a deficit.’

  ‘As in there will be no money left?’

  ‘Lara, you’ve seen Pandora. It’s a flash yacht moored in one of the most expensive marinas on earth. Does that look like the purchase of a man who carefully plans his finances?’

  Lara chuckled.

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  Simon shook his head ruefully.

  ‘Jon was an all-on-red kind of guy. I would be surprised if there is a single penny left at the end of it.’

  Lara smiled, but she thought it a strange thing to say. After all, the media had referred to Jonathon Meyer as multi-millionaire. Some had even referred to him as a billionaire. There had to be something left, even if it was only the yacht.

  Simon signalled to the barman for another drink.

  ‘So who is this Michael?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s what we need to find out. Josie – the girlfriend – overheard a conversation between Jon and this guy “Mike”. She said they seemed to know each other well. Perhaps they were old friends?’

  Simon took a sip of his gin and looked thoughtful.

  ‘Our father’s best friend was called Mike but he must be over eighty now, if he’s still alive. It’s a popular name…’

  Lara leaned forward.

  ‘This Mike was asking Jonathon for a favour: a big favour. He thought Jon would do it as he owed him. Apparently, he said Jon owed him everything.’

  Simon Meyer looked at her.

  ‘Then I wonder if it was Michael Sachs.’

  Lara felt her back stiffen.

  ‘Michael Sachs? Who’s he?’

  ‘Big-time financier. Something of a socialite and philanthropist; Michael and his wife are always in the party pages of societ
y magazines – a very impressive man. And in the early days, Michael Sachs was a mentor to Jon.’

  Lara tried to contain her growing excitement. That instinct jangling again: she could feel that this was important.

  ‘So how did Jonathon get to know him?

  ‘Through Sachs’s son, actually. After Jon left Cambridge he moved to West London and did odd jobs to get by. Being a maths guy, it’s no surprise he fell into tutoring and did some for Michael Sachs’s little kid. Jon used to tell me how much he liked going round to their house – some stucco pile in Kensington.’

  Simon smiled fondly.

  ‘Apparently, Jon turned the boy’s maths around in three months – typical, really. The Sachs’s were so grateful, Mr. Sachs got Jon a job at one of the banks. Jonathon didn’t stay long with them, but it was how he got his break, how he got into finance.’

  Lara had assumed that the ‘Mike’ from the Pandora was a current business associate, she hadn’t considered it might be someone from his past. In fact, if the whole thing hinged on ‘you owe me’, then a debt from the start of Meyer’s career would make perfect sense.

  ‘What was the favour? Do you know?’

  Lara looked down at the empty olive bowl.

  ‘I don’t know. Not yet.’

  Simon looked at her with cynical grey eyes.

  ‘Nothing?’

  Lara didn’t want to tell him – didn’t want to be the one to undermine Simon’s memory of his brother – but if she stood any chance of getting Simon’s help in going through Jonathon’s paperwork, he needed to know what was going on. Slowly, she began to tell him about the Inner Circle syndicate and the allegation about the Kanjomo mine. Simon’s face clouded.

  ‘You’re suggesting that Jon was trying to cover up child labour?’

  ‘No, I’m saying that someone may have asked him to. As far as we know, Jonathon is entirely innocent.’

  ‘As far as we know’, repeated Simon, his face beginning to colour. ‘And yet you are already insinuating some wrong-doing here, based on a barely-heard conversation.’

  Immediately, Lara knew she had made mistake telling him so much.

  ‘Simon, I’m just trying to help you.’

  ‘No Lara, you are not,’ he replied. ‘You are helping yourself. You are trying to write a headline-grabbing story.’

  ‘Story? I don’t even work for the Chronicle anymore.’

  ‘Even so, your approach is to put together a narrative, is it not? Good guys, bad guys, heroes and villains. And my brother is being cast as a villain.’

  She began to object, but Simon put up his hand like a stop-sign.

  ‘I said I would help you look into Jonathon’s death in good faith. If his mugging wasn’t a random attack, I want to know that too – perhaps even look for justice. But not at any price. Not if it means my brother’s reputation is destroyed in the process.’

  ‘Even if the allegations are true?’

  Simon Meyer fell quiet, then looked at his watch.

  ‘I think you’d better go,’ he said finally. ‘My client should be here any minute.’

  ‘Simon, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  He looked at her with an even gaze.

  ‘And yet, Miss Stone, that is exactly what you have done.’

  Standing out in Dover Street, Lara pulled out her phone and tapped Michael Sachs into the search bar. Her eyes opened wide: Simon hadn’t been joking. Michael Sachs’s picture was everywhere. And true to Simon’s description, Sachs was a handsome, silver-haired man with a wide smile. Just Stella’s type. Lara scanned the headlines on the Sachses:

  ‘New York philanthropist opens arts centre’

  ‘Sachses donate dialysis machine to children’s hospital’

  ‘Queen of the fundraisers pays tribute to her husband’

  She clicked onto the business sites:

  ‘Sachs Capital invests in green energy site’

  ‘Michael Sachs in merger talks with Johnstone Fund’

  Michael Sachs wasn’t exactly hiding in the shadows, was he? But Lara felt the tingle. She had the scent. There was something here, she was sure of it. She flipped over to her contacts and dialled up Stella’s number.

  ‘I have Michael.’

  She could almost hear Stella’s mouth drop open.

  ‘The Michael?’

  ‘His name’s Michael Sachs.’ Lara smiled into the phone. ‘And he could just be our man.’

  Chapter 21

  Stella was coasting downhill, but she kept pedalling anyway, increasing her speed, enjoying the rush of wind in her face.

  Who knew that cycling could offer such fun? She zipped through an amber light and left a sooty red bus standing. In fact, who knew that the Capital was so hilly? It was only by travelling by bicycle that you got a sense of the ups and downs of the city. When you were encased in steel and glass or shooting along underground, it all felt like it was flat, but London was a bowl, everything heading down towards the river.

  Not everything, she thought, standing on the pedals to get up an incline and around the roundabout at Sloane Square. Seeing a snarl-up at the entrance to the King’s Road, she jinked left in front of the tube, rolling down through the millionaires’ terraces towards Royal Hospital Road.

  Stella put in another burst, her excitement rising in anticipation of getting to Lara’s houseboat. Because Stella had news: big news. She had found Helen. The Helen from the post-it note Lara had pulled from Sandrine’s pocket in Paris: the Helen that connected Sandrine and Michael Sachs.

  She dismounted the bike at the wharf, clattered through the gate, bumping it up Misty’s gang-plank and propping it against the side of the boat. Through a porthole window she could see Lara in the living space, on her laptop sipping a cup of tea.

  She rapped on the window and Lara came to open the door.

  ‘Sorry, Boss,’ panted Stella. ‘Boris bike… all the way… from Islington…’

  ‘Islington? What were you doing there?’

  Stella took a deep breath, blew it out.

  ‘I found Helen,’ she said.

  Lara beckoned with both hands. Inside, she clattered around the kitchen making the tea while Stella caught her breath and gave her the run-down of what she had found out.

  ‘We want to connect a Helen and a Michael with Jonathon Meyer, right?’ said Stella. ‘So I had a root around Sachs Capital, put the company into a networking site and found Helen Driver. Her CV says she spent two years as PA to Michael Sachs. I called the offices who told me Helen left a couple of months ago. So, another little dig around on the electoral roll and I find her in Islington, so I popped up there and knocked on the door. She was at home.’

  Lara listened in silence, but Stella could see she was pleased.

  ‘She was happy to talk to you?’ asked Lara.

  ‘No, not at all,’ said Stella. ‘In fact, she was quite freaked out if I’m honest.’

  Never come back without the story. That had been Lara’s first piece of advice when Stella had started working with her, so Stella had flashed one of her old Chronicle business cards and told her she was doing a piece entitled ‘His Girl Friday’, profiling PAs to top businessmen.

  ‘Quick thinking,’ said Lara. ‘Very tabloid.’

  Stella could tell this was meant to be a compliment. She beamed.

  ‘Anyway, I let Helen waffle on about how vital she was to Michael Sachs, but as she spoke, I got the distinct feeling that Helen didn’t have much of a clue what Sachs did. He was a decent boss and the pay was good, but he spent a lot of time abroad so she didn’t even see him every day.’

  Helen could feel Lara’s scepticism growing.

  ‘Why did she leave?’ Lara asked. ‘Affair with the boss?’

  Stella pulled a face.

  ‘That’s what I thought, but no. I checked around: Helen Driver left Sachs Capital of her own accord. She’s actually on gardening leave because she’s got a new job. Starts next month.’

  She watched Lara mull it over.
Stella knew how badly her boss wanted a breakthrough. Over the past seven days they had seemed to find so many pieces of the jigsaw, but none of them seemed to want to form into a recognisable picture.

  ‘Did you ask her if Sandrine had tried to contact Michael?’

  ‘I did,’ said Stella. ‘But she hadn’t heard of Sandrine Legard.’

  Lara looked disappointed – as well she might.

  ‘I did find out one thing though,’ said Stella. ‘Michael was having an affair.’

  Lara looked up.

  ‘Did Helen tell you that?’

  ‘Not in so many words. She said Michael was a brilliant businessman but you wouldn’t want to be his wife.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Stella sipped her tea.

  ‘She wouldn’t be pushed much more on it but she did say that Victoria Sachs, the wife, was a lovely, elegant woman and hinted that Michael didn’t treat her very well.’

  Lara was quiet for a few moments, then stood up and wiped her hands on her jeans.

  ‘It’s not her,’ she said finally. ‘Much as I want it to be, Helen Driver isn’t the Helen from the note.’

  Stella felt her shoulders sag with disappointment. Lara was right. She had been so excited to find a Helen with such a close link to Michael Sachs it had blinded her to the fact that she hadn’t revealed much.

  ‘I’m sorry’ said Stella. ‘It wasn’t much use, was it?’

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ said Lara, her expression softening. ‘You got a stranger to talk. That’s no small thing – and someone whose loyalties were to her boss too,’

  Stella shrugged off the compliment. She knew that talking to people was her superpower, she’d always found it easy. As an only child, it was a skill you had to cultivate and as a teenager, when her mum used to give her a fiver to stay out of the flat because she had a boyfriend round, Stella had developed a wide circle of loyal friends and neighbours who kept her off the streets – literally. But she’d also known that Helen Driver would be happy to talk without too much persuasion. On the surface a PA was a loyal and sometimes fierce guard-dog, but Stella instinctively knew that loyalties only ran so deep when you spent your days booking private jets, luxury hotels or ordering bottles of wine that cost more than your annual wage.