‘No, this was something new.’
Alex wanted to ask more, but just then the waitress brought the bill and someone suggested pushing on to a private members’ club. Alex wasn’t in the mood to party and besides, he needed a clear head.
He said goodbye to David, looked across at Dominic and tapped a finger on his watch. ‘Got to go,’ he mouthed and before his friend could object, he slipped out the door, thinking of Lara and thinking of Stefan Melberg. Right now he had his own due diligence to do.
Chapter 25
Inverness looked grim, or perhaps it was just their mood. Driving into the city, the cloud seemed to be sitting oppressively low, the windscreen speckled with drizzle, their hatchback pushed sideways on the exposed brown hilltops. Stella had booked the return journey home from Inverness rather than Edinburgh because it cut out three hours of driving time – and they wanted to board the train home as soon as they could.
They dropped off the hire car, and with an hour to kill in Inverness, they walked up to the castle, which to Lara it looked more like a prison. She was sure that it was usually lovely, but clearly Rebecca’s paranoia had been infectious. Lara knew they should be excited and energised – Becky’s revelations were a big breakthrough in the story – but it had come with a huge side-order of reality. This wasn’t a game. Rebecca had been terrified.
Finally on the sleeper train, the scene of such giddiness the previous night, Stella lay back on the top bunk of their cabin staring at the ceiling. It was almost ten o’clock, and the long nights this far north meant that there was still some watery light in the sky outside. Lara closed the window blind to shut it out.
‘Do you ever get scared?’ said Stella.
‘Scared of what?’ said Lara under the duvet of her own berth.
‘The job. Did you see Rebecca’s face? She was terrified because of what she knew, because she knew that information made her vulnerable.’
‘Sometimes, sure,’ said Lara honestly.
‘When you have a picture byline printed next to the story, you’re putting your head above the parapet. But generally you don’t get anything more threatening than a snotty legal letter,’ she said deciding not to mention the odd death threat and crank letter that occasionally appeared in her in-tray. ‘I certainly don’t get as scared as the people getting trafficked in Haiti.’
Stella muttered a vague noise of approval. On the drive from Ullapool they’d speculated what had happened to Helen’s friend Esther. None of the options had happy endings. Most likely, she’d been smuggled over the border into the Dominican Republic where Esther and everyone else tricked into that pick-up would end up in forced prostitution. Lara had recounted how in India, she’d heard of children deliberately crippled and blinded in order to make them more effective beggars, and even in Eastern Europe, young men had their organs trafficked: a kidney could raise $20,000 on the black market.
‘We can’t let them get away with it,’ said Stella.
‘No, we can’t.’
Lara had thought she was hardened to the evils of the world, but putting Esther’s name to those abstract statistics had made it real, had made her real.
The click-clack and sway of the train was a soundtrack to her thoughts, and the soft rhythm helped soothe her mood.
‘I mean, I know it wasn’t the most uplifting trip,’ said Stella, clambering under her own sheet. ‘But I have to say, travelling this way is romantic.’
Lara smiled as she reached over to flick off the light.
‘Yes, when we were in the dining car, I could imagine Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint sitting down to join us.’
There was a pause.
‘Who?’
‘Cary Grant,’ said Lara. ‘In North By Northwest?’
‘Him from Four Weddings And A Funeral, right?’
‘Not Hugh Grant, Cary Grant. Jesus, Stella.’
She cut herself off as she realised Stella was teasing her. Lara tried throwing a complimentary shortcake biscuit at her.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ said Stella finally.
‘Another one?’
‘Why have you never got together with Alex?’
Lara laughed.
‘Seriously,’ pressed Stella.
‘I liked him once,’ she said, after another moment.
She hadn’t admitted it to anyone, not even Sandrine. Especially Sandrine. But the darkness of the cabin made it easier to talk openly, and besides, it was good to get it off her chest.
‘The first time I ever saw him, it was the proverbial thunderbolt and for about nine months, most of the way through our City course actually, I was convinced he was “The One”. But there were so many nights when we went out and I waited and waited. And…’
‘And?’
‘And then I moved on. And now he’s getting married.’
She felt Stella stir.
‘To Alice?
‘Alicia.’
‘Eww!’
Lara laughed. ‘Stella, you’ve never even met Alicia.’
‘But you two are perfect together,’ said Stella urgently. ‘You haven’t had a boyfriend since I’ve known you and you’re so beautiful, that it doesn’t make any sense – unless, deep down, you love Alex.’
‘I do love him, Stel, but not the way you mean. Not anymore. That was all a long time ago.’
Lara blinked in the darkness. But was it? She thought of the engagement ring, how she had felt when she had seen in fall from Alex’s pocket. Scared, was the truth. For fifteen years, Sandrine and Alex had been constants in her life. It didn’t matter that she saw them less, Lara had always known that her two best friends would be there for her no matter what. With Sandrine gone and Alex set to pair off, Lara could no longer pretend she had anything, or anyone to rely on.
‘What have you always told me about the job, boss?’ Stella’s voice was soft, but insistent.
Lara smiled. She immediately knew what Stella meant.
‘Listen to your gut,’ she said, ‘because your gut always knows.’
‘My gut is telling me it’s time to get some sleep,’ said Lara, rolling over, determined to forget that they had even had the conversation.
Lara woke with a start, hands twisted in her thin quilt, her whole body sweating. In her dream, she had been locked in the back of a truck. The oven-hot metal walls were closing in on her and she was scrabbling at the lock, trying to call out, but no words were forming, no one could hear her. Trapped, hammering at the door with her fists.
And then, in the way of dreams, Lara was no longer Lara: she had somehow become Sandrine, her knuckles scraping against bare wood, the unfinished lid of a coffin. It was a moment before Lara realised there was no van, no door. She was on the sleeper train and the knocking was coming from the corridor.
‘London Euston ten minutes,’ said a voice.
She inhaled deeply, the fear still hanging over her like fog. Only the train, she thought. Lara sat up slowly, swinging her legs out to the side of the bunk and put her feet on the floor. Breathing deeply, she took a minute to place which city she was in. London? It was hard to tell she had been to so many in the past week. Lara flinched as the door swung inwards. Stella’s beaming face peeked in, holding up a takeaway coffee like a trophy.
‘Shake a leg, boss. This will perk you up,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Didn’t want to disturb you until the last moment, thought you needed your beauty sleep.’
‘Thanks,’ said Lara sarcastically. ‘I’m not that decrepit.’
She peered at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Or then again…
Her face was creased with pillow marks, dark circles hung beneath pink-shot eyes. She splashed cold water on her cheeks and did her best to make herself look human, then bundled all her stuff into her tote as the train pulled into the station. With one last fond look towards their cabin, Lara followed Stella onto the platform and up the ramp into Euston, already humming with the buzz of hundreds of commuters.
‘So what are we doing
now?’ asked Stella with unflagging enthusiasm. ‘Have you heard from Stef and Eddie?’
Lara laughed, despite herself.
‘You make them sound like an 80s comedy duo.’
‘Comedians they ain’t,’ smiled Stella.
‘Look, you go home and I’ll call you later,’ said Lara. ‘I’m going to see my cousin.’
‘Charlie? Why?’
Lara took a breath.
‘I think we need to start working with the paper.’
Stella looked at her incredulously.
‘With the Chronicle? No! This is our scoop, Lara – they got rid us of us, remember? We can’t just do all the donkey work and hand it to them on a plate.’
Lara could understand her reaction. She knew she would have felt the same way if their positions had been reversed, and she didn’t like it either, but Stella had said it herself: they needed more firepower. And she had to admit she was feeling vulnerable, out here on their own.
‘We do have to place the story somewhere,’ said Lara. ‘Not even Le Caché publishes their own scoops.’
‘I thought this was for Sandrine, not a headline.’
‘I know, and it is. But if we can get Charlie onside and get him excited about a huge scoop we might have a chance of getting the investigations team reinstated.’
Stella frowned.
‘But isn’t Charlie an idiot?’
Lara gave a lopsided smile.
‘Maybe. We’ll see.’
As Stella disappeared into the Underground, Lara grabbed a taxi and directed the driver to Primrose Hill. She hadn’t been entirely honest with Stella when she said she wanted to try and get the investigations team reinstated. Of course she loved the buzz of her old department. Those late nights, firing off suggestions and ideas around the table, pizza boxes stacked high and too many black coffees – they’d been glorious times. But there was something else too. She’d told Rebecca Robertson the more people who knew, the safer she would be, and that stood for Lara and Stella too. If Helen and Sandrine had been murdered, that put them in a vulnerable position. She hadn’t wanted to frighten Stella, but Lara was experienced enough to know that their only real protection was to get the story out there – and fast. It didn’t have to be perfect or comprehensive, just done – and soon.
Traffic was slow through Camden: Friday morning, people were hurrying to work, shopkeepers pulling up shutters or setting out fruit, plus the inevitable roadworks cunningly timed to cause the maximum disruption. Muttering to himself, the cabbie veered off into the leafy, village-like atmosphere of Primrose Hill. Here the passers-by changed too: glamorous brunettes in expensive-looking gym gear, young nannies pushing buggies worth more than their monthly wage, it was a world as alien to Lara as the hill-tribes in Laos.
Lara glanced at her watch. Right now, most senior members of the Chronicle would already be at their desks, sipping strong coffee and steeling themselves for the daily conference where the contents of the next day’s paper would be decided. But not her cousin. Most days Charlie sloped into the office at nine o’clock and right now, Charlie would almost certainly still be at home, if not in bed.
Lara leaned forward to guide the taxi through the tangle of pastel terraces, stopping short of Charlie’s place: a pale blue townhouse in prime position. Lara took a deep breath. This was going to be tricky. She wasn’t particularly close to Charlie, but she still considered him an ally.
The summer that Lara had gone to live with Uncle Nicholas following the death of her parents, Lara had found solace in the great outdoors. She’d taught Charlie how to dive into the pool at Foxhills, helped him to climb trees too big for him and liberated treats from the pantry, forbidden by Aunt Olivia, for picnics in the meadows and riverbanks around the estate. They had been, if not actually brother and sister, close enough for friends, and although they had grown up to be very different people, Lara felt there was still a bond.
She paid the driver and got out of the cab, waiting on the pavement as it drove off.
Lara knew it was polite to call Charlie first, but then again, it would be just like Charlie to fob her off and she didn’t want to give him the chance.
She was about to cross the road when the door to Charlie’s house opened and he stepped out, slipping on his jacket and laughing. Some instinct made Lara pull back into the shadow of an overhanging tree. She watched a honeyed blonde woman follow Charlie out, and as she bent to whisper something in his ear, a smile spread across his face. His arm snaked around his companion’s waist and he pulled her close, kissing her passionately right there on the doorstep. A gust wind blew across the street and the woman brushed the hair back off her face. It was then that Lara could clearly see the woman Charlie that was kissing, as plain as day. Alicia. The woman was Alicia.
Chapter 26
The news room was in uproar. Shouts going back and forth across the desks. A screwed up ball of paper bounced off the side of a head. Abuse, ringing phones, music, a sudden burst of laughter.
Alex grinned to himself as he walked through. Just another day in paradise.
‘Hey Alex, I just heard that the Mail has a story on a talking horse. You should get on that,’ shouted a voice.
‘On the horse, or on the story?’ said another.
This was what he had always loved about working on a paper; the energy, the chaos, the camaraderie. The noise was huge, swelling like waves hitting the beach in a storm. Stories coming in, raw information, people shouting out soundbites: ‘Get this: front runner for the next Olympics is Cairo’; ‘Hey, some professor says women are actually over-paid – and she’s a woman’; Everything was up for discussion, everything was a news item until proven otherwise.
To get into tomorrow’s issue, they’d have to elbow out today’s hot items: a footballer caught taking bribes from a betting syndicate, a leaked government proposal about free school meals and – biggest story of the week – a rival paper being sued for printing unfounded allegations about a Hollywood actor’s sexual preferences. But Alex was working on something bigger – potentially much bigger.
Alex walked down the corridor, the noise receding behind him, and into a small office with a piece of paper taped to the door marked ‘Spy Shit. Please knock.’ The room was usually used by researchers who needed peace and quiet, but it was also used – as now – when someone was working on a story they wanted to keep under the radar.
Alex put his head around the door.
‘Any news?’
Louis Brand looked up. One of the news team, Louis was an up-and-coming star with a talent for finding big stories. He nodded to Alex.
‘I think she’ll talk.’
‘She will? My God.’
Louis had heard a whisper that Christie Spencer, Felix Tait’s personal chef, the woman who had given him his dramatic alibi in court, had a story to tell: she had lied. Christie had given Tait a false alibi because she had been head over heels in love with him, but now Tait was off the hook, the chef had been dispensed with. Christie was furious and looking to get even.
‘Did you talk her through the legal problems?’ asked Alex.
‘I did. She’s so angry right now she says she’ll take the consequences.’
Alex nodded, trying to keep his excitement in check. While the woman’s testimony would certainly be enough to trigger a High Court appeal, it was also highly risky. Christie would have to admit to perjury, an offence that potentially carried a jail sentence. And what if she suddenly changed her mind again? What if Tait managed to sweet-talk her, declared his undying love?
‘Okay, run it all past the lawyers,’ said Alex decisively. ‘If they give the thumbs up, get her on the record and we’ll take it from there.’
He pointed a finger at Louis. ‘Good work. But it goes without saying, don’t breathe this to a soul.’
Louis gave him a mock salute. ‘Understood.’
Alex walked back to his office and grabbed his jacket from his chair. He needed to get out into the sunshine, breathe some
clean air – or at least as clean as you could get in London. As he pushed through the revolving doors, his phone chirped.
Can you get out of work early?
He smiled. Lara.
Not a problem. Is this the birthday night out you promised me?
Something like that. The Mermaid?
How about 6pm? And mine’s a Guinness.
His mood lifted. He couldn’t wait to tell Lara about the developments on Felix Tait; he could trust her to keep it to herself and she would love the opportunity to take the fight back to her nemesis. The fact that Lara had chosen The Mermaid was also a good sign. The old pub had become Alex and Lara’s refuge from work, close enough to the office that they could get there and back within a lunch hour, but not so close that there was any chance of seeing anyone else from the office.
Lara was sitting at a picnic table up against the whitewashed wall of the pub, her face tipped up towards the early evening sun.
‘Not wearing your scarf?’ she said, squinting up at him as he slid in opposite her.
‘Doesn’t really go with the suit,’ he replied, taking a grateful sip of his waiting pint.
‘How long have you been here?’ He looked down at her G&T, which was down to the ice.
She waved a vague hand. ‘Time means nothing to me these days. I’m retired, remember?’
‘You should get together with my dad,’ said Alex. ‘He loved his stay at Claridge’s. I think he’s got a taste for the high life.’
‘What can I say? Terry and I live a life of leisure.’
Alex raised a finger.
‘Maybe not for long.’
He told her about the revelations about Felix Tait and the possibility of an appeal. She nodded, but barely cracked a smile. Odd.
‘We need you back, Lara.’
She looked down, swirling the ice around in her glass.
‘Actually I went to see Charlie this morning – to talk to him about coming back.’
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