The Yacht Party

by Perry, Tasmina

  He looked at her over his pint. ‘Why?’

  ‘The Meyer story.’

  Alex tried to hide his disappointment. He thought they were here to celebrate his birthday. He thought they could have a few drinks, maybe see a movie at the Curzon or the Prince Charles in Leicester Square. He’d already had a look to see what was on. But apparently, she was here to talk about work.

  As he listened to Lara outline a story about Jonathon Meyer, his girlfriend Josie, a billionaire investor and an aid-worker called Helen, he perked up.

  ‘Wow,’ said Alex, sitting back in his chair. What Lara had just told him was the reason he’d got into journalism in the first place. A tale of greed, scandal and the pitch-dark side of capitalism. More than that, it was a conspiracy which, like an oil slick, had spread so far that it had touched their lives.

  ‘You really think this Michael Sachs got Jonathon Meyer to kill Helen the whistleblower?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And if Sachs was ruthless enough to get rid of Helen to keep the story quiet, what’s one more?’

  Sandrine. Their lost friend was where all this had started and if Lara was right – and she almost always was – this was a sensational story. But only if they could prove it. If.

  Back when he was a junior reporter, his then boss, Barry Levin used to take him out for lunch to this very pub. He’d spend an hour talking about the ‘old days’ – life in Fleet Street in the Seventies and Eighties, then he’d spend the last five minutes tearing Alex’s latest story apart and explaining why it didn’t hold up. Barry was gone now, like so many hacks who’d lived on Bell’s and Silk Cut, but Alex realised he was Barry now, it was his job to point out the flaws in her story.

  Certainly, Lara’s theory meant that Helen and Sandrine’s deaths were professional hits, which were big accusations to direct at one of the country’s top financiers. If Felix Tait had taught them anything, they needed cast-iron proof of everything if there was any hope of running the story or bringing someone to any sort of justice.

  ‘So what did Charlie say about coming back in?’

  Lara paused, running a fingernail along the grain of the table.

  ‘I didn’t get to speak to Charlie. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.’

  Alex rolled his eyes.

  ‘Is he being difficult? No surprise there, Charlie doesn’t exactly have much editorial vision.’

  Lara put out a hand.

  ‘No it’s not that.’

  She looked away again. She seemed nervous, jumpy.

  ‘Lar, what’s wrong?’

  She had always been so open with her feelings, it was one of the things he loved about her. Lara Stone didn’t play games. Finally, she looked up at him.

  ‘Remember the other day when you asked me if you should propose to Alicia?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Don’t.’

  One word and Alex was immediately transported back to a night years ago, back to when they were both students at City. They’d been at a party and Lara had met some pretty boy, all fancy hair and triceps. Alex had stewed all night, watching them dance around each other, until their faces were inches apart. Then when Lara had come over to tell him she was going home with this bozo, Alex had whispered that one word in her ear: ‘Don’t’.

  Their eyes had met, the music swirling around them. ‘Don’t go with him,’ he had said. ‘Come home with me.’

  Even now he could feel the tight anticipation he had felt when he had said it. He’d spent weeks, months, wondering how he could bare his soul to Lara and finally admit his feelings for her, and when it had come, his words had been clumsy but it hadn’t even mattered, for at that moment, the pretty boy had sidled up behind her and slid an arm around Lara’s waist.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he had murmured. And she had gone, acting as if she hadn’t even heard what Alex had said.

  He could still feel the sting of that rejection even now, as Lara repeated the word back to him, a code that joined them together and held them apart.

  ‘Why not?’ he said.

  Did he want Lara to tell him that she loved him, that she always had done? To finally hear the words I love you. Or was it really too late? Alex had emotionally moved on from Lara years ago. At least that’s what he had always told himself.

  ‘Alex, I took a cab to Charlie’s place in Primrose Hill this morning,’ said Lara, her soft green eyes on his. ‘I’d just got out of the car when I saw Charlie come out of the house. He was with Alicia.’

  Alex felt his world contract.

  ‘What do you mean, with?’

  She looked down at the table again.

  ‘I saw them kissing. I’m pretty sure she had stayed at Charlie’s overnight.’

  ‘What are you saying, Lara?’

  The words came out automatically, but of course he knew what she was saying. He’d been at dinner with Dom and then had gone back to his place alone. Business as usual for a Thursday night with work the next day.

  ‘Did Alicia say where she was?’

  ‘I don’t check up on her every move,’ he said, with irritation. But she had said something, hadn’t she? A night out with friends; standard procedure for Alicia. Parties, openings, networking events were all part of her job and Alicia spent less time in her tiny apartment than Alex spent in his. He’d once told her that she was like a pre-credit crunch New Yorker and Alicia had grinned, taking it as a huge compliment.

  Lara pushed her phone across the table towards him.

  ‘What’s this?’ he frowned.

  ‘I took a picture.’

  Alex looked at her incredulously.

  ‘You photographed them? What the hell for?’

  ‘Proof.’

  His mouth practically dropped open. Was everything a story to her?

  Alex didn’t want to look, but his eyes betrayed him. He gulped hard. There was no mistaking the intimate way Charlie was touching the small of Alicia’s back or the fact that their lips where connecting and Alicia’s mouth was smiling as they kissed.

  ‘So I guess that answers the question of whether I should propose,’ he said, pushing it away. He could hear the bitterness in his own voice, the cynical inevitably of it all. But that wasn’t true, was it? He hadn’t expected it, hadn’t suspected a thing. If there had been signs, Alex had missed them all. He’d deluded himself that Alicia loved him for who he was, not for who he could be moulded into. But really, it was obvious. If he resigned from the Chronicle and moved back to the Lakes, would she come? Of course not.

  ‘Alex, she’s not worth it. She wasn’t right for you.’

  He drained the last of the Guinness and banged it down on the table.

  ‘Is that what you think? Well, perhaps you could have said something before you caught her shagging my boss.’

  ‘Alicia’s an operator, Alex. She’s too ambitious, too aspirational. Charlie’s an idiot, but he’s a very rich idiot. That’s what she wants.’

  Alex gave a sour smile.

  ‘Well, there’s a lot of that about.’

  He knew it was unfair, knew he was lashing out, but the Guinness, swiftly drunk, had loosened his tongue. He hadn’t planned to tell Lara what David Becker had told him, not until he knew more, but right now it all seemed far too similar. Lara was beautiful and smart and funny. And she was rich, as rich as Charlie, and that made her vulnerable.

  ‘Are you seeing Stefan Melberg?’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, with a defensiveness in her voice. ‘Alex, what is it?’

  ‘I was out with some investment guys yesterday. One of them told me that Stefan is seeking finance for a media start-up.’

  She looked confused, suspicious.

  ‘So? La Caché costs money. Eduardo can’t be expected to keep paying for it all. It would be unusual if they haven’t looked for outside investment after this length of time.’

  ‘The money wasn’t for La Caché, Lara. It was a solo venture for Stefan.’

  ‘Wait,’ she gasped. ‘You think Stef
an’s dating me for some ulterior motive? You think he wants money from me?’

  Dating. The situation was worse than he thought.

  ‘It’s not what I think, Lar. What do you think? Seems a little coincidental that he’s appeared in your life at the time he needs cash.’

  The more he spoke, the more Alex knew he was right. He had met so many of Stefan’s type before. Sanctimonious hypocrites in geek-chic glasses and expensive trainers. They made a big deal about seeking ‘the truth’, sneering at established media, whispering about hidden agendas, but they almost always had an agenda of their own. Le Caché was a fine example, alluding to some global cabal of industrialists conspiring to protect their own interests, but the vast majority of Le Caché journalists worked for the big newspapers in their own countries. It was hypocrisy dressed up in radical clothing.

  ‘Why don’t you just admit you don’t like him, Alex?’ she said, as if she was reading his thoughts. ‘Admit that you are just jealous of Le Caché and people like Stefan. Real journalists, finding real stories that matter.’

  Alex shook his head.

  ‘Lara, I’m just saying be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.’

  ‘Really?’ said Lara. ‘Because it sounds the exact opposite’.

  She grabbed her bag and stood up. ‘You know, just because your girlfriend is screwing around, you don’t have to make me feel shitty about my love life.’

  He tried to get up to follow, but Lara was already striding off along the towpath.

  ‘Lara, wait!’ he called.

  But she was already gone.

  Chapter 27

  Alex hesitated before he rang the bell. He looked up at the blue door and he could just see the narrow staircase through the frosted glass panel. Alicia had the smallest apartment on one the best streets in Notting Hill, a quiet mews street with pastel coloured houses just waiting for a rom-com film crew to roll up with Hugh Grant and a rain machine.

  ‘It’s all about the postcode.’ That’s what Alicia had said the first time she had brought him here and Alex had always admired that about her: she always knew exactly what she wanted. Alex wished he felt the same. He had no idea what he wanted from coming here: an explanation? Some logical justification for Alicia being on Charlie’s doorstep first thing in the morning? The picture on Lara’s phone had seemed fairly conclusive. But then perhaps Alicia had a paper-round as a sideline and Charlie had been uncommonly grateful for the service. He smiled sadly to himself: gallows humour.

  He pressed the doorbell and saw Alicia’s slim form running down the stairs, distorted, refracted. Maybe Lara was right, perhaps he hadn’t ever seen Alicia clearly. The door opened.

  ‘Hey there you,’ she said, darting forward for a kiss. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d be coming tonight. I’ve actually eaten but I can whip up a bowl of pasta for you if you’d like.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  He said it to her back as she had already gone upstairs.

  Her flat was on the first floor, up a dark set of stairs. The door led straight onto the living space. The room was lit by a lamp in the corner and a little sodium from the streetlamp outside the window.

  The bed was on a mezzanine platform reached by a steep set of stairs, a small kitchen ran along the back wall. It was still warm from the heat of the day and a candle in a ceramic pot dispensed a sweet, herbal scent that made him feel as if he was in the waiting room for the sort of deluxe spa that Alicia liked to go to.

  As he watched her fluid movements, her elegant posture, Alex recognised that he was still attracted to Alicia. Had been from the minute he’d seen her. She had a delicate small-boned beauty that was in complete contrast to her steeliest. The teenage Alex would have run a mile from someone like Alicia Croft, but the grown-up Alex had fallen in love with her, and he still thought she was hot, no matter what she had done.

  ‘Drink?’ she asked, heading through the narrow apartment to the kitchen.

  She fiddled with her iPad, settling on an Adele song before turning to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of wine.

  ‘I’m not staying.’

  She turned, frowning.

  ‘Not staying?’

  He stood awkwardly by the front door, as if poised on the edge of a cliff.

  ‘I met Lara after work,’ he said.

  ‘Again?’ she said distractedly, uncorking the bottle.

  He ignored the jibe. Alex hardly ever met Lara after work these days; what little free time he had was given over to Alicia. Which was how it was supposed to be when you were serious about someone.

  ‘Lara went to Charlie’s place early this morning, around eight,’ he continued, determined to get it out. ‘Some urgent business to discuss.’

  ‘Could it not wait for the office?’ said Alicia, pouring the wine. ‘Oh of course not, she’s suspended.’

  Alex almost smiled: a pre-emptive strike on Lara, a feint to distract him, draw his fire in another direction. Oh, she was good. Alex had always known that Alicia was an operator and up until this point he’d seen it as a positive. She worked hard at everything, yet it seemed that deceit was just another skill in her arsenal to get her what she wanted. Tonight, however, it wasn’t going to work.

  ‘Lara saw you with him,’ said Alex. ‘Coming out of the house just after eight AM.’

  Alicia blinked at him.

  ‘Charlie Avery’s place?’

  Alex closed his eyes. So it was true. It felt like a door slamming shut. An innocent person would have immediately replied, ‘But I’ve never been to Charlie’s house.’ Or ‘At eight o’clock, I was on my way to work.’ Alicia was playing for time, sipping her wine, presumably thinking of a strategy, a way out. Alex wasn’t in the mood for playing games, but he was curious to see where Alicia would run with this.

  ‘Alex, I have no idea why Lara would say something like that,’ she said finally. ‘I do know she is in a dark place right now. She’s been fired, she’s grieving over the death of her best friend. Those sort of emotions can do odd things to people. Make them behave in strange ways.’

  ‘So you weren’t at Charlie’s this morning?’

  She paused a beat.

  ‘No,’ she said, meeting his gaze. ‘If Lara saw someone, it certainly wasn’t me.’

  Alex nodded.

  ‘She has a photo of the two of you together,’ he said. ‘You were wearing that blue jacket I bought you.’

  Alicia’s eyes flashed.

  ‘What the fuck was she doing taking photos?’

  And there it was – all the confirmation he needed. The innocent Alicia would have been furious with him for believing such crap and demanded to see the photos. Instead she was angry with Lara for catching her out.

  There was a long silence. The scented candle flickered and sent long shapes up the wall. The sense of an ending was palpable in the room. Despite everything, Alex felt a wave of sadness, that he would not come to the small, neat, sweet-smelling space again. He’d been happy here. A version of it, anyway.

  ‘It’s over, Alicia,’ said Alex. ‘Why don’t you just tell me the truth?’

  She didn’t speak for a second, then looked at him, her expression hard.

  ‘You want the truth, Alex? We’ve been together for nearly two years and I’m sick of there being no forward motion. I’m sick of never seeing you. Sick of being an afterthought in your life.’

  ‘Alicia, you knew about the demands of my job when we met. I need to put in long hours in the office. That’s just how it is at a newspaper.’

  ‘Yeah? Well Charlie is managing director of that very same newspaper and he doesn’t feel the need to put in half the hours you do.’

  He looked at her.

  ‘And how would you know that?’

  The room fell quiet.

  ‘How long has it being going on, Alicia?’

  She looked away and took a long drink of her wine.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, not even bothering to deny it anymore.

  ‘
It matters to me.’ And it did. Even though the relationship was over, even though knowing the details would not change the outcome, Alex still wanted to know.

  ‘How long?’ he repeated.

  He wondered if they had met at the Chronicle’s 100th anniversary party, but Charlie’s name had been absent from Alicia’s guest list for Alex’s birthday dinner compiled two weeks earlier. At the time, he thought it had been a thoughtful omission. He knew that Alicia’s default position would be to invite the glamorous people, the useful people but instead of including Charlie Avery she had asked Alex’s dad and Chris and Peter from the subs department, colleagues he actually liked. He had loved her for that, but now he realised that she simply hadn’t wanted Charlie there, fearful that either of them might give away their affair.

  ‘A couple of months,’ she said finally. ‘We’ve been seeing each other a couple of months. Happy now?’

  Alex tried to think back that far. What had he been doing? What had they been doing? But it was futile: they went to the same parties, moved in the same circles. It could have been going on the whole time and Alex would never have known.

  Alicia was staring at him now, her eyes hard and defiant.

  ‘You can’t blame me, Alex,’ she snapped. ‘Admit it, you weren’t even thinking about any sort of commitment.’

  ‘You could have been more patient.’

  ‘Would it have made any difference?’

  Alex thought about his mother’s ring. How it felt in his hand. How he had felt seeing it in Lara’s hand.

  It wasn’t true that he hadn’t thought about commitment. But she didn’t need to know that. He suddenly felt weary, all the anger replaced by sadness.

  ‘It’s her, you know,’ said Alicia as he turned to leave.

  ‘Lara. She’s the reason why it would have never worked between us. Do you think it’s any coincidence that Lara was the one who told you about this?’

  Alicia saw that hit home, her mouth a twisted smile of triumph.

  ‘Things might be better for everyone if you two just admitted you are in love with each other.’

  ‘In love?’ said Alex, incredulously. ‘Alicia, Lara is my friend. There’s no need to feel jealous of her.’