The Yacht Party

by Perry, Tasmina

  ‘Have a good evening, Miss Stone.’

  Lara nodded to the doorman, a friendly but solid man in a black suit with one of those curly ear-pieces. She hoped he could use it to call in a missile strike if needed.

  Stepping out into the street, she tried to breathe in the warm evening air. Stefan had called her the moment he had landed and invited her to Rabbit, a romantic French bistro on the King’s Road only a short stroll from the hotel. Lara was forcing herself to walk partly because it was ridiculous to get a taxi over such a short distance but mainly because she couldn’t let ‘them’ win, whoever they were. That was precisely how terrorism worked: make ordinary people fear for their safety, make them change the way they behave. Well bugger that, thought Lara fiercely. Not that she was being silly about it: she was still paying attention to her surroundings.

  Across the road she saw a middle-aged man in a suit, tie undone, striding towards the station and a young couple strolling along with their arms hooked together. Nice people, happy people – and Lara tried to remind herself that most people were decent and kind.

  That morning had been spent sweeping up the glass and cleaning Misty with the help of Gustav, the white-haired artist living two berths down who, without saying a word, had just brought his toolbox down and began working on her bookshelves and door.

  People were good. But still, Lara couldn’t help but be on high alert. Hyper-aware, that’s what they called it in the army; expecting every face to be hostile, every car to be wired with explosives.

  She was still feeling tense as she walked into Rabbit. She liked Stefan – and he’d come straight from the airport just to see her. If that wasn’t a romantic gesture, she didn’t know what was, but it was that very gesture which was making her fret as she gave her name to the maitre’d. Lara wasn’t sure if she was ready for a relationship.

  But then again… thought Lara, smiling to herself as she saw Stefan already at the table; a flutter in her chest, a catch in her breath. Stefan was smarter than usual, in a crisp blue shirt, his dark blonde hair was pushed back off his face – and those eyes. As he smiled, she wondered if she should just have invited him to the hotel and ordered room service.

  ‘You look great,’ he said, standing to kiss her cheek.

  She knew he was being kind. The jeans, t-shirt and biker boots were what she always wore. She’d put a dress in her overnight bag but it was still hanging up in her suite. It felt wrong to dress up and look pretty when Dingo was dead and she had failed in her attempts to lay Sandrine to rest. Still, it felt nice to be complimented – and she had to remember to live life, otherwise what was the point?

  ‘You’re not too bad yourself,’ she smiled, as he pushed her chair in. And good manners too. Aunt Olivia would approve.

  Stefan waved their waiter across and she watched as he charmed and joked, expertly ordering the food and wine as the golden lights of Rabbit cast a glow over everything. Relax, she told herself. Enjoy.

  ‘So how are you feeling?’ asked Stefan, when they were alone. ‘After yesterday.’

  ‘I could have done without it,’ she said as casually as she could. ‘But checking into the hotel was a good call. There’s nothing like crisp hotel sheets to soothe you. I actually had a great night’s sleep for once.’

  Not entirely true, but she knew she had to put it behind her. She was Lara Stone: tough, capable, resilient. Fake it until you make it, right?

  ‘Did you talk to the police?’

  Lara shrugged. ‘Yes, but I’m not sure he rates their chances of finding out who did it.’

  Stefan nodded sympathetically. Lara was grateful that he wasn’t making a big deal about it, wrapping her in cotton wool.

  ‘You know what we need?’ he said, pulling a bottle from an ice bucket, ‘We need to get drunk as kippers.’

  ‘Drunk as kippers?’

  Stefan frowned.

  ‘Isn’t that an English saying?’

  She let out a laugh. He was so fluent, sometimes she forgot that English wasn’t his first language.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Really? Oh God, I’ve been using it for years.’

  Lara smiled, feeling a little of the tension subside.

  ‘Well how about this then,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘Op één been kun je niet lopen’?

  ‘Sounds good, but what does it mean?’

  ‘You can’t walk on one leg. Loosely translated it means ‘don’t stop at one drink when you can have two.’

  Lara sipped the deliciously cold wine as Stefan told her how he had flown from Geneva to Amsterdam, all the mundane details of popping into his apartment – watering the plants, dealing with the bills, how he was thinking of renting it out now the plan was to be in London full-time. It was good to hear about normal life for once. Then he filled her in on the investigation, how Eduardo had visited the Kanjomo mine and put together a small local team to follow the paper-trail of contracts and permits – hopefully – back to the real money men at the top of the chain. Lara sat forward, lowering her voice.

  ‘Stefan, can I be honest? The more I think about it, the more I think the mine is a dead end.’

  ‘What? No, Eduardo is making excellent progress, he said…’

  She shook her head. ‘That’s not what I mean. I’m sure there’s a story there about connecting high-level finance to child labour and I don’t doubt you’ll find it. I just don’t think the mine is the real reason why Sandrine was killed.’

  She told him about her trip to Edinburgh and Ullapool, about Helen Groves and her friend Rebecca, about Victoria Sachs and the trafficking scandal in Haiti. She saw the smile drain from his face as she spoke.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?’

  There was bemusement in his tone, annoyance too.

  ‘Because I only found out on Thursday, then I got back to the houseboat and, well…’

  ‘Have you told Eduardo any of this?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘He’s back on Monday, right? I figured it could wait.’

  The waiter brought over their food. Stefan stared down at it, as if he was thinking. ‘But the mine story… it all fits.’

  ‘It does,’ nodded Lara, feeling more energised, more confident as she spoke.

  ‘But Stefan, my boat wasn’t just burgled, it was ransacked. They broke my cat’s neck.’

  ‘They killed your cat?’

  He looked hurt now and Lara didn’t blame him. They were romantically involved, and she had kept things from him.

  His expression softened.

  ‘You should come and stay with me. I don’t want you to be alone.’

  His concern squeezed her heart.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice hitching slightly. ‘But no. I’m booked into The Pengelly tonight, then I’m going to Oxfordshire, I have a cottage on my uncle’s estate.’ She pointed to her phone. ‘My Aunt Olivia has summoned me.’

  Olivia had sent a series of messages saying ‘we need a chat’, but the tone was clear: Lara’s presence was required and she knew from long experience that it was futile to resist.

  There was a long, pregnant pause.

  ‘You do know we can quit,’ said Stefan.

  ‘Quit the investigation?’ said Lara incredulously. ‘We – I – need to do this, Stefan. Sandrine would have wanted us to finish the story.’

  Stefan nodded.

  ‘Sandrine wouldn’t want you to be in any danger.’

  His voice was hard and he put down his fork to look at her.

  ‘I do have some experience of this, Lara. Too much, in fact. I never told you why I became a journalist. It was because my mum’s sister Fredja disappeared.’

  That got Lara’s attention.

  ‘Disappeared? What happened?’

  ‘No one knows for sure. Nobody was ever found, no trace at all in fact. My mum never recovered; it was the not knowing that ate away at her. That was why we moved to the Frisian Islands, so she could try and forget about
it. But she never did get over it.’

  Lara had liked Stefan from the start. He was passionate, good-looking and smart, but now she felt connected to him on an even deeper level.

  She knew only too well what it was like to have questions that couldn’t be answered. She could still remember the memorial service for her parents, the quiet of the chapel, the grim faces of their family and friends. There were no coffins, no closure, no gravestone to lay flowers at. Just a big question mark hanging in the air.

  ‘That’s what drove me to become a journalist,’ continued Stefan. ‘My mother was hardly wild about the idea. But when she realised she couldn’t stop me, she made me promise that if I ever felt out of my depth, if I knew things were getting dangerous, I had to stop.’

  ‘And would you?’

  There was a note of challenge in her voice that Lara immediately regretted.

  ‘I have,’ said Stefan. ‘I did.’

  He looked away, gathering his thoughts.

  ‘I worked in Cologne for a few months. I was investigating an extremist gang and a series of dead bodies I thought were connected. It was a big story. I wanted to prove myself, but I pushed it too far, got myself into a really dangerous situation.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’d arranged to meet a contact at a biker bar. It was really rough, a really bad part of town – and hey, guess what? It was a trap. I had a knife held to my throat. They told me exactly what they would do if I didn’t back off.’

  He took an uneven breath, then met her gaze.

  ‘Lara, I was twenty-six years old. I loved my job but I didn’t want to die over it. So, yes. I stopped, pulled back – and you know what? I have no regrets. My mum had enough heartache in her life without losing a son too. And I figured I could do more good alive than dead.’

  He looked at her.

  ‘You’re judging me.’

  Lara shook her head slowly.

  ‘No. I’m thinking I would have done the same thing.’

  ‘So why don’t you stop now? If Eduardo wants to carry on, that’s his choice, but he’s not the one who had his house burgled or his cat murdered. He’s not the one looking over his shoulder every two minutes.’

  Lara closed her eyes. She had been telling the truth; if she had been in Stefan’s shoes, she would have backed off too. But this was different, this wasn’t just about a splashy headline or a press award, this was about Sandrine, a woman she had loved as a sister. She wasn’t prepared to let someone – anyone – scare her off and she was committed now, all the way. But she loved the way Stefan had opened up to her. And she loved the way he had trusted her because he cared.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ said Stefan. ‘But Lara, this is happening right now. If you’re in danger…’

  Lara squeezed his hand back.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she whispered. ‘Right now I don’t want to think about anything else except this. Can we go?’

  Stefan searched her face, then nodded and raised his hand to waitress, urgently pulling his credit card out.

  ‘Why don’t you get this one?’ said Lara, smiling as she stood up. She held her hand out to him. ‘And I’ll get breakfast at The Pengelly.’

  Chapter 31

  Lara lay on her back, one leg hooked lazily over Stefan’s. What a night. She hoped that Ian Fox’s security friend wasn’t too rigorous in his surveillance; any CCTV footage covering the approach to Lara’s suite when they had arrived back after the restaurant would need an ‘X’ certificate, she thought to herself with a smile. She felt herself glow at the memory and for the first time since Sandrine’s death, Lara felt happy. No, it was more than that. Lying naked, barely covered by a crumpled white sheet, she felt alive. It felt so good.

  Stefan stirred, turning towards her.

  ‘You’re awake,’ he said, his voice still thick with sleep.

  He leaned across and kissed the curve of her shoulder.

  ‘How do you feel about a late check-out?’

  Lara laughed with pleasure.

  ‘Very tempting indeed,’ she said. ‘But remember I have to go my Aunt’s? Olivia wants to “talk”.’ She said the last word in imitation of a disapproving school-mistress, which pretty much summed up their relationship.

  ‘What’s so important?’ he asked. Lara could hardly blame Stefan for his disappointment. After all, he had come straight from the airport to see her the evening before and she was rewarding him by kicking him out of bed.

  ‘My cousin Charlie – Olivia’s son – is having an affair,’ she sighed, not wanting to go into too much detail. ‘I kind of put the cat amongst the pigeons. It doesn’t sound very pressing, I know, but there’s a lot of family politics involved.’

  Lara turned on her side, propping herself up with her elbow. She hated to ruin the mood, but something had been nagging at her and she had to ask.

  ‘Listen, can I ask you something personal?’

  He laughed, circling her nipple with his fingertip. ‘I think you probably qualify for that.’

  ‘Well… I saw Alex on Friday and he’d heard you were seeking investment for a news project. Is that true?’

  She didn’t add that Alex had thrown it at her in the middle of a prickly argument with the clear implication that Stefan was not trustworthy.

  ‘He’s right, yes. But it was a while ago. I had an idea for a digital news and events business and took a few meetings to see if I could raise some capital, but it didn’t come to anything.’

  Lara almost sighed with relief. She didn’t know why it had become such a big thing in her head, perhaps because Alex had seemed so certain that Stefan was up to something underhand. At the same time, Lara was intrigued.

  ‘Does Eduardo know? I mean, was it something you were doing together?’

  ‘Yes and no. Yes, he knew and no, he wasn’t involved.’

  He smiled as he saw Lara was keen for a more detailed explanation.

  ‘Look, I love the work we do at the collective and I love Eduardo like a brother, but he’s not the easiest man to deal with and as he finances Le Caché personally, it puts him in a powerful position as far as decisions are concerned. A lot of the time it doesn’t feel much like a collective.’

  ‘So what happened to your idea, the one you were trying to get funding for?’

  Stefan shrugged a shoulder.

  ‘I wasn’t having much luck raising the money and then Eduardo decided to open the Shoreditch office, so I put my news empire on hold. I’ve always wanted to live in London so I see it as a win-win.’ He gently pushed a lock of hair away from her face. ‘Especially now.’

  He turned his face to kiss her, softly at first, then more insistent, pressing his naked body against hers.

  Lara groaned and rolled away.

  ‘Down boy, I’m late for Aunt Olivia already. She won’t be pleased.’

  He muttered something in Dutch which Lara guessed would also displease her aunt. She looked at the bedside clock: she really was late. She reluctantly slid out of bed and looked around for her discarded clothes while Stefan lay there watching her.

  ‘Are you sure you’re happy going all the way to Oxfordshire? I mean, after what happened to your boat?’

  ‘Stefan, I’m a big girl.’

  The truth was, Lara was still nervous about it, but she couldn’t let it stop her.

  ‘At least let me drive you there,’ said Stefan. Lara was retrieving a boot from under the bed and looked up.

  ‘I didn’t know you had a car.’

  ‘I don’t. But we’ll work something out.’

  Lara laughed and bent to kiss him.

  ‘That’s sweet, but I think I’ll be fine on the bike. Look, I think Eduardo wanted to meet tomorrow. Why don’t you both come to mine? I can cook – sort of, anyway.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I want to have people over. I need to fill the boat with some fun and laughter.’

  ‘Well, if it’s fun
you’re after,’ he said, with a wolfish grin, making a grab for her.

  ‘You’re going to have to wait for more of that,’ she laughed, backing towards the door. ‘But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘You can count on it.’

  It took just over an hour to get to Foxhills on the bike.

  Lara lowered her speed to dip between the open iron gates and roared down the avenue of limes, an arch of vibrant, textured green leaning over the gravel drive. As the house appeared through the trees, Lara finally eased back on the throttle and slowed, a sign of respect for the elegant old house. This was the point in the journey that always made Lara think of the day almost twenty-five years ago when her grandmother, Rose Avery, had brought her here to Foxhills. ‘A new life,’ Granny had said, meaning it kindly, but Lara had known that it meant her old life – in that rambling Pimlico pile full of her father’s curiosities and the unwavering love of her parents – had gone forever.

  She could also remember waving David and Ramona Avery off on their annual sailing trip to celebrate their anniversary. It had been the first week of the school holidays, as it always was, and Granny Rose would plan fun things for them to do whilst Lara stayed at the Avery’s Holland Park home: an afternoon tea at the Savoy, a West End musical. That year it had been Joseph and his Technicolour Dreamcoat and Lara had waited at the stage door to get her programme signed, but Lara had never got to show her parents.

  Lara pulled up at the side of the main entrance, standing the bike up next to Nicholas’s vintage Jaguar. He rarely drove the car, but it was kept buffed and polished next to the door, a prop for an imaginary photo-shoot.