The Yacht Party

by Perry, Tasmina

  She pushed down the gold door handle and went inside. Victoria Sachs was standing by the sinks, leaning into a mirror, applying a vivid red lipstick. She looked up as Lara walked in.

  ‘Ah, our mystery bidder,’ said Victoria, bringing the full beam of her smile to bear on Lara. She could immediately see that Victoria Sachs had that charisma that truly successful people were blessed with, a sort of golden glow that invited you in. You felt happy just being in their presence.

  ‘Are you a big fan of Harbour Island…?’

  ‘Lara,’ she said, wondering vaguely if she was supposed to curtsey. ‘Never been, actually, but it is somewhere I’ve always dreamed of.’

  ‘Well, you got yourself a bargain,’ she lowered her voice, drew Lara closer. ‘Joanna Ashcroft’s Bahamas place went for one hundred grand at an event I went to the other week, although Jeffrey Archer was doing the auction, and Joanna’s place is a little more luxe than Penny’s. Don’t tell Penny I said so,’ she added.

  She turned to look at Lara directly.

  ‘You’re Olivia Avery’s niece, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am. I’m Lara. Lara Stone.’

  ‘The journalist.’

  Lara looked at her.

  ‘I make a point of checking out the guest list.’

  ‘Do you know why I’m here?’ She was genuinely curious.

  ‘I assumed you were here to support ImpactAid,’ she said more crisply.

  ‘I suppose you could say I am.’

  The two women just looked at each other for a moment.

  Lara’s heart was thudding. She wasn’t just shaking the tree, she was about to burn it down.

  Lara put her hand in the pocket of her silk dress and pulled out a USB memory stick.

  ‘What’s this?’ said Victoria. The woman’s face had been heavily Botoxed but Lara could still see a deep frown appear between her brows.

  ‘Photographs and footage of one of your ImpactAid officials in Haiti involved in illegal trafficking, taken by Helen Groves. You know Helen, of course. She was one of your volunteers in Haiti.’

  There was split-second flash of alarm, then the smooth confidence reappeared. Oh, you’re good, thought Lara, wondering for one terrible moment if Victoria knew that it was all a bluff. That the memory stick was blank. Rebecca had told them about the existence of the pictures, but the files had disappeared, possibly on Sandrine’s missing laptop.

  Lara felt her heart hammering, her hands shaking. This was a high-wire walk over a tiger’s cage, but it was the only option she had left, to force information out of Victoria Sachs. Victoria took the memory stick and looked at it in the pale palm of her hand.

  ‘And what do you expect me to do with this?’

  ‘I expect you to tell me what happened when Helen Groves showed you these images.’

  ‘Helen…?’

  Lara’s anger and desperation spilled over.

  ‘Do not mess me about, Mrs. Sachs,’ she snapped. ‘I seriously doubt you’ve forgotten Helen Groves. She was killed six weeks ago in Port au Prince. You met with her at your hotel. She told you what she had seen. How ImpactAid volunteers were identifying Haitian girls for trafficking.’

  ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a car waiting for me. Perhaps I can arrange a black coffee for you to sober up.’

  Lara stepped between Victoria and the door.

  ‘Your car can wait,’ said Lara, steel in her voice. It was all or nothing now; there was no way back, she had to keep pushing.

  ‘Either you speak to me now or you deal with it when the story comes out.’

  She watched Victoria’s face harden.

  ‘Are you journalists so desperate for news that you will actually make things up? Of yes. I forgot. You work for the Chronicle. You were caught out recently in the High Court with the Felix Tait libel action. Felix is a friend of ours. Perhaps he can give us his lawyer’s contact details if you continue with this fantasy.’

  ‘We have lawyers too, Victoria. And journalists. Lots of journalists who are very good at getting to the truth. Journalists who can ruin reputations.’

  ‘You really think you can threaten me, Lara?’ she said, putting the memory stick on the vanity unit. ‘Do you have any idea who my husband is? I can have this story shut down,’ – she clicked her fingers – ‘Just like that. We can buy you up wholesale and burn you to the ground. Is that what you want?’

  Victoria took a step towards her, until she was so close Lara could see the lines of her face, tiny cracks buried under a pale film of foundation, like fine veins in marble.

  ‘Do you know what sort of work we do at ImpactAid?’ asked Victoria, her voice more controlled now. ‘We provide clean water, food and education for some of the most deprived people on earth, people who have been to hell and back, people who look to us to make their lives just a little bit better.’

  ‘I don’t doubt the good intentions of your charity, Mrs. Sachs,’ said Lara. ‘But your organisation has abused its position.’

  Victoria let out an incredulous laugh.

  ‘Abused? How exactly?’

  ‘You knew that your staff had taken advantage of those very people you were there to help. And you tried to cover it up.’

  ‘There was no cover-up, Miss Stone,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Helen Groves disagreed with you.’

  ‘There were a couple of bad apples and they were dealt with. It is all properly documented by the charity’s human resources department and I would be happy to give your editor their contact details. Now if that is all…’

  She tried to step around Lara, but Lara stood her ground.

  ‘You can walk away, Mrs. Sachs, but the story will still run. We already have witnesses and documents, I am simply giving you the chance to tell me what happened.’

  Victoria jabbed a finger at Lara.

  ‘If you print this story, you have another very expensive libel suit on your hands,’ she growled. ‘I’ve spent 20 years building this charity, we’ve raised millions of pounds, helped thousands of people. I’m not going to throw all that away because some hysterical gap year student makes accusations.’

  Lara raised her eyebrows.

  ‘So you do know Helen Groves.’

  ‘Oh, this is ridiculous!’ she cried, pushing past Lara, reaching for the door handle. Lara slammed a hand onto the door, making Sachs look at her in alarm.

  ‘No Victoria, it’s not ridiculous,’ she said. ‘A girl is dead.’

  ‘If that is so, then it is tragic and I feel for her friends and relatives.’

  Lara saw something in her face. Shame? Victoria knew something.

  ‘And Sandrine Legard? A journalist for Le Figaro, have you heard of her, Mrs. Sachs?’

  ‘No, why would I?’

  ‘Perhaps she contacted you. Sandrine had also been talking to Helen Groves and was about to file her story on this when…’ – Lara banged the door again, making Victoria flinch – ‘She hit the ground. Fatally.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ said Victoria quietly.

  ‘I believe that someone murdered Helen Groves and Sandrine Legard, Victoria. I don’t believe that person was you. But I think you can help me find the person who did.’

  ‘You are actually delusional,’ she snorted.

  ‘Am I?’ said Lara, looking at her closely. ‘Do you really believe that? And what about Jonathon Meyer? Do you still think his death was a tragic accident too? Because there’s an awful lot of accidents going on around your husband.’

  ‘What’s my husband got to do with this.’

  ‘He asked Jonathon Meyer to help him clean up the problem in Haiti, Victoria. He asked him to get rid of Helen.’

  ‘And do you really believe all this, this… bullshit?’ hissed Victoria. ‘Do you really think my husband – a respected businessman – has actually been murdering people?’

  Lara shook her head.

  ‘I think you panicked when Helen contacted y
ou. I think you asked your husband to help you out. And I think Michael panicked too because any scandal would impact on the sale of Sachs Capital.’

  She flinched at that and Lara saw that she had guessed correctly. Whatever Michael had done, it all hinged on that sale, so Victoria’s reaction meant there was still some humanity in her.

  ‘Please Victoria, co-operate with me, help me get the truth out.’

  ‘Co-operate’?’ she sneered. ‘In what universe would you believe I’d help you write some deranged story which destroys my husband’s reputation? I would call the police on you, but I genuinely think you need psychological help.’

  Lara knew she had reached the end of the line. She had only one card left to play. She stepped away from the exit.

  ‘Go if you must,’ she said. ‘But I’m not so sure your loyalties to Michael are well-placed.’

  The woman stopped, one hand on the door knob. ‘Michael is having an affair, Victoria,’ said Lara.

  ‘What? How on earth could you…’

  ‘Michael’s PA, Helen. She told me. Apparently it’s been going on a while and it’s not the first time – that’s why Helen resigned.’

  It was more conjecture but Lara had nothing to lose.

  Victoria’s face drained of all colour.

  ‘You poisonous little bitch,’ she whispered.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Lara. ‘But this is about you, not me. You can let Michael betray you over and over, or we can put a stop to this. Work with me, Victoria. I don’t believe you wanted anything to happen to Helen or Sandrine.’

  The defiance returned to Victoria’s voice.

  ‘You have no proof of any of this,’ she said, opening the door. ‘If you had, you would have already printed the story.’

  Lara nodded slowly.

  ‘You could be right,’ she said. ‘But are you prepared to take the risk? If this story is true, it will come out eventually, you know it will.’ She nodded towards the memory stick, still sitting by the sink. ‘And if you let that happen, Victoria, then those girls’ blood will be on your hands.’

  Chapter 34

  The stakeout had been less exciting than Stella had imagined. True, she was glad that she hadn’t been arrested or shot in the back with a poison dart. But following Michael Sachs had been mundane to the point of being deathly dull.

  She’d been watching him all weekend but so far there had been little to report other than his South Kensington house was absolutely lush, and his Mayfair office, a sober townhouse near Shepherd Market, was quite small. If Stella was worth over a billion quid she was quite certain she’d commandeer some penthouse with a slide down to Harrods Food Hall and maybe have an open top Ferrari on call to take her home.

  At least the ClearView development showed some imagination when it came to spending his money, she thought, sipping her tepid latte and observing the complex from the window seat of a café a hundred yards away from the site. Harry, the Chronicle’s business editor, had told Lara that ClearView was Sachs’s latest investment, and compared to everything around it, it was huge: towering at least ten stories above the white Georgian apartment blocks either side, it was a sleek fin of silver and glass, sticking out like a modernist thumb.

  According to a construction worker Stella had sweet-talked an hour earlier, it was running two months behind schedule. The lower levels were finished, the glass was polished and glinting in the late afternoon sun, but the upper floors were still shrouded in white plastic sheeting.

  No wonder Michael Sachs was still inside. She’d seen him step out of a black Mercedes three hours earlier, but had yet to emerge; she could imagine the rollicking the building team were getting.

  She was about to order another coffee when her phone rang.

  ‘Stella, it’s Alex.’

  Her heart gave a little flip. She always got nervous talking to Alex Ford. Stella was slightly in awe of the boss. If Hollywood ever decided to do a newsroom drama, she’d always thought they should come and knock on the Chronicle’s deputy editor’s door and just give him the part.

  ‘Hello Alex.’

  ‘Listen, are you with Lara?’ he said. He sounded distracted, urgent; not his usual in-control self.

  ‘No, I’ve been working on my own today. Why, is something wrong?’

  ‘I hope not. Do you know where she is?’

  ‘She’s been at her aunt’s house in Oxfordshire this weekend, but she’s back in London now.’

  Stella paused, not sure how much she should tell Alex. After all, he wasn’t her boss anymore and Lara had given her the distinct impression that Alex disapproved of the Meyer investigation.

  ‘Stella, please,’ said Alex, picking up on her hesitation. ‘I’m worried about her. I tried her at the Misty, but she’s not there and she’s not answering her phone. Any idea where else she could be? Could she have met Stefan Melberg?’

  Stefan? Did Alex know about him?

  Stella wasn’t certain that Lara was shagging the handsome Dutch journalist, but Stella considered herself pretty intuitive about these sort of things and she had seen the way Lara and Stefan had looked at each other that morning at the Le Caché office. Perhaps Alex had worked it out too, and perhaps he was jealous, but there was concern in his voice that put her on edge too.

  ‘Well, I do know she was meeting Victoria Sachs today at some fundraiser,’ said Stella, looking at her watch again. ‘Mind you, that was a lunch thing.’

  ‘Victoria Sachs? Damn.’

  This didn’t sound good.

  ‘So do you know where she is?’

  ‘We could always try the Le Caché office. I think Eduardo is back from Africa today and there was some plan to meet him and Stefan.’

  ‘Where is the Le Caché office?’ he asked.

  ‘Shoreditch. I haven’t got the exact address but if you meet me at Shoreditch High Street tube, I’ll take you there.’

  Alex was already waiting on the far side of the barriers under the shadow of the bridge. He was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a deep frown.

  ‘Hi,’ said Stella. ‘Have you been waiting long? I’ve been…’

  ‘Which way?’ he said, cutting her off.

  Stella stopped, then shook her head.

  ‘Not until you tell me what’s going on.’

  She knew she was being pushy but the truth was, this was more her investigation that his.

  Alex had a reputation for being a fair, supportive manager, unlike many senior news executives. Today though, he looked tough, the man who in editorial meetings Stella had seen tear into anyone he thought was giving less than 100%.

  ‘Alex, tell me or I’m not taking another step. Lara’s my friend too.’

  Stella could barely believe she had just spoken to the great Alex Ford that way, but she was sick of being the last to know everything.

  ‘I think Stefan’s been working for Michael Sachs,’ he said finally.

  ‘What? You’re serious?’

  She examined his face again.

  ‘You’re really worried?’

  ‘Stella, Sachs is the man Lara suspects of…’

  ‘Killing Sandrine?’ she said, glancing around. ‘You think Lara’s in danger?’

  ‘At the very least Stefan’s been lying to Lara. Right now, I just want to find her.’

  Stella wanted to find her friend too. She’d tried Lara’s phone as soon as she’d got off the line from Alex, only to be told, ‘the person you are calling is not available.’

  ‘Then let’s move,’ she said decisively, heading across the main road and back into the streets of Shoreditch, relying on her memory to lead her to the Le Caché office: being new and being security conscious, there was no address for the collective online.

  She found it.

  ‘This is it?’ said Alex dubiously, looking up at the old warehouse conversion Stella had visited with Lara.

  ‘Expecting something more grand?’

  ‘This is actually pretty fancy,’ he said and banged on the
door. Stella stepped back into the road, trying to see through the upper windows to the mezzanine level.

  ‘Lights are off,’ she called. ‘Don’t think anyone’s home.’

  Alex put his hands on his hips and blew out his cheeks.

  ‘Dammit.’

  ‘I think Stefan lives around here,’ said Stella, remembering a conversation from the previous week when she’d been at the La Caché office. If she was right that Lara and Stefan were seeing each other romantically, it was possible, likely, that they’d met at the Le Caché office and then gone back to his place. Lara was a professional but she wasn’t a nun.

  When Stella had brought bagels for the team, Stefan had mentioned that there was an excellent bakery on Redchurch Street, where he lived. Stella knew Redchurch Street, a narrow lane filled with boutique shops and art galleries that had somehow become the Carnaby Street of East London. He mentioned he lived above a café, but as they turned onto the street, she saw just how many food places there were – Turkish, Lebanese, Sushi, even a pastry shop specialising in cat-shaped cakes.

  ‘Okay,’ said Stella. ‘I’ll take this side, you take that side. Look for buzzers.’

  Stella strode off, not looking back to see what Alex’s reaction was to being given instructions by a junior member of staff.

  If she felt in a hurry, she was. She was as worried about Lara as he was. Stefan had been entirely smooth and plausible. If he had been lying to all of them, there was no telling what he was capable of.

  The first door was next to a swish patisserie and had four buzzers: Khan, ‘Belinda B’, Williams and Gerard. No ‘Stefan’. Pass. As Stella moved down, she glanced back. Alex was talking to a woman standing in an open doorway. Presumably he had pressed all the buttons until he’d got a response. He wasn’t letting anything get in his way. Stella knew that Lara had had a lot of heartache in her life – the death of her parents and her best friend – but watching Alex, she couldn’t help but feel that Lara was one lucky lady, and that happiness was there if she was prepared to grasp it.