Alex waved at her, pointing meaningfully towards a door next to a pizzeria.
‘Green door, top floor,’ he said, running up. Stella saw the bell-push straight away. ‘S. Melberg’ – she jabbed at it and looked up towards the top window.
‘Nothing,’ she muttered. No crackling intercom, no door unlocking.
‘What about Eduardo Ortega. Do you have his number?’
‘He’s in the Congo.’
‘The Congo?’
‘Long story. But yes, I’ve got it.’
Stella glanced at her watch: almost five o’clock. She took out her own phone and, pressing her lips together, called Eduardo. She barely knew him, but this was an emergency and if he was back from the Congo, he might be able to locate Stefan.
‘This is Eduardo Ortega…’
Damn. Stella left a message and hung up. Alex looked as dejected as she felt.
‘Look, why don’t we go and wait in that coffee shop across the road? If they’ve been out, they’ll probably come back soon. If not, maybe we can try Misty again.’
Alex shrugged. ‘Fine.’
The café had a Scandinavian vibe, all cedar-cladded walls and chrome fittings. Stella could picture Stefan coming in here, sitting at a corner table with his laptop and avocado on rye. Yet, despite the area’s sheen of artiness, the East End was still fairly gritty, the brickwork caked in decades of grime and graffiti. Back towards Bethnal Green and down to Whitechapel, it was a long run of fried chicken outlets, phone shops and hairdressers specialising in ‘realistic’ extensions. For a certain demographic, it was cool, but it wasn’t Knightsbridge, that was for sure. Stella wondered how it made Stefan feel at the end of every working day watching his friend leave for his pile in Kensington. Was that why he’d gone over to the dark side?
‘What can I get you?’
The pretty barista with a sleeve of tattoos was smiling up at Alex. Stella supposed she would be smiling too if she had customers like Alex and Stefan. The best she’d had in Starclucks was the guy from the betting shop and he was fifty if he was a day. The cakes here were definitely better than the muck Uncle Jimmy stocked. The sticky cinnamon rolls and slabs of Victoria Sponge dripping in buttercream looked delicious.
‘Can I have one of each?’ said Stella, pointing.
The barista used a pair of tongs to put the cakes on plate.
‘Everything alright with you guys?’ she asked, nodding towards the street. ‘I saw you going from door to door.’
‘We were looking for someone,’ said Alex. ‘He has a flat across the street. Stefan Melberg.’
‘The Swedish guy?’
Alex looked up.
‘Well, he’s Dutch, but yes. Do you know him?’
She gave a sly smile.
‘Stefan the writer? Everyone knows him. He’s in here all the time.’
Stella could imagine Stefan Melberg catching the eye of all the local girls, which gave her an idea. If she worked here, Stella would know when a handsome man usually came in, definitely. It would be something to look forward to.
‘You haven’t seen him today, have you?’ asked Stella.
The barista shook her head.
‘Maybe he’s at his girlfriend’s. Who knows?’
Alex and Lara exchanged a look.
‘Girlfriend?’
The barista nodded.
‘The lady with the long dark hair.’
Lara. So her boss was seeing Stefan.
‘The French girl,’ she continued, pointing to their pastry display. ‘She loved our madeleines. Said they were better than anything she’d had in Paris.’
Stella’s breath began to shake. Alex pulled out his phone and quickly swiped about on the screen, finally holding up a picture of Sandrine.
‘That’s her,’ said the girl, nodding.
Stella felt her pulse beginning to race.
‘Do you remember when she was in here last?’
The young woman pouted. ‘She’s only been in once or twice. Last saw her a couple of weeks ago, maybe? Yes, it was that Friday when we had that heavy rainstorm in the morning. She came in with the Swedish, sorry, Dutch guy for breakfast and they were soaked.’ She smiled to herself. ‘Didn’t seem to bother them though. All over each other, they were. Hardly touched their breakfast. She had this fabulous red coat.’
Stella saw the shock on Alex’s face give way to anger.
‘Sandrine,’ he muttered, then without another word, pushed out through the door. Stella rushed to follow.
‘Hey, don’t you want your cake?’ shouted the barista.
‘Sorry!’ Stella shouted over her shoulder. ‘Put it on the Swedish guy’s bill!’
Alex was walking fast, his head over his phone.
‘Alex, wait,’ she called, running to catch up. ‘Where are we going?’
He put his phone to his ear.
‘I’m calling Ian Fox,’ he said.
‘Detective Fox?’
He nodded. ‘If Lara’s in danger, I need someone who can find her.’
‘But is this…’
She stopped as her phone hummed.
She looked down.
Just landed in Brussels. Supposed to be meeting at Lara’s houseboat at 6pm but I’ve just missed my connecting flight to Heathrow so won’t be able to make it. Everything ok? Eduardo.
Stella put her hand over Alex’s phone and shook her head.
‘Grab a cab,’ she said. ‘We’re going to Chelsea.’
Chapter 35
Lara glanced at her watch, nerves jangling. It was gone five o’clock and Stefan was due any minute. Well, Stefan and Eduardo: Lara had to remind herself she had invited them both and that, technically, this was a business meeting. Even so, Lara was on edge, dashing around cueing up some Aretha and rearranging the flowers on the table: a jam jar of mustard pansies and pink and lilac stocks, which reminded her of Foxhills. Even so, she looked up through the skylight with foreboding. The bright colours were in sharp contrast to the grey sky. It had been muggy all day and rain was already patting against the glass; another thunderstorm was forecast, which put paid to Lara’s plan of a romantic evening drinking wine coolers on the deck.
‘Calm yourself,’ she muttered. ‘Business meeting, remember?’
Still, it felt significant that this would be Stefan’s first visit to her home. She could admit to herself that she liked-liked him. Yes, it had all happened super-fast and no, she didn’t really know him and obviously, you shouldn’t get involved with people you work with, but then wasn’t that how love was supposed to be – illogical, spontaneous and head-over-heels? Love. She was like a ditzy teenager. She’d even put fresh sheets on the bed.
Lara was just checking the chicken in the oven when she heard a tentative knock on the door. A locksmith had reinforced the frame so well it would take a bazooka to get through it now. He had also drilled a peephole and Lara bent to peer through it.
‘Stefan!’ she smiled, unlocking the door. He looked relieved to see her too, his shoulders hunched against the rain, a neon yellow umbrella keeping the worst off.
‘Come in, come in,’ she said, greeting him with a kiss.
He stepped inside, looking around with wide eyes.
‘This is amazing.’
Lara grinned, uncommonly pleased at his reaction.
‘No Eduardo?’ she asked, a hint of hope in her voice.
‘Didn’t he call you? He’s missed his connection and he doesn’t think he’ll be back in London until around ten, so I doubt we’ll see him until tomorrow.’
Lara pulled a face.
‘Oh no: my phone’s been off. I switched it to silent for this society auction I went to today. I must have forgotten to switch it back on.’
‘That will explain it. I was worried about you,’ he said, with a hint of reproach.
She pulled him close.
‘That’s sweet, but you don’t have to be worried.’
They kissed again, more slowly this time. Lara melted against him, her
fingers trailing along his neck.
Stefan stepped away and took a bottle of red wine from his rucksack.
‘From my favourite wine shop in Amsterdam. The owner’s brother owns a vineyard in Provence.’
Lara smiled, then turned to the kitchen drawer to get her corkscrew. For the first time since she had moved into Misty, Lara knew exactly where everything was, an unintentional consequence of the break-in: she’d had to put everything back piece by piece. As she opened the wine, she watched Stefan walk slowly around the boat, clearly fascinated by the way she lived.
‘An auction?’ he said absently. ‘Did you win anything?’
‘A week in Harbour Island in a posh villa. Shall we go?’
She had meant it as a joke, but once the words were out, Lara realised she longed to do just that. How many years had it been since she had gone anywhere simply for pleasure and especially with someone she just wanted to spend time with? Wasn’t that what normal couples did? The thought of walking along a pink sands shore, letting cold, clear water wash against her feet, and doing it with someone like Stefan was something she suddenly couldn’t wait for.
As she turned back around holding two glasses of wine, she saw Stefan bent over his phone, quickly tapping out a message.
‘Something urgent?’ she said.
‘I’m telling Eduardo not to bother coming,’ he said, looking up with a half-smile. ‘We don’t want him to rush, do we?’
‘No, we don’t.’
Tonight, she wanted Stefan to stay on the boat; she wanted to laugh with him, have lots of sex and sit on the deck watching the sunrise, wrapped in his arms. Most of all, Lara wanted Misty to be full of happy memories again and that would be a fine start.
Stefan took his wine and gestured up at the rain, now running across the skylight like silver veins. ‘Well, I don’t think we’re going anywhere.’
‘That’s exactly how I want it,’ said Lara, stepping towards him.
‘So where was this auction?’ he asked, his tipped glass a barrier between them.
‘Claridge’s.’
‘Fancy.’
‘I went with Olivia because I knew Victoria Sachs would be there. Michael Sachs’s wife.’
Stefan lowered the glass, his face suddenly serious.
‘I know who she is, Lara. The question is, why did you go? What did you hope to achieve?’
Lara put her wine glass down.
‘I went because I know what they did to Helen Groves and Sandrine, I just can’t prove it. And I wanted to rattle her cage, force an error, get her admit to something.’
‘And did she?’
‘No, but it was better than doing nothing.’
Stefan shook his head in frustration.
‘Poking a hornet’s nest, especially on your own, is dangerous. We talked about this, didn’t we? About taking a step back from the story until we’ve regrouped, involved more journalists. Someone trashed your house on Friday. You said it yourself, it was a warning.’
‘I need to find out what happened to Sandrine once and for all.’
‘Sandrine’s dead, Lara! Nothing is going to bring her back.’
Stefan’s voice was loud in the empty space.
Lara blinked at him.
‘I never said I thought the break-in was a warning.’
She had, but not to Stefan. Why was he being so hardline about this?
‘Will you please stop this? For me,’ he said, his voice low and controlled. He was beginning to say more when there was a loud bang at the door.
Lara looked up in alarm.
‘Lara!’ came a muffled voice. ‘Let me in!’
‘Alex?’ she said with relief, recognising his voice instantly.
‘I didn’t know you were expecting company,’ said Stefan, still looking sour.
‘I wasn’t,’ said Lara, crossing to the door.
She peeped through the hole, then quickly opened it. Alex pushed inside, rain dripping from his hair, his shirt soaked through. Stefan immediately stood up, his expression wary.
‘Thank God, you’re here,’ said Alex, out of breath. ‘I’ve been phoning you all day.’
‘Look, I’m fine. Alex, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?’
The penny dropped. He’d been fired. That’s why he looked so angry.
Alex glared at Stefan. If looks could kill, thought Lara immediately. Wasn’t that what someone had said about Jago Bain when he was thrown off Pandora?
‘Why don’t you tell her, Stefan?’ said Alex.
Stefan frowned. ‘Tell her what?’
‘Why don’t you start with the part about having an affair with Sandrine?’
‘What?’ said Lara. ‘Alex, have you gone mad? What the hell are you talking about?’
Alex turned back to Lara.
‘I’m sorry Lar, but it’s true. Stella and I went up to Stefan’s flat and we got confirmation: Sandrine had been there.’
‘I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, my friend…’ began Stefan, but Alex whirled around and took a step towards him, making Stefan jerk back.
‘Alex!’ shouted Lara, throwing herself in between them. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Is this about Alicia and Charlie? I mean, I can understand if you’re upset but there’s no need to lash out at us.’
‘Yeah, it’s bullshit,’ said Stefan. Alex’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing.
‘Bullshit?’ said Alex, pulling out his phone. He quickly scrolled to a picture and held it up. The breath caught in Lara’s throat. It was Sandrine.
‘I showed this picture to the barista in the café opposite Stefan’s flat and she immediately identified Sandrine as Stefan’s girlfriend. She saw them there kissing on the day she died.’
‘Lara, it’s a lie,’ said Stefan quickly. ‘That waitress must have got confused, that was someone else. Polly, an art student I met in a club the other week. I’m sorry, I should have told you, but…’
‘Don’t you dare,’ growled Alex, holding up the phone again. ‘Are you saying Polly also spoke French, also loved madeleines and also wore a red coat? That she looked just like Sandrine.’
Lara couldn’t breathe. The red coat. She could still picture her friend slipping it on that night as she left the Engineer, she could remember seeing it draped over the back of a chair in that empty Marylebone apartment.
And she could see Sandrine’s face on Alex’s photo. Beautiful, vibrant Sandrine. Unmistakable Sandrine. If the barista had seen her, had spoken to her, she wouldn’t forget.
‘Stefan?’ she said, searching his face. But Stefan couldn’t meet her eye. Far off across the river, she heard a grumble of thunder and the light had all but gone from the day.
‘Yes, I was seeing Sandrine,’ he said defiantly. ‘So, what? Eduardo was obsessed with work. It’s no wonder she went looking elsewhere for affection.’
‘Affection?’ Thought Lara, a sickness growing in her stomach.
‘That was why Sandrine was here,’ said Lara, the pieces finally falling into place. ‘The night I met Sandrine at the bar, she was cagey about why she had come to London early, so I assumed she’d come to see Eduardo. But she’d come to see you, hadn’t she?’
She watched Stefan’s face, still hoping for a denial, but he just stood there, mute.
‘Tell her what else you’ve been up to, Stefan,’ said Alex. His voice was as hard as steel. Lara hardly recognised him, his anger barely contained.
‘He’s been working for Michael Sachs,’ said Alex. ‘Spying, essentially.’
‘Working for Sachs?’ snorted Stefan. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You don’t think my sources are good?’ said Alex, challenging him. Everyone knew Alex Ford’s reputation as one of the best journalists in the business.
‘I was with David Becker at lunchtime. I know you went to him for finance. I know he recommended you to Michael Sachs for corporate intelligence work. And I know you went out of your way to get close to Sandrine Legard, and that’s why
you seduced her, isn’t it? To find out what she knew.’
Lara felt as though she had been punched.
‘Stefan? Is it true?’
‘Lara, you have to understand…’ he began.
‘TELL ME!’ Her yell reverberated around the boat and even in the low light she could tell Stefan had paled. He dropped his head, then nodded.
‘Becker didn’t want to invest in my idea, but a couple of months later he called me and asked if I was interested in some research work for a friend of his. Said it would be well-paid.’
‘So much for your principles.’
‘Principles?’ he snapped. ‘I’m not like you or Eduardo, I don’t have a big family trust fund. You don’t know how it feels to be constantly in debt at the end of every month.’
Lara bristled. Now that was bullshit. Stefan worked for some of the biggest newspapers in the world, he wasn’t exactly a pauper. But she couldn’t allow him to sidetrack her.
‘What did Sachs want you to find out?’ she asked.
Stefan looked towards the door, but both Alex and Lara were in the way. He sighed in defeat.
‘Sachs just wanted to find out how much Sandrine knew about the trafficking scandal connected to ImpactAid. He said Sandrine’s story would damage the charity. Simple. Just information, nothing else. No one gets hurt.’
‘No one gets hurt?’ Lara hissed. ‘Sandrine’s dead, Stefan! And you set her up to be murdered by Michael Sachs!’
‘I didn’t know what sort of man he was!’ shouted Stefan. ‘I didn’t know!’ The last word trailed off into a strangled wail as he slid down into a chair, clasping his hands together on top of his head. ‘I didn’t know.’
No-one spoke. The only sound was the tip-tap of rain beating down on the roof.
‘What information did Sandrine have?’ said Alex, after a moment.
Stefan shook his head.
‘Enough. Photographs of the traffickers, a video Helen had shot of them taking the girls, Helen’s correspondence with Victoria Sachs. Enough to prove what was happening and that ImpactAid had covered it up.’
‘She showed you all this?’ asked Alex.
Stefan nodded.
‘And you sent it all on to Michael Sachs.’
The Yacht Party Page 26