The Yacht Party

by Perry, Tasmina

  ‘Lara, it’s perfect. Sandrine would be so proud.’

  She’d filed the story for the online edition three hours earlier, but had only just put the finishing touches to the version for the print edition. The words had come easily, the whole tragic story pouring out step-by-step. Easy because she had lived it. Easy to describe because she had been there. But at the same time, Lara couldn’t remember having felt so much pressure to get a story right. It couldn’t just be good. It had to be great. This wasn’t just the story of her life, it was the story of her best friend’s death.

  For the first time for a long time, Lara felt as if she had done something right.

  ‘I’ve just spoken to Fox,’ said Alex. ‘They’re going to charge Sachs within the hour, so we can name him before the first edition goes off stone.’

  Other media outlets had already started to pick up on the story – man arrested in connection with banker murder – but no one had named Sachs. No one knew what had really happened.

  ‘We’ll run the version with names and images. Legal have signed off on it. Properly this time.’

  Alex squeezed her hand again.

  ‘Now we’ve got him, Lar,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the bastard.’

  Darius had the biggest office in the building, even larger than the Chairman’s office on the top floor. He beckoned Lara in with two fingers.

  ‘Sit.’

  It always amazed Lara how much the décor of an office reflected the personality of the owner – and how little they seemed to be aware of it. Nicholas’ office was elegant but cold with fake Hepplewhite chairs and a sideboard filled with unused crystal decanters, while Charlie’s had slouchy sofas and a huge Warhol print – inevitably from his dollar-sign period. Darius had gone for a portrait by Rankin and endless framed awards and snaps of Darius shaking hands with the likes of Bono and George Bush Jr. No surprise that it was all ‘me, me, me’ in Darius’ playroom.

  ‘So I have some good news,’ said Darius. ‘Charlie has signed off on reinstating the investigations team. We had to talk Nicholas round but I made him see sense.’

  Yeah, right, thought Lara.

  ‘Obviously, I’ve got to make cuts elsewhere, but I thought you should be the first to know as you will be coming back as head of department.’

  He paused, evidently waiting for applause and whooping. When none came, he ploughed on. ‘We really need to capitalise on this splash – the Meyer story’s going to be big and I’m in talks with your friend Ortega about collaborating more closely with Le Caché. This thing is going to be huge.’

  Lara couldn’t help smiling. ‘So you’re saying serious news is the new celebrity gossip right?’

  Darius pointed a finger at her. ‘Exactly.’

  Just as Lara could see the editor’s personality laid out in the interior design of his office, she could also see his mind working. Darius liked the idea of the Investigations team returning because of the reflected glory and the credit he could take for the scoops. He had always loved the idea of himself as a political hotshot, a news heavyweight who might be able to sidestep into TV punditry or John Pilger-style analysis. Sir Darius Allen; that would be his ultimate goal.

  ‘So we’ll want you back as soon as possible, Lara,’ he smiled. ‘How does tomorrow sound?’

  Lara paused for a moment. She knew she had to keep her resolve, but this was tough. She thought of Stella who would give her right arm to be back on the beat and she thought of Sandrine who lived – and died – for the newsroom.

  ‘I’m not coming back,’ said Lara, trying to keep her voice steady.

  Darius looked at her incredulously.

  ‘What? You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘No Darius, I’m not.’

  Darius began to splutter, falling over his words. It just did not compute for him.

  ‘But why? Do you know how hard I had to push for this?’ His eyes opened wide. ‘Hang on, you’re not going to some digital fucking start-up, are you?’

  Lara had to suppress a smile.

  ‘No, not digital. In fact, I’d like to stay at the Chronicle if you’ll have me, just not full-time.’

  Darius sighed deeply, theatrically, spinning his chair to face the window, the picture of a man deep in thought.

  ‘Darius, please,’ she said, trying to get him to understand.

  ‘I love the research, I love the reporting part of the job. But being a department head? Being tied to my desk, sending other people out to do the work I love doing? It’s just not me, it never was – and having a break from the job made me realise that.

  ‘So what do you want?’ he said sceptically.

  ‘I want a roving role. Investigations editor-at-large, something like that. You must know that the old team has grown beyond me anyway. Stella Harris is definitely ready to step up to full-time reporter, she did some amazing work on this one.’

  He could hardly disagree with that; at Lara’s insistence, Alex had given Stella an ‘additional reporting by’ credit on the story.

  ‘Still, Nicholas isn’t going to like this,’ said Darius.

  Lara smiled.

  ‘I think he’ll be glad to see the back of me. Darius, I’m better out in the field. I’ve brought in two stories in the past fortnight and I was on sabbatical.’

  She stood up.

  ‘Imagine what I could do when I really get going.’

  It was seven o’clock and Eduardo was sitting in The Mermaid, staring down into his pint. Eduardo was wearing a crisp blue shirt, a wafer-thin gold watch and expensive loafers. Lara thought it was a bit like spotting the Queen in the local chip shop. Eduardo hadn’t exactly looked relaxed in Monaco either, but this part of SW1 was definitely out of his comfort zone.

  He looked up from his phone and smiled at Lara.

  ‘It’s excellent work’ he said smiling. He had been reading the online version of the Jonathon Meyer story. ‘Really, you are a truly gifted writer.’

  ‘Not as good as Sandrine though.’

  ‘Perhaps, perhaps not. But that is the tragedy, isn’t it? We’ll never know just how good she might have become.’

  Eduardo’s voice caught and he looked down, pressing a finger against his lips. Lara felt for him.

  ‘You liked her very much didn’t you?’

  Eduardo looked up, eyes sparkling.

  ‘I loved her, Lara. I just didn’t know how much until I found out she was gone. And then my heart felt as if it had broken into pieces.’

  Lara reached over and touched his hand. ‘We can’t regret the past.’

  ‘But we can regret what we didn’t do. I didn’t tell Sandrine how I felt. Perhaps if I had told her, none of this would have happened.’

  Lara considered it. If Eduardo had declared his love for Sandrine, would she have fallen for Stefan? Maybe. Maybe not. Lara thought about all the decisions that the main players had made and whether different decisions would have brought about different outcomes. If Helen Groves hadn’t gone out with her camera, would she have discovered the trafficking? If Michael Sachs had simply invested in Jonathon Meyer’s company just because they were friends, then maybe three people – and one very loving cat – would still be alive. Shoulda, woulda, coulda; or maybe those things would have happened anyway. Lara wasn’t a philosopher, she was a journalist.

  Movement to her left caught Lara’s eye: Alex coming into the bar, talking on his phone. Lara wondered who he was speaking to. She caught Eduardo watching her, smiling.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘The way you look at him.’

  Lara rolled her eyes.

  ‘Not you too. Alex is an old friend, that’s all. Besides, he has a terrible reputation with women.’

  ‘I’m sure you’d keep him on his toes.’

  ‘Eduardo, if I ever decide to settle down it will not be with someone like Alex. I need a foil, a partner, not a boss. Alex is one of those people who always thinks he’s right.’

  Eduardo held up both hands in what Lara assumed wa
s the Spanish version of the Gallic shrug: the Latin shrug perhaps?

  ‘You never answered my question, not really,’ he said.

  ‘Which question?’

  ‘How do you feel about joining Le Caché?’

  Three weeks previously, Lara wouldn’t have given it a second’s thought. She would have respectfully declined: she worked at the Chronicle, that was what she did, it was who she was. But so much had changed since then: She had changed so much since then. She sighed.

  ‘I admire what you do, Eduardo, I really do. But I don’t want to be tied down to anyone or anything. In fact, that’s exactly what I just said to Darius back at the office.’

  Eduardo couldn’t hide his surprise.

  ‘You’re leaving the Chronicle?’

  ‘Something like that. Going solo, setting up my own one-woman Le Caché.’

  ‘Well, we’d be proud to help you out any way we can,’ said Eduardo. ‘We could make you an honorary member, if you’d prefer that. I think you’ve earned it.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m touched.’

  Lara didn’t want to have to mention the elephant in the room; it was painful for both of them, but it had to be tackled.

  ‘And what about Stefan?’

  Eduardo gave a sad snort.

  ‘Ah, Stefan. Your friend Chief Inspector Fox said he won’t face prosecution. Legally speaking, he didn’t really do anything wrong. But we will expel him from Le Caché. I can’t tell De Telegraaf or any other publication what to do, but once people know what he was involved with and the way he behaved, I imagine Stefan Melberg will struggle to get work even writing for a local paper.’

  Lara thought of Stefan’s face the previous night, just before he had walked out into the rain, so miserable, so desperate to say he wasn’t a bad guy. Despite everything he’d done, she didn’t think Stefan was evil, he was just weak. But you make your bed, you have to lie in it. Lara supposed that was exactly right in Stefan’s case.

  Alex approached the table carrying three pints and a packet of crisps between his teeth.

  ‘Drinks,’ he grunted.

  ‘Corporate hospitality at its finest,’ laughed Lara, taking the crisps away from him.

  ‘At least you know we’re not blowing the Chronicle’s news budget on champagne,’ he said, taking the stool opposite Eduardo. Lara stood up and laid a hand on Alex’s shoulder. ‘You’ll have to drink mine for me. I’m going to leave you two to it.’

  Lara was a spare part here anyway: Eduardo and Alex were going to thrash out some sort of information-sharing deal where the Chronicle could publish Le Caché stories. All part of Darius’s brand new push towards making the paper the home for serious news. Lara wondered how long the idea would survive contact with Nicholas Avery and his bottom line, but she was glad they were trying it at least.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Alex, looking disappointed.

  ‘Power nap, shower, pop tart in that order. Then I’ll see you back at the office with the party-poppers, I guess.’

  ‘The first edition should be in at elevenish. You’d better be there.’

  Lara smiled.

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

  Eduardo held up his hand as Lara went to leave.

  ‘Will I see you both in Corsica?’

  Lara nodded. It was Sandrine’s funeral in a week’s time.

  ‘I’ll be there for a few days beforehand,’ said Eduardo. ‘Sandrine always used to tell me how clear the water was in the bay where she grew up and I think I want to see it. Sit where she sat, watch the boats go by.’

  ‘We’ll be there,’ said Lara, meeting Alex’s gaze, seeing his nod. ‘Although I’m not sure I want to see any yachts for a while.’

  Alex walked her out to the street. The sky had gone a deep blue, golden along the horizon, moths fluttering against a sodium lamp illuminating the picnic tables outside the pub. It was warm, but not close; the previous night’s tempest seemed to have blown all the cobwebs away for now at least. Alex looked up at the stars just beginning to prick through.

  ‘Are you going to get a cab?’

  ‘No, I think I’ll walk.’

  ‘Sure?’

  She nodded, squeezing his arm. ‘It’s over,’ she said, taking a deep breath. ‘Can’t you feel it?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  He paused, pushing his hands into his pockets.

  ‘You two looked cosy,’ said Alex nodding back towards the pub.’

  ‘Cosy? With Eduardo?’ Lara started laughing.

  ‘He’s a catch,’ insisted Alex, a half-smile on his face. ‘If I was a woman, I’d fancy him.’

  ‘Well, even if I did, even if he hadn’t been seeing my best friend, I’m off relationships. I’m a rotten picker or hadn’t you noticed?’

  ‘Was Stefan a relationship?’

  ‘Oh that?’ said Lara, with a twinkle in her eye. ‘That was just sex.’

  Alex laughed, shaking his head.

  ‘You’re incredible, you know that?’

  Lara felt goosebumps travel up the length of her arm but she tried to ignore them. Instead she tilted her head to one side.

  ‘Is that a compliment, Alex Ford?’

  ‘Might be. Although it’s back to subservience when you’re back in the office. Remember who’s in charge, okay?’

  She gave him a friendly tap on the arm, but Alex met her gaze.

  ‘Seriously Lar, I’m sorry if I ever doubted you and your instincts about the story. After all these years, I should have known better. Just so you know, I won’t make that mistake again.’

  ‘I’m not coming back to the Chronicle,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m going freelance, going to have a go at doing things my way for a change.’

  She had expected surprise, anger, bargaining. Instead Alex just gave her a soft smile.

  ‘Good for you, Lar. That’s fantastic.’

  She didn’t expect him to be so happy for her not coming back onto the team full-time. It disappointed her, but she wasn’t quite sure why.

  ‘You’d better get back in,’ said Lara, pointing to The Mermaid. ‘You’re supposed to be wooing Le Caché not abandoning him with a packet of Frazzles. Eduardo’s more of a caviar man.’

  ‘See you back at the office in a couple of hours then?’

  ‘Sure. It’s a date.’

  Lara stayed there for a moment, watching him go back into the pub, breathing in that warm, sweet-smelling air. Then she turned and began a slow walk home, picking up some food from a deli that was still open on the way – sourdough bread, a wedge of good cheese and a packet of dark chocolate Florentines – before heading down Royal Hospital Road, Burton Court to the right, the Royal Hospital to her left. She smiled at a Chelsea Pensioner in his scarlet coat, and he tipped a finger to his hat.

  She heard the car behind her before she saw it, the soft purr of an engine that spoke of expense and precision engineering. She stopped and turned, fighting the urge to run.

  The car slid to a stop beside her and the window hummed down to reveal a familiar face. Victoria Sachs. The woman raised an eyebrow. ‘Need a lift?’

  ‘Actually, I’m almost home.’

  ‘Then I’ll walk with you.’

  Victoria climbed out of the car, both feet together in a fluid sideways motion, the sort of thing they used to teach you at finishing school. They strolled along together in silence, the car pacing them at a discreet distance.

  ‘So your story is out tomorrow?’ asked Victoria finally.

  ‘Assuming your lawyer isn’t about to leap out of the car and serve me with an injunction.’

  Victoria smiled.

  ‘I think we’ve all had enough drama recently.’

  ‘Have you spoken to the police?’

  ‘I have that delight tomorrow.

  As they reached the Chelsea Physic Garden, Lara stopped and turned to face the older woman. A gust of wind blew her dark hair away from her face.

  ‘I should say thank you,’ said Lara. ‘You didn’t have
to do what you did and I realise that you put yourself on the line. That there still might be consequences for you.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t do the right thing for a long time,’ said Victoria, looking towards the trees peeking over the brick wall of the garden, their leaves still now after the storm.

  ‘I stayed with a man for money and social position, even when I knew he didn’t love me. But then there comes a point when you realise enough is enough.’

  She paused before she continued.

  ‘I didn’t need you to tell me that Michael was having an affair, Lara. That was just his latest. He was cheating on me all through our marriage. He even has a little flat in St John’s Wood – he doesn’t think I know about it.’ She smiled to herself. Wintry, sad. ‘I know about all of it.’

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘What happens now is that I work with the police and testify against him.’

  ‘You’d do that?’

  Victoria’s eyes flared.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, with a cold laugh.

  Lara realised at that moment, that Victoria Sachs didn’t just want to hurt her husband. She wanted to ruin him.

  ‘You played him, didn’t you? You wanted a divorce all along.’

  Victoria snorted.

  ‘And he would never have given me one, never. Not easily, anyway, not with all his money tied up with ClearView. It would have been a very, very bitter fight. I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear that Michael Sachs liked control. Where I went, who I spoke to, what money I had access to. But now?’ She met Lara’s gaze. ‘Soon I will be free.’

  Had she engineered everything? Lara wondered suddenly. Had this whole thing been a giant game of chess for Victoria Sachs, moving herself, Helen, even Sandrine like pawns to be sacrificed? No. Surely not.

  ‘Did you…?’ began Lara, but Victoria stopped her by raising a hand to signal her driver to pull alongside.

  ‘I adapted to the circumstances,’ she said. ‘And I’ll keep doing so. Now I’ll have money and the freedom to spend it on the charity.’ She opened the door and folded herself elegantly inside. ‘And myself of course.’

  Lara watched her go, then turned back towards the river. The gate to the wharf still creaked, but perhaps that was a good thing, thought Lara. Not everything needed to change. She stopped by the boatyard office, using her little gold key to open her mailbox. Bill, bill, junk mail, she thought, flipping through her post as she walked back to the pier. ‘And finally… something for me,’ she murmured. It was a letter in an old fashioned, pale blue envelope, handwritten in dark blue, no stamp. She walked up the gangway onto Misty, sitting down on the deck to tear it open. Inside was a single sheet of crisp white writing paper, folded in half. Two lines were written down: