‘What happened?’
She didn’t mention her parents often and when she did, most people made a few platitudes, then moved the conversation swiftly on. But she was glad Stefan was honest enough to ask the question everyone thought.
‘Every summer my parents took a sailing trip together. My father loved boats. I would go to my granny’s house and they would travel to Majorca, the South of France, Greece, any one of the summer sailing hubs. That year they went to Split. They wanted to sail to Hvar and the outlying islands. The next thing we knew, there was an explosion. A defective diesel pump, maybe the stove in the galley. There was an investigation, helicopters, diving crews, a British team went out to the Balkans, but nothing was found except wreckage of the boat.’
‘Your parents were never found?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s still a mystery,’ said Lara. ‘The Adriatic is bigger than it looks.’
‘I’m sorry. It must have been a very difficult time.’
‘There were lots of unpleasant rumours. That didn’t make it any easier.’
That was an understatement. There had been an affair, a secret child, the whispers had said. And of course the most poisonous story had been the one which had stuck: David Avery had killed his beautiful, but difficult wife and then set fire to the boat – the lack of evidence was merely proof of a cover-up by the powerful Avery family.
‘My grandfather tried his best to find out what really happened but he never did. A year later he was dead too. He had a heart attack. I still think he died of a broken heart.’
‘Haven’t you ever been tempted to look into it yourself?’ asked Stefan.
It was the obvious question. She was an investigative reporter, one of the best. Who better to dig out the truth?
‘No. Because whatever I do, they’re still gone and my fantasy mum and dad, the ones I carry around in my head, they can be perfect, until the day I die.’
And they were perfect in her mind. Her beautiful mother Ramona with her bright green eyes and waist-length black hair. And David Avery, her beloved father. A handsome, rugged man with dark hair and a wide smile standing at the tiller of his boat, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Lara knew that cherished image might be a figment of her imagination, or even a scene from a half-remembered movie. None of her memories were very reliable. But they were hers and she didn’t want to spoil them by digging too deeply into David and Ramona’s deaths. Perhaps Stefan might find that strange given her determination to investigate Sandrine’s apparent suicide. But it was how she felt.
‘Come on,’
she said, standing up. ‘Race you to the top.’
Stefan looked up in surprise, then alarm. ‘To the top…of the rock?’
‘What, are you scared that a girl will beat you?’
He looked up towards the Prince’s Palace towering high above them.
‘What are you waiting for?’ she grinned, then turned and sprinted off towards the steps.
The Rock of Monaco was a geographical slab that had been the original fortified settlement; the old town was up there, so was the Cathedral. Lara knew that much, but she had no idea how many steps there were to the top. She was already thinking she had bitten off more than she could chew when she heard Stefan’s footsteps behind her. OMG! He was actually doing it!
‘I’m coming!’ he shouted. Lara started laughing even as she increased her pace. ‘Never catch me!’ she called back.
She bolted across a road – mercifully clear – and then onto another set of steps. Stefan was gaining, which for some reason made her giggles worse.
‘Ah, crap,’ she panted, collapsing on the stone steps near the summit. Not as fit as she thought. Stefan caught up and dropped down next to her, his chest heaving from exertion, but also from laughter. Lara had underestimated how many steps there were.
‘You… are…crazy…’ he managed, before dissolving into guffaws.
Without thinking, Lara rolled over and grabbed him, kissing Stefan hard on the lips. After a moment’s hesitation, Stefan kissed her back, pulling her closer.
‘We’re going to get caught by the Monaco Guard,’ she laughed into his ear.
The palace was barely two hundred yards away and in the darkness she could see a glimpse of white uniform.
‘We’d better keep out of sight then,’ he whispered.
He took her hand and pulled her through the grand porte to the old town.
‘Just look at that,’ she said, taking a moment to look at the Palace, gloriously illuminated.