‘Saturday night,’ she said, without having to think about it.
Stefan grinned back.
‘So…?’
She put her hands on her hips.
‘Look, Stefan. We’re in the middle of a story and we’re working together. What would Eduardo say if…’
‘Eduardo guessed.’
That stopped her. She felt strangely uncomfortable, like hearing that your dad knew you were sleeping around.
‘Alright, so no Geneva. How about I just take you for dinner when I get back? Is that okay?’
‘Okay then,’ she said quietly. ‘That would be nice. How long do you think you’ll be away for?’
‘I don’t know. But I will be hurrying back.’
He stepped forward and kissed her tenderly. Lara thought of the engagement ring at her feet the night before, then put her hand on the back of Stefan’s neck, losing herself in his soft lips. Then she pulled away.
‘It’s a date,’ she said. She could feel his eyes on her all the way down the street.
Greys was a Mayfair dining institution, at least if you were the sort of person who wore a three-piece suit and believed Eton had been the best days of your life. The décor certainly reminded Lara of the headmistress’s study at her boarding school, all dark wood panelling and gilt-framed portraits; in Greys they were of its most famous patrons, most with drooping moustaches and stiff collars. Still, the little booths with their red leather banquettes and crisp linens did look tempting and Lara was now wishing she hadn’t turned down Stella’s bacon sandwich earlier that morning. But she wasn’t here to eat, she was here to speak to Simon Meyer. This was business.
Lara had contacted him at his Cobham office, but Simon had sent her a message saying he was in London and could squeeze her in for a drink. He was perched on a stool by the bar nursing a glass of something she suspected was gin.
‘My client gets here at one o’clock, but he’s always late,’ said Simon, standing to greet her with a formal handshake.
‘Snack?’ he asked, noticing Lara’s eyes following a passing waitress with a bread basket. ‘The olives are also very good.’
Lara had once been embedded with The Royal Marines, who had taught her that in the field, the rule was ‘eat when you can’ because you never knew when you’d get another chance. Lara was unlikely to find herself pinned down in a foxhole, but the principle was sound. She helped herself to the silver bowl in front of her.
‘So how was Monaco?’ asked Simon.
‘Useful. Thanks for connecting me to Tom. I also spoke to Jonathon’s girlfriend Josie.’
‘Jon had a girlfriend?’ said Simon, sipping his gin. ‘I didn’t think commitment was his thing. Does she live in Monaco?’
‘No, she’s Canadian. Josie; she’s a model. I don’t think it was serious. Or at least, I didn’t get the feeling Jonathon had been treating it that way.’
‘Ah,’ he said, as if it was no surprise.
Lara leant forward.
‘Simon, I need to pick your brains. Do you know any of Jonathon’s friends or clients called Mike or Michael?’
Simon shook his head slowly.
‘As I’ve said to you, we weren’t close. Our lives were very different and I didn’t know Jon’s social circle. And of course, he kept his client base closely under wraps.’
‘As executor of his estate, do you think you could find out?’
Simon sighed.
‘I suppose I could, yes.’
‘But you don’t want to?’