The Yacht Party (Lara Stone)

‘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?’