The Yacht Party (Lara Stone)

‘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?’