The Yacht Party (Lara Stone)

‘Will you please stop this? For me,’ he said, his voice low and controlled. He was beginning to say more when there was a loud bang at the door.

Lara looked up in alarm.

‘Lara!’ came a muffled voice. ‘Let me in!’

‘Alex?’ she said with relief, recognising his voice instantly.

‘I didn’t know you were expecting company,’ said Stefan, still looking sour.

‘I wasn’t,’ said Lara, crossing to the door.

She peeped through the hole, then quickly opened it. Alex pushed inside, rain dripping from his hair, his shirt soaked through. Stefan immediately stood up, his expression wary.

‘Thank God, you’re here,’ said Alex, out of breath. ‘I’ve been phoning you all day.’

‘Look, I’m fine. Alex, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?’

The penny dropped. He’d been fired. That’s why he looked so angry.

Alex glared at Stefan. If looks could kill, thought Lara immediately. Wasn’t that what someone had said about Jago Bain when he was thrown off Pandora?

‘Why don’t you tell her, Stefan?’ said Alex.

Stefan frowned. ‘Tell her what?’

‘Why don’t you start with the part about having an affair with Sandrine?’

‘What?’ said Lara. ‘Alex, have you gone mad? What the hell are you talking about?’

Alex turned back to Lara.

‘I’m sorry Lar, but it’s true. Stella and I went up to Stefan’s flat and we got confirmation: Sandrine had been there.’

‘I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, my friend…’ began Stefan, but Alex whirled around and took a step towards him, making Stefan jerk back.

‘Alex!’ shouted Lara, throwing herself in between them. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Is this about Alicia and Charlie? I mean, I can understand if you’re upset but there’s no need to lash out at us.’

‘Yeah, it’s bullshit,’ said Stefan. Alex’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing.

‘Bullshit?’ said Alex, pulling out his phone. He quickly scrolled to a picture and held it up. The breath caught in Lara’s throat. It was Sandrine.

‘I showed this picture to the barista in the café opposite Stefan’s flat and she immediately identified Sandrine as Stefan’s girlfriend. She saw them there kissing on the day she died.’

‘Lara, it’s a lie,’ said Stefan quickly. ‘That waitress must have got confused, that was someone else. Polly, an art student I met in a club the other week. I’m sorry, I should have told you, but…’

‘Don’t you dare,’ growled Alex, holding up the phone again. ‘Are you saying Polly also spoke French, also loved madeleines and also wore a red coat? That she looked just like Sandrine.’

Lara couldn’t breathe. The red coat. She could still picture her friend slipping it on that night as she left the Engineer, she could remember seeing it draped over the back of a chair in that empty Marylebone apartment.

And she could see Sandrine’s face on Alex’s photo. Beautiful, vibrant Sandrine. Unmistakable Sandrine. If the barista had seen her, had spoken to her, she wouldn’t forget.

‘Stefan?’ she said, searching his face. But Stefan couldn’t meet her eye. Far off across the river, she heard a grumble of thunder and the light had all but gone from the day.

‘Yes, I was seeing Sandrine,’ he said defiantly. ‘So, what? Eduardo was obsessed with work. It’s no wonder she went looking elsewhere for affection.’

‘Affection?’ Thought Lara, a sickness growing in her stomach.

‘That was why Sandrine was here,’ said Lara, the pieces finally falling into place. ‘The night I met Sandrine at the bar, she was cagey about why she had come to London early, so I assumed she’d come to see Eduardo. But she’d come to see you, hadn’t she?’