The Yacht Party (Lara Stone)

Seeing Fox’s familiar face gave her some comfort.

‘Come on,’ he said, leading her away from the police line. ‘Assaulting a photographer isn’t going to solve anything.’ He looked up as the snapper disappeared into the dark. ‘Much as I’d like to see it.’

Lara nodded wearily. ‘She was my friend, Ian.’

‘I know. Monaghan filled me in as soon as I arrived.’

They stood in the blue glow of the police van. Either Lara was dizzy or the lights were still whirling.

‘Listen, I’m going to have to ask you some questions. Is that okay?’

‘I’m not sure what I can tell you,’ said Lara, staring at the ground.

‘You saw Sandrine earlier tonight. How did she seem?’

Lara expected him to get out his notebook, but he didn’t. She was grateful for that at least.

‘She was on good form,’ sighed Lara. ‘We went to a pub in Chelsea, The Engineer, had a fun night. We left at about 10:30 and I got a cab back to my house on Cad

ogan Pier. Sandrine said she was going back to… well, here. The next thing I know, I get a call from your detective.’

Fox nodded, absorbing the information.

‘Was Sandrine drinking at the pub?’

‘Not much. We each had a couple of glasses of wine.’

‘How was her mood?’

‘Mood?’

It was starting to dawn on her what the police thought had happened.

‘You think her fall was deliberate?’ she said.

‘We don’t know yet, Lara.’

She was about to reply when the paramedics pushed the stretcher past her. Lara had to look away; it was too painful. Just a few hours earlier they had been at The Engineer talking about the future.

‘Can I go up there? To the apartment?’

Lara knew it was a big ask, even with her history with Fox.

‘Please Ian. I just need to see.’

She watched as the policeman weighed up his options.

‘Just so we’re clear, no photos and no quotes.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Lara gratefully. Following Fox, she walked inside the block and up five flights of stairs. The apartment occupied the eaves of the building, the door was open and they walked inside.

The flat was small. Just a bathroom, bedroom and an open-plan living space where two officers were bagging up various items they had found. The red jacket Sandrine had worn the night before was draped over the dining chair, her brown suede ankle boots were on the rug, one tipped on its side. She’d commented on how cool they were, asked Sandrine where she’d got them from. Lara squeezed her eyes shut. Focus, she told herself angrily. Be professional. See what you can see. Fox stopped to talk to one of the uniforms and Lara slid away, turning towards the French doors. They were open, letting a cool breeze into the room. Without glancing back, Lara stepped out onto the narrow terrace, where there was a rust-pocked bistro chair in one corner, a pot plant in the other.

Her heart was beating fast now, emotion choked her throat.

She tried to imagine Sandrine standing here just an hour earlier, tried to imagine what she was thinking.

‘What did you do?’ she whispered, bending to look at the waist-high wooden hand rail. Lara frowned when she saw four scrapes in the white paintwork.