The Yacht Party (Lara Stone)

‘I was amazed Eduardo managed to get a room at such short notice, but his magic and my bank account didn’t stretch to two of them. So I’m in an Air B and B in Menton.’

‘I’m not in Monaco either,’ replied Lara. ‘I’m in Roquebrune. It’s going to be murder getting a taxi home.’

‘Then we’ll have to sit it out until it quietens down.’

‘How about we go to the Casino and put everything on red.’

‘Hmm, one problem with that…’

Stefan mimed pulling out his pocket linings to reveal empty hands.

He was flirting with her, but she didn’t mind. It had been a long time since Lara had had a boyfriend, and sometimes she thought she’d forgotten how to flirt back. But there was a charge between them that wasn’t just the Grand Prix buzz.

‘Why don’t we just walk,’ she said, inhaling the sugary evening air.

They walked down the steep avenue toward the port, the pavements choked with idling pedestrians, the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the road barely moving any faster.

‘I love how F1 cars go at 200mph, but in Monte Carlo, no one gets out of first gear,’ said Lara. It was a petrol-head’s version of an evening stroll, dozens of super-sleek supercars crawling at 5kph then – if they tipped enough – briefly pulling into a rare parking space in front of one of the hotels where they could loiter and soak up the admiring glances from the passing tourists.

‘Those things cost $500,000 new,’ said Stefan, nodding towards a Lamborghini in a vivid lime green. ‘Do you think the reward is worth the cost? Half a million for a few guys going ‘wow, nice car’?’

‘I’m more of a ‘two wheels’ kind of girl.’

As they approached the port, Lara could feel the deep bass thump from parties on board the yachts positioned all along the front. This was the Yacht Party phenomenon in microcosm: she and Stefan strolled past each gangplank, craning their necks to look inside. Lara didn’t have any great desire to be part of this crowd, but she was still curious, and it was hard not to wonder if she was missing out on some amazing experience behind the velvet ropes. That psychology was why Jonathon Meyer had bought the Pandora, why he held those networking parties on a boat. Yes, they were expensive and glamorous, but so were nightclubs like Jimmyz or the Buddha Bar, why not hold his parties there? Because only the chosen few had been allowed onto the Pandora: only la crème de la crème. The very size of a boat limited the guestlist so even the Goliath was small when compared to somewhere like the Buddha Bar. It was exclusive in every sense.

Lara nudged Stefan. ‘Check out this guy.’

A banana yellow supercar drew up at the walkway to a three-tier yacht named ‘Neptune’s Daughter’. The gullwing door flipped up and a young man stepped out wearing wraparound sunglasses and a loud patterned shirt open to the waist. He didn’t even look as a valet jumped inside his car and whisked it away. Half a mill gone in exchange for a ticket stub.

‘What do you think’s going on inside?’ said Lara.

‘The best party in the history of the world,’ said Stefan. ‘Although if that guy’s on the guestlist, I’m not sure I want to go.’

‘You’re only saying that because you’re a socialist,’ smiled Lara. ‘Oh, and you’re not invited.’

‘Exactly,’ agreed Stefan. ‘If only Tzar Nicholas had allowed the peasants into his parties, there would have been no Russian revolution.’

He was about to say more, but Lara was distracted. She had spotted a familiar figure walking down the dockside towards them.

‘Alex.’

‘Oh. Hi,’ he said awkwardly, walking over. She watched Alex glance towards Stefan, assessing him, weighing him up; they were like two cats passing in an alleyway.

‘Alex Ford, this is Stefan Melberg. Stefan meet Alex. He is – was – my colleague at the Chronicle.’

Colleague. Ouch. Lara almost winced at her own coldness, but then she was still cross with him after last night.

‘Alex, of course,’ said Stefan, putting out his hand. ‘I followed your work in Syria. Powerful stuff.’

‘Thanks,’ said Alex, but all his attention was on Lara. As she met his gaze, her mood towards him softened, but now wasn’t the time to talk about their argument on the Goliath and how he’d made her feel.

‘Off partying again?’

It was meant to sound light-hearted, but it came out like an accusation.

‘I’m working, Lara,’ said Alex crisply. ‘I have to meet the advertisers.’

‘Of course. Which ones?’