The Yacht Party (Lara Stone)

‘Emirates have their America’s Cup boat down the far end of the harbour and McLaren are toasting their pole position at the yacht club.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Actually I had better be off.’

‘Sure,’ said Lara quickly. ‘Don’t let us keep you from your free cocktails.’

Alex gave a curt nod towards Stefan and a lingering look to Lara, then moved off.

‘I see you two have history,’ said Stefan, watching Alex go.

‘Alex is one of my oldest friends,’ she said. ‘It just gets awkward sometimes. We went to college together and now he’s my boss. Plus we had a bit of a ding-dong last night. I think I might have accused him of being a terrible corporate yes-man.’

‘Might?’

Lara grimaced.

‘Ah. That is awkward.’

Despite the encounter with Alex, Lara was glad she had come out. Stefan was easy to talk to and didn’t judge anything she said. It was such a simple thing, but it felt liberating to talk to someone who had no expectations and no knowledge of her baggage. They walked on, the line-up of yachts seemingly endless. Some were huge, others were relatively modest motor yachts and cabin cruisers – relatively, this was Monaco, nothing less than 50 feet. They bought two bottles of water from a Tabac and stopped at a bench, looking out over the blue-black water, the thrum of a dozen parties still audible.

‘I live on a boat,’ said Lara, glancing at Stefan with a half-smile.

‘Really? That’s glamorous.’

She laughed.

‘Not when it pours down.’

She looked at him.

‘So where is home for you?’

‘I’ve just found a place in Shoreditch for when we open the London Le Caché office. Until a few weeks ago I was based in Amsterdam. De Pijp. Do you know it?’

She did. It was a cool, creative part of the city. It was no surprise that Stefan lived there.

‘Is that were you grew up?’

‘I was born in Amsterdam, but when I was little we moved to Texel, one of the Frisian Islands.’

‘Frisian as in cows?’

He grinned. ‘I think that’s where they originated, yes. But Texel is mainly a tourist place now. White beaches, an old lighthouse. My parents had a café right on the sands.’

‘Sounds idyllic.’

‘I guess it was. As a kid there was a lot of hunting for oysters and pearls, pirate booty and washed-up bottles.’

Lara looked at him with new eyes. He seemed so urbane and sophisticated, she hadn’t imagined Stefan barefoot and poking about in rockpools.

‘Although there’s a limit to how much nature anyone can stand,’ he smiled. ‘By the time I was 18, I was itching to get out and see the world. I moved back to Amsterdam to study, then I went to Georgetown University in Washington for postgrad study. It was where I met Eduardo.’

He swigged his water bottle then looked at her.

‘So what about you Lara? Was it all pony rides and garden fetes.’

Of course, she thought sadly. He had researched her, he knew all about her – the headline version of Lara Stone, anyway. A privileged, silver spoon socialite, part of the glittering Avery dynasty. If only real life worked so well.

‘Not quite,’ she said. ‘My childhood wasn’t quite so simple.’

She nodded towards the smaller yachts ahead. ‘My parents died when I was eleven. They were sailing something very like that in Croatia.’