The Yacht Party (Lara Stone)

‘It’s fine,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘I’m just glad you’re here’.

‘Well, looks like you’ve come up in the world, Ford,’ said Lara, gesturing towards the restaurant. ‘I’ll have to remember that next time I throw you a bash.’

For his birthday two years ago – pre-Alicia – Lara had hosted an impromptu barbeque on Misty, inviting as many of their City University friends as she could round up in twenty-four hours and the spontaneity had added to the fun. Sandrine had been in town and had come along too. The thought stopped him: Alex realised that was the last time he had properly spoken to Sandrine.

‘I’ve got you something,’ she said, pulling a slim package from her rucksack. ‘I hope it makes up for my tardiness.’

‘A present? Can I open it now?’

‘How do you know I haven’t got you something embarrassing?’ she said in a stage whisper.

Alex looked up. ‘Like a sex toy?’

‘No, like a thesaurus.’

Alex laughed, but he knew Lara well. She used jokes to cover her nerves; perhaps the present really was something private.

‘Listen, I just wanted to show my face, but I have to shoot off again.’

‘Really? Where are you going?’

‘You mean what is an unemployed journalist doing at this time of night?’

She leaned forward to kiss his cheek before he could answer.

‘Happy birthday, Alex. Have a great evening.’

He watched her leave then, unable to resist, began to tear the paper, gasping when he saw what was inside. It was a scarf. But not just any scarf, it was a Shemagh, the traditional Arab head cover that doubled as a mask against sand and flies in the desert. Nothing very unusual about that, but this one was very distinctive, woven in black and white with the linked ‘GG’ of Gucci. And looking at it made Alex’s heart jump.

‘I don’t believe it.’

He ran out of the restaurant, catching up with Lara in the car park, just as she was about to put her bike helmet on.

‘Where the hell did you find it?’ he said, waving the scarf.

Lara leant back against her bike and tried to hide a smile. If he didn’t know her better he would have sworn she was blushing.

‘I didn’t find it,’ said Lara, her eyes twinkling. ‘I had someone make it for me. I had to rely on my memory – hope it’s alright.’

‘Alright? It’s amazing.’

And it was. It was a near-perfect reproduction of a scarf Alex had bought in a market on the West Bank while on assignment years ago. The Gucci logo was something of an ironic joke. Alex wasn’t exactly a designer-label kind of guy; hadn’t been then, anyway. Still, the Shemagh had served its purpose, saving him from heatstroke and sandstorms and in Iraq and Afghanistan it’d become a lucky talisman. Then on a night out with Lara when he was stationed in Berlin, the scarf had been lost. They had retraced their steps bar-by-bar, but it had disappeared into the night.

‘I can’t believe you remembered,’ said Alex, examining the fabric.

Lara gave a slow grin. ‘Don’t worry, it’s just as crappy as the original.’

It was in stark contrast to all the carefully chosen and tasteful presents Alicia had given him that morning along with breakfast in bed. The Dunhill cufflinks, the expensive camera lens, the first edition of a Bukowski novel. Thoughtful, expensive gifts, but the Shemagh? That was something you couldn’t compete with. A breeze, soft and briny, blew in off the Thames.

‘I’m sorry if I upset you in Monaco,’ said Alex. ‘I really didn’t mean to.’

Lara shrugged it off.

‘So what happened? Did you find anything else?’

Lara pulled a face.

‘No, nothing. As you said, it’s probably a wild goose chase anyway.’