The Yacht Party (Lara Stone)

Lara gave a lopsided smile.

‘Maybe. We’ll see.’

As Stella disappeared into the Underground, Lara grabbed a taxi and directed the driver to Primrose Hill. She hadn’t been entirely honest with Stella when she said she wanted to try and get the investigations team reinstated. Of course she loved the buzz of her old department. Those late nights, firing off suggestions and ideas around the table, pizza boxes stacked high and too many black coffees – they’d been glorious times. But there was something else too. She’d told Rebecca Robertson the more people who knew, the safer she would be, and that stood for Lara and Stella too. If Helen and Sandrine had been murdered, that put them in a vulnerable position. She hadn’t wanted to frighten Stella, but Lara was experienced enough to know that their only real protection was to get the story out there – and fast. It didn’t have to be perfect or comprehensive, just done – and soon.

Traffic was slow through Camden: Friday morning, people were hurrying to work, shopkeepers pulling up shutters or setting out fruit, plus the inevitable roadworks cunningly timed to cause the maximum disruption. Muttering to himself, the cabbie veered off into the leafy, village-like atmosphere of Primrose Hill. Here the passers-by changed too: glamorous brunettes in expensive-looking gym gear, young nannies pushing buggies worth more than their monthly wage, it was a world as alien to Lara as the hill-tribes in Laos.

Lara glanced at her watch. Right now, most senior members of the Chronicle would already be at their desks, sipping strong coffee and steeling themselves for the daily conference where the contents of the next day’s paper would be decided. But not her cousin. Most days Charlie sloped into the office at nine o’clock and right now, Charlie would almost certainly still be at home, if not in bed.

Lara leaned forward to guide the taxi through the tangle of pastel terraces, stopping short of Charlie’s place: a pale blue townhouse in prime position. Lara took a deep breath. This was going to be tricky. She wasn’t particularly close to Charlie, but she still considered him an ally.

The summer that Lara had gone to live with Uncle Nicholas following the death of her parents, Lara had found solace in the great outdoors. She’d taught Charlie how to dive into the pool at Foxhills, helped him to climb trees too big for him and liberated treats from the pantry, forbidden by Aunt Olivia, for picnics in the meadows and riverbanks around the estate. They had been, if not actually brother and sister, close enough for friends, and although they had grown up to be very different people, Lara felt there was still a bond.

She paid the driver and got out of the cab, waiting on the pavement as it drove off.

Lara knew it was polite to call Charlie first, but then again, it would be just like Charlie to fob her off and she didn’t want to give him the chance.

She was about to cross the road when the door to Charlie’s house opened and he stepped out, slipping on his jacket and laughing. Some instinct made Lara pull back into the shadow of an overhanging tree. She watched a honeyed blonde woman follow Charlie out, and as she bent to whisper something in his ear, a smile spread across his face. His arm snaked around his companion’s waist and he pulled her close, kissing her passionately right there on the doorstep. A gust wind blew across the street and the woman brushed the hair back off her face. It was then that Lara could clearly see the woman Charlie that was kissing, as plain as day. Alicia. The woman was Alicia.

Chapter 26

The news room was in uproar. Shouts going back and forth across the desks. A screwed up ball of paper bounced off the side of a head. Abuse, ringing phones, music, a sudden burst of laughter.

Alex grinned to himself as he walked through. Just another day in paradise.

‘Hey Alex, I just heard that the Mail has a story on a talking horse. You should get on that,’ shouted a voice.

‘On the horse, or on the story?’ said another.

This was what he had always loved about working on a paper; the energy, the chaos, the camaraderie. The noise was huge, swelling like waves hitting the beach in a storm. Stories coming in, raw information, people shouting out soundbites: ‘Get this: front runner for the next Olympics is Cairo’; ‘Hey, some professor says women are actually over-paid – and she’s a woman’; Everything was up for discussion, everything was a news item until proven otherwise.

To get into tomorrow’s issue, they’d have to elbow out today’s hot items: a footballer caught taking bribes from a betting syndicate, a leaked government proposal about free school meals and – biggest story of the week – a rival paper being sued for printing unfounded allegations about a Hollywood actor’s sexual preferences. But Alex was working on something bigger – potentially much bigger.

Alex walked down the corridor, the noise receding behind him, and into a small office with a piece of paper taped to the door marked ‘Spy Shit. Please knock.’ The room was usually used by researchers who needed peace and quiet, but it was also used – as now – when someone was working on a story they wanted to keep under the radar.

Alex put his head around the door.

‘Any news?’

Louis Brand looked up. One of the news team, Louis was an up-and-coming star with a talent for finding big stories. He nodded to Alex.

‘I think she’ll talk.’

‘She will? My God.’

Louis had heard a whisper that Christie Spencer, Felix Tait’s personal chef, the woman who had given him his dramatic alibi in court, had a story to tell: she had lied. Christie had given Tait a false alibi because she had been head over heels in love with him, but now Tait was off the hook, the chef had been dispensed with. Christie was furious and looking to get even.

‘Did you talk her through the legal problems?’ asked Alex.

‘I did. She’s so angry right now she says she’ll take the consequences.’

Alex nodded, trying to keep his excitement in check. While the woman’s testimony would certainly be enough to trigger a High Court appeal, it was also highly risky. Christie would have to admit to perjury, an offence that potentially carried a jail sentence. And what if she suddenly changed her mind again? What if Tait managed to sweet-talk her, declared his undying love?

‘Okay, run it all past the lawyers,’ said Alex decisively. ‘If they give the thumbs up, get her on the record and we’ll take it from there.’

He pointed a finger at Louis. ‘Good work. But it goes without saying, don’t breathe this to a soul.’

Louis gave him a mock salute. ‘Understood.’