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‘Well, you got yourself a bargain,’ she lowered her voice, drew Lara closer. ‘Joanna Ashcroft’s Bahamas place went for one hundred grand at an event I went to the other week, although Jeffrey Archer was doing the auction, and Joanna’s place is a little more luxe than Penny’s. Don’t tell Penny I said so,’ she added.
She turned to look at Lara directly.
‘You’re Olivia Avery’s niece, aren’t you?’
‘I am. I’m Lara. Lara Stone.’
‘The journalist.’
Lara looked at her.
‘I make a point of checking out the guest list.’
‘Do you know why I’m here?’ She was genuinely curious.
‘I assumed you were here to support ImpactAid,’ she said more crisply.
‘I suppose you could say I am.’
The two women just looked at each other for a moment.
Lara’s heart was thudding. She wasn’t just shaking the tree, she was about to burn it down.
Lara put her hand in the pocket of her silk dress and pulled out a USB memory stick.
‘What’s this?’ said Victoria. The woman’s face had been heavily Botoxed but Lara could still see a deep frown appear between her brows.
‘Photographs and footage of one of your ImpactAid officials in Haiti involved in illegal trafficking, taken by Helen Groves. You know Helen, of course. She was one of your volunteers in Haiti.’
There was split-second flash of alarm, then the smooth confidence reappeared. Oh, you’re good, thought Lara, wondering for one terrible moment if Victoria knew that it was all a bluff. That the memory stick was blank. Rebecca had told them about the existence of the pictures, but the files had disappeared, possibly on Sandrine’s missing laptop.
Lara felt her heart hammering, her hands shaking. This was a high-wire walk over a tiger’s cage, but it was the only option she had left, to force information out of Victoria Sachs. Victoria took the memory stick and looked at it in the pale palm of her hand.
‘And what do you expect me to do with this?’
‘I expect you to tell me what happened when Helen Groves showed you these images.’
‘Helen…?’
Lara’s anger and desperation spilled over.
‘Do not mess me about, Mrs. Sachs,’ she snapped. ‘I seriously doubt you’ve forgotten Helen Groves. She was killed six weeks ago in Port au Prince. You met with her at your hotel. She told you what she had seen. How ImpactAid volunteers were identifying Haitian girls for trafficking.’
‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a car waiting for me. Perhaps I can arrange a black coffee for you to sober up.’
Lara stepped between Victoria and the door.
‘Your car can wait,’ said Lara, steel in her voice. It was all or nothing now; there was no way back, she had to keep pushing.
‘Either you speak to me now or you deal with it when the story comes out.’
She watched Victoria’s face harden.
‘Are you journalists so desperate for news that you will actually make things up? Of yes. I forgot. You work for the Chronicle. You were caught out recently in the High Court with the Felix Tait libel action. Felix is a friend of ours. Perhaps he can give us his lawyer’s contact details if you continue with this fantasy.’
‘We have lawyers too, Victoria. And journalists. Lots of journalists who are very good at getting to the truth. Journalists who can ruin reputations.’
‘You really think you can threaten me, Lara?’ she said, putting the memory stick on the vanity unit. ‘Do you have any idea who my husband is? I can have this story shut down,’ – she clicked her fingers – ‘Just like that. We can buy you up wholesale and burn you to the ground. Is that what you want?’
