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The voice was young, nervous. Lara’s eyes darted around the carriage. Maybe she had reason to be anxious. In eyeshot she could see a group of backpackers, a young couple, and a man wearing headphones looking engrossed in his phone. It was doubtful she was being watched, but still, Lara didn’t feel as if this was the place to talk.
‘Where are you?’
‘London.’
‘Can you meet today?’
There was a hesitation at the other end of the line and Lara held her breath. Say yes. She had a sense that things were finally starting to move – and she wanted to keep pushing.
‘How about seven o’clock?’ said the voice. Crap. Seven was when Alex’s birthday meal was due to start. Drinks at some fancy riverside restaurant followed by an even fancier supper. Alicia had invited her a couple of weeks earlier; it was meant to be surprise, although she knew how much Alex hated surprises. She made some mental calculations. If she took the bike, she could probably make it in time for the starter. Main course at the very least.
‘Okay, seven. Where?’
‘Do you know St. Martin-In-The-Fields? On the steps of the church.’
The church was closed, the black gates already locked. Lara walked to the bottom of the wide stone steps and checked her watch again. It was already ten past seven and no sign of the mystery caller. Not that she had much idea of what – or who – she was looking for. A young American woman: great. Across the road was Trafalgar Square; at this time of year, central London was teeming with tourists – there wasn’t a lot to go on.
Lara looked up at the mottled sky, fading into grey as the evening light waned. There had been a high white quilt of cloud over London all day – Lara wouldn’t normally have noticed, but it had been in such stark contrast to the heat and sunshine of Monaco. She shivered, not entirely because of the cool. The girl on the phone had sounded scared. Should Lara be frightened too? When money was no object, everything was disposable. Jago Bain and Jonathon Meyer both special
ised in making things disappear for the ultra-wealthy: tax bills, bad PR, who knew what else? If you had enough money, anything could be swept under the carpet. Including people.
‘Lara?’
Jumping at the voice, Lara turned. A pretty girl in her early twenties was standing there.
‘Sorry, I was watching to make sure you were alone,’ she said. ‘I’m Josie. Josie Bourne.’
At second glance, the girl was striking; fine-boned and smooth-skinned. She didn’t have a scrap of make-up on and loose black clothes disguised her willowy figure, but Lara could immediately see that this girl was more at home at the Hôtel Hermitage than a busy London street.
‘Shall we walk?’ said Lara, nodding towards the square. Clearly Josie had chosen the location for the ‘safety in crowds’ factor. Lara wasn’t entirely convinced that was foolproof, but she wanted the girl to feel comfortable.
‘So you knew Jonathon?’ she asked, as they crossed the road.
‘We were in a relationship,’ she said simply.
Meyer had been in his early fifties. Josie looked barely 21. Despite Melissa and Tom’s glowing testimonies about their boss it seemed like another black mark against him.
‘I didn’t know,’ said Lara. ‘That he had been seeing anyone I mean.’
‘Not many people did,’ said Josie. ‘But we’d been together almost a year.’
She explained that she was from a small town near Toronto – Canadian not American – and had come to Europe to model the previous year.
‘As a model, you get invited to lots of parties. I met Jonathon at one of them.’
‘In London?’
Josie shook her head.
‘In Monaco. I went out there in September to do a job at the Yacht Show.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A festival for superyachts. If you want to buy or charter one, you go there. If you want people you think you might be buying one, you go there. It’s easy to get caught up in all that glamour.’
She smiled sadly. ‘I went to Monte Carlo for three days and stayed three weeks.’
Lara glanced at her.
