‘I did manage to speak to the couple who owned Sandrine’s flat,’ Stella continued. ‘Both lawyers, property bought as an investment. Sandrine booked it six weeks ago, but they had no dealings with her beyond a few emails. She picked the key up from a lock-box.’
A dead end, in other words, thought Lara, mindful she couldn’t sound too disappointed to Stella. ‘This is good work,’ she said. ‘Keep on it.
Someone will know something. They always do.’
Lara wished she was as confident as she sounded. Right now, Lara felt as if she was flying blind. All she had was a name. Or rather two names: Jonathon Meyer and the Pandora.
She walked along the jetty, reading the names on the hulls. Jonathon’s yacht was at the very end: of course, it was the biggest one in the harbour, a three-level vessel with twin jet-skis flanking the gang-plank, the millionaire equivalent of strapping a mountain bike to your estate car, she supposed.
‘Hello?’ she called, taking a tentative step onto the gently swaying walkway. ‘Anyone at home?’
‘I think you mean “ahoy there”.’ A tall man in his early thirties stepped out from the dark interior, smiling.
‘Lara?’ he asked, offering her a hand as she tottered across onto the boat. ‘I’m Tom. Tom Ramsay. When Simon said you were going to drop in, I didn’t realise he meant so soon.’
Tom was deeply bronzed and gym-toned, emphasised by his uniform of tight white shorts and matching polo shirt with a Pandora logo on the breast: a woman with flowing hair looking down into a glowing box.
‘Shoes off,’ he said cheerfull
y. ‘Don’t want any slips while I’m giving you the tour.’
Tom led her inside the boat, through a comfortable lounge and down some tightly-furled stairs, towards the living quarters and galley, telling her his own story as they went: Tom was a Dorset boy who had grown up watching the boats in Poole Harbour, starting to work on yachts straight out of school as a steward, working his way up to first officer, clocking up sea miles, gaining qualifications along the way. He was looking for a captain’s position next, once Pandora had been sold or put up for charter.
‘I live on a houseboat back in London and it’s nothing like this,’ smiled Lara as they passed the ‘cocktail area’ on the middle deck, complete with white leather seating and a full wet bar overlooking the compact pool.
‘No doubt your boat is an actual home,’ said Tom kindly. ‘These places are all about entertaining: the Pandora can accommodate 100 people for stationery parties at the harbour and Jonathon’s special guests got to travel: three, four day trips to Ibiza, St Tropez or Porto Cervo.
He gestured towards the modernist art on the walls.
‘This is how serious money impresses serious money.’
Lara could see the logic. You could step into an office building in London or New York and barely notice your surroundings, but here? You couldn’t help being bowled over by the sheer wealth being dangled before your eyes.
‘Of course the Pandora is on the subtle side of things. Our neighbours in Port Hercules were much more flamboyant, shall we say?’
Lara laughed.
‘So it used to be moored in Monte Carlo?’
‘Until last week.’
‘Why did you move?’
‘Executors’ orders,’ said Tom, with a shrug that told Lara he wasn’t happy with the relocation.
‘Simon is looking after Jonathon’s estate. He thought it was a waste using the berths in Port Hercules especially during Grand Prix week when the rental price goes through the roof. So we’ve sub-let our spot and moved here. At least the beer is cheaper,’ he grinned, nodding towards a harbourside bar.
‘So Jonathon did his entertaining on the yacht?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Jonathon had an apartment in Fontvieille, but he practically lived on the Pandora. He used the top stateroom as his office and when he wasn’t working, there was a rolling guest list that came for lunch, cocktails, dinner.’
‘Can I see?’ Lara said it casually, but it was the one part of the yacht she most wanted to look at. Where Meyer actually lived, his inner sanctum.
‘Sure,’ said Tom, but Lara saw his smile dim slightly.
The master cabin occupied the entire top deck, beginning with another open-air lounge area. The sky above was an intense blue and Lara felt the sun beating down on her shoulders. She tried to imagine Jonathon Meyer up here, hands on hips, head-to-toe in designer clothes, Swiss watch on his wrist, watching as his superyacht slid into yet another exclusive port.
The bi-fold doors leading to the suite itself were slightly ajar and Lara craned her neck to peer inside. A huge desk and the biggest bed she had ever seen was at the far end of the room: a place for work and play. Lara felt a prickle of excitement, a feeling that answers were finally drifting within reach. Then Tom walked over and gently closed the doors, moving in front of her to block her view.