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‘All Deborah Simmons cares about is tomorrow’s headline. Something we could all learn from.’
Lara was about to snap back a reply, but felt an urgent squeeze of her hand from Alex.
‘At least everyone knows what kind of man Tait is now, Lar,’ said Alex.
‘A noble sentiment,’ said Nicholas. ‘But it’s not enough to know something. You also have to be able to prove it in court.’
That felt bit rich, coming from Nicholas Avery, a man who had made a fortune from splashing sensational headlines across the Chronicle’s front pages, relying on the supposition that most people wouldn’t take it to court. But Felix Tait wasn’t ‘most people’. He had money and the hide of a rhino and despite the fact his alibi stank – his personal chef had sworn under oath that Tait had been with her at the time, discussing his nutritional requirements, and she had convinced the judge. And in the end, that was all that mattered.
She turned and looked out of the window as London slid past, petrol-grey and stagnant. A city on pause.
The Chronicle offices were in Victoria, but the car was creeping up through the streets of Mayfair. Nicholas leaned over to the driver. ‘Could you drop us here, Michael?’ The car slid to the kerb right outside Scott’s, one of Nicholas’s favourite lunch-spots.
‘Alex, you head back to the office. Lara and I have things to discuss. I’ll see you later for a post-mortem.’
Alex glanced at Lara, then nodded. Nicholas was his boss too.
Lara was sorry to see her one ally go, but she knew she had to face this alone, just as she had as a teenager, summoned to Nicholas’ study to discuss some transgression. While Nicholas Avery was Lara’s boss, he was also her uncle. When her parents had died when Lara was eleven, she had been sent to live with Nicholas, his wife Olivia and her cousin Charlie. Nicholas had done his best to be a father figure, but he had still been a remote presence in her life, his ambi
tion to make the Chronicle an even bigger media player taking up all his time and energy. They had never been the sort of family who played Monopoly. The only time she ever really spoke to him was when she was in trouble – just like now.
‘So where does this leave us?’ asked Lara when they were settled at the table.
‘It leaves us screwed,’ said Nicholas. ‘Which was why Felix Tait sued us in the first place.’
‘Tait has political ambitions. I thought he sued us to protect his precious reputation,’ said Lara.
Nicholas snorted.
‘Felix Tait is far more strategic than that. He knew that if he won the libel judgement, we’d back away from anything else he did or said. And not just the Chronicle, but every paper in the country. He can do what he likes now.’
Lara disagreed. ‘Surely not. Everyone’s going to be looking at him all the more closely now.’
‘Really?’ said Nicholas. ‘I think everyone’s going to be looking at us. At you, in fact.’
‘Me?’
‘You were the lead writer, Lara,’ said Nicholas patiently. ‘You’re also a shareholder in the Chronicle. Our detractors are going to make a point of that.’
His comment stung. Lara had inherited the shares from her father – Nicholas’s brother – when he had passed away. She had never wanted or asked for a part of the company and had deliberately taken her mother’s surname as a by-line to avoid accusations of nepotism.
Nicholas folded his arms in front of him, a look of weary disapproval on his face.
‘I think you should take some time off,’ he said.
‘Time off?’ said Lara, her heart beginning to race.
‘I don’t think we can have your by-line on anything for a while. Think of it as a sabbatical; time to consider what you want to do next.’
The full implication of what he was saying was beginning to sink in.
‘Wait a minute. You’re firing me?’
‘Lara, you will always have a place at this company. But right now you don’t have a position.’
‘What do you mean?’
Nicholas met her gaze.
