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‘What do you think about that by the way?
He hadn’t really had chance to discuss it with him.
‘About the trial?’ sniffed Charlie. ‘It was a clusterfuck.’
‘No, I mean the way it all played out. I was there from the start. We had photos and documents, sworn statements, expert witnesses. And it all fell apart.’
Charlie shrugged. ‘Tait’s a bastard, no question, but he’s smart. And you have to say his barrister was good.’
‘I think we should appeal.’ Alex knew Charlie would be against it, but he had to try.
‘Pointless,’ said Charlie, draining his glass and accepting a refill from a waiter. ‘We went through this with the Jimmy Redfern case, remember? You need to present additional evidence or arguments to trigger an appeal.’ He looked at Alex meaningfully. ‘And I imagine if we’d had those, we’d have used them at the time.’
Alex bristled. He knew there was an implied criticism there, but he needed to keep Charlie onside.
‘I’ll find it. More evidence, better arguments.’
What Alex had hated about the trial was how everyone had known Felix Tait was guilty, yet seemed happy to let him off on the basis of a blatant lie. But more than that, Alex had hated to see what the trial had done to Lara. She had put a brave face on it, but he could see, day by day, how it had rattled her, frustrated her and, in the end, undermined her faith in not just the law, but in the importance of journalism too. Perhaps an appeal might restore some of that faith; because if Lara Stone couldn’t believe in the righteousness of the press, there was no hope for any of them.
‘Listen Alex, sit tight,’ said Charlie distractedly. ‘Don’t go poking the hornet’s nest.’
‘What hornet’s nest?’
‘Don’t be naïve. The Avery Media Group owns the Chronicle, but the Group is publicly owned. My father might be the controlling shareholder, but there are other investors, big City investors, who don’t want any drama. So smile, nod your head. Wait and see.’
‘Wait and see? What does that mean?’
Charlie turned to face him. ‘Look, if it was up to me you would already be in that editor’s chair. You’re good at all this.’ He waved his glass to indicate the yacht.
‘But?’
Charlie opened his hands and made a hopeless gesture.
‘Pops was best pals with Dickie Allen at school.’
Alex swallowed, a growing feeling of dread in his stomach.
‘Who’s Dickie Allen?’
‘Darius’s father. Richard.
‘You didn’t know?’
Alex was plugged into the media grapevine, but was hopeless when it came to the who’s who of society. Alicia was always berating him for it.
‘I suppose they keep it quiet,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s bad enough Lara was a department head, family connections and all that. They don’t want to hear the editor is a family friend as well.’
‘So you’re saying Nicholas will never fire Darius?’
‘The time will come. One day. In the meantime, why rock the boat?’
Charlie disappeared to talk to Christian LeFey, a big bear of a man in a white suit. Alex stayed where he was. He felt as though he’d been hit by a falling rock. He’d been working his backside off, every hour, never taking a holiday – and there had never been a chance of promotion. Never. Alex drew in a ragged breath, trying to slow his pounding heart.
He wasn’t even angry at Nicholas; he was angry at himself for not seeing it. And to think, he’d felt guilty talking to Dominic about the possibility of joining his start-up.
Alex looked for a quiet spot on the aft, his eyes scanning the crowds for Lara.
‘Looking for me?’
