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Alex walked back to his office and grabbed his jacket from his chair. He needed to get out into the sunshine, breathe some
clean air – or at least as clean as you could get in London. As he pushed through the revolving doors, his phone chirped.
Can you get out of work early?
He smiled. Lara.
Not a problem. Is this the birthday night out you promised me?
Something like that. The Mermaid?
How about 6pm? And mine’s a Guinness.
His mood lifted. He couldn’t wait to tell Lara about the developments on Felix Tait; he could trust her to keep it to herself and she would love the opportunity to take the fight back to her nemesis. The fact that Lara had chosen The Mermaid was also a good sign. The old pub had become Alex and Lara’s refuge from work, close enough to the office that they could get there and back within a lunch hour, but not so close that there was any chance of seeing anyone else from the office.
Lara was sitting at a picnic table up against the whitewashed wall of the pub, her face tipped up towards the early evening sun.
‘Not wearing your scarf?’ she said, squinting up at him as he slid in opposite her.
‘Doesn’t really go with the suit,’ he replied, taking a grateful sip of his waiting pint.
‘How long have you been here?’ He looked down at her G&T, which was down to the ice.
She waved a vague hand. ‘Time means nothing to me these days. I’m retired, remember?’
‘You should get together with my dad,’ said Alex. ‘He loved his stay at Claridge’s. I think he’s got a taste for the high life.’
‘What can I say? Terry and I live a life of leisure.’
Alex raised a finger.
‘Maybe not for long.’
He told her about the revelations about Felix Tait and the possibility of an appeal. She nodded, but barely cracked a smile. Odd.
‘We need you back, Lara.’
She looked down, swirling the ice around in her glass.
‘Actually I went to see Charlie this morning – to talk to him about coming back.’
He looked at her over his pint. ‘Why?’
‘The Meyer story.’
Alex tried to hide his disappointment. He thought they were here to celebrate his birthday. He thought they could have a few drinks, maybe see a movie at the Curzon or the Prince Charles in Leicester Square. He’d already had a look to see what was on. But apparently, she was here to talk about work.
As he listened to Lara outline a story about Jonathon Meyer, his girlfriend Josie, a billionaire investor and an aid-worker called Helen, he perked up.
‘Wow,’ said Alex, sitting back in his chair. What Lara had just told him was the reason he’d got into journalism in the first place. A tale of greed, scandal and the pitch-dark side of capitalism. More than that, it was a conspiracy which, like an oil slick, had spread so far that it had touched their lives.
‘You really think this Michael Sachs got Jonathon Meyer to kill Helen the whistleblower?’
She nodded.
‘And if Sachs was ruthless enough to get rid of Helen to keep the story quiet, what’s one more?’
Sandrine. Their lost friend was where all this had started and if Lara was right – and she almost always was – this was a sensational story. But only if they could prove it. If.
