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Back when he was a junior reporter, his then boss, Barry Levin used to take him out for lunch to this very pub. He’d spend an hour talking about the ‘old days’ – life in Fleet Street in the Seventies and Eighties, then he’d spend the last five minutes tearing Alex’s latest story apart and explaining why it didn’t hold up. Barry was gone now, like so many hacks who’d lived on Bell’s and Silk Cut, but Alex realised he was Barry now, it was his job to point out the flaws in her story.
Certainly, Lara’s theory meant that Helen and Sandrine’s deaths were professional hits, which were big accusations to direct at one of the country’s top financiers. If Felix Tait had taught them anything, they needed cast-iron proof of everything if there was any hope of running the story or bringing someone to any sort of justice.
‘So what did Charlie say about coming back in?’
Lara paused, running a fingernail along the grain of the table.
‘I didn’t get to speak to Charlie. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.’
Alex rolled his eyes.
‘Is he being difficult? No surprise there, Charlie doesn’t exactly have much editorial vision.’
Lara put out a hand.
‘No it’s not that.’
She looked away again. She seemed nervous, jumpy.
‘Lar, what’s wrong?’
She had always been so open with her feelings, it was one of the things he loved about her. Lara Stone didn’t play games. Finally, she looked up at him.
‘Remember the other day when you asked me if you should propose to Alicia?’
He nodded.
‘Don’t.’
One word and Alex was immediately transported back to a night years ago, back to when they were both students at City. They’d been at a party and Lara had met some pretty boy, all fancy hair and triceps. Alex had stewed all night, watching them dance around each other, until their faces were inches apart. Then when Lara had come over to tell him she was going home with this bozo, Alex had whispered that one word in her ear: ‘Don’t’.
Their eyes had met, the music swirling around them. ‘Don’t go with him,’ he had said. ‘Come home with me.’
Even now he could feel the tight anticipation he had felt when he had said it. He’d spent weeks, months, wondering how he could bare his soul to Lara and finally admit his feelings for her, and when it had come, his words had been clumsy but it hadn’t even mattered, for at that moment, the pretty boy had sidled up behind her and slid an arm around Lara’s waist.
‘Let’s go,’ he had murmured. And she had gone, acting as if she hadn’t even heard what Alex had said.
He could still feel the sting of that rejection even now, as Lara repeated the word back to him, a code that joined them together and held them apart.
‘Why not?’ he said.
Did he want Lara to tell him that she loved him, that she always had done? To finally hear the words I love you. Or was it really too late? Alex had emotionally moved on from Lara years ago. At least that’s what he had always told himself.
‘Alex, I took a cab to Charlie’s place in Primrose Hill this morning,’ said Lara, her soft green eyes on his. ‘I’d just got out of the car when I saw Charlie come out of the house. He was with Alicia.’
Alex felt his world contract.
‘What do you mean, with?’
She looked down at the table again.
‘I saw them kissing. I’m pretty sure she had stayed at Charlie’s overnight.’
‘What are you saying, Lara?’
The words came out automatically, but of course he knew what she was saying. He’d been at dinner with Dom and then had gone back to his place alone. Business as usual for a Thursday night with work the next day.
‘Did Alicia say where she was?’
