‘I don’t check up on her every move,’ he said, with irritation. But she had said something, hadn’t she? A night out with friends; standard procedure for Alicia. Parties, openings, networking events were all part of her job and Alicia spent less time in her tiny apartment than Alex spent in his. He’d once told her that she was like a pre-credit crunch New Yorker and Alicia had grinned, taking it as a huge compliment.
Lara pushed her phone across the table towards him.
‘What’s this?’ he frowned.
‘I took a picture.’
Alex looked at her incredulously.
‘You photographed them? What the hell for?’
‘Proof.’
His mouth practically dropped open. Was everything a story to her?
Alex didn’t want to look, but his eyes betrayed him. He gulped hard. There was no mistaking the intimate way Charlie was touching the small of Alicia’s back or the fact that their lips where connecting and Alicia’s mouth was smiling as they kissed.
‘So I guess that answers the question of whether I should propose,’ he said, pushing it away. He could hear the bitterness in his own voice, the cynical inevitably of it all. But that wasn’t true, was it? He hadn’t expected it, hadn’t suspected a thing. If there had been signs, Alex had missed them all. He’d deluded himself that Alicia loved him for who he was, not for who he could be moulded into. But really, it was obvious. If he resigned from the Chronicle and moved back to the Lakes, would she come? Of course not.
‘Alex, she’s not worth it. She wasn’t right for you.’
He drained the last of the Guinness and banged it down on the table.
‘Is that what you think? Well, perhaps you could have said something before you caught her shagging my boss.’
‘Alicia’s an operator, Alex. She’s too ambitious, too aspirational. Charlie’s an idiot, but he’s a very rich idiot. That’s what she wants.’
Alex gave a sour smile.
‘Well, there’s a lot of that about.’
He knew it was unfair, knew he was lashing out, but the Guinness, swiftly drunk, had loosened his tongue. He hadn’t planned to tell Lara what David Becker had told him, not until he knew more, but right now it all seemed far too similar. Lara was beautiful and smart and funny. And she was rich, as rich as Charlie, and that made her vulnerable.
‘Are you seeing Stefan Melberg?’
‘Why?’ she asked, with a defensiveness in her voice. ‘Alex, what is it?’
‘I was out with some investment guys yesterday. One of them told me that Stefan is seeking finance for a media start-up.’
She looked confused, suspicious.
‘So? La Caché costs money. Eduardo can’t be expected to keep paying for it all. It would be unusual if they haven’t looked for outside investment after this length of time.’
‘The money wasn’t for La Caché, Lara. It was a solo venture for Stefan.’
‘Wait,’ she gasped. ‘You think Stef
an’s dating me for some ulterior motive? You think he wants money from me?’
Dating. The situation was worse than he thought.
‘It’s not what I think, Lar. What do you think? Seems a little coincidental that he’s appeared in your life at the time he needs cash.’
The more he spoke, the more Alex knew he was right. He had met so many of Stefan’s type before. Sanctimonious hypocrites in geek-chic glasses and expensive trainers. They made a big deal about seeking ‘the truth’, sneering at established media, whispering about hidden agendas, but they almost always had an agenda of their own. Le Caché was a fine example, alluding to some global cabal of industrialists conspiring to protect their own interests, but the vast majority of Le Caché journalists worked for the big newspapers in their own countries. It was hypocrisy dressed up in radical clothing.
‘Why don’t you just admit you don’t like him, Alex?’ she said, as if she was reading his thoughts. ‘Admit that you are just jealous of Le Caché and people like Stefan. Real journalists, finding real stories that matter.’
Alex shook his head.