The Yacht Party (Lara Stone)

‘Nice place,’ whispered Alex, leaning across the restaurant table to Dominic. ‘How the hell did you manage to book this?’

The Corinth was a throwback to the days before the credit crunch, a converted bank in Threadneedle Street, which made the most of the opulent ground floor; the reception-cum-bar was housed in an airy circular room surrounded with white pillars, lit from above by a domed glass ceiling. It was certainly a fitting setting for Dom’s dinner. The private banqueting rooms were so sought after that solid-gold connections and a hefty bribe to the maître d’ were required. Alex had to hand it to Dom; he knew how to impress.

‘Well here they are,’ said Dom, standing to greet the other guests as they walked in. ‘This is David and Paul, they’ve already slung in some seed capital, you’ll like them. Sean’s a big city player too, he’d be really useful down the line.’

Alex smiled and shook hands, but he had to admit he was on edge. He’d called Dom to suggest that they meet to discuss The Filter project in more detail. Alex wasn’t seriously considering jumping ship – not yet – but it was definitely worth exploring, especially after Charlie’s revelations that Darius wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Dom had jumped at the chance, and Alex had expected a convivial supper to discuss Dom’s vision for the company, but this? This didn’t feel like recruitment. It felt like an episode of Dragon’s Den.

‘Dom tells me you’re the George Best on the pitch,’ said David as the conversation turned to football, not long after the main course had been cleared away.

Alex usually found banker-types hard work, but Becker was down-to-earth with a dry sense of humour – he didn’t take himself too seriously and they’d bonded within the first five minutes over a shared a love of running: it turned out that they both had a routine of jogging along the south bank of the river at sunset to unwind after a hard day. In another life, Alex could see himself being friends with someone like Becker, jogging together or hanging out for beers.

‘I’m not sure if that’s a compliment,’ smiled Alex. ‘Is he calling me an alcoholic womaniser?’

‘I think he said you have a “sweet right foot”, but yes, I suppose he could have been alluding to the “talented but failed to reach his potential” part of it.’

Alex looked at him with surprise, but Becker laughed.

‘Alex, I’m an investor in The Filter and I’ll be putting more money in the pot once we’ve found an Editorial Director. You can’t blame me for doing my due diligence. I know you’ve stalled at AMG and I know you’re smart enough and ambitious enough to see that this is a good move for you.’ He see-sawed a hand. ‘Although I can also see that might feel like a risk too.’

Alex looked at the man with interest. He’d done his homework too: Becker had made a fortune selling his mail-order beauty company and now was considered one of the most astute investors in the City.

‘I thought the purpose of this meeting was to convince me that The Filter is the right career move for me. Not insult me.’

He smiled; he said the words light-heartedly but he meant it.

David didn’t take it personally.

‘Look Alex, the others…’ he nodded across to the other members of the investment syndicate currently deep in conversation with Dominic. ‘They’re young, they’re flash and they love media investments like this: they sound impressive when they’re boasting about their portfolio poolside in Ibiza.’

Alex laughed.

‘And you’re not an Ibiza kind of guy, am I right?’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘So why have you committed to The Filter?’ asked Alex. ‘I mean, I think Dom’s idea is a strong one, but you must have been offered dozens of media investments, why this one?’

Becker looked straight at him.

‘Because of Dom. And if you sign on the dotted line, Alex, I’ll be happier making a further investment.’

‘Me?’

‘The idea is good, sure, but what I like to do is invest in people,’ said Becker. I ask myself “can this guy, this team do what they’re saying?” Dom’s full of energy and can charm the birds from the trees, but he needs an editorial magician and I think that person is you.’

Alex nodded. It had been a long time since he’d been talked about as an asset.

‘You really think I should do it?’ he asked Becker. He was flattered, but he was also genuinely interested. Sometimes you needed to see things – yourself – through someone else’s eyes.

‘I’m not sure you should be asking me for advice,’ said Becker. ‘My money’s already in, remember? But yes. I think you’re wasted at the Chronicle. You have an impressive CV and a rock-solid reputation, but I really think you can do more, Alex. Newspapers were cutting edge in Queen Victoria’s time. The world’s moved on.’

Throughout the meal, Alex found himself mulling Becker’s words – and more importantly, watching the other men around the table.

David, Paul and Sean were all sharp, energetic men who approached life as if everything was possible.

‘Listen Alex,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve laid my cards on the table and I genuinely think this project would be a good fit for you, but can I ask you what your hesitation is?’

‘Honestly? I love print, I always have.