The Yacht Party (Lara Stone)

Alex didn’t respond, because Alicia was wrong. He did want to win a Pulitzer prize. He always had done, ever since he’d gone to see Bob Woodward give a lecture on Watergate. He smiled: he’d been with Lara and Sandrine that night and afterwards they gone to the American Bar at the Savoy and bet a round of whiskey sours that one day, one of them would win journalism’s most prestigious award. His money had always been on Sandrine.

‘Alex, you are the best person on that executive team by a mile,’ said Alicia, running a hand down his arm. ‘These are not easy times for the media. They need the very best people at the top, otherwise an entire industry is going to be destroyed. They need people like you.’

Alex had to admit that there was a lot of sense in what she was saying. The entire senior Chronicle team was staffed by old-school newspaper people who were great at what they did, but they were still playing catch up with social media, a race they would never win. Alex had tried to encourage Charlie and Darius to recruit more widely – from the tech giants and the music industry – but they hadn’t listened to him, and as Deputy Editor, he only had a limited influence. Quietly, Alex had been educating himself, trying to stay ahead of the curve and his bedtime reading these days were Harvard Business School case studies, but did he have all the answers to revive the Chronicle’s fortunes? He wasn’t sure he did.

‘Find Nicholas and charm him, okay?’

He gave a quiet laugh.

‘You’re very bossy, you know that?’

Alicia laughed.

‘What do they say? A man with dreams needs a woman with vision.’

‘Right now I need a woman with something to eat. Shall we head up to the buffet? Apparently Olivia’s got her own pastry chef.’

Alicia pirouetted away from him. ‘I’d love to stay and feed you macaroons, but I must go and speak to Penny Burling, she’s just back from Koh Samui. I’ll pump her for tips.’

Tips. Recently Alicia had been slipping exotic destinations into conversation, places Alex knew he was supposed to decode as fitting places for a romantic long-haul holiday – or even possible proposal spots. Perhaps she had a point. Alex worked hard, barely left the office, lived and breathed the news. If Nicholas Avery hadn’t seen his ‘brilliance’ by now, then he was doomed anyway. Maybe stepping off the treadmill for a while would be a good idea.

Alex was just turning back towards the terrace when he saw her: Lara always stood out in a crowd, but particularly tonight. In the sea of silk and crepe she was wearing jeans and a red t-shirt, her dark hair tied back in a simple ponytail. She looked fantastic, but Alex was even more impressed that Lara never felt the need to dress up. She walked over, smiling.

‘You’re looking good tonight, Mr. Ford,’ said Lara, nodding towards his classic black suit. ‘You look as if you’re about to present an Oscar.’

‘Not sure about that. Two people have already asked me where the cloakroom is.’

A moment’s silence hung between them.

‘I popped round to the boat last night,’ he said. ‘You weren’t there.’

Lara shrugged.

‘No, I wasn’t.’

‘Olivia said you were in Paris. Doing what?’

Lara rolled her eyes.

‘Alex, you’re sounding like a needy boyfriend.’

He held up his hands.

‘I’m just asking. I’m your friend. When you don’t reply to my calls, I get concerned.’

‘Scared I might do something stupid too?’

Alex felt the challenge of her gaze and saw the pain behind it.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘Look. Maybe we can do something this weekend? Every day is a weekend for me now, so you say when.’

Alex pulled a face.

‘I’m in Monaco this weekend.’

‘Romantic mini-break?’

‘Work: Grand Prix weekend. Buttering up the advertisers.’