Audrey Alpern didn’t fit his pattern. She was married. And now he was telling me they were friends.
He blinked three times in quick succession but stayed quiet. For a moment, I was transfixed by his long lashes.
I shook myself out of the Nathan Cove eyelash trance. “I’m assuming she’s still married.”
As I spoke, Nathan’s jaw tensed and his lips narrowed into a hard, straight line. “You hear me on the phone to the actuary and you assume I’m micromanaging, but there’s a bigger picture. You see a message from a friend, and you assume I’m having an affair . . .”
“So what’s the bigger picture with Audrey Alpern?” I replied, wanting to understand.
Nathan ran his hand over his head and let out a sigh. “You’re here to profile me. To shadow me. Not my friends. Not Audrey. She’s not your story. I am,” he said with such authority that his words seemed to take physical shape in the car, leaving me squashed up against the window.
Whoever Audrey was to Nathan, she was important. I just needed to understand why.
Twelve
Madison
Up until now, editorial meetings at the Post had made my stomach churn. Journalists took it in turns to update Bernie on what they were working on or pitch new ideas for stories. In every one of the weekly meetings we’d had since I started, I had nothing to say. But today was different.
We all took our seats in the large, glass-sided meeting room where Joan was already perched, laptop open, ready to take notes. Bernie strode in, papers tucked under his arm and his reading glasses teetering on the end of his nose. Before he’d even reached his seat at the top of the table, the meeting was called to order.
“Annabel, start us off. Where are you with the competition commission investigation in supermarkets?”
Annabel started to update us all. This meeting wasn’t designed to be intimidating, but that’s what it was. All the journalists in this room were experienced in my dream job; I felt like an interloper—the red-headed stepchild. Someone whose experience of journalism only extended to reviewing face creams and dry shampoo.
After Annabel, it was Craig’s turn. Craig was in his mid-forties and the paper’s business correspondent. From the number of names he dropped, it seemed like there wasn’t a person in London he didn’t know. Then the star of the show—and from what I could work out, Craig’s personal nemesis—Lauren, the political correspondent, took the floor. Lauren’s team was by far the biggest and often dominated the front pages, meaning her update always took the longest. Bernie asked her lots of questions, some of which alluded to conversations and stories that were codenamed and confidential, even to the rest of us.
Today, instead of feeling intimidated, I felt a sense of pride working at such an inspiring place where we were revealing cover-ups, shaping political discourse, and informing people of what was going on in their world. It was what I’d always wanted to do.
“Madison,” Bernie said, turning to me. “How are you getting on?” I knew Bernie was being softer on me than he was with the other members of his team but this time, at least I had a story to update him on. The only problem was, I didn’t have an angle.
“I’ve spent the week with Nathan, shadowing him and trying to build trust.”
“Is it just the working day you’re with him?” Bernie asked.
Had Bernie expected me to move in with him? “So far, yes. But I’m hoping he’ll open up a little more, talk to me about his life outside work. Perhaps even let me in on some of his dinners.”
“I need you to be aggressive and really go after this story,” Bernie said.
I agreed with Bernie. The problem was I didn’t know what exactly I was going after. “I understand. I just want him to be able to open up to me naturally.”
“Are we talking about Nathan Cove?” Craig interrupted. “Because I actually know him.”
Bernie peeked over the top of his glasses at Craig. “How well?”
“I’ve just had his assistant reach out and ask me to lunch.”
That didn’t mean Craig knew Nathan well. Nathan’s PR was on a campaign to revamp his image, and as business editor of one of the most influential broadsheets in the country, Craig was bound to be on Gretel’s list of who Nathan should win over. A lunch appointment didn’t mean anything.
“Is there a particular angle you want me to focus on when I see him or shall I just see what I can dig up?” Craig asked. “After those Audrey Alpern pictures, I’ve been hearing rumors about his tenure being cut short. Perhaps I need to see if he’s fishing for other opportunities.”
Bloody hell. Craig was trying to steal my story. I couldn’t let that happen, but how was I supposed to stand my ground against someone as experienced and well-regarded as Craig? I knew Nathan’s heart was in his job. There was no doubt about that. But shutting down Craig wasn’t going to help me. “We’ve talked a bit about Audrey,” I said, stretching the truth. “Unclear yet if that’s an angle worth exploring.” No one had to know that Nathan had shut the door on that angle, locked it, and buried the key at the bottom of the ocean.