exempted from all that church parade nonsense.’
Dominic nodded. ‘Of course, you free-thinkers view religion as the opium of the masses.’
‘Opiate,’ she corrected. ‘It’s not that, though. My dad’s Jewish, and my parents made a pact to observe customs from both religions once they had children. So we have Hanukkah and Christmas, Sunday lunch and a Sabbath dinner. In fact it feels weird being in a pub on a Friday night and not at home eating chicken soup and challah.’
‘Even stranger that you’re with a man you publicly attacked barely a week ago.’
She allowed herself a smile, and folded up her feature and put it in her bag.
‘I reread your piece on Indian repatriation. It was interesting.’
‘Is that an apology?’ he smiled.
‘Let’s just say I don’t generally share Capital magazine’s views, but I was a little hasty with my protest the other day, yes.’
She looked at him and it was as if his grey eyes were dancing. They were certainly teasing her. Men like Dominic Blake were clearly used to women fawning over them, and she didn’t want to be so obvious. But she couldn’t deny that she liked this man.
‘How long have you been involved with the DAG?’
‘Two years in June. How long have you been editing Capital ?’
‘Six years. Since I raised the finance and launched it.’
‘You own it?’ she said with surprise.
‘A slice of it. I had to borrow money to set it up, and when you do that, you have to give away your baby. But I always say it’s better to fund a business with other people’s money.’
‘Well the DAG is a purely self-funded organisation,’ she quipped, trying to impress him. ‘We don’t want to lose control of what we’re doing.’
Dominic smiled at her. ‘You don’t have to. Not if you’re clever.’
‘I’ll ignore the implication of that comment,’ said Ros tartly.
Aware that things were not going well, she decided to keep quiet for a few moments and hear what he had to say, not her default setting by any stretch, but Dominic Blake, with his easy confidence and wit, made it easy for someone to sit back and listen to him.
He was not, it transpired, the editor of Capital any longer, but the more grandly titled editor-in-chief, handing over the more hands-on work to his former features editor Robert Webb. This apparently allowed him to spend more time schmoozing advertisers, keeping his backers happy, and doing what he actually loved most about journalism – writing. Plus he was able to do more travelling. He wasn’t a tourist, but an adventurer, he explained as he told her about trips to the Bolivian salt flats and the African plains.
‘Ever since I was a little boy I have always wanted to be a writer. But the problem with your passion being your job is that you need another hobby. Everyone needs something in their life that’s not work, and for me that thing is travel. Not just Paris or Rome, but the bigger, undiscovered places. I love the excitement of the fresh and the new.’
He made it all sound so fabulous and exciting that Ros suddenly imagined herself on a boat, exploring some remote Pacific island, a warm breeze in her hair, the sun on her face and Dominic Blake handing her a cold beer at her side. She stamped out the image as quickly as it appeared and cleared her throat.
‘I haven’t travelled much,’ she admitted. ‘My parents came over from Hungary when I was three and we only ever went to Brighton after that. But I would love to travel the world.’ Just saying the words out loud made her horizons feel very narrow indeed.
‘What’s stopping you?’ asked Dominic.
‘Money,’ she said simply. ‘Working for the DAG has meant sacrifice.’
‘Then I’ll have to send you somewhere.’
‘Me?’
‘You strike me as the sort of woman who’d just get on the elephant.’
For a split second she wondered if he was flirting with her; the idea both horrified and thrilled her.
‘I should be going.’
‘Don’t be daft,
Dominic nodded. ‘Of course, you free-thinkers view religion as the opium of the masses.’
‘Opiate,’ she corrected. ‘It’s not that, though. My dad’s Jewish, and my parents made a pact to observe customs from both religions once they had children. So we have Hanukkah and Christmas, Sunday lunch and a Sabbath dinner. In fact it feels weird being in a pub on a Friday night and not at home eating chicken soup and challah.’
‘Even stranger that you’re with a man you publicly attacked barely a week ago.’
She allowed herself a smile, and folded up her feature and put it in her bag.
‘I reread your piece on Indian repatriation. It was interesting.’
‘Is that an apology?’ he smiled.
‘Let’s just say I don’t generally share Capital magazine’s views, but I was a little hasty with my protest the other day, yes.’
She looked at him and it was as if his grey eyes were dancing. They were certainly teasing her. Men like Dominic Blake were clearly used to women fawning over them, and she didn’t want to be so obvious. But she couldn’t deny that she liked this man.
‘How long have you been involved with the DAG?’
‘Two years in June. How long have you been editing Capital ?’
‘Six years. Since I raised the finance and launched it.’
‘You own it?’ she said with surprise.
‘A slice of it. I had to borrow money to set it up, and when you do that, you have to give away your baby. But I always say it’s better to fund a business with other people’s money.’
‘Well the DAG is a purely self-funded organisation,’ she quipped, trying to impress him. ‘We don’t want to lose control of what we’re doing.’
Dominic smiled at her. ‘You don’t have to. Not if you’re clever.’
‘I’ll ignore the implication of that comment,’ said Ros tartly.
Aware that things were not going well, she decided to keep quiet for a few moments and hear what he had to say, not her default setting by any stretch, but Dominic Blake, with his easy confidence and wit, made it easy for someone to sit back and listen to him.
He was not, it transpired, the editor of Capital any longer, but the more grandly titled editor-in-chief, handing over the more hands-on work to his former features editor Robert Webb. This apparently allowed him to spend more time schmoozing advertisers, keeping his backers happy, and doing what he actually loved most about journalism – writing. Plus he was able to do more travelling. He wasn’t a tourist, but an adventurer, he explained as he told her about trips to the Bolivian salt flats and the African plains.
‘Ever since I was a little boy I have always wanted to be a writer. But the problem with your passion being your job is that you need another hobby. Everyone needs something in their life that’s not work, and for me that thing is travel. Not just Paris or Rome, but the bigger, undiscovered places. I love the excitement of the fresh and the new.’
He made it all sound so fabulous and exciting that Ros suddenly imagined herself on a boat, exploring some remote Pacific island, a warm breeze in her hair, the sun on her face and Dominic Blake handing her a cold beer at her side. She stamped out the image as quickly as it appeared and cleared her throat.
‘I haven’t travelled much,’ she admitted. ‘My parents came over from Hungary when I was three and we only ever went to Brighton after that. But I would love to travel the world.’ Just saying the words out loud made her horizons feel very narrow indeed.
‘What’s stopping you?’ asked Dominic.
‘Money,’ she said simply. ‘Working for the DAG has meant sacrifice.’
‘Then I’ll have to send you somewhere.’
‘Me?’
‘You strike me as the sort of woman who’d just get on the elephant.’
For a split second she wondered if he was flirting with her; the idea both horrified and thrilled her.
‘I should be going.’
‘Don’t be daft,
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