Deep Blue Sea Read online

  ‘The restaurant has a dress code,’ Diana said awkwardly.

  ‘Well I didn’t know we were going to be coming to places like this when I left Somerfold yesterday.’ She threw the stub on to the ground, twisting it into the tarmac with the sole of her shoe.

  ‘You should have borrowed something from the house,’ Diana said, snapping her clutch bag under her arm.

  ‘I didn’t like to take anything without asking.’

  ‘That makes a change.’ She smiled, her expression softening.

  Inside, they were directed to a lift that took them at speed to the seventeenth floor. Diana took off her grey leopard-print pashmina and gave it to Rachel.

  ‘Put that on.’

  ‘Is this a makeover?’

  ‘Hardly. But it might get you past the maître d’.’

  They stepped out into the restaurant, which was packed, humming with the lunchtime crowd, and were shown directly to their table.

  ‘You know Mum dropped by at the house,’ whispered Rachel as they threaded through the dining space. She watched with grudging admiration the way her sister negotiated the crowd, nodding at friends, pausing every now and then to exchange a word. Diana had always been so reserved, so unsure of herself in loud public places, but here, she looked right at home.

  ‘I plead guilty on that one,’ said Diana, stopping momentarily. ‘I thought it was best you two spoke to each other as soon as possible. I got the impression that Mum was avoiding you. Did she give you a hard time?’

  ‘Not as hard as Greg Willets is probably going to give me,’ muttered Rachel, seeing Julian’s old friend sitting in a prime seat by the window.

  Greg Willets stood up and came round the table to kiss Diana lightly on the cheek.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked her sombrely.

  She nodded with a wan smile. ‘Greg, you know my sister Rachel,’ she added more brightly.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, ignoring Rachel’s smile and proffered hand. He reluctantly sat down opposite her, glaring at her.

  ‘I have to say, this is something of a surprise,’ he began, raising his finger to summon the sommelier. ‘Where have you been? Costa Rica, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Thailand,’ said Rachel, taking a quick swallow of the water that had already been poured for her.

  ‘Yes, I knew it was somewhere a long way away. Had to be, didn’t it?’

  There was a small embarrassed silence.

  ‘All right, you two, play nice,’ said Diana, stepping in. ‘I know you have your differences, but we’re all here for the same reason, okay?’

  ‘Sorry, Di, but some of us have long memories.’

  ‘Greg, I know Julian’s friends haven’t got a very high opinion of me, but I’m here to help.’

  He held up his hands in surrender.

  ‘Fine.’

  He opened the wine menu and pointed out something to the sommelier.

  ‘Is red okay with the pair of you? I suppose we should try and make this as civil as we can.’

  Some years earlier, Diana had tried to fix Greg and Rachel up. They had gone to a villa in Ibiza and it had been all couples, the obvious hope being that the two singles on the trip would get together by the end of it. But they hadn’t connected. Greg was apparently popular with the ladies, but despite his high-flying job in the City, Rachel hadn’t found him remotely attractive, and the feeling had been mutual.

  ‘Thanks for your note,’ said Diana, softening the atmosphere.

  Greg looked at Diana as though she was a wounded little bird. She had always had that effect on the opposite sex. She had obvious beauty, but it was something else as well, perhaps a soft vulnerability that made any red-blooded male want to protect her. Rachel had tried to analyse this response a hundred times over, because it was not one that she herself had ever provoked in a man. Perhaps Diana made even the most beta of males feel more alpha.

  ‘So,’ he said, shutting the wine list. He turned his gaze to Rachel and she could feel his expression hardening. ‘Help . . .’

  ‘Rachel has been asking people close to Julian a few questions,’ began Diana diplomatically.

  ‘Why?’

  Diana put her manicured hand on the table. ‘Greg, we went through this on the phone . . .’

  He looked as if he didn’t approve of what they were doing. Another one.

  ‘You were Julian’s close friend. Did you even suspect—’

  ‘Suspect?’ he said incredulously. ‘Rachel, I have spent the last ten days going over it in my head, cursing myself, wondering why none of us spotted anything. I was there at the party the night he died. We talked about going surfing to Maui, coming to my place in Monaco this weekend . . .’

  ‘So how long have you known Julian?’

  ‘I was his best man. Two young blades, knocking around the City. I worked at the Denver Group fresh out of uni. I started the same day as Julian.’ He puffed out his cheeks. A crack in his alpha-male armour. He looked as if he might start to cry, but then the waitress came to take their order and granted him a reprieve.

  ‘I spoke to Julian’s secretary. She thought he might not have been handling the pressure of being CEO very well.’

  Greg thought about the statement for a minute.

  ‘She’s right that being CEO of the Denver Group is a big, big job. Not many gigs bigger, in fact. I mean, do you know how vast the company has become? We’re talking seven different divisions. Motors, finance, food, agribusiness, hotels, pharmaceuticals and chemicals, steel. With one man at the head of it all. Who wouldn’t feel the pressure when put in charge of all that? But Jules was born for it, literally. He was prepared, and he had a lot of support from the board.’

  ‘Well I haven’t spoken to any of the executive committee yet.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ he said thinly. ‘Your paper’s little story could have cost Julian his job.’

  Rachel looked down at the notebook she had pulled out of her bag, staring at the blank pages, wondering if everyone in Julian’s inner circle was determined to give her a hard time. She had known this wasn’t going to be easy, known that she would need her tough skin to steel her for the job, but she hadn’t quite appreciated how wretched the last few days would make her feel. It was tempting to make a run for it, head to Heathrow and get the first plane back to Thailand.

  ‘So, was there any part of the business that was causing him particular trouble in the weeks before his death?’ she asked briskly.

  ‘Possibly, but nothing he shared with me.’

  ‘But you were close. Julian valued your opinion,’ said Diana, her voice almost a plea, a cry for help.

  Rachel knew a little about Greg Willets. He had been a hotshot at Lehman Brothers before it had gone under. Instead of being devastated, he had gone on to set up his own boutique investment house. She had heard him once talking about becoming the new Goldman Sachs. It was a big ask, but Greg Willets was the sort of man you’d bet your last dollar on. The sort of man a high-flyer like Julian would want as a sounding board.

  ‘Look, we talked about stuff, but there was only so far Jules would go. After all, I’m in finance, investment. He was always professional about not telling me too much stuff.’

  ‘And he didn’t have any problems with the business in that last week?’

  ‘Not that he mentioned, no.’

  ‘If you’ll both excuse me, I’m just popping to the ladies’.’

  Good for you, thought Rachel. She had been worried about talking frankly in front of Diana, but clearly her sister understood the need for privacy. She watched Diana disappear from the dining room, then turned to Greg.

  ‘All right, you have about four minutes to tell me anything that you don’t want Diana to know.’

  Greg snorted. ‘Ah. So the subterfuge begins again
.’

  ‘I’m doing a job here . . .’

  ‘I believe that’s what you said last time.’

  ‘Three minutes,’ said Rachel flatly.

  Greg held his hands open and sighed. ‘All right, ask away.’

  ‘How happy was the marriage?’

  ‘Happy enough, considering.’

  She ignored the jibe. ‘Was he seeing anyone?’

  Greg’s expression clouded. ‘No.’

  ‘I know you don’t like me being here, but there is absolutely no point in me talking to you unless you are honest with me. Was he seeing anyone?’ she repeated.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, taking a sip of his wine then meeting her gaze. ‘And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.’

  Rachel sat forward. ‘Come on, Greg, I need your help. This is for Diana. What do you know? Anything.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he repeated more firmly.

  ‘Well, speculate.’

  He looked suddenly uncomfortable. His eyes flicked in the direction of the ladies’.

  ‘Two minutes,’ said Rachel quietly.

  ‘I don’t want you repeating this to Diana, and I don’t want to read about it in the Sunday bloody Post, all right?’

  Rachel gave a terse nod.

  He hesitated, and took another sip of wine. ‘We met in Washington a few weeks ago. We were attending the same economic forum. When we go to these things, Davos, TED, we try and stay in the same hotel, make it social . . . We went for dinner with some friends. Julian left early. I was walking back to my hotel, the Four Seasons, which was where Julian was staying as well, and I saw him with someone.’

  ‘A woman?’

  ‘Blonde, pretty, young. I think he saw us – actually, I’m pretty sure that he saw me, because they both scuttled off in the opposite direction.’

  ‘Who was she?’

  ‘No idea. I waited for Julian to mention it, but he didn’t, so I assumed he didn’t want to discuss it. What happens in Vegas and all that.’

  ‘Could it have been someone from the conference?’

  Greg looked doubtful. ‘Perhaps, although she looked a bit too young and too beautiful for that.’

  ‘Just his type then. Could she have been a hooker?’

  ‘Hooker? You’ve got such a high opinion of him,’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘I’m not naïve, Greg. I’ve been to conferences like that; the hotel bars are full of them. Escort girls,’ she said pointedly.

  ‘Yes, she could have been an escort girl,’ he conceded.

  Rachel glanced over towards the loos, checking that Diana was not on her way back.

  ‘So did he use them? Prostitutes – sorry, escorts?’

  ‘Come on, Rachel.’

  ‘Greg, this is important . . .’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps. I gather things weren’t electric in the bedroom department at home.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘A few things he said. Besides, it figures after everything that Diana had been through recently. The babies.’

  ‘So the marriage wasn’t back on track?’ She looked at him sharply. What was he trying to imply? She let it slide, using the awkward silence between them to do the work – an old journalist’s trick. Leave a space and let the subject fill it.

  ‘They worked really hard on it, I’ll say that much. Beyond that, I couldn’t say.’

  ‘Can’t say or won’t say?’

  Greg’s expression hardened. ‘I think I’ve told you more than enough already, considering what you did. More fool Diana if she thinks she can trust you with what you find out.’

  ‘Look, Greg,’ began Rachel, but he just smiled and pointed behind her. Diana was making her way back across the room. As Greg stood up, he bent to whisper in Rachel’s ear.

  ‘Watch your step, Rachel Miller,’ he murmured. ‘Diana may have forgiven you, but Julian had a lot of friends, and we’ve all got long memories.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’

  He turned his mouth down into a ‘what, me?’ expression.

  ‘Everything all right here?’ said Diana as she approached, looking back and forth between them.

  ‘Of course,’ said Greg. ‘We’ve kissed and made up, isn’t that right, Rachel?’

  Rachel forced a smile. ‘Absolutely,’ she said.

  ‘Was Greg any help?’

  ‘Yes, yes, a great help.’

  But she wasn’t at all sure. In fact, she was pretty sure she’d achieved nothing beyond making Julian’s friends hate her even more.

  15

  In a third-floor gallery at the V&A, Diana stopped to admire the painting in front of her. She knew that it wasn’t particularly fashionable to like watercolours. She had been on the society scene long enough, met enough dealers, been encouraged to buy enough expensive modern art pieces to know that they were the poor relation of the art world. But there was something about these paintings that soothed her – their soft lines, luminosity and dreamy colour palettes – and this particular landscape, a night-time scene of Venice that had drained the city’s life and vibrancy and replaced it with grey melancholy, seemed to reflect her mood perfectly.

  ‘How are you?’ asked a voice behind her. She felt a hand on her shoulder and spun round to see who it belonged to.

  ‘Adam, you scared me,’ she said, bringing a hand up to her chest. She was surprised to see him, even though they had arranged to meet in this very spot.

  ‘Lost in thought?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘I’m a bit late. Sorry.’

  He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and as she drew close to him, she could see that he was out of breath, as if he had been in a rush. She wondered where he had been, what he’d had to leave, feeling suddenly quite selfish that she had called him that morning and asked to meet. She had done it immediately after her session with Olga Shapiro, not wanting to procrastinate, feeling the importance of seeing him quite acutely, not realising, or perhaps caring, that it was a Friday night and he almost certainly had better things to do with his time than see his grieving sister-in-law.

  ‘No, no, I was late myself,’ she lied, not wanting to reveal that she had arrived at the museum an hour early. After leaving Greg and Rachel in the City, she had wandered around Knightsbridge for a couple of hours, browsing but not seeing the pretty clothes in Harvey Nichols, succumbing to brief moments of normality as she wandered aimlessly around Harrods, only to remind herself that her husband was dead which made her feel ashamed and frivolous for even being there. The museum had felt like a more restful and sombre place to sit it out and wait for Adam.

  ‘I didn’t know this place was open at this time.’

  ‘It’s not that late.’

  ‘It’s late enough. I feel like Ben Stiller in Night at the Museum,’ he smiled.

  ‘Well now you know. You can bring all your girlfriends here for Friday-night date night.’

  ‘What girlfriends are we talking about here?’ he said, loosening his tie and fastening his gaze on to hers.

  ‘Come on, you must have some Victoria’s Secret model tucked away in London,’ teased Diana, reminding herself that she was under instruction to try and smile this evening.

  ‘Are you saying I have a type?’

  ‘I read People magazine.’

  ‘You must be confusing me with someone else,’ he said idly.

  ‘Portraits are just through here,’ she said as they reached the end of the gallery.

  ‘Do you come here often?’ he grinned. He had a good smile. Sincere and broad. The two Denver brothers looked a lot alike, the chief difference being that Adam smiled more. In his smart suit, he looked like a mischievous best man at a wedding about to play a trick on the groom.

  She ign
ored his teasing reference to a chat-up line.

  ‘I love this place. When I first moved to London, I didn’t have any money, any direction. I lived in this cold, damp flat and I used to bring Charlie to all the free places where we could keep warm. The V&A was one of his favourites. I know kids aren’t supposed to like museums, but he was fascinated by all the silver and twinkly things.’

  ‘Something in common with my mother, then.’

  Diana giggled. Barbara Denver was rumoured to have a diamond collection to rival Elizabeth Taylor’s.

  A sixty-something couple shot a disapproving look at her laughter.

  ‘Are we not allowed to talk in this place?’ whispered Adam.

  ‘Some people think not.’

  ‘Quiet places always make me nervous,’ he said, glancing around at the Old Master oils. ‘Particularly when we have all these eyes staring down at us.’

  ‘Let’s go somewhere else then,’ she said, feeling a dart of complicity between them.

  ‘How about China?’ he said, running his finger down the directions board and picking one at random. He put his hand on the small of her back and directed her downstairs towards the T. T. Tsui gallery, housing all the museum’s Far East artefacts. It was noisier down here. There was a pop-up bar in the foyer and an African band were playing something vibrant. Usually it would have represented everything Diana loved about London, but tonight it didn’t feel right. How dare all these people be having fun, enjoying life with a drink and an exotic soundtrack when she was still reeling from Julian’s death, still trying, but failing, to get her head round the idea that she would never see her husband again?

  ‘So how long are you staying in London for?’

  For the past two years Adam had been based in New York, after he had taken up the role of president of the Denver Hotel Group. Julian had described it as the perfect job for his brother, who had struggled to find a niche for himself in the family company. Considered too irresponsible for a main board position, he had drifted around the outskirts of the company, doing event organising, PR and communications, until he had been seconded to the hotel division and found his groove. Twelve months earlier, Julian had told Diana with some pride that profits in Adam’s new division had increased by twenty-three per cent.