Deep Blue Sea Page 6

  ‘What the hell was all that about?’ asked Liam.

  His mood had soured, which took her by surprise. Liam was always so laid-back, nothing seemed to get to him, but right now he looked decidedly irritated with her.

  ‘I didn’t like her,’ said Rachel defensively. ‘She was a bit too full of herself, a bit wobbly on the technical questions too.’

  ‘As if she really needs to know the distance in sea miles between Ko Tao and Ko Pha Ngan.’

  ‘I happen to think that’s an important question. What if the boat got stuck out there with no fuel and we had to swim back?’

  ‘Perhaps we could float back on a raft made from your empty beer bottles,’ said Liam crisply. ‘How many have you had anyway?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Rachel, holding her bottle to her chest defensively. ‘This is only my second.’

  ‘Second? Rach, you don’t drink.’

  ‘And tonight I’m drinking,’ she replied with petulance.

  ‘Why?’

  He looked at her with concern, but she glanced away.

  ‘Why not. And you’re not my babysitter, or my AA buddy, so please, just leave it.’

  ‘Have it your way,’ he said, raising a hand.

  Rachel shook her head. ‘If you’re going to be like this, then I’m going home,’ she said, standing up.

  ‘All right.’

  She wanted him to plead with her to stay, but clearly he wasn’t going to. She imagined Super Sheryl waiting outside, ready to slip in as soon as she had gone, and hesitated.

  ‘I should walk you back,’ said Liam, downing his beer. ‘Don’t want you falling over, do we?’

  But as they stepped out into the evening air, their moods seemed to soften. It was impossible to stay annoyed in this part of the world, at this time of day, when the lights from the cafés and restaurants were glowing like fireflies in the dusk and the dying light of the day cast everything in a flattering bronze blush.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said after a few moments. ‘I didn’t mean to . . . I’ve just had a lot on my mind over the past few days.’

  ‘I know. And you don’t have to deal with it alone. You know that. You definitely shouldn’t be dealing with it with booze.’

  ‘It’s just tonight,’ she said quietly.

  He knocked his hip into hers playfully.

  ‘Good.’

  They walked to the beachfront. Rachel strained her ears to listen to the hypnotic swoosh-swoosh sound of the tide, her favourite noise in the world, the best part of living so close to the sea.

  ‘So what did you think of Sheryl?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘She was great. I think her marketing experience could be useful too.’

  ‘You mean she’s pretty,’ replied Rachel, not wanting to admit to either Liam or herself that Sheryl was the perfect candidate.

  He gave a low, slow laugh.

  ‘Yes, she’s good-looking, but that’s great for business. You’ve shown that.’

  ‘So you think I’m pretty?’ she teased, suddenly feeling self-conscious that she had said it.

  ‘Who do you want to hire?’ he said, avoiding the question.

  ‘Well, I like Jeff from Blue Ray Diving. I know he wants a change from there. I saw him yesterday and mentioned that we should fix up a drink to discuss him joining us.’

  ‘Jeff’s great,’ he agreed. He looked down in thought. ‘I guess we could always take them both on.’

  ‘Both?’ she said with surprise. ‘We can’t afford both of them.’

  ‘I have savings,’ said Liam casually.

  ‘I thought you said we couldn’t afford it when I was talking about the Sunset Bungalows.’

  Liam laughed. ‘We were talking tens of millions of baht for the bungalows, Rach. I’m talking about bankrolling a couple of low-wage instructors until we get the cash flowing. Not quite the same.’

  They were walking along the beachfront, and in the distance Rachel could see the Sunset Bungalows.

  ‘Look, there they are, winking at us. Let’s go and look at them.’

  ‘What bit of “we can’t afford it” don’t you understand?’ he chuckled.

  ‘Just a peek,’ she said, taking his hand and tugging him along the sand.

  ‘A quick look. And then you’re going home, before you fall over.’

  ‘I’m not drunk,’ she laughed, feeling suddenly happy and heady.

  She ran ahead of him, and then turned round to beckon him to go faster. He squinted in the soft sunset light and smiled at her, a long, slow killer half-smile that made her heart gallop. The same gallop she had felt the night they had first met. The night after she had arrived in Ko Tao, a little lonely, here for just a couple of days of diving before heading onwards to the next Paradise island. Liam had been the only other Westerner in a tiny back-street café, and when they’d both ordered the same fifty-baht curry, he’d leaned over and joked that they would both have dysentery by the morning. Not the most romantic first line, she had to admit, but when he was that good-looking, who cared.

  Rachel had hoped they’d be sharing a bed the next morning rather than a case of food poisoning, but the night hadn’t panned out that way. Instead they had talked until dawn, about life and broken loves and the possibilities facing them both. Until that evening with Liam, Rachel hadn’t been sure what she wanted to do with her life, which direction to turn. But as the sun had risen over the bay like a cantaloupe melon, she knew she wanted to stay here and have a lifetime full of nights like this.

  ‘I’m going to stay and become a diving instructor,’ she’d announced.

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ he’d said, raising his beer.

  ‘You want to join me?’

  She remembered how fast her heart had been beating. A recognition that she didn’t just want to stay on Ko Tao, but that she wanted him to stay too.

  ‘Okay.’

  And it was as simple as that. They had begun the business the next day, and she had suppressed any romantic thoughts about Liam with the same ruthless efficiency she applied to growing their diving school. For all the banter between them, the possibly imaginary undercurrent of something not entirely platonic, it was the easiest relationship of her life. They complemented each other. He was the brake to her gas, her kindred spirit, and together they had discovered another way to live at the other end of the world.

  She watched him break into a jog to catch up with her and took a sharp intake of breath to compose herself. They were at the Sunset Bungalows now, close enough to see the rickety sign made from a pair of coconuts. Close enough to hear low jazz music coming from one of the huts. Close enough to see the shimmer of the bright blue swimming pool peeping from behind a gardenia bush.

  ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re about to hijack me?’ he mused, drawing up alongside her, so close that his forearm brushed against hers.

  ‘Come on, can’t you just see the sign over the door? The Giles-Miller Diving Resort,’ she said dramatically.

  ‘It won’t fit on the coconuts. Besides, it’s not very catchy.’

  ‘All right,’ she said, looking down at the sand. ‘What’s your favourite shell?’

  ‘The whelk.’

  Rachel barked out a laugh. ‘We can’t have that!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The Whelk Diving School? Not very glamorous. I was thinking something like The Pink Conch.’

  ‘The Pink Conch?’ laughed Liam. ‘Is this a diving school or a gay bar? Are you sure you’re not drunk?’

  ‘No,’ said Rachel, turning towards him. ‘Smell my breath.’

  She took a step forward so that their faces were inches apart and the space around them seemed to contract until it was just the two of them standing together, breathing the same jasmine-scented air. And
then, without thinking about it, she was kissing him. His lips felt warm and soft against hers, like a piece of a jigsaw slotting perfectly into place, and he tasted delicious. Of sun and salt, a taste that was both familiar and exotic. And as she felt him respond, pushing his body against hers, she felt a warm rush of desire, happiness, relief wash over her. A relief that it was sorted. That she wouldn’t have to feel threatened by pretty girls in bikinis or sexy diving instructors ever again. Because they loved each other and finally he was hers.

  ‘Now I know you’re drunk,’ he said as he slowly retreated from her.

  ‘You think I have to be drunk to kiss you,’ she smiled, looking up at his deep blue eyes.

  ‘No . . . Look . . .’

  Her instincts began to twitch. His move away from her was more deliberate this time. Like a cold slap across the face. She knew what was coming and she didn’t want to hear him say it; those awkward, pitying words telling her that this was a bad idea. He’d let her down gently, of course. She was drunk, emotional; they worked together. But what he really meant was that he didn’t like her like that. Not enough. It was the only reason why something hadn’t happened between them before now.

  She felt her back stiffen and she steeled herself. She wasn’t going to let him crush her. Not tonight. Not this week when her mind was all over the place about Julian and Diana.

  ‘I know, I know. This is not a good idea,’ she said, taking a step back in the sand and pre-empting his next words. ‘I lied. I’ve had about five beers and I’m just feeling a bit emotional . . . I’m sorry for taking it out on you. ’

  ‘I wouldn’t quite call it taking it out on me,’ he said quietly. His gaze met hers and she felt a swell of emotion as strong as the tide. Tell him you love him, cried a little voice in her head. But already her barriers, her protective shell had gone up. She knew the only way out of this was with a joke.

  ‘Promise you won’t do me for sexual harassment,’ she smiled, wrinkling her nose, staying strong, hard, impervious.

  ‘Come here,’ said Liam, drawing her into a deliberate hug. Her face was squashed into his shoulder, and she smelt the same sun and salt on his T-shirt that she had tasted on his lips a moment earlier. She knew it was like a forbidden fruit, something that she had tried but would never again enjoy.

  For a few moments they didn’t speak. She would have given anything to climb into his head and find out what he was thinking, but she didn’t have the courage to risk it. Sadness made her shudder.

  She could feel his breath on the top of her hair and knew it was too dangerous to stay like this.

  ‘Thanks for being my friend. Promise you’ll always be my friend,’ she said, listening to his heartbeat through his chest. Fearing any further intimacy, she pulled away from him and slapped his back three times, as if she was sending someone off on to the football pitch, hoping that it gave out the right message of platonic forgiveness. ‘I’d better go home and get my secret hangover remedy ready.’

  ‘I think we should talk,’ he said, his eyes searching hers.

  ‘Liam, there’s nothing to talk about.’ She was good at making her voice sound casual. ‘I just want to go home.’

  ‘Then I’ll walk with you.’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine, honestly. We’ll talk about the staff thing tomorrow, okay?’

  She turned and fled before he could reply, feeling her cheeks burn, wanting to cry, wanting the ground to swallow her up, but most of all wanting him to call her back.

  But when she got to the bend in the beach and turned back, there was only an empty space where he had been.

  5

  The funeral was to be a private affair. Under the circumstances, it was the best thing for everyone – at least that was what Julian’s father had said. ‘Let’s keep it quiet, Diana,’ he’d told her. ‘No fuss, no press, do what has to be done without people peering over the wall with their camera phones and long lenses.’ Of course, they would hold a more formal memorial service at a later date, when the fuss had died down and the Denver PR machine had had a chance to work on rehabilitating Julian’s image. Plus it would give all those global statesmen and business leaders time to clear their diaries to pay their respects. That was the important thing, wasn’t it? Everyone wanted to remember Julian the way he was: perfect husband and son, a formidable force in business, the life and soul of every party. Apart from that last one, perhaps.

  Diana looked out of the window of the black Mercedes limousine that was taking herself, Charlie and Sylvia to the funeral. It had been decided that the service should take place at the church in the village adjacent to Ralph and Barbara’s estate on the edge of the Cotswolds. It was a beautiful fifteenth-century honey-stone building with medieval stained-glass windows and wisteria climbing around the door, but Diana couldn’t help but think that she had let things run away from her. She could hardly complain if Elizabeth and Ralph had taken control of the arrangements – someone had to do it, and she just couldn’t get her brain to function properly; it was like she was being held back by a thick fog. But as they approached the church, she began to panic that the service would not be the sort of occasion that Julian would have wanted. She had sent Elizabeth a list of names – friends, people from his climbing club, the manager of a record shop he loved to visit in Notting Hill – but she had no idea if they had been invited. She suspected not.

  ‘You all right, Mum?’

  Charlie was sitting opposite her in the car, looking deceptively grown-up in a black suit and tie. He had confided that he had cut his own hair for the occasion – which had been one of the few things to make Diana smile all week, although her mental note to take him to the hairdresser’s for a proper cut had been forgotten.

  She nodded enthusiastically. A little too enthusiastically, reminding her that she was still hung-over. Without the arrangements for Julian’s funeral to occupy her, she had sought distraction in Somerfold’s magnificent wine cellar. It had been easy to liberate a few bottles of good Chablis without her mother, Charlie or Mrs Bills noticing, and that final one last night had not been a good idea. Diana didn’t drink. Eighteen months earlier, during the ‘big push’ for a child, she had recruited the services of Danesh Sitri, a macrobiotic practitioner, who had encouraged her to cut everything from alcohol to gluten from her diet.

  Someone else she had disappointed.

  There was a curve in the road ahead of them, and Diana could see the hearse stopping outside the church gates. They had been relegated to the second car and had to wait a few moments as the Mercedes carrying the Denver family came to a halt.

  ‘Are you sure you can do this?’ She sat up and touched Charlie’s knee.

  ‘So long as the other pallbearers aren’t four feet tall.’

  Sylvia shot her grandson a disapproving look, but Diana just smiled, grateful that Charlie was intuitive enough to know not to let things become too sombre.

  Stepping out of the car, she felt her whole body prickle, and she had a sudden urge to just run away.

  ‘Diana.’

  She spun around at the sound of a familiar baritone, for a split second expecting to see her husband calling her name. But it was only Adam, Julian’s younger brother. He stood there, as handsome as his sibling, but a little taller and a little darker in every sense. He was something of a black sheep in the family; either a breath of fresh air or a layabout playboy, depending on your point of view. Right now, she had never been more disappointed to see anyone’s face.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  At that moment Elizabeth marched through the church gates and began ordering everyone around, directing pallbearers, guests, even the vicar.

  ‘I feel like a spare part,’ Diana said quietly, noticing that her sister-in-law had ignored her.

  ‘You’re the most important person here.’

  ‘That would be Julian,’ replied Di
ana, glancing over at the hearse.

  Her breath faltered, the sight of the spectacular spray of red and yellow flowers almost knocking her sideways. She didn’t want to look at the coffin, but it was impossible not to be drawn to the gleam of the polished wood, the shine of the gun-metal handles.

  ‘We should go in,’ ordered Sylvia, slipping her hand into Diana’s as Adam leant forward.

  ‘I’ll look after Charlie,’ he whispered, and Diana nodded gratefully in return.

  The church was packed, a sea of faces; some she recognised, others she had no clue as to who they were. It had been the same on her wedding day almost seven years earlier, when everyone had been smiling encouragement at her as she walked down this very aisle in her Caroline Castigliano dress the colour of a South Sea pearl. But today all she could see were dozens of wan, sympathetic smiles and sombre, apologetic expressions.

  She could feel her pulse quickening. Diana hated being under the spotlight. It was precisely the sort of occasion that Julian would have guided her through. In the early days of their romance she had laughed and called him Professor Higgins. Whenever she felt out of her depth – when she didn’t know what to do or say, when she was stuck at a party with an interminable bore, or at the Cheltenham flat races being patronised by someone who guessed she was not part of the horsey set – Julian was always there for her. They didn’t even need a secret code. He would always know when to step in, when to leave. Today she needed him more than ever. And today he wasn’t here.

  She took her seat in a front pew and studied the order of service. An operatic aria sung by a world-famous soprano, readings by a Cabinet minister and a senior ambassador, the sermon by a vicar who was new to the church and whom Diana had met only briefly. It was all beautifully choreographed, but if Diana hadn’t spent the entire hour in a grief-stricken haze, she would have recognised that there wasn’t a great deal of Julian’s soul in the service. Only the eulogy, read by Charlie, a brave boy walking to the lectern to become a man, struck such a powerful chord that even the captains of industry were reaching for their handkerchiefs.