Deep Blue Sea Read online

  Julian had called the lawyers. Diana had called her sister. Rachel was associate editor of the newspaper, for goodness’ sake. Surely she had the power to stop the story?

  But she didn’t answer her calls. Or return her messages. Finally Diana had gone round to the Post’s Docklands office and cornered her as she had left the building.

  It’s out of my hands, was all she could say. Out of her hands that she had destroyed Diana’s marriage, humiliated the family, humiliated Julian.

  She could feel her hands trembling despite the heat.

  ‘I didn’t try to stop the story,’ said Rachel quietly, letting Diana’s hand go. ‘I don’t know why. Ambition, wanting to be accepted, greed.’

  ‘You could have tried . . .’

  ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference.’ Diana had heard her excuses before. ‘It was a great story for the Post. They were always going to run it, regardless of what I said or did. I had no real power. But yes, I should have done what I could to stop it. For that I’ll always, always be sorry.’

  Diana’s eyes narrowed. How could she just say I’m sorry and expect everything to be all right again?

  ‘That world I lived in, it’s vicious and selfish and completely unconcerned with anything except getting the story,’ added Rachel.

  ‘Which is why I am here talking to you,’ replied Diana. She had injected obvious ice into her voice, wanting her sister to be under no illusions that she was enjoying this reunion. ‘All I am asking is for you to do what you do so well. I want you to stop at nothing – nothing – until you find out the truth about Julian.’

  ‘But I’ve changed,’ said Rachel. She noticed that her hand had clenched into a fist on the table. ‘I’ve changed and that’s why I can’t help you. Not in the way you want.’ Her voice softened. ‘This is my home now, and this is who I am. I deal with wetsuits, boats and the sea, and I spend my days making people happy, as far as I can. That selfish, ruthless reporter is dead, Di. I want to help you, but if you want to investigate Julian’s death, then talk to the police. Hire a private detective. I can give you names. I’ll support you all the way, and if you need a break from England, then you can come and stay with me. This place heals people. There are worse things you can do than come to Thailand for a little while.’

  ‘I don’t want to stay a minute longer with you than I have to.’ Diana disliked the feelings that were coursing through her. Hatred, anger, frustration. This was her sister and she loved her. Had loved her until Rachel had betrayed her. It had been the betrayal, almost as much as her exposé of Julian, that Diana had never been able to get over, that had made her feelings run so deep.

  ‘You owe me, Rachel,’ she said fiercely. ‘You almost destroyed my marriage, and now I’m asking for something to make up for that.’

  It was a minute before either of them spoke. The waiter came with two sweet-smelling curries and, detecting an atmosphere between the sisters, hurried away again.

  ‘Why do you think he did it?’ said Rachel.

  Diana inhaled the scent of her curry, picking out the lemon grass and coconut, and somehow it soothed her like a balm.

  ‘I don’t know. I genuinely haven’t got a clue,’ she replied more calmly.

  ‘But were there problems? In Julian’s life, I mean?’

  Diana lifted an eyebrow. ‘You mean in our marriage, don’t you? You’d love me to say yes, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Not at all. Quite the opposite.’

  ‘You think our marriage had problems. And yes, your newspaper story exposed the fact that it did. But we worked on it, we mended it. We were happy, I think.’

  ‘What about work?’

  ‘Everything seemed fine. No major upheavals in the company, anyway. I’d have heard.’

  Rachel nodded, her face serious. Diana knew that look; her sister was thinking, turning over the possibilities – and she was fairly sure that Rachel’s mind was already racing ahead. She was smart like that. Rachel never took anything at face value; she saw conspiracy everywhere, especially after she had begun working in Fleet Street. She always said there were so many stories of corruption and manipulation going on behind the scenes, stories that for legal or political reasons they couldn’t print, that the only logical response was to assume everything was dirty.

  ‘You knew Julian,’ said Diana. ‘You know he wouldn’t do something like this.’

  ‘I haven’t known him for a long time.’

  ‘But even if he was suicidal, wouldn’t he have given a hint?’ said Diana, refusing to give up. ‘He was talking about climbing Everest two hours beforehand. And why not leave a note or something?’

  ‘Not everyone who commits suicide leaves a note.’

  ‘Not many. You know that.’ She could feel her voice faltering. If she couldn’t persuade her sister to help her, even after she had layered on the guilt, reminded her how much she owed her, then what hope did she have of finding out the truth? Because Rachel was the only person she trusted to do it. She was the only one she had ever trusted. Rachel had been her rock. When their father had left them, she had been the one who kept the family together – sorted out the bills, the domestic chores, whilst their mother had fallen to pieces. And when Diana had got pregnant with Charlie, after a stupid, drunken holiday one-night stand, Rachel had convinced her that her life was not over. That she could still achieve her dreams and ambitions; she would just have a baby to take along on the journey. Julian and Rachel hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but that was because they were so similar in so many ways. Strong, accomplished. Dependable. More than that – they were the two most brilliant people she knew.

  Diana took a deep breath in a final attempt to make her change her mind.

  ‘Look, you’re convinced David Kelly was murdered. Same with Princess Diana; you never believe the official line on anything.’

  ‘And look where it got me.’

  ‘Exactly. And you still believe that Malcolm McIntyre was guilty, don’t you?’

  Diana knew it was a low blow, but she was desperate. Malcolm McIntyre was the flamboyant businessman Rachel had been chasing when she was caught on the phone-hacking charge. She had been convinced he was involved in a sex ring and had set out to prove it with methods that had got her arrested.

  ‘That’s different,’ said Rachel icily. ‘I knew he was dirty before I started. I just got too . . . close when I was looking for evidence to back it up.’

  ‘But this is my Malcolm McIntyre, Rach. I know Julian’s death is wrong somehow, I know it, it just doesn’t add up. And I need the evidence to back it up. That’s all.’

  Diana squeezed her eyes shut, not knowing what else to say, her heart feeling leaden with defeat.

  ‘You know the flights out of Bangkok are pretty busy this time of year.’

  Her sister’s comment made her sit up straight.

  ‘You might be forced to pay for a first-class ticket,’ added Rachel.

  ‘I think I can manage that.’ Diana swallowed.

  Her sister took a mouthful of curry. Her whole mood had changed. A switch had flipped, and dynamic, unstoppable Rachel was back. Diana almost grinned with relief.

  ‘All right, tell me exactly what happened at the party,’ Rachel said. ‘Don’t leave anything out. Start with the guest list – no, start with the invitations; whose idea was it, yours or Julian’s?’

  Diana let her breath out. Her sister was coming home. She hoped it would be worth it.

  9

  ‘You’re going to need warmer clothes than that.’ Liam was standing in the doorway of her bedroom as Rachel threw a bunch of T-shirts into a holdall on the bed.

  ‘Well it’s all I’ve got. I haven’t exactly kept up with the latest fashions in Soho.’

  ‘Are you sure you really want to do this?’

  As soon as Diana had g
one back to her hotel on the island, Rachel had phoned Liam for a summit meeting, explaining everything that had happened in the past few hours: Diana’s visit, her plea for Rachel to return home with her.

  ‘I thought you were all for me going back to England. Go and make up with your sister before it’s too late, isn’t that what you said?’ she added sharply.

  Rachel knew she was being unnecessarily harsh, that Liam was only concerned for her well-being, but she was taking it out on him because the answer was: no, actually she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to go back to England. And yet she had allowed herself to be emotionally blackmailed, allowed Diana to make Julian’s death seem like a story waiting to be unravelled. Once she had got over the shock of the news, Rachel’s first thought had been that something felt wrong about his suicide. That Diana thought so too only sent prickles of macabre curiosity around her body.

  She picked up a hot-pink vest top emblazoned with the words Keoni’s Tiki Beach, then threw it back on to a chair. Liam was right about that too: she wasn’t at all prepared for going back to England, clothes or anything else. She sat down on the edge of the bed and let out a long breath.

  When she glanced up, she saw that her business partner was watching her. They hadn’t seen each other since the night at the beach. It had been his day off immediately afterwards, and the embarrassment between them now was palpable.

  ‘Look, Liam, I have to do this,’ she said. ‘But I can only do it if it’s all right with you.’ She looked at him, almost willing him to forbid her to go, give her some excuse to tell Diana. And of course, she wanted him to miss her. That more than anything.

  But Liam just shrugged.

  ‘Of course it’s all right, of course you should go. Just . . . how long do you think you’ll be?’

  ‘Two weeks. Maybe three.’

  ‘Well, Sheryl can start tomorrow and Jeff can start in a week.’

  Rachel felt panic rise in her throat, instantly imagining Liam and Sheryl alone on the boat, Liam stripped to the waist, Sheryl in her skimpy bikini. Even worse was the idea that they might share the same intimate banter and mutual flirtation she herself had with him day in day out. Please don’t, she thought, looking at him miserably.

  She reminded herself that she had no claim over her business partner. Liam had never had a serious relationship in the entire time that they had known one another, and the few flings that he had had – the particularly beautiful tourist, the sexually confident, slightly slutty American barmaid – Rachel had kept discreet tabs on, using every ounce of her journalistic know-how to assess their threat. In any event, Liam had always given the impression that they were nothing serious, and secretly Rachel had considered this to be a good sign. A sign that Liam was actually hopelessly in love with her and, like herself, was just waiting for the right opportunity to declare it. But since their kiss on the beach, as painful as it was to admit, Rachel was no longer under any illusion that he was interested in her. More worryingly, now that the issue of their relationship had been confronted, now that they had finally, categorically clarified that they were ‘just good friends’, she wondered if Liam would quickly move on and find a proper girlfriend, rather than a business partner it was easy to spend his evenings with.

  ‘Great,’ she said, pasting on a false smile, ‘Sheryl starts tomorrow. That’s just great.’ She zipped up her bag with finality. It was probably a good thing to put some distance between them. ‘Well, I suppose that’s that, then.’

  ‘You are coming back?’

  ‘Of course I’m coming back,’ she said lightly. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because I think you miss it,’ he said, pushing his hair away from his forehead. ‘Running around chasing down stories.’

  ‘I’m not chasing a story,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m trying to help my sister get closure.’

  Was she? Was that it? Or was Liam right: did she really have an itch still needing to be scratched? Deep down, she was scared. Over the past three years, she had managed to push all her memories and feelings about her life on the newspaper into one dusty corner of her mind, locking it away – she hoped for ever. But now, now it was all coming rushing back. She had been associate editor of London’s Sunday Post when a sting involving a senior-level banker and a prostitute had been a front-page splash, leading to a spike in circulation. It had put fat-cat-bashing back on the menu and the editor, Alistair Hall, had wanted more of the same – the newsroom had been in an arms race to see who could get there first. Rachel had been aware of Julian’s unfaithfulness and she had hated him for it. Infidelity ruined lives, destroyed families – she knew that better than anyone. That had been her motivation; she had always maintained that, although she had been unwilling to spell it out to Diana. When the news team had brought the story of Julian’s infidelity with an eighteen-year-old model to conference, the daily meeting they had at the paper to discuss the stories, she hadn’t fought to kill it. Short-term pain for Diana would mean a happier life in the long run. Or so she had tried to justify her actions to herself.

  Liam was looking at her as if he wanted to say something.

  ‘What?’ said Rachel, all thoughts of newspapers forgotten. She had the sense that he wanted to talk about that night, about the kiss. She was conflicted. Part of her needed to know for sure that he wasn’t in love with her, that the kiss and the subsequent rejection hadn’t been some big misunderstanding. The other part didn’t want to inflict any more pain or rejection.

  But it had been two days ago, two days she had spent trying not to speak to him, and now it seemed the moment had passed.

  ‘Just don’t go getting used to it again,’ he said. ‘I know how much you loved that life, and it’s so easy to get sucked back in.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. When you go back to London, I don’t notice you chomping at the bit to stay.’

  ‘The difference between you and me is that I chose to leave.’

  He paused before he continued. ‘I just think part of you wants to go back, permanently. You’ve never tried to put proper roots down here.’

  She looked around at the sparsely furnished apartment and admitted that he had a point.

  ‘Listen, if you want me to stay, you only have to say . . .’

  ‘No, I want you to do the right thing,’ he said. ‘And I think it’s the right thing to go with Diana. But I do want you to come back.’

  ‘I’m going to have fun,’ she said, with a playfulness she didn’t feel. If he thought she was going to be depressed about his rejection of her, he had another think coming. ‘Have fun, do a bit of snooping around, catch up with old friends, snog a few unsuitable men, and then I’ll come back.’

  ‘Don’t have too much fun . . .’

  How dare he? she thought, grabbing her bag and making for the door.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said, brushing past him, their arms touching, a crackle of electricity passing between them. ‘Don’t worry about me at all.’

  10

  Diana’s body clock was all over the place. She had been tempted to spend the night in Bangkok; the city had some of her favourite hotels and shopping centres – the delicious spa at the Sukhothai, the rooftop restaurant on the Lebua with its views right over the city – but she was desperate to get back, for the sake of her mental well-being if nothing else. The lack of sleep was starting to have an impact on her body; she was getting headaches and feeling spaced out. If Rachel hadn’t been by her side, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to find the right gate at the airport. All she could think about was her lovely soft bed at Somerfold – if she could only make it there, everything would be all right.

  It wasn’t far now, at any rate. Mr Bills had met them at Heathrow, and the car was now sweeping through the Berkshire countryside, the green hedgerows and trees soothing after the overbright and crumbling urban sprawl of Bangkok. Diana certainly fel
t calmer here, although she wasn’t exactly sure that was a logical response: there were going to be awkward questions to answer when she arrived with her estranged sister. She looked across at Rachel, dozing with her head back on the seat. They had hardly spoken since they had left Ko Tao; Rachel had seemed preoccupied with something. Perhaps she was simply worried about coming back to England. Three years was a long time, and must have seemed even longer to someone who may well have expected to stay away for ever. That was a strange thought now that Rachel was sitting only inches away. For so long Diana had expected the same thing; in fact had wished to never see her sister again. Was I too hard on her? she wondered. No, what Rachel had done had been spiteful, selfish and unforgivable. And yet here Diana was, inviting her back into her life. Not forgiving her, not that, but she was certainly pinning all her hopes on her little sister. She supposed it was simply a measure of how desperate she was.

  ‘Where are we?’ murmured Rachel, squinting out of the window. ‘This isn’t Notting Hill.’

  ‘We’re not going there. We’re going to Somerfold.’

  ‘The country place?’ Diana thought she said the words with a trace of sarcasm, but perhaps it was just sleep. ‘Will Mum be there?’ she added.

  ‘No, she’s up in London for a friend’s birthday.’