Deep Blue Sea (20 page)

26

The Four Seasons hotel was in the perfect spot, with views over the city and the Potomac River. The smart lobby was milling with powerful-looking people, her suite was luxurious, and the whole place made her feel like a glamorous diplomat. Reclining on her cloud-sized pillows, Rachel flipped open her laptop, deciding that these were very agreeable working conditions and that she would quite happily move in here at the drop of a fedora.

She logged in and checked her emails, surprised to see that she had received one from the Giles-Miller Diving School, a place that seemed so far away, so long ago, it was as if it had fallen out of her consciousness.

Hey Newshound,

How’s things over there in the motherland? Everything’s going swimmingly over here (see what I did there?) and we’re booked up until the end of the season. We could do with the extra pair of hands, but no rush. Let me know how it’s going. Don’t be a stranger and all that.

Lx

She scanned it again, trying to work out if there was hidden meaning in any of the words. It was stupid really, there was nothing to the message, just a postcard really, but she was glad it had come. During their time together in Thailand, Liam had been the one she went to whenever she had a problem, the one she’d bounce ideas off, the one she trusted above anyone else. Right now she could do with running this whole mess past him, see what his big Cambridge brain would make of it.

‘What are you looking so pleased about? Boyfriend?’ asked Ross from the table by the window.

She felt herself blush, not realising that she had been smiling.

‘No. Absolutely not.’

‘She protesteth too much,’ grinned Ross, scrolling through his own messages.

‘If you must know, it’s my diving partner, fishing around for when I’m coming back.’

‘Good luck with that one. We could be here months.’ He stretched his arms above his head, cracking his fingers and grinning. ‘In fact there are some cold cases that stretch back decades.’

‘I can’t be here months, much as a room at the Four Seasons is much nicer than my apartment.’

The light was fading, and already Washington was disappearing from view outside the windows.

‘How far do you want to take this?’ Ross asked more quietly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Diana wants answers. You have them. We can keep on looking, but for what? Where does this stop? As I said at the start, this is about providing your sister with resolution. It’s not
All the President’s Men
.’

She fell quiet, acknowledging that Ross had hit a nerve. She felt satisfied, important, just being here. She had always wanted to be a great reporter. She had started out at the more frivolous end of newspaper journalism, and although stories about cheating celebrities and benefit scams had hardly been Pulitzer prize-winning journalism, when she had exposed a truth, a cheat, it had felt good, even though she appreciated the hypocrisy that she often had to be devious herself to generate those stories. Being here, in a fancy hotel suite, interviewing people once more, piecing together bits of a mystery that so far had no sense or meaning, reminded her how much she had loved her old life. It was as if her professional downfall hadn’t happened, as if her career trajectory had carried on how it had been meant to. She knew she was doing this as much for herself as for her sister, and Ross was absolutely right when he said they had to stop where Diana wanted them to.

‘Look. A message from Greg Willets,’ she said, opening up another email.

‘Finally. What does it say?’

She scanned it quickly, paraphrasing. ‘Yes. He thinks the photo I sent him might have been the blonde he saw Julian with in Washington. Quote, “Can’t be sure. It was from across the road. It was dark. I’d had a drink.”’

‘Thanks for that,’ said Ross sarcastically.

‘We didn’t need him anyway. Laura’s confirmed the affair.’

There was a knock at the door. When Rachel opened it, a hotel employee in a smart dark suit handed her an envelope.

‘What is it?’ asked Ross when she had shut the door.

Rachel sliced open the envelope and flicked through the pages inside.

‘Information about Rheladrex, by the looks of it,’ she muttered. ‘Thank you, Megan Hill.’

She lay back down on the bed, propping two pillows behind her head, and started to read.

‘I’m hungry,’ said Ross, getting up from his chair. ‘There’s a diner a few blocks away if you fancy it. Want me to go and get some takeout?’

‘Sod that. Let’s call up room service.’

‘Are you sure? I mean, your sister is paying for all this and I’m sure she would much rather see you at the youth hostel than whooping it up at the Seasons. What if she refuses to pay the bill?’

‘She’s already given me cash. Besides, she knows I need the right conditions to work.’ She grinned at him but secretly thought he might have a point. But remembering her sister’s hard slap across the face at the Lake House, Rachel figured the least Diana owed her was a club sandwich on expenses.

‘You take half of these pages,’ she ordered. ‘It’s details of the late-stage development trials for Rheladrex.’

‘Conducted by Rassalle Inc. Who are they?’ queried Ross, scanning the top sheet.

‘I read about this on the internet. Obviously for a drug to get passed by the FDA they have to go through layers of testing. The bulk of it used to be done on home turf – in this case America – but in the past few years pharmaceutical companies have been doing a lot of their clinical trials overseas, often farming the job out to companies who specialise in it. They go all over the place: Africa, eastern Europe . . .’

‘Cheap places, basically.’

‘Life is cheap where there’s money to be made,’ replied Rachel cynically. ‘Critics say that in some of the Third World countries used for testing there is also less regulation.’

‘Look at this. Bristol, Jamaica.’ Ross was already on Google Maps. ‘It’s about ten miles from Montego Bay. Bucharest is also listed.’

‘So both of the places that Julian and Madison flew to had Rheladrex trials going on there.’

She took a swig of Coke from the bedside cabinet.

‘Fancy a holiday?’

‘What, now?’ queried Ross.

‘A working holiday. Which would you prefer? Montego Bay or Romania?’

‘I think Montego Bay has better beaches,’ smiled Ross.

‘The words needle and haystack spring to mind, but if anyone can find out why Maddie and Julian were there and what they found, it’s you, McKiney.’

Her mobile phone was buzzing furiously.

‘Unknown number,’ she tutted. ‘They always make me nervous.’

When the caller spoke, Rachel almost fell back with shock. A smart, rich baritone; a voice from the grave.

‘Rachel, it’s Adam Denver.’

Her pulse slowed with relief. ‘Adam, how are you?’

Ross pointed at the door. ‘I’ll be in my room,’ he mouthed as she gave a thumbs-up.

The line was fuzzy, but Adam’s annoyance was unmistakable. ‘Are you a total bitch all of the time, or is it just when it comes to your sister?’

Rachel took a deep breath. He had caught her off guard with his call. She had spent most of the night struggling with the problem of whether to tell Diana about the developments in Washington, and had come to the conclusion that whilst honesty was the best policy, she was going to hang fire on telling her the whole uncomfortable truth. Having Julian’s brother ranting at her only added to the confusion and reminded her that other people were involved in this – a lot of other people. People who might also be able to shed light on what was going on.

‘Listen, Adam,’ she said, struggling to control her temper. ‘I’m only here because Diana asked me. If she’s got a problem with what I’m doing, then fine. Until then, please keep out of it.’

‘You want me to keep out of it?’ he said. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Let you get on with doing more damage to my family.’

‘It’s my family too, Adam.’

‘Really? Because I’m struggling to see why a member of this family would think it was a good idea to tell a grieving widow not only that her husband was having an affair, but that he wanted to have sex with her sister.’

‘I didn’t mean to,’ she said, feeling her cheeks burn hot.

‘You didn’t mean to?’ he said incredulously. ‘I was with her today. She’s so tight-wound, pale, nervy. She’s pretending she is okay, but I honestly think she’s on the edge.’

‘The edge of what?’ asked Rachel with alarm. ‘Is she all right?’

‘She will be. But it doesn’t take a genius to work out that she is really, really fragile at the moment. You know, I understood why she asked you back to London. I’m Julian’s brother. I want answers too. But you have to choose your moment.’

He was so bloody self-righteous, she thought, imagining his smug, good-looking face mocking her. She had a strong urge to smash her mobile against the wall, but mentally counted to ten to try and compose herself.

‘I tried to be discreet. But she went snooping through one of the files.’

‘Really? Knowing you, you’d have told her with the subtlety of a brick.’

‘Adam, this isn’t helping.’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘I’ll be more careful in future.’ She couldn’t believe she was actually apologising. Then again, she probably
had
told Diana too much. It had certainly not been the right moment to tell her about Julian’s proposition in Tuscany. But it had been like magma inside her, burning her up, desperate to get to the surface for years. She had always felt the family had overreacted about the newspaper story, that she had become the lightning rod for all the anger and lies. She had admitted that she hadn’t really stuck up for Julian when the story had been about to go to press, but she had never had occasion to explain why. She was glad her motives had been outed at last, but no, she hadn’t chosen her moment with any tact or elegance.

‘Good,’ said Adam finally. ‘So where are you now?’

‘Washington.’

‘I think we should talk.’

‘So do I,’ she said more excitedly. ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days. You see, I’m trying to build up a picture of Julian’s life before his death.’

‘Rachel, we need to set a few parameters.’

She almost laughed at his arrogance, but she needed to keep him on side, for now at least.

‘So when do you want to
talk
?’ she said flatly.

‘I have a space in my diary tomorrow.’

‘Well I happen to be in Washington.’

‘And I happen to have time to see you tomorrow.’

He was maddening, she thought, before reluctantly acquiescing to his demands.

Ross walked back into the room with a platter of French fries and sandwiches. But as Rachel said her goodbyes to Adam Denver, suddenly she wasn’t hungry any more.

27

Harrow School was both magnificent and terrifying. When Diana had first driven up the main road of the village, she could remember craning her neck to look up at the dark stone of the buildings with their leaded windows leaning in over the road.

‘This place is wonderful,’ she had said to Julian, grinning in the driving seat. ‘Is the school as pretty as this?’

‘This
is
the school, honey,’ he had laughed.

Even now, it seemed to Diana that the school had been plonked down on the hill and the rest of the village had simply grown up in the tiny spaces in between. According to Julian, that was a fairly close approximation of its history. The school buildings were everywhere – if the boys had a music lesson, say, they would walk down the high street, past the butcher’s and the florist’s, and in through a narrow doorway marked only by a brass plaque. The whole village was the playground, and on any given day you could see boys hurrying to class, books and folders under their arms, along with the distinctive straw boaters – ‘hats’, Charlie seemed determined to call them – which were part of the navy and grey uniform but were never willingly worn outside. Unusually for most educational establishments in the twenty-first century, it was also a full boarding school, which meant that the opportunities for parents to see their children in term time were limited. But the school had been very supportive and understanding about Julian’s death, and had readily agreed to Diana’s request to take Charlie out for the afternoon.

He was waiting in front of his house as Diana hurried up the high street to meet him. She looked at her son and her heart gave a lurch. She wanted to reach out and smooth down his unruly russet hair, restraining herself when she saw that a group of students were close by and would no doubt mock him mercilessly.

‘All right, Mum?’ He had a teenager’s reticence about physical contact with his parents, but his grin said that he was pleased to see her.

‘So where’s the best place for lunch around here?’ she asked. As she looked at him, she suddenly realised that they were back to where they’d started. Just a single mum and her little boy trying to make their way in the world.

The days of Charlie’s early childhood, when they had lived on benefits in the tiny flat in Tufnell Park, seemed a very long time ago indeed. She didn’t miss the constant worry about money, the anxiety of how to juggle a job with child care, the decisions she had to make on a daily basis – should she put the heating on for the morning with the little pound-coin meter, or should she spend the money on proper nappies for Charlie?

In a strange way, though, life was simpler then. She had come to London with a dream of bettering herself, and even when she thought they would be stuck in their tiny flat for ever, she had the sense that life was out there in front of them, ready to be lived. She had never shared her sister’s passion for the capital, but could admit that it seemed a place where excitement lurked around every corner. She remembered their bus rides into the West End to meet Auntie Rachel in one of her cheap and cheerful student lunch hangouts. She remembered listening to Rachel’s weird and wonderful stories involving celebrities she met at the bar where she worked. People from the telly, people who seemed so worldly and glamorous it was as if they were from another universe. So many things filled her with a sense of wonder on a daily basis – the sight of Buckingham Palace at the end of the Mall, the black door of 10 Downing Street that winked at you through the iron security gates, the world-class view of the Houses of Parliament and St Paul’s Cathedral as you sat on a red bus crossing the Thames.

Things were different now. Not much made her go
wow
any more. Money, opportunities, anaesthetised you from that.

‘How hungry are you?’ asked Charlie.

‘Starving,’ she lied.

‘Right. Burger and chips it is. There’s a great place just down here.’

‘So I’m not pulling you out of anything important?’ she asked, nudging him playfully.

‘Just cricket this afternoon. Although the team will obviously be missing out on my ace batsmanship.’

‘Can’t keep you too long, then.’

‘Is everything all right, Mum?’ he asked intuitively.

She put on her most practised brave face. ‘Everything is fine. Auntie Rachel is back from Thailand. She brought you this,’ she said, pulling the teddy bear out of her Vuitton tote.

Charlie took it and just looked at it for a few moments. He had always been conflicted about Rachel’s estrangement from the family. He had only been nine when the story about Julian had appeared in the
Sunday Post
, too young to really understand it, but old enough to get that his beloved auntie had done something very wrong. Something that had led to terrible teasing and bullying in the school playground.
Your daddy doesn’t love your mummy
; words that had sent him home from prep school crying each afternoon.

They approached the restaurant that Charlie had recommended and went inside. It was warm and smelt of freshly baked bread. It was also quiet, and a waitress showed them to the best seat in the house, a small booth by the window.

‘I’m fine, you know,’ said Charlie after they had settled down and ordered.

‘I know you’re fine. That’s why I wanted to have this conversation with you.’

‘This sounds as if it is going to be rather grown-up.’

‘It is.’ She smiled, admiring his maturity. ‘I went to Dad’s solicitor this week. He wanted to tell me about the contents of his will.’

‘Money doesn’t matter. It won’t bring him back.’

‘No, it won’t. But there are lots of practical things we have to sort out, much as we’d rather not. And this is one of them.’

‘Did Uncle Adam get the Ferrari collection?’ Charlie asked, peering up at her through his long tawny fringe.

Diana laughed. ‘Yes, he did. Why? Did you want them?’

‘No, but I wouldn’t have minded the motorbikes,’ he smiled.

His mother put her hand over her son’s on the table.

‘That was never going to happen; Dad knew I wouldn’t allow it.’

‘So they went to Adam too?’

‘I’d say that was a good home, wouldn’t you?’

Their drinks arrived. Charlie swizzled his straw around his glass of cola.

‘So you’ve made up with Auntie Rachel? I thought she might be at the funeral. I was hoping she would be. You know, sometimes you don’t think you need certain people, but you do.’

He was wiser than his years. Diana knew that Julian had made a good choice gifting his shareholding to their son.

‘Charlie, I’m here to talk about something your dad wanted you to have.’

‘What?’ he asked doubtfully.

‘He’s given you all his shares in the company.’

There was a couple of seconds’ silence.

‘All of them?’ he said finally.

Diana nodded.

‘Voting shares?’

She looked at her son with surprise. She’d had no idea that he understood the corporate make-up of the business.

‘Everything that Dad owned. They are to be held in trust until you are twenty-one. He also attached a letter of intent. It’s not legally binding, but he expressed a wish that one day you become CEO of the company.’

Charlie had fallen silent.

‘The reason I wanted to talk to you about it now is that I need to know how you feel about it,’ continued Diana softly. ‘I spoke to Adam and he maintains that he never really wanted to join the family business, that he felt obliged to do so. And I would never want you to be in that position of feeling that it’s your duty.’

She thought of the Denvers – steely Ralph, frightening Elizabeth, snobby Barbara – and wondered if she always wanted to be so tightly aligned with them. But then this was Charlie’s choice. Not hers.

‘He really thought of me as his son, didn’t he?’

‘Of course you were his son,’ she said, her mouth opening in horror.

Charlie looked up at her, his mellow hazel eyes taking on an edge of defiance.

‘When he married you, he got me. I know he
called
me his son, but don’t you think I’ve often wondered how he could love another man’s child like his own?’

‘But he did,’ whispered Diana, wondering how much the thought of this had tortured Charlie.

‘I know that now,’ he said, his lips beginning to wobble with emotion.

‘You should read this,’ she said, pushing a sheet of paper across the table between them. It was Julian’s letter of intent that he had attached to his will. She had read it a dozen times over since she had left Stuart Wilson’s office and could memorise every word, even though it had felt as if she been intruding on a father’s parting words to his son.

‘I’ll read it later,’ said Charlie, putting it in his pocket. ‘I do want his shares,’ he added. ‘I want to make him proud of me. I want to be the man he thought I could be.’

Diana clenched her fists under the table. She was determined not to cry in front of her son, even though this time, they were tears of happiness.