Deep Blue Sea

by Tasmina Perry

  Patty gave a gentle smile and touched her arm. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I do understand. But we miss you, you know.’

  Patty was being kind – and of course, she did understand; Patty and Michael knew all about Diana and Julian’s ‘problems’, as they were ever-so-politely referred to. But the truth was, Diana had been relieved to move out to the country three years ago. She had never felt entirely at ease in the sort of circles Julian so loved: the bankers, the industrialists, the gilded elite, exactly the sort of people he had invited this evening. Which was why she had insisted that this, their first appearance on the social scene in six months, should stay small and intimate, if you could call sixty friends and colleagues and a five-course dinner small.

  Diana and Patty walked down to a raised seating area overlooking the pond and turned to watch Julian, Mike and a group of the men talking enthusiastically about chartering a chopper and yomping across Nepal.

  ‘Don’t they ever get bored of that macho grandstanding?’ sighed Patty. ‘Climbing Everest indeed. None of them can find a space in their diaries for a round of golf, let alone an expedition to Shangri-La.’

  Diana giggled.

  ‘More to the point, none of their wives would stand for it,’ added Patty with a sigh. ‘I want flip-flops on my feet on holiday, not crampons.’

  She gave Diana a reassuring tweak. ‘Are you having a good time, darling? I’m so glad you’re, well, out and about again since . . . all the trouble.’

  How we love our euphemisms, thought Diana. In the long months since ‘all the trouble’, she had come to realise how hard people in her world found it to discuss real issues. Stillbirth, miscarriage: it was all too serious, too real for these people. My child died inside me, she thought. Why can’t you say it? But she knew Patty was only trying to be kind. And besides, tonight wasn’t the time to be dwelling on the past. Tonight was a time for laughter and happiness, looking to the future, not the past.

  ‘I won’t pretend the last year was one of my all-time favourites,’ she said, ‘but I promise I won’t hide away in the country the whole time.’

  ‘I’m glad. Because we miss you,’ said Patty gently.

  Diana was grateful for her words. Even though Patty was at least fifteen years older than she was, she was one of the few wives on the circuit she felt she could talk to. She was a ferociously bright and successful woman – on the board of a Swiss bank – but she didn’t wear it on her sleeve. She and Michael, who headed up an influential hedge fund, were a financial power couple. So much so that they divided their time between a mews in Belgravia, a manor house in the New Forest and an eighteenth-century villa on the shores of Lake Geneva. No one mentioned that Patty was from an ordinary background in the north, because it didn’t matter; she was one of them now. Diana wished she could pull the same trick. Not a day had gone by since she married Julian when she hadn’t felt judged for where she had come from.

  ‘You should go back into this professionally,’ said Patty.

  ‘Back into what?’ Diana had let her thoughts wander again. It was getting to be a bad habit recently.

  ‘Event planning, darling,’ said Patty. ‘Isn’t that where you started?’

  ‘Hardly. I was temping at the Denver Group and I got roped into organising the company’s summer party.’

  The temp that got lucky, she thought to herself. That was what the bitchy wives and girlfriends said about her with ill-disguised jealousy. The temp that bagged the boss.

  ‘You should start your own business,’ said Patty. ‘Seriously. I’d hire you in a heartbeat. We don’t entertain quite like we used to, but we could certainly use some of the fairy dust you sprinkle on your parties.’

  Diana gave her friend a playful half-smile. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that you are very bossy?’

  Patty’s eyes sparkled. ‘Yes, and I don’t take no for an answer either. Ask Mike.’

  Diana had always envied Patty and Michael their relationship. Uniquely in their circle, it seemed, they appeared to actually like each other’s company. They bickered endlessly, of course, always making jokes at each other’s expense, but there was an unmistakable feeling of warmth and respect between them. They just seemed happy together.

  ‘Patty, I can’t think about starting a business right now,’ said Diana. ‘I have a child—’

  ‘Charlie is a teenager,’ interrupted Patty. ‘A teenager who is at boarding school.’

  ‘Okay, but I want to get pregnant again. You know how difficult it has been for us. I don’t need any stress.’

  ‘That’s what everyone said about my sister when she was going through IVF. Give up work, relax, it’s the only way to get pregnant. Instead she gave up IVF, went back to work and, hey presto, she had a daughter at forty-two.’

  ‘So you’re saying I should get a life?’ said Diana with a wry smile.

  Patty inclined her head towards a group of three women gossiping by the French windows.

  ‘No, I’m saying that you don’t want to turn into one of those women.’

  Diana had been thinking the same thing. Dressed in a uniform of high-end labels, their hair and nails primped and polished, their eyes constantly monitoring their husbands and each other, these women were trapped in an endless cycle of one-upmanship. Yes, they had shoes and bags and Italian marble work surfaces in their architect-modelled Kensington homes, but they lived their lives on a privileged hamster wheel and in a state of constant anxiety. She looked at the hard-faced blonde standing next to Greg Willets. Greg was one of Julian’s oldest friends, a successful investment banker who treated girlfriends like fast food.

  ‘I see Greg has a new lady-friend,’ said Patty, pursing her lips. ‘Where do you think he met this one? A massage parlour?’

  ‘Patty!’ gasped Diana.

  ‘Come on,’ smiled her friend. ‘Greg is an ordinary-looking man with an extraordinary-sized bank balance. A woman that blonde and gym-toned wouldn’t be with him if he was a bin-man, and do you think Greg is looking for a career woman or an intellectual equal?’

  ‘She could be a high-flying lawyer for all we know.’

  ‘If she is, I’ll eat Greg’s Ferrari,’ snorted Patty.

  Diana held her tongue. For one thing, Patty was probably right; Julian’s single friends tended to date former models and glamorous PRs, not brain surgeons. And for another, she was in no position to criticise those girls, because the truth was, she was one of them.

  She accepted a top-up to her glass of champagne from the waiter. She had been sober all evening, but what the hell. Patty was right: it was time to start enjoying herself.

  ‘I envy you and Michael,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘You know what the secret is to making us tick?’ Patty said sagely. ‘We’re both busy. We have enough money to stop working tomorrow, but we choose not to because we want to stay interesting.’

  She motioned over to Greg Willets’s blonde. ‘These girls get chosen because they seem to be good wife material: attractive, unchallenging, good enough in bed. They get married, they run the house, they go to the gym, shop. And you know what happens? They get boring. So their husbands, who aren’t totally stupid – not even Greg – they get bored, especially when their wives start losing their looks and their perkiness. So they upgrade. I mean, is that all they have to look forward to?’

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be cheering me up,’ frowned Diana.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mean you, darling. You and Julian, it’s different.’

  Diana glanced over at her husband, who was laughing at something Michael had just said.

  ‘Is it?’

  Patty turned to look at her meaningfully. ‘Yes, it is. He adores you, Diana. Seriously. I know it hasn’t all been plain sailing for you, but Julian loves you. And don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re most certainly not a trophy wif
e.’

  Diana burst out laughing. ‘That’s supposed to be a compliment, is it?’

  ‘Damn straight it is,’ said Patty, holding her gaze. ‘And that’s what I’ve been saying all night: you’re too bright to do nothing. Get out there, set up an events company, get a job. It’d be good for you. And good for your relationship too.’

  Diana nodded, but Patty’s words seemed alien to her. She had never been told she was bright. Beautiful, exquisite, yes. But brainy? It was her sister who was the brain-box. The whip-smart, ruthless one who would be good at business. Too ruthless, she thought, stamping out an unwelcome memory.

  ‘Promise me you’ll think about it,’ said Patty.

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Do. Because Julian has his faults, but he’s a good one. Speaking of which, I had better go and rescue my husband from that woman’s tits, because if he keeps staring at her cleavage, I fear he’s going to fall in.’

  It was gone midnight when the party finally broke up. Diana left Julian at the front door, lingering on the step saying good night to the last stragglers, and walked back through the house into the dining room. The caterers had almost finished up, tables dismantled, crockery, linens, glassware and food miraculously cleared away into the van parked on the street.

  She stood at the French windows that overlooked the gardens, and took a moment to admire the scene. The fairy lights were still twinkling like a thousand shining Tinker Bells. In fact, Peter Pan had been the inspiration for tonight’s theme; Diana had happened upon a copy of the book her son Charlie had left behind in his room. He was thirteen now and in his first year at Harrow; children’s stories, however classic, were not the sort of thing a self-conscious teenager would want in his dorm. It was an old copy – fifty or sixty years old, ragged and worn – but it had particular resonance for Diana, as she had bought it from a junk shop during her first year in London, when she had arrived with no money, a twelve-month-old child and nothing more than her looks and a determination to better herself.

  She turned. Julian was standing in the doorway, the first three buttons of his shirt undone, and it made her heart jump.

  He was a handsome man. Not perfect, of course: his dark eyes were perhaps a little too close together, his lips not quite full enough, his nose a little too strong, but beauty was more forgiving in men, wasn’t it?

  ‘Hey,’ he said, stepping over to her and putting his arms around her. ‘Why so sad? I thought it went really well tonight.’

  She relaxed into his embrace, leaning her head against his shoulder. She loved his smell, his touch. When she was in his arms, she felt she could do anything.

  ‘Why did you marry me?’ she said softly.

  ‘What?’ he exclaimed with evident surprise.

  ‘Answer the question,’ she said, turning to look into his eyes.

  He took a moment to reply. ‘I chose you because you are kind and beautiful. And I asked you to marry me because I fell head over heels in love with you.’

  ‘Good answer.’ She smiled playfully, feeling completely reassured by his answer. ‘So no climbing mountains, okay? Forget busy – it’s dangerous.’

  ‘But what about Base Camp?’ asked Julian seriously. ‘It would be amazing, and we could take Charlie with us.’

  ‘He’s almost fourteen,’ scoffed Diana. ‘Next summer all he’s going to want to do is go to Ayia Napa with his friends.’

  ‘You underestimate our child, Di. I think it would do him good to go on an adventure.’

  Our child. It had taken her a long time to think of Charlie as theirs, but Julian had never treated him as anything but his from day one. She thought of Patty’s words: Julian has his faults, but he’s a good one. He was a good one. Yes, there had certainly been dozens of reasons not to marry Julian Denver. Most of them were tall, leggy and blonde, like half the women she saw around Notting Hill. Diana knew there would always be women who would bat their eyelids and roll their hips, and she knew it would always be tempting for a man like Julian who liked sex, liked women and had the looks and money to attract them. Diana had been brought up to believe that men were unfaithful, and she had gone into their marriage knowing that there was always a risk that someone might get their long claws into her husband – that he might even welcome it. On that score, of course, she had been proven right, but they had got through it, pulled their marriage back to stable ground, because she believed that they loved one another.

  ‘I love you,’ she said quietly, voicing her thoughts out loud.

  ‘What’s brought this on?’ he said, lifting her chin. ‘I’ve been watching you all night, I thought you were having a good time. You sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. And you?’

  She’d known tonight was going to be hard. Julian had been quiet all week, and she’d wondered if he was anxious about the party, as she had been. But at least people had been discreet about their absence from the social circuit.

  He nodded and pulled her closer. As she leant against his warm body, Diana felt a flicker of lust which was sudden and unexpected. The past eighteen months had almost extinguished their sex life, except for the solitary purpose of getting pregnant again. Two miscarriages and the horrible trauma of the stillbirth had not made her feel sexy. It had made her feel like a failure.

  And yet tonight she felt a lick of desire, a flicker of promise.

  Tonight she wanted to make love to him. Not just because she wanted his child, but because she wanted him.

  She tilted her head and kissed him softly on the lips.

  ‘So are you coming to bed?’ she murmured.

  ‘You go up. I’ve got something to do first.’

  She tried not to let her disappointment show. In her mind’s eye, she had seen him unzipping her dress right here in the doorway, peeling off her lingerie as he backed her into the dining room, finally pushing her back on the table, sweeping aside the imported silver . . .

  ‘Sure. But don’t be long, okay?’ she said.

  As he walked into his study, he stopped, turned back.

  ‘I love you too,’ he said with feeling. ‘No matter what.’

  The bedroom was warm after the garden, the deep white carpet soft between her toes as she kicked off her shoes and unpinned her hair. Catching a glimpse of herself in the dressing-table mirror, even she could admit how lovely she looked: petite and slim, with long dark hair that fell between her shoulder blades. She unclipped her brand-new Sabbia Rosa half-cup bra, which under any other circumstances would be just too lovely to take off.

  For the first time in . . . well, a long time, Diana could feel the heat of desire spreading through her until even her fingertips were tingling. Peeling off her thong, she slipped into bed, turning off the bedside lamp, loving the feel of the crisp sheets on her skin, sliding her long legs back and forth. She felt so aroused, one hand slipped up to her breast, feeling the nipple rise to the touch.

  Come on, Jules, she thought, imagining his strong arms around her, his lips on hers. Put down that bloody phone, come upstairs. She stretched her arms above her head, feeling warm and more relaxed than she had in ages. The last thing she thought was: maybe I shouldn’t have had that champagne.

  When she woke, the bed next to her was empty. Julian? she thought sleepily, reaching out to touch his side. She opened her eyes, and wondered where he was. Perhaps he had gone to the bathroom to get a glass of water – he often got dehydrated after he’d been drinking – but no: the sheets on his side felt cold and unslept-in.

  Diana closed her eyes, but she was unable to fall back to sleep. Inhaling sharply, she rolled on to her side and squinted at the small digital clock by the bed – part of some expensive but never-used Bose system Julian had installed last Christmas. 04:37.

  Lifting her head towards the en suite, she saw there was no crack of light in the
doorway, no sign of anyone in the room. Nor were his clothes over the chair where he usually put them after undressing for bed.

  Where is he? she thought crossly. Surely he wasn’t still working?

  Feeling groggy, she propped herself up on the pillow, her mind running through the possibilities. He could quite easily be on a call. But there were other possibilities, darker thoughts that were also easy to believe. Diana swung her legs out of the bed and reached for her robe. She had gone to sleep thinking how much she loved her husband, but she still had to be realistic. She was the wife of a billionaire, a man who had barely touched his wife sexually in the past six months. Julian was a catch to end all catches; why wouldn’t she suspect he was up to his old tricks? She walked out on to the landing and cocked her head, listening. Nothing.

  Stop it, Diana, she said to herself. Where did she expect him to be? On a Skype call to a secret mistress? In the garden on a booty call with a hooker? They had put all that behind them; they’d had to. How was a marriage to survive if there was no trust? She almost laughed. Eighteen months of marriage counselling after Julian’s ‘indiscretion’ and where had it got her? Standing by her bedroom door, imagining him having some late-night tryst under her nose?

  She padded down the stairs, all her senses alert.

  Compared to Somerfold, their west London home was almost small, but at night it seemed cavernous. She was too practical a woman to believe in ghosts, but there was still something unsettling about walking through an empty house lit only by the dim light from the early grey dawn leaking through the windows. She stopped on the bottom step and held her breath, hoping that she would detect some sound or movement to indicate where her husband might be.

  ‘Where the bloody hell are you?’ she whispered, her disquiet turning to irritation. She turned on a downstairs light and walked through the dining room and across to Julian’s study, half expecting to find him jabbering into his phone, scrolling through columns of financial hieroglyphics on his computer screen. It wouldn’t be the first time: it was late morning in the Far East, early afternoon in Australia, and Julian seemed to have business interests in every corner of the globe. But not tonight. The room was dark, with only a half-empty whisky glass sitting on his desk to show he had been there.