Deep Blue Sea

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘He loved him. He really loved Charlie,’ she whispered, squeezing her fingers so tightly together that they began to hurt.

  ‘He loved you both very much,’ said Mr Wilson, nodding.

  24

  DrugWatchAmerica was not at all what Rachel had expected. Hidden away on the first floor of a walk-up brownstone in the shabbier end of Foggy Bottom, that delightfully named suburb of Washington DC, the entrance was almost entirely blocked by a shoulder-high stack of boxes containing flyers advertising a rally against ‘POISONING A GENERATION’ due to happen in Lafayette Park. Assuming they don’t get blasted with a water cannon first, thought Rachel cynically, grabbing a flyer and putting it in her pocket.

  The inside of the office was no less chaotic – a clutter of mismatched desks piled high with more papers and boxes, the walls covered with posters and cork pinboards, everyone seeming to talk at once, either to each other or into their phones.

  Megan Hill, however, was exactly as Rachel had imagined. The brains behind the consumer watchdog group ‘keeping an eye on Big Pharma’ had long red Pre-Raphaelite hair, wire-rimmed glasses and a floaty hippyish dress. She looked like she should be carrying a placard, but Rachel guessed that was all part of the act. Ross had researched Megan Hill, and her CV was eye-popping. The daughter of two sixties civil-rights campaigners, she had grown up on Boston’s south side before crossing the Charles River to graduate third in her class at Harvard Law. She could have been earning an indecent salary on Wall Street or for one of the prominent litigation firms in Washington, but clearly the influence of her committed parents had been strong. Instead, she was heading up a cash-strapped group of liberal agitators and making waves across the cyberverse with her DrugWatch blog.

  ‘Rachel Miller?’ she said, crossing to shake hands and closing the door to her tiny office. ‘You’ll have to excuse the mess, we have a protest march at the weekend. It’s caused quite a stir already.’

  ‘Well thank you for seeing me at such short notice,’ said Rachel, taking a seat opposite Megan.

  ‘Are you kidding? I’ve been following Rheladrex since it was first trialled eight years ago. Then I get a call from a relative of Julian Denver? I’m going to cancel my own kid’s birthday party for that.’

  ‘You knew Julian?’

  ‘Miss Miller, please. I’m the co-founder of DrugWatchAmerica. It’s my job to be familiar with the CEOs of all the drug companies and their bosses above them. I heard about Julian’s death,’ she said more softly. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

  Rachel nodded politely. ‘As I said on the phone, I wanted to pick your brains about Rheladrex.’

  Contacting a pressure group with specialist knowledge of Big Pharma was the quickest way of learning about the drug. After speaking to Laura Dale, Ross and Rachel had trawled the internet trying to find the best and most convenient person to help them, and had chanced upon DrugWatchAmerica through a conspiracy theory website.

  ‘Sure,’ said Megan, sitting back in her chair. ‘We’ve been aware of it before it even entered late-stage development. You see – and most people are surprised by this – not many genuinely new blockbuster drugs make it to market these days.’

  ‘Blockbuster drugs?’ asked Rachel. She was aware of the phrase but wasn’t certain of its precise definition.

  ‘A big, popular drug. One that generates at least a billion dollars per annum for the company that creates it. So when any potential blockbuster makes it to human trials, we tend to hear about it.’

  Megan stood up and walked over to a coffee machine and poured them both a cup.

  ‘Rheladrex is a fascinating one, because potentially it’s a licence to print money. Fat inhibitors are one of the holy grails of modern science. We’ve got a soaring obesity problem in the USA; it’s tripled in the last thirty years. But more to the point, weight loss is the number one obsession of at least half of the US population.’

  ‘Not only over here,’ smiled Rachel. ‘Name me a woman who isn’t on some sort of diet most of the time.’

  ‘Exactly. So whoever cracks the code will be an instant billionaire. It’s no surprise that every drug company on earth has tried to come up with something that works. I can name several companies that tried and failed – all of them filed for Chapter 7 liquidation.’

  ‘So there’s nothing like it on the market?’

  ‘There’s lots of anti-obesity medication out there. But no magic-bullet pill for weight loss, no.’

  ‘And is Rheladrex it?’

  Megan shrugged. ‘Potentially. The trials showed incredible weight-loss results. It’s very new to the market so we’ve yet to see if it catches fire. Denver Group’s chemicals division isn’t a huge global player like Pfizer or Glaxo, but if they market it properly, if they manage to make this work, well . . .’ she held her hands up, ‘the sky’s the limit.’

  Rachel thought for a moment. She wasn’t sure how much she could tell this woman. She needed to find out what she could about the drug and Denver’s chemical operation, but at the same time she didn’t want to alert a pharmaceutical watchdog group to something that might implicate Denver – and Julian in particular – in another scandal, especially as she currently had no idea of the facts.

  ‘Did someone called Madison Kopek ever approach you?’ she asked carefully.

  ‘No. Who’s she?’ asked Megan, writing down the name.

  ‘Her brother was taking Rheladrex and died of a heart attack. She was convinced the drug was to blame and was trying to find a way to get to Denver.’

  Megan Hill looked at Rachel for a moment, sipping her coffee.

  ‘Do you have Miss Kopek’s contact details? I’d love to talk to her.’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘When . . . how . . .’ She tailed off. Rachel could see that she had the reporter’s instinct and was no doubt asking similar questions in her head as were going through Rachel’s own.

  ‘She was killed in a car accident three weeks ago.’

  ‘Three people are dead: Madison, her brother and Julian Denver. And they all have a connection to Rheladrex?’

  Rachel couldn’t help but smile. ‘You’re beginning to sound like those nuts that populate the internet.’

  ‘You were a reporter yourself, Miss Miller. I googled you. Isn’t that what they teach you at journalism school? Consider things from every angle?’

  ‘The angle I want to know, the angle I think you can help me with, is the Denver Group and Rheladrex. What if Madison Kopek was right? What if the drug that her brother took was dangerous? What happens next?’

  ‘How long have you got?’ scoffed Megan, standing up and pacing around her shoebox-sized office. She was like a trial lawyer performing in front of the jury. ‘In America at least, complaints about a drug go through the FDA, the Food and Drug Administration. They have a division called MedWatch. The drug is investigated, then the FDA can request that a company add labelling information about side effects. In extreme cases the drug can be pulled from the market, but it can be a long process. And obviously the Big Pharma companies will fight their corner to keep their drugs on the market and protect themselves against paying enormous sums in damages.’

  ‘How enormous can they be?’

  ‘There was a diet drug called Fen-Phen several years ago. It was linked to heart valve problems in hundreds of patients who took it. More than nine thousand lawsuits were filed against it. Damages claims ran into the billions. There are court cases involving it still going on . . .’

  ‘So the stakes are high.’

  ‘It’s every pharma company’s worst nightmare. You spend millions developing a drug, get it to market, only to pay out billions.’

  ‘But these drugs are tested, approved.’

  ‘It’s not an infallible system. One that has many flaws, in fact.’

  ‘Do yo
u know anything about the Rheladrex clinical trials?’

  ‘Not off the top of my head. But I can find out.’

  ‘Can you let me have what you get hold of?’

  ‘What’s it worth?’ she said shrewdly.

  ‘You’ve got to trust me. But I’ll make it worth your while.’

  Megan’s phone started ringing.

  ‘I should get this,’ she said quickly.

  ‘And I should go,’ replied Rachel. ‘Trials. Information. As soon as possible.’

  ‘I’d better not be working for the enemy.’

  ‘I promise you’re not,’ grinned Rachel. She was suddenly feeling more motivated to get to the truth.

  25

  Diana urged the horse onwards, leaning low over his neck, loving the sound of the beast’s hooves thumping against the grass.

  ‘Here we go, Nero,’ she whispered. ‘You can do it.’

  She gripped the reins as the horse leapt the fallen tree, thrilled by the brief feeling of weightlessness as she left the saddle, almost as if time had stopped as they flew. Then they pounded down on the other side and the world shook back into motion.

  ‘Bravo,’ shouted Patty Reynolds from the other side of the paddock.

  ‘Good boy, Nero!’ said Diana, patting the colt’s neck. ‘We did it!’

  She dismounted and led the horse over to Patty, who gave him lots of encouraging strokes on the nose.

  ‘You’re good at this,’ smiled Patty wryly.

  ‘Breaking horses in? Not really. I think it’s just the mother in me. Besides, Nero’s three now, he’s ready, aren’t you, boy?’

  Patty linked her arm through her friend’s.

  ‘Thanks for coming. It’s good to see you,’ Diana said honestly.

  Patty had arrived at ten o’clock that morning. They’d had brunch, then a stroll out to the paddock.

  ‘Now are you quite sure you don’t want to come and stay with us?’

  ‘I’m fine here, honestly. But I wouldn’t mind more gossipy breakfasts with one of my best friends.’ Diana smiled, thinking how much she had enjoyed coffee and croissants with Patty that morning.

  ‘So have you heard from the Denvers about the will?’ asked Patty, looking serious.

  Diana had confessed everything to her friend over coffee. Even though she had been Julian’s wife, the amount of money she had been gifted in his will had shocked her, and more than anything she just wanted some practical advice about what to do with an inheritance that was as big as a small country’s GNP.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said nervously. ‘I’m sure I’m not their favourite person right now.’

  ‘You and me both,’ smiled Patty.

  ‘What have you done?’ asked Diana with surprise.

  ‘I’m wresting control of Jules’s memorial from bloody Elizabeth Denver.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘I don’t want it to be a repeat of the funeral. It should be a celebration of Julian, and I think if it’s left in Liz’s hands, it’s just going to be another big showing-off occasion. This is about Jules, not how popular the Denvers are.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Diana quietly. Patty had just articulated everything she had felt about the way the funeral had been handled.

  ‘Speaking of which, you have a visitor,’ said Patty under her breath.

  Diana followed her line of sight and saw Adam leaning across the fence.

  ‘Come and join us,’ shouted Patty, her voice carrying on the breeze. ‘Or are your City-boy shoes not up to it?’

  ‘I think my boots are up to country life,’ he smiled, swinging one leg over the fence and hopping into the field.

  Immediately, Diana felt self-conscious. She had been riding for half an hour and she knew she must look terrible: sweaty, red-cheeked, her clothes speckled with mud. She quickly pushed her hair out of her face and straightened her clothes.

  ‘I should go,’ whispered Patty.

  Diana felt even more embarrassed. ‘It’s fine. Stay.’

  ‘I have a tennis match at two, unless you think it’s going to get a bit hairy.’

  ‘Adam? He’s okay. If it was Liz marching this way, I’d be restraining you with Nero’s reins.’

  ‘Hello, Patty. Di,’ said Adam, kissing both of them on the cheek.

  Patty said her goodbyes and walked towards the main house.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Diana, wiping the beads of sweat from her forehead.

  Adam squinted at her in the sunlight. ‘Checking up on you, of course.’

  ‘I don’t need a babysitter.’ She smiled softly.

  ‘Clearly not. I wasn’t disturbing a girls’ day out or anything, was I?’

  ‘Well, I think Patty was checking up on me as well.’

  ‘How are you?’ he asked as they walked across the parched yellow field.

  ‘Better than I was a few days ago.’

  ‘Did you see Stuart Wilson yesterday?’

  ‘Ah, this is what the visit is about,’ she said, feeling on edge. ‘You know about the will.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ replied Adam, frowning.

  Diana hoped she wouldn’t have to spell it out. ‘I’m expecting a call from Ralph or Elizabeth any minute. I’m surprised they haven’t contacted me already. Didn’t the family have a meeting with Stuart after I’d been there?’

  ‘Diana, I’m glad everything has gone to you and Charlie. Why the hell should it be any other way?’

  ‘Does Liz see it like that?’

  ‘Liz has funny ideas.’

  Jessica, the groom, came out of the stables and took Nero’s reins from Diana.

  ‘Is that it for the day, Mrs Denver?’

  ‘Not unless you fancy taking a horse out, Adam?’

  He nodded his head in approval. ‘I fancy it if you do.’

  ‘Jess, we’ll give Nero a rest. Can you bring out Audley and Casper?’

  ‘How about Snowdon?’ said Jessica. Behind the stable door Diana could see the dark nose of Julian’s grey and white gelding, which had not been ridden since his death. She nodded, knowing that she couldn’t carry on ignoring the poor animal.

  Jessica and her assistant saddled up the two horses and brought them over to Diana and Adam, who took them at a gentle trot towards a copse on the outer edges of the estate. Diana didn’t want to bring the will up again. If Adam was upset at not inheriting Julian’s multi-million-pound shareholding, then he was doing a good job of disguising it.

  ‘I’m judging at the village fair,’ she said with a smile. ‘Biggest carrot.’

  ‘I bet that’s going to whip the residents of Boughton up into a lather.’

  ‘Are you going to come?’

  ‘Do you think I want to miss you manhandling vegetables?’

  ‘You can help.’

  ‘Keep me away from giant melons. I have a bad enough reputation as it is.’

  She started to laugh. She felt guilty doing it, but it was a good, rich sound that came out of her body.

  ‘Well, my mother forced me to get involved and I’m glad I did. I met a really nice lady at the committee meeting. She owns the café by the green. Her husband died a couple of years ago. It was good to talk to her.’

  ‘You should make friends.’

  ‘She’s about seventy.’

  ‘So? She’s probably a better laugh than all those Notting Hill blondes you used to like having coffee with.’

  ‘You mean the sort of women you date?’ she smiled.

  That world, those people seemed a lifetime ago. The charity events at various smart watering holes, the blow-dry appointments and Cowshed Spa afternoons. A conveyor belt of wives and girlfriends who would love-bomb you the minute they thought you were useful and then
drop you the second you weren’t. Then again, Patty’s visit had only emphasised how isolated she was in Boughton. And after her showdown with Rachel, that was another female companion struck off the list.

  ‘She could do a lot with that café, you know. It’s a tatty old time warp at the moment, but she wants to sell up and I just don’t think she’ll get a decent price for it, the pittance she must be turning over selling a few teas and biscuits a day.’

  ‘Sounds like a project,’ he said, winking.

  ‘Me? Become a café owner?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Have you ever tried my cooking?’

  ‘No. Not when the fabulous Mrs Bills is around. Does she still do that amazing beef bourguignon?’

  They came to a stream. It was a lovely shady spot with a willow tree dipping into the water. Dismounting, they tied the horses’ reins around a tree stump and sat on the grass.

  ‘Tell me you’ll think about the café.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, feeling secretly quite excited by the idea.

  ‘How’s Rachel?’

  She knew what he was really asking. What has she found out?

  ‘I don’t want to talk about her.’

  ‘Di, I thought you had got past that.’

  She felt prickles of tears behind her eyeballs. Her mood swings were wild. One minute she could be astride a horse feeling that life might one day be liveable again. The next it was as if she had been pulverised by a concrete boulder.

  She took a deep breath, knowing that she had to tell someone. How was she supposed to get better, move on, when the one thing she wanted to talk about was the one thing she daren’t voice?

  ‘Julian was having an affair.’

  ‘What?’ said Adam, wide-eyed. ‘Recently?’

  ‘You want to know what Rachel’s been up to. Well that’s what she’s found out.’

  ‘Do you believe her?’

  He had chosen his words carefully. Clearly he thought it was possible.