‘Don’t be daft. It’s a warm summer night, it’ll be teeming. I think there’s a concert on, actually. We might even be able to buy ice cream and beer.’
‘I think I’ll pass on that one,’ Diana said weakly.
There was a cardigan draped across the back of the chair. Rachel picked it up and handed it to her sister.
‘Come on. Let’s get some fresh air.’
Sylvia was standing outside in the hallway, her face racked with worry. Her eyes darted between the two women as they came out of the room.
‘We’re going out,’ said Diana briskly.
‘Is that a good idea?’ Sylvia’s expression indicated that she thought it was anything but.
‘I think so.’
Rachel noticed how Sylvia instantly deferred to her elder daughter.
Leaving their mother’s flat, they came out of the square, crossed Bayswater Road, dodging the traffic and the cyclists, and walked into Hyde Park. The distant sound of drums and guitars came to them on the breeze, muffled as if it was travelling through water.
‘So how was Washington?’
‘Interesting.’
‘Did your friend go to Jamaica?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you going to tell me about it, or am I just here to pick up the tab?’
‘Why did you want me here?’ asked Rachel, ignoring her jibe. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to see me again for a very long time.’
‘Did Mum tell you where she found me?’
Rachel laughed. ‘She was worried Richard Branson was going to spot you in the gutter.’
‘It was so embarrassing.’ She looked pained at the very thought of it. Diana was usually so elegant, so poised, she rarely had anything to be embarrassed about.
‘It can’t have been as embarrassing as the time I bumped into Daniel Craig in Soho and asked him if I knew him from school,’ said Rachel, attempting to lighten the situation.
‘You didn’t?’ said Diana, staring at her wide-eyed.
‘He was polite. I kept pressing the point home. Asked him if he was from Ilfracombe. If he was in the swimming club . . .’
Diana giggled. It was a proper chuckle, and Rachel felt proud that she had been able to provoke that response from someone consumed with grief.
‘What happened tonight, Di?’
‘I went to see Liz Denver. She’s going to challenge Julian’s will.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘You know he left everything to me and Charlie. I get the houses, his investments, all his money. Charlie gets the shareholding in Denver.’
The wave of envy was unwelcome, but so palpable it almost took her breath away. Sometimes it was hard to believe that she and Diana had started out from the same point. Two ordinary girls from an ordinary town. Rachel remembered their Saturday waitressing jobs that paid two pounds an hour, half of which had to go to their mother for their keep. Those were the days when a five-pound note in a birthday card meant you could have a social life, the days when ferreting under the sofa cushions for loose change meant being able to afford your bus fare. She remembered helping Diana with her GCSEs so her sister could get enough of them to move into the sixth form, because Rachel knew that education was the way to get them out of their small town and on to a bigger, more exciting stage.
She had never wanted that stage to be Diana’s world. She liked making her own money, her own excitement, not just hanging off the bespoke coat-tails of a rich man she had met and married. But now it was impossible not to feel disappointed with her own lot in life. Diana was no longer just the long-suffering wife of Julian Denver; she was one of the richest women in Europe in her own right. And Rachel? Despite years of hard work, she was just a diving instructor, who couldn’t afford to be anything more.
She pushed the thought away, remembering what Diana was going through. She might be a billionairess, but she was also a widow.
‘So what did Elizabeth say to you?’
‘She told me that she thought I didn’t have the fight for taking her on.’
‘Does she expect you to roll over and accept it?’ asked Rachel incredulously.
‘She has a point. I’m drained, empty. I can’t even cry any more because it feels as if there is nothing left inside me.’
‘She can’t do it,’ said Rachel, suddenly feeling united with her sister against a common enemy. ‘On what grounds does she plan to make the challenge?’
‘Mental incapacity. Testamentary promise, I don’t know . . .’
‘She’s got no chance,’ scoffed Rachel.
‘Her expensive lawyers think otherwise.’
Rachel’s mind was whirling. The beauty of being a journalist was that you got to know a little about a lot. Probate law was not a particular area of expertise, but she knew enough to try and reassure Diana.
‘Honestly, the courts won’t accept it. I don’t see how Elizabeth can win.’
Diana regarded her sceptically. ‘You know what’s it’s like. If she’s got enough of a claim to take this to court, they’ll run circles around us, grind us down. But I can’t let her, Rach. Julian loved Charlie, his will proved that, and Charlie equally wants to make his dad proud . . .’
The two women fell silent. Usually Rachel would enjoy an evening like this: the sight of rollerbladers speeding through the park, couples lounging on the grass, teenagers shrieking and laughing as they played frisbee. But tonight she hardly noticed them.
‘What should I do?’ said Diana finally.
‘You get a good lawyer.’
Diana looked at her sister carefully. ‘The reason why you are so smart is that you know the best way isn’t always the right way to do things.’
Rachel knew what her sister was implying.
‘Yeah, and it almost got me sent to jail,’ she said cynically.
‘But if you didn’t want to fight Elizabeth in the courts, what would you do?’ pressed Diana.
‘Do you really think I’m a criminal mastermind?’
They stopped to buy ice creams from a vendor who looked as if he was about to pack up and go home.
‘I think you’re smart and brilliant and resourceful,’ continued Diana. ‘I’d always want you in my corner even if you weren’t my sister.’
Rachel gave a slow, grateful smile. She peeled the lid off her ice cream and beckoned Diana to come and sit on a bench beside her.
‘If Julian didn’t commit suicide, then he wasn’t depressed,’ said Rachel thinking out loud. ‘And if he wasn’t depressed, the Denvers have no chance of challenging his will under mental competence. That’s as far as my thinking goes without speaking to a lawyer.’
‘What do you mean, not suicide?’ There was a spark of something in Diana’s eyes. Fear? Hope? Rachel reminded herself that she had to tread carefully. There was no more margin for error, no room for mistakes.
‘Maybe it was an accident.’
‘You don’t have to be kind,’ said Diana suspiciously.
‘It’s not unheard of. Has anyone considered whether it could have been an auto-erotic accident?’
‘You mean kinky stuff?’
Rachel knew she was clutching at straws, but she had to give her sister some hope, even if it was just for one night.
‘The coroner’s official is coming round tomorrow. He wants to speak to me.’
‘Then you should ask him about it.’
‘I think he is supposed to be interviewing me. Not the other way around.’
‘Are you going to tell him about me? What you’ve asked me to do? What I’ve found out?’
Diana stopped in her tracks and looked at her.
‘What do you think?’
Rachel gazed over Diana’s shoulder, fixing her sights on a distant line of trees as she
struggled with the dilemma.
‘Look, we want to help the police, the coroner’s office, but if you tell them what we know, what we suspect, then it’s just going to give people an excuse to pack Julian’s death into a tidy little box.’
‘You mean Julian died of heartbreak,’ Diana said bitterly.
Rachel found it hard to contradict her. Diana had brought her back to England to find answers, and Rachel had discovered a more potent reason for Julian’s death than the teenage depression his family seemed to be accepting. Julian’s pregnant mistress was dead. That felt like the end of the road, the reason for his suicide they had been looking for. Rachel knew how easy it would be to stop things right here. Confess about Madison’s pregnancy. Diana would be devastated, but it would decrease the Denvers’ chances of a successful challenge to the will. Charlie meant everything to Diana, and obviously she would want him to inherit her husband’s legacy.
‘Was he in love with Madison Kopek?’
‘I don’t know.’
They stood up from the bench and started walking back to Bayswater.
‘I’m sorry about what happened the other night,’ Diana said finally.
Rachel didn’t respond.
‘I was wrong to react the way I did. I was just hurt and angry and humiliated . . .’
‘I’m sorry too. I was insensitive. I was caught off guard. I didn’t think. Typical me, eh?’
Diana shook her head. ‘Turns out you’re a better person than my husband.’ She was obviously referring to Tuscany.
‘He was drunk, and men like sex,’ replied Rachel obliquely.
‘When you told me about Julian’s mistress, I wasn’t surprised,’ said Diana. ‘We didn’t have sex any more. He was spending more and more time in London. But I always thought he loved me. To find out he might have killed himself over another woman sort of crushed me.’
Rachel knew right then that she could not tell her about Madison’s baby. She had to find another reason, another answer. As Ross had pointed out on her first visit to Clapton: tell her what she wants to hear. She’s been through enough pain.
‘When are you coming back to Somerfold?’
‘I’ll come back with you.’
‘Good,’ Diana said quietly. ‘After the coroner’s visit, I wondered if you could come and look at something with me.’
‘Sure. What is it?’
‘There’s a café in the village run by a widow. It’s run-down. I was thinking of investing in it. Adam thinks I need a project, and I think he’s right. I’ve bloody missed you, you know.’
‘I’ve missed you too.’
‘Did you ever think of calling me?’
‘All the time,’ said Rachel honestly. ‘I have a good life in Thailand, but it doesn’t feel quite right because my family isn’t in it.’ She looked down at the path, not wanting to admit that there was a selfish element to this story. Liam’s parents, his siblings, had all been over to see him in Ko Tao. They called at Christmas, and sent parcels for his birthday. Rachel had friends with whom she celebrated her birthday, and Songkran, the Thai New Year. But she often felt lonely, isolated, without back-up. Sometimes she thought that she could free-dive to the bottom of the ocean and if she never resurfaced no one would notice or care. Not really.
‘You have Liam. What’s the story there? He was very protective of you when I showed up asking questions.’
‘Was he?’ she asked more animatedly.
Diana slid her thin arm into Rachel’s, an intimate gesture that almost made Rachel stop walking; the last time Diana had touched her was to slap her across the face.
‘Anyway, you’ve got me now.’
They both smiled and started walking back to Bayswater.
31
Rachel listened in to Diana’s meeting with the coroner’s officer. Not in any official way, of course – Diana had insisted that she take the meeting alone – but Rachel thought it best that she monitor the conversation, not only to check that her sister was okay, but to make sure that she didn’t let slip any information to him that she hadn’t told her.
She sat on the warm stone step outside Somerfold and listened intently. She had left the French windows a little ajar, but the morning birdsong blotted out much of what was being said. From what she could make out, though, Mr Nicholson, the sensible-looking man who had arrived half an hour earlier, had ruled out the possibility of auto-erotic asphyxiation. Rachel cringed when she heard Diana fishing around the subject.
‘Auto-erotic asphyxiation is masturbation,’ explained Mr Nicholson. ‘If he was masturbating, then it’s likely he would have removed some or all of his clothes, but he was found fully clothed. Plus there was no semen found in the post-mortem.’
Poor Diana, thought Rachel, hugging her knees. Poor Julian, too, being described in such cold, clinical terms.
She heard them say their goodbyes, heard him leave, and she crept into the house through the French windows.
Diana spun round, looking startled.
‘Were you out there the whole time?’ she gasped.
Rachel looked sheepish. ‘I was just, gardening, er, sunbathing . . . Yes, I was,’ she admitted.
She watched Diana lean against the wall as if all the life was draining out of her.
‘Come on,’ she said briskly. ‘It’s time to show me that café you’re interested in.’
‘Not today . . .’
‘Yes, today. Should we invite Mum?’
‘No. Just us,’ said Diana, standing up straight.
‘Do you have bikes?’
‘Julian’s Ducatis . . .’
‘As much as I would love to arrive in the village at ninety miles per hour, I was thinking more like bicycles. Let me go and speak to Mr Bills.’
She found Mr Bills and asked him to bring two bikes to the front of the house. She knew she had to keep her sister moving, knew how difficult it had been for her to be interviewed today.
‘Come on. Mum’s having a swim. She’ll be back at the house any minute.’
‘It makes it seem like we’re sneaking off.’
‘We are,’ grinned Rachel, remembering all the times as teenagers when they had slipped out of the house to meet boys or go to a party.
‘How about you move into the main house?’ said Diana suddenly.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Rachel, swinging one long leg over the Pashley frame.
Diana nodded, and Rachel felt a warm glow that she had finally been accepted home.
They were both sweating by the time they got to the village. It was a warm day. Rachel had barely run or swum since she had arrived in London and she could feel her fitness levels slipping.
‘Is this it?’ she asked, leaning her bike against the pub railing by the green. ‘Good location.’
The café was a long honey-stone building with tired curtains at the windows. Inside, an elderly woman was transferring scones from a box marked ‘Catering Pack’ on to chipped white plates.
She looked up and smiled. ‘I’m not even open yet, girls.’
‘Dot, meet my sister Rachel,’ said Diana, pushing her forward.
‘Look at the colour of you,’ grinned Dot.
‘I live in Thailand.’
‘How do you cope with that?’ she asked disapprovingly. ‘Two sisters living so far apart.’
Rachel watched Diana moving around the room, stroking the rickety tables. She couldn’t see the potential in this place; then again, her own flat proved that she lacked the Midas touch when it came to interiors. Diana, on the other hand, had always been a wizard. It wasn’t just herself she could make look pretty. Her Christmas trees were always beautifully decorated, even when she could only afford to go to the pound shop; presents were always exquisitely gift-wrapped; her home had the sort of taste and style th
at money alone couldn’t buy. And right now Rachel could tell that she wanted to get her hands on the Blue Ribbon café.
‘My sister has a proposition for you,’ she said without further preamble.
Diana shot her a horrified look, but Rachel always did things with purpose once she had made up her mind to do something.
‘She wants to invest in your business. She thinks it has a lot of potential.’
‘This place?’ said Dot, taking off her apron.
Diana’s expression softened, her eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘It could be fabulous, Dot.’
‘Listen to her,’ agreed Rachel. ‘Have you ever seen that Meryl Streep movie It’s Complicated? That fabulous café-bakery that Meryl’s character owns? Deli porn, that’s what it was. Diana could make this place as sexy as that.’
Dot looked as if she didn’t know where to put herself. She clearly didn’t see the café as in any way pornographic.
‘What Rachel means is that I really would love to help you give it a facelift, bring it right up to date, back to the glory days of when Ron was still with us,’ said Diana more gently.
‘I want to sell the place, not bring it up to date, lovey,’ said Dot. ‘I could always sell it to you if you were interested, but I’m not sure you’d . . . well, with respect, I can’t really see a smart lady like you standing behind a counter.’
‘Which is why the two of you should do it together,’ said Rachel, looking at Diana and then Dot. She remembered the days when she was setting up the diving school with Liam. They had found a tiny shack by the beach and spent all weekend painting it red, white and blue. They had flyers printed, delivered them all over the island, and accosted tourists in the streets to hustle for business. They had both arrived in Thailand a little burnt-out and broken, but the diving school had brought them back to life again, and Rachel just knew that this place could do the same for her sister.
‘Tell me what it was like in its heyday,’ said Rachel, noticing that Dot didn’t look convinced.
‘Oh, it was marvellous, lovey,’ replied Dot, softening. ‘Everyone used to come here,’ she said. ‘On a summer Saturday they’d queue down the street for tables. It was Ron’s recipes, you see.’
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