‘Are we going to see Casa Adam?’ she asked, wondering what sort of house he lived in. Diana had always been fascinated by property. It was like holding a mirror up to its owner, a revealer of secrets.
‘I’m just over here,’ he said, pointing away from the promenade. They walked to a quiet, pretty street banked with expensive-looking brownstones that seemed to have been polished red, stopping at an impressive five-storey terrace that was wider and better restored than the rest.
‘Fancy a drink?’ As they came through the door, he flicked through some post and pointed towards the kitchen.
‘Nothing sweet. All that milkshake is swirling around like sugar going round a candy-floss machine.’
‘Martinis it is, then.’ He rummaged around in his fridge and cupboards before handing her a glass replete with olives and lemon twists.
‘Great place, Adam,’ she said, appreciating the modern art and the stylish Danish furniture.
‘You’ve not seen the best bit yet. Come with me.’
She followed him up three flights of stairs. On the top floor, the stairs opened on to a huge master bedroom. She felt anxious until she realised he was not stopping, but was twiddling with a French door that led on to a huge roof terrace. She gasped as Manhattan glittered before her – an incredible skyline of white lights and the soaring silhouettes of skyscrapers.
‘You know, when you brought me to Brooklyn, I was surprised. I always thought you were the sort to live in the heart of things, not on the edges. But now I get it. Now I know that sometimes you’ve got to be on the outside looking in to really know somewhere.’
‘Absolutely,’ he said, smiling as if they were both in tune with one another. ‘I’ve learnt that from travelling around a lot, checking out hotels. Take Venice. You get the best views of the city from the islands in the lagoon, not from properties on the mainland. You want to see the Matterhorn? You go to Zermatt, not up the mountain itself.’
As they sipped their martinis, Adam pointed out Governors Island and the Statue of Liberty, a faint pinprick of light in the darkness. Finally, when her heels were hurting and she felt as if she could stand no more, Diana kicked off her shoes and sat down on a huge stripy cushion propped against the chimneypot.
‘Julian was really proud of the job you were doing out here.’
Adam snorted. ‘He said that?’
He cut the conversation short, and Diana realised that he didn’t want to talk about Julian tonight. If she was totally honest, neither did she. Adam had been right when he said at the beginning of the evening that they should forget, even if it was just for a few hours.
‘Have you made up with Rachel yet?’ he asked, sitting down beside her.
‘I forgot how great she is. I think it got lost in everything else that’s been going on over the past few years. I know I can’t make up for the time that we’ve lost, but I’m going to try. I think I might try and get to Thailand when Charlie goes back to school in the autumn, although something tells me she is enjoying life back in London.’
‘Do you think she’d come back?’
Diana shrugged. ‘There’s a guy in Thailand I think she cares about. He’s flown over to be with her now, actually. I think they have one of those relationships.’
‘What relationships?’
‘When you’re together but you don’t even realise it yet.’
‘How’s the martini?’
‘I should have known you’d be able to mix a good one,’ she said, noting that it was sharp and dry, not salty and oily.
He mixed her another, and then another, and they joked that they should just bring the bottles of gin and vermouth up here and pour one into the other.
They were sitting side by side, so sometimes she didn’t even look at him whilst he was talking, and it was easy to forget where she was and who she was with. It could have been a balmy evening on their sailing boat, when she would lie in the crook of Julian’s arm on the deck, listening to a Nina Simone CD with a bottle of excellent red from the Somerfold cellars. Every now and then a wave of sadness would hit her, and then Adam would distract her with a joke or a glamorous story.
As the night wore on, it seemed perfectly natural to rest her head on his shoulder as they talked. She had no idea how long it was there, but at some point their heads turned at the same time, and then their lips touched, and suddenly they were tasting each other. Vaguely she heard the smash of a martini glass being knocked over, and the whisper of the words I’m taking you inside.
He scooped her up in his arms and she arched her back with delight. A voice in her head was telling her to stop, but it was being drowned out by a giddiness that engulfed her like champagne. It was wrong, she knew that, and yet it didn’t feel it. The way their bodies meshed together, the way his lips slotted into hers, felt perfectly natural, as if it had always been this way.
He put her down in the bedroom and her hand threaded around his neck to pull him closer. Drawing away again, she unfastened the buttons on his shirt, sighing as she felt his fingers slide down the long brass zip that ran from her neck to the base of her spine. He peeled the fabric off her shoulders so that the dress fell to the floor with a soft whisper. Her bra was unclipped and his palms pushed her wispy chiffon shorts over her buttocks and down her thighs.
‘Is this all right?’ he whispered.
She arched her neck and groaned as he kissed the soft patch of skin behind her ear. Standing there naked, she felt wonderfully, frighteningly exposed. She could feel his breath on her skin, the featherlight touch of his lips on the curve of her shoulder, his hardness pressing against her belly.
The back of his hand brushed her nipple. She closed her eyes and gasped, knowing she was being admired, explored. He guided her hands to touch him, and she felt him harden even more beneath her fingers.
White heat ripped around her body. She fell back on the bed and, without even thinking about what she was doing, parted her thighs, watching him kneel between them. He was naked too now. He lifted her foot and licked it, then snaked tiny kisses up her leg, towards the tiny, neglected strip of pubic hair.
He spread her thighs wider, and as his tongue connected with her clitoris, arrows of lust fired around her body. His lips moved upwards, to her belly, her breasts, her neck, until he kissed her lips once more and she could smell herself on him and all she wanted, right there, right now, was to feel him inside her.
He lowered his hand to help ease himself into her, fulfilling the wish she need not vocalise, and she cried out with the sweet, exquisite pleasure of being woken from a deep and sexless slumber.
They moved in motion. He cupped his hands around her thighs to rock more deeply into her. He was rough and yet exquisitely tender, rolling her over until she straddled him. She arched her back as he held her hips, not believing that her body could feel like this. She ran her hands over her breasts, over her hard nipples, and down the curves of her body. She wanted to touch herself, feel the skin that seemed to tingle beneath her fingertips. And just as she was about to explode, he curled his finger into her, stroking her secret, throbbing nub until her stomach contracted tighter and tighter, then detonated shock waves to every nerve ending in her body, lust, loneliness and grief colliding in one fireball of desire.
The orgasm finally shrank to a stop. She lay back on the soft pillows, regulated her breathing, and tried to work out what the hell had just happened. But all she could think about, all that she knew for sure, was that it was the best sex she had ever had in her life.
34
Ross hadn’t been doing his hacking by the pool, as Rachel had imagined. In fact, the Blue Parrot Inn didn’t have a pool, or anything else much. Its sole attraction seemed to be the Coke machine in the lobby.
‘Why’s he staying here?’ whispered Liam. ‘I mean, you get to stay at Round Hill; what’s Ross got against luxury?’
<
br /> ‘I think he was trying to go under the radar,’ said Rachel as they let themselves into the room. The half-drunk hotelier had just shrugged and pushed across the key when Rachel had waved five dollars under his nose. Ross, it seemed, had paid a week in advance and asked not to be disturbed by cleaners.
The hotel was on the run-down side of Montego Bay, not far from the place where Ross had been attacked, and Rachel was glad of Liam’s presence – and even more reassured by the thought of Yohan within screaming distance. She couldn’t quite believe they were here. Dinner on the terrace of the Round Hill had seemed infinitely preferable to venturing out again, but Liam’s arrival had galvanised her, spurred her on. Besides, it had been impossible to relax when she felt so deeply unsettled by Ross’s attack. How could they sit and have a relaxing swordfish supper when Ross was in a coma, and they were no nearer to finding out why Julian had died?
In stark contrast to Rachel’s suite, Ross’s room was cramped and dingy, with cigarette burns on the furniture and a grille over the window, but it wasn’t as bad as the lobby’s sticky carpets had suggested. Ross had certainly kept it neat and tidy – his army training, Rachel assumed – with his shirts neatly folded in drawers and his shoes at right angles to the bed.
Rachel crossed to the desk. Pens laid neatly on the top, a can of Coke, and a newspaper, also folded. No sign of his notebook – presumably he’d had it on him when he was mugged that night. There was also a small room safe, not big enough for anything larger than a Kindle or a wallet. Rachel gazed hopelessly around the room.
‘There’s nothing. No laptop. No notebooks. Nothing,’ she said with frustration.
‘Maybe he had it all on him when he was mugged,’ suggested Liam, handing her a can of cola.
‘Maybe. Diana called from New York. Left me a message. She’d just met with Simon Michaels, CEO of Denver Chemicals, who said that Julian wanted to sell the division.’
‘Had he found a buyer?’
‘I don’t know. You worked in a fancy law firm. What’s the going rate for a pharmaceuticals company these days?’
Liam scratched his head. ‘It depends how big it is. I’ve hardly been keeping up to speed, but I do know there’s been some pretty major acquisitions in the last few years. A small boutique firm could sell for a billion dollars or more depending on whether it had anything interesting in the R and D pipeline. One of the bigger players? Their valuation could be over fifty, sixty billion.’
‘It’s a lot of money. And of course a company is worth a whole lot more if it’s got a potential blockbuster diet drug on its hands.’
‘But it’s not just about selling off the division,’ said Liam.
‘What do you mean?’ frowned Rachel.
‘Denver Chemicals is only one part of the company. I’m not that familiar with the corporate structure of the Denver Group, but it’s a publicly traded company. A high-profile failure in one of the divisions can make the City lose confidence in a company in a second.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘It only takes a little wobble to send share prices spiralling downward.’
‘So none of the Denver Group shareholders are going to be happy to see Rheladrex fail?’
‘Absolutely.’
Her train of thought was disrupted by the hotel owner, who was scratching his stomach and rattling a bunch of keys.
‘You finished up here?’
Rachel nodded and took one last look at the scene, then went outside to the car, where Yohan was waiting for them.
‘Yohan, the Sydon Medical Clinic.’
‘Yeah, man. I know it. But it closed down now.’
‘Can we see it, please?’
‘Rach, it’s late,’ protested Liam.
Yohan seemed in agreement. ‘It’s not in a good part of town, Miss Rachel.’
‘Yohan, please. It’s important.’
He turned the car around, and she could see his reluctance in his dark eyes in the rear-view mirror.
They headed a few miles out of the city, following an old pick-up truck with a Rastafarian band playing music from its open-top boot. After a while the truck turned off and they were left alone. The houses had thinned out and the tropical foliage grew thicker, and all they could hear was the sound of exotic birds and the wind rustling through the palm fronds. The road became dusty, more of a track. There were burning oil drums on the grassy verges.
Eventually they arrived at a near-derelict building less than half a mile from the hotel. It had been name-checked in Megan Hill’s report about Rheladrex clinical trials, although looking at it now it was hard to believe that any sort of research had been carried out there.
‘Look at this place,’ said Rachel, astonished.
‘I’m not sure these are places for collecting scientific data as we know it. It’s a numbers game. Get people to sign up, test the drug,’ said Liam.
‘Yohan, park up here.’
‘Miss Rachel, it’s not a good idea.’
There was a lone street light outside the clinic that cast a silvery phosphorous glow over the building.
Without listening to Yohan, Rachel got out of the car. Liam followed her.
‘There’s no one here. There’s not been anyone here for months by the looks of it,’ he pointed out.
She went to a door and tried to push it open but it was locked up with an old iron padlock.
‘Shit,’ she hissed, pulling out a packet of cigarettes from the bag that was slung across her body. She went to light one, but Liam took it out of her mouth.
‘We’re going back to the hotel.’ His mouth was set in a determined line and he didn’t look as if he was going to take no for an answer.
‘There’s got to be someone around here who knows something.’
‘Rachel, get back in the car. We can’t be wandering around places like this at night, with or without Yohan. What’s it going to solve?’
‘Something is wrong, Liam. Julian didn’t kill himself because he was distraught over Madison. This is linked to Rheladrex, I know it.’
‘Why? What proof have you got? None,’ he said fiercely.
The clinic was on the side of a hill, and they had a view across Montego Bay. Hurricane season was starting, and there were distant storm clouds on the horizon – pitch-black thumbprints against midnight blue.
‘I’m going to find out the truth,’ Rachel said with determination.
‘I know you will. But I don’t think you’re going to find it in Jamaica.’
She knew he was right. Montego Bay was nothing but a dead end, an abandoned clinic and an old friend in a hospital bed.
‘We should go back to London. Ross’s ex-wife is here. Diana is covering the medical fees. You can’t do anything more.’
‘You’re coming to London?’
‘Well I’ve not come halfway around the world for a can of Red Stripe.’ He smiled softly. ‘A week. I’ll stay a week. The Rachel Miller I know will find what she’s looking for in a week, and if she does, then she’s coming home with me.’
He put his arm across her shoulder. She wanted to nestle into his warmth, wanted him to take her home. But Yohan sounded the horn. It was dark, it was late. It was time to get back to Round Hill. What a shame her sister had booked them into separate rooms.
35
When her eyelids fluttered open, Diana had no idea where she was.
She was naked, lying on her side in a bed that felt firmer than usual, although the sheets were just as crisp as those in the Somerfold master suite. And then she saw him: a firm, muscular back, broader than her husband’s. More tanned, the hair fringing the top of his neck longer than Julian ever wore his. Memories of last night came flooding back. She knew that what had happened on that rooftop, in this bedroom, was wrong on every level, but lying here in this strange bed, in a city she knew but was not h
er own, felt like an out-of-body experience she would remember for the rest of her life.
Adam was asleep, his breathing still heavy and deep. She reached out and touched him to check that he was real, stroking a mole on his back with her fingertip and drawing an imaginary line to another one between his shoulder blades. Light began to flood through the French door that led on to the roof terrace, a door that Diana was convinced they didn’t lock last night. She supposed that was quite a reckless thing to do in a wealthy street in New York, and yet there had been no break-in. Reckless things didn’t always have negative consequences, she reminded herself as she watched Adam stir, twitching at first, then moving on to his back, his eyes fluttering open.
Her heart thumped with anticipation. That he was still here was already a bonus, she told herself. Not that he had anywhere else to go – after all, this was his bedroom, his home.
He stared at the ceiling for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke.
‘Have you got jet lag?’ he asked, his voice husky with sleep.
‘I’ve got something,’ she smiled, acknowledging that her blood felt like jelly.
‘That will be the famous martini hangover,’ he said, sliding one hand behind his head. He still didn’t turn to look at her, but his arm rested against hers and he didn’t attempt to move it. She knew how easy it would be to hook her leg over his, how easy it would be to initiate sex again, but she daren’t, as much as she wanted to feel intimate and close to him once more.
For a moment everything felt suspended in time, and part of her wished they could stay like this for ever. Then he flung back the duvet and swung his legs out of bed, and her heart felt as if it might shatter into a million pieces. She watched him, beautiful from the back, tall, muscular and yet compact, like a Greek statue.
He grabbed his shirt and boxer shorts that had been discarded in last night’s encounter and put them on, which heightened her disappointment even more. She doubted that Adam was normally the sort to put on clothes from the night before. Nor was he the modest type, so she could only assume that he didn’t want her to see him naked.
Deep Blue Sea Page 28
