Deep Blue Sea

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘Is she supposed to be here?’ said Sylvia, throwing the keys to the Range Rover into the pot by the Aga.

  ‘I invited her to move up here.’

  ‘And she turned you down?’

  ‘It seems so,’ said Diana, ignoring her mother’s very deliberate tsk sound.

  ‘She has a friend staying with her,’ said Mrs Bills, who had been waiting for her moment to interrupt the conversation. ‘I don’t think she wanted to intrude.’

  ‘Which friend?’ asked Sylvia briskly. ‘Is this the diving boy you said was coming over?’

  ‘He’s called Liam and he’s her business partner,’ replied Diana patiently.

  ‘And he’s very handsome,’ said Mrs Bills, looking unusually hot under the collar. ‘I took some sandwiches down there and he was getting changed. Broad shoulders, swimmer’s physique,’ she added, trying to make her interest in him appear suddenly anatomical.

  ‘Why don’t we go down and see them?’ said Sylvia.

  ‘That depends if you’re in a hostile mood or not.’

  Her mother started to stutter some platitudes, but Diana wasn’t listening. She was too busy looking around the kitchen, glancing into the rooms beyond it. She didn’t like to admit to herself what she was hoping to see – a huge bouquet of flowers from Adam. A welcome home. A declaration . . .

  Of course there was nothing. Just a slightly wilting arrangement of peonies she recognised from before she went to New York. She tried to mask her disappointment. She’d had Adam down as a flower person, but then again, these were different, difficult circumstances.

  ‘So he’s not her boyfriend, then?’

  Sylvia and Diana were sheltering under a golfing umbrella as they walked to the Lake House.

  ‘Just friends, apparently.’

  ‘Aren’t they always?’ said Sylvia with undisguised disapproval.

  ‘Mum, I told you. We’ve all got to make an effort with each other.’

  ‘I still don’t understand why she is here. I mean, I am glad she has finally paid her respects to Julian, and she does seem genuinely upset about what has happened, but why has she been to America, to Jamaica . . . It’s almost as if she wants to go on holiday at your expense.’

  ‘Rachel is only doing things I have asked her to. She’s being supportive.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Sylvia, sounding unconvinced, as they reached the door of the Lake House.

  ‘Just spend a bit of time with her, Mum. And then make your mind up.’

  Rachel hadn’t seen them approach, and for a moment Diana stood outside the window, watching her sister and her friend. They were playing some sort of board game at the table at the window overlooking the lake. They were both laughing, and she could tell by the way they looked at each other that there was a special connection between them.

  Sylvia knocked, and Rachel turned with a look of surprise and then anxious pleasure.

  ‘This is Liam, everyone. Liam, you’ve met Diana before, and this is my mum.’

  ‘You have a tattoo,’ exclaimed Sylvia.

  ‘Me?’ asked Rachel, glancing quickly at Liam.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Sylvia, looking as if she had never seen one before.

  Rachel stroked the tiny dolphin that was peeking round her T-shirt.

  ‘It was a present to myself when I started free-diving.’

  ‘She’s really good,’ added Liam, taking the umbrella off Sylvia and standing it up in the corner. ‘Got one of the best teachers in South East Asia, who reckons she should compete internationally.’

  Sylvia smiled politely, and Diana felt the frostiness around the room.

  ‘So who fancies some lunch?’ said Rachel quickly.

  Diana put her hand in the air. ‘I can send Mrs Bills down with something.’

  ‘No, she’s already brought us a sandwich once this morning.’

  ‘We do have people to do these things,’ said Sylvia quietly.

  Liam put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I can go to the shops. Sylvia, do you fancy joining me?’

  His smile was so impossible to resist that Diana half wished he had invited her to go with him instead.

  ‘So how was Jamaica?’ she asked when Liam and Sylvia had left.

  Rachel described the abandoned clinic, Ross’s injuries, Detective Henry’s hunch that he had been beaten up more than the average. It didn’t seem to add up to much.

  ‘Tell me about New York,’ she said when she had finished.

  Diana could feel her cheeks flushing. She got up and stood by the open window, hoping that the breeze might cool her down and disguise her embarrassment. She was desperate to tell her sister what had happened. Rachel might not be able to sort out her own love life, but she had always been a sage counsel on other people’s dilemmas.

  Diana had slept with Adam, but more than that, she had feelings for him. Was that so terribly wrong, or was it a sign that she could stop living in the past, a sign that she could love again and have a future without Julian in it?

  Cowardice stopped her from speaking her thoughts out loud. Instead she described the meeting with Simon Michaels.

  ‘I got the sense that Michaels wasn’t that happy about the company being sold,’ she concluded.

  ‘So he had a beef with Julian?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘And what did Adam think?’

  Even the mention of his name made her heart thud harder.

  ‘He didn’t really say. I think he felt it was all a bit of a wild goose chase.’

  ‘Perhaps I should phone him,’ said Rachel.

  Diana felt territorial at her sister’s suggestion. ‘No, I’ll call him,’ she replied, knowing that it might be a good excuse to speak to him again. ‘But maybe he has a point.’

  ‘So you think we’re on a wild goose chase?’ said Rachel, looking hurt.

  ‘I know how hard you’re working on this,’ Diana said kindly. ‘But what I don’t understand is that if Julian was trying to build up some sort of case about Rheladrex, whether it was for or against, with or without Madison Kopek, then where is all the stuff about it? He was organised. He would have collected files and papers. He wouldn’t think about nixing the pharm division’s pet project without any sort of thought process behind it.’ Julian’s laptop had been returned by the police, and she knew that Rachel had already been through its files and found nothing relating to Rheladrex.

  Rachel was the type to always have a ready answer for everything, but right now she looked flummoxed.

  Outside, there was the grumble of the hire car returning, and Liam and Sylvia came in, each holding a bag from the village stores. They were laughing over some shared joke and went straight into the kitchen, where Diana could hear him teaching her mother how to make a Thai soup called tom ka kai.

  ‘I think Liam’s a hit,’ she grinned.

  ‘Liam’s always a hit with the ladies,’ replied her sister with a bittersweet smile.

  It was quite a makeshift meal. No place mats, no matching cutlery, none of the other accoutrements Diana was used to when she hosted a lunch or simple supper. But it was quite delicious, even though the village stores had apparently never even heard of lemongrass let alone stocked it, forcing Liam to improvise with a bottle of Jif and a garlic bulb.

  Although it was drizzling, Rachel pulled the double door all the way back, and it was soothing to watch the rain bounce off the surface of the lake.

  Liam asked Sylvia all sorts of questions about the girls. Sylvia was a woman who loved attention, and she was only too happy to talk. Their early Sheffield upbringing was whitewashed from history. Instead, she recalled an idyllic Devon childhood that Diana hardly recognised: Sylvia coping admirably as the loving single mum, summers spent looking for clams and scrambling over rocks lik
e some scene out of an Enid Blyton book. In return, Sylvia lightly quizzed Liam on his own background. Diana recognised the school he had been to as a top-flight day school that she had considered for Charlie before Julian had insisted he go to Harrow.

  Sylvia announced that she was fairly certain she had met Liam’s mother at a charity event for the English National Ballet, which Liam reluctantly admitted was quite possible.

  He seemed so different from other boyfriends Rachel had brought home. Boys with vague ambitions to be rock stars or poets, even the ones who seemed to be well into middle-age. Diana was relieved to see her mother thaw. She had always felt very mixed emotions about how unequivocally Sylvia had taken her side after the Sunday Post scandal. But she had been right when she had said that Sylvia just needed to spend some quality time with her daughter. To remember all the wonderful things about Rachel, not just the incident involving her newspaper.

  ‘So, Rachel, Liam tells me you’re thinking of opening a hotel together. I think it’s a marvellous idea,’ said Sylvia, finishing off her generous glass of Chablis.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Rachel said vaguely.

  ‘I’ve never been to Thailand,’ Sylvia continued pointedly.

  ‘You should come,’ encouraged Liam. ‘January is perfect weather. We can go to Ao Nang Park, and it’s never too late to start scuba diving.’

  Sylvia laughed coyly. ‘What do you think, Rachel?’ she asked, turning to her daughter.

  ‘I think we should get your flights booked before you change your mind,’ agreed Rachel.

  It was impossible for Diana not to feel warm and fuzzy about what was going on before her. She had no idea if Sylvia would have softened to this extent without Liam’s presence, but he had certainly helped. This man was good for her sister. Rachel had never been lucky in the romance department, never been a flirt. Diana remembered Paul Jones, a good-looking fifth-former in the school they had both attended. Rachel had known him from the swimming team and had started talking about him with increasing regularity, telling Diana and her friend how she had challenged him to a fifty-metre butterfly race, offered to train with him before school. Diana had liked him too. Most of the girls at their school did. But she had realised that men didn’t want a rival, a mate – they wanted a cheerleader. So she had gone to watch school football matches, cheered him on in the swimming team. She had felt guilty when Paul Jones had finally asked her out, trying but failing to convince herself that Rachel didn’t like him anyway. Not like that.

  Her sister deserved to be lucky now. She deserved a friend, not a rival.

  ‘You two should go into London. Have a night out rather than sit here day in, day out. There’s a new restaurant that’s just opened in Covent Garden. Sister restaurant to Casper’s in New York.’

  ‘I read about that on the plane. Hottest table in London. Which means impossible to get into.’

  ‘I’m sure I could call reservations for you . . .’

  ‘Would you?’ asked Liam, looking hopeful.

  ‘Of course. I’m sure there’s a Denver hotel you could stay in as well, if you really wanted to make a night of it.’

  Rachel flashed her a panicked expression, and she knew immediately that it had been a suggestion too far.

  ‘We should go,’ said Diana finally. ‘I’m exhausted.’

  ‘Forget you’re on New York time,’ smiled Liam.

  She wanted to tell him that it was impossible not to think about New York, but instead she just got up to thank him for lunch.

  On the way back to the house, Sylvia linked her arm through her daughter’s.

  ‘That was nice,’ she said contentedly.

  ‘Go back and tell her,’ replied Diana.

  ‘She knows,’ said Sylvia quietly. ‘It was a lovely lunch. Everyone could tell that.’

  Diana nodded. She had a feeling that they had turned a corner. That life might just be beginning to get better.

  38

  Rachel wasn’t sure if the tight cobalt-blue Roland Mouret dress that Diana had lent her was the right thing to wear to meet the investigating officer in charge of Julian’s case, but she didn’t really have much choice. On her sister it was respectably knee-length, but when you were five foot ten it hovered mid-thigh, making her feel like a seventies game-show hostess.

  She glanced up and saw Detective Inspector Mark Graham coming out of the station.

  ‘Inspector!’ she panted. ‘Can I have a word?’

  He turned around and for a moment looked her up and down as if he was pleasantly surprised by the sight before him. Rachel couldn’t help smiling. As a student, she would have practically punched a man if he’d wolf-whistled at her in the street.

  ‘Sorry, hi,’ she gasped. ‘I’m Rachel Miller, Julian Denver’s sister-in-law. Julian Denver – the suicide victim. Big house. Near Holland Park tube.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he said, frowning.

  ‘I think Diana – his wife – I think she mentioned that I wanted to speak to you.’

  ‘She mentioned it,’ confirmed the inspector, moving away from her. ‘But I’m just leaving for the day. If you’d like to make an appointment, I’m sure—’

  Rachel ran ahead of him to block his path.

  ‘With respect, Inspector, I tried that. You’ve been avoiding my calls.’

  ‘Avoiding your calls?’ he asked with an amused arch of his brow.

  ‘I’ve phoned three times and you haven’t got back to me. Please,’ she said, trying to bat her eyelashes.

  ‘Are you okay? Do you have something in your eye?’ he said, offering her a tissue from his pocket.

  ‘Look, do you have five minutes? I just need to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘Back to the day job, is it?’ he asked, motioning back to the station.

  He found them a small room and left her in it while he went to fetch two plastic cups of coffee.

  ‘Day job? How do you know I used to be a journalist?’ she asked when he sat down.

  ‘Because I’m a police officer looking into the death of a high-profile industrialist, Miss Miller. It pays to know who you’re investigating.’

  ‘So I’m a suspect now?’

  ‘You sound a little paranoid, or is the caffeine fix making you jumpy?’

  ‘Or perhaps you don’t like me because of my former career.’

  Mark Graham started to laugh. ‘Your type have caused the Met a great deal of trouble over the last few years, you know that.’

  ‘It takes two to tango and all,’ she said, remembering the brown envelopes of cash she had paid to bent coppers in the past. ‘So. We both know that inquests can be shy of reporting a suicide verdict, but what do you think?’

  ‘You don’t waste any time, do you?’

  ‘I live in Thailand now. I have an apartment with a sea view and I want to get back there,’ she said, almost convincing herself that this was true.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t a kinky sex thing and we haven’t referred it to the Murder Investigation team, so there’s your answer,’ he said, sipping his coffee.

  His words reminded her of Megan Hill and an observation she had made in Washington: Three people are dead: Madison, her brother and Julian Denver. And they all have a connection to Rheladrex.

  ‘So it wasn’t foul play?’ She had to ask the question, otherwise what had she sent Ross to Jamaica for?

  Mark Graham took her remark seriously.

  ‘Julian Denver was an extremely wealthy man, one with lots of enemies if you believe the rumours, and that makes us consider all options. But as far as we’re concerned, cause of death was ligature strangulation. No third-party involvement. Not unless the investigative journalist in the family thinks there’s something else here?’

  ‘It’s driving Diana crazy . . .’

  Graham began to nod, as
if he was beginning to understand her motives for being here.

  ‘What is it, Miss Miller? What’s your involvement here? Life insurance policy won’t pay out if it’s suicide?’

  Rachel shook her head vigorously. ‘It’s nothing to do with money,’ she said tartly. ‘My sister is grieving. It’s hit her pretty hard, I think, and all this uncertainty doesn’t help.’

  The policeman raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that a criticism of our investigation?’

  ‘Just an observation.’

  Graham stirred his coffee and put down his spoon.

  ‘So is that all?’

  ‘Just humour me and answer a few questions.’

  He had a doubtful expression on his face.

  ‘Why was Julian on his knees? Diana told me she found him on his knees.’

  ‘It was a short-drop hanging.’

  ‘Short drop?’

  ‘The victim dies by cutting off the oxygen supply to the brain. All it needs is sufficient pressure on the neck.’

  ‘And you’re sure he did it himself? Someone couldn’t have broken into the house and killed him? Can a murder be dressed up as suicide?’ She could feel her mouth running away with her.

  He gave her a doubtful look.

  ‘Well, can it?’ she pressed.

  He picked up his spoon and began playing with the foam at the bottom of his cup.

  ‘I know it’s hard, Rachel. People don’t want to think that someone they love would do something like this. But there’s nothing to make me think anything other than that Julian took his own life. A locked house, no sign of entry, forced or otherwise, complete surveillance coverage – yes, we’ve been through it – and no one unusual in or out of the house. In theory, of course, someone could dress a murder up as a suicide, but it would be very, very difficult. I’ve seen it happen once in my career, and that was a professional hit, although we could never formally confirm that. In this instance, the only other person in the house was your sister, but unless she forced him into the noose, which I don’t buy, then yes, we’re looking at a suicide.’