Rachel was about to object, say that Diana’s marriage was a love match, but in the circumstances, that would sound a little hollow. Besides, Susie was right: their mother had spent most of Diana’s childhood telling her how she was going to meet a handsome prince who would carry her off to his glittering castle. A-levels weren’t exactly valued in their house either.
She still had a sense that Susie was holding something back. The younger woman’s eyes were shining, as if tears were forming but she was desperately trying to stop them.
‘Susie, you know what I am doing,’ she said more kindly. ‘I’m investigating Julian’s death. You know as well as anyone what sort of man he was. Do you think he was the type to commit suicide?’
‘No one knows what goes on in people’s lives, do they?’
‘If you want to help, now is the time to tell me what you know. Anything. Anything at all. I think he had enemies, I think someone wanted to hurt him.’
A single tear finally glistened down Susan McCormack’s perfectly made-up cheek.
‘Susie, please tell me. You told me about Marjorie Case-Jones. You want to help him, I know you do.’
Susie glanced around as if she were looking for an escape route. ‘I can’t,’ she said quietly, looking out of the window.
‘Yes, you can,’ said Rachel in a softer tone.
Susie perched on the edge of the desk and squeezed the bridge of her nose.
‘Julian wasn’t the first wealthy bloke I went out with, not by a long chalk,’ she said finally. ‘I knew I wanted to meet a rich man and I knew the places to go to find them: Raffles, Chinawhite, Boujis. But I learnt quickly that they might not want the happy-ever-after ending that I did. Most of them were just after a quick fuck with some gullible pretty girl who would open her legs for a champagne cocktail.’
Susie blinked hard and composed herself.
‘One day I met a woman at the bar of some club, I don’t even remember where. She had lovely clothes, expensive jewellery, she was obviously rich and connected. She seemed to take a shine to me and gave me her card, said we should meet for lunch.’
‘You went?’
‘Of course I went. That was what I was there for – to make contacts, to network.’ Susie smiled to herself, as if she was remembering a secret joke. ‘She seemed so keen, I thought maybe she fancied me herself, and part of me didn’t even object to that thought because there was something about her. Something magnetic that made you want to please her.’
‘Who was this woman?’ asked Rachel.
‘As if you didn’t already know.’
‘Elizabeth Denver?’
Susie gave a curt nod. ‘After a couple of weeks of lunches and nights out to these dazzling parties, I think Elizabeth knew everything about me: how old I was, where I was from, what I wanted from my life. That’s when she told me she had a job for me.’
‘She wanted you to seduce her brother,’ said Rachel, filling in the gaps.
‘She said she hated his wife and wanted to break them up. She made it sound like a noble gesture. Painted the wife to be quite the Wicked Witch of the West.’
‘So you went along with it.’
‘Elizabeth said that if I managed to pull it off, she’d give me fifty thousand quid. Fifty thousand quid!’ she repeated, her eyes lighting up. ‘I mean, that was two years’ wages for most people, more where I come from. So Elizabeth got me a ticket for an event Julian was going to and, well, I can’t say he offered much resistance to my charms.’ She smiled. ‘By the end of the night I’d given him a blow job in the back of his Bentley. The next day, he sent me a necklace.’
‘So it was just a job?’ said Rachel, trying her hardest to hide her shock.
‘Of sorts,’ Susie said honestly.
‘Did you know what Elizabeth had planned? Did you know she was going to shop you to the newspapers?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think I really stopped to think how it would all pan out. I’d been given the fifty grand by this point and I was sleeping with Julian. I mean, I might even have done it for free if I’d known how handsome and charming he was going to be.’
‘You liked him?’
‘I did,’ she said quietly. ‘It was hard not to fall a little bit in love with Julian Denver. He was different from all those other men from the nightclubs, you see. He was smart, generous. And he never once talked about his wife, not like some I’d met. They treated you like a whore, made it clear from the start that they were married and this was just sex. Julian wasn’t like that. He made you feel special.’
She puffed out her cheeks and turned to the window as if she were getting emotional once more.
‘We saw each other for about a month. I lied to him – told him I was twenty-one. We had a good time together. Then Elizabeth came to see me and said that the tabloids had got hold of the story.’
‘You didn’t send those photos to the paper, then?’
She shook her head emphatically. ‘No way! I was terrified; I thought my dad would kill me when he saw what I’d been up to.’
‘Surely you realised you might end up in the papers if you started dating rich men like that?’
‘Why?’ said Susie, turning back round. ‘It wasn’t as if I was going after footballers or celebrities. Julian was just a rich businessman. Sure, I knew he was in the newspapers occasionally, but he was hardly Tom Cruise, was he? I was never interested in doing kiss-and-tells – I just wanted a nice life for myself, that’s all.’
‘So what did Elizabeth do?’
‘She encouraged me to co-operate with the paper. She said that the story was going to run, run big, so I might as well go along with them.’
‘How did she know it was going to run big?’
Susie snorted. ‘I heard a rumour she was sleeping with the editor.’
Rachel couldn’t find her breath. ‘She was having an affair with Alistair Hall?’
‘I don’t know about that. But she certainly had him where she wanted him. The story was going to be a splash, so I thought I might as well make a bit of money out of it. But I wasn’t stupid, I knew I had more leverage than that. I told Elizabeth that I could let it slip that she had orchestrated the whole thing.’ She laughed at the memory – as if she had outwitted the great Elizabeth Denver. ‘She had more to lose than I did if the truth came out. So I played hardball, got a few little sweeteners added to the deal.’
‘Sweeteners? What like?’
‘Elizabeth used her connections. I did as I was told, sat tight for twelve months, living off the Post’s money, waiting for everyone to forget my name. Then Elizabeth got me a job with a PR firm in Dublin. I started going by the name of Susan Mack. No one recognised me. No one asked too many questions because I had a powerful mentor. And four years on’ – she waved a hand around her office – ‘here I am, on a six-figure salary, under my own steam. And now I don’t owe anyone anything.’ She looked at Rachel, daring her to say different.
‘Do you still see Elizabeth?’
Susie shook her head. ‘I’d served my purpose; I was a liability as far as she was concerned. And by then, I was glad to get away from her. She scared me, if I’m honest. If she could do that to her own brother, what would she do to me if I dared to cross her?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘But then she called again a couple of weeks ago. To talk about you.’
‘Me?’ Rachel sat forward, her attention focused on the other woman.
‘It was just after Julian’s death had been in the papers. She reminded me that I couldn’t breathe a word about our little arrangement. Made a few veiled threats and said I might get a call from you. She knew what you were doing, that you were asking questions about Julian’s life.’
Rachel frowned. ‘If Elizabeth threatened you, why are you telling me all this now?’
‘Julian was alwa
ys kind to me, and I screwed him over.’
In more ways than one, thought Rachel.
‘That’s why I’m talking to you,’ said Susie. ‘Because I think he deserves justice. Elizabeth is dangerous. She got away with stitching her brother up. I hate to think what else she might be able to get away with.’
47
‘So finally, this is what’s on the menu for Saturday,’ said Dot, perching her glasses on the end of her nose to read from her scrawled notebook.
Diana put down the pile of blue and white gingham tablecloths and sat down to listen. They had been working non-stop all afternoon and she was glad that Dot had suggested a breather.
‘Quiche. Two types. The classic Lorraine and a petit pois, tomato and asparagus.’
‘Petit pois. Get you, going all fancy,’ teased Diana as she sipped a glass of water.
‘We’ve got a leek and potato soup and bread from that supplier you recommended in London.’
‘Poilâne,’ said Diana, almost tasting the delicious sourdough from one of her favourite ever bakeries.
‘Never heard of it, but if you say it’s good then I believe you. Then we’ve got the main event. The cake,’ she said, making a dramatic drum-roll noise. ‘I’m doing a classic sponge but tarting it up with lavender cream and some edible flower petals. I’m calling it the Diana cake – sweet and lovely – and I’m not taking no for an answer.’
‘In which case, I’m honoured.’
‘We’ve got Ron’s date and walnut loaf, plus his flourless chocolate cake, using that chocolate you also recommended.’
‘Valrhona,’ said Diana, thrilled that Dot had taken some of her suggestions on board. She herself was not a chef or a baker – far from it – but she had eaten in enough fancy restaurants, met enough chefs to know that even simple food could be elevated to something special by using the very best ingredients.
‘I’m also doing a batch of his macaroons, in raspberry, pistachio and coconut.’
‘Great – I’ve got just the boxes for those,’ said Diana, holding up a lilac cardboard container which she thought would look lovely wrapped with white satin ribbon.
‘And not forgetting the courgette and ginger cake, of course. Gosh, do you think that’s enough?’
‘Dot, it’s plenty.’
‘But what if it’s too much?’
‘Do stop panicking.’
‘I wish we’d never told anyone we were relaunching the café on the day of the fair. I feel under pressure. I’ve got no extra staff – just Bet, who helps out at the weekend – so if it is busy we’re stuffed and if no one comes it’s just going to be embarrassing.’
‘Charlie finishes school tomorrow, so I’m going to rope him in. And Mrs Bills is a wizard in the kitchen. And if no one does turn up, then we can lock the door and eat a lot of cake.’
Dot grinned, then wiped her forehead with a tea towel. ‘I’m going to finish up in here. It’ll be a long day tomorrow. Whatever was I thinking of, letting you rope me in to all this?’
‘It’s good for you,’ said Diana softly.
‘Good for both of us.’
Diana watched her leave and smiled. Dot had become an unexpected but treasured friend in a very short space of time. Diana had thought she wouldn’t care if the café was a success or not, since it had only started off as a distraction. But now she didn’t want it to fail, didn’t want to let Dot down.
She draped a blue and white cloth over every table and went to fetch a box that had arrived by courier that morning. At Diana’s request, an interior designer friend had sourced two dozen beautiful old medicine bottles at Lots Road antique auction and had them delivered. She filled the bottles half up with water and arranged a small bunch of freesias in each, tying the necks with pieces of distressed string.
Other bits of work had also been done in the last week, to her specification. The wooden floors had been freshly sanded, and the shutters had been fixed and painted the soft sage green that always reminded her of the Ile de Ré. Mr Bills and some friends had brought down an old dresser from Somerfold. The interior of the café was still a long way from where she would ideally like it to be, but for now it was shabby-chic and cosy.
It was almost nine o’clock and the sun was beginning to fade in the sky. She switched all the lights off and lit a row of candles on the dresser. The place looked beautiful, she admitted to herself. She hoped Adam was going to like it as much as she did.
Her tote bag had been stuffed under the counter. She fetched it and pulled out a bottle of champagne, stashing it in the fridge to chill. She felt a little guilty that she had not cracked it open with Dot that evening, but she wanted to share the moment with someone else. With him.
Touching up her make-up in the antique mirror on one wall, she glanced at her watch with a quiver of excitement. He should be here any time, she calculated, working out the distance from London in hours and minutes.
She had no idea what she was going to say to him, and that was half of the strange, nervous excitement she was feeling. For the past few weeks she had felt like a small boat lost at sea. At times, most of the time, she felt as if she was about to capsize and get sucked under the water, but perhaps there was another way to turn. Perhaps the answer was to allow herself to be swept away on a tide of uncertainty, not to constantly fight the tumult of questions and confused emotions that had been running riot in her mind since Julian’s death.
She helped herself to an elderflower cordial and spruced up the little bundles of flowers. He was late now. She looked around the café, wondering if there were any more jobs to be done, but it really did look perfect.
Her mobile phone beeped, registering that a text had arrived.
Still in London. Meetings going on for ever so going to have to give tonight a miss. Sorry for late notice. See you on Saturday. Looking forward to it. Adam
Somewhere in the back of her mind a little voice told her it was for the best, but inside her chest, her heart felt as heavy as a lead anchor. She blew out the tea lights, trying with each puff to blot out her disappointment. It was fine. He was busy. It was a long way to come from London. She would keep the champagne for Dot tomorrow.
48
Postman’s Park had always fascinated Rachel. When she had first arrived in London she had lived in a flat-share in Clerkenwell, and had often strolled there on sunny days to lounge on the grass with a makeshift picnic, enjoying the relative peace of this quiet oasis, the roar of the traffic circling the heart of the City and the jagged remains of Roman Londinium temporarily muffled by the trees and the walls.
She walked over to the sloping shelter against the wall of a block of flats bordering the park to the east. The Memorial To Heroic Self Sacrifice: the thing that made this particular park special and which always sent shivers down Rachel’s spine. Fixed to the wall behind a row of benches was a series of ceramic plaques, each one commemorating the heroism of individuals who had died trying to save other people – the idea being that their sacrifice would never be forgotten. They were poignant, such as ‘Edmund Emery of 272 King’s Road, Chelsea, passenger. Leapt from a Thames steamboat to rescue a child and was drowned, July 31 1874.’ Or they could be strange: ‘Frederick Alfred Croft, Inspector, Aged 31. Saved a lunatic woman from suicide at Woolwich Arsenal Station but was himself run over by the train, Jan 11, 1878.’ But they were always bold and brave.
Rachel had often sat here by the wall, reading about these faceless people’s deeds, wondering if she too would leap into the Thames or dash into a burning building to save the life of, as one plaque put it, ‘a stranger and a foreigner’. She supposed not, but then that would probably have been the answer all these ordinary people would have given before they were faced with a life-or-death situation. You just never knew until it was right there before you, did you?
She heard Elizabeth approach before she
saw her, the sound of her heels clacking against the stone path. She was dressed in a tight black skirt and a sky-blue top, her hair scraped back into a bun: just another businesswoman wandering through the City. But was that all she was? Had Susie McCormack been correct? Was she a killer too? Rachel almost smiled at the irony; she had always sneered at scenes like this in pulp thrillers. If you suspected someone was capable of murder, why would you arrange to meet them in some out-of-the-way place where no one could hear you scream? Postman’s Park was not exactly the middle of nowhere, but this early in the morning it was all but deserted.
‘I hope this isn’t a waste of my time,’ said Elizabeth by way of introduction. ‘You do realise the litigation involving Julian’s will is in the hands of our solicitor? I won’t discuss it with you, Rachel.’
‘It’s not about that,’ said Rachel. ‘Not directly, anyway.’ She indicated a wooden bench and they both sat down.
‘So what is it? I haven’t got all day,’ said Elizabeth, glancing at her watch. ‘What’s so important I have to rearrange my diary?’
‘You had an affair with Alistair Hall.’
Rachel watched Elizabeth’s reaction carefully. There was just the slightest tic in her left eye, a recognition that Rachel’s blow had hit home, but the other woman recovered her composure almost immediately.
‘Is that it?’ she laughed. ‘You dragged me out here to discuss old love affairs?’
I very much doubt love had anything to do with it, thought Rachel.
‘No, Elizabeth,’ she said. ‘I dragged you out here because I wanted to discuss the way you slept with Alistair so you could conspire your way into destroying Julian’s reputation.’
Now that one really did hit home. She could almost see the cogs whirring inside Elizabeth’s head as she tried to work out where Rachel was going with this and, more importantly, how much she knew.
‘Destroy his reputation?’ she scoffed. ‘He did that himself, Rachel, you know that as well as anyone. I didn’t force my brother into bed with that girl; he went of his own accord.’
Deep Blue Sea Page 36
