‘It’s bloody freezing.’
‘It’s pretty good, isn’t it?’ grinned Adam, his face bobbing in front of her.
‘Why didn’t I do this weeks ago?’ Rachel laughed.
‘Ah well, sometimes you need a partner in crime.’
Rachel pulled herself deeper with strong strokes of her arms. She loved the tingling sensation of the cool water on her skin, and that incomparable feeling of freedom. She swam out towards the middle of the lake, going deeper still until she touched the bottom, maybe five metres down. Serge would scoff at this, she thought. She counted to ten, then kicked for the surface.
‘Where have you been?’ said Adam when she reached him. ‘I was worried.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘Don’t worry, I’m a very accomplished free-diver.’
‘Wow, you free-dive?’
‘I could show you a few moves.’
Adam slapped his hand against the water, sending a shower into Rachel’s face.
‘Hey!’ she giggled, flipping water back at him.
‘Don’t take me on, Rachel Miller,’ laughed Adam. ‘I’m the king of water fights.’
Suddenly they were in a frenzy of slapping and splashing, both of them laughing and shouting.
‘Okay, okay,’ coughed Adam finally, holding up his hands. ‘I surrender, you win.’
They swam to the edge of the lake, clambering out under a willow, slipping on the mud and the moss-covered rocks and sitting down heavily on the bank.
After a minute, shivering, they ran back to the house.
‘That was fun,’ said Rachel. ‘Thanks.’ She went into the bedroom, retrieved two towels and threw him one.
‘Sounds like you haven’t been getting much fun out here.’
She tipped her head to one side, to let the water drain out. ‘No, not a lot.’
‘Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Why don’t we keep going? I’ve got the car here, it’s a lovely evening; let’s go and find some more fun.’
‘Adam, no. I’ve got things to do.’
She didn’t recognise her own voice. She was usually the first one to suggest a spontaneous night out, and yet here she was saying no to the one man who had always intrigued her.
‘Nothing that won’t wait a few hours, surely?’
She looked out across the lake, lazy sunlight twinkling off the surface, insects zooming and diving through the haze. It was a nice evening, she thought. And it was stuffy in the Lake House. And if she had to look at any more CCTV footage, she thought she might scream.
‘All right,’ she said, standing up, suddenly feeling bold. ‘I’m in your hands, Adam Denver.’ She paused, letting the words hang in the air. I can flirt too, you know, she told herself. ‘But I’d better get changed first, otherwise I’ll leave a puddle on your leather seats.’
‘I don’t mind,’ he said, squinting up at her. Rachel could feel his gaze on her body, her soaked T-shirt clinging to every curve. Well, let him look, she thought.
He stepped over to her – was he going to make a move? Lean in for a kiss? Instead, he plucked a leaf from her hair.
‘Are you going to keep those on?’ said Rachel, staring at his wet boxer shorts.
‘That’s what all the girls say,’ he teased.
‘I mean, I can go and see if Liam’s left anything . . .’ she stuttered.
‘Another man’s pants?’ He smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure I can go without for one evening.’
All Rachel could do was blush furiously.
54
Diana stepped away from the window, wrapping her arms around herself. It was a warm evening, but she still felt cold. From the Peacock Suite she had a good view of the lake and the road leading away from Somerfold; she could still see the back of Adam’s Aston Martin disappearing around the last curve. She tried to take a deep breath, but it was ragged, shaky. She had seen him. She had seen them. Together. Adam and Rachel. Together. She had seen them swimming in the lake, she had seen them run out of the water half dressed, she had seen them disappear into the house for almost ten minutes and then leave for who knows where. Suddenly the spell seemed to break. Diana’s hand flew to her mouth and she bolted for the toilet, bending over the bowl, heaving up her meagre lunch.
How could he? How could she? Rachel was her sister, for God’s sake. And to think she’d bought all that crap about how Julian had forced himself on her when clearly her instincts had been right first time – Rachel had led him on in Tuscany, her jealousy pushing her to grasp at the one thing that made Diana happy. And now she was doing it again, trying to take Adam away from her.
She grabbed a fistful of toilet roll and wiped her mouth.
What a mess, she thought, remembering that she had woken up that morning feeling unusually positive. She had spent the previous day in her bedroom with the curtains closed, crying on and off, unable to deal with the horrific possibility that she was carrying Adam Denver’s child. Was it God’s vengeance on her for her moral slip? Was Julian punishing her from beyond the grave for failing to provide him with a baby of his own? Or was it just all a terrible, terrible mistake she’d have to live with? Mrs Bills had tried to coax her out, but she had complained of a migraine and hadn’t touched the food that had been left outside the door on a tray.
But this morning, with the sunlight pushing through the curtains, Diana had felt the dark cloud lift. Was it really so bad? She had a new life inside of her, someone to love and cherish, someone else to care for. And just because it hadn’t been planned didn’t mean that the child would not be welcomed. Adam would have remembered they had been so drunk, so reckless in New York that they had not used a condom. He would guess that the child might be his. He wanted a child, a family. He had told her so himself that day in Dorset. And although he had been cold and uninterested in her since New York – she felt sure that he was as confused as she was – perhaps a baby was what he needed to make him confront his feelings. To the outside world it would look as if the baby was Julian’s last gift to her, a miracle life springing from the ashes, while Adam could play the part of the caring uncle until the time arrived to come clean to their family and friends about their relationship. In many ways it had panned out perfectly.
There was only one person in the world she wanted to share her thought process with, and that was Rachel. Rachel, who had been so strong and wise when she had found out that she was pregnant with Charlie. Rachel, with her slightly skewed moral compass, who would not judge her for having sex with Adam Denver. So Diana had set out down towards the lake. She suspected that Rachel might be feeling lonely now that Liam had gone back to Thailand, so she had brought along a bottle of fizzy raspberry lemonade; not quite the bottle of rosé they used to share in the old days when they could giggle over boys, but it would be nice to sit drinking it with the windows open all the same.
She heard the splashing and laughter before she saw them; along the path, a line of trees blocked the view of the lake’s edge, but immediately she sensed she wasn’t going to like what was waiting down there. Careful not to be seen, she crept forward, ducking so that she could see between gaps in the branches. Her heart lurched as she saw Adam, that familiar bare chest, those same muscles that had strained and twisted above her. He waded to the edge of the lake, naked save for a pair of dripping, clinging boxers. And then Rachel walked into view, squeezing the water from her hair, also practically undressed. It was as if Diana were watching it on television, but she couldn’t turn it off, could not tear her eyes away as Adam splashed over to her sister, his hand reaching for Rachel just as he had done to her that night in New York.
That was when she ran, sprinting up the path towards the house, desperate to get as far away from both of them as she could. As she passed a clump of trees, she startled a group of birds – crows, starlings, she didn’t have time to see which as th
ey exploded into the sky, their wings dark, their cries menacing. She threw an arm up to protect herself, tears rolling down her face now, her only thought to get to the safety of the house. She burst inside, pushing past Mrs Bills on the stairs, and closed her bedroom door behind her, falling on to the bed, her mind full of questions.
How long had it been going on? Why hadn’t she seen it before? Was this the first time, or had it been happening under her nose for weeks? Had he fucked her before their own night together in New York? Was this just a game of conquest for Adam – just like his brother? And what did it mean for the baby? Her fantasies of handsome, caring Uncle Adam bouncing his secret child on his knee, then sneaking into Diana’s bed at night, had all dissolved the moment she had seen him reach for Rachel. Or was it all her sister? Was this revenge? Spite? Did Rachel secretly hate her? Was her investigation just an elaborate way to ingratiate herself with Adam and prove that she’d been right about Julian all along?
‘Come on, breathe,’ Diana whispered to herself, slowly clawing back some control. She sat up and rubbed her face. Don’t let them win, she told herself fiercely. She walked over to the window, looking down towards the Lake House. Were they lying together right now? But to her surprise, she saw Adam’s car appear, climbing up from the lake and out along Somerfold’s drive to the main road. It was then she had run for the toilet.
What now? she wondered, walking unsteadily from the bathroom. What could she do? Tell Adam about the baby, force him into taking responsibility? Clearly it wasn’t something he wanted – he’d already moved on. ‘To my bloody sister!’ she hissed out loud.
She snatched up her phone from the bedside table. She wanted – no, needed – to talk it through with someone. But who was there she could call? She didn’t really have friends like that. There was Patty Reynolds, but she had also been Julian’s friend – how would she react to the news that Diana was pregnant with Adam’s child? Unable to settle, Diana paced the room. God, what a mess, what am I going to do?
She was just about to throw down her phone when it buzzed in her hand. She looked down: an email. It was from Simon Michaels in New York.
She read it carefully. It had been sent to both Diana and Adam, saying that Michaels had asked around the appropriate departments but no one had heard of Billy or Maddison Kopek. Something struck her as odd about it, so she read it again. When she scrolled down to the bottom of the message, she saw that Simon was replying to an email that Adam had sent him asking about Maddison Kopek. She remembered asking him to send that email. They had been standing on the sidewalk in New York before their night of passion.
She read it again. Maddison Kopek. That was what was strange. Maddison spelt with two Ds, which was very unusual. Everything from Madison Avenue to the American girl’s name was usually spelt with one.
It jogged something in her memory. Rome. That was it. Julian’s report on Rheladrex that had taken them to see Dr Adriana Russi. She had a copy of the report in her case, she was sure of it. Rachel had given it to her to read before they had flown out there.
The case was in the storage room on the top floor. She went upstairs, noticing the bags of Julian’s clothes she had stuffed in here in a fit of anger, and retrieved the report, leaning against the wall as she read it. There it was. Maddison Kopek, with a phone number written next to it. The flowery, girly writing suggested it had been written by the young woman herself.
Her mind was a swirl of thoughts. Adam had referred to Madison as Maddison in his email. Was it a slip of the hand, an incorrect spelling, or had he seen a copy of this report?
Bile rose in her throat.
Adam, say you’re not involved in any of this.
Her next thought was Rachel. She was in the car with him. Who knew where they were going? She felt a sudden shiver of fear for her sister and knew she had to contact her. Why? To warn her? She didn’t care if Rachel thought she was checking up on her, she just had to tell her what she knew. She had a horrible sinking feeling about it.
Her phone was still in the Peacock Suite. She ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Almost as if she was moving in slow motion, Diana saw her toe miss the edge of the step, her ankle turning over, her arms pinwheeling. She knew what was about to happen, but was powerless to stop it, as her weight pitched her forward, her body momentarily seeming to pause in the air. And then she was falling, down, down, and the hard wooden floor was rushing up to meet her.
55
Rachel arched her back and let her hair fly back in the breeze. She had changed into a cotton dress, but she hadn’t had time to dry her hair. This was much nicer anyway, letting the warm air do its work. She loved convertible cars, she decided, watching the countryside go by in shades of green, the long shadows of late afternoon stretching across the fields, cutting across the roads. She reflected how almost everywhere looked good in the summertime, but that the rolling hills of Oxfordshire looked better than most places she had ever been – even the paradise islands of the South China Sea.
‘Why are we going to Oxford?’ she asked, shouting over the noise of the engine.
Adam tapped the side of his nose. ‘Ask me no questions . . .’ he said with an enigmatic smile.
‘Come on, I hate surprises!’ said Rachel, but Adam just shook his head.
They parked on the far side of the Cherwell, crossing the old stone bridge with the wooden punts gathered beneath. As the dreaming sandstone spires of Magdalen College rose up next to them, Rachel couldn’t believe she had once dismissed these ancient, student strongholds as stuffy and old-fashioned.
‘It’s amazing here,’ she said. ‘Like a medieval town. No wonder it still has such magic.’
‘Actually, I used to hate Oxford,’ said Adam. ‘I mean, hate it with a passion.’
‘Really? But it’s beautiful here, how could you hate it?’
He waved a hand along the high street. ‘Take your pick. All the students with their look-at-me scarves weaving about on their stupid bikes, all the crumbly old buildings, the crowds of Japanese tourists wanting to snap every inch of the place. I wanted to bulldoze the lot.’
Rachel laughed. ‘What’s your problem with it?’
‘Oh, it’s embarrassingly shallow,’ said Adam. ‘Because Julian and Elizabeth were offered places here. It was clear from a pretty early age that that was never going to be my educational trajectory. “Good at sport”, that was the euphemism they used to describe thickies like me at school.’
Rachel wondered for a moment if Diana had ever felt the same way about her. She had always been the one to do well at exams – it had actually rather irritated her that so little was expected of Diana, but perhaps she had felt stupid by comparison.
‘It’s funny, you don’t strike me as the sort of person who would be affected by your siblings’ success. You always come across as confident in your own skin.’
He glanced at her. ‘We all have our crosses to bear, don’t we? Now you, I bet you went to Cambridge.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, you obviously don’t know this town, but you still have that Oxbridge thing, that inner confidence they all seem to come out glowing with.’
‘I can see you haven’t quite lost your dislike of the place,’ laughed Rachel. ‘Anyway, I didn’t go to Cambridge. I was offered a place actually, but I turned it down.’
Adam laughed. ‘I never believe people who say they turned down Oxbridge. It’s a bit like “I could have been the lead singer in U2, but I left the band to concentrate on gardening.”’
Rachel giggled. ‘Well I did, but my heart was set on London – that was where everything seemed to be happening. Not that I could really afford to study anywhere.’ She stopped short of saying ‘not like some people who have everything laid out for them by their rich parents’; she couldn’t really blame Adam for the accident of having bee
n born a Denver. ‘I got a job in the Green Room restaurant in Soho to pay the rent. Actually, that’s how I got into journalism.’
‘How come?’
She pulled a face. Nowadays she wasn’t exactly proud of her behaviour. The restaurant on Dean Street had been at the centre of the mid-nineties Cool Britannia surge, its tables and bars buzzing with celebrities and hedonists, and she had paid attention: who was snogging who, who was popping off to the toilets every five minutes, who had spent a year’s wages on vintage champagne and had to be poured into a taxi. A lot of the staff made a few quid on the side ringing it in, tipping off the tabloids, but Rachel had taken it one step further and had actually written up the stories, taken photos on the sly.
‘It’s a long story,’ she said.
‘Ah, well, that’s perfect timing,’ he said, leading her down a side street and out into a wide cobbled square.
‘Bloody hell!’ gasped Rachel. ‘What’s that?’
In front of them was a tall domed building standing right in the centre of the square. That was impressive enough, as were the many arches and pillars covering it, but the most arresting thing about the building was the fact that it was entirely circular.
‘That is the Radcliffe Camera,’ said Adam. ‘It’s actually part of the Bodleian Library, one of the oldest in the world.’
‘It’s like an enormous stone cake,’ said Rachel. ‘And I mean that as a compliment.’
Adam smiled. ‘That’s the Palladian style, actually. The building was started in 1737. There are over half a million books in there and in rooms underneath the square.’
Rachel gave him a sideways look. ‘Are you sure you’re not academic?’
They sat down at a table outside a café to the side of the square and Adam went inside for a jug of Pimm’s. They watched as the last of the light slid across the square and up the yellow walls of All Souls College, and Rachel told the story of her arrival in London and her climb up the rickety ladder of Fleet Street, then Adam told her how he’d ended up as head of the hotel division.
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