Deep Blue Sea (5 page)

‘Third-party involvement?’

Anxiety fluttered in Diana’s belly. The police had spent at least an hour interviewing her in Notting Hill. She thought it had been to get the fullest possible picture of the night that Julian had died, but had it actually been done with a different agenda?

Ralph held up a steadying hand. ‘He said that further enquiries should take six to eight weeks, after which they’ll hold the full inquest. Should be around mid-July.’

Mrs Bills came in with a tray, which she put down on the antique console table.

‘So what happens now?’ asked Diana, trying to calm herself.

‘The coroner’s office will collect information, make a date for the hearing. Some of us will have to go to court, unless the coroner thinks that’s not necessary, although I have spoken to my lawyer and it’s likely that you will have to give evidence,’ added Ralph, glancing at Diana.

She looked away, feeling sick. The idea of it, of standing up as a witness to recount the events of that night . . . It was bad enough going over and over it in her own head, but to share it in public, to answer questions about their relationship in front of strangers?

‘I can’t,’ she said quietly.

Ralph looked solemn. ‘I have to say I agree with you. I don’t know what public inquests achieve other than more heartbreak.’

‘The point is to get to the bottom of what’s happened,’ said Elizabeth brusquely. ‘Isn’t that more important than some bruised feelings?’

‘Elizabeth, please. We know what’s happened,’ snapped Ralph, his cheeks reddening slightly.

Diana frowned. ‘You know? What do you mean?’ she asked, catching a look of complicity between father and daughter.

‘Julian’s depression,’ said Elizabeth flatly.

Diana could feel the slow rise of panic. ‘Julian wasn’t depressed,’ she replied.

Ralph met her gaze. He looked crestfallen, deflated. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t obvious at the time, but yes, Julian had depression,’ he said.

‘I think I know my husband.’

Ralph looked across at Sylvia. ‘Could you give me a moment alone with your daughter? Elizabeth, you too.’

Elizabeth looked reluctant, but finally she and Sylvia left the room. Ralph pushed himself up on his walking stick and came over to sit next to Diana.

‘Julian suffered from depression,’ he said softly. ‘Before you.’

Diana didn’t know how to react. It was as if Ralph was talking about someone she didn’t know. She had always felt like an outsider in this family, and even now, even after Julian’s death, she was discovering that she had been locked out of their secrets, this bond they shared. But as she looked into the old man’s pale grey eyes – Julian’s eyes, she realised – a little cloudy from tears, she knew that there was no unkindness in his words.

‘There was a period during his time at Oxford when Julian found it difficult to cope,’ said Ralph. ‘Our doctor put him on antidepressants – only for a short time, but it alerted us to the fact that he was prone to dark spells.’

‘But if he was struggling, I would have noticed,’ said Diana. ‘I mean, he hasn’t been like that since he’s been with me.’

‘That’s true,’ nodded Ralph. ‘I’m no expert on psychiatric illnesses, but I believe the weakness was there.’

It was unbelievable. She could see why the family would keep quiet about Julian’s so-called ‘weakness’, but why hadn’t Julian himself told her?

Ralph seemed to read her thoughts. ‘No one knew about it except Julian, myself, my wife and the family doctor. Even Elizabeth and Adam were left short on the details. We never wanted it to come out because we always knew he would be CEO one day and we didn’t want anything to jeopardise that. You know how jumpy shareholders can be.’

‘But I just don’t believe he was depressed,’ said Diana, feeling utterly bewildered.

‘Please, Diana,’ said Ralph, touching her hand. ‘Don’t.’

‘Don’t what? Question my husband’s mental state? Why shouldn’t I? Because you’re telling the truth, or because you don’t want any more publicity?’

She saw his face harden.

‘It is the truth. But you’re right, we certainly don’t want this all played out in public. Both for the business and for the sake of Julian’s memory.’

Diana wanted to object, but she held her tongue. Perhaps Ralph was right after all. Dead was dead. Nothing anyone could do or say would bring Julian back to life. And no, she didn’t want his name dragged through the mud. The rational side of her, her head, was telling her all that, but her heart was saying something else, that something was wrong, that even if he had been depressed, Julian would never have left her and Charlie. Not without saying something, giving her a sign. Something,
anything
. Her heart just wasn’t satisfied.

‘I don’t want this inquest any more than you do. But I want to know why he did what he did, and I’ll do anything to find that out.’

‘Sometimes things happen that we just can’t make any sense out of,’ Ralph replied quietly.

‘I have to know,’ she whispered.

Ralph looked at her for a long moment. ‘Don’t be afraid to admit you need someone,’ he said finally. ‘Someone who can help.’

Diana gave a sad laugh. ‘I don’t think you can get around grief. You can only go through it.’

‘But there are people to help you do that. Professionals.’

She had the sense that she was being led down a path she didn’t want to follow.

‘I just want to take one day at a time.’

Ralph nodded in comprehension. ‘Elizabeth is sorting out the funeral,’ he said, his voice taking on a more officious note.

‘Is Adam back from New York?’

‘He flew back last night. He’ll be helping Elizabeth.’

Diana felt a moment’s conflict. She knew the Denver family were taking over, and yet deep down she wanted them to.

‘The coffee will be getting cold,’ Ralph said finally, calling Sylvia and Elizabeth back into the room.

4

During her days as a student and as a journalist, Rachel had been an enthusiastic drinker. Not an alcoholic. Who considered themselves one of those unless you had made the first steps towards AA? No, she just thought of herself as someone who loved everything about alcohol. The taste of it. The sensation of fiery liquid sliding down her throat, the giddy promise of how it would make her feel. Besides, in her profession, a bottle of wine after work went with the job. You had to drink to be one of the gang, plus it was exciting hanging out at celeb events, glugging the free vino and catching all the gossip – and working with a hangover was perversely just part of the fun.

She had also found alcohol an escape from the various low points of the past fifteen years. The death of her father, her estrangement from her sister, toxic relationships with both boyfriends and colleagues. But when she had become embroiled in the phone-hacking scandal, she knew that either her drinking would escalate to help her cope with the fear of imprisonment, or she would have to stop it in its tracks in a bid to get some part of her life back under control. She had become sober in two weeks through willpower alone, and in the three years since, she hadn’t let a drop of alcohol pass her lips.

But tonight, at her apartment on a quiet drag in Sairee village, Rachel didn’t care about getting her life under control. Tonight she had bought a six-pack of beer from the minimart across the road and was already halfway through the third bottle. Tonight she wanted to feel carefree, merry, drunk, and to forget her problems for just a couple of hours.

Although she had lived here for almost three years, her apartment still had the look and feel of a holiday flat. It was small, cheap, with whitewashed walls unadorned with pictures or photographs, a small sofa, a stack of books in the corner and a double bed in an alcove behind a mosquito net. Rent was low in this part of the world and she could have afforded a bigger, more luxurious place, but sometimes, in her darker moments, she wondered if she had chosen to stay here as a sort of penance for what she had done in the past.

There was a table by the window where her laptop was glowing like a big, unblinking blue eye. It had been Rachel’s day off, but earlier that afternoon she had made the fatal mistake of doing an internet search on her brother-in-law. Typing in ‘Julian Denver death’ had brought up thousands of news stories, each one seeming to salivate over every salacious detail. It shouldn’t have been a surprise; after all, the story had that potent mix of celebrity and suffering that the modern press seemed to thrive on. Not that there was much to read.

. . . 
Witnesses say that the 41-year-old CEO of the Denver Group was in good spirits on the night of his death . . . rumours of depression . . . family request privacy at this time . . . funeral will attract celebrities and statesmen
 . . .

Underneath all the speculation about the circumstances, there was little in the way of facts, but those facts that there were had been enough to make Rachel reach for the beer. The preliminary inquest had already been and gone, and the funeral was being held today.

Glancing at her watch – and taking into account the time difference between Thailand and London – she reckoned that it must be happening about now.

She slumped back on the sofa and took another swig of beer. Why hadn’t she listened to Liam? Why hadn’t she gone? Even if she had just been able to watch the burial from a distance, pay her respects, make her apologies . . .

She hadn’t even spoken to Diana. At least a dozen times she had picked up the phone to call her sister, but each time something had made her put it back in the cradle. Cowardice, probably. Instead, she had written a letter; she
had
been a journalist after all, a writer, a woman of words. Surely she could express her feelings of guilt, regret and sympathy much better on the page? Yet that single side of A5 had taken two hours to write – something of a record for someone who could bash out a front-page splash in less than twenty minutes. And she knew that, given the efficiency of the Thai post and Royal Mail, it was almost certain that Diana still wouldn’t have received it. So her sister would have buried her husband without knowing how sad and sorry Rachel was, and how desperate to make it up to her.

‘She’s going to think I’m a heartless bitch,’ she muttered as her mobile started to ring.

It was Liam, and she knew immediately why he was calling.

‘Hey, it’s me. Are you on your way?’

‘Shit,’
she muttered,
grabbing her purse and sprinting for the door. ‘Yeah, I’m almost there,’ she lied.

‘Rachel, you’ve already missed the first interview.’

‘Sorry, something came up. Hold the fort for me, be there in two ticks.’

She ran out of her first-floor apartment, down the stairs and on to the street. She glanced at her moped: too risky. Besides, the bar was only five minutes away from her flat, three if she really legged it.

Bloody Liam
, she thought, as her flip-flops slapped against the cracked concrete of the path.
Why did he have to arrange the interviews for today?

Of course he had arranged them because Rachel had asked him to, because she wanted to expand the business, take on more staff.

She could feel the beer swirling around her stomach like washing-machine water as she ran the last hundred metres, dodging the holes in the road and the open drains, the stray dogs and the tourists ambling through the warren of alleyways.

Please God, don’t let me puke on the new instructor
, she thought as she finally reached the bar and tried to catch her breath. At least Liam had chosen the venue well. Harry’s Bar was away from the main drag, sandwiched between a laundry and an internet café, discreet, hidden, with just a small blue neon sign and a Tiger Beer advertisement to announce itself. It was unlikely anyone would spot them there; wouldn’t do for the competition to know that they were planning to step up their business. She spotted Liam at a far table, laughing with a blonde. Not just blonde. Attractive and blonde, with a pink-cheeked, girl-next-door beauty that put Rachel immediately on edge.

Liam spotted her and waved her over.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said as she took a seat next to him.

‘No problem,’ said Liam, a little tight-lipped. ‘This is Sheryl.’

Rachel stretched across the table and shook her hand.

‘We haven’t met, have we?’ she asked.

Sheryl smiled. Perfect teeth. Rachel suddenly needed another drink and signalled to Jin, the waitress, for a beer. She didn’t look at Liam, knowing that he’d disapprove.

‘No, I’ve only been in Ko Tao two weeks,’ replied Sheryl. That would explain why she and Rachel hadn’t bumped into each other before on this small, intimate island.

‘Where were you previously?’

‘Port Douglas, I’ve got three years’ experience at one of the top diving schools on the reef. I got my master instructor certificate last year,’ she added in her lilting Australian accent.

Rachel was impressed but didn’t want to show it.

‘So what were you doing before you got into diving?’

‘I worked in marketing.’

Rachel nodded in recognition. When she had first arrived in Thailand, she had thought she would be an oddity out here. After all, she was thirty, making her at least ten years older than the gap-year students who came for the full-moon parties. But she had been surprised to find the place full of people like her: girls who had swapped BlackBerrys for backpacks and were trying to find another way to live.

‘So how many dives have you logged?’ she asked, not waiting for Liam to chip in. This was what she was good at. Interviewing people. Asking questions. Finding the cracks . . .

‘Well over a thousand. I’ve been diving since I was ten.’

‘What about night-diving?’

The Australian nodded. ‘It’s all in my CV: wrecks, inland waters, even did a few cenotes out in Mexico last year.’

The waitress arrived with a beer and Rachel put the bottle to her lips. ‘So how would you deal with a particularly difficult customer? I mean, say you’re already out at sea and he starts kicking off?’

‘I’d be polite, I guess,’ said Sheryl. ‘But if he started to be dangerous, I have a brown belt in aikido, so I guess I’d be able to handle it.’

Rachel turned to her colleague. ‘What did you put on the advert, Liam? “Wanted: Wonder Woman”?’ Her smile couldn’t disguise the tartness in her comment.

They chatted for another ten minutes before Rachel wound the interview up. Sheryl clearly wanted to stick around, but Rachel was not in the mood. When the Australian girl had left the bar, she ordered two more beers and settled back in her chair.

‘What the hell was all that about?’ asked Liam.

His mood had soured, which took her by surprise. Liam was always so laid-back, nothing seemed to get to him, but right now he looked decidedly irritated with her.

‘I didn’t like her,’ said Rachel defensively. ‘She was a bit too full of herself, a bit wobbly on the technical questions too.’

‘As if she really needs to know the distance in sea miles between Ko Tao and Ko Pha Ngan.’

‘I happen to think that’s an important question. What if the boat got stuck out there with no fuel and we had to swim back?’

‘Perhaps we could float back on a raft made from your empty beer bottles,’ said Liam crisply. ‘How many have you had anyway?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Rachel, holding her bottle to her chest defensively. ‘This is only my second.’

‘Second? Rach, you don’t drink.’

‘And tonight I’m drinking,’ she replied with petulance.

‘Why?’

He looked at her with concern, but she glanced away.

‘Why not. And you’re not my babysitter, or my AA buddy, so please, just leave it.’

‘Have it your way,’ he said, raising a hand.

Rachel shook her head. ‘If you’re going to be like this, then I’m going home,’ she said, standing up.

‘All right.’

She wanted him to plead with her to stay, but clearly he wasn’t going to. She imagined Super Sheryl waiting outside, ready to slip in as soon as she had gone, and hesitated.

‘I should walk you back,’ said Liam, downing his beer. ‘Don’t want you falling over, do we?’

But as they stepped out into the evening air, their moods seemed to soften. It was impossible to stay annoyed in this part of the world, at this time of day, when the lights from the cafés and restaurants were glowing like fireflies in the dusk and the dying light of the day cast everything in a flattering bronze blush.

‘Sorry,’ she said after a few moments. ‘I didn’t mean to . . . I’ve just had a lot on my mind over the past few days.’

‘I know. And you don’t have to deal with it alone. You know that. You definitely shouldn’t be dealing with it with booze.’

‘It’s just tonight,’ she said quietly.

He knocked his hip into hers playfully.

‘Good.’

They walked to the beachfront. Rachel strained her ears to listen to the hypnotic
swoosh-swoosh
sound of the tide, her favourite noise in the world, the best part of living so close to the sea.

‘So what did
you
think of Sheryl?’ she asked cautiously.

‘She was great. I think her marketing experience could be useful too.’

‘You mean she’s pretty,’ replied Rachel, not wanting to admit to either Liam or herself that Sheryl was the perfect candidate.

He gave a low, slow laugh.

‘Yes, she’s good-looking, but that’s great for business. You’ve shown that.’

‘So you think I’m pretty?’ she teased, suddenly feeling self-conscious that she had said it.

‘Who do
you
want to hire?’ he said, avoiding the question.

‘Well, I like Jeff from Blue Ray Diving. I know he wants a change from there. I saw him yesterday and mentioned that we should fix up a drink to discuss him joining us.’

‘Jeff’s great,’ he agreed. He looked down in thought. ‘I guess we could always take them both on.’

‘Both?’ she said with surprise. ‘We can’t afford both of them.’

‘I have savings,’ said Liam casually.

‘I thought you said we couldn’t afford it when I was talking about the Sunset Bungalows.’

Liam laughed. ‘We were talking tens of millions of baht for the bungalows, Rach. I’m talking about bankrolling a couple of low-wage instructors until we get the cash flowing. Not quite the same.’

They were walking along the beachfront, and in the distance Rachel could see the Sunset Bungalows.

‘Look, there they are, winking at us. Let’s go and look at them.’

‘What bit of “we can’t afford it” don’t you understand?’ he chuckled.

‘Just a peek,’ she said, taking his hand and tugging him along the sand.

‘A quick look. And then you’re going home, before you fall over.’

‘I’m not drunk,’ she laughed, feeling suddenly happy and heady.

She ran ahead of him, and then turned round to beckon him to go faster. He squinted in the soft sunset light and smiled at her, a long, slow killer half-smile that made her heart gallop. The same gallop she had felt the night they had first met. The night after she had arrived in Ko Tao, a little lonely, here for just a couple of days of diving before heading onwards to the next Paradise island. Liam had been the only other Westerner in a tiny back-street café, and when they’d both ordered the same fifty-baht curry, he’d leaned over and joked that they would both have dysentery by the morning. Not the most romantic first line, she had to admit, but when he was that good-looking, who cared.

Rachel had hoped they’d be sharing a bed the next morning rather than a case of food poisoning, but the night hadn’t panned out that way. Instead they had talked until dawn, about life and broken loves and the possibilities facing them both. Until that evening with Liam, Rachel hadn’t been sure what she wanted to do with her life, which direction to turn. But as the sun had risen over the bay like a cantaloupe melon, she knew she wanted to stay here and have a lifetime full of nights like this.

‘I’m going to stay and become a diving instructor,’ she’d announced.