Deep Blue Sea (6 page)

‘Sounds like a plan,’ he’d said, raising his beer.

‘You want to join me?’

She remembered how fast her heart had been beating. A recognition that she didn’t just want to stay on Ko Tao, but that she wanted him to stay too.

‘Okay.’

And it was as simple as that. They had begun the business the next day, and she had suppressed any romantic thoughts about Liam with the same ruthless efficiency she applied to growing their diving school. For all the banter between them, the possibly imaginary undercurrent of something not entirely platonic, it was the easiest relationship of her life. They complemented each other. He was the brake to her gas, her kindred spirit, and together they had discovered another way to live at the other end of the world.

She watched him break into a jog to catch up with her and took a sharp intake of breath to compose herself. They were at the Sunset Bungalows now, close enough to see the rickety sign made from a pair of coconuts. Close enough to hear low jazz music coming from one of the huts. Close enough to see the shimmer of the bright blue swimming pool peeping from behind a gardenia bush.

‘Why do I get the feeling you’re about to hijack me?’ he mused, drawing up alongside her, so close that his forearm brushed against hers.

‘Come on, can’t you just see the sign over the door? The Giles-Miller Diving Resort,’ she said dramatically.

‘It won’t fit on the coconuts. Besides, it’s not very catchy.’

‘All right,’ she said, looking down at the sand. ‘What’s your favourite shell?’

‘The whelk.’

Rachel barked out a laugh. ‘We can’t have that!’

‘Why not?’

‘The Whelk Diving School? Not very glamorous. I was thinking something like The Pink Conch.’

‘The Pink Conch?’ laughed Liam. ‘Is this a diving school or a gay bar? Are you sure you’re not drunk?’

‘No,’ said Rachel, turning towards him. ‘Smell my breath.’

She took a step forward so that their faces were inches apart and the space around them seemed to contract until it was just the two of them standing together, breathing the same jasmine-scented air. And then, without thinking about it, she was kissing him. His lips felt warm and soft against hers, like a piece of a jigsaw slotting perfectly into place, and he tasted delicious. Of sun and salt, a taste that was both familiar and exotic. And as she felt him respond, pushing his body against hers, she felt a warm rush of desire, happiness, relief wash over her. A relief that it was
sorted.
That she wouldn’t have to feel threatened by pretty girls in bikinis or sexy diving instructors ever again. Because they loved each other and finally he was hers.

‘Now I know you’re drunk,’ he said as he slowly retreated from her.

‘You think I have to be drunk to kiss you,’ she smiled, looking up at his deep blue eyes.

‘No . . . Look . . .’

Her instincts began to twitch. His move away from her was more deliberate this time. Like a cold slap across the face. She knew what was coming and she didn’t want to hear him say it; those awkward, pitying words telling her that this was a bad idea. He’d let her down gently, of course. She was drunk, emotional; they worked together. But what he really meant was that he didn’t like her like that. Not enough. It was the only reason why something hadn’t happened between them before now.

She felt her back stiffen and she steeled herself. She wasn’t going to let him crush her. Not tonight. Not this week when her mind was all over the place about Julian and Diana.

‘I know, I know. This is not a good idea,’ she said, taking a step back in the sand and pre-empting his next words. ‘I lied. I’ve had about five beers and I’m just feeling a bit emotional . . . I’m sorry for taking it out on you. ’

‘I wouldn’t quite call it taking it out on me,’ he said quietly. His gaze met hers and she felt a swell of emotion as strong as the tide.
Tell him you love him
, cried a little voice in her head. But already her barriers, her protective shell had gone up. She knew the only way out of this was with a joke.

‘Promise you won’t do me for sexual harassment,’ she smiled, wrinkling her nose, staying strong, hard, impervious.

‘Come here,’ said Liam, drawing her into a deliberate hug. Her face was squashed into his shoulder, and she smelt the same sun and salt on his T-shirt that she had tasted on his lips a moment earlier. She knew it was like a forbidden fruit, something that she had tried but would never again enjoy.

For a few moments they didn’t speak. She would have given anything to climb into his head and find out what he was thinking, but she didn’t have the courage to risk it. Sadness made her shudder.

She could feel his breath on the top of her hair and knew it was too dangerous to stay like this.

‘Thanks for being my friend. Promise you’ll always be my friend,’ she said, listening to his heartbeat through his chest. Fearing any further intimacy, she pulled away from him and slapped his back three times, as if she was sending someone off on to the football pitch, hoping that it gave out the right message of platonic forgiveness. ‘I’d better go home and get my secret hangover remedy ready.’

‘I think we should talk,’ he said, his eyes searching hers.

‘Liam, there’s nothing to talk about.’ She was good at making her voice sound casual. ‘I just want to go home.’

‘Then I’ll walk with you.’

‘No, no, it’s fine, honestly. We’ll talk about the staff thing tomorrow, okay?’

She turned and fled before he could reply, feeling her cheeks burn, wanting to cry, wanting the ground to swallow her up, but most of all wanting him to call her back.

But when she got to the bend in the beach and turned back, there was only an empty space where he had been.

5

The funeral was to be a private affair. Under the circumstances, it was the best thing for everyone – at least that was what Julian’s father had said. ‘Let’s keep it quiet, Diana,’ he’d told her. ‘No fuss, no press, do what has to be done without people peering over the wall with their camera phones and long lenses.’ Of course, they would hold a more formal memorial service at a later date, when the fuss had died down and the Denver PR machine had had a chance to work on rehabilitating Julian’s image. Plus it would give all those global statesmen and business leaders time to clear their diaries to pay their respects. That was the important thing, wasn’t it? Everyone wanted to remember Julian the way he was: perfect husband and son, a formidable force in business, the life and soul of every party. Apart from that last one, perhaps.

Diana looked out of the window of the black Mercedes limousine that was taking herself, Charlie and Sylvia to the funeral. It had been decided that the service should take place at the church in the village adjacent to Ralph and Barbara’s estate on the edge of the Cotswolds. It was a beautiful fifteenth-century honey-stone building with medieval stained-glass windows and wisteria climbing around the door, but Diana couldn’t help but think that she had let things run away from her. She could hardly complain if Elizabeth and Ralph had taken control of the arrangements – someone had to do it, and she just couldn’t get her brain to function properly; it was like she was being held back by a thick fog. But as they approached the church, she began to panic that the service would not be the sort of occasion that Julian would have wanted. She had sent Elizabeth a list of names – friends, people from his climbing club, the manager of a record shop he loved to visit in Notting Hill – but she had no idea if they had been invited. She suspected not.

‘You all right, Mum?’

Charlie was sitting opposite her in the car, looking deceptively grown-up in a black suit and tie. He had confided that he had cut his own hair for the occasion – which had been one of the few things to make Diana smile all week, although her mental note to take him to the hairdresser’s for a proper cut had been forgotten.

She nodded enthusiastically. A little too enthusiastically, reminding her that she was still hung-over. Without the arrangements for Julian’s funeral to occupy her, she had sought distraction in Somerfold’s magnificent wine cellar. It had been easy to liberate a few bottles of good Chablis without her mother, Charlie or Mrs Bills noticing, and that final one last night had not been a good idea. Diana didn’t drink. Eighteen months earlier, during the ‘big push’ for a child, she had recruited the services of Danesh Sitri, a macrobiotic practitioner, who had encouraged her to cut everything from alcohol to gluten from her diet.

Someone else she had disappointed.

There was a curve in the road ahead of them, and Diana could see the hearse stopping outside the church gates. They had been relegated to the second car and had to wait a few moments as the Mercedes carrying the Denver family came to a halt.

‘Are you sure you can do this?’ She sat up and touched Charlie’s knee.

‘So long as the other pallbearers aren’t four feet tall.’

Sylvia shot her grandson a disapproving look, but Diana just smiled, grateful that Charlie was intuitive enough to know not to let things become too sombre.

Stepping out of the car, she felt her whole body prickle, and she had a sudden urge to just run away.

‘Diana.’

She spun around at the sound of a familiar baritone, for a split second expecting to see her husband calling her name. But it was only Adam, Julian’s younger brother. He stood there, as handsome as his sibling, but a little taller and a little darker in every sense. He was something of a black sheep in the family; either a breath of fresh air or a layabout playboy, depending on your point of view. Right now, she had never been more disappointed to see anyone’s face.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

At that moment Elizabeth marched through the church gates and began ordering everyone around, directing pallbearers, guests, even the vicar.

‘I feel like a spare part,’ Diana said quietly, noticing that her sister-in-law had ignored her.

‘You’re the most important person here.’

‘That would be Julian,’ replied Diana, glancing over at the hearse.

Her breath faltered, the sight of the spectacular spray of red and yellow flowers almost knocking her sideways. She didn’t want to look at the coffin, but it was impossible not to be drawn to the gleam of the polished wood, the shine of the gun-metal handles.

‘We should go in,’ ordered Sylvia, slipping her hand into Diana’s as Adam leant forward.

‘I’ll look after Charlie,’ he whispered, and Diana nodded gratefully in return.

The church was packed, a sea of faces; some she recognised, others she had no clue as to who they were. It had been the same on her wedding day almost seven years earlier, when everyone had been smiling encouragement at her as she walked down this very aisle in her Caroline Castigliano dress the colour of a South Sea pearl. But today all she could see were dozens of wan, sympathetic smiles and sombre, apologetic expressions.

She could feel her pulse quickening. Diana hated being under the spotlight. It was precisely the sort of occasion that Julian would have guided her through. In the early days of their romance she had laughed and called him Professor Higgins. Whenever she felt out of her depth – when she didn’t know what to do or say, when she was stuck at a party with an interminable bore, or at the Cheltenham flat races being patronised by someone who guessed she was not part of the horsey set – Julian was always there for her. They didn’t even need a secret code. He would always know when to step in, when to leave. Today she needed him more than ever. And today he wasn’t here.

She took her seat in a front pew and studied the order of service. An operatic aria sung by a world-famous soprano, readings by a Cabinet minister and a senior ambassador, the sermon by a vicar who was new to the church and whom Diana had met only briefly. It was all beautifully choreographed, but if Diana hadn’t spent the entire hour in a grief-stricken haze, she would have recognised that there wasn’t a great deal of Julian’s soul in the service. Only the eulogy, read by Charlie, a brave boy walking to the lectern to become a man, struck such a powerful chord that even the captains of industry were reaching for their handkerchiefs.

By the end of it Diana felt almost too weak to stand, and when Adam and Charlie, who had been on either side of her during the service, got up to lift the coffin, she had to be helped out of church by Elizabeth and Sylvia like two stiff sentries.

Two generations of Denvers were buried in the grounds of St Michael’s church. The graveyard was overflowing, but the family had apparently purchased a parcel of surrounding land to ensure that they could all rest in peace together.

It was a warm, sunny morning that half made Diana wonder whether Elizabeth’s money and contacts had been able to wangle the weather. There was a low breeze that infused the air with the smell of honeysuckle and roses. They walked behind the coffin to the grave, Diana dodging the patches of grass to avoid her heels sinking into the soil. Only close friends and family had been invited to watch the burial, but there was an enormous trail of mourners behind her – clearly this congregation did not consist of the sort of people used to being excluded from anything.

There was a row of chairs for the family at the graveside. Diana sat down, hot in her fitted black Balenciaga suit, fixing her eyes on a point on the ground. After a while, her gaze wandered to the crowd of people assembling around her. There was no one here from the climbing club.

Across the coffin she could see Patty Reynolds smiling sadly at her. Her husband Michael, one of the pallbearers, retreated to a spot next to his wife, and as he clasped her hand, Diana felt a sharp stab of injustice that the Reynoldses could share their grief together. In fact she felt envious of all Julian’s friends around her. Today they would be sad. Today they might even cry. But tomorrow they would all go back to their normal lives, and that was something Diana could never do.

Why are we here?
She almost wanted to ask everyone the question out loud.
Why was he taken away from us?

Behind Patty she could see a face she didn’t recognise, but one that stood out because of its obvious beauty. Blond hair, fine-boned features.

Someone knows something
 . . .

The phrase was going over and over in her mind as the casket was finally lowered into the ground and the vicar said a few last words.

Charlie led her away, although the walk to the car was slow. Everyone wanted to stop and offer their condolences, but Diana just wanted to get out of view. As Charlie moved away to talk to Adam, she began to feel dizzy and undid the top button on her silk blouse, which had started to claw at her neck.

The Mercedes was in sight when a tall blonde woman approached her. Diana saw immediately that it was the woman who had been standing behind Patty. Up close she was quite beautiful, although she was doing what she could to disguise her looks. Her pale hair was tied back and her face looked free of make-up, not that anyone with such remarkable bone structure needed war paint. Diana did not know the woman, but she recognised the look in her eyes: grief.

‘I’m sorry to approach you like this. I don’t think we’ve met before.’

‘We haven’t.’

‘I’m Victoria Pearson. I’m so sorry . . .’

She’d heard the words a hundred times in the past ten minutes. The last thing she wanted was to hear them again, but she knew the woman was just being polite.

‘I’m an old school friend of Julian’s,’ Victoria continued quickly.

‘I thought Harrow was an all-boys school,’ replied Diana. It came out more curtly than she’d intended, but she felt suddenly threatened.

‘A turn of phrase,’ the other woman said awkwardly. ‘We go back a long way. Twenty years, which makes me feel rather old.’

Diana did the sums in her head. Julian had left Harrow twenty-three years ago, which didn’t make them school friends.

She felt on heightened alert. Her mind searched the photographs she had spent hours and hours going through. Had this woman featured in any of them? She couldn’t be certain.

‘Had you seen each other recently?’ She offered the question as casually as she could, but her stomach had begun to turn over.

‘Not in a year or so.’

‘Strange we haven’t met.’

‘He was a wonderful man.’

Diana’s heart was thudding. Who was this woman? How well had she known Julian? Suddenly she had to know everything. She began to feel faint. The sun was directly overhead and seemed to be burning her head. She held an arm out to steady herself. The world seemed to spin, and like a dull noise travelling through water she heard a voice calling for help. Her knees started to buckle, but before she hit the ground she felt two arms catch her.

Without looking up, she began to sob, deep gulps of breath and noise so loud they didn’t sound as if they came from her fragile body.

‘Easy, easy, easy.’ The familiar voice was soothing and the arms around her felt strong.

‘Take me out of here,’ she whispered, as Adam helped her to her feet. She knew that people would be watching her like some stricken caged animal.

‘It’s okay. The car is just here,’ he reassured her, guiding her into the Mercedes.

She sank back into the leather seat, glad that the blacked-out windows had shut out the world. Adam followed her and slammed the car door behind them.

‘What happened back there?’

Her eyes were like two thin slits, barely open wide enough to see him.

‘Who was that? Who was that woman?’ she stuttered.

Adam looked confused. ‘Victoria. A family friend. What the hell did she say?’

‘Nothing, nothing at all.’ She screwed her eyes shut and pressed her fingers against her temples. ‘I can’t cope, Adam. I’m going mad.’

‘You’re not going mad. You have lost your husband.’

She opened her eyes and looked at him through her tears, and for the first time noticed how pale he was. It was a standing family joke that Adam was always tanned and sun-kissed from somewhere glamorous, but today he looked as drained as she knew she did.

A sharp rapping on the window startled her and she turned to see her mother’s face pressed up against the window.

‘Can’t we just get out of here?’ she whispered.

‘I was going to say the same thing,’ he replied as he instructed the driver to take them back to his parents’ house.