‘And you don’t believe him?’
‘There’s another reason, I know it,’ she whispered through bursts of sobs.
‘And if there is, the inquest will find it out,’ said Sylvia calmly.
‘No they won’t.’
Her mother looked as if she was beginning to lose patience.
‘You should sleep this off. Barbara’s doctor can be here in twenty minutes with one phone call. I believe temazepam is very good . . .’
‘I want to see Rachel,’ Diana said quietly.
‘Rachel? What does Rachel have to do with this?’
‘Everything.’ She could hear her sister’s voice in her head, the voice she hadn’t been able to shake for the past few days. ‘Rachel would work out what went on.’
‘Oh yes, she’s good at that,’ said Sylvia sarcastically.
‘It’s what she does. Finding the truth.’
‘And the truth hurts,’ said Sylvia, curling her lip. She put both hands on Diana’s shoulders. ‘Listen to me. Getting through the next few months is going to be hard enough without turning it into a witch-hunt.’
‘It’s not a witch-hunt. I want to know what happened to my husband. I need to know.’
‘Leave it, Diana. For Charlie’s sake, if nothing else.’
‘This is for Charlie. For Julian. For me.’
Sylvia stepped away and shook her head.
‘And what happens if you involve Rachel? Say she finds some hidden reason why Julian committed suicide. Then what? Then she sells it to a newspaper and causes you and the family more pain. Is it worth it? It’s certainly not going to bring him back.’
‘But at least I would know,’ Diana whispered, with more assurance this time. She blotted her eyes with the palms of her hands. ‘I have to go before people start arriving.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Back to Somerfold.’
‘Darling, don’t be ridiculous. Mr and Mrs Bills are here. Charlie and I have to stay. Go and sit upstairs quietly if you really can’t face it.’
‘I have to go home, pack my bag and get to the airport.’
‘The airport?’
‘I’m going to Thailand.’ Her decision was made. ‘I’m going to see Rachel.’ For the first time in a week, something finally made sense.
7
Rachel held her breath and looked up at the surface of the sea, just a haunting, glittering silver circle above her. She never knew how many shades of blue there were until she started free-diving. Fifty metres below the waves was the entire spectrum of her favourite colour: dark navy, ultramarine, deep sapphire, even a flash of cornflower if a fish flicked its tail. Down here, she was at peace, only her heart beating slow and steady in her ears, completely in control of everything. No phone calls, no emails, no distractions. Just it and her. Man against nature – or rather Rachel against her lungs. Because free-diving was diving without equipment, no regulator in your mouth or air tank on your back, you stayed down as long as the last breath you took would allow. And right now she could feel the burn increasing as the oxygen ran out. For a moment she considered just letting go of the rope and drifting off into the sea. How long would she last? A minute, maybe two? Everyone had a limit. Without warning, an image of Julian Denver popped into her head. Had he reached his limit? Had Julian just decided to let go of the rope?
Rachel kicked for the surface with her wide monofin – kick, kick, stroke – and was suddenly bursting through into the air, liberated from the water’s cold clutch, filling up her screaming lungs, gasping and clutching at the side of Serge’s boat. And there he was, his creased eyes smiling down at her.
‘You’re getting too good for this pond,’ he laughed, tapping his watch.
She took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled up on to the deck.
‘Bravo,’ he grinned, clapping wet hands together. ‘Three minutes two seconds.’