Rachel swiped playfully at his arm, but she couldn’t help but feel excited; it was like slipping back into something comfortable, something natural. When she had first started in print journalism, she honestly couldn’t imagine herself doing anything else. From the very first second she had barged into that newsroom, she had just known this was what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. Even though she had spent more than a year running errands, making coffee and getting shouted at, she had loved every second of it – listening to the news desk, watching a story unfold, seeing the team jump into action when a news item was streamed through from Reuters or a tip-off. News was her drug and she had forgotten how much she loved it.
‘If we could access his travel account, we could find out what this money is for,’ she said. ‘It’s a few thousand, so it’s probably flights. What we need to know is where to, and who for.’
She glanced up at Ross. They both knew what she was asking. He had been to prison for something very similar.
‘Invasion of privacy of a dead man,’ he mused. ‘Where does the law stand on that these days?’
‘His wife has asked me to do this,’ said Rachel hopefully.
‘Doesn’t make it right.’
‘Since when did you get all moral?’
‘Not a question of morals, Rach. It’s a question of what my probation officer will make of it.’
‘Sorry, Ross, if it’s going to put you in a difficult position . . .’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he laughed, opening his laptop. ‘I went to a prison packed with white-collar criminals – it was like going to the Open University for computer crime. Learnt an awful lot of new tricks. Used to have a team of hackers on speed-dial. Now I’m pretty sure I can do it myself.’
She grinned, beginning to feel a spot of headway.
‘In which case, I had better leave you to it.’
17
Diana turned the dial into the red, feeling the water get hotter and hotter as it ran down her back. She twisted it again, her skin prickling in the now-scalding water, staying under the jet for as long as she could stand. Then she spun the tap in the other direction, all the way into cold, letting the icy torrent hit her, forcing herself to stay there for a moment longer. Finally she switched the shower off and bolted for the towel rail, wrapping herself in a fluffy robe.
The shower trick was something Rachel had taught her, some Scandinavian theory of how hot then cold could reset the body when you were feeling sluggish. Of course, Rachel had used it to combat hangovers, but Diana supposed the principle was the same. She could certainly do with a jump-start these days. She had always been an early riser, up with the lark to tend to Charlie or go to a gym class, but since Julian’s death, she was finding it harder and harder to get up in the morning. Even on the days when she had spent all night awake, going over her thoughts and memories in the bed that was suddenly too big for her, it was easier to stay under the covers when daylight broke. Today it had been ten thirty before she could bring herself to crawl from beneath the duvet, and as the day stretched ahead of her like a dark, gaping hole, it was very tempting to creep back again.
She jumped at a thumping on the door.
‘Diana!’ Her mother put her head into the bathroom, her voice high-pitched with irritation. ‘Mrs Bills has been calling you for five minutes. You have a visitor. Adam Denver.’
Her body was still goose-bumped from the cold shower, but she felt a shimmer of warmth at the mention of his name.
‘Adam’s here now?’ she asked, feeling suddenly panicky. ‘Get rid of him. I’m practically naked.’
‘Well get dressed,’ her mother whispered back. ‘I can’t very well send him away now, can I?’
Diana hurriedly smoothed her hair back and wrapped her robe tighter, then stepped into the bedroom. She gasped when she saw Adam standing in the doorway.
‘Is this a bad time?’ he asked, looking embarrassed.
‘No, yes. No,’ she stuttered. ‘Of course not.’
‘Perhaps I should wait downstairs?’ he said.
‘We’ll grab some coffee,’ said Sylvia. She touched him on the arm, and Diana realised, with horror, that she was flirting with him.
‘Is everything okay?’ he asked, keeping a respectful distance at the door. He glanced at Sylvia, who took the message to leave the room.
They listened to her footsteps getting softer and softer down the stairs.
‘I’m sorry about running off yesterday,’ he said when she was out of earshot.
‘You had a meeting.’
‘I don’t want you to think I abandoned you . . .’