‘I think I’ll pass on that one,’ Diana said weakly.
There was a cardigan draped across the back of the chair. Rachel picked it up and handed it to her sister.
‘Come on. Let’s get some fresh air.’
Sylvia was standing outside in the hallway, her face racked with worry. Her eyes darted between the two women as they came out of the room.
‘We’re going out,’ said Diana briskly.
‘Is that a good idea?’ Sylvia’s expression indicated that she thought it was anything but.
‘I think so.’
Rachel noticed how Sylvia instantly deferred to her elder daughter.
Leaving their mother’s flat, they came out of the square, crossed Bayswater Road, dodging the traffic and the cyclists, and walked into Hyde Park. The distant sound of drums and guitars came to them on the breeze, muffled as if it was travelling through water.
‘So how was Washington?’
‘Interesting.’
‘Did your friend go to Jamaica?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you going to tell me about it, or am I just here to pick up the tab?’
‘Why did you want me here?’ asked Rachel, ignoring her jibe. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to see me again for a very long time.’
‘Did Mum tell you where she found me?’
Rachel laughed. ‘She was worried Richard Branson was going to spot you in the gutter.’
‘It was so embarrassing.’ She looked pained at the very thought of it. Diana was usually so elegant, so poised, she rarely had anything to be embarrassed about.
‘It can’t have been as embarrassing as the time I bumped into Daniel Craig in Soho and asked him if I knew him from school,’ said Rachel, attempting to lighten the situation.
‘You didn’t?’ said Diana, staring at her wide-eyed.
‘He was polite. I kept pressing the point home. Asked him if he was from Ilfracombe. If he was in the swimming club . . .’
Diana giggled. It was a proper chuckle, and Rachel felt proud that she had been able to provoke that response from someone consumed with grief.
‘What happened tonight, Di?’
‘I went to see Liz Denver. She’s going to challenge Julian’s will.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘You know he left everything to me and Charlie. I get the houses, his investments, all his money. Charlie gets the shareholding in Denver.’
The wave of envy was unwelcome, but so palpable it almost took her breath away. Sometimes it was hard to believe that she and Diana had started out from the same point. Two ordinary girls from an ordinary town. Rachel remembered their Saturday waitressing jobs that paid two pounds an hour, half of which had to go to their mother for their keep. Those were the days when a five-pound note in a birthday card meant you could have a social life, the days when ferreting under the sofa cushions for loose change meant being able to afford your bus fare. She remembered helping Diana with her GCSEs so her sister could get enough of them to move into the sixth form, because Rachel knew that education was the way to get them out of their small town and on to a bigger, more exciting stage.
She had never wanted that stage to be Diana’s world. She liked making her own money, her own excitement, not just hanging off the bespoke coat-tails of a rich man she had met and married. But now it was impossible not to feel disappointed with her own lot in life. Diana was no longer just the long-suffering wife of Julian Denver; she was one of the richest women in Europe in her own right. And Rachel? Despite years of hard work, she was just a diving instructor, who couldn’t afford to be anything more.
She pushed the thought away, remembering what Diana was going through. She might be a billionairess, but she was also a widow.
‘So what did Elizabeth say to you?’