Deep Blue Sea (29 page)

40

Susie McCormack, now Susan J. Mack, had come up in the world. Her Docklands flat was small, but smart, modern and expensive, all cream throws and minimalist leather upholstery, plus it had a killer view of the eastern stretches of the Thames estuary. It was Susan herself, however, that most impressed Rachel. Her hair fell to her shoulders in artful shining waves, her teeth were as white as a chat-show host’s and, dressed in a crisp white shirt and tailored pants, she looked every inch the mover and shaker she now was.

‘It’s good to finally meet you,’ Susan said as she showed Rachel into her lounge.

‘Likewise,’ said Rachel thinly, thinking that the young woman didn’t even know the half of it. Susie McCormack hadn’t been the easiest person in the world to track down. Although Rachel had turned a blind eye to the paper running the story about Julian and his eighteen-year-old mistress, she hadn’t been involved in the research and actually hadn’t paid much attention to the story when it appeared; all she cared about was the fact that Julian had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She racked her brains now: had they found him with this girl in some tucked-away shag pad? She just couldn’t remember. And there was no point in looking it up: Denver had done a pretty good job of exorcising the whole business from the web. According to Diana, the company lawyers sent any website recounting the story threatening letters until one by one they simply took it all down for the sake of a quiet life.

Rachel had trawled Facebook trying to find her, but she had eventually turned up on the business networking site LinkedIn as Susan J. Mack. At first Rachel hadn’t believed it was her. Susie McCormack had been a teenage wannabe model from the rough end of Battersea. Susan J. Mack was an account director for a prestigious financial PR consultancy.

Looking at her now, it was hard to believe that she was only about twenty-three. What was most amazing was her sudden jump in confidence, a transformation from doe-eyed Lolita with a penchant for too-tight jumpers to a self-possessed woman who could have slipped effortlessly into one of Diana’s society dinner parties without turning a hair.

But then perhaps Rachel, like everyone else, including Julian, had underestimated Susie McCormack.

When the tabloids had fallen on her like hooting jackals, Susie had simply batted her eyelashes and played the simpering hair-twirling innocent, just an ordinary girl who had fallen in love with a wealthy older man. Who could blame her? Julian was handsome, rich and, seemingly, immoral. Susie was cast as the injured party, a slip of a girl seduced by a philanderer, but clearly there was much more to her. Much more.

‘Of course I heard about you from Julian,’ said Susan. She smiled as she perched elegantly on the edge of a sofa. ‘I don’t think he was your biggest fan at that point.’

‘I imagine not,’ said Rachel, sitting opposite the woman. ‘So I understand you’re working for a lobbyist now? That’s impressive.’

‘Not as impressive in reality, let me tell you.’

It had to be well paid, however, unless . . . Rachel wondered for a moment whether there was another older, wealthy lover paying for all this.
Don’t be a traitor to your sex, Rachel
, she scolded herself. Why couldn’t a woman – and a woman clearly suited for a job charming powerful men – earn a decent living under her own steam? She’d had enough men dismissing her own rapid climb up the media ladder as a clear case of sleeping with the editor; she should really know better.

‘Talking of which,’ said Susan, glancing at the slim gold watch on her wrist, ‘I should have been at work thirty minutes ago. You were lucky to catch me.’

‘Of course,’ said Rachel. ‘As I said on the phone, I’m looking into Julian’s death, trying to find out what pushed him to . . . well, do what he did.’

Susan nodded, looking down at her lap. ‘It was quite a shock, I have to say. I know I was only young, and as things turned out, I was horribly naïve,’ she said haltingly, ‘but I did . . . I did care for Julian.’ She looked straight at Rachel, her expression defiant. ‘You thought I was a gold-digger, didn’t you? Everyone did, I don’t blame you. But Julian was my first love, that’s the truth.’

‘But you knew he was married?’ asked Rachel carefully.

‘I’m not particularly proud of that part of it. But think back to when you were that age. What would you have said, what would you have done if a handsome, charming billionaire came along and promised you the earth?’

Rachel thought back to her own teenage years. Stranded in Ilfracombe, with its chip wrappers and run-down arcades, she’d had no more chance of meeting a billionaire than flying to the moon. Of course, there had been that one awkward episode when Mr Ferris from the newsagent’s had touched her bottom . . . but he hardly counted. He had a bad back and was paying off a loan for a caravan in Rhyl.

‘Where did you go to meet Julian?’ she asked.

‘Well, we couldn’t go to any of his houses, of course. So he’d book hotel suites if he could get away.’

‘Did he have anywhere special he used to take you? An apartment, perhaps?’

Susan glared at her. ‘I wasn’t a kept woman, if that’s what you mean. I’ve told you, I was in love with Julian. I didn’t need him to buy me a flat or jewellery or things like that. All I wanted was to be with him. Besides, the relationship didn’t last very long. Little more than a summer. Your newspaper made sure of that. And Julian certainly wasn’t going to fight for me. I understood that he would have to go back to his wife – for the sake of his family if nothing else – but the thing that hurt the most was the way he just dropped me like a stone. He rang me the day before it was in the paper, you know? I think he’d had a tip-off and he was ringing to warn me. He told me he didn’t care, that we could still see each other, but that was it. I never heard from him again.’

Rachel never thought she would have any sympathy with a husband-stealer, but there was something about Susie that made her feel some compassion. She had been young. Very young and very impressionable.

‘Well I’m pleased you’ve made something of yourself. It can’t have been easy after all the tabloid attention.’

‘I didn’t work for a year,’ Susan said matter-of-factly. ‘Not unless you include the offers of pole dancing.’

‘I thought you got some money from the newspaper.’

‘You’d know that,’ she said tartly. ‘You’ll also know that I wasn’t one of those kiss-and-tell girls. I didn’t go to you. Your news team tracked
me
down. Had me over a barrel. They said they’d give me a few thousand quid if I posed for some photos. Thought I might as well, seeing as they had me anyway.’

She hooked her handbag over her shoulder and made for the door.

‘I have one question for you, Miss Miller. Why didn’t you expose his other affairs? For all his claims about a “moment of madness” in those carefully worded press statements, I wasn’t the only one.’

‘Which ones?’ Rachel asked cautiously. She had heard whispers, of course, all from good sources, but she’d never found any other names.

‘I was at a party about a year ago – this was when I’d finally turned my life back around – and a lady came over to speak to me. She was beautiful, a redhead in this gorgeous dress, you’d guess she was the wife of a lawyer or a banker – she looked a lot like your sister actually; anyway, she came up and told me that she knew how I felt. I asked her, “How I feel about what?” and she said, “Julian Denver”.’

‘Who was she?’

‘She gave me her card. I kept it. You never know when Julian Denver’s other ladies might need one another.’

‘Do you have it?’

Susan sighed, as if Rachel had truly overstayed her welcome, then disappeared into her bedroom, returning a few moments later with a business card.

‘You can’t have it,’ she said quickly. ‘But you can take down the details. I can’t tell you anything about Julian’s secret assets. I assume that’s what you’re here for, tracking down his love nests. But perhaps she can tell you more than I can.’

41

The Limelight Club in Bishopsgate was one of the most exclusive private clubs in London. It had stunning views over the City, an executive chef who had just been poached from Alain Ducasse in Paris, and on any given day it would see Forbes 500 chief executives, senior bankers and an assortment of other City power-players pass through its revolving doors. Most importantly, it accepted women as members, unlike many of London’s more established clubs, like White’s or Boodle’s in the West End.

Patty Reynolds stood by the window in a meeting room on the top floor known as the Snug.

‘I know we’d all have preferred lunch in the restaurant – but these walls have ears,’ she said, instructing a waiter to leave a platter of sandwiches on the table.

Diana looked around the cosy space. Greg Willets and Michael Reynolds were reclining in two leather club chairs. A third chair was conspicuously empty.

Patty noticed her line of vision. ‘I did invite Elizabeth, but she was too busy to come.’

‘Is that what she said?’ said Diana.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Greg Willets, sniffing out the gossip.

‘She’s challenging Julian’s will,’ said Michael, putting down his
Financial Times
.

‘And what’s Adam got to say about that?’ asked Greg, sipping some mineral water.

‘You can ask him after the meeting,’ said Patty, nodding towards the door.

Diana turned, and her heart raced as she saw Adam striding through the door in a smart grey suit. Their eyes connected and she felt a flood of butterflies turning somersaults in her belly.

The empty chair was opposite her, and she shifted her position so that she was only looking at Patty.

‘The reason we’re here is to discuss Julian’s memorial service. Adam, I think even you will agree that perhaps the funeral didn’t have enough of Julian’s soul in it.’

‘I think Elizabeth is quite far down the line with arrangements. Does she know about this?’ Adam looked slightly fearful about the repercussions of what Patty was proposing.

‘Leave it with me. We can make some suggestions here today and I can pass them on to Elizabeth.’

‘Suggestions?’ said Greg. ‘You know as well as I do that Elizabeth will disregard anything that doesn’t come as a three-line whip.’

‘Perhaps you should give them to Ralph,’ said Diana diplomatically.

‘I said I’ll deal with it.’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Michael, putting up his hand. ‘Let’s remember why we are here. And it is possible to work with Elizabeth on this, rather than against her.’

Everyone nodded in agreement.

‘Diana, what do you think the day should be like?’ said Patty.

She felt nervous speaking first. Everyone else around the room was so confident, so sure about everything that came out of their mouths. Diana never had been.

‘I’m bothered about the guest list,’ she said tentatively.

Patty looked at her with encouragement.

‘I looked around the funeral and there were too many people that Julian didn’t really know or care about,’ she continued haltingly.

Patty started scribbling notes. ‘We should all suggest a dozen people that Julian really liked. Get Anne-Marie Carr involved too. Di’s right. Everyone knows how successful Julian was in business, but what about all the other things he did, like that Atlas Mountains trek for charity? How much did he raise, Greg?’

‘One point one million.’

‘We could make a slideshow of all his adventures,’ suggested Diana.

‘I’ve got lots of photos from when we did the Paris–Dakar rally,’ said Greg, sitting up straight in his chair.

‘There’s plenty of that stuff,’ agreed Adam.

‘It shouldn’t just be a load of showing-off,’ said Diana carefully.

‘I can tell some horror stories about his cooking,’ smiled Michael. ‘Remember when he dragged us fishing to Iceland, Greg, and said he was going to whip us up a Scandinavian delicacy. What did he give us?’

‘Harkarl.’

‘What’s that?’ smiled Diana.

‘Fermented shark.’

‘It is a delicacy,’ said Greg.

‘Not served with soggy chips,’ roared Michael.

They were all laughing and a little misty-eyed.

Diana thought of the music that had been played at the funeral. The aria sung by the world-famous soprano had been beautiful, stirring and appropriate, but it hadn’t been the sort of music Julian really loved. She remembered how he used to listen to U2’s ‘One’ over and over again when he’d had a particularly stressful week at work; how Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born to Run’ would blare out of his iPod when he went for a jog around the lake; the heavy-metal music he was nostalgic about from his youth – his old denim jacket covered in Metallica and the Scorpions patches still hung in the storage room, never allowed to be thrown out.

To people in the City Julian had been the king of the world, but in his own space he was just a regular guy who liked football and middle-of-the-road rock. He loved cars and watching
Top Gear
; he liked going to boxing matches with his friends, and fishing for salmon in crystal-clear waters.

What a life he had led, she thought with bittersweet sorrow. She wondered if he had remembered all those things as he tied the climbing rope around his neck. She wondered how long it had taken for him to die; whether there had been a point when he’d thought about all the wonderful things his life had been full of, wonderful things he could do again, and wanted to stop what he was doing. Or had it been too late by then? Had he been past the point of no return, so that he couldn’t come back to the people who loved him?

‘What do you think, Adam? You were closest to him.’

Diana didn’t dare look at him.

‘Do you remember John Duncan?’ said Adam.

She shook her head.

‘Worked in the post room. Single dad. Died about ten years ago. Well, his kid Luke got in touch yesterday. He said that Jules had turned his life around. Apparently Luke got into drink and drugs after his dad passed away. Jules paid for him to go to rehab, to go back to college then on to university. He’s just qualified as an architect.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Diana whispered.

‘Apparently he wrote to you too.’

‘I haven’t had a chance to open all my post yet.’

‘You should. I think you’ll find a lot of stories like that.’

After an hour, they had a long list of things they all agreed would give Julian the memorial service he deserved, after which they all dispersed.

Diana found herself standing on the street alone with Adam.

‘I’m glad we did that,’ said Adam finally.

Diana nodded. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

‘Well, Patty called me this morning . . .’

The conversation stopped still.

‘Here’s your house key,’ Diana said, rooting around in her bag. She handed it over to him and he put it in his back pocket. It was as if she were handing over a future she hadn’t yet lived.

‘Do you want to go for lunch? None of us really ate much in there.’

‘I’m not hungry.’ She looked at him and then away. She didn’t want to spend the rest of the afternoon with him. Not today. Not when they had just spent an hour talking about Julian. ‘Are you coming to the Boughton fair on Saturday?’

‘Am I invited?’

‘Actually, I’ve got a surprise for you.’

‘Sounds intriguing,’ he said, his eyes dancing with hers.

His smile gave her confidence. ‘Perhaps you should come and see it before Saturday.’

‘Now this really is curious. What is it?’

‘Remember you encouraged me to invest in that café? You said I needed a project.’

‘You’ve done it?’ The caution that had been evident in his expression just a few minutes earlier dissipated.

‘We’ve just tarted it up really, changed the menu. The grand opening is the day of the fair. I’m picking Charlie up from school on Friday. Maybe you could come after work on Thursday to see it.’ She felt bold, brazen saying it. Were her intentions so blatant? That she wanted to be alone with him?

She held her breath until he answered.

‘Okay. I’ll see you then. It’s the place on the green, isn’t it?’

And she smiled with relief.