Diana had to admit it was impressive. Built out of slate and cedarwood in sleek architectural lines, it had been a labour of love for Julian bringing it to life.
‘It used to be the old boathouse. It was falling down when we bought the place, so Jules wanted to renovate it. He demolished it and rebuilt it from scratch. He loved it, although the truth was, he wasn’t around enough to use it.’
‘I thought you said you bought Somerfold to get Julian away from London. To keep him here.’
‘That was the plan. But he worked so hard, so late, that it just wasn’t practical for him to come home every night.’
She didn’t miss her sister’s fleeting distrustful expression.
Pulling a key out of her trouser pocket, Diana pushed it into the lock and opened the door. She hadn’t been in here for weeks, and there was a slight smell of dust and damp.
‘It’s been a bit neglected, I’m afraid,’ she said, opening a window to let in warm, sweet-smelling evening air.
‘That’s what happens when people work too hard,’ replied Rachel. She said it absently, but Diana got her meaning.
The door opened on to a wide living space. It had a grey modular sofa, a television, and a beautiful oak desk overlooking the lake, and they could see the sun setting over the water through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
‘The balcony runs around the perimeter of the house. It’s lovely to sit out and watch the kingfishers and herons,’ said Diana, pointing to two Adirondack chairs outside.
‘I bet you can dive straight off into the water,’ said Rachel, her eyes wide in pleasure.
‘I think it’s deep enough,’ confirmed Diana, knowing that she was too timid to try it herself but imagining her sister jumping in and cooling off.
‘Where do I sleep?’ asked Rachel.
Diana pointed to the left.
‘There’s a bed through here. There’s cooking equipment and a fridge over there,’ she said, pointing to the opposite end of the house.
She watched Rachel running her hand over the bookshelves and realised, quite bitterly, that she had inadvertently put her sister in her perfect home.
‘So how do we start this?’ she asked finally.
Rachel flopped on the sofa and crossed her legs.
‘It’s a bit like police work, I suppose,’ she said, flinging her head back with tiredness. ‘You’ve seen it on the TV, haven’t you? They get a big board on the wall with photos and lines linking people and events. That’s pretty much how you start an investigation, although without the board.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Journalists are more into scrawled notes on the back of receipts, but it’s the same principle. We want to build up the fullest picture of Julian’s life we can.’
‘Of course,’ said Diana, feeling uncomfortable. She knew she would have to be open and honest with her sister, but she hadn’t appreciated how awkward it would make her feel.
‘Tell me we’ve got coffee in this place?’ said Rachel, standing up and walking to the tiny galley kitchen.
Diana had thought that Thailand might have calmed her sister down, but she was still like an alley cat – constantly restless, constantly on edge, as she had always been as a child.
‘This is a great place to start,’ Rachel shouted. ‘You say he used to work here? What sort of work?’
Diana shook her head. ‘I don’t really know. He didn’t discuss business with me. But there’s a couple of filing cabinets in the other room. They’re locked; I tried, but I’ve no idea where the keys are.’
‘We can get your driver to break them open. He looks brawny enough.’
Rachel walked through with two mugs of coffee. Mrs Bills must have stocked the fridge, thought Diana, noticing that her sister had a Kit Kat sticking out of her pocket.
‘I need to know everything else. Home life, sex life, family life, social life. And I’ll need you to put me in touch with anyone who can fill in the rest, like someone who can tell me what projects he was working on at the company.’
‘Okay,’ said Diana. ‘I think I know who to ask.’
‘Good. I’ll need to speak to as many people who knew Julian as I can. His colleagues, his friends, particularly any close friends, the ones he’d tell his secrets to.’
Diana looked doubtful. ‘Men don’t have those sorts of friendships.’