Adam put his arm around her shoulder.
‘Hey, hey. Stop this. I’m assuming Rachel hasn’t got any actual proof.’
‘Why, don’t you believe it?’ she asked, her eyes challenging his.
He looked away, and Diana remembered their conversation in Dorset when she had described Adam and Julian as different sides of the same coin. Adam had never been able to settle down, despite numerous beautiful girlfriends; he had never really been committed to one woman. The difference between him and Julian was that Adam wasn’t married.
‘Don’t answer that,’ she whispered, not wanting him to lie to her.
He put his hand over hers and squeezed her fingers.
She wanted him to hold her, to feel secure in someone’s arms. He stood up and pulled her to her feet, and as their gazes locked she knew that he felt it too – a connection to the past, a connection to Julian, the person they had both loved most. It excited and unsettled her. And then it had gone, and she was glad that it had.
26
The Four Seasons hotel was in the perfect spot, with views over the city and the Potomac River. The smart lobby was milling with powerful-looking people, her suite was luxurious, and the whole place made her feel like a glamorous diplomat. Reclining on her cloud-sized pillows, Rachel flipped open her laptop, deciding that these were very agreeable working conditions and that she would quite happily move in here at the drop of a fedora.
She logged in and checked her emails, surprised to see that she had received one from the Giles-Miller Diving School, a place that seemed so far away, so long ago, it was as if it had fallen out of her consciousness.
Hey Newshound,
How’s things over there in the motherland? Everything’s going swimmingly over here (see what I did there?) and we’re booked up until the end of the season. We could do with the extra pair of hands, but no rush. Let me know how it’s going. Don’t be a stranger and all that.
Lx
She scanned it again, trying to work out if there was hidden meaning in any of the words. It was stupid really, there was nothing to the message, just a postcard really, but she was glad it had come. During their time together in Thailand, Liam had been the one she went to whenever she had a problem, the one she’d bounce ideas off, the one she trusted above anyone else. Right now she could do with running this whole mess past him, see what his big Cambridge brain would make of it.
‘What are you looking so pleased about? Boyfriend?’ asked Ross from the table by the window.
She felt herself blush, not realising that she had been smiling.
‘No. Absolutely not.’
‘She protesteth too much,’ grinned Ross, scrolling through his own messages.
‘If you must know, it’s my diving partner, fishing around for when I’m coming back.’
‘Good luck with that one. We could be here months.’ He stretched his arms above his head, cracking his fingers and grinning. ‘In fact there are some cold cases that stretch back decades.’
‘I can’t be here months, much as a room at the Four Seasons is much nicer than my apartment.’
The light was fading, and already Washington was disappearing from view outside the windows.
‘How far do you want to take this?’ Ross asked more quietly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Diana wants answers. You have them. We can keep on looking, but for what? Where does this stop? As I said at the start, this is about providing your sister with resolution. It’s not All the President’s Men.’
She fell quiet, acknowledging that Ross had hit a nerve. She felt satisfied, important, just being here. She had always wanted to be a great reporter. She had started out at the more frivolous end of newspaper journalism, and although stories about cheating celebrities and benefit scams had hardly been Pulitzer prize-winning journalism, when she had exposed a truth, a cheat, it had felt good, even though she appreciated the hypocrisy that she often had to be devious herself to generate those stories. Being here, in a fancy hotel suite, interviewing people once more, piecing together bits of a mystery that so far had no sense or meaning, reminded her how much she had loved her old life. It was as if her professional downfall hadn’t happened, as if her career trajectory had carried on how it had been meant to. She knew she was doing this as much for herself as for her sister, and Ross was absolutely right when he said they had to stop where Diana wanted them to.
‘Look. A message from Greg Willets,’ she said, opening up another email.
‘Finally. What does it say?’
She scanned it quickly, paraphrasing. ‘Yes. He thinks the photo I sent him might have been the blonde he saw Julian with in Washington. Quote, “Can’t be sure. It was from across the road. It was dark. I’d had a drink.”’
‘Thanks for that,’ said Ross sarcastically.