‘Don’t underestimate the strength a mother can find to protect her child,’ Diana said as she turned for the door.
She let herself out and sank on to the stone steps outside. She could sense a presence at the window behind her, Elizabeth watching her from a crack in the curtains, but she didn’t care.
Her hands were shaking as she pulled her phone out of her bag. ‘Mum,’ she whispered when a voice answered at the other end. ‘Mum. Come and get me. I need you. And find Rachel, please. Find her and bring her to us.’
30
Rachel stood at the bottom of the steps leading to her mother’s apartment for a long time, too scared to go inside, too worried about what she was going to see or hear. She had been on her way back to Somerfold in the executive Mercedes that Adam Denver had laid on for her, not wanting to admit to herself that she’d had an unexpectedly pleasant afternoon in Jersey, when her mother had contacted her saying that she had to come to Bayswater immediately. The urgency of Sylvia Miller’s voice and the knowledge that her mother would rather communicate with her via homing pigeon than actually talk to her had sent a cold shiver of worry down her spine. All she could hear were Adam’s words about Diana being on the edge, and despite Sylvia’s reassurances that her sister was okay, Rachel had spent the entire journey into London feeling sick with fear and guilt that something dreadful had happened to her.
Finally she pressed the bell and took the long flight of stairs to her mother’s first-floor flat. The door was slightly ajar, so she crept inside, using the few moments she was alone to take in her surroundings. She had been aware that Julian had bought Sylvia a property in London when Diana had first fallen pregnant three years earlier. A large lateral space with long windows that overlooked a pretty square, the property was an estate agent’s wet dream, not so much a granny flat as a bribe. After his infidelity, after his betrayal of her daughter, it appeared that Julian had paid for Sylvia’s forgiveness the only way he knew how – with money.
She heard footsteps from the other end of the hall and felt her pulse quicken; the last thing she felt like was another hostile reception, but instead her mother crept out of the kitchen with the quietness and solemnity of an undertaker.
‘Hello, Rachel. How are you?’ she said softly.
The gentle welcome almost knocked Rachel sideways and heightened her concern even further.
‘Hello, Mum,’ she said quickly. ‘Where is she?’
‘In the guest bedroom. I didn’t know whether to call the doctor for a sedative.’
Her mother hadn’t actually told her anything other than that Diana was upset and wanted to see her. In the car over here Rachel had been imagining all sorts of scenarios. As a child she had never been able to wait to see what happened at the end of a story, always sneaking a look at the last page, desperate to find out if Cinderella and Prince Charming got together. Of course they always did – but then that was only fairy tales, wasn’t it? Look how it had turned out for Diana and her handsome prince: no happily-ever-after there.
‘Can’t she sleep?’
‘She says she can’t.’
‘But she’s okay?’
Sylvia nodded, her eyes closed, her lips pressed together. ‘She called me from Kensington,’ she said, her voice not even a whisper. ‘She was sobbing so hard I could hardly hear where to pick her up from. I found her eventually. Slumped up against a wall in the Phillimores like a homeless person. I hope to God that no one saw her.’
Rachel didn’t like to point out that being spotted by a west London acquaintance was probably the least of Diana’s problems.
‘She wants to talk to you.’
‘Then you’d better put the kettl
e on.’
Sylvia put her hand out and touched her daughter’s forearm. Rachel flinched. Sylvia had never been the most demonstrative of parents – Rachel couldn’t remember being scooped up or hugged as a child – and whilst the gesture wasn’t unwelcome, it certainly made her jolt with surprise.
‘Thank you for coming.’
Rachel knew it was not an apology for excommunicating her daughter for almost four years, but it was a peace offering, a sign that the worst was over, and she smiled back softly.
She walked down the hallway, taking slow, quiet steps. It wasn’t more than ten metres to the bedroom at the far end of the apartment, but it felt like a very long way indeed. She pushed open the door and peeped inside. The room was unlit and gloomy. Diana was standing by the window, peering out. As she turned to look at Rachel, a cone of light from the street lamp outside illuminated her face. Despite its soft, fuzzy glow, Rachel could see that she was as white as a ghost, and her once glossy hair was lank around her face. Her eyes seemed to have receded a little further back into her skull, her cheekbones were sharper, her beautiful fine-boned face looked haunted.
Rachel turned a lamp on and sat on the bed.
‘Do you want to talk?’ she said simply.
Diana just nodded.
‘Maybe we should go for a walk. This place is so close to the park . . .’
‘Now?’ asked Diana, wrapping her arms across herself. ‘Won’t it be dangerous?’
‘Don’t be daft. It’s a warm summer night, it’ll be teeming. I think there’s a concert on, actually. We might even be able to buy ice cream and beer.’