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.