One thing she had learnt from her days on the newspaper was that she often had all the pieces she needed for her story; it was just a case of putting them together in the right way. And that was what had led her down an illegal path of phone- and email-hacking. The need to prove and connect the dots.
The prospect of speaking to Greg Willets was no more attractive than it had been the night before, although she knew she had to confront him at some point.
Who is smart and clever and knows about the Denvers? she asked herself, wondering if she should try Alicia Dyer one more time.
She flicked through her list of contacts, her finger stopping at two names she knew and respected. Patty and Michael Reynolds. Patty was known as one of the sharpest minds around. Michael was another of Julian’s inner circle. Both were close friends of Greg and the Denvers. Both were financial whiz-kids.
She ordered some breakfast to wake her up – a full English, with a Virgin Bloody Mary with extra Tabasco sauce. By the time it had been delivered to her room and she’d wolfed it down, it was past nine, a perfectly respectable time to
call even if it was a Saturday morning. Michael was usually the more jovial of the two, so she decided to try him first. She didn’t know him well, although she had always liked him: his sense of humour, and his upper-crust English manners.
‘Hello.’
‘It’s Rachel. Rachel Miller.’
‘Hello, Rachel.’ His voice lacked the frostiness of many of Julian’s friends she had spoken to. His disapproval had been registered the first – and only – time they had spoken after she had arrived back in London. ‘You’re going to have to be quick. I’m on a plane. Just about to take off, in fact. Stewardess giving me rather dirty looks as we speak.’
‘Do you know if Greg Willets was handling any deals for the Denver Group?’ she said, jumping straight in.
‘This isn’t really the place to talk about things like that,’ said Michael carefully.
‘Just yes or no. Specifically the pharma division.’
‘There was talk of that, yes,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘I’ve got a small but significant shareholding in the company, as you probably know, so I’ve been keeping an eye on it all. Encouraged Jules to sell the division, in fact. Was Greg involved in the transaction? Possibly. Canopus have some expertise in that sector, although it would be an incredible coup to get the business.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘A bank like Greg’s handles deals up to a hundred million, maybe two hundred. The Denver Chemicals sale would be worth billions. The fees alone on a transaction that size could be fifty, sixty million. I dare say he could do with the business. I know it’s somewhat fashionable to banker-bash, but it can be tough for some of those guys too,’ he said.
Rachel suddenly had lots of questions.
‘Darling, the stewardess is about to slap my wrists with a hot towel. I’d better hang up.’
‘When do you land? I can speak to you then.’
‘I’m flying to Namibia, so try me tomorrow.’
‘Michael, please. Just five more minutes.’
‘What do you want to know?’ She could almost see him frowning.
‘I want to know how M and A deals work.’
‘Well we can’t cover that in ten seconds. Why don’t you speak to Patty? Do you have her number? She’s driving down to Greenfields this morning. Give her a ring.’
He hung up. Slapped down by a hot towel perhaps, although Rachel doubted very much that that happened to first-class passengers.
Patty’s mobile number was in her book. She tried calling, but it went straight to message. No doubt Patty was still on the A3, heading south to their rural retreat. She should go and see her. Patty Reynolds was sharp as a whip but could be gossipy and indiscreet under the right circumstances – a face-to-face meeting was definitely better than a phone call. She couldn’t recall the exact address but remembered its New Forest location, having wangled an invitation to Michael’s fiftieth about five years ago, after they had all been in Tuscany together.
She grabbed a piece of cold toast and stuffed it into her mouth as she started to pack. Her phone beeped and she picked it up hoping it would be Patty returning her call, but it was just the device running out of juice. She sent a quick message to Diana to tell her where she was going, then switched off her phone to conserve the battery. She had to check out. She had to get going.
61
It was a grey and miserable day when Diana got out of bed and flung back the curtains. Although it was morning, swollen black clouds hovered over the grounds and the lonely-looking Lake House, making it seem like dusk. Diana watched as fat droplets of rain hit the window; it was the first storm she’d seen this summer, but she welcomed it. The lawn was beginning to brown, the earth crack, and a good downpour would clear away the muggy heat that made shirts and dresses stick to you. She heard a distant rumble and smiled. A few days earlier, she knew, she would have seen a sudden squall like this as a black omen and would have been plunged into a depression, but now? Well, nothing could get her down. She touched her hand to her belly, trying to remember how long it was before you felt that first kick. In previous pregnancies she would never have dared think such a thing; it was unlucky, tempting fate. But this time she had an overwhelming feeling of well-being, a premonition that everything was going to be fine with this baby. Julian’s baby. Her child. How could that not make her smile?
She turned as her bedside telephone rang.
‘Hello?’