Deep Blue Sea

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘I’ve always preferred hotels to houses. I suppose it’s because we spent so much time in them as children and they seemed to be magical places – like ice-cream sundaes could just appear in your room, or if you wanted a book, they’d go out and get you one.’ He raised one eyebrow. ‘Well, they would when we were staying in them, anyway.’

  He looked over at the library.

  ‘I went to art college for a year. Mum and Dad didn’t know what to do with me. Thought I needed a bit of time to mature before I started working for the company. I got hooked on architecture: I loved the idea of design for living, that form could also have function. And to me, hotels seemed to be the epitome of that. They were pleasure palaces, constructed entirely with a single purpose: to service the guest.’

  ‘I had no idea you were such an idealist, Adam Denver.’

  They left the café and wandered out into the winding streets of Oxford, just enjoying the warm evening, the yellow light spilling from Dickensian pubs and restaurants on to the worn flagstones of the pavements. It was impossible not to get caught up in the romance of it all, and Rachel found herself stealing a glance here and there at her companion. He was handsome, that went without saying, but he seemed to be surprisingly sensitive too. Some people just didn’t fit the stereotype.

  As they passed another equally impressive circular building, this one surrounded by railings upon which the heads of stone giants appeared to be impaled, Rachel could see a crowd gathered.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ she said, tugging at Adam’s arm. ‘Let’s go and see.’

  As they approached, she could see it was a walking ghost tour. The guide was dressed as an undertaker in a long black coat and a top hat. His skin looked pale – Rachel suspected artificially so, as was the voice, which was a Christopher Lee-type baritone. They paid their money and joined the back of the group, following it through dark narrow back streets and passageways.

  ‘This is actually quite creepy,’ she whispered, as they stopped by a college gate to listen to a story about a spectre who had risen from the chapel grounds.

  ‘I thought you Fleet Street hacks were tough as nails,’ Adam hissed back.

  ‘Ex-Fleet Street hack, remember?’

  She was making light of it, but as the tales of murders and torture continued, she became increasingly uneasy and nudged Adam.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to be here any more.’

  She didn’t mention Julian, but she didn’t have to. Adam simply nodded and they drifted away from the pack, back towards the main drag.

  ‘I feel a bit stupid,’ she said sheepishly.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he replied. He took her hand and wrapped his arm around hers, a gesture more of reassurance and solidarity than intimacy. ‘Listen, you came here to find out why Julian killed himself; it’s only natural that it’s going to get to you after a while.’

  ‘I know, I just feel like an idiot getting freaked out by a man in a top hat.’

  He glanced across at her. ‘D’you want to talk about it? The investigation, I mean? It must be hard having to keep it all to yourself.’

  ‘Not tonight,’ she said softly.

  ‘In which case. Can you smell that?’

  Rachel sniffed the air. ‘Fish and chips!’

  Adam grinned impishly. ‘I will if you will,’ he said.

  ‘Only if they have mushy peas.’

  They each bought cod and chips and walked back up the road, eating as they went.

  ‘I’d have had you down as a health freak,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Me? I’d better have a stern word with my PR.’

  Rachel giggled. ‘Why didn’t we do this sooner?’ she said.

  ‘Do what? Eat chips?’

  ‘No, spend time together, get on as friends.’

  ‘I always got the impression you thought I was a knob,’ grinned Adam.

  ‘You are a knob,’ she laughed, throwing a chip at him. ‘Just not a total knob.’

  He looked at her for a long moment. ‘Come on,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I want to show you something.’

  He led her through a maze of back streets until Rachel had completely lost her sense of direction.

  ‘Adam, where are you taking me?’

  He stopped outside a honey-stone building with a crest carved over the door. ‘Here.’

  ‘What’s this? Whose is it?’

  He took a set of keys out of his pocket and jangled them. ‘Mine.’

  ‘Yours?’

  ‘Well, the company’s. Oxford has a huge tourist industry but very few hotels actually in the town centre.’

  Rachel looked up dubiously at the dusty windows. ‘It’s a hotel?’

  ‘No, not yet. The lawyers tell me that it won’t be too difficult to get the planning permission, but I’m still a bit nervous.’

  ‘You? Nervous?’ She smiled.

  ‘Come on, I want to show you inside,’ he said, rattling a key into the lock and opening the door.

  Rachel had been expecting something grand, like most other hotels she’d seen, but it was just a normal hallway.

  ‘You’re disappointed,’ said Adam.

  ‘No, actually. I quite like that it could just be a house from the street and then you open the door and – it is. Like it’s your home away from home.’

  ‘No ordinary home, though,’ he said, leading her down the corridor, past what looked like a cosy drawing room and up to a wooden door. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You should be asking Diana. She’s the one with the interior designer’s eye.’

  Adam ignored her and opened the door.

  ‘Oh wow,’ said Rachel.

  It was an old library, with floor-to-ceiling polished wooden shelves, some still stacked with books, and brass-handled ladders on castors for reaching the topmost shelves.

  ‘What is this place? I mean, what was it?’

  ‘A private museum,’ said Adam. ‘One of those Victorian gentlemen who brought things back from his travels. Things like this, actually.’

  He gently turned her by the shoulders and Rachel was brought face to face with a full-sized stuffed bear. She let out a little shriek.

  ‘Wimp,’ he laughed, and she swatted his arm.

  They walked through the maze of rooms, each one with a feature of interest – a Zulu shield and spear, an alabaster sculpture of a winged horse, a polished fossilised shell the size of a chair. Adam explained that he was planning on using the artefacts to decorate the rooms in the finished hotel, and his eyes lit up as he discussed it.

  ‘So you like it?’ he asked.

  ‘I love it. I’d stay here in a heartbeat. How many bedrooms has it got?’ she asked before stopping herself. Jesus, Rachel! she thought, flushing. What the hell are you doing asking him about bedrooms?

  ‘I reckon we could get thirty-five bedrooms out of it, and one penthouse.’

  ‘Penthouse?’

  ‘Follow me,’ he said, taking her hand. He pushed at an open door with his toe and it creaked back on its hinges.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Rachel said nervously. She could just make out the inside of the room; it was a dark, intimate space, crowded with boxes.

  ‘This was the curator’s quarters,’ he whispered, as if he feared waking up the old chap’s ghost. ‘This way.’

  Without letting go of her hand, he led Rachel up a winding iron spiral staircase.

  ‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ he said. There was no other word to describe it. They were standing on a circular gallery, a sort of mezzanine looking down on the rest of the quarters, and above them was a glass dome through which they could see a dark expanse of star-spangled sky.

  ‘It’s . . . beautiful,’ she whispered, her head tilted back. ‘Truly.’

  H
e was standing behind her and she could feel his breath on her neck. He stroked her hair and it felt as if his fingertips had seared her skin. She moaned softly, a voice in her head willing her to turn around, a thought that thrilled and exhilarated her, but his hands were already on her, doing it for her. And when they were face to face, he took the final step forward and kissed her softly, tenderly.

  She could almost hear herself purring with pleasure.

  As their kisses got deeper, he pushed her against the wall. ‘Why have we never done this before?’ she said between short, desperate gasps.

  ‘You’ve always been a very tricky customer,’ he murmured.

  ‘I’ll show you tricky,’ she whispered, finding this game, this banter the most natural and easy thing in the world.

  His lips brushed down her neck whilst his hands pulled up her short cotton sundress, exposing her thighs and her knickers. He pushed himself against her, and she felt his hardness, reminding her that he had nothing on beneath the denim. Smiling slowly, she undid the button of his jeans and teased the zip down slowly. His cock sprang free and she sank down to meet it. He groaned with pleasure as she took him in her mouth, her hand guiding him in and out.

  She stood up, leaving him hungry for more, and he cupped her face and kissed her deeply, pulling at her lips, probing his tongue into her mouth. Rachel reached around him, pulling him in tighter, running her fingers up through his hair. She wanted him. She wanted him more than anything.

  ‘Please,’ she growled as her phone began to ring.

  ‘Don’t answer it,’ he mumbled, pushing the thin spaghetti strap of her dress off her shoulder.

  She had no intention of answering it right now, she wanted to turn it off. But as she pulled it out, the phone slipped from her grasp and clattered down on to the iron walkway.

  ‘Bugger,’ she muttered, bending to retrieve it and bashing her head against his.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ he said, rubbing his forehead, but in the confusion Rachel kicked the mobile and it bounced down the stairs, end over end, still ringing, then hit what sounded like a plate at the bottom.

  ‘Shit!’ she cried, chasing down after it.

  ‘Rachel, don’t . . .’ called Adam, but she was already retrieving it from a pile of shattered pottery.

  ‘Bills’ read the caller ID. Rachel frowned and stabbed at the ‘speak’ button. What was Diana’s housekeeper doing calling her at this time? In fact, what was she doing calling her at all? Rachel only had her number in her phone because Diana had been paranoid about prowlers in the grounds at night and insisted that everyone should have everyone else’s numbers.

  ‘Mrs Bills? Is that you?’ said Rachel, raising the phone to her ear. She could hear Adam’s frustrated groan from directly above.

  ‘Yes, Miss Rachel, it is me. I had to call, I’m sorry, but it was an emergency . . .’

  The woman began to sob, and Rachel immediately felt her stomach turn over. Had the prowlers finally come?

  ‘Calm down,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘Tell me what’s happened. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in the hospital; the ambulance brought me here with Miss Diana.’

  ‘Ambulance?’ she repeated dumbly, looking up towards Adam. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s Diana, she had a fall. A bad fall, she hit her head. Oh Lord, there was blood everywhere!’ The housekeeper began to cry again.

  ‘Okay, Mrs Bills, I’ll get there as soon as I can. But is Diana all right? Is it bad?’

  There was a pause, and Rachel held her breath, crossing her fingers as she did. Please, please, please, she thought, not another one, please.

  ‘I think she will be okay, just a few stitches,’ said Mrs Bills, then her voice went quieter, as if she was worried about being overheard. ‘But the baby, Miss Rachel,’ she said. ‘Diana only wants you to know, but they think she might lose the baby.’

  56

  Diana was aware of people in the room before she even opened her eyes.

  ‘Charlie?’ she said, turning towards the figure at the side of the bed. She winced as her eyes opened; the light was so bright, and even that small movement made everything ache.

  ‘Not Charlie, love. He’s still at his friend’s,’ said Mrs Bills, putting a concerned hand on her forearm. ‘Thought it was best we didn’t tell him until we know what’s happening. Your mum is on her way over here from London, though.’

  ‘Rach, is that you?’ It was all coming back to her now. Rachel and Adam in the lake, the car disappearing from view, the email, the rush down the stairs . . . ‘I fell?’

  Rachel came to the side of the bed, crouching down and holding her sister’s thin hand.

  ‘Only landed on your head,’ she smiled, ‘so nothing vital anyway. Mrs Bills called the ambulance straight away and they brought you here. You’ve got concussion, some stitches . . .’

  Diana reached up to touch the dressing on her head. It felt huge.

  ‘Don’t worry, only five stitches,’ whispered Rachel. ‘And just inside the hairline, so no one will see.’

  Mrs Bills slipped discreetly out of the room and closed the door.

  ‘Di, Mrs Bills said you might have lost the baby.’ There was a concerned crease between Rachel’s eyebrows. It was the first time Diana had seen her sister look anything but vibrant and youthful. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said softly.

  ‘I’m pregnant, Rach. I was. We just have to wait for the scan . . .’

  Rachel gasped and drew a hand to her chest. Her eyes pooled with tears and Diana knew she could tell her no more. Not yet.

  She could remember the rest of the evening now: talking to the nurse, the guilty, whispered confession that she was pregnant. She knew that she had to break her silence, even though a part of her wanted to keep it hidden, wanted to brush it under the carpet. And then the added panic when Mrs Bills told her that she had called everyone to inform them about the fall, even Ralph and Barbara Denver, who were at their villa in Provence and were chartering a plane to get here as they spoke.

  ‘Where were you this evening?’ she began haltingly. ‘I saw you at the lake with Adam.’

  She watched Rachel colour, ever so slightly.

  ‘It was just a silly bit of kids’ stuff, jumping into the lake, then we went into Oxford for a drink.’

  ‘Is there anything going on between you?’ she asked finally. She gripped the edge of her sheets, not wanting to hear the answer, not wanting to look her sister in the eye as she replied.

  Rachel hesitated. ‘Don’t be daft, he’s just a friend.’

  Diana felt her body relax and reached for her sister’s hand, not wanting to think too hard about whether she believed her or not.

  ‘Good. I mean, I’m relieved, because I need to tell you something about Adam.’

  57

  She found Adam in the waiting room, where he was feeding coins into a machine to retrieve a plastic cup of coffee.

  He jumped when he saw Rachel coming towards him.

  ‘How is she?’ he asked, looking genuinely concerned. ‘I was just coming up . . .’

  ‘You are not going to see her,’ said Rachel, jabbing her finger in his face.

  Coffee spilled on to his T-shirt. He looked completely bewildered and put down the cup before he spoke.

  ‘What the hell is going on, Rachel? Is everything all right?’

  ‘It will be. But first I want you to tell me everything you know about Julian and Rheladrex.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Rachel, can’t you just forget about Rheladrex for one evening?’

  ‘Why do you think Diana is in hospital?’ she asked, glaring at him. She didn’t stop to let him answer the question. ‘She found out about you. She was coming to phone me and she fell down the stairs.’

  ‘Found what out about me?�
� he said, flicking the coffee drops off his T-shirt.

  ‘Julian’s report on Rheladrex,’ said Rachel simply, watching his reaction carefully. A tiny widening of the eyes, then a rapid recovery of his studied cool. ‘You knew about it, didn’t you? You read the report.’ She could barely speak. She didn’t know which was trembling more, her hand, which was curled into a fist, or her voice.

  ‘That’s how you knew she was called Maddison. Double D, and I don’t mean her cup size.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t you dare deny it, Adam. You asked Simon Michaels if he had heard of Maddison Kopek. But you knew all about her before Diana and I ever told you anything. Julian had got there first. He told you what was up with Rheladrex, showed you the report, and yet you pretended you knew nothing about the drug, the tests or her death.’ She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, not wanting it to be true.

  Adam looked down at a point on the floor, unsmiling, not speaking.

  ‘Julian showed me the report, yes,’ he replied softly. Rachel hadn’t thought he would admit it so readily. ‘He was confused. He didn’t know who to talk to about it, said he needed someone impartial. Of course, he thought that person might be me. I mean, what do I have to do with the company? What do I care whether it succeeds or fails, right?’ His sarcasm was obvious.

  ‘And what did you tell him?’

  ‘I told him to sit tight,’ replied Adam more evenly. ‘Not to do anything rash. Certainly I didn’t want him to pull Rheladrex off the market. It would have been madness. Do you know how much a successful sale of the company would have netted us? I’m family, I loved Julian, but I’m also a shareholder. We can’t have the CEO being so cavalier with the company’s interests.’

  ‘So what did you do? Kill him?’

  ‘What?’ said Adam, incredulous. ‘I wouldn’t kill my own brother.’

  ‘How do we know that?’

  ‘I knew this would happen,’ he said, looking towards the ceiling. ‘I knew our paranoid family hack would let this run out of control. I knew she would go seeing things where there was nothing to see, cause more trouble within the family . . .’