Page 100 of Deep Blue Sea

‘Complaint? This isn’t someone taking a leaky kettle back to customer services. Someone died, Adam.’

He looked apologetic, but didn’t respond.

‘You heard about Rachel’s friend? The investigator who was helping her with Julian.’

‘What happened?’

‘He’s in a coma. He got mugged.’

‘You think this is all linked to Rheladrex?’ said Adam sceptically.

‘Julian and Madison went to Jamaica together. Rachel thought it was because Rheladrex had some clinical trials done out there.’

‘Or perhaps they just went to Jamaica together.’ He put his hand up immediately and apologised. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.’

‘Just email Simon and ask him if he’s heard of Madison and Billy Kopek. Please.’

Adam sighed audibly and got out his phone. He stood on the sidewalk, composing his email. When he had finished, he put the phone back in his pocket.

‘I know why you’re doing this.’

‘What?’

‘Looking for another reason.’

Diana pressed her lips together. He was right. Rheladrex represented her way out. Julian’s will proved that he had still loved his wife and child. And if Julian and Madison were simply working together to expose Rheladrex, it exonerated her husband in other ways too.

‘Wouldn’t you?’ she said softly.

‘It’s too nice an evening to get morbid,’ he said finally.

‘Got any better suggestions?’ she said, feeling her mood slip. Adam was right. She had to catch herself before she slipped into melancholy.

‘How about you try and forget everything, just for a few hours? Lose yourself in a night on the town?’

She smiled and nodded. It was getting dark, and New York was becoming even more magical.

‘It’s your city, cowboy. Show me around.’

‘The beauty of New York is that it’s lots of different cities,’ said Adam as they started to walk away from Le Cirque. ‘We’ve got Chinatown, downtown,

uptown, fashion New York, the art scene, the hipster scene . . . You could live in the city a decade and go to a different place every night, be a different person.’

‘Give me your New York.’

‘You mean the late-night bars and the strip joints?’ he said, his dark green eyes flashing mischievously.

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘I’m joking. You know I live over the river now. Brooklyn Heights. I am officially a bridge-and-tunnel guy.’

‘So let’s go there. Show me your manor.’

Diana had seen many of New York’s different personalities. She had sat in the tents in Bryant Park during New York Fashion Week, drunk cocktails in the bar at the Gramercy hotel. She’d been to fancy art gallery openings in SoHo, eaten quail in the Upper East Side restaurants. But Brooklyn was not on her radar. Never had been.

They got a cab across the bridge and were dropped off by the famous waterfront promenade. They bought hot dogs and supersize milkshakes from a vendor and ate and drank as they strolled down the sidewalk. There were skateboarders in the street, chic, contented blondes pushing all-terrain buggies, couples flirting in the shade of a tree. If a city could transform you into anyone you wanted to be, then Brooklyn was doing a good job of taking her away from being Diana Denver.

Her conversation with Adam flowed quickly, easily. It was as if they wanted to compact everything they should have said over the seven years they had known one another into one evening. Listening to his stories, Diana was shocked by how superficial their acquaintance had been before now. How you could know someone so well, but know absolutely nothing about them at all. She had no idea that he had sailed the Atlantic. She had known about his rather playboy love of polo but was surprised to learn he was a five-goal player. He could play the saxophone, had produced a short film that had been shown at Sundance. He wanted to own a dog but was worried that he travelled too much. He collected Ernest Hemingway first editions and Northern Soul vinyl. In another life he wanted to be a war photographer; in this life he wanted to expand his hotel group from a 250-property portfolio into something to rival the Starwood chain.