Page 21 of Deep Blue Sea

As the car proceeded down the avenue of lime trees she watched Hanley Park get bigger and bigger. She knew it wasn’t the ideal place to seek refuge. Diana just wanted to curl up somewhere warm and cosy, to pull a soft blanket up to her chin and sink into a silent, untroubled sleep. But coming here was better than staying at the funeral. On the journey over, Adam hadn’t discussed her panic attack any further. She couldn’t even make sense of it herself. But her cheeks w

ere still hot from the embarrassment of it all.

The car stopped outside the impressive pillared entrance. As her foot crunched on to the gravel drive, a fleet of butlers appeared from nowhere, like genies from a lamp, clearly anticipating the arrival of the first guests for the wake. Adam straightened his thin black tie and waved them back inside.

‘Thank you,’ whispered Diana, grateful that Adam had read her mind that she wanted absolutely no fuss. Behind them they could hear another car speeding down the driveway. She tensed, and knew she should have insisted on being taken back to Somerfold rather than the closer Hanley Park.

‘This will be Elizabeth’s event planners come to tell me off for running away. Tell me you’ve got a secret passageway we can escape into.’

Adam put his hand on her shoulder in reassurance.

‘Funnily enough, there’s a priest hole in the kitchen. It takes you to the catacombs beneath us and comes out by that woodland over there. I used it plenty of times when my mum and dad were on the war path.’

Diana managed a smile at the thought of the young, mischievous Adam Denver, whose boyhood and teenage antics were the stuff of family legend. Flushing his nanny’s slippers down the toilet, poking beehives to extract his own honey, taxiing his friends to the pub on a tractor liberated from the estate’s farm.

‘Do you think there’s time to make a run for it?’ she grimaced.

‘Not in those heels. Come on, let’s get inside,’ instructed Adam.

They made it as far as the entrance hall, resplendent with huge vases of lilies, before they heard a car stopping on the gravel. Diana sighed with relief as Charlie ran through the door towards her.

‘Mum, what happened?’

‘It’s fine, Charlie. Really . . .’ she began.

Without hesitation her son hugged her as tightly as he could. The gesture took her by surprise. Charlie was now of an age when any affectionate contact with his parents was decidedly uncool. He must have been concerned about her to have her practically in a headlock.

Adam returned from the drawing room and handed her a whisky.

‘Drink that,’ he ordered.

‘I’m not going back to school,’ said Charlie suddenly, breaking away from her and meeting her gaze levelly. Since starting boarding school, he had become increasingly headstrong. Julian said it was his burgeoning confidence, but Diana was convinced he had the Denver genes if not the Denver blood.

‘Of course you’re going back. Granny and I are driving you there tomorrow.’

‘How can I leave you like this? You fainted. You can pretend that everything is all right, but it obviously isn’t.’ His voice was loud, firm, protective. ‘I’m staying with you. School’s almost finished anyway.’

‘You’ve got three weeks left of term,’ she said feeling some maternal steeliness returning to her body. ‘Besides, there’s your exams.’

‘Stuff exams.’

‘Charlie!’

‘Uncle Adam. Tell her that exams aren’t important.’

‘You don’t want to take a leaf out of my book,’ said Adam sheepishly.

‘Please tell her.’ Charlie looked across at his uncle, willing him to back him up. They didn’t see each other very often, but they always got on like a house on fire when they did. Diana would have preferred that her son hero-worship a less mercurial member of the family; Adam sent wholly inappropriate birthday and Christmas presents – a gift-wrapped gold Dunhill cigarette lighter had arrived when Charlie had turned thirteen – but right now he was the only ally they had.

‘I think you should listen to your mother. She always knows best,’ he said, shooting Diana a look of complicity, and she was grateful for his support.

The front door swung open again and Sylvia Miller walked into the house, her lips pressed into a thin burgundy line.

‘You just ran off!’

‘I didn’t run off. I had to get away.’

‘What on earth happened?’