Page 3 of Deep Blue Sea

Patty inclined her head towards a group of three women gossiping by the French windows.

‘No, I’m saying that you don’t want to turn into one of those women.’

Diana had been thinking the same thing. Dressed in a uniform of high-end labels, their hair and nails primped and polished, their eyes constantly monitoring their husbands and each other, these women were trapped in an endless cycle of one-upmanship. Yes, they had shoes and bags and Italian marble work surfaces in their architect-modelled Kensington homes, but they lived their lives on a privileged hamster wheel and in a state of constant anxiety. She looked at the hard-faced blonde standing next to Greg Willets. Greg was one of Julian’s oldest friends, a successful investment banker who treated girlfriends like fast food.

‘I see Greg has a new lady-friend,’ said Patty, pursing her lips. ‘Where do you think he met this one? A massage parlour?’

‘Patty!’ gasped Diana.

‘Come on,’ smiled her friend. ‘Greg is an ordinary-looking man with an extraordinary-sized bank balance. A woman that blonde and gym-toned wouldn’t be with him if he was a bin-man, and do you think Greg is looking for a career woman or an intellectual equal?’

‘She could be a high-flying lawyer for all we know.’

‘If she is, I’ll eat Greg’s Ferrari,’ snorted Patty.

Diana held her tongue. For one thing, Patty was probably right; Julian’s single friends tended to date former models and glamorous PRs, not brain surgeons. And for another, she was in no position to criticise those girls, because the truth was, she was one of them.

She accepted a top-up to her glass of champagne from the waiter. She had been sober all evening, but what the hell. Patty was right: it was time to start enjoying herself.

‘I envy you and Michael,’ she said suddenly.

‘You know what the secret is to making us tick?’ Patty said sagely. ‘We’re both busy. We have enough money to stop working tomorrow, but we choose not to because we want to stay interesting.’

She motioned over to Greg Willets’s blonde. ‘These girls get chosen because they seem to be good wife material: attractive, unchallenging, good enough in bed. They get married, they run the house, they go to the gym, shop. And you know what happens? They get boring. So their husbands, who aren’t totally stupid – not even Greg – they get bored, especially when their wives start losing their looks and their perkiness. So they upgrade. I mean, is that all they have to look forward to?’

‘I thought you were supposed to be cheering me up,’ frowned Diana.

‘Oh, I don’t mean you, darling. You and Julian, it’s different.’

Diana glanced over at her husband, who was laughing at something Michael had just said.

‘Is it?’

Patty turned to look at her meaningfully. ‘Yes, it is. He adores you, Diana. Seriously. I know it hasn’t all been plain sailing for you, but Julian loves you. And don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re most certainly not a trophy wif

e.’

Diana burst out laughing. ‘That’s supposed to be a compliment, is it?’

‘Damn straight it is,’ said Patty, holding her gaze. ‘And that’s what I’ve been saying all night: you’re too bright to do nothing. Get out there, set up an events company, get a job. It’d be good for you. And good for your relationship too.’

Diana nodded, but Patty’s words seemed alien to her. She had never been told she was bright. Beautiful, exquisite, yes. But brainy? It was her sister who was the brain-box. The whip-smart, ruthless one who would be good at business. Too ruthless, she thought, stamping out an unwelcome memory.

‘Promise me you’ll think about it,’ said Patty.

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Do. Because Julian has his faults, but he’s a good one. Speaking of which, I had better go and rescue my husband from that woman’s tits, because if he keeps staring at her cleavage, I fear he’s going to fall in.’

It was gone midnight when the party finally broke up. Diana left Julian at the front door, lingering on the step saying good night to the last stragglers, and walked back through the house into the dining room. The caterers had almost finished up, tables dismantled, crockery, linens, glassware and food miraculously cleared away into the van parked on the street.

She stood at the French windows that overlooked the gardens, and took a moment to admire the scene. The fairy lights were still twinkling like a thousand shining Tinker Bells. In fact, Peter Pan had been the inspiration for tonight’s theme; Diana had happened upon a copy of the book her son Charlie had left behind in his room. He was thirteen now and in his first year at Harrow; children’s stories, however classic, were not the sort of thing a self-conscious teenager would want in his dorm. It was an old copy – fifty or sixty years old, ragged and worn – but it had particular resonance for Diana, as she had bought it from a junk shop during her first year in London, when she had arrived with no money, a twelve-month-old child and nothing more than her looks and a determination to better herself.

She turned. Julian was standing in the doorway, the first three buttons of his shirt undone, and it made her heart jump.

He was a handsome man. Not perfect, of course: his dark eyes were perhaps a little too close together, his lips not quite full enough, his nose a little too strong, but beauty was more forgiving in men, wasn’t it?

‘Hey,’ he said, stepping over to her and putting his arms around her. ‘Why so sad? I thought it went really well tonight.’