Page 92 of Deep Blue Sea

Diana slid her thin arm into Rachel’s, an intimate gesture that almost made Rachel stop walking; the last time Diana had touched her was to slap her across the face.

‘Anyway, you’ve got me now.’

They both smiled and started walking back to Bayswater.

31

Rachel listened in to Diana’s meeting with the coroner’s officer. Not in any official way, of course – Diana had insisted that she take the meeting alone – but Rachel thought it best that she monitor the conversation, not only to check that her sister was okay, but to make sure that she didn’t let slip any information to him that she hadn’t told her.

She sat on the warm stone step outside Somerfold and listened intently. She had left the French windows a little ajar, but the morning birdsong blotted out much of what was being said. From what she could make out, though, Mr Nicholson, the sensible-looking man who had arrived half an hour earlier, had ruled out the possibility of auto-erotic asphyxiation. Rachel cringed when she heard Diana fishing around the subject.

‘Auto-erotic asphyxiation is masturbation,’ explained Mr Nicholson. ‘If he was masturbating, then it’s likely he would have removed some or all of his clothes, but he was found fully clothed. Plus there was no semen found in the post-mortem.’

Poor Diana, thought Rachel, hugging her knees. Poor Julian, too, being described in such cold, clinical terms.

She heard them say their goodbyes, heard him leave, and she crept into the house through the French windows.

Diana spun round, looking startled.

‘Were you out there the whole time?’ she gasped.

Rachel looked sheepish. ‘I was just, gardening, er, sunbathing . . . Yes, I was,’ she admitted.

She watched Diana lean against the wall as if all the life was draining out of her.

‘Come on,’ she said briskly. ‘It’s time to show me that café you’re interested in.’

‘Not today . . .’

‘Yes, today. Should we invite Mum?’

‘No. Just us,’ said Diana, standing up straight.

‘Do you have bikes?’

‘Julian’s Ducatis . . .’

‘As much as I would love to arrive in the village at ninety miles per hour, I was thinking more like bicycles. Let me go and speak to Mr Bills.’

She found Mr Bills and asked him to bring two bikes to the front of the house. She knew she had to keep her sister moving, knew how difficult it had been for her to be interviewed today.

‘Come on. Mum’s having a swim. She’ll be back at the house any minute.’

‘It makes it seem like we’re sneaking off.’

‘We are,’ grinned Rachel, remembering all the times as teenagers when they had slipped out of the house to meet boys or go to a party.

‘How about you move into the main house?’ said Diana suddenly.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Rachel, swinging one long leg over the Pashley frame.

Diana nodded, and Rachel felt a warm glow that she had finally been accepted home.

They were both sweating by the time they got to the village. It was a warm day. Rachel had barely run or swum since she had arrived in London and she could feel her fitness levels slipping.

‘Is this it?’ she asked, leaning her bike against the pub railing by the green. ‘Good location.’

The café was a long honey-stone building with tired curtains at the windows. Inside, an elderly woman was transferring scones from a box marked ‘Catering Pack’ on to chipped white plates.