local press get wind of this, they’re going to be camped outside the school, and then it’ll be picked up by the nationals and then the - oh my God - the bloody Internet … ”
“This diary might not even exist!”
“You think anyone will care about that?”
Too late, Alicia realised she should have agreed with him. Now he had the idea in his head, he fully intended to run with it.
“Natalie has accused a teacher of dating - read ‘grooming’ - her sister, and possibly murdering her too. Were you not listening? The parents are going to be in uproar. Sarah went to our school. Some of the teachers were there in her day. It could be one of them. Hell, people might even think it’s me! It’s a public relations disaster.”
“No one’s going to believe she was talking about you! You were eighteen when Sarah died. You were still at college. ‘Teacher’ in this context could easily mean a boy with spectacles, or someone who helped her with her maths homework.”
“Do you imagine anyone is going to be concerned with technicalities? I thought Natalie was your friend? Why would she do this?”
“I don’t think it was deliberate, you know how she loves to talk about Sarah … ”
“She sent you flowers with note that says ‘sorry’ on the very morning she announces it to the world. She’s set us up - and not just us. Think about it. Who else teaches at that school? Who else was there, fifteen years ago?”
“ Simon ? But he’s Natalie’s boyfriend! You couldn’t possibly believe - ”
James regarded her coolly. “Now do you understand why I’m worried? As far as the parents are concerned, it could be any one of us.”
14
The Camilla Hoffman Show had cut to an ad break. The programme had another twenty minutes to run but Natalie was no longer required. As she exited the TV studios, Siân Williams, her publicist, was waiting for her.
“You were terrific,” Siân said predictably. She was a tiny brunette, with long glossy hair and a habitual frown. As though determined not be overlooked in favour of her famous clients, she wore bright colours and ostentatious shoes which, although adding several inches to her height, still did not bring her much above five foot.
Natalie slipped on her coat and did not reply.
Siân’s fragile, elfin appearance belied her frightening efficiency. “The car is waiting outside,” she said. “We have two bookstore signings lined up, and then I thought we could break for lunch. Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to eat? I didn’t book anything in case you had a preference. Thai? Italian?”
Natalie shrugged. Food was food as far as she was concerned. Required, obviously, but not something worth making a fuss about.
“Whatever,” she said.
Siân consulted her BlackBerry. “We have a couple more bookstore signings, followed by a radio interview, followed by dinner with Julia and the MD. Tomorrow morning we’re hoping for a spot on breakfast TV but we’re waiting for confirmation.” She paused, tapping out a rhythm on the keypad. “We’ve other interviews lined up but they can be done over the phone. Some of the bigger publications may want to send a journalist to your home with a photographer. Or to a hotel if you prefer? We’re also waiting to hear back from them.”
More questions about Sarah’s death, thought Natalie, depressed. No one ever wanted to talk about what Sarah had been like as a person, only the horrible way in which she had died.
I need a drink …
The grey autumnal day didn’t help. It was beginning to rain, big fat drops splashing onto a dusty pavement. Siân took something from her bag, flicked her wrist and, like magic, a scarlet umbrella opened above Natalie’s head, just as their car pulled up.
Siân took her arm and hustled her into the car.
The early start was catching up with her. In front, Siân was arguing with the driver over the quickest route to the first bookstore. Natalie closed her eyes and let them
“This diary might not even exist!”
“You think anyone will care about that?”
Too late, Alicia realised she should have agreed with him. Now he had the idea in his head, he fully intended to run with it.
“Natalie has accused a teacher of dating - read ‘grooming’ - her sister, and possibly murdering her too. Were you not listening? The parents are going to be in uproar. Sarah went to our school. Some of the teachers were there in her day. It could be one of them. Hell, people might even think it’s me! It’s a public relations disaster.”
“No one’s going to believe she was talking about you! You were eighteen when Sarah died. You were still at college. ‘Teacher’ in this context could easily mean a boy with spectacles, or someone who helped her with her maths homework.”
“Do you imagine anyone is going to be concerned with technicalities? I thought Natalie was your friend? Why would she do this?”
“I don’t think it was deliberate, you know how she loves to talk about Sarah … ”
“She sent you flowers with note that says ‘sorry’ on the very morning she announces it to the world. She’s set us up - and not just us. Think about it. Who else teaches at that school? Who else was there, fifteen years ago?”
“ Simon ? But he’s Natalie’s boyfriend! You couldn’t possibly believe - ”
James regarded her coolly. “Now do you understand why I’m worried? As far as the parents are concerned, it could be any one of us.”
14
The Camilla Hoffman Show had cut to an ad break. The programme had another twenty minutes to run but Natalie was no longer required. As she exited the TV studios, Siân Williams, her publicist, was waiting for her.
“You were terrific,” Siân said predictably. She was a tiny brunette, with long glossy hair and a habitual frown. As though determined not be overlooked in favour of her famous clients, she wore bright colours and ostentatious shoes which, although adding several inches to her height, still did not bring her much above five foot.
Natalie slipped on her coat and did not reply.
Siân’s fragile, elfin appearance belied her frightening efficiency. “The car is waiting outside,” she said. “We have two bookstore signings lined up, and then I thought we could break for lunch. Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to eat? I didn’t book anything in case you had a preference. Thai? Italian?”
Natalie shrugged. Food was food as far as she was concerned. Required, obviously, but not something worth making a fuss about.
“Whatever,” she said.
Siân consulted her BlackBerry. “We have a couple more bookstore signings, followed by a radio interview, followed by dinner with Julia and the MD. Tomorrow morning we’re hoping for a spot on breakfast TV but we’re waiting for confirmation.” She paused, tapping out a rhythm on the keypad. “We’ve other interviews lined up but they can be done over the phone. Some of the bigger publications may want to send a journalist to your home with a photographer. Or to a hotel if you prefer? We’re also waiting to hear back from them.”
More questions about Sarah’s death, thought Natalie, depressed. No one ever wanted to talk about what Sarah had been like as a person, only the horrible way in which she had died.
I need a drink …
The grey autumnal day didn’t help. It was beginning to rain, big fat drops splashing onto a dusty pavement. Siân took something from her bag, flicked her wrist and, like magic, a scarlet umbrella opened above Natalie’s head, just as their car pulled up.
Siân took her arm and hustled her into the car.
The early start was catching up with her. In front, Siân was arguing with the driver over the quickest route to the first bookstore. Natalie closed her eyes and let them
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