‘Not a wise thing to do without running lights and knowledge of the waters.’

‘Somehow, I think they’ll make it.’ But in my heart, I wish them dead.

‘You don’t sound pleased.’

I smile and move on. It would be so easy to confide in Tom but I mustn’t. Allan slips away from the piano and I walk across the room to see where he is heading. From the bottom of the stairs I watch him enter Diana’s room. I hope she’ll be asleep by now. But no matter what he may be or may have done he has always been brilliant at convincing her to close her eyes and dream.

65. Diana

65

Diana

4 August 1962, 11.45 p.m.

Diana’s stomach hurt worse than earlier. She shouldn’t have eaten the chocolate. She shouldn’t have gone downstairs. If she hadn’t gone, she wouldn’t have seen Daddy.

She walked to the bathroom to get a glass of water. But when she arrived her stomach turned over and she threw up. Shaking and scared, she sat down on the floor waiting to see if it was going to happen again. She wanted Mummy, but she knew Mummy was with her guests.

Blowing her nose, she rinsed her mouth and tried to stop shivering. It wouldn’t stop so she went back to bed and rocked herself. She was still rocking when Daddy came into her room. He stopped at the chest of drawers and looked at his birthday book. Diana tried to speak but her tummy was rolling again. He stayed there a long time staring at one page.

‘Daddy.’

He turned, and a smile spread across his face. ‘My Diana, what on earth are you doing awake. What’s wrong?’ He walked to the bed and she slid over to make room for him. He pushed her hair off her face. ‘Are you OK?’

Diana nodded. ‘I was sick.’

‘Too much chocolate?’ He touched her chin.

She nodded and looked away. Had he seen her there?

‘Did you ever finish your piano practice today?’

Diana frowned. ‘No.’

‘What’s Madame Roscova like?’

She smiled. ‘She’s lovely but . . .’

‘But what?’

‘Tough.’

‘How so?’ he asked.

‘She knows when I haven’t practised enough.’

‘Does she talk to you much?’

‘Yes, but I don’t say much, like Mummy told me.’ She shook her head.

‘I’m sure you don’t.’ He picked up her hand. ‘Do you like her?’

‘Oh, yes. She’s lovely and she always smells nice, like flowers.’

He laughed. ‘Is there anything particular she’s interested in?’