I gasp. ‘Diana.’

‘Yes. So, tell me and they will leave us alone.’

My chest is tight, and I can hardly breathe. ‘I can’t believe you would do this to us.’

‘Our beautiful girl is the one who led them to us.’

‘No.’ I shake my head.

‘The piano teacher.’

My stomach turns, accepting the truth of this. ‘But you are the one who betrayed us.’

‘You know me.’

I can’t deny that. But now because Allan couldn’t keep it in his trousers, he is risking Diana.

‘Don’t go all “God and country” on me, Joan.’

But he is right. I am left with only one choice. ‘Don’t ask me to do this.’

‘You’d choose Queen and country over Diana.’

I step closer to him. The smell of cognac was intoxicating. I kiss him.

‘See, women are ruled by their feelings.’

‘True.’ My lips hover over his.

‘Love binds you.’

‘It does.’ I place my hands on his arms and he leans in towards me. He is so drunk. As I kiss him again, I brace myself, moving one leg back then I whisper, ‘I love you.’ And push him over the edge. I feel a slight pull at my heart as his hands reach for me, but I step back. He doesn’t make a sound, but his body does when it hits the rocks below. A deep and cracking thump.

69. Joan

69

Joan

5 August 1962, 4.00 a.m.

‘If you hadn’t done it, I would have.’ George steps out from behind the watchtower.

I jump, and he grabs me and pulls me close. I shake until my teeth chatter. They will not stop.

‘It’s a shame he finished the cognac, you could use some.’ His American twang pounds in my ears, but I know he is whispering.

‘Diana.’ I stutter.

‘She’ll be fine.’

‘How . . . how can you be sure?’

‘I promise.’

He holds me close and I try not to think but it doesn’t work. ‘How?’

‘It’s simple.’

I rock my head back and forth. Nothing will ever be simple again.

‘It is.’ He holds me away from him with a hand on each arm, gentle but firm keeping me standing. ‘Listen. Everyone saw how drunk Allan was. It will look like he stumbled off the cliff.’

I glance over my shoulder. Somewhere below Allan is on the rocks.

‘No one knows you are here except for me, right?’

I nod. ‘No one. I made cer—certain.’ My teeth chatter. My hand flies to my mouth forcing him to let go.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘My lipstick.’

‘Lipstick?’

‘Yes, I kissed him. He’ll have my lipstick on him.’

‘Breathe.’ He strokes my shoulder while holding me upright. ‘Of course you kissed him. You’re his wife.’ He takes a breath. ‘You tell the police you kissed him on your way to bed. He was still up.’

‘No.’ I shake my head.