‘I found the dress last night and the fabric was ripped.’

She waited for a comeback but there was none.

71. Joan

71

Joan

5 August 1962, 6.15 a.m.

Sunlight burns directly in my eyes. I hadn’t closed the curtains last night nor had I made it to the bed. I am on the floor where I had cried myself to sleep. Everything hurts but nothing more than the empty feeling inside. I killed my husband. Looking in the long mirror, water stains mark the silk at the bottom of my dress. Slowly I let my glance rise, expecting to see something different in my face. But what looks back at me are large bloodshot eyes and dishevelled hair, the diamond clip at a perilous angle. The only thing sitting perfectly as it should is the damn necklace. I have looked this way before, having enjoyed a party too much. It feels wrong to even think that.

Pulling the clip from my hair, it tumbles down, and I wiggle until I can loosen the zip on my dress. The silk pools at my feet while the diamonds at my neck gleam in the morning light, damning me. I pull at them then stop. With shaky fingers I release the clasp, then store it with my mother’s clip and my earrings in the case. I place them in the space beneath the false bottom of the wardrobe.

Thinking about what I would normally do, I drape the dress over the chair. My nightgown is laid out on the bottom of the bed. I remove my undergarments and put it on. The silk is cold against my skin and I shiver. For some reason I think of Allan touching me, but then coldness fills me. I need to keep focused and cannot let my thoughts wander. Pain, regrets, grief are for later. Now is for shock, horror and surprise.

In a moment I need to raise the alarm. Not a big alarm. I will wander downstairs in my dressing gown looking for Allan, expecting to find him asleep on a chair in the drawing room. It will be light and humorous. I slap my hand to my mouth smothering a scream. Diana. My poor girl is fatherless now.

I tear away the bed clothes, trying to make it look like I have slept here. Laying down for a moment, I begin to toss and turn. My thoughts aren’t clear, but instincts kicks in, and I will make this look right. Today and the days that follow will be the performance of my life. No one must know the truth, most especially Diana.