Chapter Twenty-Six
Diana - Three Months Later
Diana had never desired the attention that accompanied her numerous achievements and accolades.
She’d strived hard for herself, not for the benefit of other people, whose false smiles and congratulations hid how they’d rather see you stumble than succeed, so they could use you for their own stepping stone.
But still, formalities were formalities, she supposed.
At least on this occasion, it was a little different.
She zoned back in on the conversation around her.
Cilla Dorran was droning on to one of the young research assistants, whose excessive nodding showed desperation rather than agreement.
Cilla was always in a bad mood. She survived not on oxygen but on complaints and moaning about anything and everything.
“It’s just too clean, isn’t it?” Cilla pressed, nose scrunching as she took in the room around her. “It’s wonderful, of course, but it’s just a bit too perfect for me.”
And this coming from the woman who complained the coffee machine was also too clean.
Diana shared a glance with the young man. She sympathised; she’d been in his position before. Having to mingle and network and build connections with people who only wanted a subservient drinks lackey and often had a stick up their own arse.
“Evan, have you spoken with Dr Moore tonight?” Diana asked. “She’s written a paper on the complexities of antibiotic-resistance evolution, which might interest you.”
His thick eyebrows lifted, relief obvious. “I haven’t yet, but that sounds fascinating.”
“She’s over there. Red dress. Big breasts and lipstick.” She took a sip of her wine to hide her smirk.
“Ah…yes.” He failed to hide the blush creeping up his neck but gave her a genuine smile. “Thank you, Dr Thompson.”
He scurried away, then righted himself, remembering the assembly of significant professors dissecting every move.
The polite chatter resumed. Quiet. Respectful. Boring.
The sooner this was over with, the better.
Diana took in the low-lit familiar faces, the immaculate cream sofas and polished furniture. She took another swig from her glass, relishing the crisp taste. She would miss the wine, if nothing else.
“Have you tried the new hand soap in the faculty toilets?” Cilla asked, her voice droning like a faulty appliance. “The smell is reminiscent of…”
Oh god. Get me away from here.
A loud cackle came from the other side of the room. Selena Borgo threw her shoulder-length dark hair back, her hand on the shoulder of the dean like he’d said the funniest thing in the world.
Another thing I won’t miss about this place.
Before Diana could shift her gaze, Selena locked eyes with her, her mouth curling in a delighted sneer. A year ago, Diana would’ve been up there, competing with her. Who could make the dean laugh the most? Who steered the conversation with the most esteemed group of colleagues?
Who cares? Diana didn’t want it. She knew what she really wanted, but she wouldn’t let herself think about it. About her. Or about the unanswered invitation sitting in her email inbox.
One thing at a time, she reminded herself.
The clink of a glass brought the room to silence.
The dean, a man in his sixties, with thick, perfectly coiffed white hair, was standing by the unlit fireplace, flashing his pearly-white veneers.
“Thank you for joining us tonight as we say goodbye to our brilliant colleague and friend, Dr Thompson.”
Applause rippled through the room, and Diana lifted a stiff hand in thanks. She wouldn’t consider any of them friends. The dean continued, listing off her achievements like a greedy child’s Christmas list. And yes, they were important, and yes, they were impressive, but…who cares?
Really, it was about the money, the funding, the grades. It wasn’t ever about Diana.
But she let him drone on, anything to distract from the hollow void in her chest that she didn’t know how to fill.
When he finally drew to a close, she smiled again through the applause, and the room settled back into chitchat.
The food would be served soon, but she didn’t want it. She wanted out of this room.
Unfortunately, everyone and their uncle chose this opportunity to commiserate and congratulate her on the new permanent position at Oxford.
She kept her voice light, professional, delivering the rehearsed lines like a seasoned actress and not one in emotional distress.
But she was over it; she was done. She just wanted to close her eyes and wake up back in England, without the insufferable seven-hour flight.
When the waiters brought out the food in silver-domed plates, and the crowd flocked to the serving table, Diana had room to breathe. This was her chance. She could slip away unnoticed and let the merriment continue without her.
She plucked up her black Prada handbag—and the leaving card inscribed with names she’d forget in a few months—and quietly slipped out the door.
She’d said her piece with the dean earlier, genuinely thanking him for the opportunity to work there.
For the most part, she had enjoyed it. It was just time to move on.
The hallway smelt of old polish and firewood, though the fires were scarcely lit. That old-money aura clung to every surface in the building. Something Diana used to admire but now found ostentatious.
She was heading towards the exit, heels sinking into the thick rug underfoot, when a voice called her back.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?”
Fantastic. She stopped, sucking in a breath, and turned around.
Selena was standing in the hallway, one hand on her hip, her pencil skirt and red tailored blazer bridging the gap between intellectual and fashionable.
She flicked her hair over her shoulder, then slowly swayed towards her, those misleading dewy eyes darting to the card tucked under her armpit.
“I didn’t have you pegged for a runner,” she said, smooth as silk.
“I have somewhere to be,” Diana lied, keeping her expression neutral. If there was to be one final power play between them, there was no chance she was going to surrender.
“A woman in high demand.” Selena clicked her tongue, letting the silence stretch. Her gaze lingered, dripping down Diana’s cleavage. “I’ve always admired that.”
Diana kept her voice firm. “That’s understandable.”
Selena cracked a smile at her response, revealing perfect, straight teeth.
She adjusted her thin gold-framed glasses.
“I knew you’d make this difficult for me, but I suppose that’s part of your charm.
” She took another step forward. “I was hoping we could leave things on better terms. It’s no secret that I’ve enjoyed our rivalry over the years.
It brings out the best in us, wouldn’t you agree?
Nothing quite like some healthy competition to keep bettering ourselves.
” She tilted her head when Diana didn’t respond.
“You’re a powerful woman, Diana. I like that.
If you find yourself with any time in your busy schedule before you leave tomorrow, you should pay me a visit.
” With the confidence of someone who’d just secured a million-pound grant, she placed a kiss on each of Diana’s cheeks and turned, her hips swaying back down the hallway.
Diana could only watch her, wondering what on earth just happened.
* * *
When Diana finally made it into the comfort of a hotel room the next day, she let out a sigh, dumping her suitcases by the door.
Not only had her flight been delayed, but she’d had to spend the journey next to a man who thought he had the right to both armrests and snored like a nasally grizzly bear.
Normally, she enjoyed travelling. She blamed the lack of sleep for her discomfort, worrying if she was making the right decision—to return to England, that is, not whether or not to hate-fuck Selena.
The idea of releasing some of her frustration and sadness was tempting, but the reality of touching someone? Someone who wasn’t her? She needed no time to think about that. The answer was obvious, even in her fragile state.
What she’d shared with Faye wasn’t easily replaceable. It had started off as sex, yes, as a curiosity, to see if Diana could loosen up, but it had morphed into something much more than that long before she had the guts to admit it.
These terrible three months apart were telling enough in themselves.
Plus, the giant ache in her chest whenever she allowed herself to think about her.
Of course the ache multiplied with the absence of her daughter too.
She’d exchanged a few words with Molly, called her dozens of times, but the message was clear, still sitting in their inbox as her last response.
Leave me alone.
So she had. For six long, agonising weeks. She’d given her space, hoping that would help, but she also dreaded whatever sewage Jason was no doubt filling her head with in the meantime. She’d handled the situation all wrong.
She’d talked at length about it with a therapist, Dr Andrews, who she’d started seeing after her return from Sandy Springs.
Turns out it wasn’t just the emotional baggage from her mother’s death she was carrying, it was a whole bus full of unresolved issues.
Her divorce, her relationship with her dad, and her avoidance tactics for most things that went wrong in her life.
All that time she’d spent running away from her problems now felt like a waste. What was she so afraid of?
Maybe having everything and losing it in the blink of an eye. Or with a kiss on the lips.
She’d strengthened her relationship with Molly and had the possibility of starting something real with Faye. Then just like that, both were gone.
Needing to think about anything else, she pulled out her phone and checked her messages. She sent a text to Leanne, who replied in seconds.
Leanne: Glad you’re back on home soil. I’ll be in London next month, so let’s get dressed up and go for cocktails