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‘I’m bothered about the guest list,’ she said tentatively.
Patty looked at her with encouragement.
‘I looked around the funeral and there were too many people that Julian didn’t really know or care about,’ she continued haltingly.
Patty started scribbling notes. ‘We should all suggest a dozen people that Julian really liked. Get Anne-Marie Carr involved too. Di’s right. Everyone knows how successful Julian was in business, but what about all the other things he did, like that Atlas Mountains trek for charity? How much did he raise, Greg?’
‘One point one million.’
‘We could make a slideshow of all his adventures,’ suggested Diana.
‘I’ve got lots of photos from when we did the Paris–Dakar rally,’ said Greg, sitting up straight in his chair.
‘There’s plenty of that stuff,’ agreed Adam.
‘It shouldn’t just be a load of showing-off,’ said Diana carefully.
‘I can tell some horror stories about his cooking,’ smiled Michael. ‘Remember when he dragged us fishing to Iceland, Greg, and said he was going to whip us up a Scandinavian delicacy. What did he give us?’
‘Harkarl.’
‘What’s that?’ smiled Diana.
‘Fermented shark.’
‘It is a delicacy,’ said Greg.
‘Not served with soggy chips,’ roared Michael.
They were all laughing and a little misty-eyed.
Diana thought of the music that had been played at the funeral. The aria sung by the world-famous soprano had been beautiful, stirring and appropriate, but it hadn’t been the sort of music Julian really loved. She remembered how he used to listen to U2’s ‘One’ over and over again when he’d had a particularly stressful week at work; how Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born to Run’ would blare out of his iPod when he went for a jog around the lake; the heavy-metal music he was nostalgic about from his youth – his old denim jacket covered in Metallica and the Scorpions patches still hung in the storage room, never allowed to be thrown out.
To people in the City Julian had been the king of the world, but in his own space he was just a regular guy who liked football and middle-of-the-road rock. He loved cars and watching Top Gear; he liked going to boxing matches with his friends, and fishing for salmon in crystal-clear waters.
What a life he had led, she thought with bittersweet sorrow. She wondered if he had remembered all those things as he tied the climbing rope around his neck. She wondered how long it had taken for him to die; whether there had been a point when he’d thought about all the wonderful things his life had been full of, wonderful things he could do again, and wanted to stop what he was doing. Or had it been too late by then? Had he been past the point of no return, so that he couldn’t come back to the people who loved him?
‘What do you think, Adam? You were closest to him.’
Diana didn’t dare look at him.
‘Do you remember John Duncan?’ said Adam.
She shook her head.
‘Worked in the post room. Single dad. Died about ten years ago. Well, his kid Luke got in touch yesterday. He said that Jules had turned his life around. Apparently Luke got into drink and drugs after his dad passed away. Jules paid for him to go to rehab, to go back to college then on to university. He’s just qualified as an architect.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Diana whispered.
‘Apparently he wrote to you too.’
‘I haven’t had a chance to open all my post yet.’
‘You should. I think you’ll find a lot of stories like that.’
After an hour, they had a long list of things they all agreed would give Julian the memorial service he deserved, after which they all dispersed.
Diana found herself standing on the street alone with Adam.
