They had been together—as a normal couple—for such a short time before Diana had found the lump in her breast. In the nine months since, she had gone through the ups and downs of treatment; hope, fear, and finally despair. It was understandable that Hanna didn’t want to leave her for any amount of time because the doctors had given her months, not years, to live. He wasn’t going to be the selfish bastard who took her away from her dying mother.
Richard felt the sickening feeling of guilt when he wished that she would fly over and see him, or that they could spend some time alone in London, without having to be with Diana all the time. An even darker part of him
—one he would never admit to knowing existed—missed their physical contact, the romance, the love, and especially the sex. If you discounted his hand, he hadn’t had a fulfilling assignation for quite some time.
“Have you talked about what you are going to do afterward?” Caroline asked.
“After Diana dies? I don’t think that Hanna can even conceive of a world without her mother, let alone how she’s going to feel, or where she’s going to want to live.”
“Will she ever want to move to Manhattan?”
“I don’t know.” Richard shook his head slowly, not wanting to follow the direction that this conversation was heading. “There are too many what-ifs and buts to even start to think about the future. I just need to concentrate on the now, and look after my girl.”
Twelve
February 9th 2005
The light cream walls were illuminated by the afternoon sun, dappled by the branches of the tree outside, as it shone through the window into Diana’s room. Hanna sat on the easy chair next to her mother’s bed, watching Diana’s thin body as her chest rose and fell with rhythmic sleep. Her dry lips emitted wheezing sounds as she exhaled every ten seconds or so.
The past year had been a slow, downhill ride; sometimes the gradient had been so low Hanna had thought they were actually making progress. The diagnosis of stage 4 breast cancer hadn’t fazed her at first. Then treatment was complicated by metastasis, and the cancer spreading led to words like pain management, months, perhaps weeks, and finally dignity. Any hope Hanna had was completely deflated, like a birthday balloon left out in the cold.
They’d agreed to move Diana to the hospice last week, when it was clear it was only a matter of waiting. Neither Hanna nor Diana had wanted those final days to be spent in a sterile hospital environment, and St Luke’s Hospice—an elegant Georgian mansion set in its own grounds—had offered a different kind of death. One where Hanna could stay with Diana as much as she wanted to, where they could walk in the grounds and see the first shoots of spring bulbs emerging from the grass. One where Diana could die without fanfare or the constant noise of hospital monitors.
“Is she asleep?” Hanna glanced up to see Claire Larsen standing at the door. Her gentle eyes crinkled into a smile, taking in Hanna’s disheveled state.
“She’s been down for a while, she may wake up soon.” Hanna stood up, realizing her legs had gone numb from the way she had been sitting on the chair. Her back ached, too. She stretched to try and wake up her body.
“How is she?” Claire walked into the room, carrying a Hermes bag in one hand, and a Dictaphone in the other. It was a strange combination.
“She’s been out of it for most of today, but yesterday, she was lucid for the longest time, we had a great talk. Hey, what’s that?” Hanna pointed at the small recording machine in Claire’s hand.
“Nothing.” Claire hid her hand behind her back.
Hanna looked at Claire curiously. “What are you two up to?”
Claire laughed; a quiet, tinkling sound that seemed to echo off the walls. Diana didn’t as much as stir in response to the noise.
“You make us sound like teenage hooligans, Hanna. It’s a secret. I promised not to tell.”
“You can tell me. I won’t let on.”
“If I tell you, I’d have to kill you darling. Stop asking questions.”
“It’s okay, she’s been sharing her words of wisdom with me, too. Yesterday she spent hours telling me about her life, and how she has very few regrets.” Hanna frowned as she remembered their conversation.
They’d been sitting in the heated conservatory that overlooked the lawn.
“You were the best thing that ever happened to me, my darling.” Diana’s voice was thin, and each word was punctuated by short, sharp breaths. “I was so lucky to have you in my life. I’m thankful to be leaving you in this world. You’re my masterpiece.”
Hanna smiled, embarrassed at her mum’s hyperbole. “You may be over-exaggerating a bit, but I’ll take it.” Looking up, she saw a nurse bring in a tray of tea and water. She placed it on the coffee table in front of them.
Her mother continued, already caught up in her memories. “When I married Phillip, I was so in love I could hardly think straight.” She gestured over to her cup of water, and Hanna held it to her mouth, allowing her to sip from the plastic straw. “I was so certain love could conquer all.”
Diana closed her eyes as if she was remembering her days back in New York. Hanna, desperate for more information, prompted, “But it couldn’t?”
“No it couldn’t. I should never have married him, sweetheart. I knew I didn’t want to live in New York, and I knew I’d hate being a banker’s wife. I really thought love would be enough.”
Hanna blinked, feeling the sting of tears just under her eyelids. Diana never talked about her relationship with Hanna’s father; in fact she rarely spoke of Philip at all. Hanna wasn’t sure whether her mother had been trying to spare her feelings, or whether it simply hurt too much to articulate. She was beginning to suspect the latter was true.