Strike didn’t doubt that some would call him cynical, but that didn’t trouble him in the slightest. After all, he fully intended to give Decima Mullins value for money, and if they managed to prove that Fleetwood hadn’t been the man in the vault, their client would have the resolution she needed.
The brunette on the other side of the road entered a jewellers. Strike and Robin turned automatically to look into a window opposite, watching the reflected shopfront.
‘But,’ said Strike, ‘if investigating is going to cause trouble between you and Murphy, we’ll pass.’
Caught off-guard, Robin looked up at him.
‘I – even if it did, that’s not a good reason not to take it,’ she said, without thinking.
Interesting, thought Strike, but aloud he said,
‘Well, that’d be my view in your position, but some might say that’s why I’m still single. You haven’t asked me how my date with Bijou went,’ he added, looking down at her.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry about that,’ said Robin, blushing. ‘I never – I forgot to tell Ryan you’d stopped seeing her, I – you didn’t have to—’
‘Doesn’t bother me,’ said Strike. ‘She makes a far better imaginary girlfriend than she did a real one. Not,’ he added, ‘that she was ever a girlfriend.’
‘What would you call her, then?’ said Robin, thoroughly taken aback by the turn the conversation had taken. Strike’s usual form was resolute tight-lipped-ness about his private life.
‘A misguided exercise in distraction and instant gratification that’s cured me of the practice. That was quick,’ Strike added, as Mr A’s ex-wife emerged from the jewellers opposite.
‘Nothing she fancied,’ said Robin, as they turned to walk after her. ‘I think she’s Christmas shopping.’
‘Christ, don’t remind me,’ groaned Strike. ‘I fucking hate it. I’d pay a grand for someone to do it for me.’
‘Where are you spending Christmas?’ Robin asked. For the first time in six years, both partners would be free over the holidays.
‘Lucy’s,’ said Strike. ‘I couldn’t get out of it, not right after Ted dying. I’ve got to go to the Christmas Eve party with all the neighbours, too. I’d rather eat my own fucking feet. What are you up to?’
‘Ryan and I are going to Mum and Dad’s. I’m dreading that too, to be honest,’ said Robin.
‘Really?’ said Strike. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ sighed Robin. ‘It’s just families, isn’t it? The house is going to be packed…’
But there was so much she couldn’t say. There would be two pregnant women in the house, her sister-in-law, Jenny, and her brother Martin’s girlfriend; none of the family knew about Robin’s recent hospitalisation, but she didn’t doubt there’d be a lot of baby and pregnancy talk, and she was afraid Murphy might use that as an excuse to start talking about egg freezing again.
‘… I’d like to stay in London and do my own thing, but it feels as though you’re not allowed to do that unless you’ve got kids.’
‘You’re not allowed even then,’ said Strike. ‘Joan would have been mortally offended if Lucy and Greg hadn’t turned up every year with her great-nephews.’
Ahead, their target threw back her mane of professionally blow-dried hair as she walked.
‘So,’ said Strike. ‘Do we take the case? It’s your call.’
‘Well… from all you’ve said, if we don’t do it, she’ll just hire someone else.’
‘I agree. And we won’t string her along.’
‘No,’ agreed Robin, ‘and I must admit, I’m getting interested in that body, too.’
‘But as I say, if it’ll cause you trouble—’
‘Call her back, and tell her we’ll do it,’ said Robin.
‘You sure?’
‘Definitely,’ said Robin.
‘I’ll ring her now,’ said Strike, drawing out his mobile.
Robin listened to Strike’s side of the call, feeling particularly warm towards him, appreciative of his consideration with regard to Murphy, and grateful that he’d passed off her lie about Bijou Watkins as a joke.
‘Right, I’ll get that contract to you,’ Strike was saying. ‘Right… yeah… no problem at all. Our pleasure.’
He hung up.
‘Very grateful,’ he said. ‘More tears.’
The two partners walked on in silence, Strike thoroughly satisfied with his last ten minutes’ work. He’d just made an excellent start in establishing that he was no longer interested in casual affairs by saying what he had about Bijou Watkins, and Robin had agreed to the investigation, in spite of her boyfriend’s clear disapproval. No matter the risks, no matter the possible fallout, he now intended to seize the first auspicious moment to tell her what he felt, and if no such opportunity arose naturally, he’d engineer one.
There’s no pride in having what you never worked for.
Never let the other chap change your game plan.
Stick to your own, and play to your strengths.
PART TWO
‘Sometimes the deepest mines prove the best in the end.’
‘And as long as there’s anybody to pay for it I suppose you go on digging.’
14
You have taken the first step over its threshold, the first step toward the inner sanctuary and heart of the temple. You are in the path that leads up the slope of the mountain of Truth…
‘Where are you?’ were Strike’s opening words on the second of December, when Robin answered his call.
‘On the A40,’ said Robin, who was having to speak loudly because she was in her decrepit Land Rover, which didn’t have Bluetooth. ‘Mrs A’s staying near Stroud. I’m taking over from Midge.’
‘Kim’ll do Stroud,’ said Strike. ‘I’ve just got off a call from the owner of Ramsay Silver. I didn’t expect him to be so keen to talk to us; he nearly bit my hand off. He wants to know if we can go along there today at one.’
‘OK, great,’ said Robin, who was considerably more interested in seeing the site of William Wright’s murder than she was in staring at a deserted croquet lawn from behind a hedge. ‘I’ll come back.’
‘Meet you outside Freemasons’ Hall at half twelve.’
So Robin turned London-wards again. The chilly day was overcast, but from time to time the sun slid out from behind clouds, revealing the dirt on the windscreen she’d been first too busy, and then too recently operated on, to clean. The ancient Land Rover had developed a mysterious rattle in the past few days, which Robin hadn’t yet managed to trace to its source. Its MOT was imminent and she had a strong feeling that this time it might not scrape through.
The prospect of visiting Ramsay Silver had raised her mood, which happened to require some lifting, because, prior to Strike’s call, she’d been brooding about a couple of recent conversations she’d had with Murphy. Her boyfriend hadn’t said so explicitly, but Robin could tell he was angry about the agency taking the silver vault case, even though she’d claimed they were trying to find Rupert Fleetwood, rather than identify the body. Then, the previous evening, Murphy had been complaining over the phone about his own unsatisfactory neighbour, whose slamming doors and shouting matches with her teenage children were a constant bar to relaxation, when he’d suddenly said,