‘Chuck that in the bin,’ said Strike, seeing what Robin was holding. ‘We’ve split up.’
‘Oh,’ said Robin. ‘While you’ve been in here?’
‘No. Couple of weeks ago. Wasn’t working.’
‘Ah,’ said Robin, and then, unable to resist the temptation, ‘Amicable split?’
‘Not really,’ said Strike. He broke off and ate a couple more squares of dark chocolate. ‘She kicked me.’
Robin didn’t mean to laugh but couldn’t stop herself. Then Strike started to laugh too, but stopped on feeling a hot pain through his upper chest.
‘Oh, shit, are you all right?’ said Robin, seeing him grimace.
‘I’m fine. Are you all right?’
‘Of course. I didn’t get stabbed. I’m great.’
‘Are you?’ Strike insisted, watching her closely.
‘Yes,’ said Robin, knowing perfectly well what that piercing look signified. ‘I honestly am. The worst thing’s been the bruising where he punched me in the head. I can’t lie on that side to sleep.’
She didn’t want to tell Strike about the sleepless nights since, or the bad dreams, but when he continued to look searchingly at her, she said,
‘Look, it was awful, I’m not pretending it wasn’t. Seeing Inigo dead – although it wasn’t as bad as finding Vikas – but it all happened so fast, and I knew the police were on their way, and I knew if Gus was busy trying to rape me he couldn’t be killing Flavia or Katya. And,’ Robin tried to repress laughter, a slightly hysterical reflex she’d had to fight over the last few days, ‘he definitely wanted to rape a live woman rather than a dead one, so that worked in my favour.’
‘It’s not funny,’ said Strike.
‘I know it isn’t,’ said Robin with a sigh. ‘I never meant to get you stabbed. Strike, I’m so sorry. I really am. I’ve been really worried—’
‘You didn’t get me stabbed. I had a choice. I didn’t have to follow…’
He took as deep a breath as his injured lung would permit, then forced himself to say something he’d have preferred not to.
‘You saved Katya and Flavia’s lives by going into the house. The bugs recorded it all. The bastard was trying to smash his way into the bathroom when he heard you trying to get in through the front door. He tripped the main fuse then ran downstairs to hide behind the door. And if you hadn’t thrown that marble thing out of the window, the neighbours wouldn’t have come running to help, so… I can’t say I wish you hadn’t done it.’
‘But if you’d died, I’d never have forgiven myself. Ever.’
‘Don’t you start fucking crying,’ said Strike as Robin hastily wiped her eyes. ‘I’ve had enough of that from Lucy. I thought the point of visiting people in hospital was to cheer them up. It’s been wall-to-wall waterworks every time she looks at me.’
‘You can’t blame her,’ said Robin huskily. ‘You nearly died.’
‘But I’m alive, aren’t I? So she should learn some bloody jokes if she wants to keep coming in.’
‘Is she back tonight?’
‘No,’ said Strike. ‘Tonight’s Prudence.’
‘What, the sister you’ve never – the therapist?’
‘Yeah. Kind of hard to pretend I’m busy right now.’
‘Don’t give me that,’ said Robin, now smiling. ‘You’d have found a way to put her off if you’d wanted to.’
‘Yeah, maybe,’ admitted Strike, but he added, ‘do me a favour, though: if Lucy phones the office, don’t mention Prudence was here—’
‘Why would I?’
‘Because she won’t like me seeing Prudence.’
The idea of suggesting that Strike stop lying to the women in his life occurred only to be dismissed, on the basis that the resolutions to stop smoking, lose weight and exercise were enough personal improvement to be getting on with.
‘How’re things at the office?’ Strike asked, still eating chocolate.
‘Fine, don’t worry. We’ve taken the next two off the waiting list, both extramarital affairs, nice and straightforward. Oh – but something funny happened this morning. Nutley phoned. Now The Halvening have been rounded up, he’ll be happy to come back.’
‘Will he, now?’ said Strike dangerously.
‘It’s OK, Barclay took care of it,’ said Robin. ‘He took the phone out of Pat’s hands. I think the exact words were “get tae fuck, ye cowardly shitstain”.’
Strike laughed, winced and stopped.
‘Has the glass in the door been fixed?’ he asked, again rubbing his chest.
‘Yes,’ said Robin.
‘And?’ said Strike.
‘And what?’
‘Have you looked at it?’
‘Looked at what? The glass? Not really. I haven’t been into the office much, but Pat hasn’t said anything, so I assume it’s fine. Why?’
‘Pass me my phone,’ said Strike impatiently. ‘Jesus Christ. Four of you in the office, and nobody’s noticed?’
Robin handed him his phone, thoroughly confused. Strike opened photos and found the picture the glazier had sent him at his request.
‘There,’ he said, passing the phone to Robin.
She looked down at the familiar office door with its frosted glass, which she’d seen for the first time five years previously, when she’d been sent as a temp to an unknown business and realised she’d been sent to work for a man who was doing her dream job, the chance of which she’d thought was gone for ever. Five years previously, the words engraved on the glass had read: ‘C. B. Strike, Private Detective’, but no longer. She was now looking at ‘Strike and Ellacott Detective Agency’.
Without warning, the unshed tears of days poured down upon the screen of the mobile, and she hid her face in her free hand.
‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Strike, glancing around at the assembled visitors, some of whom were staring at Robin. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I am – I am pleased – but why did you have to spring it on me?’ said Robin, frantically mopping her eyes.
‘Spring it on you? You’ve been walking past it for the last five bloody days!’
‘I haven’t, I told you, I’ve been doing sur-surveillance…’
She groped on top of Strike’s bedside cabinet for tissues, knocking over half his cards in the process. Having blown her nose, she said weakly,
‘Thank you. Thank you. I just – thank you.’
She didn’t dare hug him in case she hurt him, so instead she reached out and clasped the hand lying on the bedcovers.
‘’S’all right,’ said Strike, returning the squeeze of her fingers. In retrospect he was pleased she hadn’t noticed, and that he got to witness her reaction in person. ‘Long overdue, some might say. You’d better tell Pat to order new business cards as well.’
‘That’s visiting time over, I’m afraid!’ called a nurse from the doorway.
‘Any fun plans for this evening?’ asked Strike.
A strange qualm passed through Robin as Strike released her hand. She considered lying, but couldn’t, not after being so angry at Strike for doing exactly that.
‘Well, I’ve… I’ve actually got a date.’
Strike’s beard hid some of the dismay he felt, but not all of it. Robin had chosen not to look at him, but had bent down to pick up the handbag beside her chair.
‘Who with? Not Pez Pierce?’
‘Pez Pierce?’ said Robin incredulously, looking up. ‘You think I’d go out for a date with a suspect?’