Page 124 of The Hallmarked Man
‘Did you tell him?’
‘Yes,’ said Robin.
‘What’s he going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Robin.
Kim’s bird-bright eyes were moving from one to the other; Robin could almost see her nose quivering with curiosity.
Strike was back within a few minutes, holding a small, flat square box wrapped in Christmas paper, and a card.
‘Happy Christmas,’ he said, handing it to Robin.
‘Th—’
The phone on Pat’s desk rang and Robin felt her stomach clench.
Please God, not Rokeby again.
‘Strike and Ellacott Detective Agency… who?’
Pat’s eyes widened.
‘Just going to put you on hold.’
She pressed a button and looked round at Strike.
‘He says he’s Sacha Legard.’
‘What?’ said Kim, eyes widening. ‘Theactor?’
‘I’d better get going,’ said Robin, who was holding her present. ‘Merry Christmas, everyone.’
Had Kim and Pat not been there, and Legard not waiting on hold, she might have said more to Strike, might have reiterated her plea for him not to blow up at his father, for his own sake rather than Rokeby’s, but as it was, she just smiled at him, turned and left.
‘OK,’ Strike said dourly to Pat (fuck Rokeby, fuck Christmas, fuck fucking Culpepper, fuck fucking everything), ‘put Legard through to me in here.’
He retreated to the inner office again. The phone on his desk rang.
‘Strike.’
‘Cormoran,’ said Sacha Legard’s beautifully modulated voice. ‘Long time no speak.’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike.
‘I didn’t realise you’d been trying to contact me.’
The fuck you didn’t.
‘I’ve had a call from Dessie Longcaster – Mullins, I mean – sounding pretty upset,’ said Legard.
‘Did she tell you what this is about?’ asked Strike.
‘Yeah, my cousin Rupert,’ said Legard, with a tinge of humorous exasperation.
‘Decima’s very worried about him. Could we meet to talk?’
‘Honestly, I think this is all a bit of a storm in a teacup,’ said Legard.
