Page 168 of The Hallmarked Man
‘No,’ said Robin, ‘which must make it more likely the mutilation, the masonic sash and the hallmark were planned, pre-murder.’
‘How many people would you say know A. H. Murdoch’s hallmark?’
‘Not many,’ said Robin, ‘but the Salem Cross is a masonic symbol, too.’
‘True,’ said Strike. He remembered the scarlet letter ‘G’ that had been painted on the office street door at New Year. ‘Any luck finding a new Land Rover?’
‘No,’ said Robin, ‘they’re all way out of my price range, even second hand… have we had any more calls from that Scottish Gateshead, by the way? The Golden Fleece person?’
‘Nothing since New Year,’ said Strike.
His mobile rang. He tugged it out of his pocket, saw that Pat was calling him. Afraid that Bijou, who no longer had his mobile number, was trying to reach him at the office, he switched his phone to mute.
‘Lucy,’ he said to Robin. ‘I’ll call her back. On that subject… we’ve just sold Ted and Joan’s house. I was thinking: the business could pay for part of a Land Rover, and I could loan you the rest.’
‘Wh—? You can’t do that!’
‘Yeah, I can. The money’s just going to sit in my account, I haven’t got any use for it at the moment.’
Robin’s immediate thought was of Murphy, and what he’d think of her taking a loan of this size from Cormoran Strike. He was bound to see it as another bond between them, another commitment of the type she’d never yet made to him. And yet she felt strangely vulnerable and bereft without her own car, her own means of – the word ‘escape’ rose in her mind, and was dismissed.
Quo Vadis, the large black-fronted restaurant and private members’ club where Decima had booked lunch, was now within view. Realising she hadn’t yet responded to what, by any standard, was a very generous offer, Robin said,
‘Strike, thank you, but you can’t. It’s too much.’
‘You need your own car and I don’t think any business manager would advise us to keep hiring them for you.’
‘But—’
‘The Land Rover was bloody handy, ’specially for long journeys and trips outside London.’
‘But even second hand, they cost—’
‘I know what they cost. We’ll see how much the accountant’ll let you charge against the business and I’ll make up the difference. We can have a loan agreement if it makes you feel any better.’
‘But it could take ages to pay you back.’
Good,thought Strike, but aloud he said,
‘So? I’ve just told you, I haven’t got any use for the money right now.’
‘It’sreallygenerous of you,’ said Robin, and she thought with some longing of a second-hand Defender 90 she’d spotted online just the previous day. ‘But—’
‘Christ’s sake, I’m not offering you a kidney,’ said Strike, and Robin laughed.
They entered the club. The foyer had blood red walls. At the reception, they gave Decima’s name and were led upstairs, past the entrance to a large restaurant with white walls and leather seats around tables, then into a small private room called the Library, which had dark blue walls, book shelves and orb-shaped lamps.
Decima was already sitting at the round table, wearing a loose black dress. She’d lost a lot of weight since she and Strike had last met; her large brown eyes were shadowed, but she’d brushed her hair and dyed its grey roots. Her air was of a creature who’d been forcibly flushed out of their burrow into the daylight. Strike, who’d been dreading having to watch Decima breastfeed, registered that there was no baby present.
‘You haven’t brought—?’
‘Lion? No, I’ve got a local girl babysitting,’ said Decima, and she glanced down at the phone lying face up beside her. ‘He’ll be OK, I expressed plenty of milk for him.’
This fell into the category of too much information as far as Strike was concerned, but Robin said, smiling,
‘Have you got any pictures of him?’
‘A couple,’ said Decima. She brought up the photos of her child to show Robin.
