Page 334 of The Hallmarked Man
‘’E’ll be back to us soon as ’e’s contacted ’em.’
‘I didn’t want the other thing dragged into this,’ said Strike, keeping a rein on his temper with difficulty.
‘Why?’ said Rokeby. ‘Z’it true?’
‘No, but—’
The smiling housekeeper reappeared with a tray, which she sat down on the highly polished mahogany table. Once she’d poured out two beers and left, Strike said,
‘I can’t afford years of litigation.’
‘Won’t be years. Denholm’ll sort it. ’E scares the shit out of the fuckers, ’cause they know ’is clients can rinse them.’
‘But I’m not in that financial bracket, so—’
‘I’ll p—’
‘I don’t want you paying for anything, I already told you that. I came here for your contacts, not your money.’
‘Fuck’s sake, lemme do this.’
‘No,’ said Strike.
‘Pride, is it?’ said Rokeby, speaking as though Strike had a sexually transmitted disease.
‘Something like that, yeah,’ said Strike.
‘Then take it out ofyourmoney. It’s still just fucking sitting there for you.’
‘I don’t want it.’
‘Why?’ said Rokeby, but before Strike could speak he said, ‘Revenge for your mum? Because you fink I cut ’er off, forced ’er to live poor? I’ll tell you why I stopped her gettin’ it direct, it was ’cause your AuntieJoan called my office an’ said Leda was spunkin’ the money up the wall on boyfriends an’ drugs an’ you didn’t ’ave proper shoes. Leda could’ve ’ad wha’ever she wanted if she could prove it was for you, but she never bovvered askin’ after I put a few safeguards in place. Too much effort. Anyway, you borrowed some of it before, din’t you?’
‘If I wanted to work, I had no choice. Nobody thought a one-legged man who’d never had a mortgage was a good business risk,’ said Strike. ‘And I paid it all back, in case your accountant never—’
‘I know you fuckin’ paid it back, but what was the fuckin’ point? It’syour money. It’s legallyyours. What’re you gonna do when I die, burn it? Give it to a fuckin’ donkey sanctuary?’
‘RNLI, probably,’ said Strike. He drank some beer.
‘For your uncle, right? What was ’is name?’
‘Ted,’ said Strike.
There was an awkward silence in which Strike, who preferred not to look at Rokeby, directed his attention at the gigantic David Bailey portrait of the Deadbeats hanging over the fireplace.
‘Listen, I never knew Gillespie was badgering you to give the money back,’ said Rokeby. ‘’E din’t like what you said about me, when you borrowed it, but I never knew ’e was chasin’ you for it. ’E’s gone now. Retired. I was glad to see the back of ’im, to tell ya the truth… I spent forty years off my fuckin’ face, I let people ’andle fings for me. I’m not fuckin’ proud of it.’
‘I don’t care about Gillespie,’ said Strike. ‘I was always going to give it back. I said so when I borrowed it.’
There was another short pause.
‘You and Pru see a bit of each other now, I ’ear,’ said Rokeby.
‘Yeah,’ said Strike.
‘Funny. You two are the most like me of all of ’em.’
‘I’m just like Ted,’ said a furious sixteen-year-old Cormoran Strike through the mouth of his forty-two-year-old self, and wished he hadn’t.
