Page 344 of The Hallmarked Man
‘Not yet. I’m going to have something non-alcoholic.’
Having asked the waiter for a whisky and a mocktail, Strike turned back to see Robin pushing her hair out of her face with a left hand that bore no jewellery whatsoever. Robin, who’d noticed his sharp glance, checked the back of her hand in case there was something there she hadn’t noticed: smeared mascara, for instance, as he’d failed to inform her about in Ironbridge.
‘Any particular reason for not drinking?’ Strike asked, wondering whether abstaining from alcohol was a concomitant of egg harvesting.
‘Just don’t fancy it,’ said Robin, choosing not to say that she wanted to be in full possession of her wits. She’d be getting a cab home, but there was still the walk between pavement and door. ‘Why?’
Strike suddenly decided to carry the battle into the enemy’s territory.
‘Wardle told me Murphy’s fallen off the wagon.’
‘Oh,’ said Robin, far from pleased Strike knew this. She wanted distraction, not discussions about her relationship. ‘Well – yes, he had a lapse, when things were so tough for him at work. But he’s back at AA now. He’s doing fine.’
‘Right,’ said Strike. ‘Still moving in together?’
‘No, actually,’ said Robin. ‘The house fell through.’
‘Ah,’ said Strike. ‘Still looking, then?’
‘It’s on hold just now, with everything else we’ve got on. Anyway,’ she said, clearly not wanting to pursue the subject of house hunting, ‘I’ve found someone on Abused and Accused who also posted on Truth About Freemasons – that, or two people using the same username.’
‘Seriously?’ said Strike, surprised. ‘What’s the name?’
‘Austin H,’ said Robin.
The word ‘fuzz’ popped incongruously into Strike’s mind; why, he didn’t know, but before he could pursue the subject, a plummy male voice said,
‘Hello, hello!’
Strike and Robin looked up to see Lord Oliver Branfoot, tall and podgy, with his trademark messy hair and drooping eyes, a genial smile curving his full lips.
Beside him, in a skin-tight, knee-length black dress, stood Kim Cochran.
108
But Vengeance travels in a dangerous way,
Double of issue, full of pits and snares
For all who pass, pursuers and pursued—
That way is dubious for a mother’s prayer.
Matthew Arnold
Merope: A Tragedy
Branfoot’s entrance had caused a ripple of excitement to pass through the room. Many heads had turned, and most expressions were amused.
Strike was the first to recover from the surprise of seeing Kim. As he stood to accept Branfoot’s handshake, his mental processes seemed to move up a gear, as they were wont to do when he was under pressure. He saw laid out in front of him, like a sequence of toppling dominoes, the trail of events that would have brought this pair together; he felt certain it was Kim who’d initiated contact, and Branfoot who’d gleefully accepted the Navabi agency’s expensive assistance in neutralising the threat posed to him by Strike and Robin.
Robin felt her bag slip off her lap and bent down to pick it up, glad of a reason to hide the shock she knew had shown in her face.
‘You and Miss Ellacott alweady know Miss Cochwan, I think?’ Branfoot said.
‘Oh yes,’ said Strike.
Neither Kim nor Strike extended a hand to the other.
