Page 396 of The Hallmarked Man
Robin, who theoretically had the day off, had wanted to be present for the meeting and had arrived wearing the dusky pink dress and high heels she’d worn to the Goring. Strike had already glanced at her left hand. It remained ringless.
‘If he’d just told me…’ Decima said.
‘I think,’ said Robin, ‘he was so horrified by the discovery—’
‘But to just run out on me like that… heknewI was looking for him, Albie and Tish told him so…’
‘I’m not defending him taking off,’ said Robin. ‘I know he ought to have stayed and been honest.’
‘There are times I wish we’d never known,’ said Decima miserably. ‘It could’ve been fine if we’d never found out. What’s the use inknowing? He called me again last night, you know. We were on the phone for six hours.’
‘Six?’ said Robin.
‘Yes. It’s always like that, when we talk; we can’t stop talking,’ said Decima. ‘I was so angry… and then we both cried, and then… after a while, it was almost like it used to be, but I felt as if I was talking to his ghost. But it’s over, obviously. I’ve got to think about him completely differently… we’ll never… we can’t go back. It’s a filthy mess, all of it… he says he wants to come back to London, get a job here and help me with Lion. He wants a proper relationship with him…’
She took a deep breath, and arrived at what Strike had guessed was the point of the meeting.
‘Val and Cosima won’t tell anyone, they’re too ashamed. So—’
‘None of our subcontractors know anything about it, and Cormoran and I will never breathe a word,’ said Robin. Strike nodded agreement.
‘Thank you,’ said Decima. ‘I don’t want Lion to hear any rumours, or find out before we’ve worked out how to… how to tell him.’
‘Do you need to?’ asked Strike, and Robin looked at him in surprise; she’d have assumed Strike would think the truth, however unpalatable, was always preferable to a lie, and she couldn’t help remembering his angry advice to her:we aren’t fucking social workers.
‘Why does he have to know anything except that his parents wanted him, but the relationship didn’t work out?’ said Strike. ‘He’s all right physically, isn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ said Decima, ‘he’s fine. I suppose we’re lucky nobody in the family’s got any serious genetic conditions. We’re all healthy.’
‘This kind of thing probably happened a lot more often than people realised, in the days before everyone could get a DNA test,’ said Strike. ‘I’d say your son’s a damn sight luckier than a lot of children. Parents who love him and are on good terms with each other. Father who wants to be involved in his upbringing. Yeah, I’d say he’s an extremely fortunate kid, compared to some.’
Robin noticed a kind of wonder in the look Decima now gave Strike. She appeared deeply struck by this practical view of the situation and Robin felt a wave of fondness for her partner, which immediately occasioned an inner spasm of guilt, because it was Murphy’s birthday, and she was due at dinner in an hour and a half, and she wasn’t supposed to melt inwardly at Strike showingunexpected sensitivity and compassion when the man she claimed to love was probably debating right now when exactly he should produce that diamond ring… she realised Decima was talking again and dragged her thoughts back to the present.
‘… found out who the dead man in the vault was. And that poor girl’s safe.’
‘And that’s down to you,’ said Strike. ‘Without you, there’d have been no justice for Tyler Powell, no end of the trafficking ring and Niall Semple’s wife still wouldn’t know where he was. Bottom line: you were right. William Wright wasn’t Jason Knowles.’
Decima smiled. She looked better than she had when she’d entered the office; less drawn and anxious.
‘I’d better go,’ she said, ‘the childminder clocks off at six. Thank you both.’
She shook both their hands and departed. When they’d heard the glass door close in the outer office, Robin said quietly,
‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’
‘Could be better,’ admitted Strike.
‘I think they’re going to love each other for ever and never be able to do anything about it.’
Trying to dissemble the feeling of depression Robin’s words had just given him, Strike said, ‘Want a coffee?’
Robin checked the time on her phone. She still had well over an hour before she was due at the Ritz. Every time she thought about it, she experienced a ripple of panic in her stomach.
‘Yes, great,’ she said, glad to have a little longer where she could think only about work or, at least, try to.
Pat was still at her computer in the outer office. She always remained to make tea or coffee if a client was present, even if, as today, that meant staying past five o’clock.
‘You’re off duty,’ Strike reminded Pat, as he put on the kettle.
