Page 53 of The Hallmarked Man
‘There won’t be a memoir,’ said Strike.
‘I didn’t think so,’ snorted Nina. ‘Not a truthful one, anyway.’
Strike’s ego wasn’t sufficiently enlarged to believe that this degree of anger could be accounted for by a very brief liaison, six years previously.
‘What’s that mean?’ he asked.
‘Itmeans,’ said Nina, ‘you reallyfucked upa friend of mine’s life.’
‘How did I do that?’ asked Strike.
‘Never mind,’ spat Nina.
Strike spotted Kim wending her way back towards him.
‘Linda,’ said Strike, before Kim could speak, ‘this is Nina. Nina, Linda.’
‘Hi,’ said Kim brightly. ‘How do you know Cormoran?’
‘We fucked twice, a few years ago,’ said Nina, leaving Strike to deplore the tendency of the upper classes to call a spade a spade.
‘Oh,’ said Kim, without a flicker of discomposure. ‘He’s good, isn’t he? Speaking of which, Corm, I’d rather be doing that. Let’s go.’
She linked her arm through Strike’s.
‘Night,’ said Strike to Nina, as he and Kim walked away.
Kim unlinked her arm from his just as Strike was about to pull away.
‘Got her, bang to rights,’ she told Strike, and held out her mobile to show him the photo she’d just taken.
Two women, one in purple, the other in gold, were closely entwined in a passionate kiss, leaning up against a tiled bathroom wall.
‘The woman in gold is Lady Violet,’ said Kim triumphantly. ‘Dominic Culpepper’s wife.’
17
Yea, and not only have we not explored
That wide and various world, the heart of others,
But even our own heart, that narrow world
Bounded in our own breast, we hardly know,
Of our own actions dimly trace the causes.
Whether a natural obscureness, hiding
That region in perpetual cloud,
Or our own want of effort, be the bar.
Matthew Arnold
Merope: A Tragedy
Strike called Robin on Saturday morning to give her two bits of news, neither of them particularly welcome.
