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‘He’s very charismatic.’
‘He’d need to be,’ grunted Strike. ‘Anyone try and recruit you?’
‘Not explicitly, but a blonde woman, who I think knows how much Prudence’s clothes must’ve cost, intercepted me on the way out. Said she hoped I’d enjoyed myself and asked whether I had any questions. I said it had all been very interesting, but I didn’t show massive interest. She said she hoped she’d see me there again.’
‘Playing hard to get,’ said Strike, who’d just felt the first spot of icy rain on his face. ‘Good call.’
‘I had to bung a twenty pound note into the collecting bucket on the way out,’ said Robin, ‘given that I’m carrying a five hundred quid handbag. I made sure the boy on the door saw how much I was giving, though.’
‘Take it out of our petty cash,’ said Strike.
‘And I – wow,’ said Robin, half-laughing, half-startled.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I – nothing.’
Two young American men – tall, well-nourished, bearded and baseball-capped – had just taken a table two away from Robin. One was wearing a polo shirt, the other, a NASCAR T-shirt emblazoned with the name Jimmie Jones, and a large 48.
‘Nothing important, I’ll tell you later,’ said Robin. ‘Just wanted to touch base. I’ll let you go, if you’re off to Lucy’s. See you Monday.’
Strike, who didn’t particularly want to forfeit the distraction of talking to Robin while he headed towards an encounter he was dreading, said goodbye, then continued walking, his feeling of foreboding growing ever deeper. Lucy had sounded thrilled that he was coming over, which made the prospect of delivering his news even less palatable.
The large magnolia tree in Lucy and Greg’s front garden was, naturally, sporting no flowers on this cool March day. Strike knocked on the door, which was opened almost immediately by his favourite nephew, Jack.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Strike. ‘You’ve grown about eight inches since I last saw you.’
‘Be weird if I’d shrunk,’ said Jack, grinning. ‘You’re thinner.’
‘Yeah, well, I needed shrinking,’ said Strike, wiping his feet on the doormat. ‘You’ll understand once you reach my age… I got those for you, Luke and Adam,’ he added, handing Jack the carrier bag.
Lucy now appeared in the hall, and on hearing these words, beamed at Strike. She’d previously expressed displeasure that he so obviously favoured her middle son.
‘This is a lovely surprise,’ she said, hugging her brother. ‘Luke’s out at football with Greg, but Adam’s upstairs. Come through, I’ve just taken banana bread out of the oven.’
‘Smells great,’ said Strike, following her into the kitchen, with its glass doors overlooking a lawn. ‘Give me a small bit. I’m still a stone off my target weight.’
‘I’m so glad you called, because I’m a bit worried about Ted,’ said Lucy, taking a couple of small plates out of the cupboard. Ted was their widowed uncle, who lived in Cornwall. ‘I rang him this morning and he told me the same story he told me last time I called, word for word.’
‘Think he’s lonely,’ said Strike, sitting down at the kitchen table.
‘Maybe,’ said Lucy doubtfully, ‘but I’ve been thinking I might nip down and see him. Would you come, too?’
‘Yeah, with a bit of notice,’ said Strike, who was experiencing the familiar sense of constriction Lucy often gave him, whereby he was asked to commit immediately to future arrangements, and often had to deal with her irritability when he couldn’t instantly fall in with her plans. Today, however, Lucy merely set a slice of banana bread down in front of him, followed shortly afterwards by a mug of tea.
‘So, why the visit? Not that I’m not pleased to see you.’
Before Strike could respond, both Jack and Adam appeared, each holding an Air Storm Firetek Bow, which had been bought by Strike with the express purpose of getting Lucy’s sons out into the garden while he talked to her.
‘This is awesome,’ said Adam to Strike.
‘Glad you like it,’ said Strike.
‘Corm, you shouldn’t have!’ said Lucy, clearly delighted that he had. Given the number of times he’d forgotten his nephews’ birthdays, Strike was well aware these gifts might be said to be overdue. ‘Pity it’s raining,’ said Lucy, glancing out of the window at the garden.
‘Not much,’ said Strike.
‘I want to try it,’ said Jack, confirming his position as his uncle’s favourite. ‘I’ll put on my wellies,’ he threw at his mother, as he hurried out of the kitchen again. To Strike’s relief, Adam followed his older brother.
