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‘I’m Fernsby.’
‘I’m Robin Ellacott. We spoke—’
‘What are you doing here? You should have waited in the atrium.’
‘The man on the desk sent me up.’
‘Right, well, that’s unhelpful,’ said Rufus.
Dark, lean and wearing a Lycra T-shirt with his work trousers, he had the weather-beaten, sinewy look common to dedicated runners and cyclists, and was sporting what Robin thought was the oddest of all facial hair variations: a chin curtain beard with no moustache.
‘Good luck,’ murmured the second man to Robin as he walked away.
‘I was going to meet you in the café,’ said Rufus irritably, as though Robin should have known this, and perhaps already ordered his food. He checked his watch. Robin suspected he’d have liked to find she’d arrived too early, but as she was exactly on time he said,
‘Come on then – no, wait!’ he added explosively, and Robin came to a halt, wondering what she’d done wrong now, but Rufus had merely realised he was still clutching papers in his hand. Having stalked off to put them back on his desk, he rejoined her, walking out of the room so fast she had to almost jog to keep up.
‘This is a very beautiful building,’ she said, hoping to ingratiate herself. Rufus appeared to consider the comment beneath his notice.
The café on the ground floor was infinitely more upmarket than any that had graced the offices where Robin had once worked as a temporary secretary; there were booths of black leather banquettes, sleek light fittings and expressionist prints on the walls. As they headed for the queue at the counter, and in what she feared would be another doomed attempt to conciliate herself, Robin said,
‘I’m starting to think I should have done engineering, if these are the perks.’
‘What d’you mean?’ said Rufus suspiciously.
‘It’s a nice café,’ said Robin.
‘Oh.’
Rufus looked around as though he’d never before considered whether it was pleasant or not.
‘Yes. I suppose so,’ he said grudgingly. She had the impression he’d rather have found fault with the place.
From the moment Rufus had agreed to meet her, Robin had known that her main objective, that of finding out whether Rosalind Fernsby was the naked girl in the pig mask, would have to be approached tactfully. She didn’t like to imagine how any of her own brothers would react, if shown such a photograph featuring Robin. Having now met Rufus, she was afraid there might be a truly volcanic explosion when she showed him the pictures on her phone. She therefore decided that her secondary objective – that of finding out whether Walter was the person Jiang had recognised as someone who’d come back after many years – would form her first line of questioning.
Having purchased sandwiches, they sat down at a corner table.
‘Well, thanks very much for meeting me, Rufus,’ Robin began.
‘I only called you back because I want to know what exactly’s going on,’ said Rufus severely. ‘I had a call from a policewoman – well, she said she was a policewoman – a week ago. She was asking for contact details for my sister.’
‘Did you give them to her?’
‘I haven’t got any. We don’t talk, haven’t for years. Nothing in common.’
He said it with a kind of pugnacious pride.
‘Then she told me two individuals called Robin Ellacott and Cormorant Strike might make contact with me, because they were trying to dig up dirt on my family. Naturally, I asked for further details, but she said she couldn’t give them, as it was an open investigation. She gave me a number to call if you contacted me. So, when you called – well, you know what happened,’ said Rufus unapologetically. ‘I phoned the number I’d been given and asked for PC Curtis. The man who answered laughed. He passed me to this woman. I was suspicious. I asked for her badge number and jurisdiction. There was a silence. Then she hung up.’
‘Pretty sharp of you to check,’ commented Robin.
‘Well, of course I checked,’ said Rufus, with a whiff of gratified vanity. ‘There’s more at stake for engineers than getting a bad review in some joke social sciences journal, if we don’t check.’
‘D’you mind if I take notes?’ she asked, reaching into her bag.
‘Why should I mind?’ he said irritably.
Robin, who knew from online records that Fernsby was married, offered up a silent vote of sympathy for his wife as she reached for her pen.
