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‘Then let me—’
‘Really, it’s fine,’ said Strike, who’d now mentally committed to a burger and chips. ‘We need to get Will back to Qing.’
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Prudence. She looked up at Will.
‘If you ever want to talk to someone, Will, I wouldn’t charge you. Think about it, OK? Or I can recommend another therapist. And do read the books I lent Robin.’
‘Thanks,’ said Will. ‘Yeah. I will.’
Prudence now turned to Robin.
‘That was a massive breakthrough for Flora. I’ve never seen her like that before.’
‘I’m glad,’ said Robin, ‘I really am.’
‘And I think, you sharing your own experience – that was crucial.’
‘Well, there’s no rush,’ said Robin. ‘She can think over what she wants to do next, but I meant what I said. I’d be with her every step of the way. Anyway, thanks so much for arranging this, Prudence, it was really helpful. We should probably—’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike, whose stomach was loudly rumbling.
Strike, Robin and Will walked in silence back to the car.
‘You hungry?’ Strike asked Will, very much hoping the answer was yes. Will nodded.
‘Great,’ said Strike, ‘we’ll swing by a McDonald’s.’
‘What about Cedar Terrace?’ said Robin, turning on the engine. ‘Are we going to check whether Rosie Fernsby’s there?’
‘Might as well,’ said Strike. ‘Not a big detour, is it? But if we see a McDonald’s, we’ll do that first.’
‘Fine,’ said Robin, amused.
‘Aren’t you hungry?’ said Strike, as they pulled away.
‘I think I got used to less food at Chapman Farm,’ said Robin. ‘I’m acclimatised.’
Strike, who very much wanted to hear Robin’s new information, gathered from her silence that she considered it inadvisable to dredge up everything that had happened in the consulting room with Will present. The latter looked exhausted and troubled.
‘Have you heard from Midge?’ Robin asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Strike, ‘nothing new.’
Robin’s heart sank. She could tell from Strike’s tone that ‘nothing new’ meant ‘nothing good’, but in deference to Will’s feelings, she forwent further questions.
They crossed Twickenham Bridge with its bronze lamps and balustrades, the Thames glinting, gunmetal grey, below, and Strike wound down the window to vape. As he did so, he glanced in the wing mirror. A blue Ford Focus was following them. He watched it for a few seconds, then said,
‘There’s—’
‘A car following us, with dodgy number plates,’ said Robin. ‘I know.’
She’d just spotted it. The plates were fake and illegal, the kind that could be ordered easily online. The car had been moving steadily closer since they’d moved into Richmond.
‘Shit,’ said Robin, ‘I think I saw it on the way to Prudence’s, but it was hanging back. Shit,’ she added, looking into the rear-view mirror, ‘is the driver—?’
‘Wearing a balaclava, yeah,’ said Strike. ‘But I don’t think it’s the Franks.’
Both remembered Strike’s bullish assertion earlier that they’d stop and confront anyone who seemed to be tailing them. Each, watching the car, knew this would be exceptionally unwise.
