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‘Tomorrow would be no problem,’ said Strike, who had his own reasons for favouring Thursday.
‘Thank you, that’d be great, because I’m off work – we’ve just moved house. And, it’s a bit cheeky to ask this, but would you mind coming to me? I’m not far from London. Chalfont St Giles.’
‘No problem whatsoever,’ said Strike, reaching for a pen to take down her address.
When he’d hung up, Strike turned to Robin.
‘Fancy a trip to Chalfont St Giles with me tomorrow?’
‘She’s agreed to talk?’
‘Yep. Be good if you heard what she’s got to say, before you go in.’
‘Definitely,’ said Robin, getting to her feet. ‘Would you mind if I go home now, then? I’ve got a few things to sort out before I leave for Chapman Farm.’
‘Yeah, no problem.’
Once Robin had left, Strike sat down at his computer, his spirits rather higher than they’d been on waking up. He’d just scuppered the possibility of Robin spending the whole of her last free day before going undercover with Ryan Murphy. If his actions recalled, however faintly, Charlotte Ross’s machinations with regard to himself, his conscience remained surprisingly untroubled as he Googled pleasant places to have lunch in Chalfont St Giles.
21
The danger of heaven lies in the fact that one cannot climb it… The effects of the time of danger are truly great.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
The village Strike and Robin entered the following morning, which lay an hour from London, had a sleepy English prettiness. As they drove past half-timbered buildings overlooking a village green, Strike, who’d accepted Robin’s offer to drive his BMW, looked out at the stone grey Norman tower of the parish church, and spotted a sign proclaiming that they were in Buckinghamshire’s best kept village.
‘None of this will come cheap,’ he commented, as they turned off the High Street into Bowstridge Lane.
‘We’re here,’ said Robin, coming to a halt beside a square, detached house of tawny brick. ‘We’re ten minutes early, should we wait or—?’
‘Wait,’ said Strike, who had no desire to hurry through the interview. The longer it took, the more likely Robin would want something to eat before returning to London. ‘You all packed and ready for tomorrow?’
‘I’ve put my waterproof coat and underwear in a holdall, if you can call that packing,’ said Robin.
What she didn’t tell Strike was that she’d realised for the first time yesterday that she wouldn’t be able to take contraceptive pills with her into Chapman Farm. Having checked the small print on the pamphlet she’d been given, they were specifically listed as banned medications. Nor was she about to tell Strike that she and Murphy had had something close to an argument the previous evening, when Murphy had announced that he’d taken the day off to spend it with her, as a surprise, and she’d told him she was driving off to Buckinghamshire with Strike.
Strike’s mobile rang. Caller ID was withheld.
‘Strike.’
‘Hi,’ said a female voice. ‘This is Abigail Glover.’
Strike mouthed ‘Jonathan Wace’s daughter’ at Robin before turning his mobile to speakerphone so that she could hear what was going on.
‘Ah, great,’ he said. ‘You got the message I left at the station?’
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Woss this about?’
‘About the Universal Humanitarian Church,’ said Strike.
Absolute silence followed these words.
‘Are you still there?’ asked Strike.
‘Yeah.’
‘I was wondering whether you might be willing to talk to me,’ said Strike.
