“Not yet. But it’ll be okay. I’m fine.”
The flatness of his tone suggested otherwise.
It occurred to Louisa, not for the first time, that River might be her oldest friend. Partly this was due to the emotional downsizing Slough House required—if you didn’t shutter your horizons, the view would drive you mad—but not only that. There might have been something there, once, and its ghost lingered. “No,” she said. “You’re bothered. Want to talk about it?”
Which would at least distract her from her own impending decision.
“. . . That’s okay. Thanks.”
She said, “Cool. Offer’s open,” and wondered how soon she could disconnect; a question whose answer came from above, in the shape of pounding on the ceiling, accompanied by a strangled version of what might have been her name. “But it seems I’m needed upstairs.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.”
The last time River opened his heart to her, he’d been worried about his grandfather. But that train had left the station: Louisa had been there when they’d buried the old man, and while she’d attended less dramatic funerals, it was clear that David Cartwright was beyond causing problems. Lamb, on the other hand, was still among the quick, and when she arrived at his door was bowed over his desk like a Francis Bacon study in onanism. It took a second for her to realise he was engaged in the act of darning his socks while still wearing them, except for “darning” read “applying duct tape.”
“Adds years,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe the savings.”
“I’ve often wondered how you fund your wardrobe.”
Though it was accepted office lore that he raided charity bins.
Lamb hauled himself upright with the effort another man might have used to land a marlin. “Spoken to Cartwright lately?”
“We’re in touch.”
“More than he is with me.” Lamb sighed and shook his head: You raise them, you send them into the world, and do they phone, do they write? “Too busy playing doctors and nurses with young Baker. Been meaning to offer condolences on that score, by the way. Always thought you were in with a chance, especially since Sid’s, you know, ‘accident.’” He waggled an index finger at his right temple. “Head wounds, best case scenario, if you’re not left a vegetable, you’re borderline mental. Not judging. But I wouldn’t share a bed with one.”
“That’s not likely to come up, is it?” said Louisa.
“Bit hurtful, but I’ll let it pass. Anyway, thought you’d like to be the”—he paused, and counted on his fingers—“fifth to know. If Cartwright’s left anything of value in his drawers, you get first pick.”
“He’s not coming back?”
“Turns out his warranty’s lapsed. And the Park’s not picking up the tab if that toxic doorknob does for him.”
She said, “You’ve seen his medical report.”
“Better than that. I’ve seen the instruction his medical officer received, from Taverner, to bin him. Taverner already told me he was for the chop, but let me think it was Doctor Desk’s decision, which is an interesting lie, don’t you think?”
“Interesting?”
“Because it wasn’t necessary. I mean, the fuck do I care who pulls Cartwright’s plug? And why’s she doing it anyway? If she hates his guts, why turn him loose? It torments him more being here. Even if he doesn’t realise it himself.”
Louisa was aware that her role was to supply prompts while Lamb thought out loud. This was usually Catherine’s destiny, but no doubt it would become clear why she’d been chosen instead. Unless it didn’t. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, she bought me a bottle. I mean, talk about uncharacteristic behaviour. This is a woman who smokes more of my fags than I do.” This triggered a deep response: His hand disappeared between two of his shirt buttons, scratched vigorously, then reappeared holding a cigarette. Tucking it between his lips he went on, “She drops three lit matches in my lap. Says she’s got a grievance pending, which is about as likely to give a cat a sleepless night as make her worry, and she tells me about Cartwright, and she mentions that you’re out shopping for a new job, which so what? So no, it was specifically Cartwright she wanted me to know about, which means she wants me to tell him he’s surplus to requirements so he’ll be looking for a way back in. Open to persuasion.” His eyes sparked. “And that’s it. She needs him to do something for her. Something off-book, so probably dodgy. The sly monkey.”
Louisa said, “She said what now? About me?”
“Don’t change the subject. Which is, what’s she got lined up for Cartwright? Bearing in mind he’d have trouble setting fire to a petrol pump.”
There was little point pursuing any topic other than the one that gripped Lamb. “Are you sure you’re not seeing a conspiracy where there isn’t one?”
“What, the way a hammer thinks everything looks like a thumb? Yeah. Except we’re talking about Taverner, who if she tells you the time means she’s faking an alibi.”
“So . . . She wants River junked regardless of his medical just to leave him open to some other scheme she has in mind?”
“Yeah, which part of that doesn’t make sense?”
