The Hallmarked Man полностью

Strike resisted the temptation to snort. There was, of course, no law decreeing that only courageous men should impersonate those who’d survived unspeakable atrocities before effecting death-defying escapes, but he happened to find it supremely incongruous that Sacha Legard should be doing so. Charlotte and Strike, both of whom possessed physical courage aplenty, had often laughed together about how successfully Tara had inculcated in her adored son her own horror of blemishing nature’s finest handiwork. Strike knew very well that Sacha fretted about the safety of flying harnesses and the likelihood of sustaining injury during well-rehearsed sword fights, had never progressed past the nursery slopes when skiing, and preferred his stunt doubles to do anything in the nature of diving, horseback riding or jumping off high ledges. None of this was widely known, of course, because Sacha made such a convincing on-screen daredevil.

‘… go to Broadway, but I don’t think they can imagine anyone except Sacha as Walter, and he’s committed to a film next year…’

Strike and his guide ascended in a lift to the upper floors, and the young woman continued to rhapsodise about Sacha until Strike’s bored expression intimidated her into silence. She led him at last into a small bar reserved for the cast on the third floor, and there sat Sacha, alone except for the barman.

The actor was wearing jeans and a dark blue shirt, and even in the bar’s unflattering lighting looked astoundingly handsome. Like many of his fellow thespians, he was far slighter in person than he appeared on stage or screen.

‘Cormoran,’ he said warmly, getting to his feet. ‘Last time we saw each other must’ve been at Dad’s funeral.’

‘Must’ve been, yeah,’ said Strike, shaking Sacha’s proffered hand.

‘Thanks, Your Grace,’ said Sacha, smiling at the bespectacled young woman, who turned pink with pleasure at what was evidently a standing joke, and responded with,

‘You’re welcome, My Lord. Shall I get—?’

‘What are you drinking?’ Sacha asked Strike.

‘Coffee, if there is any,’ said the detective, and Grace bustled to fetch it.

‘You’ve done bloody well for yourself since we last met,’ said Sacha heartily.

‘As have you,’ said Strike, with an effort.

‘Ha,’ said Sacha, with a self-deprecating smile, ‘you’re only as good as your last review in this game.’

‘He can afford to say that,’ trilled Grace from the counter, ‘because he “owns the stage”, according to the Independent!’

‘“Owns the stage”,’ said Sacha, with a grin and a slight eye roll, as he sat back down. ‘What does that even mean?’

Strike had often thought Sacha more natural onstage than off. When the cameras were on, or the curtain went up, Sacha perfectly aped genuine human emotion. Offstage he always had a slight air of performing himself, and Strike was currently being given a private performance of Talented Actor, Resting.

‘So, you’re Lord Legard these days,’ said Strike.

‘Oh, Christ, no,’ said Sacha, with a laugh. ‘No, I’m like Dad, I don’t use the title. It’s so bloody outdated, all that.’

But you let underlings know, for joking purposes. Prick.

Approaching the theatre, Strike had wondered whether Sacha would mention Charlotte, whether he’d press Strike’s hand in condolence or reuse his Romeo and Juliet quotation, all of which Strike would have found thoroughly objectionable, but the total absence of comment stuck in his craw even more. He supposed he should have realised that Sacha would prefer no mention of the past and, perversely, this made Strike determined to make allusion to it when the opportunity arose.

Grace set a coffee in front of Strike, who thanked her. She left the bar.

‘So,’ said Sacha, ‘you want to talk about Rupe?’

‘That’s right,’ said Strike, taking out his notebook.

‘OK, well, I should probably tell you straight off the bat, I’m not going to be much help. I was shooting in Mexico when all this business with him and Dessie happened – I barely know her, actually – so, honestly, you probably know more than I do about it all. But obviously, I want to help,’ said Sacha earnestly. ‘Anything I can do.’

‘You barely know Decima?’

‘’Fraid so. I’ve only ever met her a handful of times – just through Valentine, you know. I mean, I’ve eaten at the Happy Carrot. She’s a really gifted chef. It’s a shame, what’s happening to the restaurant, I hear it’s in trouble. She’s taken a leave of absence or something, hasn’t she?’

Strike suspected he was being invited to acknowledge that his client was having some kind of emotional crisis. When he didn’t speak, Sacha went on,

‘Yeah, so I’m afraid I’m out of the loop with the whole thing, because I went straight from filming Conquest into rehearsals for this.’

Strike had no idea what Conquest was – film, TV series, aftershave commercial – and cared even less, so he merely asked,

‘Rupert’s your first cousin, right?’