The Running Grave полностью

‘This is really kind of you, Prudence,’ Robin said, as the therapist led her upstairs.

‘It isn’t,’ said Prudence, now smiling again. ‘I’ve been dying to meet you, given that you’re clearly the most important person in Corm’s life.’

The words gave Robin a sensation like an electric shock in the pit of her stomach.

‘He’s – he’s really important to me, too.’

They passed the open door of a very messy bedroom, which Robin could tell belonged to a teenager even before a black-haired girl in a mini-skirt came bounding out of it, clutching a leather jacket in one hand, and a satchel in the other.

‘Ooh,’ she said, blinking at Robin. ‘Cool hair!’

Without waiting for a response she hurried past them, running downstairs. Prudence called after her,

‘Text me when you need picking up!’

‘I will,’ shouted the girl, and they heard her call, ‘Laters, new uncle,’ before the front door slammed.

‘That was Sylvie,’ said Prudence, leading Robin into a large bedroom of luxurious simplicity, and then into a mirrored dressing room lined with clothing racks. ‘Corm said you’d need two or three outfits?’

‘Ideally,’ said Robin. ‘I promise I’ll be very careful with them.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ve got far too many clothes… it’s my weakness,’ Prudence admitted, with a guilty smile. ‘Sylvie’s just got old enough to start borrowing stuff I can’t get away with any more, so I’m kind of hanging off giving it all to charity. What size shoes do you take?’

‘Six,’ said Robin, ‘but—’

‘Perfect. Same as me.’

‘—you really don’t have to—’

‘If you’re trying to look wealthy, accessories count,’ said Prudence. ‘Quite exciting really, helping someone go undercover. Corm’s very cagey about what you two get up to – professionally, I mean,’ she added.

She began pulling out day dresses and various tops and handing them to Robin, who saw labels she could never have afforded: Valentino, Chanel, Yves Saint Laurent.

‘… and that would really suit you,’ Prudence said five minutes later, adding a Chloé dress to the heavy load Robin was already holding. ‘Right, try it all on and see what works. You’ll be completely private in here, Declan’s not home for another hour.’

As the bedroom door closed behind Prudence, Robin put the pile of clothes down on the double bed, then took off her sweater and jeans, looking around at the room as she did so. From the oak floorboards and the wide mahogany sleigh bed to the sleek, modern chandelier, long gauze curtains and wall-mounted flat-screen television, everything spoke of good taste and plenty of money. Strike might be living like this, Robin thought, if he’d swallow his pride and rage, and accept his father’s largesse – though, of course, she couldn’t be sure it was Jonny Rokeby who’d bought this house.

Downstairs, Prudence had rejoined Strike in the sitting room, holding two books.

‘For Robin,’ she said, putting them on the coffee table between them.

‘Cheers,’ he said, as she refilled his wine glass. ‘Listen, can I ask you something?’

‘Go on,’ said Prudence, sitting down opposite him.

‘Did this client of yours ever witness supernatural events at Chapman Farm?’

‘Corm, I can’t talk about that.’

‘I’m not going to go looking for your client,’ he assured her. ‘I’m just interested.’

‘I’ve probably said too much already,’ said Prudence.

‘I get it,’ said Strike. ‘No more questions.’

Leaning forwards, he picked up Combatting Cult Mind Control, turned it over and read the blurb on the back.

‘You’ve got me more worried about Robin going in there now than I was half an hour ago,’ he admitted.

‘Good,’ said Prudence. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean “good, you’re worried”, I just think it’s best she understands what she’s getting into.’

‘Why the hell do people join cults?’ mused Strike. ‘Why would anyone give over that amount of control of their lives?’

‘Because they don’t realise total control is where it’s going to end,’ said Prudence. ‘It happens incrementally, step by step, after they’ve been offered approval and validation and a sense of purpose… surely you can see the allure of discovering a profound truth? The key to the universe?’

Strike half-shrugged.

‘OK, well, what about believing you can make a real difference to the world: alleviate suffering, cure social ills, protect the weak?’

‘Why d’you need to be in a cult to do any of that?’

‘You don’t,’ said Prudence, smiling, ‘but they’re very good at convincing people membership is the best possible way of achieving paradise on earth, not to mention heaven afterwards.