‘I s’pose there might some other rich kids in there, though,’ said Robertson, watching Strike closely. ‘Other than Will Edensor.’
‘S’pose there might,’ said Strike non-committally, looking over his notes. ‘She told you, “There’s something you don’t know”? And this was something other than Cathcart-Bryce being denied a doctor, was it?’
‘Yeah, she’d already told me about the old girl,’ said Robertson, who now flipped open his laptop again. ‘Sure you haven’t got a view on Brexit? How would it affect the private detective trade, if we leave the EU?’
‘Not at all,’ said Strike, getting to his feet.
‘So I can put down Cormoran Strike as a Brexiteer, can I?’
‘You can fuck off, is what you can do,’ said Strike, and he left the journalist chuckling behind him.
‘God, it’s horrible out there,’ were Robin’s first words to Strike the next time they met, which was on Easter Monday.
Storm Katie was currently ravaging London, knocking down trees and pylons, and Robin’s colour was high, her hair windblown. The windows of the office were gently rattling as the wind howled down Denmark Street.
‘I did text you, offering to catch up by phone,’ said Strike, who’d just put the kettle on.
‘I was probably already on the Tube,’ said Robin, tugging off her coat and hanging it up. ‘I didn’t mind coming in. Quite bracing, really.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d got smacked in the head by a flying bin,’ said Strike, who’d just been watching plastic cones tumbling down Charing Cross Road. ‘Coffee?’
‘Great,’ said Robin, trying to detangle her hair with her fingers. ‘Pat got the day off?’
‘Yeah. Bank holiday. One good thing about this weather, it’ll probably keep the Frank brothers in.’
‘Hopefully,’ agreed Robin. ‘In other good news, I think I’m getting closer to being recruited.’
‘Really?’ said Strike, looking round.
‘Yes. That blonde woman I met last time made a beeline for me the moment I walked in on Saturday. “Oh, I’m so glad you came back!” I told her I’d read their pamphlet and found it interesting—’
‘Was it?’
‘No. It’s mostly generalities about self-fulfilment and changing the world. I’m still playing it cool. I told her friends of mine were trying to warn me off the UHC, telling me there were rumours circulating about the place, about it not being what it seemed.’
‘What did she say to that?’
‘That she was sure I wasn’t closed-minded enough not to give the church a fair hearing and that she could tell I was a free thinker and a very independent person.’
‘Very astute of her,’ said Strike, with a smirk. ‘Papa J there?’
‘No. Apparently I got very lucky seeing him last time, because he doesn’t often appear in person these days. We got Becca Pirbright instead – Kevin’s older sister.’
‘Yeah?’ said Strike, as he opened the fridge and took out milk. ‘What’s she like?’
‘Very polished and chirpy. Perfect teeth – she looks American. You definitely wouldn’t know her brother was shot through the head a few months ago. If she hadn’t been wearing orange robes, you’d have thought she was a motivational speaker. Pacing up and down, lots of big gestures.
‘Oh, and Noli Seymour was there. The actress. That caused a bit of excitement, when she walked in. Lots of whispering and pointing.’
‘Special treatment?’
‘Very. One of the temple attendants went running towards her and tried to lead her to a seat at the front. She made kind of a fuss about not taking it and sliding into a space in the middle. Very humble. She made such a fuss about being humble, everyone was looking at her by the time she took her seat.’
Strike grinned.
‘I read your note about your meeting with Fergus Robertson,’ Robin went on.
‘Good,’ said Strike, handing Robin a mug and leading the way through to the inner office. ‘I wanted to talk to you about that.’
Robin thought she knew what was coming. One of the reasons she’d been so determined to battle her way through Storm Katie to talk to Strike face to face was a suspicion that he was about to suggest – notwithstanding the hours of work she’d put in to create Rowena Ellis’s persona, and the expensive new haircut – that one of the subcontractors should go undercover at Chapman Farm, instead of her.
‘So, you read about the spirit bonding stuff?’ Strike asked, as both took their seats opposite each other at the partners’ desk.
‘We’re using the UHC’s euphemism, are we?’ said Robin, eyebrows raised.
‘All right, if you prefer: did you read about women being coerced into sleeping with whoever the church says they should sleep with?’
‘I did, yes,’ said Robin.
‘And?’
‘And I still want to go in.’
Strike said nothing, but stroked his chin, looking at her.
