Page 177 of The Running Grave

57

Nine at the beginning…

When you see evil people,

Guard yourself against mistakes.

The I Ching or Book of Changes

To Robin’s relief, Strike’s next letter offered a solution to the problem of giving money to the UHC.

I’ve spoken to Colin Edensor and he’s prepared to make £1000 available for a donation. If you get their account details, we’ll set up a bank transfer.

In consequence, Robin asked permission to visit Mazu in the farmhouse the following morning.

‘I want to make a donation to the church,’ she explained to the hard-faced woman who’d been supervising her stint in the kitchens.

‘All right. Go now, before lunch,’ said the woman, with the first smile Robin had received from her. Glad to escape the fug of boiling noodles and turmeric, Robin pulled off her apron and left.

The June day was overcast, but as Robin crossed the deserted courtyard the sun slid out from behind a cloud and turned Daiyu’s fountain-dappled pool into a basin of diamonds. Thankfully, Emily was no longer standing on her crate. She’d remained there for a full forty-eight hours, ignored and unmentioned by all who passed, as though she’d always stood there and always would. Robin had pitied Emily doubly by the time urine stains had appeared on the inside of her tracksuit bottoms and track marks of tears had striped her muddy face, but she’d imitated all other church members and acted as though the woman was invisible.

The other absence currently improving life at Chapman Farm was that of Taio Wace, who was visiting the Glasgow centre. The removal of the ever-present fear that he’d try and take her into a Retreat Room again was such a relief that Robin even felt less tired than usual, although her regime of manual labour continued.

She knelt at Daiyu’s pool, made the usual tribute, then approached the carved double doors of the farmhouse. As she reached them, Sita, a brown-skinned, elderly woman with a long rope of steel-grey hair opened it from the inside, carrying a bulging plastic sack. As they passed each other, Robin smelled a foul odour of faeces.

‘Could you tell me where Mazu’s office is?’ she asked Sita.

‘Straight through the house, at the back.’

So Robin walked past the staircase, along the red-carpeted corridor lined with Chinese masks and painted panels, right into the heart of the farmhouse. Walking past what she assumed to be the kitchen she smelled roasting lamb, which was in stark contrast to the depressing miasma of boiling tinned vegetables she’d just left.

At the very end of the corridor, facing her, was a closed black lacquer door. As she approached, she heard voices inside.

‘… ethical question, surely?’ said a man she was almost certain was Giles Harmon. Though he’d said he was staying only a few days, he’d now been at the farm a week, and Robin had spotted him leading other teenaged girls towards the Retreat Rooms. Harmon, who never wore the scarlet tracksuit of ordinary members, was usually attired in jeans and what looked like expensive shirts. His bedroom in the farmhouse overlooked the yard and he was often to be seen typing at the desk in front of the window.

Harmon’s voice wasn’t as carefully modulated as usual. In fact, Robin thought she heard a trace of panic.

‘Everything we do here is ethical,’ said a second male voice, which she recognised at once as that of Andy Zhou. ‘This is the ethical course. Remember, he doesn’t feel as we do. There is no soul there.’

‘You approve?’ Harmon asked someone.

‘Absolutely,’ said a voice Robin had no trouble identifying as Becca Pirbright’s.

‘Well, if you think so. After all, he’s your—’

‘There’s no connection, Giles,’ said Becca, almost angrily. ‘No connection at all. I’m surprised you—’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ said Harmon placatingly. ‘Materialist values – I’ll meditate now. I’m sure whatever you all think is best. You’ve been dealing with the situation far longer than I have, of course.’

Robin thought he said it as though rehearsing a defence. She heard footsteps, and had seconds to dash back along the hall, making as little noise as possible on her trainered feet, so that when Harmon opened the office door, she appeared to be walking towards it from ten yards away.

‘Is Mazu free?’ Robin asked. ‘I’ve been given permission to see her.’

‘She will be, in a few minutes,’ said Harmon. ‘You should probably wait here.’

He passed her and headed upstairs. Seconds later, the study door opened for a second time and Dr Zhou and Becca emerged.

‘What are you doing here, Rowena?’ said Becca, and Robin thought her bright smile was a little more forced than usual.