Page 274 of The Running Grave

‘You’re not going to be charged,’ said Strike firmly.

Easy for you to say, thought the shaken Robin, but aloud she said,

‘Well, I hope not, because I found out this afternoon I’m soon going to have another two nieces or nephews. I’d rather not be barred from ever seeing them…’

95

The undertaking requires caution… the dark nature of the present line suggests that it knows how to silence those who would raise the warning.

The I Ching or Book of Changes

To Robin’s enormous relief, her parents left for Yorkshire at midday on Sunday. This enabled her to finally complete the report about Chapman Farm she’d prepared for Strike. He’d now sent her a similar document, giving her all the information he’d found out while she’d been away. Robin was still reading this when Murphy arrived, straight from the airport.

She’d forgotten not only how good looking he was, but how kind. Though Robin had attempted to push her considerable worries aside in an effort to make the reunion a happy one, Ryan’s questions, which were mercifully posed without her mother’s hectoring undertone of accusation and outrage, elicited far more information than Linda had received about her daughter’s long stay at Chapman Farm. Robin also told Murphy what had happened when she was interviewed by PCs Khan and Harding.

‘I’ll find out what’s going on there,’ said Murphy. ‘Don’t worry about that.’

Slightly tipsy – alcohol was affecting her far more strongly after her long period of abstinence and her weight loss – Robin entered the bedroom. She’d bought condoms prior to Ryan’s arrival, having had an enforced break from the contraceptive pill over the last four months. Sex, which at Chapman Farm had been an almost constant danger rather than a pleasure, was as welcome a release as the wine, and temporarily obliterated her anxiety. As she lay in Murphy’s arms afterwards, her brain slightly fuzzy from alcohol and the tiredness she’d felt ever since she’d returned to London, he lowered his mouth to her ear and murmured,

‘I realised something while you were away. I love you.’

‘I love you, too.’

Caught off guard, she’d said the words automatically, as she’d done hundreds of times in the years she’d spent with Matthew. She’d said them even when she’d no longer meant them, because that was what you did when there was a wedding ring on your finger and you were trying to make a marriage work, even though the pieces were falling apart in your hands, and you didn’t know how to put them back together. Unease stirred in her alcohol-blunted brain. Had she just lied, or was she overthinking?

Murphy held her even closer, murmuring endearments, and Robin hugged him back and responded in kind. Even though Robin was dazed with wine and tiredness, she remained awake for half an hour after Murphy fell asleep. Did she love him? Would she have said it unprompted? She’d been truly happy to see him, they’d just had great sex and she was immensely grateful for his sensitivity and tact in the conversation about Chapman Farm, even if she’d left out some of the worst bits. But was what she felt love? Perhaps it was. Still ruminating, she sank into dreams of Chapman Farm, waking with a gasp at five in the morning, believing herself to be back in the box.

Murphy, who hadn’t meant to stay the night because he was due back at work the next day, had to leave the flat at six to return home and change. Robin, who’d arranged to pick Strike up in the Land Rover for their long drive to Thornbury, was dismayed by how relieved she felt not to have much time to talk to her boyfriend.

When she pulled up outside Wembley station, where she’d agreed to meet Strike at eight, she saw him already there, vaping while waiting.

‘Morning,’ he said, getting into the car. ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Fine,’ said Robin.

While she looked slightly better rested than she had a week previously, she was still pale and drawn.

‘Murphy get back all right?’

‘Well, his plane didn’t crash, if that’s what you mean,’ said Robin, who really didn’t want to talk about Murphy at the moment.

Though surprised by this slightly caustic response, Strike was perversely encouraged: perhaps Robin and Murphy’s mutual attraction had petered out during four months of enforced separation? With the aim of emphasising that while Murphy might not appreciate her, he certainly did, he said,

‘So, I’ve read your report. Bloody good job. Good work on Fernsby and Huxley, as well.’

Robin’s online research, completed in the interval between her parents leaving and Ryan arriving, had enabled her to send Strike a long list of universities at which Walter had worked, the names of his ex-wife and two children, and the titles of his two out-of-print books.

As for Marion, Robin had discovered that she’d been raised as a Quaker and had been very active in the church until abandoning it for the UHC. Robin had also found the names and addresses of her two daughters.

‘Fernsby seems a restless kind of bloke,’ said Strike.

‘I know,’ said Robin. ‘Academics don’t usually move around that much, do they? But there were no start and finish dates, so it’s hard to know whether there was a period in between jobs he could have spent at the farm.’

‘And Marion deserted the family undertakers,’ said Strike.

‘Yes,’ said Robin. ‘She’s a bit pathetic. Utterly besotted with Jonathan Wace, but relegated to the laundry and the kitchen most of the time. I think her dream would be to become a spirit wife, but I don’t think there’s much chance. Bodies aren’t supposed to matter in there, but trust me, Wace isn’t sleeping with any women his own age. Not widows of undertakers, anyway – maybe if another Golden Prophet came along, he would.’

Strike wound down the window so he could continue vaping.