Robin rolled over, laughing gently into the pillow.
"What?", Strike asked indignantly.
"Nothing. Just didn't take you for the romantic weekend away type", she replied
"Steady on, we'll only be staying over a pub. And anyway, seems only fair since I did you out of a honeymoon". Strike hesitated before continuing. "Unless you've got something else you need to do this weekend."
Robin dropped her gaze and picked absent-mindedly at the duvet cover. As much as she was enjoying the bubble they had created in the flat above the office over the last couple of days, she really needed to find somewhere to live. She had been existing out of her small suitcase since returning to London, sleeping in Cormoran's t-shirts, her wardrobe and possessions scattered between Masham and Ealing. The flat was the last thing unresolved. She couldn't bring herself to sort it out, not yet. But give it a few more days and she would have to resort to washing underwear in the sink. Robin knew could not be working, sleeping and living with Cormoran – that would slowly become a disaster so early on in a relationship. But the thought of elbowing her way into the London rental market filled her with dread. She imagined herself living out in Zone 4 with stand-offish strangers as housemates facing a daily hellish commute to Denmark street. She knew he would never ask her to leave, but she needed to be practical.
"I don't know, I might have to work.", she looked up, grinning.
"Yeah, your partner is a slave driver."
She playfully punched his shoulder and Cormoran gathered her is his arms and pulled her onto his chest. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Since the night she arrived back from Masham they had hardly left the flat, emerging only for dinner in a chaotic Asian restaurant on the edge of Chinatown. He loved everything about her body, her curves and soft skin, the sighs that he pulled from her were music to his ears. He hadn't felt like this about a woman in a long time, save the early heady days with Charlotte before the drama set in. He had never been embarrassed of his leg (or lack thereof). Many women had seen his stump. Some were curious, others pretended to ignore it and one or two seemed to like it a bit too much, something he could never quite get his head around. But on their first night in his flat, sitting down on his bed in front of her he felt his hands tremble as removed his prosthesis, leaving it leaning heavily against the wall. Robin had said nothing, but leant down to kiss him, her lips covering his as she gently placed one hand below his left knee, her fingers tracing the surgical scar.
Robin wrapped her arms around his shoulders, feeling a flash of pleasure as he moved between her thighs. Her fingers traced the length of his spine as their kisses became deeper, his hands pulling her hips closer as they moved in a passionate dance of give and take.
/
That afternoon, Strike looked up from his desk to find Robin frowning, her furrowed brow staring at her phone.
"Rob?"
"Rob – ", he tried again
Finally she looked up at him, her face miles away with her thoughts.
"Um, yes? Right, sorry", she said, flustered. "Email from the letting agent. They need the flat empty by Monday." The thought of going back to Ealing filled her with dread. Even though it had only been a few weeks since she lived there, everything had changed. She had kept herself occupied, her head with work, her heart with her new relationship with Cormoran. But almost a decade with Matthew was going to be hard to shake. The west London flat held a lot of memories, and for many years, Robin thought it held her sure and certain future.
"Sorry, I know you wanted to go away this weekend, but I guess I will have to get the rest of my stuff and hand back the keys." Robin truly was apologetic, this was the last thing she wanted to do.
Strike stood up, taking his coat from the back of his chair.
"I've some empty boxes upstairs, I'll get them"
Robin was touched by his practicality and his willingness to help. He gave her a reassuring wink as he walked by.
"No time like the present"
/
"So he think's his new employee is using the bookies to launder drug money?", she asked.
"It's possible. Whatever he's doing, he's good at it. Outwardly he seems like a model employee. This case might keep us busy for a while. How would you feel about moonlighting as a temp behind the counter? I think the only way to catch this guy might be to go undercover"
"Definitely", Robin replied, smiling. The train accelerated sharply out of White City station, and she grabbed onto the overhead pole for balance. She had firmly insisted he take the only available seat, in a show of gender equality and mock gallantry that made him smile. Her beloved creaking Defender was still parked up behind her family house in Masham, so this flat move was going to have to take place during the horrors of Friday afternoon rush hour. She was relieved, but not surprised that Strike was able to demarcate their personal and professional relationship. In their work environment, he treated her no differently that before they were together.
As they walked the short distance from the tube station, Robin reread scrap of paper containing the hastily written list of items to salvage. She took a deep breath as she beat the well-worn path to her old front door. She turned the key in the lock and a wave of stale air hit her. Comfortingly familiar, the scent of her old home, her old life. But it was tinged with something else that she couldn't put her finger on and briefly was brought back in her mind to the time she helped her father tidy up his childhood home after her grandmother passed away. Smiling to push her mind through her turbulent thoughts, she took an empty box from Cormoran and made her way to the bedroom.
Strike watched Robin to-and-fro from the bedroom as he stacked cookbooks in a box. The last time he was here he had yelled at her, fired her and stormed out. He was painfully aware of how close he had become to losing her, all through his own actions. He loved her. He hadn't said it yet, but he did. Never overly fluffily romantic, he was steadfast and dedicated in his relationships. Charlotte put him through the mill and yet he still found himself going back for more. Robin cast a completely different spell.
"Almost done", she said, smiling and leaned in for a quick hug.
"Is that the one you wanted?", Strike asked, gesturing to the small lamp on the side table.
"No, it's the one in the bedroom, can you grab it for me please?"
Robin's eyes scanned the kitchen, it was almost bare. Matthew must have been here already, his wardrobe was empty, the shoe rack by the door revealing a coating of dust. Suddenly, she heard the latch click and the front door swung open. He stood on the threshold, holding a worn Ikea bag, his face blank and resigned, his eyes widening as he realised she was there.
"Matt – "
"Ellacott, is this the lamp you were looking for?" Strikes voice called from the bedroom, and then stopped abruptly when he realised they had company. Matts jaw tightened, as he stared at Strike in disbelief, that the man who had ruined his relationship had the audacity to stand in his flat. Swiftly it dawned on him, as he saw Strikes smile fade from his face, that they really were together. He had had his suspicions of course, which he made clear from day one, but a small part of him believed Robin when she said she didn't walk out on their wedding for him. He felt like such a fool
Saying nothing, he pushed past Robin into the kitchen and took his frustration out on hastily cramming his bulky coffee maker into the plastic bag.
"Matt, I- ", Robin started, but he cut her off.
"And to think you made it out to be all my fault." His voice was full of salt and spite, his face hard and angry.
Matt held up a hand and shook his head as Robin started to protest. He actually didn't care what she had to say.
"Didn't take you long, did it", he spat at her as he walked past.
Strike was sorely tempted to knock him out. He was long past his peak of army physical fitness, but he would have put a sizable bet on putting sending Matthew crashing to the floor with his foot on his neck in two moves. He held his nerve and Matt banged the door behind him. The noise reverberated around the small hallway and seemed to hang in the silence.
A wave of nausea washed over Robin, she felt her face flush, a lump build in her throat, the beginning of tears stinging the corners of her eyes. A small foolish part of her wished for an amicable break-up, but Matt's wounded pride would never allow for it.
"You ok?"
Cormoran had crossed the space between them, staring intently at her with hesitant concern. He didn't doubt her feelings for him but knew all too well the strangle-hold old relationships can have. Robin took a deep breath to steady her nerves. He emotive reaction had taken her by surprise. She was standing in her old flat, in her old life, but at the start of something new.
"I'm fine".
She meant it.
Cormoran smiled and held his hands out. She crushed herself against his chest as his arms wrapped around her.
/
Even Robin admitted she couldn't face the tube. They sat holding hands like teenagers as the black cab made slow progress on the Hammersmith tapped the glass partition. "There's going to be an extra stop mate, sorry. Fulham Broadway please"
"Wardle can't seem to get rid of me. Apparently our bookmaker friend has gotten the attention of the Met Police. He wants to meet to see what I have on him. Won't be more than an hour."
He kissed Robin softly on the lips before he left the taxi
"See you at home", she called after him. The cab had pulled back into the evening traffic before he realized what she had said. He smiled and stepped over a puddle. Home.
/
Robin finally heaved the last box off the pavement of Denmark street and into the gloomy office hallway, shoving the stiff door behind her. Grabbing as much as she could carry, she started on one of many journeys up the narrow stairs to the flat. She was smiling despite the chore, thinking ahead to definite glass of wine she would be having that evening. With no free hand to hit the light switch, she didn't see the person with the black eye and bloody lip sitting on the landing until she almost tripped over her. It took her eyes a second to adjust, then widen. Charlotte Ross was leaning against Strike's office door.