"Will Joan be upset if we're late?"
"No, but Lucy will be another story." Strike looked down at the watch Robin had given him for his birthday. Once back at the cottage, they had rushed showering and dressing to be able to make dinner on time. It had proved more difficult for Strike who was having to make an effort to appear not in the first stages of drunkenness, "We're not late anyway,"
"Good!" Robin suddenly stepped to the side as they walked up Lower Castle Road and pulled him with her as she took a small path that led off of the road. She spun around to put her hands on his shoulders.
Strike looked down at her with one brow raised in mild surprise and a smile, "You want us to be late,"
In confirmation, she pushed Strike up against the wall of the side of a stone-built house that the path rang along. Her hands went from his chest to the sides of his neck, her thumbs stroking his beard and lips brushed against his. But as he leant into her, her fingers held his head away from her so that only Robin could decide when his lips were allowed to touch her skin, her lips, her tongue or just the air. As he leant backwards, closing his eyes and giving himself over to the warm flickering sensations her soft, plump lips aroused as they closed and opened against his, the back of his head knocked against stone and Strike's grunt of what Robin thought, must be from pain, rumbled against her mouth. She pulled away quickly, "Are you alright?"
Anesthetised by the alcohol in his blood, his fingertips raked the back of her scalp so that she pushed herself into him again, he dropped his head until it was aligned with hers and he gave a murmur of affirmation against her throat.
This had all begun as their usual banter, on the way back to the cottage from the Victory Inn, had descended into physical teasing. Both enjoyed the battle to see who could have the most torturous effect on the other. Slow, sensual kisses against a doorway that could be opened from the inside at any minute, that lasted until one of them stole away, while the other was left breathless - eyes still closed. A tongue licked fingertips, as a sweet was placed in a mouth. A hand slid past the shower curtain to trace rivulets of water that plastered dark hair against pale skin until a groan was elicited, then it slipped away before a wrist could be caught by wide fingers. Against a hardened nipple, a rough towel was rubbed. A sigh escaped pink lips before teeth reciprocated, by scrapping an earlobe and a whisper was said that when they got back there would be no touching allowed, he would only be allowed to listen to her make herself come with her own fingers, not his.
All the sensuous taunting had led to this moment when his lips trailed their way down her throat, so he could breathe in that scent he had craved. Strike didn't think he could put up much more resistance and broke away as he heard a small moan escape her lips. But not to tease any longer. He had reached the point where he needed fulfilment whether they were late or not.
"Come on, I know a place," his voice a low and husky as if he had to force out words.
"Of course you do," Robin smirked.
His fingers stroked the flush on her cheek as he kissed her forehead. He grabbed her hand and tugged her, so she followed him further along the path that ran between the two houses and then curved behind the gardens. The overhang of evergreen firs, hollies and shrubs provided a canopy that shielded them from overlooking windows. Strike's right boot scuffed the path at just the wrong angle and he fell into Robin making her giggle in surprise and he used it as an excuse to kiss her again, "It's just around the next corner," he murmured against her lips.
They walked a little further trying to keep their lips in contact, laughing more than they were successful. Strike pulled her between two bushes into a clearing but two older teenagers were already there, in a clinch of their own. At the sound of adult laughter, they broke apart quickly, and looked at the tall woman and man, waiting for recognition. The teenage boy was tall, almost as tall as Strike, with blonde curly hair and dark eyes. He appeared to be relieved that Strike and Robin were no one he recognised. The girl, however, Strike and Robin recognised instantly although she was innocent of who they were. She was very pretty with a dark wave of hair and green eyes, it was Milena Scutari.
Robin made a noise as if she was going to say something to the girl, who gave them a shocked look as if teenagers were the only ones allowed to have secret trysts in the shrubbery. Then Robin remembered herself, she wasn't supposed to know who Milena was, "Sorry, we must have made a wrong turn," and she pulled Strike back through the hedge behind her.
The couple looked at each other as if they had been doused by a freak wave of cold water, "Bloody teenagers," Strike only half-joked, placing his hand on Robin's back to guide her the rest of the way to his Aunt and Uncle's.
"What was going on there?" she whispered.
"Well, I'm sure you're going to find out."
Before dinner Strike had overheard Greg moaning to Lucy that his brother-in-law seemed to think that the world revolved around him. Greg's Boxing Day had supposedly been ruined by waiting around for Strike. Also, Ted had saved watching the Arsenal match against Wolves until after Boxing Day dinner. Strike, being on his best behaviour, had felt the tension that had quickly begun to simmer on entering the house rise to a rolling boil. But Robin, bringing him a black coffee, had winked at him and rolled her eyes so the feeling dissipated. For her, it had brought back bad memories of Matthew saying exactly the same kind of thing if she arrived home late from work or had to work at the weekend.
But, it wasn't often Ted was able to watch the football with Strike as they had done when he was younger and lived with them. So he had mostly ignored Greg's grumblings and now all of the male occupants of the house were crowded into the living room watching. Robin had been press-ganged by Lucy to go for a walk with her and Joan. 'Going for a walk' was code in front of the children for going to the pub for a drink. Strike had tried to tell Lucy that Robin watched more sport on television than he did but Robin, forever polite, brushed it off and said she would like to go.
The Gunners ran up and down the field laboriously for 90 minutes, trying to edge over the one-all-draw for at least fifty of them. They looked relieved when the whistle blew and ended it for them, even though they should have won easily. Strike had watched most of it blurry-eyed especially after wine at dinner on top of the bitter at the pub. The noise of chattering voices entered the hallway and Strike caught Robin's eye making the universal sign for tea with his hands. Robin made a universal sign back and he smiled slowly at her letting her read his thoughts from the expression on his face so that she flushed pink and disappeared following Joan and Lucy.
"It's that," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "Bloody Wenger!" Ted complained.
Jack laughed at his Great Uncle swearing in front of him and Strike laughed too, in his uncle's opinion it was always Wenger's fault even though he was the most successful manager in the team's history. The reason Strike had followed his Uncle's favourite team, in the beginning, was because they were the team of the underdogs as he grew up.
"Over 10 million a year and for what? We've had a bloody awful - " this time he forgot to whisper.
"Right you three, bedtime," Greg stood up, giving Tom a disapproving look before hustling the boys up and ignoring their protests. Although Oli had begun to scream the house down that he wanted Robin to put him to bed and not his dad, Lucy had come in moments later a and taken Oli's hand trying to lead him away.
"Sorry lads," Tom sympathised as the other boys gave him a hug goodnight.
Jack hesitated and turned to Strike whose eyes were on the television screen. He ran over to his uncle and flung his arms around him, "Night Uncle Corm!"
Strike hand hovered in the air before he patted the boy's back, "Night Jack, don't let the bed bugs bite,"
Over the top of his nephew's head, he saw Lucy smile widely. Strike had no idea where that had come from.
"Used to say that to you," his uncle remarked, smiling at the memory, then he returned to what was aggravating him, "We've had a bloody awful season!"
"You're not wrong there – glad I missed a lot of it," work and Robin's illness had meant missing the games more often than not. But Strike, who still remembered the excitement of Arsenal winning the double for the second time in the club's history in 1998 tried to defend Wenger but his uncle remained unconvinced.
"That's why I support Man U!" Greg gloated on returning to the room and picking up his mobile before, thankfully, Strike thought, disappearing back into the hall.
Ted leant forward and whispered conspiratorially, "He supports Man U because he's a bloody glory hunter. He's never been to Manchester in his bloody life,"
Strike half-smiled.
"It always seemed strange to me that a Cornishman born and bred supported Arsenal!" Lucy had come in, over-hearing Tom's churlish comment.
"I've told you - " Tom began.
But Lucy interrupted, "Our grandfather was a gunner in the Royal Artillery at Woolwich during World War Two and that's where Arsenal started," Lucy feigned a yawn.
"Yes, he was and I'd expect more respect about it," He caught Strike sharing a look with Lucy, "Especially from you!"
Strike raised his hands in surrender, "I didn't say anything,"
"I just came in to see if you wanted another drink, I shan't bother then?" Lucy teased Tom.
"Yes, please," he said sulkily.
Lucy ruffled his white curly hair as she looked towards her brother.
"I'll get them," Strike said, starting to push himself up from the sofa.
"No, it's fine, you've been working today," she replied chippily, disappearing before he could get out of the chair.
"She was a bit upset when we told her you and Robin were going to go and stay at the cottage – took it personally,"
Strike raised his eyebrow and sniffed, annoyed and slightly guilty.
"Was everything alright when you got in there?"
"Yep, sorted the thermostat when we took our stuff over there," If he was being honest he would have admitted to having done it already at two o'clock that morning when he had seen goosebumps appear on Robin's naked skin.
"Good, you know it's the cottage is there whenever you need it. Always reminds me of being a lad, going back to there, brings my parents and your mum back again. Might bring you some comfort being there again, help you feel close to her,"
Strike didn't say anything. If his mother's spirit even existed, she would not be using the opportunity to haunt St Mawes.
"Do you think you'll bring Robin in the summer or maybe even a weekend before?"
Tom's eyes stayed on the television set but Strike knew that his Uncle was thinking about his wife's uncertain health.
"We'll definitely try and fit something in before the summer, Robin loves it here,"
"She's a lovely young woman – you've landed on your feet there, excuse the pun – very kind and clever for starters. Joan and Lucy don't have a bad word against her which is a bonus, not having to listen to them go on,"
Unlike with Charlotte, Strike thought.
"Very attractive too," he winked at Strike, who shook his head reproachfully.
It didn't look as if Greg was coming back so once Lucy had brought in their drinks, Strike brought up the subject that he had been desperate to talk over with Ted for most of the evening.
"What happened with Scutari and Jon then?"
Jon Ridley had been friends with Tom since their own school days. One had found the only prospects for adventure outside of Cornwall was to join the army. The other had found it in making money on the stock market as a broker. Ridley had then made a lot of money buying London and Cornish property cheaply after the economy crashed in the 1990s. Ridley had become a key player in promoting and selling cheap holiday homes to the Londoners who could afford it. He had arrived back home during the boom of the Noughties himself.
Through this time, he and Tom had remained good friends, Jon had quickly made himself an indispensable part of the Roseland community attracting investment for local projects or providing it himself.
"Well, you know they've always hated each other. Recently Scutari tried to buy up all the council flats in Summerhill House and it raised the stakes – turned into a real feud,"
St Mawes was far too small to have a council estate but it did have a block of flats on top of a shopping arcade which looked out directly to the harbour. It would make a valuable piece of real estate, Strike thought, "Wanted to develop them into more holiday flats did he?"
"Exactly. Jon put a lot of pressure on the council to stop it – lack of local social housing and that. Also, between us, he's behind a local pressure group who campaigned to stop the sale,"
"And did they?"
Tom nodded, "Scutari was not happy. That's when the break-ins started at the Trevalgan,"
The Trevalgan was Jon Ridley's high-end hotel and spa overlooking Carne beach.
"Also, there was a campaign of sporadic vandalism, cars, windows and spray paint on walls. Could have easily been put down to some out of control kids but you don't get many of those around here. Then there were a number of bad reviews on the internet. Ridley's staff looked into them and they all seemed to be fake but the damage was already done. He nearly had to sell,"
"Did Jon confront Scutari?"
"You know Jon, he doesn't mince his words, he even got that Gwenifer Arscott on Scutari's case but if you mean did he ever threaten him in my hearing – no. And I'm not just saying that because we're friends,"
"So, you don't think Jon's capable of something like this or - "
"Getting someone to do his dirty work for him – no, lad, I really don't. He could have just as easily begun a campaign of terrorism himself. But he didn't. If you want to talk to him I can ask him?"
"That would be great, if he can't do tomorrow Robin will meet him the next day,"
"Okay. Will she be alright investigating the case while you're gone? She's only got less than a year's experience,"
"She's bloody great at her job – driven, won't take no for an answer and learns fast,"
"I seem to remember you saying that last time you were down, how she'd saved the business from going down the toilet - you were clearly in love with her then too!" Tom gave Strike a knowing look.
In response his nephew cleared his throat and took a sip of weak tea and scowled, averting his eyes to the television, "Well, the business is going really well now,"
"Should think so after what you two did,"
"We're going to expand – take on another investigator, maybe two,"
"Glad to hear it after the amount of work you've put in – you need some time for a normal life lad,"
Strike's smile was sceptical, "Don't think I'm cut out for a normal life," and he explained his plans for the agency while his uncle listened with interest and the understanding only another person with similar experience could have.
"Have the banks agreed to a loan then Corm?"
"Urm…no…I've asked Rokeby for another loan," He fixed his eyes to the television again to cover the shame he felt.
Leda had given Tom and Joan the news she was pregnant with a famous rock star's child and he had no interest in standing by her and then Rokeby would not even acknowledge the baby that had been born. Tom had exploded into an inextinguishable rage. Even though he and Joan had been in over 400 miles away in Herford, Germany at the time, he had threatened to hunt Rokeby down and make his responsibilities, "Bloody clear to him!"
The only thing that had saved Rokeby or even Tom was the fact he would never get near to the superstar, who had escaped to Los Angeles, far away from the paparazzi raptors hungry to feast on the juicy morsels of the acrimonious divorce Strike's conception had caused.
However, over time, Tom's attitude had mellowed and Strike had always wondered why.
"Are you going to actually meet him this time?" Tom fixed Strike with a look that made it clear he thought he should.
"Yep,"
"Good. Give him a fair chance," Tom stated without embellishment.
"I've never understood why you defend him?"
"Defend him? I just don't agree that he's simply a callous bastard,"
"Based on what evidence?"
"Based on life, lad! Are you still the same man you were only a decade ago?"
Strike lifted his leg so his trouser leg shifted, revealing the metal rod, "Clearly not the same man I was even four years ago! But then I've never been some spoilt celebrity wank - "
"No," Tom interrupted, "But you've had a taste of celebrity now – in your own right. Imagine what it would have been like in an amplified degree, in your late teens? It would have made anyone a prick, even you. You've had the benefit of growing up working class, going to University, then the army. If anything grounds you, that should," Tom sighed, but in the silence of the room, Strike's face was simmering with anger, "No doubt he's made some massive mistakes but he's been tried to hold out an olive branch to you. If he didn't care about you, why would he have been offended when you refused to meet him again,"
A few beats passed before the implications of Tom's words hit home with Strike, "What do you mean 'again'?" he asked, confused.
Tom looked at Strike. Their faces mirrored each other's perturbed and confused expressions, "Well first there was the time when you were a kid and you told the person from the court you didn't want to see him,"
"What?" Tom didn't respond immediately, "I never said that," Strike tried to affirm.
Tom put his hands on each armrest and leant forward a little, "Corm, I was there. Your mother encouraged it of course, selfish as always, because it suited her. Got to keep you to herself until her attention went elsewhere. It was after that second awful visit here,"
There was a terrible silence as Strike tried to retrieve the memory from the tangles in his mind that involved anything to do with Rokeby that was contained with the cold, hard casing of those things that remained unforgivable.
"Although, of course, your mother was terrified,"
"Terrified?" Strike sat forward, his elbows resting on his long thighs.
"She thought, once the DNA test came back, Rokeby would try and get custody. Millionaire rock star against a single girl with no prospects and a certain, well – reputation – wouldn't have been hard,"
"But he didn't,"
"He did. Papers were filed but you told the court-appointed social worker that you hated him, he wasn't nice to you and you didn't want to see him again – you were six, I'd have thought you would have remembered,"
A door had closed permanently on that memory.
"You and your mother were staying with us at that point, so they let her keep you and then she whisked you and Lucy back to London,"
Strike was speechless, of all the things Leda had been, she had always been unscrupulously honest with an openness about life that on occasion would have been better restrained. But this she had never told him. He tried to break out of the stunned silence that gripped him, "But how did you not mention it when I loaned the money from him to start the business?"
"Honestly I didn't realise you didn't remember it – I just thought it was one of those things you didn't want to discuss. You were going through enough at the time lad,"