Chapter Twenty-three

The final report submitted for Honbold's approval and hopefully prompt payment, and their mutual need for each other's bodies temporarily appeased, Robin and Strike are embracing in the ruin of his bedclothes, and she asks, "So, how did she slip up?"

He really doesn't mind, understanding better than anyone this other need, but jokes, "Let a guy catch his breath."

Robin tickles his ribs for a moment, and insists, "No."

Strike laughs, and then explains, "There was the slightest of suspicious contacts between her and a guy who looked familiar, though I couldn't think where I'd seen him. Turns out, I haven't, and had merely detected a slight familial resemblance; he's the eldest son of Honbold's brother."

Robin sits up to look at him, mouth open in shock, and then she verifies, "Pooh's fucking her nephew?" When he nods, her expression clouds over, to ask, "How old?"

Strike rubs a hand along her arm, saying, "Oh, no, not a kid. He's well and truly an adult, but Honbold was fair fucking furious when I sent him a pic of the man who'd just entered his wife's hotel room, realising she was not only cheating, but with family...presumably has been for quite some time, because the guy used to stay with them whenever he's in London."

"Oh, dear."

"Yeah."

"Well, he's got his leverage, so he must be sort of happy?"

"Not sure if he'll use it, given the scandal would hurt his brother too...though he might be angry enough to bluff it out, see if she blinks. Anyway, he's going to pay the double fee as promised, including the £10 000 bonus for getting proof of infidelity, which I didn't technically deliver."

Robin again rests against Strike to ask, "How is he? I know he also cheated, but this must be a hell of a blow."

Strike kisses her forehead, and says, "You're lovely." And then he reveals, "Fairly pragmatic about the whole thing, considering. He signed off with a promise to call us when his next marriage goes down the toilet."

Robin huffs a laugh, and comments, "Horrifically cynical, but I guess he has cause."

"Yeah, poor bastard." They're quiet for a while, lost in thought, and then Strike says, "Actually, Rob, I've been thinking_"

"Uh, oh."

He gently pinches her hip in reproach, saying, "Not nice. No, but seriously, we see marriages at their worst and spend, it's fair to say, quite a bit of time ferreting out people's dirty little secrets. Have you ever wondered what would happen if they'd just talked, instead of...I dunno, instead of looking elsewhere for happiness? Assuming that's why people cheat."

Robin doesn't look up, to meekly ask, "You never did?"

"No. I wasn't celibate in between my temporary bouts of insanity with Charlotte, but I doubt anyone would call that cheating, given she'd always made it quite clear—often with projectiles—that she never wanted to see me again. But I've never had the energy for more than one woman at a time...unless we're counting one very memorable night in Cyprus when_"

Robin interrupts, "Okay, enough sharing. What were you trying to tell me?"

Strike chuckles, saying, "Fair enough. I just...you've only had three lovers." When she opens her mouth to speak, he quickly says, "I know you love me. But we see on a pretty much daily basis how love can fade. I guess I'd like your assurance that, if you're ever feeling in love with someone else, you'll talk to me before acting on those feelings. And I'll promise not to rip their balls off until I've at least heard you out, okay?"

Robin bothers to look up at him, and say, "I can do that, though I honestly can't imagine falling in love with anyone else." Strike kisses her, and then she asks, "What if it's a woman?"

"What if you fall in love with a woman?"

"Yeah. That makes as much sense as me ever falling for another guy."

Taking the precaution of snaring her free hand in one of his, he jokes, "In that case, definitely tell me beforehand, so I have time to grab my camera."

They're clearing after lunch, and Strike asks, "Are you never going to open it?"

Robin laughs, realising he's talking about the gift she'd cast aside in preference for sex, "I'm sorry; I completely forgot."

He takes her plate, saying, "I'll do that." When she blows him a kiss and heads to retrieve the bag, he adds, "Bring it in here. I want to see your face when you open it."

So he's looking on when Robin sits at the dining table to unbox her first pair of Louis Vuitton shoes. On seeing the colour, she knows why he chose them. Of course, they're in her size. "Oh, Strike...they're beautiful."

"I did my best to describe the shade of green, and the lady assured me that this red would work well with it. You've still got the dress, right?"

"The first and best gift you ever bought me? Yes, I've still got it."

"Well, I was thinking...obviously, it's up to you, but I thought it might be fun if we dressed up to get married, even though we're not having a wedding." When she finally looks at him, it's to reveal that she's silently weeping, so he embraces her, saying, "We don't have to."

She's sobs a laugh, hugging him tight, and says, "That's not why I'm crying. Thank you, darling. I'm not used to being spoiled."

Strike caresses her back, and vows, "Not yet."

With Strike exhausted after hardly any sleep in Paris, he lets Robin persuade him to try for some sleep while she heads back to her apartment.

Once alone in her room, Robin retrieves the dress box from the bottom of her wardrobe, and places it on her bed with trembling fingers. Unwashed and slightly ripped by Matthew when he'd initiated sex knowing that she'd refuse him, Robin hasn't been able to look at her favourite dress since. But she couldn't discard it either, because it was a thankyou gift from Strike when he also thought it was farewell. And because it's the most beautiful thing she's ever owned.

Robin doesn't have quite the phenomenal recall of her partner, but there is nothing wrong with her memory. And right now she relives every moment of her first—and successful—attempt at undercover work, including how Strike hadn't quite been able to look at her when she'd modelled the dress. She'd mistaken his scowling discomfort for anger, worried that he thought she was flirting with her new boss. Of course, she now understands that he was merely trying to conceal the fact that he found her attractive, especially in a fitted poison-green evening gown that compliments her pale skin and accentuates the natural red in her blonde hair.

This memory makes her strong enough to open the lid, smiling. And the dress is just as stunning as she remembers. She caresses the silken surface for a moment, before turning it over in her hands until she finds the torn seam, and she's unsurprised to see that the damage isn't as bad as she'd thought. And she reassures the garment, "You'll do nicely."

Robin won't ever forget what Matthew did out of spite, knowing what the dress meant to her. But she doesn't hesitate to open her phone and bring up the details of the drycleaner who'd done such a good job with her Chanel suit. Time to mend.