Роберт Гэлбрейт - Lethal White

‘Oh, it’s gorgeous , Robin,’ crooned Sarah, the moment she got over the doorstep, staring around the hall. She hugged Robin absent-mindedly, her eyes on the stairs as Matthew descended, doing up his shirt. ‘ Lovely. These are for you.’

Robin found herself encumbered by an armful of stargazer lilies.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ll just go and put them in water.’

They didn’t have a vase big enough for the flowers, but Robin could hardly leave them in the sink. She could hear Sarah’s laugh from the kitchen, even over Coldplay and Rihanna, who were now belting out ‘Princess of China’ from Matthew’s iPod. Robin dragged a bucket out of the cupboard and began to fill it, splattering herself with water in the process.

The idea had once been mooted, she remembered, that Matthew would refrain from taking Sarah out for lunches during their office lunch hours. There had even been talk of stopping socialising with her, after Robin had found out that Matthew had been cheating with Sarah in their early twenties. However, Tom had helped Matthew get the higher-paid position he now enjoyed at Tom’s firm, and now that Sarah was the proud owner of a large solitaire diamond, Matthew did not seem to think that there should be the slightest awkwardness attached to social events including the future Mr and Mrs Turvey.

Robin could hear the three of them moving around upstairs. Matthew was giving a tour of the bedrooms. She heaved the lily-filled bucket out of the sink and shoved it into a corner beside the kettle, wondering whether it was mean-spirited to suspect that Sarah had brought flowers just to get Robin out of the way for a bit. Sarah had never lost the flirtatious manner towards Matthew she had had since their shared years at university.

Robin poured herself a glass of wine and emerged from the kitchen as Matthew led Tom and Sarah into the sitting room.

‘ . . . and Lord Nelson and Lady Hamilton are supposed to have stayed in number 19, but it was called Union Street then,’ he said. ‘Right, who wants a drink? It’s all set up in the kitchen.’

‘Gorgeous place, Robin,’ said Sarah. ‘Houses like this don’t come up that often. You must’ve got really lucky.’

‘We’re only renting,’ said Robin.

‘Really?’ said Sarah beadily, and Robin knew that Sarah was drawing her own conclusions, not about the housing market, but about Robin and Matthew’s marriage.

‘Nice earrings,’ said Robin, keen to change the subject.

‘Aren’t they?’ said Sarah, pulling back her hair to give Robin a better view. ‘Tom’s birthday present.’

The doorbell rang again. Robin went to answer it, hoping that it would be one of the few people she had invited. She had no hope of Strike, of course. He was bound to be late, as he had been to every other personal event to which she had invited him.

‘Oh, thank God,’ said Robin, surprised at her own relief when she saw Vanessa Ekwensi.

Vanessa was a police officer: tall, black, with almond-shaped eyes, a model’s figure and a self-possession Robin envied. She had come to the party alone. Her boyfriend, who worked in Forensic Services at the Met, had a prior commitment. Robin was disappointed: she had looked forward to meeting him.

‘You all right?’ Vanessa asked as she entered. She was carrying a bottle of red wine and wearing a deep purple slip dress. Robin thought again of the emerald-green Cavalli upstairs and wished she had worn it.

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Come through to the back, you can smoke there.’

She led Vanessa through the sitting room, past Sarah and Matthew, who were now mocking Tom’s baldness to his face.

The rear wall of the small courtyard garden was covered in ivy. Well-maintained shrubs stood in terracotta tubs. Robin, who did not smoke, had put ashtrays and a few fold-up chairs out there, and dotted tea candles around. Matthew had asked her with an edge in his voice why she was taking so much trouble over the smokers. She had known perfectly well why he was saying it and pretended not to.

‘I thought Jemima smoked?’ she asked, with a feigned air of confusion. Jemima was Matthew’s boss.

‘Oh,’ he said, caught off balance. ‘Yeah – yeah, but only socially.’

‘Well, I’m pretty sure this is a social occasion, Matt,’ said Robin sweetly.

She fetched Vanessa a drink and came back to find her lighting up, her lovely eyes fixed on Sarah Shadlock, who was still mocking Tom’s hairline, with Matthew her hearty accomplice.

‘That’s her, is it?’ Vanessa asked.

‘That’s her,’ said Robin.

She appreciated the small show of moral support. Robin and Vanessa had been friends for months before Robin had confided the history of her relationship with Matthew. Before that they had talked police work, politics and clothes on evenings that took them to the cinema, or to cheap restaurants. Robin found Vanessa better company than any other woman she knew. Matthew, who had met her twice, told Robin he found her ‘cold’, but said he could not explain why.

Vanessa had had a succession of partners; she had been engaged once, but broken it off when he had cheated. Robin sometimes wondered whether Vanessa found her laughably inexperienced: the woman who’d married her boyfriend from school.

A few moments later, a dozen people, colleagues of Matthew’s with their partners, who had obviously been to the pub first, streamed into the sitting room. Robin watched Matthew greeting them and showing them where the drinks were. He had adopted the loud, bantering tone that she had heard him using on work nights out. It irritated her.

The party quickly became crowded. Robin effected introductions, showed people where to find drink, set out more plastic cups and handed a couple of plates of food around because the kitchen was becoming packed. Only when Andy Hutchins and his wife arrived did she feel she could relax for a moment and spend some more time with her own guests.

‘I made you some special food,’ Robin told Andy, after she had shown him and Louise out into the courtyard. ‘This is Vanessa. She’s Met. Vanessa, Andy and Louise – stay there, Andy, I’ll get it, it’s dairy-free.’

Tom was standing against the fridge when she got to the kitchen.

‘Sorry, Tom, need to get in—’

He blinked at her, then moved aside. He was already drunk, she thought, and it was barely nine o’clock. Robin could hear Sarah’s braying laugh from the middle of the crowd outside.

‘Lemmelp,’ said Tom, holding the fridge door that threatened to close on Robin as she bent down to the lower shelf to get the tray of dairy-free, non-fried food she had saved for Andy. ‘God, you’ve got a nice arse, Robin.’

She straightened up without comment. In spite of the drunken grin, she could feel the unhappiness flowing from behind it, like a cool draught. Matthew had told her how self-conscious Tom was about his hairline, that he was even considering a transplant.

‘That’s a nice shirt,’ said Robin.

‘Wha’ this? You like it? She bought it for me. Matt’s got one like it, hasn’t he?’

‘Er – I’m not sure,’ said Robin.

‘You’re not sure,’ repeated Tom, with a short, nasty laugh. ‘So much f’ surveillance training. You wanna pay more attention at home, Rob.’

Robin contemplated him for a moment in equal amounts of pity and anger, then, deciding that he was too drunk to argue with, she left, carrying Andy’s food.

The first thing she saw as people cleared out of the way to let her back into the courtyard was that Strike had arrived. He had his back to her and was talking to Andy. Lorelei was beside him, wearing a scarlet silk dress, the gleaming fall of dark hair down her back like an advertisement for expensive shampoo. Somehow, Sarah had inveigled her way into the group in Robin’s brief absence. When Vanessa caught Robin’s eye, the corner of her mouth twitched.