6
Faire Lady, hart of flint would rew
The vndeserued woes and sorrowes, which ye shew.
Edmund Spenser
The Faerie Queene
Wodehouse Terrace lay on a hill, with a wide view of the bay below. Many of the houses had had loft conversions, but Anna and Kim’s, as they saw from the street, had been more extensively modified than any other, with what looked like a square glass box where once there had been roof.
“What does Anna do?” asked Robin, as they climbed the steps toward the deep blue front door.
“No idea,” said Strike, “but her wife’s a psychologist. I got the impression she isn’t keen on the idea of an investigation.”
He pressed the doorbell. They heard footsteps on what sounded like bare wood, and the door was opened by Dr. Sullivan, tall, blonde and barefoot in jeans and a shirt, the sun glinting off her spectacles. She looked from Strike to Robin, apparently surprised.
“My partner, Robin Ellacott,” Strike explained.
“Oh,” said Kim, looking displeased. “You do realize—this is only supposed to be an exploratory meeting.”
“Robin happened to be just up the coast on another case, so—”
“I’m more than happy to wait in the car,” said Robin politely, “if Anna would rather speak to Cormoran alone.”
“Well—we’ll see how Anna feels.”
Standing back to admit them, Kim added, “Straight upstairs, in the sitting room.”
The house had clearly been remodeled throughout and to a high standard. Everywhere was bleached wood and glass. The bedroom, as Robin saw through an open door, had been relocated to the ground floor, along with what looked like a study. Upstairs, in the glass box they’d seen from the street, was an open-plan area combining kitchen, dining and sitting room, with a dazzling view of the sea.
Anna was standing beside a gleaming, expensive coffee machine, wearing a baggy blue cotton jumpsuit and white canvas shoes, which to Robin looked stylish and to Strike, frumpy. Her hair was tied back, revealing the delicacy of her bone structure.
“Oh, hello,” she said, starting at the sight of them. “I didn’t hear the door over the coffee machine.”
“Annie,” said Kim, following Strike and Robin into the room, “this is Robin Ellacott, er—Cameron’s partner. She’s happy to go if you’d rather just talk to—”
“Cormoran,” Anna corrected Kim. “Do people get that wrong a lot?” she asked Strike.
“More often than not,” he said, but with a smile. “But it’s a bloody stupid name.”
Anna laughed.
“I don’t mind you staying,” she told Robin, advancing and offering a handshake. “I think I read about you, too,” she added, and Robin pretended that she didn’t notice Anna glancing down at the long scar on her forearm.
“Please, sit down,” said Kim, gesturing Strike and Robin to an inbuilt seating area around a low Perspex table.
“Coffee?” suggested Anna, and both of them accepted.
A ragdoll cat came prowling into the room, stepping delicately through the puddles of sunlight on the floor, its clear blue eyes like Joan’s across the bay. After subjecting both Strike and Robin to dispassionate scrutiny, it leapt lightly onto the sofa and into Strike’s lap.
“Ironically,” said Kim, as she carried a tray laden with cups and biscuits to the table, “Cagney absolutely loves men.”
Strike and Robin laughed politely. Anna brought over the coffee pot, and the two women sat down side by side, facing Strike and Robin, their faces in the full glare of the sun until Anna reached for a remote control, which automatically lowered cream-colored sun blinds.
“Wonderful place,” said Robin, looking around.
“Thanks,” said Kim. “Her work,” she said, patting Anna’s knee. “She’s an architect.”
Anna cleared her throat.
“I want to apologize,” she said, looking steadily at Strike with her unusual silver-gray eyes, “for the way I behaved last night. I’d had a few glasses of wine. You probably thought I was a crank.”
“If I’d thought that,” said Strike, stroking the loudly purring cat, “I wouldn’t be here.”
“But mentioning the medium probably gave you entirely the wrong… because, believe me, Kim’s already told me what a fool I was to go and see her.”
“I don’t think you’re a fool, Annie,” Kim said quietly. “I think you’re vulnerable. There’s a difference.”
“May I ask what the medium said?” asked Strike.
“Does it matter?” asked Kim, looking at Strike with what Robin thought was mistrust.
“Not in an investigative sense,” said Strike, “but as he—she?—is the reason Anna approached me—”
“It was a woman,” said Anna, “and she didn’t really tell me anything useful… not that I…”
With a nervous laugh, she shook her head and started again.
“I know it was a stupid thing to do. I—I’ve been through a difficult time recently—I left my firm and I’m about to turn forty and… well, Kim was away on a course and I—well, I suppose I wanted—”
She waved her hands dismissively, took a deep breath and said,
“She’s quite an ordinary-looking woman who lives in Chiswick. Her house was full of angels—made of pottery and glass, I mean, and there was a big one painted on velvet over the fireplace.
“Kim,” Anna pressed on, and Robin glanced at the psychologist, whose expression was impassive, “Kim thinks she—the medium—knew who my mother was—that she Googled me before I arrived. I’d given her my real name. When I got there, I simply said that my mother died a long time ago—although of course,” said Anna, with another nervous wave of her thin hands, “there’s no proof that my mother’s dead—that’s half the—but anyway, I told the medium she’d died, and that nobody had ever been clear with me about how it happened.
“So the woman went into a—well, I suppose you’d call it a trance,” Anna said, looking embarrassed, “and she told me that people thought they were protecting me for my own good, but that it was time I knew the truth and that I would soon have a ‘leading’ that would take me to it. And she said ‘your mother’s very proud of you’ and ‘she’s always watching over you,’ and things like that, I suppose
