Robin pulled a business card out of her handbag, freshly printed that afternoon on a machine in a shopping center, while Strike remained behind, keeping an eye on Holly in the bakery. It had been Strike’s suggestion that she use her middle name. (“Makes you sound like a poncy southerner.”)
Robin handed over the business card, looked boldly into Holly’s heavily kohled eyes and repeated: “Venetia Hall. I’m a lawyer.”
Holly’s grin evaporated. Scowling, she read the card, one of two hundred Robin had had printed for ￡4.50.
Hardacre and Hall
PERSONAL INJURY LAWYERS
Venetia Hall
Senior Partner
Tel: 0888 789654
Fax: 0888 465877 Email: venetia@h&hlegal.co.uk
“I’m looking for your brother Noel,” said Robin. “We—”
“’Ow did thoo know A was ’ere?”
In her mistrust she seemed to be swelling, bristling like a cat.
“A neighbor said you might be.”
Holly’s blue-overalled companions smirked.
“We might have some good news for your brother,” Robin plowed on bravely. “We’re trying to find him.”
“A dunno where ’e is and A don’ care.”
Two of the workmen slid away from the bar towards a table, leaving only one behind, who smiled faintly as he observed Robin’s discomfiture. Holly drained her pint, slid a fiver sideways at the remaining man and told him to get her another, clambered off her bar stool and strode away towards the Ladies, her arms held stiffly like a man’s.
“’Er boyo an’ ’er don’ speak,” said the barmaid, who had drifted up the bar to eavesdrop. She seemed to feel vaguely sorry for Robin.
“I don’t suppose you know where Noel is?” Robin asked, feeling desperate.
“’E’s not been in ’ere for a year or more,” said the barmaid vaguely. “You know where ’e is, Kev?”
Holly’s friend answered only with a shrug and ordered Holly’s pint. His accent revealed him to be Glaswegian.
“Well, it’s a pity,” said Robin, and her clear, cool voice did not betray the frantic pounding of her heart. She dreaded going back to Strike with nothing. “There could be a big payout for the family, if only I can find him.”
She turned to go.
“For the family, or for him?” asked the Glaswegian sharply.
“It depends,” said Robin coolly, turning back. She did not imagine that Venetia Hall would be particularly chummy with people unconnected to the case she was building. “If family members have had to take on a carer role—but I’d need details to judge. Some relatives,” lied Robin, “have had very significant compensation.”
Holly was coming back. Her expression turned thunderous when she saw Robin talking to Kevin. Robin walked off to the Ladies herself, her heart pounding in her chest, wondering whether the lie she had just told would bear fruit. By the look on Holly’s face as they passed each other, Robin thought there was an outside chance that she might be cornered by the sinks and beaten up.
However, when she came out of the bathroom she saw Holly and Kevin nose to nose at the bar. Robin knew not to push any harder: either Holly bit, or she did not. She tied her coat belt more tightly and walked, unhurriedly but purposefully, back past them towards the door.
“Oi!”
“Yes?” Robin said, still a little coolly, because Holly had been rude and Venetia Hall was used to a certain level of respect.
“Orlrigh’, wha’s it all abou’?”
Though Kevin seemed keen to participate in their conversation, his relationship with Holly was apparently not far enough advanced to permit listening in on private financial matters. He drifted away to a fruit machine looking disgruntled.
“We can yatter over ’ere,” Holly told Robin, taking her fresh pint and pointing Robin to a corner table beside a piano.
The pub’s windowsill bore ships in bottles: pretty, fragile things compared to the huge, sleek monsters that were being constructed beyond the windows, behind that high perimeter wall. The heavily patterned carpet would conceal a thousand stains; the plants behind the curtains looked droopy and sad, yet the mismatched ornaments and sporting trophies gave a homey feel to the large room, the bright blue overalls of its customers an impression of brotherhood.
“Hardacre and Hall is representing a large group of servicemen who suffered serious and preventable injury outside the field of combat,” said Robin, sliding into her pre-rehearsed spiel. “While we were reviewing records we came across your brother’s case. We can’t be sure until we talk to him, of course, but he’d be very welcome to add his name to our pool of litigants. His would be very much the type of case we’re expecting to win. If he joins us, it’ll add to the pressure on the army to pay. The more complainants we can get, the better. It would be at no cost to Mr. Brockbank, of course. No win,” she said, mimicking the TV adverts, “no fee.”
Holly said nothing. Her pale face was hard and set. There were cheap rings of yellow gold on every digit except her wedding-ring finger.
“Kevin said summa’ abou’ the family gettin’ money.”
“Oh yes,” said Robin blithely. “If Noel’s injuries have impacted you, as a family—”