“‘Not Cormoran’s,’” he had repeated in that moronic squeal.

“Sarah was banging on about Jacques Burger’s bloody hair, not Cormoran’s, and all I said-” “For God’s sake, you’re completely bloody paranoid!” Robin had shouted.

“I did not start talking about him again, it was her, you weren’t listening-”īut Matthew had imitated her, using the generic voice that stood for all women, high-pitched and imbecilic: “Oh, his hair’s so lovely-” “You can’t stop bloody talking about him, can you? I heard you, to Sarah-” Jostled by passersby also navigating the open trenches in the road, Robin finally reached the opposite pavement, passing beneath the shadow of the concrete grid-like monolith that was Centre Point and becoming angry all over again as she remembered what Matthew had told her at midnight, when the argument had burst back into flame. His displeasure had not prevented him bantering and laughing with Sarah on the journey back from Vicarage Road, though, and Tom, whom Robin found boring and obtuse, had chortled away, oblivious to any undercurrents. Robin had tried her hardest to shut down Sarah’s one-woman chorus of appreciation for Cormoran Strike, but to no avail: a coolness had crept into Matthew’s manner towards his fiancée by the end of the match. “Is it true he was decorated in Afghanistan? Is it? Wow, so we’re talking a war hero too?” “Is it just the two of you in the office? Is it really? Nobody else at all?”īitch, thought Robin, whose habitual good nature had never stretched to Sarah Shadlock.

Robin had seen Matthew’s jaw tightening as she tried to return cool, indifferent answers. Is he sexy in the flesh? He’s a big guy, isn’t he?” “He is strangely attractive, isn’t he? Bit beaten-up-looking, but I’ve never minded that. Shaking long strawberry-blonde hair out of her eyes, red in the face, she ignored them, her thoughts returning irresistibly to Sarah Shadlock and her sly, persistent questions about Robin’s boss. A barrage of wolf-whistles and lewd remarks issued from a deep chasm in the road full of men in hard hats and fluorescent jackets. Her mood was not improved by tripping on a large chunk of rubble she staggered a few steps before recovering her balance.

The everlasting roadworks around Tottenham Court Road station had obstructed Robin’s walk to work ever since she had started at the private detective agency in Denmark Street.

Career of Evil by Robert Galbraith