Lethal White (A Cormoran Strike Novel)

“In case you haven’t noticed, so’s his wife,” said Raphael, “and you know what she’s like. The further down the tubes their marriage goes, the more jealous she gets. Dad’s not picking up his phone to her, so she’s drawing paranoid conclusions.”

“Papa doesn’t pick up because she drives him crazy,” said Izzy, her resentment towards her father suddenly submerged by dislike for her stepmother. “For the last two years she’s refused to budge from home or leave her bloody horses. Suddenly the Olympics are nearly here and London’s full of celebrities and all she wants to do is come up to town, dressed up to the nines and play the minister’s wife.”

She took another deep breath, blotted her face again, then stood up.

“I’d better get back, we’re so busy. Thanks, Raff,” she said, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder.

She walked away. Raphael watched her go, then turned back to Robin.

“Izzy was the only one who bothered to visit me when I was inside, you know.”

“Yes,” said Robin. “She said.”

“And when I used to have to go to bloody Chiswell House as a kid, she was the only one who’d talk to me. I was the little bastard who’d broken up their family, so they all hated my guts, but Izzy used to let me help her groom her pony.”

He swilled the coffee in his cup, looking sullen.

“I suppose you were in love with swashbuckling Freddie, were you, like all the other girls? He hated me. Used to call me ‘Raphaela’ and pretend Dad had told the family I was another girl.”

“How horrible,” said Robin, and Raphael’s scowl turned into a reluctant smile.

“You’re so sweet.”

He seemed to be debating with himself whether or not to say something. Suddenly he asked:

“Ever meet Jack o’Kent when you were visiting?”

“Who?”

“Old boy who used to work for Dad. Lived in the grounds of Chiswell House. Scared the hell out of me when I was a kid. He had a kind of sunken face and mad eyes and he used to loom out of nowhere when I was in the gardens. He never said a word except to swear at me if I got in his way.”

“I… vaguely remember someone like that,” lied Robin.

“Jack o’Kent was Dad’s nickname for him. Who was Jack o’Kent? Didn’t he have something to do with the devil? Anyway, I used to have literal nightmares about the old boy. One time he caught me trying to get into a barn and gave me hell. He put his face up close to mine and said words to the effect of, I wouldn’t like what I saw in there, or it was dangerous for little boys, or… I can’t remember exactly. I was only a kid.”

“That sounds scary,” Robin agreed, her interest awakened now. “What was he doing in there, did you ever find out?”

“Probably just storing farm machinery,” said Raphael, “but he made it sound like he was conducting Satanic rituals.

“He was a good carpenter, mind you. He made Freddie’s coffin. An English oak had come down… Dad wanted Freddie buried in wood from the estate…”

Again, he seemed to be wondering whether he ought to say what was on his mind. He scrutinized her through his dark lashes and finally said:

“Does Dad seem… well, normal to you at the moment?”

“What d’you mean?”

“You don’t think he’s acting a bit strangely? Why’s he bawling Izzy out for nothing?”

“Pressure of work?” suggested Robin.

“Yeah… maybe,” said Raphael. Then, frowning, he said, “He phoned me the other night, which is strange in itself, because he can’t normally stand the sight of me. Just to talk, he said, and that’s never happened before. Mind you, he’d had a few too many, I could tell as soon as he spoke.

“Anyway, he started rambling on about Jack o’Kent. I couldn’t make out what he was going on about. He mentioned Freddie dying, and Kinvara’s baby dying and then,” Raphael leaned in closer. Robin felt his knees touch hers under the table, “remember that phone call we got, my first day here? That bloody creepy message about people pissing themselves as they die?”

“Yes,” said Robin.

“He said, ‘It’s all punishment. That was Jack o’Kent calling. He’s coming for me.’”

Robin stared at him.

“But whoever it was on the phone,” said Raphael, “it can’t have been Jack o’Kent. He died years ago.”

Robin said nothing. She had suddenly remembered Matthew’s delirium, the depth of that subtropical night, when he had thought she was his dead mother. Raphael’s knees seemed to press harder into hers. She moved her chair back slightly.

“I was awake half the night wondering whether he’s cracking up. We can’t afford to have Dad go bonkers as well, can we? We’ve already got Kinvara hallucinating horse slashers and gravediggers—”

“Gravediggers?” repeated Robin sharply.

“Did I say gravediggers?” said Raphael restlessly. “Well, you know what I mean. Men with spades in the woods.”

“You think she’s imagining them?” asked Robin.