Chapter Text
Cormoran Strike groaned softy to himself as he stretched his long legs out in front of him under the dining room table. His stump was aching in protest at the amount of time he had spent walking this week tailing yet another of ‘Two-Times’ girlfriends.
Strike grumpily reflected that the whole surveillance had felt like a complete and utter waste of bloody time. As usual! The young woman he had been tailing was clearly not cheating!
However, her peripatetic lifestyle had caused Strike to be dragged all round central London for the best part of the week. A factor that had done little to improve his mood, which had be more than questionable of late!
Christ he was tired!
Strike’s head was pounding now and he felt hot, despite the fact he was clad in only a thin white dress shirt. In an attempt to look smart for the evening (as requested) he had worn a spotted navy tie which now felt like a noose around his neck. Cormoran felt his fingers twitch with the urge to yank the tie loose but managed to resist at the last minute.
Fuck!
He really hoped he wasn’t coming down with anything? The agency was at its busiest and Strike couldn’t afford to be out of action due to illness. Pat would be furious if she had to rework her bloody rota!
Cormoran shifted again in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position but instead causing his stump to send out a sharp shooting pain, which reverberated the length of his entire body causing him to clench his teeth.
Jesus fucking Christ!
Just in time he managed to stifle a groan of pain. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself or his predicament. Unfortunately, Cormoran realised he was to late as he felt Ilsa Herbert’s shrewd gaze fall upon him from across the dining room table of her Wandsworth home.
Ilsa looked beautiful tonight, clad in a soft chiffon dress the colour of Champaign that suited her pale blond features well. She looked like a radiant nymph! But Cormoran was not fooled by her ethereal appearance. Beneath that soft exterior was a veritable Rottweiler!
Strike met her gaze with his own intense look as Ilsa unapologetically seemed to be assessing him with a concerned frown upon her face.
Damn that woman was observant!
Strike shook his head slightly and flicked his large hand in what he hoped was a dismissive gesture. The last thing he needed was Ilsa on his case! He loved his friend dearly but her sharp tongued diatribe on how neglectful he was in regard to his own health was the last thing he needed right now. He was finding this evening difficult enough as it was!
Strike was grateful that the presence of ten other people around the dinning table would dissuade Ilsa from a direct ‘attack’ at least! As much as Strike appreciated her concern, he didn’t need Ilsa to tell him he was pushing himself to hard lately.
The evidence was apparent!
Ilsa frown deepened as she regarded him, but she turned away to continue talking to the woman sat next to her. Amy … or Annie … something like that Strike thought absent mindedly. His brain as tired as his aching body.
Strike knew it was a temporary reprieve. If she got the opportunity tonight Ilsa would undoubtedly corner him and want to know why he wasn’t taking better care of himself.
Cormoran sighed and willed himself silently to try and relax. He attempted to zone into the quiet hubbub of conversation that permeated the air. The atmosphere amongst the guests in the Herbert’s home relaxed and friendly.
Strike allowed the calmness to wash over him like a soothing balm. He tried to rid his mind of all the tumultuous feelings washing through him but it was proving near impossible.
Cormoran had not been looking forward to tonight. However, Whatever misgivings he had about this evening he was grateful to be able to finally take the weight off his leg after a very long week. He was also glad of a home cooked meal.
The Herbert’s had been planning this dinner for a several weeks. Ilsa excited to throw a party. Though this gathering was certainly a lot calmer than many of the ‘soirées’ Ilsa had planned in the past.
The table in the Herbert’s large dinning room was centrally positioned and had been tastefully decorated. Generously proportioned platters of food were placed within reaching distance, along with several bottles of wine which were flowing freely enough to lubricate conversation.
The candles lit to adorn the table cast a soft glow around the room and added to the restful intimate atmosphere. Cormoran knew and liked most of the people there and had hoped maybe the distraction of conversation with the Herbert’s friends and work colleagues would lift the persistent low mood that had dogged him for the last couple of months.
He had been painfully wrong.
It had nothing to do with the small intimate party which was pleasant enough. The Herbert’s had always been able to throw a good party Strike mused. Tonight appeared no exception despite the fact that this was the first dinner party they had thrown in six months due to the arrival of baby Edith Rose Herbert.
At the thought of the little girl now safely asleep upstairs in her crib Cormoran couldn’t help feeling a little happier. The delight and heartfelt joy amongst all the Herbert’s friends and family was immeasurable after the surprise conception of Edith.
It appeared that when the Herbert’s decided they couldn’t face yet another invasive, gruelling round of IVF and had lost all hope of ever having a child of their own fate had bought them Edith.
The pregnancy had proven a worrying time, and Edith’s arrival six weeks early added to the trepidation felt by all those who loved and cared for Nick and Ilsa. Strike included.
Strike had never hid the fact from anyone that he was not keen on babies. He disliked children even more! Yet the long agonising weeks of watching two of his closest friends go through hell as Edith appeared to be wired up to the National Grid in her incubator had caused a shift in Strike’s opinion.
From the moment Cormoran had first held Edith after Nick had unceremoniously put her into his unwilling yet gentle arms something had changed in Strike.
Cormoran had felt a burning protectiveness swell in his chest, and a feeling of warmth suffuse his entire body as he had looked down at the tiny, pink rounded face of his goddaughter.
It appeared that Strike was not the only one to feel a connection. As Edith who had been crying moments before, stilled in her godfathers arms and had fixed her soft blue eyes on Strike’s enigmatic green gaze . It was as though Edith knew that beyond her parents she was meeting her fiercest protector.
The months that transpired had been difficult for the Herbert’s. Edith was a beautiful baby, but bouts of colic had made nighttime’s long and arduous.
To everyone’s shock and amazement (not least his own) Strike had been hands on with his goddaughter from the moment she finally arrived home from the hospital. When inconsolable by her fraught, sleep deprived parents Strike had taken Edith in his large, steady hands and soothed her when others couldn’t. Giving the Herbert’s (as often as his work commitments allowed) a much needed break.
Cormoran’s willingness to support the Herbert’s and spend time with Edith however was not entirely selfless. Strike had another reason for avoiding seeing anyone else other than his friends and goddaughter.
A reason for the feeling of hopeless sadness that seemed to have aged him, and worried his friends the Herbert’s deeply.
The same reason he has been pushing himself and his body to its limits daily.
The reason he had took on extra surveillance and pounded the streets at all hours in an attempt to rid his mind of any thoughts.
To numb himself into exhaustion to quite his broken body and heart. Tumbling into bed the early hours of each morning to only snatch a few hours of exhausted restless sleep…
Robin!
Though more specifically Robin and Paul. Robin’s boyfriend!
Both of whom were sat directly opposite him at the Herbert’s table tonight!