Page 170 of Troubled Blood

“D’you know where Corm is?”

“No, but he should be here in ten minutes. D’you want me to give him a message?”

“No. I—d’you know whether he’s been with Nick today?”

“No,” said Robin, now worried. “What’s going on, Ilsa? You sound terrible.”

Then she remembered that it was Valentine’s Day and registered the fact that Ilsa didn’t know where her husband was. Something more than worry overtook Robin: it was fear. Nick and Ilsa were the happiest couple she knew. The five weeks she’d lived with them after leaving Matthew had restored some of Robin’s battered faith in marriage. They couldn’t split up: not Nick and Ilsa.

“It’s nothing,” said Ilsa.

“Tell me,” Robin insisted. “What—?”

Wrenching sobs issued through the phone.

“Ilsa, what’s happened?”

“I… I miscarried.”

“Oh God,” gasped Robin. “Oh no. Ilsa, I’m so sorry.”

She knew that Nick and Ilsa had been trying for some years to have a child. Nick never talked about it and Ilsa, only rarely. Robin had had no idea she was pregnant. She suddenly remembered Ilsa not drinking, on the night of her birthday.

“It happened—in the—in the supermarket.”

“Oh no,” whispered Robin. “Oh God.”

“I started bleeding… at court… we’re in the middle of a… mas­sive case… couldn’t leave…” said Ilsa. “And then… and then… heading home…”

She became incoherent. Tears started in Robin’s eyes as she sat with the phone clamped to her ear.

“… knew… something bad… so I got out of the cab… and I went… into the supermarket… and I was in… the loo… and I felt… felt… and then… a little… blob… a tiny bod—bod—body…”

Robin put her face in her hands.

“And… I didn’t know… what to do… but… there was a woman… in the loo with… and she… it had happened… to her… so kind…”

She dissolved again into incoherence. Snorts, gulps and hiccups filled Robin’s ear before words became intelligible again.

“And Nick said… it was my fault. Said… all my fault… working… too hard… I didn’t take… enough care… didn’t put… the baby first.”

“He didn’t,” said Robin. She liked Nick. She couldn’t believe he’d have said such a thing to his wife.

“He did, he said I should’ve… come home… that I… put w—work… before the b—baby—”

“Ilsa, listen to me,” said Robin. “If you got pregnant once, you can get pregnant again.”

“No, no, no, I can’t,” said Ilsa, dissolving again into tears, “it was our third go at IVF. We agreed… agreed… no more after this. No more.”

The doorbell rang.

“Ilsa, I’ve got to get the door, it might be Cormoran—”

“Yes, yes, go… it’s fine… it’s all fine.”

Before Robin could stop her, Ilsa had hung up. Hardly knowing what she was doing, Robin ran downstairs and flung open the door.

But naturally, it wasn’t Strike. He’d never arrived on time for any out-of-work event to which she’d invited him, whether drinks, house-warming party or even her wedding. Instead she found herself facing Jonathan, the brother who most resembled her: tall and slender, with the same strawberry blond hair and blue eyes. The resemblance was even closer this evening, because both siblings looked peaky. Jonathan, too, had shadows under his eyes, not to mention a slightly gray cast to his skin.