#strike rewatch

I’m a Detective

Is there something I don’t know about tailoring a dress?

Cormoran tells Robin about the good old days

But it could make no difference to the cold practicalities of the situation: she had to go. And yet he was close to feeling about her as he had felt towards a grass snake that he had succeeded in trapping in Trevaylor Woods when he was eleven, and about which he had had a long, pleading argument with his Auntie Joan: “Please let me keep it...please...” “I’d better get going,” he said, after he had signed her timesheet, and thrown his sandwich wrappers and his empty water bottle into the bin underneath her desk. “Thanks for everything, Robin. Good luck with the job hunt.” He took down his overcoat, and left through the glass door. At the top of the stairs, on the precise spot where he had both nearly killed and then saved her, he came to a halt. Instinct was clawing at him like an importuning dog.The glass door banged open behind him and he turned. Robin was pink in the face. “Look,” she said. “We could come to a private arrangement. We could cut out Temporary Solutions, and you could pay me directly.” He hesitated. “They don’t like that, temping agencies. You’ll be drummed out of the service.” “It doesn’t matter. I’ve got three interviews for permanent jobs next week. If you’d be OK about me taking time off to go to them—” “Yeah, no problem,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Well then, I could stay for another week or two.” A  pause. Sense entered into a short violent skirmish with instinct and inclination, and was overwhelmed. “Yeah...all right. Well, in that case, will you try Freddie Bestigui again?” “Yes, of course,”  said Robin, masking her glee under a show of calm efficiency. “I’ll see you Monday afternoon, then.” It was the first grin he had ever dared give her. He supposed he ought to be annoyed with himself, and yet Strike stepped out into the cool early afternoon with no feeling of regret, but rather a curious sense of renewed optimism.

For @robinlestrange

Robin & Cormoran, the introductions.

The office door opened and Robin backed in, carrying a tray. [...]Robin laid out two cups, a milk jug, a sugar bowl and a plate of chocolate biscuits, none of which Strike had ever seen before, smiled in perfunctory fashion at his thanks and made to leave.

Cormoran tells Robin what’s ruined  e v e r y t h i n g .