Undertaking Love (27 page)

‘We kind of spent her birthday
together
, if you understand my meaning.’

Dora’s eyebrows sprang up into her grey curls.

‘I see.’

‘But then, all that stuff in the paper came out, and now she won’t even look at me.’

Dora shook her head regretfully. ‘You did look rather sleazy, Gabriel.’

Gabe sighed. ‘I know. So here’s the thing. I’ve come up with a bit of a plan, but I can’t do it without help.’

He reached out and held her hand.

‘Without
your
help.’

He knew from the excitement that twinkled in her elderly eyes that he’d just gained himself an accomplice.

Outside the office door, Melanie flattened herself against the wall, listening to each poisonous word with her eyes screwed shut. Her fingernails bit into her palms as she balled her hands into tight little fists at her side.

Why were all men such stupid fucking idiots?

Gabriel had seemed so different.

How dare he? He was just like the rest of them. He didn’t see her either.

She’d been so sure, yet here he was confessing his undying love for Marla fucking Jacobs.

A couple of months back she’d had both Rupert and Gabriel eating out of her hand, and now both had tossed her out of their hearts as carelessly as yesterday’s newspaper.

Like most plans, Gabe’s was fraught with the potential for disaster.

The main challenge with
this
particular plan was timing; he required a morning when Marla was going to be alone in the chapel.

He definitely didn’t want an audience.

Dora had proved herself to be an excellent inside spy, and a long three weeks later she confirmed that Operation M was good to go. Jonny and Emily were safely squirreled away across the other side of Shropshire at a wedding fayre, and Marla would be holding the fort on her own at the chapel.

Gabe hovered inside the funeral parlour at just after 7.00 a.m. on the morning in question. Autumn had well and truly blown into Beckleberry over the last few weeks. There was a sepia wash of leaves across the High Street as he kept watch for Dora.

He stuck his head outside again and scanned the deserted street.

Nothing.

Where was she?

A frown ploughed tramlines across his brow. There was no way Dora would have forgotten, she’d taken to espionage disturbingly well; he’d had to strain to catch her whispered instructions on the phone the previous day, even though there was only Ivan around to hear her and he was half deaf at the best of times.

‘Seven o’clock sharp,’ she’d said.

He checked his watch again.

7.12 a.m.

She was cutting it fine; at this rate Marla would be here before she was. He huffed in exasperation. Where the hell was she? She wasn’t the type to oversleep; he’d half expected her to be on his doorstep at 6.00 a.m. in a mac and trilby.

As the clock inched slowly towards half past, Gabe stopped looking out for her and started to worry instead.
Had something happened to her on the way here?
Dora and Ivan’s cottage was barely a five-minute skip and hop away from the High Street, but still …

He locked the front door and set off at a jog.

The lounge curtains of Dora’s cottage were still closed when he arrived. Gabe sagged with relief. She’d just overslept. Lord knows the woman was entitled to at her age. He leant on the gate for a second to get his puff back; he’d gathered pace into a panicky sprint as he’d neared the cottage.

He glanced up again, and it struck him that although the lounge curtains were closed, the bedroom ones had been opened.

Maybe she had got up, after all.

He nipped up the path and let himself in through the unlocked side gate. Dora would no doubt be in the kitchen in a flap because she was running late.

He’d just let her know that there was no need to rush anymore.

A quick glance through the kitchen window showed it to be empty, but the kettle on the lit gas stove was screaming for attention. Gabe tried the door and found it open, so stepped inside and flicked off the shrill noise.

‘Dora?’

He called out just loud enough to be heard, but not so loud that he’d startle her.

Silence answered him, and the ball of unease returned tenfold to his gut.

‘Dora?’

He tried again. A little louder, a little more urgent.

Still no answer.

He went through into the hallway, not certain of the unfamiliar layout of the quiet cottage. He stuck his head around the first of the two doorways, and found a small, neat-as-a-pin dining room, but no Dora.

He moved along and stepped just inside the doorway of the little front room.

To the untrained eye, Dora might have been sleeping in her cheery yellow chintz armchair.

But Gabe knew different.

He crossed the room and dropped down on his haunches in front of her, then reached out and held her cool hands for a few moments.

Dora wasn’t snoozing.

She had died.

‘Would you drop these over to the funeral parlour please, Em?’

Emily took the little blue jewel box and the garment bag that Marla held out and peered through the plastic at the primrose-yellow material.

‘What is it?’

Marla smoothed back the plastic to show Emily the dress inside.

‘It was Dora’s. Ivan brought it down when I went to see him last night. Her mum made it for her in the war.’

Tears sprang into Emily’s eyes as she touched the delicate silk of the skirt.

‘Oh.’

Emily nodded sadly and smoothed the cover carefully back over the dress.

‘I know what's in here,’ Emily said, stroking her thumb over the worn velvet of the jewel box. ‘It's her brooch, isn't it?’

Marla smiled gently. ‘Of course. It seems strange to see it without her.’

Emily eased the lid open on the jewel box, and they both sighed as a little diamond lighthouse glinted up at them. It was such an integral part of their memories of Dora. She'd worn it every day, whether she was dressed in her Sunday best or in her pinny to scrub the chapel floor.

Marla squeezed her friend’s arm. ‘Ivan thought Dora would have liked to have these with her. In her … well, you know.’

Marla tried, but the word coffin wouldn’t come out.

Emily nodded quickly. ‘That’s so sweet. Poor Ivan.’

Emily looked out of the window to watch Ivan as he weeded the chapel gardens, and then after a final sniff, gathered herself together. The idea of going over to the funeral parlour terrified her in case Dan was around, but delivering Dora’s special things took precedence over her fears.

‘Right. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

Marla laced two mugs of tea with liberal splashes of whisky and headed out to find Ivan. He’d insisted on coming to tend to the chapel gardens, despite the fact that Dora’s funeral was less than twenty-four hours away. It had been little over a week since Gabe had discovered Dora’s lifeless body, and her husband had handled it in the quiet, stoic way that only an old war hero could hope to.

‘Tea, Ivan.’

Marla sat down on the low wall along the path and waited for Ivan to put down his shovel and make his way over the lawns towards her. He nodded his thanks and eased himself slowly down next to her.

‘Thanks, lovey.’

He picked up his mug and held it in his gnarled, shaky hands. Marla noticed that his checked shirt had grown a little threadbare, a tiny hole at the elbow. Dora would have had her thread box out the second she saw that, Marla thought.

Who would take care of Ivan now? They hadn’t had any children; he really was alone in the world now that Dora had gone.

‘How have you been?’ she laid a hand on his forearm.

He shook his head and stared into his mug for a while. ‘She was my best pal.’

Marla held back the tears that threatened. ‘I know she was. I know.’

‘I’m no good on me own, love. Can’t cook. Can’t work that bloody washing machine.’ Ivan pulled a big, slightly grubby handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and blew his nose.

‘Not that Dora was much of a cook, either, mind.’ He laughed, sadly. ‘Bloody awful actually, but I was fond of it all the same.’

‘We all miss her so much at the chapel. It’s too quiet without her.’

They sat in companionable silence for a couple of minutes.

‘I’ve written something down, for tomorrow like. I can’t stand up there and say it myself, so young Gabriel is going to read it for me.’ Ivan glanced up at Marla. ‘If that’s alright, ’course?’

Marla nodded. ‘Of course it is. I’ll let Jonny know.’

Jonny was to lead the ceremony, and it would seem that Gabe was to be a speaker too.

She’d never held a funeral service in the chapel before, but when Ivan had asked, she hadn’t hesitated for a moment. Dora was one of their own, and it would be an absolute honour to give her the send off she deserved.

Emily was relieved to find Melanie missing when she pushed open the heavy funeral parlour door. It was Gabe himself she found in reception, and he smiled widely when he saw her.

‘I’ll just be one tick, can you wait? Sorry, Melanie’s down at the florists.’

Emily laid the yellow dress across the reception desk in its plastic cover and glanced around the tastefully decorated room. She’d thankfully never had cause to visit a funeral parlour, but it was obvious that Gabe had made this place as welcoming as he could, given the sombre nature of his business. It was such a shame that circumstance had set them all against each other. She had a hunch that he’d be a good friend to have in your corner, not to mention a perfect match for Marla if she weren’t so stubborn.

He was undeniably easy on the eye too, which even in her very pregnant state she couldn’t help noticing as he came through the door and smiled at her again.

‘Hey, Emily.’ His eyes dropped to her bump. ‘Wow, that’s coming along nicely. I don’t need to fetch hot towels and water do I?’

Emily laughed. ‘Don’t panic, you’re safe. There’s still a few weeks to go yet.’

‘So. What can I do for you?’

Gabe’s eyes softened as Emily explained about the yellow silk dress and the jewel box.

‘Of course.’ He picked the dress up carefully by the hanger. ‘Leave it with me, I’ll see that Dora has them.’

‘Thanks.’ Their business was finished, yet Emily lingered. Something in Gabe’s expression held her there, as if there was something more he wanted to say.

Eventually, he broke the silence. ‘So, is Marla well?’

Gabe kept his voice deliberately casual, even though he was desperate for news. Marla had kept their interactions to a bare minimum over Dora’s funeral arrangements, and she’d made damn sure that they never had a moment alone.

‘She’s fine, I think.’ Emily nodded. ‘The trouble with Rupert knocked her about a bit, but she seems okay again now.’

He wished he hadn’t asked; the last thing he wanted to hear was how Marla missed Rupert. ‘Break ups are always rough.’

‘Rough?’ Emily said. ‘Rough? He was lucky she didn’t have him locked up. I bloody well would have if he’d done that to me.’

Gabe stilled, as if someone had pressed pause. ‘What did he do?’

‘He’s such low life. Called her all sorts of names, and then he lunged at her in the chapel.’ Emily shook her head in disgust. ‘You should have seen the bruises on her arms.’

I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.

‘Bastard.’

‘You can say that again.’ Emily turned as the door opened. Melanie came in, her neat Kelly bag over one arm and an enquiring look on her face. Emily took it as her cue to leave.

‘I’ll leave that with you, then.’ She smiled at Gabe and nodded towards Dora’s dress in his hands.

Gabe watched her leave. As soon as she’d disappeared inside the chapel, he strode through the funeral parlour and right out of the back door, pausing only to lay the dress down and grab his helmet on the way past.

Some things just couldn’t wait.

Gabe ditched his motorbike outside the glass front of
The Herald
’s offices half an hour later and strode straight through reception, much to the annoyance of the middle-aged brunette who’d been surreptitiously reading her
Hello
magazine behind the welcome desk.

Every head in the huge open-plan office turned to look at the leather-clad figure as he pulled off his helmet. Some of them probably recognised him as the man they’d attempted to ruin a couple of weeks back for the sake of selling a few copies, and others were just struck dumb by the sight of a dark angel in their midst.

He turned to the girl nearest, who according to her name badge was trainee reporter called Esther.

‘Where will I find Rupert Dean?’

She swallowed and waved a vague arm towards the glass offices that ran across the length of the back of the room.

Gabe nodded curtly and headed through the desks at a pace, not bothering to knock as he flung Rupert’s office door open.

Rupert automatically minimised the lazy lunchtime pornography on his screen before he glanced up, and then turned pale as he realised exactly who had just barged into his office.

Gabe slammed his helmet down and braced his hands flat on Rupert’s desk.

‘I can tolerate you printing a crock of bullshit about me in your piss poor excuse for a newspaper.’

The entire staff of the newsroom strained to hear every last word. They downed tools and watched agog as Rupert turned puce and fiddled with the knot of his old boys’ tie.

‘And I couldn’t give a flying fuck about you following me around at night with a camera.’

Rupert licked his lips and glanced nervously out at his audience as Gabe advanced around the desk and towered over him.

‘Stand up.’

‘What for?’

‘Because I’m going to hit you.’

A gasp of excitement rippled through the staff.

‘Get out of my office right now!’ Rupert blustered. ‘Security!’

Gabe hauled Rupert roughly onto his feet and backed him against the wall of his office.

‘Get your dirty hands off me! Help!’ Rupert yelled, but no one moved a muscle.