Undertaking Love

Chapter Eleven




‘Two glasses of Shiraz please, Bill. Large as you can.’

‘I’ll bring them over for you, ladies.’

Emily smiled gratefully at the landlord and steered Marla across to a table in the corner of The Mermaid’s busy bar.

Bill followed with their glasses and a big smile, but made a hasty retreat after one look at Marla’s stricken face.

Marla picked up her glass, grateful for the wine’s warmth and spice after the strangeness of the day.

‘You can’t keep blaming yourself, Marla. You had no idea what was going on.’ They had talked of nothing else but the window incident since this afternoon, and despite searching relentlessly through the emails for clues, they were no closer to finding out who was behind it. Whoever had thrown that brick made sure they covered their tracks well.

‘What am I going to do, Em? This has all got badly out of hand.’

Emily nudged Marla’s glass closer. ‘Drink your medicine. It helps.’

Uncharacteristically, Marla did as she was told. She was tired. Exhausted, in fact. Going over to the funeral parlour this afternoon with her tail between her legs ranked up there amongst the most toe-curling moments of her life. She’d haltingly tried to explain to Gabe what she’d learned from Jonny, but it had been pretty clear from the arctic frost emanating from him that he hadn’t believed a single word she’d said. He’d decided she was complicit from the get-go, and no amount of assurances to the contrary had made any difference.

She could only thank her lucky stars that Gabe had decided against calling the police, even though he’d made it patently clear that his decision was for his own benefit rather than hers. Such drama was wholly inappropriate for a funeral parlour, and he just wanted it sorted out and forgotten as quickly as possible so that he could run his business without being on the front page of the newspaper for all of the wrong reasons again.

Things had gone from bad to hideous when a photographer from The Herald had turned up, having received an anonymous tip-off that there might be a story going down. Gabe had turned hostile, convinced that she’d called them herself to get more campaign coverage, by which point Marla had been too battered down to argue.

His evil receptionist had enjoyed the chance to practically throw her out onto the street, where even Dora had eyed her reproachfully as she swept up the glass on the pavement.

‘Jonny’s pretty cut up you know,’ Emily offered, swirling her wine around in her glass.

Marla shook her head and sighed. She and Jonny were chalk and cheese, yet somehow it worked and they’d become close friends as well as colleagues. Up until this afternoon, anyway. She hadn’t been able to hide her disgust when he’d showed her what was going on online, and though it was clear he realised with horror exactly how much jeopardy he’d placed the chapel in, it had been all she could do not to fire him on the spot. As it was, she’d sent him home to pull their website offline completely, and to retrace his steps, wiping absolutely every hint of the campaign from the net.

‘I’ll talk to him in the morning. If I ring him now I’ll say something I regret.’

Emily nodded.

‘How did you leave it with Gabe?’

Marla’s shoulders slumped even more.

‘I’m officially the wicked witch of the west over there.’

Marla couldn’t bear the fact that she’d lost her moral high ground. The village would turn against her pretty quickly if they believed that she would resort to mob tactics.

‘He definitely didn’t believe you?’

Marla shook her head. ‘Can you blame him? I wouldn’t believe me.’

Emily squeezed her friend’s hand.

‘It’ll be okay – honestly, it will. People around here know you a lot better than he does.’

Marla nodded and clung to Emily’s pragmatic common sense. ‘God, I hope so Em. I really hope so.’

‘What time is the gorgeous Rupert coming?’

Marla glanced at the big brass clock behind the bar.

‘Anytime now.’

The sooner the better as far as Marla was concerned. She was badly in need of a little TLC after the bashing she’d received from Gabe this afternoon.

They both looked up as the door swung open on cue, but it was Tom, not Rupert, who came in. He ruffled Marla’s hair as he squeezed behind her seat, beer in his hand.

‘Bad day at the office I hear, sweetheart.’

‘Yeah. Just a bit.’

His easy affection brought a lump to Marla’s throat. Tom was just about the nicest man in the world, and Emily was a lucky girl to have him. He obviously adored her, given the way he leaned in to kiss her lingeringly on the mouth as he pulled his chair in close.

Such a fleeting gesture, yet so laden with love that Marla had to look away.

The door swung again, and this time she wasn’t disappointed. Rupert shot her a cheeky grin as he sauntered over to their table and pulled up a chair.

‘Marla Jacobs, I didn’t know you had it in you. I am seriously impressed.’

He laughed and held his hand in the air to high five her. He dropped it again quick smart at Marla’s stony glare and Emily exaggerated head shake.

‘Hey, I was only kidding. You know that, right?’ He slid an arm around Marla’s shoulders and pulled her against his side, any trace of humour wiped from his face.

She forgave him instantly, leaning into his hug, grateful for his warmth and affection after the afternoon from hell. His smell was becoming familiar and she breathed deeply, looking for comfort.

‘Yeah, I know. Sorry. It’s just a bit raw, that’s all.’

‘Well, let me tell you something that might cheer you up again then.’

He released her from the hug to pick up the pint Bill put down in front of him and he savoured the creamy top on his beer slowly, keeping them in suspense.

Emily cracked first.

‘Come on then. Spill.’

‘Okay,’ he grinned. ‘I’ve arranged for a big wedding pull-out next week in the paper, and guess what’s going to be our star feature?’

Marla smiled, easily able to see where this was headed. At least Rupert was trying to help in a conventional way, unlike Jonny. All she wanted was a good clean fight.

‘The chapel?’ Emily supplied.

‘The chapel.’ Rupert repeated with a flourish. ‘We’ll photograph whichever wedding you’ve got on this weekend and do a nice big double page splash.’

Marla mentally rolodexed through the bookings to the wedding they had that Saturday. If her memory served her well it was a gothic affair, which should make for eye-catching pictures, if nothing else.

‘Where would I be without you?’ She smiled gratefully. Rupert slid his arm around her waist and planted a warm kiss on the side of her mouth.

‘Heading for bankruptcy, I reckon. Good job you’ve got me then, eh?’

Marla laughed for the first time since lunch.

‘I guess it is, yeah.’

The pub was filling up nicely, but a western-movie style hush fell over it a second or two later when Gabe and Dan came in, a study of perfection in biker’s leather and oily denim.

Marla sucked in a sharp breath and Rupert stiffened next to her, his fingers digging into her waist. Emily looked equally stricken by Gabe’s appearance, and Tom, the only one who hadn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting Gabe, glanced quizzically around the table.

Behind the bar, Bill slid his glasses off and put down his newspaper. He pulled two pints of Guinness and placed them on the bar.

‘On the house, lads.’

Gabe studied the glasses for a long moment and the pub held its collective breath.

‘Thank you, Bill. I appreciate it.’

The noise level returned to normal as if someone had turned the volume dial, and Marla released the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding.

‘I take it that’s yer man then,’ Tom said. He nodded towards the newcomers as he took a swig of beer.

Emily followed his gaze and saw only Dan, even though there was a throng of people at the bar. She felt as if someone had dropped a concrete block on her chest and she couldn’t get her breath. The rational part of her brain knew that Tom was referring to Gabe, but his words still sliced through like an axe. She knocked her almost full glass of wine back in one go.

‘Can we go now, Tom?’ She was already on her feet and had her arms halfway into her jacket. ‘Please?’

Tom laughed.

‘Hang about, Em. I haven’t finished my beer …’ but Emily was already away across the pub. He pushed his chair back and stood up with a resigned grin.

‘Can’t wait to get me home.’ He shrugged. ‘Sex maniac. She’s killing me, man.’

He drained his glass and picked up his car keys.

‘Have fun, kids.’

He winked at Marla and Rupert. As he picked his way through the busy tables, Tom couldn’t help noticing the way Gabe’s friend turned to look at Emily as she passed. He felt a fierce stab of pride that she was his wife. He couldn’t blame other men for looking at her. Then Emily turned and held the guy’s gaze for a few seconds and, even in profile, he knew her well enough to recognize the look of ill-concealed panic on her face. Each second felt like a lifetime, until she whipped her head around and ran out of the door.

Two thoughts swam around in his head.

What was that all about? And Not a chance pal. She’s mine.



‘What was that all about?’ Gabe asked as the door swung shut behind Tom.

‘Not a clue. Probably fancied me.’ Dan shrugged. ‘Most women do, my friend.’

‘Did you not notice her husband was three steps behind her, man?’

‘Yeah, I noticed. But did she?’ Dan muttered darkly and waved to Bill for more beers.

Gabe was well aware that Marla was sitting across the room with the reporter from the meeting. That figured. They were probably hatching phase two of their hate campaign. He could see them reflected in the mirror behind the bar, and he flinched as the guy smoothed a stray lock of Marla’s hair back behind her ear.

This was the boyfriend she’d mentioned? The tosser from The Herald? Christ, he’d credited her with better taste. But then in light of events this afternoon, maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised.

He had to hand it to her. It had taken some balls to come over to the funeral parlour with her chequebook in hand ready to pay for a new window. He still couldn’t make up his mind whether he believed her pleas of innocence or not, but either way she’d proved that she had a brave streak a mile wide. Thinking back, he knew that he’d come down hard on her, but disappointment could do that to a man. Petty thuggery didn’t match up with the woman she’d become in his head, and she’d fallen off her pedestal with an even louder crash than the window.

He excused himself to the gents and found himself shoulder to shoulder at the urinal with Rupert, who’d followed him in.

‘Stay away from her.’ Rupert muttered, midstream.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You heard me. Leave Marla alone, or I’ll smear your f*cking name in so much shit that you’ll be hounded out of the country, let alone the village.’

Gabe zipped his fly and turned to Rupert, who did the same.

‘Are you actually trying to threaten me?’ Gabe couldn’t decide whether to laugh at him or knock him out.

Rupert shrugged and turned to the mirror over the washbasin to fiddle with his artfully arranged hair. ‘Call it what you like.’

Gabe was having a bad day, and Rupert’s glib smugness made his fists itch. He stepped in close behind him and met his eye in the mirror. ‘You’ve got that much right. I will call it whatever the hell I like, and I will do whatever the hell I want, with whoever the hell I want. Have you got that?’

‘Tosser.’

Gabe sensed the scared posh boy behind Rupert’s Boden-poster-boy demeanour. ‘What is it that really bugs you, paperboy? Don’t you trust me with her? Or is it that you don’t trust Marla around me?’



Back in the bar, Gabe glanced over at Marla as he sat back down and found her watching him. Her expression gave him little clue of what was going through her head. Something serious though, going by her frown. She was probably wondering if he’d just killed her fop of a boyfriend in the loos. Even from across the other side of the room, he could make out the dark circles underneath her eyes and, despite the events of the day, he still wished he could smooth them away.

Crazy.