Undertaking Love Page 0,27

next year’s bookings that will suffer. And the year after that. Assuming we’re still here by then, which I very much doubt.’

She couldn’t be sure, but he looked less comfortable than he had a moment ago. Maybe a drop of compassion lurked somewhere underneath all that hair and charm.

‘And for your information, there is no hate campaign.’ His words had hit a raw nerve. ‘You make it sound petty and personal, and it’s neither of those things. It’s business, pure and simple.’

Gabe studied her in silence and then slowly folded the list of wedding dates in half.

‘Sure. Leave it with me. I’ll take care of it.’

His abrupt gear change from teasing to deadly serious left her flailing for a suitable response.

‘Gabe …’ They were distracted by a sudden loud smash in the street below and sprang out of their seats. The front window of the funeral parlour lay shattered in a thousand pieces across the pavement, and as they watched, a visibly shaken Melanie emerged onto the street with what looked horribly like a house brick clutched in her hand.

‘What the …’ Gabe muttered as he flung Marla’s office window open. ‘Hang on, Mel! I’m coming,’ he yelled.

He turned to Marla. The incensed look of accusation in his eyes stole her breath away.

‘Not a hate campaign, eh? Well it fucking looks like one from where I’m standing.’

Marla gasped at the conclusion he’d leapt to.

‘Gabe, please! I swear, this has nothing to do with us. I would never …’ Marla couldn’t articulate past his automatic assumption of her guilt. Surely he could see that that mindless vandalism wasn’t her style? He had to understand that she’d never stoop so low.

He held a hand up to silence her, his usually Jaggeresque mouth twisted into a thin line of distaste. ‘Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.’

He ripped up the list she’d given him earlier and hurled the pieces across the office floor.

‘You’ve just picked yourself a fight with the wrong man, Marla Jacobs.’

He stalked out of the office.

Marla stood rooted to the spot in shock, both by the thuggish vandalism and Gabe’s instant assumption. Quite why Gabe’s opinion of her mattered so much wasn’t something she was prepared to give any headspace to. Sour fear unfurled slowly in her belly. Did this have anything to do with their campaign? Had she been the indirect cause of this? Jesus, she hoped not.

She watched Gabe run across the pavement to Melanie; unable to drag her eyes away as he eased the brick from her fingers and wrapped his arms around her slender body. Heavy footsteps echoed up the old wooden staircase towards the office. Marla shivered, and turned away from the window. Jonny appeared, his face a sickly shade of green beneath his usual tan.

‘Err, Marla? There’s something I really need to talk to you about.’

Marla’s horror spiralled as she listened to Jonny’s heartfelt explanation of how his well-intentioned online petition had grown to leviathan proportions. It had gone viral, and it now appeared that he’d lost any kind of control over it. His over-zealous pleas had been taken as a call to arms, and he’d been troubled over the last week by emails landing in their inbox threatening to ‘make sure that Gabriel Ryan never opened for business’. It was pretty obvious that the incident on the street this afternoon was linked, but what the hell were they going to do about it? And worse, what might come next? Sure, she wanted the funeral parlour gone. But not like this. Not because of a dirty hate campaign in her name. Her professional reputation would be in tatters if this got out, but it was the possibility that someone might get hurt that filled her with shame.

She wasn’t even aware that she was crying until Jonny put his mug down and handed her a tissue.

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,