Undertaking Love Page 0,22

to decide if we like you enough to let you live.’

Apart from the slight clink of Rupert’s white Jamie Oliver coffee cup as it trembled against its saucer in his hand, silence reigned in the room.

‘Bluey. Come here, baby.’

Marla spoke softly, and the huge hound loped across to sit sentry next to her with his head plonked on the arm of her chair.

‘Good boy.’

He closed his eyes and grumbled with contentment as she fussed his soft ears.

‘Should I take that as a good sign?’ Rupert breathed out, his confidence returning now that he wasn’t staring death in the hound-dog eye.

‘I think so. Just don’t try any funny stuff.’

He eyed Bluey with suspicion and reached out to catch the newspaper just after the dog swiped it off the coffee table with his tail.

‘Listen, Marla. About your problem. I can help. This,’ he indicated the front-page article. ‘This is just the beginning.’

Marla sipped her coffee and regarded him with interest.

‘I’m thinking along the lines of a series of features on the chapel, maybe cover a couple of the weddings; you know, really get the locals behind it. I could run interviews with the different local businesses that benefit from your presence, even print the petition in the paper. What do you think?’

Marla was beyond grateful. They needed all the help they could get.

‘I’d greatly appreciate it, thank you. But I have to ask … why? Don’t tell me you’re a die-hard romantic with an equally impressive collection of girly books?’

He snorted on his coffee. ‘Girly mags maybe, but bodice rippers? No.’ He leaned forward, an intent look on his face. ‘I just recognise a good story when I see it, Marla, and I happen to believe that you’re right about the knock-on effect for the local community.’

Marla sat upright in her chair. Maybe there was a glimmer of hope, after all. A press campaign would certainly up the ante, in any case. ‘I don’t know how to thank you, Rupert.’

When he smiled, that naughty twinkle was back in evidence in his vivid blue eyes.

‘I do. Have dinner with me.’

Chapter Eight

Gabe flipped the front door key over in his hand and looked at the clock. 8.55 a.m. He was officially opening for business in five minutes time.

Melanie perched behind the reception desk. The sunshine-yellow tulips Gabe had given her this morning had been awarded pride of place beside her books. In actual fact he’d bought them to make the reception area more welcoming, rather than for Melanie in particular, but it would have been embarrassing for both of them if he’d corrected her innocent assumption. She’d blushed pink with pleasure when she’d found them on the desk earlier, and flustered off to make coffee.

‘Ready?’ he turned and smiled at her, key poised by the lock.

She nodded.

‘You?’

‘I sure am. Let’s do this thing.’

He winked at her and turned the key. He swung the door back on its hinges once or twice to make sure it was definitely unlocked. He turned the little black and silver sign on the door over to declare them open, and almost felt the warmth of his Da’s hand of encouragement on his shoulder.

‘Time to grow up, Gabe.’

It was all quiet on the street outside, still sleepy apart from the odd pensioner pulling a trolley and a young mum pushing a pram. Not that he’d expected a stampede. It wasn’t the kind of business that attracted a queue.

He glanced at the chapel. Earlier, Marla had dashed by as usual, robbed of her opportunity to snarl at his bike because he’d parked it out of sight around the back. It was hardly a suitable advert for the funeral parlour. Just as he was an unsuitable advert for the wedding chapel, he acknowledged with a flicker of a frown.

He hadn’t had a chance to speak to her since the public meeting. Just thinking about that evening made him wince. He hadn’t actually intended to stand up and speak, but he’d been so incensed by the injustice of it all that he’d found himself on his feet before he’d had a chance to think it through.

The Shropshire Herald had ripped him to shreds as a result, and the battle lines between the chapel and the funeral parlour were now marked out as clearly as if they’d been painted in bold white lines across the pavement.

From behind the blind of her office window, Marla watched Gabe swing his freshly painted black door open, then stand still and cast his eyes skywards for a few