Page 92 of Wedding Crasher

Dora had proved herself to be an excellent inside spy, if somewhat heavy on the espionage drama. Their first attempt last week had been aborted at the last minute when she’d called him to say Jonny had turned up unexpectedly at the chapel. It had taken Gabe a while to decipher her loudly whispered telephone message. ‘The peacock has landed. I repeat, the peacock has landed. Operation Lovegood aborted. Abort mission and await instruction. Over and out.’

He’d stared at the telephone for several perplexed seconds until Dora herself had slunk out of the chapel and over to the funeral parlour, a long beige mac over her pinny and a headscarf over her iron-grey curls.

‘“The peacock”?’ he’d asked, ushering her inside.

Dora untied her scarf from beneath her chin. ‘Jonny,’ she’d said, still whispering and craning her neck to see out of the window. ‘I don’t think they saw me slip over here.’

Gabe had shaken his head and laughed, even though disappointment coursed through his veins. ‘Dora, it’s okay.’

She’d moved to stand with her back against the wall next to the window frame and bobbed her head around quickly to look through the window as a car pulled up.

‘Oh for heaven’s sake,’ she’d muttered. ‘It’s the raven.’

‘“The raven”?’

Dora flattened herself against the wall and rolled her eyes. ‘Emily,’ she hissed, as if he really ought to get with the programme, as Emily’s glossy black hair appeared while she hauled herself out of the passenger side of the car.

‘Do you have a name for me, Dora?’ Gabe had asked, interested.

‘Archangel,’ she’d shot back, as if he really should have known.

‘And Marla?’ He’d tried to suppress his smile.

‘Hollywood.’

He’d nodded in approval. ‘Figures.’ The chapel door opened. ‘Well, looks like the mission is well and truly aborted. The peacock, the raven and Hollywood have just locked up and left the chapel.’ He’d squinted at the driver’s seat. ‘Tom’s driving.’

‘The dove,’ Dora had supplied, shrugging out of the mac. ‘The dove’ seemed an odd choice to Gabe, but Dora no doubt had her reasons.

It was two long weeks later that she called him again to confirm that Operation Lovegood was once more good to go. The peacock and the raven were safely squirrelled away across the other side of Shropshire at a wedding fayre, and Hollywood would be holding the fort on her own at the chapel.

The plan was set. Dora, or D, as she’d assigned herself in the style of Judi Dench’s M, was to come up to the chapel bright and early to let him in before Marla arrived, giving him enough time to go inside and arrange a surprise breakfast for Marla – or Hollywood, as Dora insisted on calling her.

Gabe hovered inside the funeral parlour at just after 7 a.m. on the morning in question. Autumn had well and truly blown into Beckleberry over the last few weeks. A sepia wash of leaves swirled 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, 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 a.m. in her mac and trilby.

As the clock inched slowly towards half past, Gabe stopped looking out for her and started to worry about her 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 …

The more he thought about it, the faster his heart started to beat. It was easy to forget Dora’s age because she was such a livewire, but he’d never forgive himself if she’d tumbled in the lane or something. Oh God. What if a car had been speeding, not expecting to find any walkers at that early hour, especially ones dressed for espionage? Unable to wait any longer, he locked the funeral parlour door and set off at a fast walk. As he reached the end of Dora’s lane, his walk turned to a jog, and by the time he reached Ivan and Dora’s cottage he’d broken into a full-scale run.

The lounge curtains of Dora’s cottage were still closed when he arrived. Gabe sagged against the gate post with relief. She’d just overslept. Lord knew the woman was entitled to that luxury at her age. He stood for a few seconds to get his breath back before he walked back to the funeral parlour. This cloak and dagger approach wasn’t working. Marla would be alone at the chapel that morning. He was going to walk right on in there and tell her once and for all that he loved her.

His mind set, he glanced once more at Dora’s cottage, and it suddenly struck him that although the lounge curtains were closed, the bedroom ones had been opened. That was strange.

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