

### About the Book

"Organising a wedding is a piece of cake," to quote Abigail (Abi) Button. She could be right, because a local wedding shop provides the whole service: bridal gowns, venue, cake, food, cars ... everything that makes the perfect wedding. Apart from husbands!

Meanwhile, Melanie Upton ‒ Abi Button's co-owner of Button Up coffee shop ‒ confides in Abi that romance is in the air with an Italian property investor called Romero Rocco. Can it be true?

Abi's new friend is also getting married, having bought the house that Abi calls Creepy Castle. She tells Abi that getting a builder to restore the old house should also be a simple matter.

With a joint wedding planned for Abi and her new friend, Abi asks, "What can possibly go wrong?"

### Cake and Calamity

### An Abi Button Cozy Mystery Romance #3

by

Lizzie Lewis ©2020

This eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-50-6

Also available as a paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-56-8

Published by

White Tree Publishing

Bristol

UNITED KINGDOM

wtpbristol@gmail.com

Full list of books and updates on

www.whitetreepublishing.com

_Cake and Calamity is_ a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book

### Table of Contents

Cover

About the Book

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

More Abi Button Books

About White Tree Publishing

Chapter 1

The last few months have absolutely flown by, probably the fastest months in the history of the world. It's a wonder it didn't make the headlines in the papers and on the television news. Where did the time go? A few months ago Danny Wells proposed to me in the most unromantic setting imaginable, but all I saw was his shining eyes, and all I heard was him begging me to say yes. Well, I distinctly got the impression he was begging me, so of course I said yes.

We immediately decided on a joint wedding with our new friends Alice Newton and Rupert Forrester to take place six months after Danny and Rupert popped their respective questions. Six months sounded like a long time, so I knew Alice and I wouldn't have to do anything in a rush to make the preparations. Then we would have loving partners for the rest of our lives.

Surely there wasn't much involved in planning a wedding. Order our dresses, book a suitable caterer, venue, photographer, cars, and send out the invitations. Not forgetting to book the church and the pastor of course. Oh, and the honeymoon. _Most_ important, that one.

Alice had recently purchased a dilapidated house at the far end of my road. It originally belonged to her crazy uncle who set a cryptic puzzle in his will for Alice, her two brothers and her sister to solve after he was dead. The first to crack the puzzle was entitled to some unspecified hidden wealth.

Danny, being a junior solicitor with Branks, Davis & Waters, had sorted out the administration of the will, and clever Alice turned out to be the winner. The amount of money wasn't amazing, but it was enough for Alice to buy her siblings' share in the house of horrors and organise a builder to sort it out.

Alice had no previous experience with builders, and thought the restoration would be a simple matter ‒ until she received the builder's estimate.

Although Alice doesn't say much about it, she was the youngest of four when their parents died, and she was virtually a slave to her sister and two brothers who expected her to look after the home and hand over her earnings from her job as a librarian. I'm not sure from what Alice tells me that she was much of an expert on housekeeping, because she was amazed by my rather modest efforts. One thing I noticed was that Alice was eating properly and looked more healthy than when we first met.

Alice moved to my town almost immediately after she won the money, and has been living with me in the house I had rattled around in since my parents moved permanently to Spain several years ago. It was good to have fun company again in the house. Of course, my parents came over from Spain immediately they heard about my engagement to Danny.

My mother approved of Danny. In fact, she approved of him so much that she said she was sorry for him to be marrying me. I found that strange, because my mother is not famous for her sense of humour.

Naturally, Danny used his skills in listening to clients to say just the right things to my parents. I also insisted I didn't want them to pay for the wedding, because they had already given me the house. Even so, I suspected there might be surprise wedding present that would help meet the costs.

Alice said the first thing we had to do was send out the invitations, then choose our wedding dresses. I assured her we didn't need to get going just yet. Perhaps she thought her fiancé Rupert would change his mind! No, that's a joke. I've not seen two people so in love, apart from when I look in a mirror and see Danny standing by me. Ah, that's so sweet!

One morning I sat up in bed with a jump. What were we thinking of? We had a wedding to prepare for! Help! I'd been bobbing along fairly happily for thirty-two years, never too short of male admirers ‒ but extremely short of suitable ones. I thought of it as kissing frogs to see if one of them happened to be a prince in disguise, but that's all they were – frogs.

After a disastrous misunderstanding with one who seemed to be Mr Right, and was actually Mr Wrong, along came Danny Wells, a junior solicitor at Branks, Davis & Waters. Of course I wished I'd met him earlier, and then I would already be married. But I learnt a long time ago that you can't have everything in life. That's what my mother told me when I was small and wanted an expensive doll in the local toy shop. And although my mother never said it, I guess the same applies to wanting to be married.

I knew of a shop in the centre of town that catered for everything to do with weddings ‒ from bridal gowns, to men's formal suit hire, to a full catering service. The lot.

"No need to panic. Organising a wedding is a piece of cake," I said aloud to myself. "That place will do _everything_. All Alice and I have to do is say we want this, this, this and this ‒ and remember to turn up at the church on time."

The wedding shop was only a short walk from Button Up coffee shop where I work with Melanie Upton ‒ hence the ingenious name (!). Melanie and I are co-owners of the business which is doing quite well at the moment.

"What's up with you, girl?" a voice said, as I sat staring into space at an empty table in Button Up. It was a quiet time of the afternoon, and I was leafing through a magazine showing an assortment of bridal gowns. Dresses. Whatever.

I looked over at Melanie and grinned, at the same time letting out a deep sigh. "I don't know whether to go for something plain or fancy."

My co-owner sat beside me. I felt embarrassed to be showing Melanie the wedding dresses. She'd been going nowhere with Steve Donavan for more than five years. Steve had suffered an unfortunate previous relationship which involved having a child and a straying partner. So he seemed unwilling to commit again, although several times I assured Steve that Melanie was Miss Reliability itself. And then I ordered him to get on and marry her immediately!

Of course, I'm pretty sure I didn't add that last sentence. Anyway, it was no business of mine, although I did want to see Melanie married, because that was her wish too. At forty-two she was no spring chicken. That's also something I hope I didn't say. But she's a jolly sort of person, short, more than slightly overweight and endowed with generous love handles. What's not to like?

Pete Wilders, our nineteen-year-old lad who is working for us to pay for his evening college, came across and stared at the page of the magazine I had open. He pointed to a wedding dress that was so over-ornamental it was appalling. Frills and bows and lace ‒ and just about anything else made of white fabric that could be sewn on. I couldn't imagine anyone _anywhere_ wearing that.

"I can see you in that one, Abi," he said. "Definitely one for the older woman."

I grinned as I looked up at him, and noticed he looked serious. "You don't really think‒‒‒"

Pete winked at me and skipped out of Melanie's reach as she tried to flick him with the tea towel she was holding. From the look on Pete's face I _think_ he was joking. Well, I seriously hoped he was. He sometimes confides in me with his matters of the heart, and I like to think he does it as he would with an older sister, not with a mother figure. But I've never liked to enquire too closely in case I get the wrong answer.

Melanie gave me a nudge. "It's nice to see how the young ones see us," she said dryly.

_Us?_ I'm halfway in age between Pete and Melanie, and in my mind I'm probably even younger than Pete. Somebody once told me my mental development stopped at the age of twelve. That's clearly untrue. I must have reached the mental age of fifteen or I would never have been interested in boys. Anyway, the rest of me kept growing according to plan in an interesting, exciting and sometimes scary way.

Physically, I'm definitely a woman. Medium height, long, naturally blonde hair parted over my right eye and curling slightly at the ends. I have enough up front to pad out a sweatshirt, but not so much that it would be difficult to stand up straight after bending forwards. I have what's called the perfect figure. Well, what's called the perfect figure by me.

I'm slim. Definitely slim ‒ in spite of working surrounded by cakes and pastries throughout the day. I know my hips are a little bit wide, and fondly imagine Danny saw them for their childbearing possibilities ‒ as well as being attracted to me as a sensible, beautiful and romantic person. Well, perhaps it's just as well I'm big boned around the hips, if that was the only reason for Danny being attracted to me. Definitely bone, because when I press, there's absolutely no fat under the skin. Danny's squeezed me a few times. I'm pleased to say he hasn't called off the wedding.

The changes pregnancy will bring to my body are even more scary, assuming I'm able to conceive. It will be Danny's child of course, but the thought of pregnancy fills me with a certain amount of ... well, a certain amount of something. But at least I'm told I possess the right sort of hips.

I looked at the large and expensive clock above the service counter, shaped like a coffee cup. Melanie and I bought it in a moment of weakness when we first opened the establishment just over five years ago. Melanie Upton was looking for a partner to help set up the business. It was when my parents decided to spend my father's large early retirement lump sum in moving permanently to sunny Spain, to a villa my dad had renovated over the years.

We went there every year for our holidays when I was at school, and I loved it. My father was so generous that he actually passed the deeds of the house here in England over to me and helped fund my share of the café business.

So my new friend Alice Newton and I started making serious arrangements for the perfect joint wedding. Yes, it was going to be the _perfect_ white wedding.

Hindsight is certainly a wonderful thing.

Chapter 2

Anxious to keep the costs down, Danny wondered if it would be possible to prepare the service sheets and invitation cards at home, and run them off on my printer.

I had to kick myself for not thinking of it before. I knew Danny was quite handy with laying out documents, and I was sure we could find some fancy paper or card that would run through my inkjet. Then Alice pointed out that wedding invitations and service cards usually had silver printing on them.

That evening, Danny used his considerable computer skills, which required little more than a DIY template from the internet, to lay out the invitation cards. All we needed now was a print shop that could print them in silver, and of course supply the classy envelopes to go with them. The four of us were then going to have a blitz on addressing the envelopes.

If the cards looked okay, Danny said he would be encouraged to lay out the order of service ‒ once we'd decided what hymns and readings we wanted.

When we had drawn up the list of possible guests, we found there weren't many at all. Alice's siblings were adamant they were _not_ going anywhere near her wedding, but Alice said they were getting an invitation anyway. My grandparents ‒ all four of them ‒ were long dead. Although I felt my parents ought to get one, it seemed rather formal to be sending them a printed invitation. I'd made one or two friends at church, and Danny was going to ask a couple he was friendly with at Branks, Davis & Waters, where he works as a junior solicitor. Was that really the best we could do?

Rupert said his parents and brother had already agreed to come, and he wanted to invite two of his new workmates at the garage, but overall there were so few guests to invite that we could have written them out by hand, but somehow we felt it would look better in printed form. So after lunch the next day, when things were quiet at Button Up, I slipped out with the USB stick that held Danny's efforts, and visited the print shop Danny said his firm used occasionally for things that weren't confidential.

When the woman behind the counter at the print shop had loaded the memory stick and checked the file, she confirmed the invitation card was laid out correctly, and the price was remarkably low. But I did notice surprise in the woman's face when I said twenty would be plenty. That made me feel so embarrassed that I said sixty would be better. Well, they weren't that expensive, and we might think of other people later, and wish we'd ordered more cards. Anyway, that was the excuse I made to myself. Everything would be ready by ten the next day. Amazing.

So, the following morning when things were quiet, instead of getting stuck into the cryptic crossword in the daily paper, I took the opportunity to slip out and collect the printed invitations. It was no good waiting until after work, because the print shop closed before Button Up, and Pete's friend Hayley had called in that morning to give a hand, so I knew I wouldn't be missed.

The invitation cards were a work of art. The silver print, plus Danny's choice of typeface from the samples he had seen on the internet, made it look really professional. No one would guess this was a DIY job ‒ and even if they did, what did it matter?

I paid the printer, and explained we would be back a couple of weeks later with a file for the service sheets. I also promised to recommend any engaged friends to go there to get their invitation cards done. And that made me think about Melanie and Steve again. Oh well.

That evening we addressed the envelopes and dropped them in the post box on the corner of my road. As they fell out of sight I realised the full enormity of what lay ahead, between now and the day of the wedding. Wow!

Over the coming days the replies came back, some by mail and some as emails. Time to get everything else sorted. There were various excuses from some recipients, probably genuine ones to be charitable, so the reception after the wedding was likely to be rather thin on the ground.

Button Up has its quiet moments, although it usually needs the three of us at lunchtime to serve hot and cold drinks, and light meals like panini and filled rolls, both healthy and less so. We also serve various pastries, in which it is difficult to see any health benefits. But they are delicious.

Melanie is about five foot, with what is politely called a fuller figure. I'm not sure it's a good idea to have her serving pastries. Perhaps the customers think she's there as a warning of what can happen if they eat too many, but it doesn't stop cakes being more popular than the savoury items.

Danny usually comes in for a _light_ lunch. I put the emphasis on the light, and he's strictly rationed by me as to pastries. There's a small table in the corner I reserve for him, and it's the table where I was sitting to sift through wedding magazines in which I was hoping to find the perfect dress. I could then take the picture on my phone to the all-in-one service wedding shop and say I wanted something like it. Not being a great organiser, I was relieved to think all Alice and I had to do was hand everything over to them, because we had already booked the church and pastor, before sending out the invitations.

My parents were coming over from Spain for the big day, and would have the third bedroom that Rupert, Alice's fiancé used now that he had moved to town to work as a mechanic in the local garage. I was going to tell him he would have to sleep downstairs on the sofa when mum and dad came, but fortunately he offered to do that himself, so I was saved the embarrassment.

Alice Newton has two brothers and a sister, both of whom are still furious that she cracked the cryptic clue in her uncle's will, and was able to dip into what had been a dormant bank account belonging to old Isaac Newton's long-deceased mother. It didn't make Alice particularly wealthy, especially as she was planning to spend a fair bit of money restoring the grim house her uncle had let fall into major disrepair.

The house was built with the ground floor raised above the garden level, with a flight of stone steps leading up to the front door. You can see most of the basement windows, because the garden has been cut away to let the light in. And the windows have bars on the inside, like a prison.

I'm sure the local kids in the area have mixed feelings about this forthcoming renovation. When I was young we used to dare each other to run up to the front door at night, seriously believing the old man's mother was either chained up in the basement, or was actually one of the living dead roaming the garden. I imagine children nowadays have the same sort of imagination, if not the same courage to enter the grounds in the dark. Come to think of it, neither did I enter the grounds, because being a young maiden I was terrified of being bitten on the neck.

Many of the houses in town were built for workers in the cotton mill that was closed and flattened years and years ago. My road is a bit like being in the country. I'm lucky not to have a house opposite me. Instead, there's a small children's play area with a couple of baby swings and a slide too small to attract noisy teenagers. A couple of years ago a teenage girl got stuck in the baby swing and had to be cut free by the fire brigade, so that made the whole area uncool.

On the left of the play area comes a long terraced row of small houses built for the mill workers. At the far end on the same side of the road as mine is the house I call Creepy Castle that Alice and Rupert will occupy one day, but not directly after the wedding due to it being a wreck. Between our two houses is an area of woodland open to the public, with a small pond for the local kids to fall into on a fairly regular basis. All the houses in the road, and in most of the town, are built of mid-brown bricks.

The builder hadn't even started work on Alice's house, so it was obviously going to be a long job, especially as we'd recently been getting record rainfalls. The house stank of mould and rot and decay inside, although the builder said a special paint would seal in the smell. I'd only peeped once into Isaac Newton's bedroom. He'd been found dead in the bed by the carer who was unable to gain access for several days. Not that she went inside the house very often. The old man usually refused her entry.

Alice and her siblings were the sole beneficiaries of the will. They lost their parents in a boating accident when they were in their late teens and early twenties. For some time they relied on handouts from their uncle, but that golden goose died when he said they needed to get jobs for themselves. And I have to say I've never met such objectionable siblings in my whole life ‒ and I'm _not_ including my new friend Alice.

Alice won the money, much to their anger, and decided to marry Rupert Forrester and live in the house. I say she decided to marry Rupert, although in theory it was Rupert who asked Alice to marry him. Yes, of course! It's well known that a man chases after a woman until she catches him. Rupert was extremely happy to be caught, so no problems there.

Danny proposed to me, and I hadn't even been chasing him. Well, not so he noticed. And the proposal came completely out of the blue. We were checking inside Isaac Newton's gloomy house, trying not to gag over the smell, when he knelt down on the filthy floor and proposed. How romantic can you get!

I sat at the small table in the corner of Button Up waiting for Danny to appear for his lunch. We were light on customers, so that was fine. Pete came across again and looked at the open magazine I was studying again.

"Made up your mind yet?" he asked. "Can I have a browse?"

I hoped he wasn't getting ideas for himself and Hayley. Hayley is eighteen, and studying full-time at the local college. She comes in sometimes to help, so she's officially on the payroll as a part-time worker. Hayley and Pete have been going out together for some time, and Pete once discussed marriage with me ‒ his and Hayley's! My only advice had been to wait.

"Where are you getting your dress?" Pete asked, making me wonder if.... No, surely he didn't have marriage on his mind again. "The Bun in the Oven?"

I looked up at him in surprise. " _Where?_ "

"You know, the wedding shop in town that does everything."

I shook my head. "I know where you mean, but I've never heard it called that before."

"That's what Hayley calls it. Probably because one of her friends was ... you know...."

I had to smile to myself at the way Pete, a not especially shy nineteen-year-old, seemed to refer to anything connected with sex as "you know." Outwardly I certainly didn't smile. "I hope you're not suggesting I need to get married quickly. And I can assure you Alice doesn't either!"

_The Bun in the Oven!_ I couldn't help laughing out loud as I thought of the name. The actual wedding business was called Geraldine somebody, but from that moment on I've only ever been able to think of it as Buns.

I looked up at Pete, tears in my eyes from laughing. "Yes, there. And _please_ don't spread any fake news ‒ if you want to keep your job."

"Sorry, Abi." Pete sounded suitably repentant, which is almost zero when it comes to young guys. I didn't look, but I got the feeling he was grinning.

I heard the door open and close, half aware that a customer had entered, but I was once more staring in disbelief at yet another over-ornamental and shapeless wedding dress. Of course, it would hide the condition of anyone who was "you know," as Pete would call it. I just hoped Geraldine at Buns wouldn't misunderstand our short notice and try and push one like that on me.

"Here he is again," I heard Pete say.

I tore myself away from the magazine and looked around. I remembered seeing the man here before. Surprisingly attractive, with a small beard and black hair swept back.

"Do you know him?" I asked Pete, surprised by his reaction when the man entered.

"It's Romero Rocco," Pete said. "I think he's got his eye on Melanie. He usually comes early morning, before you get here."

From Melanie's reaction it seemed that she also had her eye on him. She hurried out from behind the service counter and directed him to an empty table. If I didn't know Melanie so well, I could swear she was blushing.

"Haven't you seen him here before?" Pete asked in surprise.

I shrugged. Well, when your mind is full of wedding dresses and weddings in general, it's not possible to notice every customer in detail, not even handsome men like.... What was his name? Romero Rocco. I wondered if he was Italian!

I've never been accused of being nosy, or to be more accurate I've not often been found out, but I closed the magazine slowly and stood up. If I moved carefully I might be able to get close enough to hear what they were saying to each other.

My subterfuge was a waste of time. Melanie was already on her way behind the counter to prepare whatever drink Signor Rocco had chosen. Again, definitely not being nosy, I smiled at the handsome visitor. "It's good to see you," I said.

I suddenly felt the blood drain from my face. Before I met Danny I might have cosied up to a good-looking guy like this, but now I sincerely hoped he wouldn't misunderstand my intentions ‒ which were definitely innocent. Anyway, he was _much_ too old for me, although that hasn't stopped older men hitting on me. Ugh!

" _Ciao_ ," the customer said, flashing scarily white teeth. "I think you and Melanie are partners here."

" _Ciao_ ," I said in return, flashing my own teeth which are white, but definitely not _that_ white.

"It was my lucky morning when I found Button Up," he said with a strong Italian accent that was almost too strong to be true. It was certainly too strong for this town, but might have sounded okay in Rome or Venice, or anywhere else in Italy.

"I think Melanie is getting your order," I said, almost matching Melanie for blushing. This man certainly had magnetism. Fortunately, I had Danny.

"She very good woman is Melanie," he said, flashing another white smile.

Well, this fascination with Melanie was certainly news to me. I'd obviously kept my face buried in wedding magazines for too long while in the café. I vaguely remembered Signor Rocco had been here before, but since Melanie had always rushed to serve him we had never actually spoken to each other. And if he usually came before I got here, he might have been here lots of times, unseen by me.

Melanie appeared at my side, holding a large latte and an apricot Danish pastry for the customer. She nudged me out of the way, while managing not to spill a single drop of coffee.

I smiled at Romero Rocco, said, " _Ciao_ , _signore_ ," and slipped discreetly away. There's me, fluent in Italian! I know two other words. _Buongiorno_ and _Arrivederci_. Pete was busy again at the service counter, and I went to give him a hand.

"See," Pete said, "I told you they had a thing going."

"You told me no such thing," I said. "Just because this Italian fancies Melanie, she's got Steve, so I'm sure she's not in the slightest bit interested."

Pete rolled his eyes, and turned to rescue a ham and cheese panini from the grill. I just shrugged. Whatever was happening was no business of mine. No business at all.

I couldn't wait for Melanie to be free so I could quiz her all about it.

Chapter 3

Alice Newton called in before I had a chance to speak to Melanie. I got the feeling Melanie was embarrassed and deliberately avoiding me. Well, I wasn't going to let it go that easily, but Alice appeared before I got my opportunity.

I looked at the coffee cup clock above the service counter. I hadn't realised the time was going on so quickly. Alice had arranged to meet me at the café just before four. We had a booking at Buns ‒ a.k.a. Geraldine somebody. This was the big day. This was the day we would find out just how expensive a wedding could be.

In Button Up we wear ordinary jeans, and jackets with cream and black vertical stripes. We even have _Button Up Coffee Shop_ embroidered on the top pockets. Without thinking, Melanie had ordered four jackets that buttoned up on the women's side. Pete had refused to wear his, naturally, and Melanie had quickly smoothed things over by ordering a man's style.

I keep a good pair of skinny jeans hanging in the storeroom to change into if I'm going anywhere but straight home. I also have a good jacket and a lightweight raincoat, plus an umbrella for days like today. Yes, I'm a girl who is always prepared for the worst. I say _girl_ , because although I'm thirty-two I still see myself as a girl. Melanie I see as a young _woman_ , but I'm sure I'll be prepared to stretch the definition when I get to Melanie's age of forty-two.

It was still raining as we made our way through the town.

"I don't think this rain is ever going to stop," Alice said, as a bus went too close to the edge of the pavement, splashing water over our legs.

"By the time we get to Buns," I said, lifting my umbrella to let an oncoming woman pass under it, "we're going to look like wrecks."

"Buns?" Alice said, turning in surprise, and nearly poking my eye out with one of the spokes of her umbrella.

I explained how Pete's friend Hayley had come up with the name, and Alice looked horrified. "You don't think‒‒‒"

"I'm not, if you're not," I said, laughing. "And keep that umbrella out of my eyes or I won't be able to find my way down the aisle when the time comes."

The outside of the old building that housed Buns was in the less expensive part of town. It was built of the same colour mid brown bricks as most of the houses and shops in the whole area. It looked as though the shop was at street level, with the living quarters above.

Geraldine Buns gave us a warm welcome. It was our first visit, and I wondered if it was a bit early to start planning. I told her the date of the wedding.

"You've left it rather late, but that shouldn't be a problem," Geraldine said, reassuringly. "Most couples give us at least six months to prepare." Then she added, "Except in an emergency."

She looked us up and down, probably checking for bumps. Both Alice and I are naturally slim, and it looked as though we passed the test. It was tardiness rather than an emergency that had made us come to her rather late in the day. Hopefully Geraldine wouldn't try and press us into a couple of over-ornamental and shapeless wedding dresses.

"Oh," I said, "I thought as you offer the full package‒‒‒‒"

"Yes, we do, but it's always good to book everything well ahead. As you no doubt know, we offer everything needed for a wedding ‒ apart from husbands."

We smiled dutifully.

"There are dresses for the bride and bridesmaids, morning suits for the men, catering and stationery." She gave us a smile that certainly instilled confidence in me. "And of course hire of a first class venue for the reception, flowers and wedding cars."

"Thanks, Geraldine," I said, returning the smile. This sounded promising. It also sounded expensive.

"Let me take you through to the showroom at the back. We have a whole range of bridal gowns there, and of course we're happy to adjust them for a perfect fit. Alternatively, we offer a full bespoke service, but you may be a bit late for that. These things take time."

"And lots of money," I added. I could also be a joker. Fortunately, I didn't say it.

"Do you have any special styles in mind?"

Quickly we explained that this was to be a joint wedding. We didn't want to look like twins, but would like similar styles of dresses.

I thought the dresses in the magazine were confusing enough, but seeing them actually hanging in rows almost filled me with terror. How could I find the _perfect_ dress amongst that selection?

Geraldine seemed to be in charge, and she took a dress from the rack and removed the polythene dust sleeve. She held it by me, and although it was too long, it did look good when I saw myself in the full-length mirrors.

I held onto it while Geraldine fetched a dress she thought might suit Alice. It looked pretty good to me, but Alice shook her head. I just hoped she wasn't going to find one covered in lace and every other bit of white material that could be tacked onto it. Tacky. That was a perfect description for the one in the magazine.

Alice seemed to be much more fussy than me. I suspected Geraldine was wilting as she brought dress after dress from the rail, removing the polythene each time, and getting a shake of the head from Alice.

Eventually, Alice asked to see the first one again. "I rather like that," she said. Then she smiled an embarrassed sort of smile. "It's just that I didn't want to jump into the first dress I saw. I reckon this one is perfect."

I'd been holding my dress in front of me while Alice had been trying on the dresses, and my right arm was aching. "I'd like to try it on," I said. "This is exactly what I had in mind." Actually, that wasn't strictly true. I had nothing special in mind, but had come to Buns hoping one would jump out at me. One did. Of course, I would be entitled to change my mind when I tried it on.

I reckoned the carpet must be vacuumed daily, because Geraldine let us try on the dresses, even though they dragged on the floor. Alice and I looked at each other and nodded.

"Is it all right if we take photographs of each other?" I asked Geraldine.

She smiled again. I really liked her. We had definitely made the right decision to come here.

"Of course," she said. "If you hand me your phone I'll take one of both of you side-by-side, then you will see how well matched those two dresses are."

We stood while Geraldine took several photographs of the front, side, and back, then let the dresses slip from our shoulders before Geraldine could stop us. I felt exhausted. Not so much physically as emotionally.

Of course, being women we were allowed to change our minds, and couldn't say we _definitely_ wanted those two, even though we did. So we asked Geraldine to make a note of them because we would be back.

This was the only wedding shop I knew in town, and of course I had no intention of going anywhere else. We now came to the less exciting part of the visit.

"We need a price for those two dresses," I said, "and the hire of dress suits for the two groomsmen and the best man. We may also want dresses for our bridesmaids."

Melanie had agreed immediately to be maid of honour, and said she already had a pale green dress she had bought for another wedding. When she said it, I could see sadness in her eyes. I somehow felt mean asking her to be maid of honour. How I wanted her to walk down the aisle one day in a bridal gown. Perhaps she would catch the bouquet when I threw it. Perhaps she would also catch Alice's!

We hadn't found any bridesmaids yet. Alice's older sister Esther had refused to come to the wedding in _any_ capacity. Rupert's brother had agreed to be best man when Alice's two brothers, Richard and Michael, had also refused to come. They had even returned their invitations, torn in two. I can't say I was sorry about it. Alice's siblings were three people in their thirties who would more than likely go out of their way to mess up their sister's wedding, and thereby mine.

I knew Alice's two brothers and her sister were incurably lazy. When I first met Alice it looked as though she was wearing her older sister's hand-me-downs, and it turned out she was. So having money was a new experience.

When we learnt the price of the dresses, we both gasped. I shook my head and jumped to my feet. "Come on, Alice, let's go to the market tomorrow and buy some cheap white satin and a sewing machine. We'll make our own."

Naturally I didn't say any such thing. I laughed to myself as I pictured the mess we would make of the dresses, unless of course Alice was a secret dressmaker. No, we wouldn't even attempt to make our own. I could imagine one of our wedding pictures getting into the local paper, giving everyone in the town a good laugh.

My head suddenly felt weird. The gutters were swimming with water outside the shop, and my head was swimming with all the details that were necessary to organise a wedding inside the shop. Geraldine told us she had an older lady called Bridget who could be relied on to make sure the dresses were a perfect fit. She also had a man who was helping with the admin, and explained she didn't personally carry out every service she offered, but subcontracted the work to reliable people, and could guarantee quality and satisfaction.

She opened an album of wedding cake photographs she had organised over the years, and showed us several of her recent favourites. Although we only made a provisional decision, Alice and I immediately found one we could agree on. Perhaps organising a wedding was easy after all.

We then came to the refreshments. The wedding was already booked to be at half past eleven, which meant there would be a reception at one of the big hotels in town at one thirty. Since we had no idea how many guests would be coming, we couldn't possibly order the food at that stage, but Geraldine showed us a typical menu which actually made my stomach rumble. But only quietly. Pete, of course, being a young lad, had suggested in all seriousness that we held the reception at Button Up to save a fortune.

When we got round to discussing prices, I realised Pete had actually been right on the nail. The whole wedding was working out to be way ahead of the budget I had in mind. Of course, we would have to close Button Up if we held the reception there. Okay, that's a joke. We would be closing the café anyway, as we would all be at the church, and I had something much better in mind than eating in my own establishment!

So much to do, so many decisions to make. We still had to make a formal visit to discuss our joint wedding with our pastor, but we needed to get the business at Buns sorted first.

I got out my phone, and while Geraldine made us coffee ‒ which was pretty yuck compared to the high standard we set at Button Up ‒ we looked at the photographs of ourselves that Geraldine had taken on my phone. The price of the dresses was horrific, but I knew from reading the various wedding magazines that they were really pretty average, and Danny had said no expense must be spared. Of course, he hadn't seen the estimated bill when he said that!

While we sipped our coffee, pretending to enjoy it while looking at the photographs on my phone, Geraldine went to attend to someone we heard arrive in the front part of the shop. I couldn't see who it was, but it was definitely a man, and he sounded quite posh. I decided it must be Geraldine's man who saw to the admin. That was a relief. I really didn't want a man fiddling around as he dressed me in my bridal gown for a fitting.

"I think we should go for those dresses," Alice said. "I don't know how much money you had in mind, Abi, but Rupert won't want to splash it around, even though we're relatively well off now with my uncle's inheritance. What will Danny say?"

The designs were similar, but different enough to show that we had made our own choices. To be honest, I'd never before chosen any sort of dress so quickly. "I think Danny will be horrified when he learns the price." Then I giggled. "If he objects, I'll tell him we're only going to get married once." I thought for a moment. "And he'll probably say once is once too often, if I keep costing him this much money!"

Geraldine was soon back. I hadn't heard the visitor leave. In that case he must have gone upstairs to the living quarters. Maybe the office was also up there. Stop being suspicious, Abi. Geraldine was smiling to herself when she came back. I wondered how close the relationship was, but it wasn't anything to do with me. Maybe she was smiling because she had found two wealthy customers – or two customers she foolishly believed were wealthy.

I realised we would have to pay a deposit on everything today if we wanted to book Geraldine for the full works. Danny, with all his experience of legal matters, had insisted that I paid my share with a credit card, and recommended Alice to do the same. In the event of problems – and of course there weren't going to be any – we would be guaranteed a full refund from the bank.

I had already discussed this with Alice, and Geraldine sat down with us and we drew up a list of what we wanted, leaving details of the bridesmaids' dresses and the quantity of food until nearer the time. I was hoping to find someone in the church who offered a rent-a-bridesmaid service. There were lots of children there on Sundays, so I thought that was likely to be a given.

When we got round to discussing the booking deposit, I would have been amazed twelve months ago if I'd known how large it would be. Back then, I would probably have thought the deposit at Buns was more than the total cost of a formal church wedding.

I can understand why some people have a low-key event at the register office, but I wanted to marry Danny in church, and make my vows before God – although I know God can be in a register office just as much as in a church. Anyway, as Christians, the four of us had agreed we wanted a church wedding.

Our card payments didn't bounce, and we said our goodbyes and stepped out into the rain. Alice said she wanted to go past her house to see if the builder had started work. I felt exhausted, so I got out my phone and hailed a cab. Blow the expense!

Chapter 4

It was still raining hard as the cab took us along my road towards Alice's derelict house. We saw Julie Watkins scuttling along under her umbrella. I would have asked the driver to stop to give her a lift, but she was already close to her small terraced house.

Julie Watkins is the granddaughter of Ivy Smith, the ninety-one-year-old lady who lived in that house until recently. Julie had finally moved in with her husband Paul a couple of weeks ago. I'd learnt her name when we met her when she was checking round the house in a downpour, and now they'd moved in. I felt guilty for not inviting them round for coffee. There and then I made up my mind to do it soon, even though my own preparations for the wedding were taking up a lot of my time and energy. But not _that_ much.

I would guess the Watkins were iher new house to the church, Alice steps in and agrees it should be with her and Danny until Alice's house is ready.n their early fifties. Deciding it was pointless to offer Julie a lift, we stopped outside Alice's, the house I had previously thought of as Creepy Castle. To be honest, even though now the curtains were gone, it looked just as creepy as it had when the previous elderly owner, Isaac Newton, had lived there as a recluse behind permanently closed curtains after his mother died in the year dot. Rumours abounded amongst us when we were children that she was still alive, either as a vampire, a zombie or some blood-lusting subhuman. Strangely, werewolves never got a mention.

In spite of my protests that I would do it, Alice paid the driver, and we raced up the stone steps to the front door. She fiddled with the two high security locks Danny had instructed the locksmith to fit, to prevent Alice's siblings gaining entry. Unfortunately, the locks were so high security that even Alice had trouble opening the door.

"Come on, sleepy," I chided Alice. "We're getting soaked out here."

Alice turned round, grinning. "The builder is going to fit a canopy over the front door, when he's finished the other work inside."

If it was my house, fitting a canopy would have been a priority, but I knew from experience that we didn't normally get the rain day after day like we had been experiencing recently.

Alice opened the door and I almost pushed her out of the way to get inside. Then I took a deep breath, and almost returned to the rain which was preferable to the revolting smell.

The old man had somehow made the place stink so much that the disgusting odour was permanently embedded in the fabric of the building. The builder had explained that some areas needed to be re-plastered, but he had the paint that would seal all the smell safely inside the walls and ceilings.

I couldn't wait.

I recalled coming here with Danny, who had to make sure the old man's puzzle was carried out exactly according to the old man's instructions. The puzzle was a cryptic clue that seemed to be connected to the poetry books in the dining room Isaac Newton used as a study, although Alice's two brothers had been too dense to catch on to that.

Alice and her siblings had broken into the house the day before the puzzle could be solved, and turned the place upside down. Alice was the only one who showed any remorse, which is why I immediately took to her as a friend.

I had only been a Christian less than a year at that time, and Alice had been a Christian for slightly longer. The remorse was genuine. The anger of her siblings when she cracked the clue was also genuine. In spite of Alice trying to help them, they had completely refused any contact.

I went into the study and realised how different it was now. The contents had been sold at auction, although the four siblings had been allowed to choose some items first. Since they didn't actually want to take many items home with them, these items had gone into the sale, with the siblings keeping their share of the money.

According to old man Newton's will, the house was to be sold, and the money shared. Alice had said she wanted to buy the house from the other three. I tried not to breathe too deeply, and wondered what form of insanity had made Alice think this would be an ideal residence for her and Rupert Forrester when they married.

It was the evening, and there was no sign of any workmen. As far as I could see, nothing had been done anyway. Alice said the builder was using the rain as the excuse for not being able to fix the roof.

Fixing the roof involved excavating various shrubs that were growing deep in the chimney stacks, and replacing slipped and broken tiles that allowed water to drip into much of the loft, and from there two of the bedrooms. The builder had quite rightly pointed out that there was no roofing felt under the tiles, so the whole roof needed to be taken off. It would then be proof against anything the weather could throw at it.

Of course, that didn't help sort out the interior, but surely someone could have been working in the downstairs rooms, sealing in the evil smell with their special paint. I could picture the builders wearing oxygen masks as they worked indoors. Perhaps they planned to.

"I'm wondering if they'll ever get finished," Alice said. "I can't see any sign they've even _started_ yet."

Looking around, I had to agree. Not that I said anything. Cracking the whip with the builders was something Alice and Rupert would have to do, and I wasn't sure I would be as lenient as they were.

"Abi, would you go and see the builder on your own tomorrow? I don't like to say anything, but you're really mouthy. He would take notice of _you_."

No, Alice didn't really say that. I also hoped she wasn't even thinking anything like it. I really don't like big arguments with people.

Instead, Alice said, "I'll get Rupert to have a strong word with them."

Much better idea.

The bookshelves had been removed from the dining room, and only the few books remained that Alice had chosen. Most of Isaac Newton's books had been on heavy subjects, history and politics, and some rather boring poetry. Needless to say, Alice had kept the book that contained the answer to the cryptic clue. Or to be more exact, contained a further cryptic clue to where the money was.

The bookshelves had originally been screwed to the walls, and had been pulled away for sale rather than carefully unscrewed. The excuse had been the screws were too badly rusted, and I guess that was the truth. This would probably be a wall that needed replastering.

It was from those shelves that Esther Newton had selected an extremely valuable poetry book, convinced there was a secret message hidden inside the cover. She had ripped it to pieces while we watched. I shook my head. Alice didn't deserve siblings like that.

I peeped into the other front room, the so-called sitting room. I had good memories, or perhaps bad memories, of Richard Newton immediately smashing open the writing desk he had chosen, convinced there was a hidden drawer containing the answer to the clue.

"Come up with me and see the bathroom," Alice said brightly. She seemed impervious to the stink.

"No thanks," I said, shuddering involuntarily. I had nightmare memories of the bathroom. The bath had been okay. Isaac Newton probably never used it, but the toilet....

"Please yourself," Alice said, making her way up the stairs two at a time.

Of course, I wanted to stay downstairs, but I felt obliged to stay with my new friend. "Coming."

I made my way slowly up the staircase one step at a time. There was no point in rushing, and having to breathe deeply at the top.

I had hoped the builders would have stripped the bathroom by this time, but of course they would need access to a lavatory. I didn't like to look too closely, but it seemed to be as bad or even worse than I remembered it.

I sort of felt sorry for the old man who had lived here alone after his mother died. Food had been delivered by the local supermarket, and the doctor came occasionally. I felt angry that the carer hadn't paid more attention to Isaac Newton, and generally didn't bother to come inside. He had needed a full care plan from the council, not just the occasional sloppy visit.

Talking of sloppy, I took one further look inside the toilet pan and raced downstairs. If I was going to be sick, I wanted to be sick in the garden, not in there.

"You've led a sheltered life," Alice said, laughing as she joined me in the hallway.

"Then I'm glad," I said, trying not to gag at the thought of that loo, and having an astonishingly clear memory of once looking in the chamber pot under Ivy Smith's bed. "What sort of life have _you_ led, Alice?"

"When our parents were killed in the boating accident, we stayed on in the family house. None of us were domesticated. It didn't get as bad as our uncle's house, but if cleanliness is next to godliness, God wasn't there with us."

She thought for a moment, and my stomach settled down. Perhaps it was possible to get used to the smell.

"God wasn't there with us at all, I don't think," Alice said. "Well, perhaps He was. I think He called to all of us, but I'm the only one who answered." Then she added, "So far. You know Rupert and I pray for them every day. I'm just so sad they're not coming to the wedding."

"Perhaps they'll change their minds," I said. "But I sincerely hope not." No, I didn't say that last bit, and felt bad for even thinking it. After all, although Alice was in her late twenties and her siblings in their early to mid thirties, they had led a hard life when their parents died without life insurance, leaving them with large bills to pay. No wonder they were bitter when Alice ended up with the prize, even though she had been more than generous in giving them their share of the overinflated valuation price of the house.

"I'm glad you invited me to share your house," Alice said, giving me a girly hug. "We were living in a mess at home, and you've shown me how easy it is to be clean and tidy, if I only put my mind to it." She waved a hand around the room. "I hope I never live in the mess my uncle lived in here."

I sincerely hoped so too. I'd never seen myself as being obsessively tidy, but I do put things away in an orderly fashion ‒ mostly because I want to know where to find them next time. Vacuuming the carpets and polishing the woodwork are not something I take great pride in, but I do it when it needs doing, and Alice willingly joins in ‒ and so do Danny and Rupert if we nag them. So it surprised me to hear Alice had happily, or perhaps unhappily, been prepared to live in a mess before she came to me.

Danny had his own small bedsit in town. Alice's fiancé Rupert had moved in with us when he got his job in the local garage, and we all had separate rooms. Call us old-fashioned, but that's what we wanted.

"I'm sure Rupert will have a suitable word with the builders tomorrow," I said, deciding not to comment on Alice's back story.

Alice nodded. "As a garage mechanic he's used to dealing with awkward people. He'll lay down the law. I'm surprised no one's working indoors at the moment. With all this rain, you'd think the builders would be glad to find indoor work to do."

That surprised me too. I looked at my phone and noted the time. "We need to go back to mine now," I said. "I think the rain is easing off. Let's run. And not a word to our fiancés about the cost of Geraldine Buns' wedding dresses. Let's wait until we're sure they're both in a good mood after we've eaten."

Chapter 5

Danny pretended to be horrified when he heard what the dresses were costing. At least, I think he was pretending. Rupert put on a brave face. They had held their hands up in panic, but of course they could have been joking. And we still hadn't yet got a price from Geraldine for all the other services.

Rupert suggested he could make the wedding cake, all three tiers of it, but I knew for sure he was joking about that. I could just imagine his black, oily handprints all over the pure white icing round the sides as he lifted it up to put it on the table in the hotel, ready for cutting.

That made me think of his black, oily hands all over Alice's dress as he kissed her after the rings had been exchanged at the front of the church, and I laughed out loud. Then I couldn't stop laughing. I seemed to be suffering from a fit of hysteria. It was obviously the stress of the session with Geraldine, followed by the visit to Creepy Castle.

The others looked at me in surprise. Danny actually looked at me in alarm, but I collapsed onto the sofa and dried my eyes. All I said was, "Sorry. It's just something I thought of."

Danny nodded, and immediately relaxed. I think he'd learnt right from the start of our relationship that I was borderline crazy. If not, he was going to find out anyway.

So ended a day of stress and drama, leaving me to have a restless night, dreaming of buying one of the most ridiculous wedding dresses imaginable.

The next morning at Button Up, Melanie of course was full of questions. Had I chosen the dress? How much did it cost? What's the total price of the wedding?

It would have been too unkind to ask, but I did secretly wonder if Melanie was actually planning to get married at last to Steve. Or to be more accurate, if Steve was planning to get married to Melanie.

At that moment a customer entered. It was Romero Rocco, and by the way Melanie greeted him I thought a wedding was on the cards, and Steve was getting the cold shoulder. I felt a twinge of pain for Steve. He'd had an unfortunate experience some years ago and seemed to have lost his trust in women. But Melanie would be faithful as well as being fun. I was sure of it.

Signor Rocco nodded to me. He was certainly attractive, and being a typical Italian he might have given me a pinch on the butt if I'd been closer. Gross. Men didn't do that sort of thing anymore. Not that there hadn't been boyfriends in the past who'd given it a go.

I left the Italian gentleman and Melanie alone, and went to help Pete behind the service counter.

"They've got the hots for each other," Pete said quietly, his voice partly drowned by the shriek of the coffee machine.

"You know nothing yet about true love, Pete" I said. "And, anyway, hots is an old-fashioned expression. I know you're going out with Hayley, but you're much too young to understand what's going on here."

Pete laughed. "You're not exactly the expert yourself, Abi. You didn't do a very good job picking Jack."

I hoped he'd forgotten about Jack, but it seems young people have amazing memories. "But at least I saw through him," was my rather lame response.

I think Pete retorted with, "In the end," from trying to read his lips, but the coffee machine started to shriek and scream even louder as he spoke. I've often wondered why those machines have to be so noisy.

We had bought a top of the range 1-group espresso machine that so far was serving us well. It seems that the more expensive the machines, the louder they sound. Unfortunately, the noise completely drowned whatever Melanie and Romero were saying at the table where they sat. Not that I was trying to listen, of course.

"I'm glad for them," I said. "I hope they'll be very happy."

Unfortunately, as I said it, the machine suddenly lapsed into total silence and I realised how loudly I'd been talking. Fortunately, neither Melanie nor Romero Rocco looked up from what seemed to be a rather intense conversation, so I had hope they'd not heard.

Pete signalled to me to come closer. "There's something I don't like about that man," he said, sounding serious.

I looked at him in surprise. "Don't tell me you're jealous," I said. "Melanie is too old for you. She's over twice your age."

I meant it as a joke, but Pete seemed to take me seriously. "I don't care what you say, Abi, that man is not right. And where did you get the idea I fancy Melanie? She's the same age as my mum."

I shook my head. "I was just pulling your leg, Pete. I'm sure you mean well, but Melanie has got her head screwed on securely. I think we ought to mind our own business."

It seemed Pete had no intention of minding his own business, but I left him to put two panini in the grill, while I made two flat whites for a business couple who had just come in.

When things were quiet, something that happens from time to time, I showed Melanie the pictures Geraldine had taken of Alice and me at Buns.

"They look a bit long to me," a voice said over our shoulders.

We turned round to see Pete having a good look at the screen.

"Go away, Pete," Melanie scolded him. "If you're looking for something to do, there's always the toilet to clean."

Pete grinned. "Already done that."

"Then the storeroom needs tidying," Melanie snapped.

"Done that, too. So why are the dresses so long?"

I explained they were straight off the rail. Pete took the phone from me and gave it a closer examination. "I like them, Abi. You're going to look great on your wedding day, and so is Alice."

Wow, and that coming from a nineteen-year-old lad.

I was afraid Pete was going to say something to Melanie about her needing to choose a dress soon for herself, which would have been absolutely tactless, and was relieved to see another customer enter. Pete went to serve her.

"Tell me about Romero Rocco," I said to Melanie. Well, my questioning was going the same way as Pete's might have been, but I was going to be much more subtle. I can do subtle when I'm being nosy.

Melanie looked up at me from where she had been studying the table top, and I could see warmth and excitement in her eyes. "He's Italian."

I'd already gathered that much. "Where did you meet him? He certainly looks gorgeous."

Melanie broke into a broad smile. "He's lovely. When I think of all the time I wasted hanging on for Steve, I can't believe it."

I felt the need to come to Steve's defence. "Steve's a nice guy," I said, trying to sound tactful. I can do tactful, too. Occasionally. "It's not easy to understand how badly he was hurt in his first relationship, especially as he lost custody of the boy because of all the lies his partner told. Don't be too hard on the man."

I think Melanie was going to say more about Romero the dashing Italian, but Pete had already served the customer and came and sat with us as though he had been privy to everything that had been happening before he went to serve. Well, that brought everything to an end as Melanie stood up, wiped her hands on the tea towel she was holding, and said, "We'll talk about it later, _Abi_."

I noticed how she put emphasis on my name, as though excluding Pete, but he didn't seem to catch on. I've never known a guy so nosy about affairs of the heart. I'm sure he could _almost_ outrank me in a competition.

"Pete," Melanie said sounding cross, "I thank you to mind your own business. If and when I want to consult you about my relationships, I will. But don't hold your breath."

Pete seemed impervious to Melanie's sarcasm. "Any time, Mel. Any time you want an ear to confide in, I'm always available."

With that he shot off to rescue a panini that had already been in the grill too long. The bell had chimed half a minute ago.

This left me with the perfect opportunity. "So are you ditching Steve, and dating Romero Rocco now?"

Melanie looked almost shy as she admitted, "Yes, I am. I don't intend to die an old maid."

I shook my head. That sounded so, so sad. "Just don't rush into anything," was my advice. "Take it slowly, and see where it leads."

Melanie sniffed, wiped her eyes with a tissue and nodded. "Good advice, Abi. Good advice. It's just that at the moment life seems to be opening a door that I hadn't expected to find." She blew her nose with the tissue and looked at me with her eyes flashing. "That Steve was a good-for-nothing waste of time. I'm well rid of him."

Chapter 6

It was a few days later that Alice and I were both free to confirm our choice of wedding dresses and get them fitted correctly. We close Button Up on the dot of six, and Alice turned up to collect me at closing time.

For once it wasn't raining. We had made an appointment to see Geraldine at Buns, and she said her assistant Bridget would be with her, and we could also finalise the other details of the wedding.

Buns was open in the early evening as well as the daytime. Probably lots of potential brides weren't able to get off work, so that was sensible trading. The only details I could think of that we could discuss were to break the news that we were seeing to our own invitation cards and order of service. I hoped that would go down well, and the price we were paying for the dresses and the other services would more than make up for it.

Bridget looked quite a bit older than Geraldine. Probably in her late sixties, but I hoped age had brought great experience in fitting dresses. Of course, Alice the ditherer wanted to look at not only the dress she had earmarked earlier, but several others, just in case. That unsettled me, and I also felt the need to look at several others.

Clearly age brought patience in Bridget's case. Surprise, surprise, Alice decided on the one she had selected last time, saying it was absolutely perfect. And I said the same about mine. And Bridget just smiled.

We had another look at the menu options. I wanted a decent buffet. Certainly not a full cooked meal. Bridget, with her great experience, patiently pointed out that it would be necessary to cater not only for vegetarians, but for people with allergies. She suggested we put a note on the invitations for guests to advise us of any special dietary requirements.

It was a bit late for that! Okay, we could easily send emails to just about everyone, or phone them. "Great idea," I said.

We were sitting in the area with the display of gowns and dresses and other apparel. I'm still not sure what the difference is between a bridal gown and a wedding dress. It might be semantics, or it might be something to do with the design. Anyway, according to Bridget we were ordering bridal gowns, and I was happy to know it, even though I still saw them as wedding dresses.

Bridget was explaining about a photographer she could recommend, but I wasn't really listening. I'm often accused of not listening, but this time I had a genuine excuse. I could see a man in the front room of the shop. It was Melanie's Romero Rocco.

"Excuse me a moment," I said to Bridget, cutting her off in mid sentence. "I think I know that man." Time to do a little fishing. Purely for Melanie's sake, of course.

Bridget nodded. "He's a local businessman, and he's helping Geraldine out with some financial problems." She shrugged. "Probably her accounts. This is a very busy business."

Busy business? Okay, I supposed the two words went okay together, even though they sounded odd. Whatever, my mind was set at rest. I wondered if Melanie was thinking of using him to look at our Button Up accounts. Well, she'd have to ask me about it first, although I have to say I found the Italian extremely attractive.

I've never been a great fan of beards. Romero Rocco seemed ageless, but I would think he was probably in his late forties or early fifties. Just the right age for Melanie. I wasn't going to interfere, but if Signor Rocco wasn't making moves on Geraldine, and was genuinely looking at her financial affairs, then the door was still open for Melanie.

Bridget chatted away about the type of photography that was in vogue. No formal groups but press-type candid snapshots. I was going to say in that case anyone handy with a camera could do it, but Bridget brought a large album from a filing cabinet and I could see exactly why these things are in vogue.

I wasn't fully listening when Bridget gave an indication of the sort of price we could expect to pay. Romero Rocco was no longer in the front of the shop. Nor was Bridget. They had both gone upstairs. So maybe the door wasn't still open for Melanie. Well, she still had her backup – if she hadn't already dumped the poor man. Had she?

We next had our fittings. Bridget seemed excellent at tucking things up here and there, making copious notes, and telling us we had chosen lovely dresses for our figures. I think she meant to say lovely dresses for our lovely figures, but I put the omission down to the fact that she was busy making notes.

It seemed the price label on the so-called bridal gowns included fitting, which came as a relief. I wasn't looking forward to telling Danny that the cost had increased dramatically. It was then that I took in the typical price of their recommended photographer. Wow! But as I said before, Danny and I were only getting married once, and we want to have a great set of memories to look at in our old age.

Judging by the look of satisfaction on Alice's face, she clearly felt the same way.

Until we left the shop.

"I can't believe how much it's going to cost," she said. "I don't know what Rupert is going to say."

"Come on," I said, "you won a fortune from your uncle when you cracked the clue. So stop complaining." And I laughed, just to make it clear that it was a friendly jibe.

As Alice spoke, the rain came again. She looked up at the sky which was turning black with heavy clouds. "I wish we could afford a cab," she said almost plaintively. And probably with a strong hint.

Anyway, I took the strong hint and said I would pay. It wouldn't be much. I ordered a cab on my phone, and was told it would be with us in two minutes. We stood under a shop balcony and waited.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"Serious?"

"Serious about being short of money. I thought you were loaded."

Alice nodded. "I thought so, too. Rupert went to see the builder this morning, and now he's saying he can't possibly complete the work for the price he quoted, and Rupert thinks he's backing out of doing the job altogether. He's probably found easier, more profitable work."

"That's not right. Ah, here's the cab."

We continued our conversation in the back of the cab. It turned out the builder had left his quotation open to renegotiating the price in the event of finding hidden problems. And it seemed he had not been slow in finding hidden problems. For all I knew he might have even invented them as an excuse to back out.

The cab dropped us off at mine, and we raced inside to get out of the rain which was now torrential. I was glad we hadn't tried to walk to save money.

Danny and Rupert were both there, and the first point of discussion was the builder's contract, and fortunately not the price of the wedding. That would have to wait. Good.

Danny had already seen the contract and agreed that the terms and conditions made it clear it wasn't a fixed price. He also said terms like that were very fair, because the house was in such poor condition that it was only when floors had been taken up in places, and the roof timbers tested for rot, that the full scale of the work would be seen. And he also said the builder had reserved the right to refuse the work.

Rupert gave a deep sigh and gave Alice a hug. "I'm sorry, Alice. Maybe our first instincts were right. The house is in large gardens, and we could sell it as a building plot for a large luxury house, or two smaller luxury houses. We could then buy a house on the edge of town that doesn't need much work."

Alice was adamant. "That house has been in the family, my uncle's family, since the early nineteen hundreds. His grandmother bought it. She was Russian and I've heard she was really wealthy. I know my uncle wasn't a nice person, but he was family, and I feel I owe it to him and to the town to bring the house back to a habitable condition, not knock it down for the sake of selling the land."

Rupert shook his head. "But the cost...."

"So we find another builder."

"But a new builder might be even more expensive, now that more problems have come to light."

I didn't think things were about to get heated, but just to make sure they weren't, I said, "Alice is right. My original thoughts were also to sell off the land for building, but the house _is_ very much part of the town's cotton mill history. I have my house at one end, which was the foreman's house, then the terraced row for the workers' houses on the other side, and your house on my side at the far end. It was built for the mill manager."

Alice nodded. "I think it's a lovely road. There's all that woodland between our two houses, Abi. If Rupert and I have children, I'd love them to grow up here, with the woodland to explore when they get older."

At the mention of children I looked at Rupert, and noticed he was smiling. Danny seemed deep in thought.

"You're right, Alice," Rupert said.

I wasn't sure if he meant Alice was right about having children or right about restoring the house.

"We could do it ourselves," Alice said. "We can always read how to do it, if necessary."

I still wasn't sure if she was talking about the house or having children.

Rupert made a bit of a face. "I suppose we could," he said, without any great conviction. "It would take ages. Where could we live in the meantime?"

Okay, so it was the house. Of course, I sort of knew that all along.

Alice sounded really on fire with enthusiasm. "We'll put a caravan in the back garden and live there. I'm sure that would be allowed. Then we could really take our time."

Rupert shook his head. "If we took our time, the house would be falling apart faster than we could fix it. It will be good to restore it, but the builder's revised quote is much too high to consider. Sorry."

Fortunately, I'm blessed with great common sense, and could see the way out immediately. Okay, _sometimes_ blessed with great common sense. Well, maybe this was going to be a first. "You're welcome to stay with us while you're doing the renovation yourselves. There's no need for a caravan." I looked up at Danny. He was nodding and smiling in agreement. Maybe I should have checked with him first.

"Thanks, Abi," Rupert said, "but I'm a garage mechanic, not a builder. There are some things I wouldn't have a clue about."

"I'm sure you can find help on the internet," I said, ever the fountain of helpful advice. "You know, how to renovate an old house on YouTube." I meant that last bit tongue in cheek, but the others took me seriously.

"Great idea, Abi," Alice said. "And we can buy books to help us."

Rupert shook his head again. "I'm not getting up on that roof to fix those chimneys. Come on, Alice, you don't want me to get a broken neck before we're even married. Some of that work needs doing immediately if we're to save the house."

We looked at each other, and none of us offered to get up on the roof.

"I've got an idea," I said. "Why don't you pay a builder just to do the things you _can't_ undertake. Once the shell is watertight, you can get on with finding what else needs doing. If there's rot, you can call in a specialist company to deal with it, and pay them directly."

Alice looked at me. "You're a genius, Abi." She turned to Rupert. "Don't you think she's a genius?"

All three thought I was a genius, which made me feel good about myself. In fact, I felt so good that I said, "And Danny and I can come round in the evenings after work and give you a hand."

Danny's skills are more legal and theoretical than practical, but he smiled and said he was sure there was something he could do to help.

"So all you need to do now," I said, showing just what a genius I am, "is find a builder who's prepared to do just some of the work, not all of it." But then that was rather obvious, and not a sign of genius. So I added, "The four of us are seeing Pastor David tomorrow to discuss the wedding. Let's ask him if he knows any reliable builders who will work with us."

Danny nodded. "Great idea, and now I suggest you and Alice tell us exactly how much the _whole_ wedding is going to cost."

Oh dear.

Chapter 7

The next morning at Button Up I was looking thoughtfully at Melanie as she worked behind the counter fulfilling a coffee order, and Pete must have noticed.

"What's the problem?" he asked bluntly.

I shook my head. "Problem?"

"You keep looking at Melanie. What's she done wrong?"

"She's not done anything wrong. It's just that...." I let my voice tail away. How could I possibly share my concerns about Romero Rocco with a nineteen-year-old? It had to be strictly none of my business ‒ apart from the fact that Melanie was my friend and my co-owner of Button Up. "I'm worried that Melanie is getting too closely involved with that Italian, Romero Rocco."

Pete nodded. "Me too."

Before he could tell me anything more, and perhaps add to my concerns, he was obliged to give Melanie some assistance, leaving me standing there wondering if I was being too suspicious. Had I actually _confided_ in Pete? Well, if so, it was the first time for it to be that way round.

It was nearly an hour later before Pete was able to have another quiet word with me. "I think the man is a con artist," he said, keeping his voice down so no one at the tables could hear. Sensible boy.

"Why do you say that?"

"Just a gut feeling."

It was my gut feeling too, but at least I had some reasonable grounds for suspicion, having seen Signor Rocco go upstairs with the woman he was allegedly helping with her accounts. "Do you have any evidence?"

Pete shook his head and put a finger to his lips. I turned and noticed Melanie looking at us. I smiled at her and went across to give her a hand.

"Has Pete got trouble again with Hayley?" Melanie asked.

"Just a bit of confidential chat," I said. I needed to be really tactful, but the subject had to be broached. How could I put it tactfully? "How's things going with Romero Rocco?" There, how tactful was that!

To my concern, Melanie said, "I think we're in love, Abi, but not a word to Pete. He'll only make fun."

I wished I could assure her the last thing Pete had in mind was making fun. His concern was genuine. And so was mine.

Then it came to me. "I gather he's a financial adviser. If it's anything to do with our Button Up business, don't forget you and I are co-owners."

Melanie looked surprised. "How did you know he's in finance?"

This was the perfect cue I needed. I explained about Alice and me going to Buns, and how I'd seen Romero Rocco talking to Geraldine, and how Geraldine's assistant Bridget had explained he was looking at the accounts and giving Geraldine financial advice.

I think Melanie caught on to what I was saying in that convoluted sentence, and she relaxed slightly. "You're right, Abi, he is a financial adviser, but we're not discussing anything to do with Button Up. It's personal investments. There's a good business opportunity he's backing, and he's wondering if I would be interested in partnering him." She blushed. "Partnering as in a business partner, and _perhaps_ as a marriage partner."

I hardly felt reassured. Business propositions always scared me, and I felt anxious at the possibility of the inclusion of a marriage partnership.

Oh, suspicious me.

Melanie looked round and could see neither Pete nor any customers were within earshot. She leaned close to me, and said, "I think he truly loves me. It's early days yet, but I'm really hoping, Abi, I'm really hoping."

What could I say to that? I said, "Don't rush into anything, Melanie, either for money or for love. You don't know a lot about the man yet."

Melanie looked offended. "Please don't think I'm stupid, Abi. Of course I'm not rushing into anything. But at my age...."

At seven o'clock that night Danny and I, with Alice and Rupert, had an appointment with Pastor David Jackson. The church was originally a chapel ‒ built of bricks, naturally – for the mill hands. The mill _staff_ attended the Anglican church nearby, with their servants and domestics.

That was how things worked in those days. Today, Pastor Jackson's church attracted a broad mix of social classes – if there can be such things as social classes among members of God's family.

Pastor David Jackson is his official title. Some people call him Pastor Jackson, some Pastor David, but most just call him David. Although I'd not been going to the church long, I felt it was okay to call him David, so that's what I did.

Although David's church had once been a Baptist or Methodist chapel, something like that, it was now independent and very active. Maybe I should say _still_ very active, because I associate chapels with always having freedom of worship. He and his wife lived in what had been the original minister's house, which was also built of brick. It went by the title of "Manse."

We got the traditionally warm welcome from David and his wife Elizabeth that everyone who visits receives. We were shown to the front room that was generally reserved for visitors, and sat down. I realised we were all sitting rather awkwardly, as though waiting to be told off like naughty children. I wondered why. Were we to be quizzed about our personal behaviour?

David soon put us at ease as he told several jokes about marriage and weddings generally, and then we got down to the nitty-gritty. What hymns were we choosing for the ceremony? The four of us had already discussed it at some length, so that wasn't difficult to answer. I kicked off first.

"I definitely want _Rock of Ages_." I didn't need to explain why, because I'd already shared with David how on my second Sunday in the church God used that hymn to speak to me. It was the day I met Jesus in prayer at the front. Nevertheless, I couldn't help reminding him about some of the details.

Both David and Elizabeth smiled and nodded as they listened once again to my explanation.

"What else?" David asked none of us in particular.

Alice explained we all wanted _Love Divine all Loves Excelling_.

Again David and Elizabeth nodded and smiled. That left me to suggest something that with a little bit of arm twisting the other three had agreed to, but now it needed an official blessing from the pastor.

"There's that lovely old gospel hymn we've sung a couple of times in the morning service," I said, rather hesitantly. "I'm sure it's not used much as a wedding hymn, but I love the bit in the third verse about being dressed in white."

Then, just in case they didn't know what the third verse was, I sang it rather unsteadily.

"For nothing good have I

Whereby Thy grace to claim;

I'll wash my garments white

In the blood of Calv'ry's Lamb."

Elizabeth Jackson then sang the chorus for us. Unlike me, she has a lovely singing voice, even when unaccompanied.

"Jesus paid it all,

All to Him I owe;

Sin had left a crimson stain,

He washed it white as snow."

Then she laughed, but in a kind sort of way, and said. "I don't think it refers to brides, Abi."

I didn't think she was laughing at my singing, but over my connection of white clothing with weddings. "I know it doesn't," I said, perhaps rather too defensively, "but it says the same sort of thing as _Rock of Ages_. You know, how nothing we do can possibly earn us a place in heaven. I think it will speak to people there who don't know Jesus. They will associate being dressed in white with brides and also with being made clean before God. Yes?"

Elizabeth smiled. "I'm sorry, Abi, I was a bit slow there. Yes, absolutely perfect." She turned to her husband. "David, I hope you make the same point in the wedding service, in case there are people there who are also a bit slow."

David nodded. "Yes, have that hymn, Abi, although I don't think a lot of visitors will know it – if any."

"We want the band," I said. "We'll pay them for their time, of course. Perhaps they could sing it as a solo." I frowned. "Is it a solo if the whole band sings it?"

No one bothered to answer, but instead we discussed the readings and the general format for the service.

The service sorted, hopefully, we got round to talking about the problem with the builder at Creepy Castle. Not that I called it that out loud, but "Alice's house" probably conveyed the same disturbing image.

"Have you had a word with Brian Warmley?" David asked. "He's in the building trade. He was telling me the other day how pleased he is to know you're planning to open the house for the church to use."

"I didn't know he's a builder," Rupert said. Then he added quickly, "We wouldn't want any special discount, but we want to do some of the work ourselves."

And there was me thinking a special discount for church use was exactly what was needed. Shame on me.

David nodded. "Have a word with him. I've got his phone number here. Explain what you want to do, and see if he's prepared to work alongside you. Suggest he works in the daytime and you work in the evening and Saturdays."

I said how Danny and I had agreed we would like to offer our own home for church use in the meantime, because it was clear Alice and Rupert's house wouldn't be available for ages, and somewhere would be needed to hold a couple of midweek groups that were already planned. Meeting in private houses always goes down well with small groups. Yes, I really had agreed it with Danny. Would I tell lies to a pastor?

The offer went down well, and we stayed for about an hour as David recounted a few more comic episodes from weddings he had administered, but of course ours was going to be perfect. Even so, it was good to be tipped off about unfortunate events that could occur. They seemed funny to us, but might not have been so amusing to the bride and groom at the time.

We had walked to the manse in the rain, sheltered by umbrellas and rainproof coats. Although I was on my feet a lot during the day, it didn't really count as exercise. Both Danny and I walked to our places of work, which obviously did count, but the fresh evening air was good for us, in spite of the steady rain.

We had to pass Alice's house on the way back. I suppose it was really Alice and Rupert's house now, but perhaps not formally theirs until they were married. I half expected to see large bats fluttering around the garden in the twilight, or ghastly faces staring out from behind the bars on the basement windows. Instead, all I saw was a depressing house, not in need of TLC, but in need of _considerable_ restoration.

"You're right, Alice," I said, as we stopped at the gateway and looked in. "It's a sad house now, but I'm sure the two of you will quickly make it a happy home, dedicated to God. Go for it. _Definitely_ go for it. Danny and I will be mucking in to help you."

I looked round to Danny and noticed he was nodding too. Then he added a rather cautious proviso. "First, let's see what Brian Warmley has to say." Then he added, "With a bit of luck he might want to do it all himself, for a bargain price."

Actually, those were my thoughts, not Danny's words at all. I kept them to myself, and felt rather guilty that they had even entered my mind. It was going to be great fun restoring Mr Smelly's house to habitable condition. But if we were going to help, the first thing we had to do was find out what paint the first builder had been going to use to seal the stink in the walls and ceilings – and slap plenty of it onto every surface.

I decided I would organise it, rather than do the actual painting. I can do organising, I can't do painting. Of course, that's not true. I'm rubbish at organising, which left me offering to help with the painting. Maybe I could find something on the internet that would help me gain the necessary skills.

Chapter 8

Danny always called in before work, and with Rupert and Alice we tried to fit in a short time of Bible reading and prayer at breakfast. The reading in our notes that morning was the warning from Jesus not to look for a tiny speck of dirt in a friend's eye, but to be aware of our own failings. Those aren't the exact words, but that's my understanding of them.

I'd already shared my concerns about Melanie and Romero Rocco with Danny, and I had been about to pray for wisdom about what to do ‒ if anything. Having read those words, I felt maybe I shouldn't pray. And then I felt maybe I should. So I did, and the others said amen.

I had been getting to work earlier for several weeks now, because I wanted to have time off when Danny was free, which was Saturday, although it was generally only for the afternoon, not the whole day.

Getting to work at eight had introduced me to a lot of customers I had never seen before, but Pete assured me they were the regulars who called in at that time. Most of them grabbed a coffee-to-go rather than spending time sitting down. I guessed they had work to go to, but obviously appreciated an excellent start to the day with our coffee and perhaps a tasty pastry.

To my surprise, perhaps my concern one morning, Melanie was sitting at the little table in the corner with none other than Romero Rocco. I felt a twinge of jealousy. That was the table I reserved at lunchtime for Danny. I sort of saw it as _Danny's_ table.

Signor Rocco didn't seem to notice me. He was in deep conversation with Melanie. Naturally she noticed me, and I thought she looked distinctly embarrassed. Well, if they were in love, surely there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

Then it occurred to me Melanie might be concerned I would inform on her to Steve, if she hadn't yet made it absolutely clear to him that they were finished. After a relationship with Steve for more than five years, I hoped he was taking the breakup well. I didn't want him storming in here one morning and smashing the place up in rage.

Memo to self. Ask Melanie if she's definitely broken the news to Steve, and if so, how did he take it. And try to ask tactfully.

Pete was already serving customers, and I went to give him a hand, leaving the two lovebirds at the corner table to carry on their conversation. All the time I kept watching them out of the corner of my eye. Again, tactfully. Unfortunately, I discovered I'm not very good at tactful, and Melanie noticed and frowned at me.

"I still think that Italian is up to no good," Pete said, reaching into the chilled cabinet for a croissant. He put it in the microwave for a few seconds, then said, "Don't tell me it's no business of mine. I'm going to find out more about him."

When Pete said this, I felt my whole attitude change. No way was I going to encourage Pete to carry out any sort of investigation. I remembered the major trouble he had nearly brought upon himself at Hayley's house when he thought Hayley was seeing her cousin for romantic purposes. My suspicions for Romero Rocco faded away.

"No, Pete, please don't do anything. I'm sure you'd hate to be guilty of breaking up a promising friendship."

Pete, unlike me, hadn't undergone a change of attitude. "Just leave it to me, Abi. I'll be careful. But please don't tell Melanie what I'm planning."

Since I had no idea what Pete was planning, and I sincerely hoped it wasn't anything illegal, I could safely promise I wouldn't tell Melanie.

"Of course I won't," I said. "But I really think you ought to mind your own business. Live your own life, and let Melanie live hers. I'm sure she's sensible enough to know what she's doing."

There, I'd said it, but did I really think it? I thought I was pretty sensible, until I saw through Jack. Well, not all men are bad. I'd proved that with Danny, and Alice had proved it with Rupert ‒ and it seemed Hayley was proving it with Pete. So why did I think Melanie was heading for trouble?

No, no, no. I was starting to share Pete's suspicions again. I'd already convinced myself that all was well. Maybe it wasn't.

"Pete, I think you should let me know what you've got in mind."

Before Pete could tell me, and I wasn't sure he was ready to tell me anyway, Melanie stood up, gave Romero Rocco a kiss, and came across to lend a hand. The Italian left the café, smiling.

Danny called in for his lunch as usual, and I sat him at his reserved table in the corner. As he pulled his chair up, I felt a twinge of annoyance. I hadn't wanted Romero Rocco to sit in the same seat as Danny, but of course that was a ridiculous feeling.

"I heard from Rupert this morning," he said, as I took his order. Instead of his usual cheese and ham panini, he wanted one with tuna and sweetcorn, but no red onion. At least he wasn't getting in a rut.

"And?"

"Rupert said the first builder is glad to be out of it. That's good. I wasn't looking forward to the builder getting awkward. Brian Warmley is happy to look the job over and give his opinion. He's meeting the four of us there at six."

"Us?"

"You close up here at six, and I'm sure Melanie won't mind you slipping away a bit early."

"But why the four of us?"

"Because, my dear girl," and here he tapped me on the nose, "the four of us are going to be working there in the evenings, under his instructions." Then he grinned. "And Rupert has promised him you will personally remove the toilet pan and clean all around it."

"Pete," I called loudly across to the service counter, "make sure you drop Danny's panini on the floor and kick it around a few times before you bring it to him."

Of course I didn't dare call out any such thing. I really wanted to, but what would the customers say if they thought that was the sort of careless way we treated their food?

Instead, I said to Danny, "That's fine. We'll have a picnic downstairs immediately afterwards, and I'll prepare the food for you. Unfortunately, I'll forget to wear the rubber gloves in the bathroom."

"So can you get off early?" Danny asked, totally ignoring anything I'd said.

"I'll go straight there. I'm sure Melanie won't mind. I doubt if she'll even notice, she's so besotted with that Italian."

"What's happened?"

"I'll tell you later. I think your panini's ready."

I had planned to go with Alice after work to see Geraldine again at Buns, but clearly that was off. There was no point in me going on my own if Alice and Rupert were seeing Brian Warmley at the House of Horrors at six.

I phoned Geraldine to offer my apologies, and discovered Alice had already let her know. How efficient is that! Even more efficiently, Alice had provisionally arranged another appointment.

Even as I was wondering why Alice hadn't let me know, my phone rang. Miss Efficiency wanted to explain what was happening. I told her Danny had been in and had let me know, and she immediately apologised for not telling me before, but explained she had been in a meeting. She was working in the library of the local college.

I assured Alice it wasn't a problem, and would see her at Creepy Castle on the dot of six.

Of course it was raining, with heavy clouds making everything dark and dismal as I hurried homewards. My house is about fifteen minutes walk from Button Up, and Alice's new house only a couple of minutes further on.

As I hurried under the shelter of my umbrella, the rain seemed to be easing. The local television forecast – if such a thing can be trusted – said we were in for a few settled days. And not before time! That was my response, not the weather forecaster's.

An elderly Vauxhall estate car was parked on the drive when I arrived, and the front door to the house was ajar. The detective in me said the car belonged to Brian Warmley, but such commonsense as I have said surely the boss would have come in a smarter car.

I scuttled inside and found Brian Warmley talking to the others in the hallway, so my detective instinct had been correct. I recognised him from church. Although we had spoken occasionally, he hadn't told me he was a builder. I just knew him as a friendly man. So I hoped for Alice and Rupert's sake he was going to be a friendly builder with a friendly price.

I didn't know if he was putting on a brave face, but he didn't seem to be concerned by the smell. "As soon as the weather improves, I suggest we open all the windows."

So at least he _was_ blessed with a sense of smell, and realised there was a stink in the whole house – although in the present circumstances a sense of smell might not have been such a blessing. I knew Alice and Rupert hadn't been able to open any of the sash windows because the strong wind would have driven the rain in, adding to the damp that was already in the house.

"Don't do it tonight," Brian Warmley said. "You don't want squatters getting in. Let me have your spare front door keys, and I'll get someone to pop round in the morning and fit locks on the windows, upstairs and downstairs, so you can leave them open at the top with a small gap all day and night."

Rupert nodded, but frowned. "I think we should discuss the price first."

Brian Warmley looked puzzled. "The locks won't cost much."

Rupert shook his head. "I mean for the whole job. Well, not the whole job. The work you'll be doing. We also need a timetable so we can complete our side of things without holding up your men, or getting in their way."

Wow, it sounded as though Alice was marrying a very capable man. Not that _Alice_ needed one, but I knew _I_ did.

Brian smiled at Rupert. "Men? This is the twenty-first century, Rupert. There may well be women coming. Let's call them my team."

Alice gave Rupert a nudge. "There," she said, laughing, "I told you before, you're a dinosaur."

Rupert joined in the laughter, but he did look a little bit red. "Sorry, Brian, force of habit. You know the old saying: man embraces woman."

"Let's start in the bathroom," Brian said.

Yes, we knew him well enough through church to call him by his first name. Just about no one is formal at my church.

I felt like shouting out a word of warning as we climbed the stairs, with Brian going ahead, but decided he might as well find the worst to start with. After that, everything would probably seem a breeze.

We all stood back as Brian entered the bathroom. He came out quickly. "Right, I'm afraid we'll need a toilet here for my team. What I'll do is get an inexpensive lavatory pan fitted instead of that awful one before we start work. Then, when you've decided exactly what you want in a way of a bath or shower I can get you whatever design you choose."

"There's no need to change it," I said. "I've got rubber gloves. I'll make it look like new."

Did I really say that?

"Thank you," Alice said, looking directly at Brian.

I sighed with relief. Good, I hadn't said anything at all. Oh, how I wished my imagination wouldn't keep playing tricks on me. I seem to have an inexhaustible supply of silly responses running around in my head, but fortunately I never seem to actually utter them. But there could always be a first!

Of course, when I'm married and settled down I'll probably become one of the most sensible wives anyone ever had – and probably one of the most boring. To be honest, I can't see that happening – which may or may not be good news for Danny.

"We already know what we want in the bathroom, especially the tiles. Abi's bathroom has a sort of retro art deco look." Alice turned to me. "You don't mind me copying it, do you, Abi?"

I said of course I didn't mind. It would be nice to know there was a similar bathroom in the road.

We then went into the bedrooms. To be more specific, I let Brian and the others go into the bedrooms, although I went partly into the room where I had spent the night with Alice when we were trapped by a thunderstorm while making the house secure from her siblings.

Brian was wearing old clothes, which went well with his old estate car, but the reason for the clothing became obvious when he fetched a small telescopic ladder and a camera from the back of his car, ready to climb up into the roof space carrying a large hand lantern.

I stood well back as he extended the ladder and rested the top securely against the hatch surround. I wondered what horrors might be up there. Had anyone actually investigated it yet? There could be bats up there. Not the small British variety, but enormous bats from Transylvania ‒ with the longest fangs imaginable.

"You'd better take some garlic with you," I called up as Brian lifted the hatch.

This time I really did call out. Brian looked down at me in surprise, and I decided not to go into a complicated explanation.

Rather him than me up there.

Chapter 9

Brian warned us to be careful if we came up after him, because the loft wasn't boarded. He didn't want us putting a foot through the ceiling and causing even more work. Only Alice was brave enough to climb up, but she didn't actually step off the ladder, even though Rupert held it securely at the bottom. She just poked her head through the opening. Just to see what was up there, she said, and come back to us quickly if necessary.

I could hear Brian moving around above, and saw occasional flashes from the camera he had taken up with him.

He came down at last and brushed a considerable number of cobwebs and debris from his clothes onto the floor, to join the residual dirt already there. "Well, nothing too disastrous. We need to take the tiles off and fit roofing felt. Then I suggest an anti-rot spray, but the timbers are high quality Canadian pitch pine. Unusual for houses like this. It seems the cotton mill owners didn't spare any expense when they provided housing for their workers."

We made our way slowly down through all the rooms, until we came to the basement. A large substantial door barred our way. I wondered if it was to keep things down there, rather than prevent entry from above.

Brian looked at it and laughed. "When I was a kid I used to come past this house with my friends after school. The stories we made up and whispered to each other in the dark. You wouldn't believe it."

I laughed. "Oh yes I would. We even dared each other to go and ring the bell."

Brian looked serious. "We did the same. And for every kid that did it, we ended up with one less in the group. We never did find out what happened to them."

Danny looked aghast. "Really?"

Brian shrugged. "Kids were expendable in my day."

I noticed Danny's expression and started to laugh. Brian joined in. I have to say it wasn't a joke when I was young and we told each other similar stories of what had happened here in the past. Me, with my rather fertile imagination, probably managed to trump any story that was being told.

Brian shook his head. "I get it now, Abi. What you said about the garlic. Good one."

I think the others got it now, because Alice turned to Rupert. "Pastor David said he'll come and pray with us for God's blessing on the house, that it will be a safe home for us and for everyone who visits."

At least Alice hadn't said there was going to be an exorcism. The house only felt creepy because of what we'd imagined in the past, and of course the picture we had of old Isaac Newton living here as a recluse after his elderly mother died. At no stage did I think it was haunted or indeed inhabited by any evil spirits. Honestly.

I have to say I almost changed my mind as we went down into the gloom. Although there were windows with bars, the heavy clouds had made the evening darker than usual. Somehow, the jumping shadows from Brian's LED lantern made the basement feel and look extra creepy. Then Alice flicked the light switch and the chamber of horrors turned into a perfectly normal basement with various rooms matching the layout above.

Although this was my first visit down below, Alice, Rupert and Alice's siblings had scoured the place for treasure earlier, and everything saleable had been removed for the auction.

I looked out through one of the barred windows at the rain that was falling harder than when we arrived. For a moment I thought what fun it would be, when children were coming along the road at night, to stand here with my face lit from below. Seriously? I shook my head. A bad idea. But fun.

We returned to the ground floor. Each of the siblings had been entitled to choose six items, one at a time, each in turn. These could either be taken away or sold at auction. If sold, the money from the chosen items would go to the sibling it belonged to. Alice and Rupert had kept back the large dining table and six chairs, rather than sending them to auction. The chairs, being a set, had apparently counted as one item. So we sat down around the table and Brian got out his notebook.

I noticed the table had not only been wiped free of dirt, but it had actually been polished. Well done, Alice. Or was it well done, Rupert? The chairs were also clean, which I appreciated, since I was stupidly wearing my skinny jeans that I kept at work for special occasions, rather than going home in my food-and-drink encrusted work jeans.

We spent over an hour going through the work that was needed. It quickly became clear that either Brian was totally incompetent, or the previous builder had invented imaginary problems in order to back out of the job. Or maybe he had done it to inflate the price enormously.

The more we talked, the more it became obvious that there was no need for us to do much of the work. Brian Warmley's estimate didn't seem to come as a great shock to Rupert and Alice. It was agreed we would do the painting of the walls and ceilings, once they were patched and repaired as necessary.

Painting looked easy.

On YouTube.

Brian explained he knew exactly the sort of paint needed to seal in any "undesirable odours", as he put it. He'd decorated a house that had previously been occupied by an Indian family who had apparently eaten nothing that wasn't curried. He said the aroma of curry could be smelt by anyone passing in the road, but once the furniture had been removed, along with the carpets, and the special paint applied everywhere, the house had sold quickly.

Old Isaac Newton had lived mostly with bare floorboards and large rugs. The large rugs had gone, some to the auction sale and some to the tip. It seemed that a couple of oriental ones had been of some value. I wondered how surprised the purchasers had been when they got home and unrolled their lots ‒ and unwisely took a deep breath. Anyway, that had been their problem, not mine.

Rupert said he hoped Brian wasn't giving them a special price because of the church connection, but I got the feeling he wasn't over-sincere as he said it. Anyway, Brian assured him the quote was low only because a major contract had fallen through due to the inclement weather, and he needed to keep his team fully employed if possible.

Talking about inclement weather, I noticed the windows had stayed free of raindrops since we'd been talking. Perhaps the weather forecasters were correct. Brian went upstairs to make a couple of private phone calls, and came down to confirm he could definitely arrange for the window locks to be fitted in the morning, and the exterior scaffold would be erected in the afternoon.

I'd sometimes stop and look up at the buddleia plants emerging from cracks in the brickwork, expecting one day to see the chimneys crashing down. I could only imagine the damage that would do to the roof and the bedroom ceilings. And perhaps even to the downstairs rooms. They were large, tall chimney stacks.

The priority was to make the roof completely watertight, and the chimney stacks safe. As soon as the chimney stacks were temporarily removed, a complete tent would be erected over the building while the tiles were stripped ready for the roofing felt, and any repairs carried out that were needed to the timber. Once the roof was watertight, the chimney stacks would be rebuilt with the same colour of brick, as these were still widely available. I really must find out where the brickworks are. I've never thought about it before.

Alice and Rupert looked thrilled at the prospect of the work starting so quickly. I hoped they would be able to move in as soon as they were married. Not that I had a problem with Alice and Rupert living with me, but it would be good to have a private love nest with Danny when the time came. And that time couldn't come soon enough for me.

Brian Warmley said he would appreciate an advance payment. I noticed Rupert glance at Danny, obviously wanting his professional advice. Danny nodded, and Rupert said he would arrange for the deposit to be transferred to Brian's bank as soon as he got back to my house. That's the beauty of internet banking. It never goes wrong. Well....

It was starting to get dark as I looked back at Creepy Castle when we set out to my house. We'd already ordered a Chinese takeaway for delivery, and I was really looking forward to it. I'd gone off Indian when I heard about the way it could permeate every surface of a house. But surely not the occasional meal.

While Rupert transferred the money for Brian the builder's deposit, I mentioned to Danny that we would soon be required to pay fifty percent of the wedding costs, because we now had to proceed with Geraldine at Buns quickly if we wanted her to confirm the provisional bookings she had already made with the various suppliers. Again, Danny reminded me of the need to pay by credit card, although we were sure the business at Buns was secure. Geraldine had been trading for over twenty-five years without problems, and the website showed dozens of happy customers.

The Chinese was delivered only a few minutes late, and I have to say I needed a break in order to try and get the odour of the old house out of the back of my nose. I looked around. My father had done a great job in renovating my house. I wondered if he and mum had always planned to take early retirement, and move to Spain and give me the house. It was a generous present, and a great starting point for life with Danny.

Best of all, as far as my parents were concerned they thought Danny would make a great husband. And so did I.

Chapter 10

I woke that night in a panic. I hoped it wasn't a premonition, because I'd never had one of those before. In my dream, Pete Wilders had followed Romero Rocco out of Button Up and led him to the nearby car park. Here he'd put the Italian in a stranglehold and threatened to kill him if he ever saw Melanie again.

Okay, so dreams are only dreams, but they can seem ever so real. Especially that one. So the next morning I got to work even earlier than usual, and was relieved to see Pete serving coffee-to-go, and Melanie at _my_ table chatting to Romero Rocco.

I decided Signor Rocco was safe for now, because in my dream it had been dark outside, and now it was sunny. This was the first sun I'd seen for days. Great. Brian Warmley's builders would probably be getting ready to fit the window locks, and the scaffolders would be loading their truck at some depot or other.

I felt pleased for Alice and Rupert, and relieved to discover Signor Rocco hadn't been strangled in the night by Pete. This was going to be a good day.

Danny, under our supervision, had finally laid up the order of service and made a PDF and transferred it to a memory stick. Since I had already made contact with the print shop, I popped there in a quiet moment. The young woman in the print shop loaded the file and checked it over.

She shook her head and explained that in order to print it on their machines, she would need to change the order of the pages, but she could easily edit the PDF without charge, if we wanted her to do it. I decided we did want her to do it, and I wouldn't break the news to Danny. He'd worked hard on it.

We had ordered sixty invitation cards, and not received many acceptances, so I couldn't see we needed that many orders of service. Each copy was much more expensive than one of the invitation cards, and I said forty should be plenty, because people could always share if necessary, and we certainly weren't going to get eighty guests coming to the church.

Sitting quietly when I was back at Button Up, I realised we'd not sorted out our wedding rings yet. We had already decided to buy ready-made ones, and get them resized if necessary. I remembered the jeweller saying he could get them in within a few days in the correct size for each of us. I had the bit between my teeth to sort out any other missing things on the list.

The cake had been chosen. Check. The invitations sent out. Long ago. Check. The wedding rings ... Well, at least they'd been thought about. All they needed was ordering. The wedding dresses ordered. Check. The photographer. Check. We had been to see him and told him exactly what we wanted in terms of style. I just loved the informal approach he had shown us in his sample albums. I thought of my parents' wedding, with everyone lined up as though they were waiting to be shot. Well, things had moved on since those distant days.

So that was about it. I looked up and was surprised to see Signor Rocco still in the seat in the corner, although Melanie was busy serving customers. I didn't know whether to feel pleased or embarrassed or worried when Romero Rocco eventually left, giving Melanie much more than a formal kiss on the cheek.

Melanie returned to the counter and carried on making coffee and supplying pastries as though nothing important had taken place. It's well known that women can be inquisitive, but I knew something had. I could read Melanie like a book, and realised she was bursting to tell me what it was.

Eventually a suitable time came. Pete was in the storeroom and there were no customers waiting. Melanie took me to my table in the corner, and leaned close to me.

"I know now," she said, so quietly I could hardly hear, "Romero and I are soul-mates. It's meant to be. We haven't discussed a wedding yet, but I promised him I'll try to lose a bit of weight. He says he loves me just as I am."

I leaned forward and threw my arms around her. "I'm happy for you, Melanie, if that's what you really want." Then I gave her a big kiss. Yes, I really did.

Melanie pulled herself away, laughing. "Whatever will the customers think?"

If I was Melanie, I wouldn't care what the customers thought. Oh, there was just one thing I needed to know. "Have you told Steve?"

That rather took the smile off Melanie's face. She nodded. "He's not happy. He's not at all happy. He says he thought I'd be more sympathetic to his feelings. You've been too well-mannered to tell me, Abi, but I'm no spring chicken."

Did Melanie mean I'd once said that, and she was too polite to remind me? No, I was sure I wouldn't be that rude, even though I might say something a bit rude as a joke to a close friend. But never _that_ rude, I hope.

"Of course," Melanie continued, "it would be lovely to start a family. And Romero is ever so wealthy. He's even invited me to be a partner in his business."

This certainly wasn't the time to remind her I'd seen him with Geraldine at Buns. "Are you actually engaged?"

"Almost. We discussed it and he's going to get me the ring when we become business partners. Oh, Abi, I'm so excited. I can understand now just how you feel with Danny."

This time it was Melanie's turn to put her arms around me, and give me a kiss on the cheek. What the customers around us thought, I had no idea.

For the rest of the day Melanie was in such a good mood, singing to herself as she worked the coffee machine, that I remembered about the rings. The wedding rings for me and Danny.

"I'm going to phone Danny and see if he can meet me at the jeweller's," I said. "You and Pete can mind the shop."

Melanie nodded, the earlier smile still on her face. "Anything to help a wedding go well. Of course you can go. As you say, Pete's here, and I'll phone Hayley. She's probably coming in anyway. Like me and Romero, and you and Danny, Pete and Hayley can't get enough of each other. Yes, girl, go now. Phone Danny and see if he's free. We'll be fine here."

As a junior solicitor, Danny can't come and go from work as he pleases, but the previous week he had interviewed a couple of people in the evening in their own home in town, and he's entitled to time off rather than being paid overtime. I phoned him and he said he'd just finished writing a complicated report, and would be glad of a break. He added something about wanting to keep his sanity, so I was rather puzzled as to why he wanted to see me, but there we go. Love is wonderful.

The jeweller where we had bought our engagement rings was busy with a customer in the small back room. I assumed the matter was confidential, or maybe he had so much jewellery to show the customer that he wanted to do it somewhere discreetly.

Angela, his assistant, smiled at us as we explained we had come to choose wedding rings, or wedding bands as they are sometimes called.

She lifted a display tray of various designs from under the glass counter and suggested we indicate any designs that particularly interested us.

"Are you looking, Abi?" Danny asked, giving me a gentle nudge.

I turned to look at the rings. "Sorry." I had been fascinated by the bushy hairstyle of the customer I could see in the small room, sitting with his back to me.

One of the rings Angela showed us looked exactly what I had in mind. I slipped off my white gold solitaire diamond engagement ring and pointed to the white gold ring studded with tiny diamonds. I remembered my mum saying she wished she hadn't chosen a wide ring, because it pressed against her very expensive engagement ring, and quickly wore it away. She also warned me against getting 24 carat gold, as it's very soft.

Although I'd set my heart on that first wedding ring, the one with tiny diamonds running around it, Danny had made the effort to get out of work and come with me, so I felt I ought to try on two others. Out of politeness, of course.

I noticed Danny's and Angela's patience were clearly wearing a bit thin, so I nodded and said I would have the first one. Angela explained it was the only ring of that design they had in stock, but they would get it altered – resized she called it.

Because I had chosen white gold for both my rings, Danny followed suit, although he made his mind up much more quickly. His was a simple flat design, of which the jeweller had several. One of them was exactly the right size. I thought I had pretty standard hands. Not long pianist's fingers, but the right proportions for my height and build. So why did I need to get both my engagement and wedding rings resized?

I could hear voices coming from the small room. There seemed to be a bit of an argument going on. That sort of thing fascinates me, as long as I'm not actually involved. The man with the bushy hair pushed his chair back in an angry motion and stood up.

He glanced at me as he hurried out, and I thought there was a moment of recognition in his eyes. I was certain I'd seen him before. Yes, if Romero Rocco had a brother, this man with the bushy black hair, thick glasses and bushy beard would be him. It was something about the eyes. All I did was nod, then watch Danny insert his card in the reader as he paid for the rings.

Angela assured me my ring would be ready in the morning, but I told her not to rush it. That's me, Miss Perfection. I wanted a perfect ring to go with the perfect future husband ‒ Danny of course.

Whatever the argument had been about, the jeweller seemed to have got the worst of it. He came out from the little room and put a diamond engagement ring on the mat on the counter. Danny had already paid by this time, and our rings were put safely aside. We said one of us would collect them in a couple of days.

"Angela," the jeweller said, "Mr Peterson will let us know the sizes tomorrow."

Angela looked surprised. "Sizes?"

The jeweller nodded. "That's what he says. He wants our budget rings, but none of them is likely to be the right size. He wanted that one made smaller as a matter of urgency. It took a long time to convince him a gold plated ring can't be cut and resized. I told him I can get the correct size within a few days. He says he's going to order four. I'm getting onto the supplier now, to see how quickly we can get them when he's made up his mind."

Angela looked surprised. I did, too. "Four? That's strange," she said.

From where I was standing, the ring on the counter looked really expensive. Of course, I'm not a judge of diamonds, and was well aware that substitutes can look convincing.

"My I have a look?" I asked Angela, as she was about to slip it into an envelope.

Danny looked confused. "Don't you like the ring I bought you?"

I think he was only joking, but he did look rather hurt. "I'm just being nosy, that's all."

That seemed to satisfy Danny, who was well aware of my tendency in that direction. For a cheap ring – at least cheap to the jeweller who was used to handling expensive jewellery – I supposed the stone was a giveaway. It was almost too big to be true.

"I take it this isn't really a diamond," I said.

The jeweller shook his head. "Simulated three carat. I keep one of them in stock, simply because there are some people who can't possibly afford real gold, but want something that looks impressive." He shook his head. "It's not for me to judge, but I think long-term a girl would be much happier with a simple ring that was solid gold, even if the diamond was small."

I handed the ring back to Angela. "Even looking at it closely, I can see how someone could be fooled into thinking that was a real diamond. It's fooled me. Anyway, it's no business of mine what people choose to buy."

"It's _definitely_ no business of yours, Abi," Danny said, laughing. "I'm just glad I was able to get you the real thing."

With the jeweller and Angela watching, I gave Danny a hug, and told him _he_ was the real thing, too. I think the jeweller looked embarrassed, maybe jealous, but I wasn't going to give him a hug ‒ although he had supplied us with excellent rings.

And the jeweller didn't give Angela a hug, either. Spoilsport.

My next assignment was a visit after work, with Alice, to Geraldine at Buns. Maybe we would see the real Romero Rocco there again, and I might be able to get to the bottom of what his business really was with Geraldine.

Chapter 11

Danny said he was in no rush to get back to work, and I suggested he came to Button Up with me for some much needed refreshment after buying the rings. Melanie had been right, it was a quiet afternoon. I sat with Danny at _our_ table and told him the printer was happy with his work on the invitations, and I'd ordered forty copies.

Melanie came and sat with us, bringing a cup of coffee and a delicious apricot and custard Danish for herself. I felt my mouth watering, but I resisted. By now, Geraldine would presumably have adjusted the dresses to our fitting. Although I had almost zero experience of adjusting clothes, I had a feeling making something larger presented a much bigger problem than making it smaller. It was the same with rings, but I doubted the occasional apricot or apple Danish pastry would change the fitting of a ring.

I signalled across to Pete, who was standing idly behind the service counter. "Two flat whites, and an apple Danish for Danny, Pete." I felt my mouth water. "And an apricot Danish for me, please."

I already knew Danny's likes and dislikes when it came to food. I was going to be the perfect wife. To my surprise, Danny asked for a jam doughnut. Well, a girl can't be expected to be right all the time.

"I'm glad to have the chance of a word with both of you together," Melanie said quietly.

She waited while Pete brought us our orders. Pete obviously got the impression he wasn't wanted at the table, and I have to say that for a nineteen-year-old, going on twenty, he showed remarkable tact. Remarkable, because at that age I would definitely have wanted to hear what was going on. And of course I still do, but I'm sure with the best of motives.

"It's about my friend, Romero Rocco," Melanie said.

I waited for her to continue, but she took a mouthful of her own apricot Danish. I wondered why, until I looked round and noticed Pete was clearing the nearby table. Okay, so that particular nineteen-year-old shared my failing.

Pete saw me looking and I nodded towards the service counter, as though telling him to move away. At that moment the door opened and a young woman with a buggy and child entered. Well, that would keep Pete busy for now.

Melanie swallowed her food and leaned forward, as though entering into a conspiracy. "Abi, you know Romero is a businessman."

All I knew was what Melanie had told me earlier. Anyway, I said yes. Danny also nodded, because I'd told him how happy I was that Melanie had at last found somebody. He also knew about the problems with Steve Donovan being unable to make up his mind and commit.

"He wants me to go in with him in business," Melanie said, her eyes shining.

"You don't mean you're leaving Button Up?" I said, aghast.

Melanie shook her head, and smiled. "Don't worry, Abi, you're stuck with me long term. It's just investments. Romero does all the work. Of course, once we're married, I can help him with his paperwork in the evenings."

That didn't sound particularly romantic. I hoped Danny would find something more interesting to do with _me_ than paperwork when we were married.

Melanie took another bite of her Danish, and we had to wait. I thought she was delaying breaking some news to us. It turned out I was right.

"I'm wondering if I can put my share of the business up as security." She obviously noticed my expression. "Don't worry, it will be safe."

I looked at Danny, and he was frowning. "Abi would need to look into it very carefully," he said. "Anyway, Melanie, as I understand your agreement, Abi would need to give her permission before you could do anything like that."

Melanie took another bite, and again we had to wait.

"It's like this," she said. "I've got quite a bit put by, so maybe it isn't such a good idea to borrow on my share here. I've already told Romero if my own savings make the sort of money he's expecting from his property portfolio, I won't need to borrow. I can keep reinvesting it."

I felt a great sense of relief. I couldn't imagine anyone I wanted to work with more than Melanie. She was fun, she was a hard worker, and she was also prepared to get here to open Button Up on the dot of seven for the early morning brigade.

Melanie seemed to sense how I felt. "Romero assures me there's no risk involved, but I don't want you worried, Abi."

She finished her pastry, washed it down with coffee, and smiled at me. "Let me see your ring."

I held up my left hand and Melanie examined the solitaire diamond. "It really is beautiful, Abi. I can't wait to see what Romero has got for me. He's already asked me to check my finger size. Fortunately, the jeweller had a ring gauge that was large enough to fit my chubby fingers." And she laughed. "Just think, soon you'll be Mrs Wells, and I'll be Signora Rocco! We'll have to start serving Italian food, as well as English!"

I felt happy for Melanie, but knew we were already selling panini, and you can't get more Italian than that! It occurred to me for the first time that we were a truly international establishment. We had Danish pastries, Belgian buns, French croissants, English jam doughnuts and‒‒‒‒

Melanie interrupted my thoughts. "Come on, Abi, here comes the after-school rush. Make sure no one leaves a buggy where another customer can trip over it."

"Don't worry," I said. "Danny's here as a witness. He'll make sure we don't get sued."

I'd arranged to meet Alice at Buns after work. This was an exciting time. Wedding rings in the afternoon and a final fitting for our dresses. I wondered for a moment if Melanie would be married in white. A stupid song from my childhood came into my mind, to the tune of Richard Wagner's _Bridal Chorus_ a.k.a. _The Wedding March_. "Here comes the bride, all fat and wide."

I couldn't remember the rest of it, which was just as well, and I felt really ashamed that it had popped up from nowhere. Melanie would make a lovely wife, and many men found a fuller figure a turn-on. Clearly, Romero Rocco had found the love of his life in Melanie. No wonder she seemed so happy.

Alice was already at Buns when I got there. There had been a last-minute rush of customers for some reason, and they all wanted food. I had wondered for a moment if perhaps it would be a good idea to stay open after six, but once I was married, come the evenings, I had more exhilarating things in mind than serving coffee and cakes.

Alice stood there while both Geraldine and her elderly assistant Bridget were busy checking her wedding dress. Clearly they had been reluctant to cut off too much, because it would be difficult to put it back. Yes, I was learning a lot about resizing dresses and rings. You can make them smaller but it's difficult to make them bigger. Obvious really.

Alice asked me how I thought she looked, and hand on heart I could honestly say she looked perfect. I could only hope my dress would look as good. It had been difficult to judge our dresses properly when they were trailing on the carpet, and baggy on the shoulders.

Alice looked pleased with my approval, although she could see for herself how she looked in the four large mirrors that gave front, back and side views. Some women are like that. They always need reassurance that their clothes look good. It could be I'm one of them.

Geraldine suggested we left the dresses with her until just before the wedding. They would be hanging in their protective sleeves and out of harm's way, rather than being in my bedroom.

That sounded a really sensible idea. I'd been wondering where to hang them at home. And of course they'd be safer here than anywhere else.

"Geraldine's got some exciting news to share," Alice said. She put her hand to her mouth. "Oops, you don't mind me telling Abi, do you?"

Geraldine blushed. "Of course not. I want the world to know. Abi, I'm getting married." It was my turn to say oops, but I only said it to myself. Was Romero Rocco about to commit bigamy?

"Who's the lucky man?" I said, my voice sounding weaker than I intended, and rather shaky. Surely not Signor Rocco. Please not him.

"Lance Sinclair," Bridget said. "He works in investments." She sighed. "In a way I'll miss this wedding business, but it will be good to take early retirement." Then she added, " _Very_ early retirement. Believe it or not, I'm only fifty-four. I've helped literally hundreds of happy couples on their way to their wedding, and now it's my turn." She gave a deep sigh followed immediately by a big smile.

"I'm so happy for you, Bridget, but I hope you're going to stay here long enough to make sure we get our dresses and all the other services," I said, laughing to make sure she understood I wasn't serious.

Geraldine also laughed, which made me feel better. "Don't you worry, Abi, I'll make sure you get the best wedding I've ever organised."

That came as a relief. It also came as a relief that Geraldine was marrying someone called Lance Sinclair. I'd seen Romero Rocco here a few times, and having a property portfolio, maybe he had his eye on the whole building once Geraldine was married and retired. I guessed when Geraldine said he was helping with the accounts, it was her way of saying he was going through the books to see how profitable the business was, with a view to making an offer either for the wedding business or for the building. Perhaps both.

We then made a provisional order for thirty sit-down self-service buffet meals, confirmed our choice of the impressive wedding cake, and asked Geraldine to book the wedding photographer, using the style of informal photographs in his sample album.

Then there were the wedding cars. I'd always fancied something on the vintage side, and Geraldine said she would investigate. However, her strong recommendation was for modern limousines that were guaranteed not to break down.

"Three weddings in the air," Alice said, as we almost skipped out of Buns. "Me, you, and Geraldine. It must be something in the air, or perhaps in the water."

"Four weddings," I corrected her. "You, me, Geraldine ‒ and Melanie." As I said it, I remembered the title of the film, but didn't add that I hoped there wasn't going to be a funeral.

Chapter 12

I realised the orders of service would be ready to collect from the printer, and I hurried there with Alice. The print shop was only just around the corner. The finished service sheets looked perfect. We checked the cover, then pages two, three, four and five, right through to the back page, eight. Everything was in the right order and Danny need never know the printer had found it necessary to rearrange them.

I was struck by just how well we had chosen the hymns. There was _Rock of Ages_ on page three, and on page five the new hymn about being clothed in white. Plus the traditional one on the inside page that would probably go down well with my parents.

Actually, I read through the order of service with a sort of dread. Although the four of us had checked everything through several times for typos, I had a feeling inside that we had maybe missed something. A spelling mistake wouldn't be so bad, but the wrong word that would cause hilarity during the service was definitely something we didn't need. Anyway, all seemed okay.

I phoned Danny and assured him they looked absolutely perfect, trying not to make it sound as though I was surprised. He probably already knew they were perfect, since he'd done the artwork and made the PDF. Of course, I was now the guardian of a little secret that I could throw back at him if he ever found fault with me. No, no, never!

I didn't go straight home with Alice. She was keen to see how much work, if any, Brian the builder had done on her house. Amazingly, not only had the rain stopped, but the sky was still blue. It was too much to hope the fine weather would last until our wedding day, but the weather seemed more settled now.

As we approached the house, I could see it had been scaffolded all round, the scaffolding going over the roof to give access to the chimney stacks. Brian Warmley certainly knew how to get things moving.

"Wow," was Alice's initial comment. She pulled out her phone. "Rupert, come quickly. Our house ... Oh, you already know. ... Well, you didn't tell me the scaffolding was done. ... I need the keys. ... Yes, the windows are slightly open. I want to go in."

Alice turned to me. "Oh, it's so exciting. My own house. For the first time, I really can see it as _my_ house, not my uncle's." She thought for a moment. "Well, my house and Rupert's, of course."

"At least it's getting aired now." That was my practical comment.

"Rupert's on his way with the keys. He didn't realise we were going to go straight here. He was waiting for us back at yours. He'll be here in just a moment. Oh, it really is so exciting."

I didn't mind Alice repeating herself. I could understand the excitement. I grew up in my house, and have never been able to see it as a stranger would. I had to agree that with all the scaffolding around it, the house didn't seem quite so creepy. Not that I would ever mention creepy to Alice.

"At least it doesn't look so creepy," I said. There, me and my big mouth.

Alice laughed. "I was thinking exactly the same thing, Abi. I didn't like to say anything. I didn't want to put the idea into your head."

Then we laughed together, as though we had read each other's minds.

Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. (Another of my mother's expressions.) "I used to think of it as a house of horrors," I said.

Alice nodded. "Me, too. I used to be terrified when we came here to ask Uncle Isaac for money. I was only eighteen when our parents died. I had this dread that Uncle Isaac would lock us in the basement and dispose of us because we'd come once too often to beg for money."

"Or perhaps sell you to slave traders?"

Alice shuddered. "Fortunately, Abi, that was one thing I didn't think about. Well, it's too late to worry about it now. Ah, here's Rupert, jingling the keys."

Danny was with him, having changed out of his slate blue mohair wool suit he wore for work. A suit like that was a requirement if you wanted to work for Branks, Davis & Waters ‒ according to Mr Wells, his supervisor. At least it could be put down as a business expense.

Although Danny hadn't been wearing the suit when I met him in church, I have to say the smart suit matched his smart personality and I liked to see him in it. But then again, he looked good in most clothes, including the pale fawn chinos and navy top he was wearing now.

We ducked under the scaffold poles at the top of the stone steps and Rupert unlocked the door. I'd like to say the whole building had instantly become odourless. Unfortunately, it was as stinky as ever, but it was early days yet. Perhaps it wouldn't improve until the special paint was on the walls and ceilings, but surely the open windows would help after a few days.

Locks had been fitted to the sash windows as promised by Brian Warmley. They allowed the tops of the windows to be lowered by about the width of a hand. Low enough to let the air flow through the house, as long as all the doors were open, but far too narrow a gap for anyone to attempt to squeeze through. Excellent.

A quick check around the rooms showed nothing had yet been done indoors. Alice seemed a bit disappointed, but Rupert pointed out it was amazing to find the scaffolding erected and the locks fitted so quickly. He felt sure that now the project was started, Brian would keep the ball rolling and he and Alice could be in within a few months.

Although Alice had selected the large dining table and matching chairs in the administration of the will, she confided in me that she really liked the Swedish flat pack furniture with which I had furnished my house. What did I think?

These rooms were larger than mine, but I assured her flat pack furniture would look good there, too. Rupert said he would use his experience of screwing cars back together to build the furniture, although he would happily pay one of Brian's team to assemble and fit the kitchen units, and do all the plumbing and electrical work.

He and Alice had already measured the rooms and drawn floor plans, and on their computer had generated a 360 degree three-dimensional view of the kitchen with all the units they wanted. It would definitely look impressive, and made my kitchen seem rather inadequate. That's the trouble with wanting things.

We double-checked that all the window locks were firmly in place, both upstairs and down. With the scaffolding, it would be almost as easy for anyone to get into the house through an upstairs window as a downstairs.

All was well, so we made our way thoughtfully back to my house, the conversation turning to what had happened at Buns.

"How soon are they going to want the final payment?" Danny asked, ever the practical one.

"Geraldine is preparing a statement for us," I explained. "This is going to be the big one. I hope that's all right."

Danny stopped and gave me a hug. "Of course it is, my precious one. Nothing must be spared for my darling wife."

I think he meant most of those words, although they did elicit rolling eyes from Rupert, until Alice said, "I hope you feel the same way, Rupert."

Before Rupert could say that of course he did, assuming that was what he was about to say, Julie Watkins called out to us. She must have seen us coming along the road, and was standing by her open front door.

"Excuse me," she called as we passed her little gate. I smiled to myself as I thought of the time I had set up a security camera in the small front garden to see who was entering the house unbidden when Julie's grandmother, Ivy Smith, lived there. "I wonder if these two strong young men could help."

The "two strong young men" made their way forward, expectantly.

"It's a bit embarrassing," Julie said. "Paul suffers from a long-term spine injury, and we've ordered a new bed with a special mattress. The delivery people refused to take it up the stairs, and now it's blocking the hallway. Could you possibly...."

"At your service," Danny said, sounding old-fashionedly gallant. Is there such a word as old-fashionedly? Whether there is or there isn't, it sums up my feelings at the time. I gave him a gentle hug.

The two strong young men went into the hallway, and Alice and I followed a little way behind. I had very mixed memories of entering Ivy Smith's house ‒ good, bad, and sad. I decided not to go up to the bedroom where I guessed the new bed was headed. What I had found under Ivy's bed still made me break out in a sweat at night.

I felt even more sorry for my old maths teacher, Mrs Bartholomew, who lives next door. I had been too cowardly to deal with the problem at the time, and I've never liked to discuss it with her.

Although we were on our way home, we stayed for quite a time after the bed was safely installed, chatting to both Julie and her husband Paul. He was sitting in the small front room, which was probably the first time it had been used this way in the whole history of the house. In the old days, I'd heard front rooms were kept for best use, which meant either receiving the vicar or laying out someone ready for the funeral.

The room was now brightly furnished, and I'd managed to take a quick peep into the back room which was still in use as a dining room, but everything looked much brighter, especially the curtains. And unless they were waiting for delivery of new ones, they must have happily accepted the cream enamel kitchen units dating from the nineteen fifties.

I made a note to myself to make sure I brought them an invitation, and at the same time took the opportunity to really nose around downstairs.

Paul Watkins is a writer. I'd not heard of him, but he explained he wrote articles for military magazines. He'd been in the army and was pensioned off with the spine injury he received being blown from an armoured vehicle by a bomb blast in some Middle Eastern country he was reluctant to name. In spite of the injury, Julie explained Paul could walk quite well, but not for long periods. She explained he got out as much as he could, and was a keen photographer.

Paul sat in an armchair with a laptop and various reference books close at hand. He seemed quite happy, and I was glad to see that someone who was injured didn't just shut down in life, but did something productive.

He thanked us profusely for helping with the bed. The council had already collected their old bed – no, I gathered it hadn't been Ivy Smith's original – two days ago, and the delivery company had failed to bring the new bed on time. They'd also failed to take it up the stairs as promised. I offered to help make it up with the bedding, but Julie thanked me and said she would be fine. For the last two nights they'd had to sleep on the two small sofas downstairs.

I looked at Danny to see if he might be interested in getting a legal case together, but he didn't appear to be taking it further.

Then to my surprise, he said, "Do you have the receipt handy?"

Julie knew exactly where it was. She handed Danny several sheets of paper stapled together.

"Leave it with me," he said. "I'll contact them in the morning. It says here you paid for delivery to a room upstairs on a stated date. You should be entitled to some reimbursement."

"Danny's a solicitor," I explained, noticing their puzzled expressions. Did they think he was just an interfering neighbour? Well even if they did, they ought to be glad to be getting help.

We chatted for much longer than I had expected, but it was good getting to know our new neighbours. I explained I knew quite a bit about the history of the town, and the cotton mill around which it had grown in Victorian times. Amazingly, they hadn't even realised all the houses in the road had been built for mill workers, from manager to foreman to the mill hands.

I didn't like to point out that their house was built for the workers, and mine for one of the mill foremen. Most of the houses in the long brick terrace were being slowly gentrified. The only thing I didn't like were the white plastic front doors that several owners had fitted. Sure, they kept the draft out, but they rather spoilt the look of the road.

Alice and Rupert had insisted that the wooden sash windows were retained on their house. No plastic windows for them. However, the window frames were to be fitted with brush seals, and the windows re-glazed with double glazed panels. The intention was that from the outside the fabric of the building would look original. Good for them. My father had taken the same view when updating the house that was now mine.

It was dark when we left Julie and Paul's house. I know it's stupid, but since I was a child I developed the habit of walking on the side of the road with the brick terrace for company. Opposite, between my house and Alice's is the area of woodland, with railings separating it from the road. As a child I thought there might be bears living in there, ready to pounce. So what with the bears in the woods, and the nightmare inhabitant of Creepy Castle, it's a wonder I came out of my childhood still in my right mind. That's my opinion.

Chapter 13

Time moved on quickly, but I could relax. The wedding was paid for. Although my card and Danny's credit cards were nearly maxed out, my parents hadn't yet made their contribution. Melanie was still deeply involved with Romero Rocco, although they usually met somewhere after work rather than in the café. I really hoped she had found the right man after wasting so much time with Steve Donovan.

Brian the builder and his team were working hard, but there was nothing for us to do yet. I could now measure the countdown to the wedding in days, and fill my leisure time with occasional cryptic crosswords ‒ as well as having the occasional panic.

At Button Up one morning I could see Pete was dying to share something with me. I just hoped that with wedding bells in the air, he and Hayley weren't going to jump on the bandwagon. Hayley was still eighteen and at college, which meant she could only come here late afternoons and Saturdays, and of course in the college holidays.

I had taken an immediate liking to Hayley when Pete, uncharacteristically shy for once, had introduced her to me and Melanie. Hayley was blessed with sensible parents, and unless they eloped, she and Pete were unlikely to be able to tie the knot just yet.

"I don't want to interfere, Abi, but it's about Melanie." Usually, when people say they don't want to interfere, that's exactly what they want to do. But with Pete it somehow sounded genuine.

I glanced up and noticed Melanie, although she was busy, was looking at us. Did she suspect some conspiracy?

"Later," I said to Pete, as I continued to clear a particularly messy table. How could people leave it in such a state? I mean, the idea of having food is to eat it, not spread it around on every available surface. Small kids, yes. Adults, definitely not.

For the next hour I waited for an opportunity to discover what was on Pete's mind. Something about the way he had spoken really concerned me. What didn't he want to interfere about? Then it occurred to me. Signor Rocco. My patience would hold out no longer.

"Pete," I called.

He came across to where I was clearing another table. Melanie had gone into the storeroom, and there were no customers waiting to place their orders. In Button Up, customers place their orders at the counter, pointing if necessary into the display cabinet to a particular pastry or cake they want, order their drinks of which we have a wide hot and cold selection, and sit at an empty table where we deliver their completed order.

We get the occasional problem when we're busy, and someone bags an empty table with their coat and shopping before joining the back of the queue to place their order, and a customer who has just ordered is unable to find a seat. There's never been a fight over it, but there have been the occasional unpleasant exchange of words between the customers.

"I'm still worried about Melanie and that Italian," Pete said, diving straight in.

"You mean Romero Rocco?" It was obvious who Pete meant, but I felt Melanie's fiancé deserved a better title than "that Italian."

Pete nodded. "Yes, him. I know you're going to tell me it's none of my business, but Hayley has been following him around."

" _Hayley?_ " I don't have a problem with my hearing, but this came as unlikely news. "And?"

Pete looked at the floor. "Both of us, when I'm free."

"You'll have to explain later. Those two customers want serving."

I wondered where Melanie was. She wouldn't have done a runner, so presumably she was now in the toilet rather than the storeroom. I shook my head in amazement. Melanie and Signor Rocco were in what I thought of as a secure long-term relationship, even though no date had been set for the wedding. What on earth had Hayley and Pete been up to?

That morning we were especially busy. I'm not complaining, but it's always the way when you want to spend a few minutes talking to someone quietly. It wasn't until half past eleven that I had another chance to speak to Pete.

"Don't be cross, Abi," Pete said quietly. "I've already told you I'm suspicious of that Italian."

This time I didn't bother to correct him with the man's name. "Go on."

"He's seeing another woman. Hayley has followed him a couple of times, and I went with her last night."

I laughed. "Let me guess. He went to see a lady at the wedding shop you call Bun in the Oven. Yes?"

I have to admit Pete looked surprised. "I don't know why you're laughing, Abi. That man is two-timing Melanie, and she ought to know. But it's not for me to break it to her. You need to do it."

I put an arm round Pete's shoulder, something that I don't often do. "It's okay, Pete. There's nothing going on there. He's been advising Geraldine, the owner, on financial things. Keep it to yourself, but I think he may be going to invest in the business or perhaps buy the building. That's what he does. He's got a property portfolio, although I'm not exactly sure what one of those is."

Pete shook his head. "In that case, he advises her upstairs, in the flat over the shop."

I was struggling a bit to take Melanie's side in all this, but if that was the only evidence, I didn't think she had anything to worry about. Not really.

"Anyway, Pete, I can tell you why you're wrong. Bridget is engaged to someone called Lance Sinclair, and she's not the sort of woman to have two men on the go."

"He stayed there all night," Pete said. "That's what Hayley says."

I gasped. "You're not telling me you let your girlfriend stand outside the wedding shop all night!"

Pete shook his head. "Of course not. Hayley was there just before eight this morning, and I joined her before coming here. We saw the Italian leaving."

I felt relieved Pete hadn't let Hayley stay all night, and neither had he been there himself. The whole thing sounded crazy. "I think you're adding two and two and making five," I said.

"What does that mean," Pete asked, frowning.

The expression was something I remembered my mum saying, but it should be obvious to anyone who hadn't heard it before. "You saw Signor Rocco go there yesterday evening. What time did Hayley go home?"

Pete shrugged. "She only stayed twenty minutes. Perhaps half-an-hour. Until the Italian had gone upstairs."

"And she got back there just before eight this morning?"

"We both did. And that's why you need to tell Melanie."

"Wait a minute, young lad. Hayley saw Signor Rocco go in. He went upstairs, which might well be where Geraldine keeps her records. This morning you saw him leave. From that you conclude the man was there all night. Can't you see the flaw in that deduction?"

Whether Pete could see the flaw or not, he had to help Melanie at the service counter. I'd never seen Pete as a troublemaker before, but when I got the chance I would tell him to mind his own business. He and Hayley had been behaving like small children playing at detectives. I could only hope Pete wasn't going to say anything to Melanie about it ‒ if he thought I wasn't going to do it.

It's strange how once an idea has been put into your head, it starts to fester like a boil. No, that's not quite right. Well, perhaps it is. The poison starts to grow and grow, until it becomes really unpleasant.

When Danny came at lunchtime, I decided to share the contents of my festering boil with him ‒ before it burst.

"You've got to stop Pete and Hayley doing that," Danny said. "If they get noticed, they could be accused of stalking. What's got into them both?"

I leaned back as a smiling Melanie served Danny with his choice today of a ham and cheese toasty. I was relieved to see her smiling, which meant Pete had been able to keep back from telling her of his and Hayley's juvenile antics.

"I don't think it's that serious," I told Danny when Melanie had returned to the service counter. "Surely it doesn't count as stalking if they only do it a couple of times."

Danny shook his head. "Following anyone for no good reason, _and_ spying on them, can get someone into trouble."

Well, Danny should know, but in defence of Pete and Hayley, I said, "I think it's just a kids' game. Anyway, I'll tell Pete not to do it again. Melanie could give him the sack if she finds out, and in all honesty I would find it hard to defend him. Yes, you're right, Danny, he's treading on thin ice."

That was another expression I got from my mother. Was I really turning into her at the age of thirty-two? Well, I love my mum, and worse things than that could happen to me ‒ as long as I don't get too fussy.

As soon as I had the opportunity I made my point strongly to Pete. The way he avoided me all afternoon confirmed that he felt guilty. Hayley turned up at four o'clock to give us a hand. Lately she'd been turning up whether we were busy or not, but her friendly smile went down well with the customers, so Melanie and I always paid her for her time.

I noticed Pete and Hayley having a deep discussion, and Hayley glanced at me while Pete was talking, and then looked back at Pete. The detective in me immediately figured out they were talking about me. I could only hope Pete was telling Hayley that their adventure had come to an end, and they were not to follow Romero Rocco anymore. Or as Pete was probably putting it to Hayley, "Not to follow that Italian anymore."

Signor Rocco called in about five o'clock. Melanie was all over him. Well, not physically. That would have been completely out of order in a respectable establishment like Button Up. All over him verbally would be a better way of putting it.

I noticed Pete and Hayley staring at him from time to time, as though assessing their next move to expose the man as a philanderer. That's another word I heard from my mother, but I was only twelve at the time and had to look it up to see what it meant. Even then I wasn't quite sure. Why, I'd wondered, would a man do that? I guess I'm asking myself the same question now.

At six o'clock Romero was still with us. Melanie said she was going to stay a few minutes to tidy up. Romero, Pete and Hayley left. I decided to do a bit of following on my own. Not Romero Rocco. I would follow Pete and Hayley from a safe distance to make sure they'd taken heed of my warning.

If they followed Signor Rocco, I would definitely have a strong word with them. I remembered what Danny had said, and didn't intend to get myself arrested as a stalker. I would stay well back and no one would know what I was doing, especially not Pete and Hayley.

Chapter 14

Following Romero Rocco was exactly what Pete and Hayley were doing. They followed him all the way to Buns where he was given an extremely warm welcome by Geraldine.

As Geraldine closed the door behind him, I saw them hug each other. Wow, the Italian must have offered an amazing amount of money if he was buying the business or the building.

Was I that naïve? Of course not. But should I join Pete and Hayley in keeping watch? I decided I shouldn't. But I did.

"You might have a point, Pete," I said, joining them where they were standing on the opposite side of the road. That made them jump. Showed how clever I'd been. "You'd better skip on back to your homes. I'll take over here."

They looked surprised to see me, which meant I had done a good job in shadowing them.

Hayley was having none of it. "This is _our_ patch, Abi. You can join us if you like, but I think we have reasonable grounds for suspicion. I can't believe you won't tell Melanie about it."

"Hayley, Pete, I think you're reading too much into what you're seeing. Signor Rocco is Italian. Italians hug and kiss people who are almost strangers. What you've just seen is part of a standard business welcome in Italy."

Not that I knew anything about standard business welcomes in Italy, but I'd spent a lot of holiday time in Spain with my parents when I was young, and I guessed what they did in Spain they did in Italy. Of course they did. I only had to look at Italian football matches to know that sort of behaviour was common on the field when a goal was scored. What I'd just seen meant Romero Rocco had also scored a goal. Not the obvious one, but some successful business deal.

At that moment my phone rang. It was Danny. He was at my house with Alice and Rupert, and they were wondering where I was.

I explained I was with Pete and Hayley for some special purpose, and would tell him all about it when I was back. I was on my way.

I told Pete and Hayley to be on their way, too. It occurred to me that Danny might actually be able to do some sort of investigation, just to set Pete's and Hayley's minds at rest. And perhaps mine. Danny had far more access to records than I did.

"I'll see you in the morning, Pete. And, Hayley, you're welcome to come in after college in the afternoon. Please don't do any more snooping. I'll discuss it with Danny, and see if he can find out more about Signor Rocco. But don't hold your breath. As far as I'm concerned, everything is completely legit."

I was stretching the truth there. I didn't want to tell them, but the whole business was making me uneasy now that I'd witnessed it for myself. I just hoped for Melanie's sake everything would work out, and she was heading for a happy marriage with someone who was genuinely in love with her, someone who wasn't really a philanderer, a modern day Casanova ‒ a womaniser after the money of vulnerable ladies. How could I even think such a thing!

Back home, I shared my concerns about Signor Rocco and Geraldine.

"Danny, can't you find out anything about Romero Rocco? Come on, surely you only have to pick up a phone, say you're a solicitor with those well-known solicitors, Branks, Davis & Waters, and every door will spring open."

Danny smiled. "It doesn't quite work like that, Abi. Besides, who am I going to ask? You don't even know Signor Rocco's address."

Danny had made a good point. "How about the police?"

"They would want to know the reason for my query."

"I'm sure you could come up with a convincing reason. You could say you're making an enquiry on behalf of a client. I'm the client and you're making the query on my behalf. So that's the truth."

"It all sounds a bit suspicious to me," Alice said. "I'm backing Abi. Call it woman's intuition, and I haven't even met the man."

Rupert shook his head. "I think it's called woman's nosiness. Now, there goes the kitchen timer. Let's serve the food. We can talk about this later."

Of course, we didn't talk about it later. We were talking about the wedding preparations. We'd had just over twenty acceptances. Melanie was coming, and so were Pete and Hayley. We'd not finalised the food order with Geraldine, but would have to decide the exact number of guests this week.

"We could do with more guests. We must invite Julie and Paul Watkins," I said. "Do you think taking a mattress upstairs counts as making close friends?"

Danny thought it probably did, especially as they lived in the same road. I had even dared invite my old maths teacher, Mrs Bartholomew, and her husband. Amazingly, bearing in mind my behaviour at school, they actually accepted. Brian Warmley and his wife would also be there.

All my grandparents died while I was young. One of Rupert's grandmothers was a widow living in Scotland and couldn't come. His other grandparents hoped to come, but couldn't promise. I didn't know what their excuse was. I wondered about asking Geraldine and Angela at Buns, but I guessed it wasn't usual to ask someone who had provided the dresses and made all the other arrangements for the perfect day.

"Well," Alice said as we checked down the list again, "I don't think it matters how few or how many are there. As long as you're there, Rupert."

"I'll be there, Alice," Rupert promised, giving her a peck on the cheek.

I waited for Danny to say the same. Silence.

"Danny, are you listening?"

"Sorry," Danny said, coming back to earth. "I've just realised there's no one to give Alice away."

Alice looked at Rupert. "It's okay," she said. "Rupert's father has agreed to do it."

I looked at the service card again. This was all so exciting, and also new. Melanie hadn't actually named the day yet, but with less than two weeks now to my wedding I thought it unlikely she would come married, so she would be our maid of honour trying to control the small bridesmaids.

For the rest of the evening we talked, and ate, and talked, until at ten o'clock Danny said he ought to be going back to his digs. I turned in for the night soon after, my mind full of weddings. I finally fell asleep wondering about Melanie and Romero Rocco. Was Romero ever going to name the day, or had Melanie found an Italian version of Steve Donovan?

Chapter 15

The next morning Melanie greeted me at the door to Button Up, her face beaming. She held up her left hand, flashing a large diamond on a gold ring. It looked amazing.

Then it occurred to me that I had seen a ring very similar to that when Danny and I had gone to order our wedding rings. I felt my stomach rush up and hit my heart, and my heart sink down to my stomach. How could I be so suspicious!

"Romero Rocco took me out to a special meal at Bank's last night, and over a candlelight dinner he presented me with this ring. Don't you think it's gorgeous?"

It certainly looked gorgeous. If it really was one of the budget rings the jeweller had shown me with Danny, it wouldn't be solid gold. But how could I possibly check for a hallmark or other indication of it being solid gold?

"It's a much larger diamond than mine," I said. "Lucky you. Can you take it off so I can look at it closely?" How was that for subtle?

Melanie shook her head. "Romero says it's bad luck to take it off until we're married. Sorry." And she smiled. "And I think your ring is gorgeous too, Abi."

That was nice of her to say that. Anyway, I was extremely pleased with my ring, but had never heard the nonsense about it being bad luck to take it off. Did that make me apprehensive for Melanie? Just a bit, but we had a sudden rush of customers, and I was too busy to give the matter any more thought that morning.

It was only after lunch, which is always a busy time, that I realised there was one other way of finding out about the provenance of the ring. "I just love your ring, Melanie. Did Romero say where he bought it?"

Melanie smiled. "Romero has a friend in Naples who's a jeweller. He selected it specially. Oh, I can't stop looking at it."

"Tell me, Melanie, have you fixed the date yet."

I thought Melanie frowned slightly. "It probably won't be for a couple of months. Romero is flying back to Italy later today to sign some important papers on his investments." Then she brightened up. "He's calling here before he goes, and he's promised to be back by the end of next week. I'm going to be wealthy for the first time in my life. Really wealthy, Abi. But I still want to keep on working here. I'm in love with the place ‒ and with all of you who work here."

"It _is_ possible to get married without being wealthy," I pointed out, "but I'm glad you're not selling out your share. Obviously Danny and I would try to buy it, but we'd all miss your happy, smiling face. You're half the reason we get so many customers coming here. Probably more than half the reason. So please don't desert us, Melanie."

Pete had been listening, but from a discreet distance. I could see he looked worried. I decided the young lad and Hayley had seen too many films about tricksters and fraudsters.

A few minutes later, Melanie, looking rather flushed, probably with excitement, called me to go with her into the storeroom.

"I've just had a call from Romero," she said, her eyes bright like those of a small child. "He won't be here for another hour. Do you think my hair looks a mess?"

I've never said anything to Melanie about her hair, but the words mess and hairstyle seem closely linked. I wasn't sure what she wanted me to say. "What do _you_ think?" Best to play safe.

"I've made an appointment in the hairdresser at the end of the street. They can fit me in immediately. I'd love Romero to take away a memory of me looking at my best. Can you hold the fort?"

"Of course we can. Hayley will be here in the next half hour. You go and get yourself fixed. Not that you need it," I added hastily.

"Thanks," was all Melanie said, as she slipped off her black and cream striped jacket with the company logo and replaced it with a plain cream jacket "Won't be long." And she hurried out of the door.

This was obviously the moment Pete had been hoping for. He came across to me, and said, "Hayley and me think that Italian is probably a wanted criminal."

"Hayley and I," I corrected him. Grammar had been one of my stronger points at school. Not that that was saying much about the other subjects.

"You as well?" Pete said in surprise.

I let it go. "I hope you're not going to do anything silly," was my response.

"I think we ought to get his fingerprints. Hayley thinks so too. When he comes this afternoon I'm going to pass him a clean glass with cola in it."

I shook my head. "He probably doesn't even like cola. And that's just the first problem, Pete."

Pete nodded. "It doesn't matter if he does or he doesn't. If he thinks I've put it there by mistake, he'll pick it up and hand it back to me. The only fingerprints on it will be his. I'm going to be wearing white gloves."

"White gloves? Where are they coming from? We don't have any here."

Pete fished into the pocket of his jacket and produced a pair of thin cotton gloves. "I came prepared," he said furtively, glancing around to make sure he hadn't been observed.

The boy had clearly gone off his head. "And then what?" I might as well humour him. There were no customers waiting to be served.

"Then I empty the glass in the sink and wrap it up carefully so as not to damage any prints."

"And?"

"Easy. I take it to the police station and ask them to check the prints against their database of known criminals."

The lad was a simpleton. "And why are they going to bother to do that?

For a moment Pete looked downcast, then he brightened up. "Danny can take it to them. He's a solicitor."

I shook my head. "The police aren't going to waste their time checking fingerprints on the glass, unless there's a good reason to believe a crime has been committed. It won't work."

Pete was frowning, clearly undergoing intensive thinking. "Don't bother, Abi, leave it to me. I'll think of a way."

Pete looked lost in thought. I could see he was planning something, and just hoped the something he was planning wouldn't bring Button Up into disrepute. I looked at the clock above the counter, the large clock like a coffee cup, and wondered where Melanie was. She'd been gone just over an hour, but at least there was no sign of Romero Rocco. Perhaps he wasn't coming after all.

A few minutes later he entered the door, arm in arm with Melanie. I wouldn't call them young lovers, because Melanie is forty-two and Romero Rocco looked older, but they seemed happy.

That was about to change.

As soon as Pete saw them he went forward and stood with his face close to Signor Rocco's, like two boxers preparing for a bout. The whole café had gone quiet. Unfortunately, it was fairly full. I just hoped there wasn't going to be a scene. Looking at some of the customers' faces I got the impression they were hoping there would be.

"I don't know what your _real_ name is," Pete said, sounding genuinely angry, "but I know you're a crook, a thief and a liar. Just get out of here."

I expected Melanie to rush forward to pull Pete away, but she seemed struck down with some sort of paralysis.

Not surprisingly, Signor Rocco looked ready to respond with equal anger. And he did. He was the same height as Pete, and he went forward with a strong head butt.

When I say strong, I don't know how to gauge head-butts, because I'd never seen one in real life before. But it was sufficient to throw Pete back against one of the tables, sending the plates and cups flying. Fortunately, the table was unoccupied.

Up until then I'd thought of Pete as being quite a tough guy, but he howled and rolled around the floor, his head held in his hands.

Several customers jumped to their feet, not to help Pete but to get a better view.

"Phone the police," Pete groaned, as he continued rolling around on the floor. "Someone call the police and an ambulance. That man assaulted me. Everyone must have seen him."

I know playacting when I see it, but one of the customers clearly didn't. He had his phone out. Then I realised he was taking pictures, not actually phoning anyone.

So I had to do it.

I knew Pete was up to something, but since I couldn't tell how badly he was hurt, I wasn't going to tell him to stand up and pull himself together. The operator said the police would be there shortly, plus the ambulance Pete insisted would be necessary. Deep down, I had the feeling Pete might not be playacting after all, and I'd never forgive myself if he didn't get immediate medical attention.

One of the spectators, a.k.a. a customer, immediately moved to the door to prevent Signor Rocco leaving. To be honest, he didn't look in any condition to leave. I suspected he'd hurt his own head as badly as he'd hurt Pete's, but he was trying to appear brave. Perhaps for Melanie's sake.

By the time the police arrived ten minutes later, Signor Rocco said he wasn't pressing charges, and he wanted to leave. Pete was sitting up on the floor, leaning back against the counter, groaning and moaning about his skull being split by that crazy man.

"That man attacked me," he moaned. "You have to arrest him."

Signor Rocco immediately responded by saying he was the one who'd been attacked, and it was Pete who should be arrested.

The customers turned their heads left and right as each one spoke, like spectators at a tennis match. Pete was moaning so loudly, and Signor Rocco was protesting so loudly of his innocence, that the police decided to take them both away for further questioning.

The ambulance crew arrived, and carried out a few simple tests on Pete's vision and balance and so on, and gave the all clear for the police to take him away.

"Phone Danny, Abi," were Pete's last words as he was led from the café.

I promised I would, and asked the police where they were taking him. Only as far as the local police station, was the reply.

By the time Melanie and I got to the police station, Danny was already there.

"What's this all about, Abi?" he demanded, sounding unexpectedly cross. "I really don't have the time to get involved in silly disputes."

"It's not silly," Melanie protested. "Pete Wilders assaulted my fiancé. I want the police to press charges of common assault."

I shook my head. "I don't think you were watching," I said. "Pete went to say something to Signor Rocco, but he didn't touch him. It was Romero who head-butted him, knocking him to the floor."

Melanie stayed quiet for a moment. "All right, I wasn't watching, but I'm sure I know what happened. There were plenty of customers there. They'll back me up."

I didn't like to say I was sure they wouldn't, but it might be a difficult point to prove. At that moment a policewoman asked Danny to come through to the interview room where Signor Rocco and Pete were waiting. I wondered if I could go with Danny. I caught hold of the briefcase he was carrying, and walked confidently by his side as though I was his legal assistant. Amazingly, no one challenged me.

Melanie had to stay outside in the entrance room.

A police sergeant met us outside the door to the interview room. Danny introduced himself and said he was there to represent Peter Wilders ‒ that's our Pete. I wished Danny had said _we_ were there, in the plural, but I seemed to be invisible. Just as well really.

As soon as we were in the room, Signor Rocco pointed to Pete and started shouting about how he'd been assaulted. Because Signor Rocco looked like an important man, and Pete just looked like a nineteen-year-old youth, the police sergeant seemed to take the Italian's side.

"Right, sir," the sergeant said, "let's take your fingerprints and see if you're on our records."

The "sir" turned out to be Pete, not Signor Rocco.

Pete turned to Danny. "Can they make me?"

Danny said they could.

"Okay," he said loudly, "just as long as they take Signor Rocco's too."

The Italian immediately protested. "Why you take my fingerprints?" Yes, he sounded even more strongly Italian than usual. "Why you bother me? Me, I do nothing. This young man, he banged me on the head."

It was time for me to speak up. I might be slow at some things, but I now understood Pete had deliberately engineered the situation to get the police to check the Italian's fingerprints. Whether he had been wise to do so was yet to be seen, but I was determined to help him see it out.

"I saw it all happen," I said to the sergeant. "It's my café, and I'm sure there are plenty of witnesses. This young man was talking to the older one here, and suddenly the older man head-butted him without provocation."

Well, there might have been a bit of provocation, but not enough to deserve what happened.

"It wasn't like that at all," Signor Rocco said. "This young man head-butted me. I'm the one who was attacked."

The sergeant looked from me to Pete to Danny. He shrugged. "Well, someone's telling lies."

Pete and Signor Rocco pointed at each other, and at the same time both of them said, "He attacked me first. You need to charge him with assault." Or words to that effect.

I asked if I could have a moment alone with Danny outside, and the police sergeant nodded. We slipped out into the corridor and we closed the door behind us.

"What exactly is happening here?" Danny asked. "Is this one of your crazy plans?"

I shook my head. "It's one of Pete's crazy plans, but I don't think it's so crazy after all. He thinks Signor Rocco has a criminal past, and he's been dreaming up ways of getting the police to look at the man's fingerprints. Please, Danny, just go along with it. And I can assure you Pete didn't start the fight, although he seemed to be looking for one."

Back in the interview room Signor Rocco was protesting most vigorously about having his fingerprints taken. He insisted he was an Italian businessman, not subject to British law. He had every right to refuse. He would make it an international incident.

Eventually he conceded.

We sat for several minutes after the fingerprints were taken. I'd imagined there would be black ink and rectangles on cards to dab the fingers onto, but everything was done electronically. First, Pete's prints were run through the system. I knew what was coming.

The sergeant looked up as something on the screen pinged. "I see you have a record," he said to Pete. "I think that says enough."

Danny intervened here. "I know all about that charge, sergeant. If you look, there was no violence involved, just stupid vandalism from a bored group of seventeen-yea- olds."

By this time Signor Rocco appeared to be seeing light at the end of the tunnel. He stood up. "I go now. You make sure this boy is locked away."

The sergeant motioned for him to sit down. "If it's all the same to you, sir, we need to take your prints as well. You need to stay in town, and tomorrow the magistrate will decide whether to press charges on one or both of you."

I wondered what Melanie was doing all this time. She was clearly convinced her Italian fiancé was totally innocent. I wasn't so sure. Pete somehow knew he was guilty.

Reluctantly, Signor Rocco submitted to the fingerprinting device, and we sat back. The screen pinged and the sergeant looked at it closely. Then he frowned, and looked up at Signor Rocco.

"I think you have some explaining to do, sir. Should I address you as Romero Rocco, Silvio Silvini, Toni Milano, Francesco Martini, Denton Peake, Lance Sinclair, Pierre Tousac....?" He looked up at Signor Rocco who was now slumped in his seat. "It seems the man with these fingerprints is wanted in several countries for fraud and extortion. Let's see if we can discover your real name."

Pete looked triumphant. "I knew it. I knew it all along. Quick, let me out of here. I've got to tell Melanie."

I caught hold of his arm. "Oh no you don't. Breaking news like that is woman's work."

I shook my head as I said it. I had no idea how to do it without breaking Melanie's heart. Time for a quick prayer.

Chapter 16

I could hear Melanie's angry voice in the reception area of the police station, and I went to console her.

As soon as she saw me, she shouted, "Where's my Romero? What have they done with my darling?"

I said, "Your darling is a conman and a swindler, and he's going to prison for a long time."

Really? Of course not. As gently as I could, I said, "Melanie, you need to sit down. I've got bad news to share with you."

The police officer who had been trying to calm down my co-owner, seemed relieved that I had come to his rescue.

So he showed us to a side room, and I explained how Romero Rocco wasn't really Romero Rocco. Or if he was, he was also known by lots of other names.

"You're lying, Abi," Melanie said, but with a look of recognition in her eyes. "Please tell me it's all a mistake."

I explained about the fingerprints. Then something else suddenly occurred to me.

"What's happening with Button Up? Did anyone lock up?"

Melanie had a dazed look in her eyes. "I left Hayley to do that. She's a reliable girl. She was hanging on to chase the final customers out when they'd finished, but I put the closed sign on the door to stop anyone else coming in."

Danny appeared at that moment, with Pete.

Melanie pointed at him, angrily. "It's all your fault, Pete. You just had to interfere, didn't you!"

Danny raised his hands as though calling for peace. "Melanie, I'm afraid Signor Rocco, as he's calling himself, is wanted in England and Italy and other countries in Europe for fraud. You'll need to make a statement to the police. It seems he's been taking money under false pretences from.... Well, from single women with promises of wealth and marriage."

I think Danny was going to say vulnerable older women, but thought better of it just in time. I wasn't going to thank Pete in front of Melanie, but I really wanted to apologise to him for not believing him. Also to thank him for rescuing Melanie from an unpleasant and disastrous experience in life.

"I'd like to represent you," Danny said quietly to Melanie. "The police want to get a charge sheet sorted quickly. Did you give the man any money?"

Melanie just nodded.

"Can you give an indication of how much?"

Melanie glanced round at Pete and me, looking embarrassed. "Can I write it down?"

I shuddered to think how much she must have handed over, if it had to be kept at private. It might be selfish, but I felt relieved Danny had persuaded her not to hand over her interest in the coffee shop as security.

"And you say he agreed to marry you?"

Melanie pulled the engagement ring from her finger. "I feel such a fool," she said, tears in her eyes. "He promised me a future of wealth and happiness. Just look at this ring. I can see now it's fake, just like Romero and all his promises." She handed the ring to me. "Look at it, Abi" she said. "You can see it's a piece of tat."

I took a little time examining it, wondering what extra comfort I could give. To me, as an ordinary woman in the street, it looked genuine. The only giveaway, if you could call it that, was the size of the so-called diamond. Surely the only way to make a cheap ring look expensive would be to fit a fake stone of a modest size, or even slightly smaller than usual. Big and flash didn't really pull it off. I could see that now.

It also felt rather light, but if you put it on the woman's finger and told her it's bad luck to take it off, you might get away with it for a few of days. By which time, in the case of Signor Rocco, you'd be far away with the money.

That was when I realised the man at the jewellers had been Romero Rocco in disguise. No wonder he looked like a brother ‒ if that makes sense. The jeweller said he was buying _four_ cheap engagement rings. One for Melanie.... The police would need to find out who the other three were for, because the man had almost certainly conned _four_ vulnerable women. If Danny let the police know, instead of me doing it, they would have to take him seriously.

I was glad to see Pete wasn't gloating over his success. Although I wouldn't say anything in front of Melanie, I would thank both him and Hayley for their detective work ‒ in spite of my dismissive attitude that might easily have discouraged them from taking it further.

At that moment Hayley turned up. She didn't seem to fully understand what was happening. She turned to Melanie who was sitting white faced in the chair. "I've locked up and set the alarm," she said.

Melanie just nodded, and Hayley must have noticed her state for the first time. "Is everything all right?"

While Melanie burst into tears, I led Hayley quietly out of the room. "I have an apology to make, Hayley. You and Pete were right to be suspicious of Romero Rocco. He's a conman, and unfortunately he's tricked Melanie out of a lot of money."

"Does that mean‒‒‒‒?"

"I don't know what it means yet, Hayley, but you must keep it absolutely confidential. It seems the police are going to charge him, and investigate other crimes. He's wanted in several countries, as well as here in England."

Pete came out at that moment, and gave Hayley a hug. "We were right," he said, but there wasn't any triumph in his voice. "Poor, poor Melanie." His voice sounded broken. "Oh, Hayley, whatever can we do to help her?"

That really got to me, and the lump forming in my throat made it impossible for me to say anything. I felt tears come to my eyes. To think two teenage kids, because that's what they were, could show such compassion for someone who must be the age of their mothers. The lump in my throat grew bigger, and I had to turn away.

Fortunately, before I could suffer a complete meltdown, Danny came out to explain that Pete would not be facing charges, and the man we knew as Signor Rocco wasn't going to be charged with affray or intent to cause injury. Instead, there were enough pending charges from Britain and Europe to put him away for a long time.

"What about Melanie's money?" I asked, still in full compassion mode.

"The matter is being passed over to higher authorities. They will freeze any bank accounts the man has, assuming they can track them down. But it will be a long time before Melanie sees her money again, that's for sure."

I waited for Danny to add, "If ever." But although he didn't actually say it, I think from Melanie's reaction she managed to fill in the blanks for herself.

"So that's it then," she said with a deep sigh. "I've really made a fool of myself. I'm so sorry, Abi."

I sat by her side to console her. "You've still got me, and we've got Button Up."

"And me," Pete added. He glanced towards Hayley and she nodded.

Melanie shook her head. "There's no fool like an old fool," she said in a quiet voice.

"You're not old," I protested, putting my arm around her shoulders. "Naïve, yes. A fool, no."

"He sounded so plausible," Melanie said.

Danny nodded. "That's how successful confidence tricksters work. They always sound plausible. If they didn't, they wouldn't be successful, and judging by the number of police forces who are on the lookout for that man, he's had many victims over the past ten years."

"Do I get a reward?" Peter asked.

"Look," I said, "this isn't the time to be thinking of rewards. We've got to help Melanie get her life back together."

Pete shook his head. "That's exactly what I was thinking, Abi. If I got a reward for catching the man, I could give it to Melanie."

At that, Melanie gave way to tears again, and sat there sobbing loudly.

Pete looked at her in alarm. "Was it something I said?"

I stood up, and in a choking voice said to Pete, "Yes, it was something you said, and that's why Melanie is crying. It's your kindness that's moved her. I think you and Hayley should leave me alone with Melanie for a few minutes. And that goes for you, too, Danny."

That night I woke in a panic. It was Monday, the week of our wedding. The digital clock on the chest of drawers said it was nearly four o'clock, which meant it wasn't Monday any longer. It was Tuesday. Three fifty-seven Tuesday morning, to be precise. The name Lance Sinclair had been running around in my head, banging noisily against the inside of my skull. No wonder I had woken with a jump.

I almost fell out of bed in my hurry, stumbled across the room to my dressing gown that hung on the back of the bedroom door and kicked around for my slippers.

I didn't even bother to knock on Alice's door. I burst in to her room and turned on the light. She was bundled up cosily in her duvet, but I soon put an end to that.

"Alice, Alice, you've got to wake up."

She didn't even move. It turned out that Rupert woke more easily than his fiancée, because he stood on the landing outside the bedroom door asking what the problem was.

"It's Lance Sinclair," I said.

Alice groaned and moaned as she pulled the duvet clear of her face. She didn't seem to have the strength to sit up, but she did roll over and face me. "Lance Sinclair? Who's Lance Sinclair? And it can't be time to get up. It's still dark outside."

"Lance Sinclair is Romero Rocco."

Alice turned back to face the wall. She pulled the duvet up close to her head, and mumbled, "I've no idea what you're talking about, Abi. Can we please discuss this in the morning? I'm getting married on Saturday, and I need my beauty sleep."

I pulled the duvet halfway back, hoping I wouldn't expose anything Rupert hadn't already been allowed to see. Alice was wearing blue pyjamas, with a fleecy top like a long-sleeved sweatshirt. So all was secure.

"That's what I've come to tell you. We may have to postpone the wedding."

"Postpone it?" Alice was suddenly fully awake, or as fully awake as she was likely to be at four o'clock in the morning.

I turned to Rupert. "Put on your dressing gown, and the same with you, Alice. We need to go downstairs and have a serious talk about Saturday."

Rupert made some coffee as we sat in the kitchen, huddled round the table. They knew about the arrest of Romero Rocco of course, but I'd been so taken up with the Melanie situation that I hadn't remembered Geraldine at Buns saying she was marrying someone called Lance Sinclair.

Could it possibly be nothing more than a coincidence? After all, my sleepy brain deduced, there had to be lots of Lance Sinclairs in the world.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Alice warned, yawning loudly. "We saw Romero Rocco at Geraldine's. She said he was helping her with her accounts. She also said she's marrying someone called Lance Sinclair. We don't know they're the same person."

"It's the same man," I said, becoming fully awake. That dream had really zapped my brain. "We'd better go there now and rescue our wedding dresses."

Rupert shook his head as he sipped his coffee, warming his hands round the mug. "The shop will be closed. Anyway, I don't see the problem."

I did. "He may have taken Geraldine to the cleaners. She said Lance Sinclair wanted to invest in her business. He may have already got his hands on it, and on our dresses at the same time."

"But we _paid_ for them," Alice said, sounding convinced that paying for them would protect them. "We're planning to collect them later today after work."

I looked at the kitchen clock. Four fifteen. Just after. "We'd better go back to bed now," I said, stifling an unexpected yawn. "I don't suppose I'll get back to sleep, but we can't do anything until Buns opens."

"Or doesn't open," Alice said, yawning loudly again. "What a mess."

Rupert put his half finished mug of coffee to one side. "I'm sure _I_ won't get back to sleep. I wish I hadn't made coffee."

Trust a man to think like that.

Chapter 17

Alice and I got to Buns just before eight o'clock. The sign on the door said the opening hours were 10 a.m. to 8 p.m., which we already knew.

There were no lights on downstairs, which didn't surprise me. I stood back and looked at the upstairs windows where Geraldine lived. The curtains were open, but the place was in darkness, above and below. That didn't seem like good news, although Geraldine could be in the kitchen or bathroom if one of those rooms was at the back.

"Come on," I said to Alice. "Let's see if we can see the upstairs from the road behind."

"I don't think it's good news," Alice said, echoing my thoughts exactly.

From the road behind we quickly worked out which building Buns occupied, and there were no lights on. Of course, I realised Geraldine could be saving on energy and not use lights at this time in the morning. But I couldn't see anyone moving around.

We went back to the front and I hammered on the door. Yes, I hammered and banged as hard as I could. Maybe I was taking my anxiety out on the building.

Alice tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a bell. Somehow I'd missed it. She pressed it several times.

We waited.

Nothing.

"She's done a runner," Alice said. "No doubt about it. Have you got a glass cutter at home?"

"We can't just break in."

"Don't you want your wedding dress?"

"Of course I do, but I don't want to get arrested. Danny will be able to work something out. Anyway, Geraldine might just have slipped out to get something for breakfast."

I thought of Button Up. I doubted Melanie would turn up to work, and Pete didn't have a key to the café. So there were two businesses possibly closed for the day.

Anyway, I phoned Melanie and discovered she had indeed gone to work. I explained the situation and said Alice and I would be there in a few minutes. There was no point in hanging around at Buns, and it was perfectly possible Geraldine would open up at ten o'clock as usual. Possible, but unlikely.

Pete was at the café with Hayley. The lad was certainly showing great maturity. Melanie sat in a dazed condition at my corner table, and Pete and Hayley were dealing with the coffee-to-go customers.

"Come and sit with me a moment, Abi," Melanie said, her eyes puffy from crying. "And you too, Alice. I don't know what to do. I'm absolutely broke. No money at all. I gave it all to that evil man."

I reached across the table and held Melanie's hand. "Danny hopes you can get it all back, although it depends on whether the police can access the man's bank accounts. He was a master of disguise. Danny was there when he admitted to wearing various wigs and glasses. Women who thought they knew him well failed to recognise him in pictures taken by other women. Over the past few years he's made a fortune."

I felt like adding that I had sort of recognised him when I'd seen him at the jeweller's shop, but that would have been a bad admission, because Melanie would have asked me why I didn't say anything at the time. And of course I thought he only bore a _slight_ resemblance to Melanie's Romero Rocco. Great disguise.

Melanie shook her head. "Even if Danny can get all my money back, it doesn't help now. Our takings here have been really good in the past few weeks. Can I have an advance on my share? I need to put something in the bank." She thought for a moment. "I probably need to change my bank account, too."

I assured Melanie she could have more than her share of the takings as an advance for now. I wasn't personally flush with money at the moment, but the wedding was all paid for.

_Paid for?_ Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps Geraldine had handed over all _my_ money _and_ Alice's to Lance Sinclair, a.k.a. Romero Rocco ‒ a.k.a. just about any other name in the phone book. Danny had stayed behind at the police station to sort out some things, and came back that evening to tell us the man's grandmother had been Italian and he had mastered transferring the Italian accent into spoken English. Several police forces in Europe were looking for him.

Alice said she had to leave us. She worked at the college library, but she was sure she could get cover for us to meet at Buns at ten when Geraldine opened. I had no idea if Geraldine normally opened on time, so we agreed to make it ten thirty. If she wasn't open by then, alarm bells would be ringing extremely loudly.

Alice asked if it was okay if she went that way on her way to the college library. I said of course it was, and she promised to phone me if there was any news.

I could have gone with her, but I felt Melanie's trip to the bank to block her account was more urgent, and I would be needed to help at Button Up while she was gone. "Please set my mind at rest, Melanie," I said, a sudden anxiety clutching my stomach. "That man didn't have access to the Button Up account, did he?"

Melanie smiled a sort of half smile. "No, don't worry about that, Abi. You and Danny made it clear I would need your permission to put my share of the business up as security. I was annoyed at the time, but yes, in hindsight, that was really sensible advice."

Although I believed Melanie, I got out my phone and logged into the coffee shop bank account. All the money was there. I looked up at Melanie. "I'll transfer some money to your new account when you give me the details," I said in as reassuring a voice as I could manage. "You're not going short, I promise."

"I'll pay it back when I get my money from that man," she promised.

"I think you mean _if_." I didn't actually say it, although I was certainly tempted. That man had made a mess of Melanie's life with all his promises. I hoped he would spend a _very_ long time in prison. Perhaps he would spend time in prisons in every country where he was wanted. It was impossible to feel sorry for him.

"Go to the bank straight away," I told Melanie, and she hurried off.

I phoned Alice and explained Melanie had gone to set up a new account and close the old one in case Signor Rocco ‒ as I was still calling him ‒ had somehow set up a permanent tap that would drain the account as soon as Melanie put money in.

"I'm at Buns already," Alice said. "It's okay, I've phoned the college. Prepare yourself for bad news, Abi. Geraldine's assistant Bridget is with me."

Why bad news? I felt a wave of relief flow over me. "So we can collect our dresses. Can you get them now and bring them to the café? We'll hang them in the storeroom."

Alice took a long time before replying. "Bridget doesn't have a key. Geraldine never gave her one."

"Does she know where Geraldine is?"

"Geraldine rang her last night. It seems something has gone very wrong, and Geraldine's gone away. And she didn't say for how long."

I gave an exasperated sigh. "Does she know _where_ Geraldine has gone?"

"She has no idea. Just that Geraldine could be away for a few weeks."

I thought of something strange. "If Bridget knows Geraldine has gone away, and she hasn't got a key, what's she doing at the shop?"

"Good question, Abi. I thought of that. Even though she can't get in, Bridget's put a notice on the outside of the door saying the business is closed for the foreseeable future."

"You mean foreseeable future, as beyond our wedding day on Saturday?"

I could hear Alice's voice falter. "What are we to do, Abi? Perhaps we should postpone the wedding."

No way. I can be Miss Determination when I put my mind to it. And shortly I would be Mrs Determination, if I had my way.

Time to phone Danny.

Chapter 18

I can't say Danny took the news calmly, because he certainly didn't. Nor apparently did Rupert at the garage when Alice phoned him.

Danny asked me to take a photo of Bridget's notice and text it to him. It wasn't that he didn't believe Alice, but he said he had to read the exact wording for himself. That's a solicitor's thinking for you.

Melanie had gone to the bank, which was an urgent matter. I had to get to Buns. Another urgent matter. Pete stayed behind, promising he'd do his best not to poison too many customers.

I got to Buns and found Alice looking worried. I took the pic of Bridget's notice and texted it to Danny. Then Alice pulled me to one side, away from people who were passing by. "The four of us need to have a big discussion," she said. "I don't know about Danny, but Rupert can't leave work early, as there's a rush job on. Anyway, it won't do any harm to wait until after work. Who knows, Geraldine might reappear, but from what Bridget had to say it doesn't sound promising. Although they only spoke over the phone, Bridget says Geraldine sounded almost suicidal."

"So she might be dead upstairs," I said. "Someone is going to have to break in and check." And retrieve our dresses at the same time. That was in my mind, but it sounded a bit heartless, so I left it unsaid.

Alice turned to me. "One of us ought to stay outside the shop all day, in case Geraldine decides to come back. The college says in the circumstances I can have the day off."

"Great," I said. "Even if Melanie doesn't turn up for work today, Pete and Hayley can cope if you and I watch here in shifts of two hours each. Anyway, we didn't have any breakfast. Nothing is going to happen here in the next few minutes. Come back with me to Button Up and grab something to eat. You can have a coffee-to-go, and it's all on the house!" I had to try to lift the gloom.

We made our way wearily to Button Up, devastated by the confirmation of Geraldine's disappearance. Melanie was already back from the bank, and when I told her about Geraldine's disappearance she shook her head. "Everything is going wrong. You keep watch on Geraldine's shop, Abi. I'm the one who's been the fool. Anyway, it will do me good to work here for the day, to take my mind off things."

That sounded too good an offer to turn down, and Alice and I agreed we would watch outside Buns in shifts, as planned. We would phone the other if there was any news, and phone Danny of course. We might need his legal intervention.

I phoned Danny. He thanked me for the pic of Bridget's notice, and said he would contact the police and explain our concerns about the possibility of Geraldine being dead on the premises. He added, "They will have to break in, and that might be the opportunity to collect your dresses."

Okay, so I wasn't the only heartless one ‒ but that was a very practical point. Collecting the dresses wouldn't affect Geraldine, whether she was alive or dead, there or far away.

I said I would take the first shift at Buns, and Alice said she might as well go with me. As we approached the shop, we stopped in surprise. Several people stood outside peering through the window, and I could see something posted on the door that definitely wasn't the sign Bridget had put there about the shop being closed.

At first I thought the people were just being nosy, although why they suspected something important had happened, I couldn't think. Then I saw someone moving around inside.

"Look," Alice said, "Geraldine is back. That's good."

I shook my head. "That's not Geraldine. That's a man." I went close to the door and read the sign.

Buns was bankrupt. The administrators had been called in. Words like _administration_ and _insolvency_ leaped out at me. I banged on the glass. Firmly.

A man in a business suit came to see me through the glass. He shook his head, then walked away.

I phoned Danny.

I don't know if he normally responds to clients that quickly, or if he was especially anxious to get hold of the wedding dresses so we could be married on Saturday. Anyway, Danny was there within five minutes, slightly out of breath, wearing his slate blue Italian-cut suit.

He banged on the glass and he had a lot more luck than me. Probably because he was holding up one of his expensive-looking Branks, Davis & Waters business cards.

The man opened the door just long enough for Danny to slip through, but closed it quickly enough to stop me and several angry people outside getting in.

I watched Danny point upstairs, which received a nod of the head, and then point to the back room where all the dresses were stored, and getting a shake of the head. Danny gave the man his card and at the same time wrote some notes on a pad he had brought in his expensive briefcase. I hope the man was impressed by both the briefcase and the suit.

Danny was allowed to slip out, and the door was immediately closed and locked on the inside. He led me and Alice to the other side of the road, away from any eavesdroppers. He clearly had something important to tell us.

"I'm going to phone the administrators. I'd like to meet them face-to-face, but they're not based in town. From what I can gather, your Geraldine has not been paying her suppliers, and they finally lost patience. Signor Rocco has been trying his tricks on women around here recently. I suppose Geraldine thought she was going to make a fortune, and so she kept delaying payments, in spite of several court summonses which she ignored. And now the administrators have been called in to seize the contents."

"I know it's selfish to think of ourselves, Danny, but does that mean we don't get our wedding dresses?"

Danny breathed out heavily and shook his head. "Do you want to cancel Saturday, and fix the wedding for another time?"

I felt my stomach jump. "Are you saying we're _not_ going to get our dresses?"

"We'll get them, Abi, but not this week."

"That's ridiculous," I protested. "What use will they be after our wedding?"

Danny shrugged. "The whole matter will have to go before the courts before anything can be sorted. The court can only seize goods that don't already belong to customers. Our banks will eventually give us a refund on the credit cards, but not in time to organise anything for Saturday. The problem is, we don't have enough money to start all over again, even if that was possible."

I could phone my parents. They'd promised to help with the cost of my wedding. It wouldn't help Alice, who had no parents. Anyway, I wasn't sure how Mum and Dad would react. It filled me with shame to have to confess what had happened. Besides, no amount of money would get us new dresses in time for Saturday.

Alice seemed to be taking a more level-headed view of things. "We don't _have_ to get dressed in white, Abi."

I stamped my foot angrily. So hard that I actually bruised it. I'd not done that since I was a small, petulant child. "Where has God been in all this, that's what I want to know."

"We can still get married," Alice pointed out. "I'm sure God isn't bothered about what we wear."

I couldn't believe what she was saying. " _I'm_ bothered about what we wear, even if God isn't. What are we going to do?"

"You can't blame this on God," Alice said. "Anyway, did you ask Him what sort of dresses we needed?"

I bit my lip and had to admit ‒ to myself ‒ that prayer hadn't taken a great part in these preparations. Anyway, I couldn't blame the disaster on God. I blamed it on Romero Rocco and Geraldine.

"I need to get back to work," Danny said. "If you both want to go ahead with the wedding, even if it means wearing ordinary summer outfits or something, I'm sure Rupert and I won't mind. I'm going to phone the administrators. I'll let you know what the options are this evening when we meet up at yours, Abi."

"I take it Geraldine isn't lying dead upstairs," I said.

Danny shook his head. "That's one of the first things I asked. They searched the whole premises. Judging by the way drawers are open and clothes have been scattered around on the bed, Geraldine has done a runner. With no forwarding address."

They say work is good for the soul, and Melanie threw herself into serving and cooking and clearing the tables with more enthusiasm than usual. I should say _even_ more enthusiasm, because she is always a hard worker.

She said she didn't want to leave early. We could go home, and she would close the coffee shop at six as usual. Of course I felt guilty for not thinking of it before. "Come back home with me for a bit of company, Mel. We're going to discuss how we can possibly hold the wedding and reception on Saturday without dresses. You might have some bright ideas."

"You'll think of something, Abi. You're always very practical. I've never known you stuck over anything for long. But thanks for the invite. I've got other plans for this evening, so I'll be okay. Tell you about them later."

I left Button Up early in order to be home well before six, and found Danny already there, sitting on one of the sofas in my living room, with Alice and Rupert on the other one. They looked glum. Is there a stronger word than glum? If there is, they looked it.

"It's a disaster, Abi," Alice said.

I looked from her to Danny to Rupert. I didn't know what had happened, but from their faces it was easy to believe that something I didn't know about was a disaster.

"Geraldine hasn't booked a single thing for us," Alice said.

"But we paid," I protested.

Danny beckoned me to sit by his side. I wondered if I'd feel better snuggling up to him, but somehow the occasion seemed too formal for that. But I sat close.

"Yes, you paid," he said. "Fortunately you both paid with your credit cards. Trouble is, Geraldine didn't pay the various people who were supposed to be part of the complete service."

"But they were booked," I said. "We even saw the photographer, and we chose the cake, and‒‒‒‒"

"You saw the photographer, but Geraldine didn't actually confirm the booking, because he wanted an upfront deposit," Danny explained, interrupting my outburst. "The bookings were cancelled."

I stood up. "Are you saying _nobody_ has been booked? We've got no food, no cake, nowhere for the reception, no _nothing_?"

"At least we've got the pastor. We booked him ourselves," Alice said, trying to lighten the mood.

That made me smile, although I'm not sure why.

"And the church hall may be available for us to hold the reception." Alice sounded really upbeat now.

"And what are we going to eat?" I asked, feeling really downbeat. This was going to be the most disastrous wedding ever, assuming it actually took place on Saturday.

Alice was on a roll. "Let's forget feeding _just_ the guests we've invited to the reception, and invite _everyone_ in the church. We can scour the local supermarkets and buy hundreds of sandwiches and desserts. It will be much cheaper than the hotel was going to cost. Much cheaper."

Hundreds of sandwiches? That would take some organising. Sandwiches had to be bought on the day. Maybe not. As long as they could be refrigerated overnight, and the sell-by date was okay.... No, that wouldn't work. We would need huge refrigerators. Much larger than the chilled counter in Button Up.

Alice came over and squeezed onto the sofa beside me. "We can do it, Abi, we can do it. We can do anything if we try. Let's pray about it, and hand the problem over to the Lord."

Prayer was such an obvious thing that I felt ashamed it hadn't been uppermost in my mind. So we prayed. It's strange that I can't do long prayers, because as my mother says, I can talk the hind leg off a donkey. But I know my prayer came from the heart, and so did those of the others.

Chapter 19

Although I didn't feel hungry, we decided we had to eat something, especially as I had skipped lunch. Maybe that was what was wrong with me. Lack of food.

While Danny and Rupert went to knock up a meal, I phoned Pastor David and explained what had happened. He was so sympathetic that it brought tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat again. I was turning into a big softy.

"Of course you can use the church hall," he said, when I asked. "It's free this Saturday. We can put up all the tables, and if necessary move extra chairs from the chapel straight after the service. I know some guys who will organise that. Is there anything else Elizabeth and I can do?"

I sort of laughed through my tears. "You don't have any spare wedding dresses in the lost property cupboard, do you?"

He seemed to take me seriously. "I can ask around, but we've not had any weddings for young people recently."

Young people, I thought. Well it would be no good asking Julie Watkins ‒ or Mrs Bartholomew her neighbour. Okay, so we get married in summer dresses.

When I got back to the kitchen I found Alice sitting at the table with my laptop. "Come and look at these, Abi."

She had a page open on one of the main internet sellers. "I don't want anything second-hand with red lipstick and wine stains on it," I said, guessing what she had in mind.

Alice shook her head. "Just look, Abi. They're all brand-new."

I looked at the screen and couldn't believe what I was seeing. For the price of a decent meal out, it was possible to buy a range of conventional wedding dresses. Why had we been going to pay so much at Buns?

"Of course, they're not going to be great quality," Alice said, "but we're only going to wear them once."

"I should hope so," Danny said, leaning over for a look. "I expect they're coming from China. How long does it take to get them?"

Alice looked up at him. "The day after tomorrow, if we pay extra for delivery. Thursday. They come from inside the UK. Even if they guarantee delivery on Friday, they will still be in time."

I had visions of tripping my way back down the aisle with Danny, wearing a gown that was far too long, and falling flat on my face.

I'm not convinced that men are fashion savvy when it comes to women's clothes, but Danny pointed to the page showing a wedding dress that Alice had clicked on. "Look, you can get it in several sizes. And you're both average height. I'm sure they'll be fine. Worth a try, anyway."

I supposed it _was_ worth a try, although I have to say I felt a mix of disappointment and anger that Geraldine had let us down. Clearly these dresses wouldn't look as impressive as the ones we had already paid for ‒ but couldn't get.

So Alice and I told the boys to clear off and get the food ready. We didn't want them looking at the dresses before they saw us wearing them at the front of the church. We clicked on several. It turned out to be considerably easier for each of us to choose one than it had been at Buns, but of course we were now experts at choosing wedding dresses.

"Even if they don't look too good," Alice, the practical one, said, "we'll let everybody know what's happened, and I'm sure we'll get the sympathy vote."

I nodded. "They look good on the website, so I'm sure they'll look good in the photographs."

"Photographs?" Alice let out a loud groan. "We don't have a photographer. Geraldine didn't book him. All she did was keep our payment."

"Do we know any wedding photographers?" I asked. It was a joke.

"What about that army man in the road, the man with the injured back?" Alice suggested.

"You mean Paul Watkins, Julie's husband?"

"He and Judy seemed friendly when we called in."

"You're right," I said, "Danny and Rupert moved that bed upstairs for them. They owe us one. After all, Paul's got a camera. I'm _sure_ he specialises in weddings." I was laughing. Hysteria was setting in ‒ again.

"We won't know if we don't ask," Alice said, also laughing.

I shrugged. "Let's ask. Paul Watkins knows how to work a camera, so he'd be better than nothing."

We told Danny and Rupert to hold with the food, because we were going to see Julie and Paul. The sooner we sorted out a photographer the better, because we might have to try several people.

I explained it would be better if just Alice and I went to ask, because two brides-to-be could really turn on the compassion if they didn't have men with them.

Julie welcomed us in, and we got straight down to the nitty-gritty of the whole sorry tale. "And we need a photographer. Urgently. Someone like Paul."

No, I didn't say that last bit, but I think we made it pretty obvious what we were thinking.

"I could do it," Paul said. "At least, I could take photographs of everyone around and inside the church. Some formal and some candid. But I wouldn't be able to go to the reception. I presume it's in one of the hotels in town."

Julie gave him a playful slap on the arm. "You've not been listening, Paul. It's going to be in the church hall." She turned to me. "Have you told your caterers?"

Clearly Julie hadn't been listening properly either. Once again I explained our plan for sandwiches and desserts.

"Is there going to be a cake?" Julie asked. "I could help with the wedding cake."

I had visions of Julie up all night, her arms deep in mixing bowls making a fruitcake, then icing it and piping it perfectly. All three tiers. Wow.

"If you can get hold of a plain cake with white icing, I can decorate it for you. I've done that before."

My vision came crashing to the ground. "The wedding is on Saturday, Julie. Where can we get a large cake with white icing? The wholesalers we use at Button Up don't do such a thing."

"Some of the supermarkets do. It won't be big enough for the number of people you're probably expecting, but I can order some pillars over the internet and they'll be here on Friday. And of course horseshoes and other decorations. Two bride and groom figures for the top. I'm looking forward to it already."

Julie opened the website for the big supermarket on the edge of town, and immediately found a large square cake called a celebration cake. "Leave it with me," she said, clicking on the Buy Now link. "I'll get two. We don't have a car, but perhaps you could pick them up tomorrow."

Julie insisted on us not paying for them, and said it would be her wedding gift to us. And she was going to order all the bits and pieces necessary to make it look as authentic as possible.

When she said she wouldn't take money, I felt really bad that they hadn't been in our first thoughts of who to invite to the wedding.

"Now you two run along," Julie said. "The cakes will be ready to collect tomorrow afternoon. I've already paid for them, so all you need do is bring them to me and leave them here. They will be in good hands, I promise."

I couldn't believe the kindness of these people, people we hardly knew. If only Ivy could have known what a lovely granddaughter she had. Anyway, both Alice and I _insisted_ that we paid for the cakes and the decorations, and said we were so thankful that Julie was offering her services to decorate them.

I also insisted Paul would get paid. He said he would take literally hundreds of candid and formal pics, but explained he didn't have a good enough printer. So he would give us all the pictures on a DVD and we could take them to one of the photo labs in town to get them printed in any size we wanted. We could go through them on the screen first, and decide which ones we wanted. And he definitely wasn't going to charge us for taking the photographs, running them through Photoshop and putting them on the disc.

It was a generous offer. It occurred to me that coming to church for the wedding might even get Julie and Paul to go with us to church some Sundays, assuming they didn't belong to one already. That's me now ‒ the home-based missionary.

We were about to leave, when Julie told us to wait. She went next door and fetched Mrs Bartholomew. I didn't know, but apparently Mrs Bartholomew had considerable experience of catering for large numbers. I always felt embarrassed meeting my old maths teacher, but she was so full of sympathy and understanding for our plight that I realised any uneasiness was on my side, not hers. It had probably been like that at school, if only I'd been able to see it. On the other hand, I can remember being a rather disruptive pupil.

Mrs Bartholomew said we could leave the buying of the sandwiches and tasty titbits to her. She would collect the two celebration cakes for Julie to prepare, and she and her husband would tour the supermarkets early on Saturday morning, and be back in plenty of time to lay everything out in the church hall, and attend the wedding. She said she would also cater for the vegetarian option, although none of the people who had replied to our invitation had mentioned any special requirements. But it was just as well to be prepared.

She also offered to get several bottles of prosecco wine on Friday and put them in her fridge, and hire some wine glasses at the same time. The church hall had all the facilities for making tea and coffee, but we'd not thought about drinks, leaving the whole lot to Geraldine to organize.

I assured Mrs Bartholomew we would pay for _everything_. She suggested we should also have a range of soft drinks, which sounded great. And so much cheaper than Buns! When I thought of how much the hotel had been going to charge for the reception, I felt like telling Mrs Bartholomew she could get a hundred bottles of champagne! But I didn't.

I explained that the reception was now open to everyone in church as well as our invited guests, so we had no idea how many people would be coming, but suggested we trebled the number on the official guest list who had accepted. And maybe then some.

Mrs Bartholomew laughed. "In the circumstances, I'm sure everyone will hold back until they see how the food is going. Of course, you always get one greedy person who is first in the line and tries to load up their plate, but I know how to cope with all sorts of troublemakers." And she winked at me. Whatever did she mean?

I didn't need to ask Julie or Mrs Bartholomew if they had kept their wedding dresses for us to borrow! Friday delivery for the internet wedding dresses was guaranteed. Well, perhaps we should look at some summer outfits in the meantime, just in case.

We hurried back with the good news, and had to warm our meal in the microwave. While we had been at the Watkins, Rupert had phoned one of the customers at the garage who had two small Morris Eight saloons of 1936 vintage. Apparently the customer been thinking of hiring them out for special occasions, and said if they didn't break down too many times with us in them, he would probably start up a hire business. That was really good news, and I didn't like to ask if the old leather seats would be free of grease. And I hoped he was joking about the breakdowns

But at least we got things sorted. All we had to do was to wait for the dresses, and hope we wouldn't all have too big a laugh when we saw each other wearing them.

Chapter 20

(Last chapter)

It's nine o'clock Saturday morning, the day of our wedding. I'm in the hairdressing salon with Alice, getting ourselves fixed up for the big moment. We're going to change our hairstyles.

Danny has never seen me with anything other than long straight hair that curls slightly at the end, and Rupert has never seen Alice with anything other than dark brown unruly curls. I'm having a coil on top and Alice is having her hair straightened and done into headphones ‒ if it's possible to safely anchor them in place.

Our brand new husbands probably won't recognise us when we lift back our veils, and think they've married the wrong women. Of course, Danny might be relieved. No he won't. We were made for each other.

Last night I had a really bad dream. In the dream the hairdresser wasn't in the usual place. To my surprise, Geraldine was doing it. When she'd finished, I looked in the mirror and saw my hair was a sort of dark red mahogany. Nothing to do with the dream, but I've decided _not_ to risk getting my naturally blonde hair looking a bit more naturally blonde today.

I hope Mrs Bartholomew and her husband are out at this moment, scouring the supermarkets for food for the buffet. And I hope Pastor David is with some of the church members laying out the tables in the church hall for the buffet. And I hope Paul Watkins has remembered to charge the battery in his camera. And I hope there's petrol in the little Morris Eight cars.

Do other brides get this anxious immediately before their wedding?

The dresses arrived yesterday as promised, and don't look as bad as I feared they would. However, I'm going to make it clear to everyone exactly what happened with our original choice from Buns.

An hour ago the strangest thing happened. Melanie phoned to ask if it's okay to bring Steve Donovan. What is that all about? I can't wait to find out!

What can possibly go wrong with our big day? Everything. But love always finds a way. In two hours' time Alice and I will walk down the aisle side by side in our bargain dresses and white kitten heel shoes ‒ also at a bargain price ‒ our faces concealed behind bargain veils. Yes, Alice remembered to order veils with the shoes and dresses. Smart girl is Alice.

The veils cost almost as much as a couple of flat whites at Button Up. And the diamond tiaras bought with next day delivery from the internet. They are as fake as Melanie's engagement ring, and they sparkle just as realistically. How else could we have found everything so quickly without the internet, bearing in mind we had already paid for Buns, making it necessary to go close to our overdraft limits? Roll on the credit card refund!

Two young men from the church were thrilled to be invited to be groomsmen several weeks ago. Everything was too frantic for us to find replacement dress suits and top hats to replace the ones we'd ordered for them at Buns. We assured them dark suits will be perfect. After all, this isn't exactly a society wedding.

Fortunately, all the men have their own suits. Danny is wearing his slate blue Italian-cut mohair wool tailored suit he wears for work, and Rupert has a dark grey one he says he wears for funerals. How cheerful is that!

When Pastor David first asked around for two volunteers to be bridesmaids, there was almost a fight amongst the parents of girls as to who wanted the job. So we ended up with six, and now they're having to provide their own dresses. We had arranged to hire dresses for them because they didn't have any white ones of their own. We've said because of the short notice, caused by the demise of Buns, that white isn't necessary, and party dresses will be perfect.

Do girls have party dresses anymore? At the moment I'm having visions of six little girls coming dressed as Disney characters or wearing animal outfits, but I think their parents are quite sensible. Anyway, I honestly don't care at this stage, and it's going to be fun finding out.

My parents arrived from Spain yesterday afternoon, and slept at my house overnight. I'm glad my mother didn't arrive any earlier, as she was immediately trying to reorganise things. Alice and I have seen to all the necessary female side of the arrangements, and we've done brilliantly. Really?

Okay, I know my mum means well, and Alice and I are going to rely on her totally to make sure we're properly dressed and ready to arrive at the church on time.

My parents have given me a more than generous cheque towards the cost of our wedding ‒ the original cost. I had to explain the whole calamity to her, that everything had cost less than the price of their turn flight from Spain.

My mother said she didn't believe me, because our wedding dresses look really good ‒ until I told her the price. That's when she said she hoped her friends never find out when they see the photographs. She also said she and Dad want me to keep the gift, which is amazing, and will help until I can get a refund on my credit card.

Danny's parents are staying with him, and Rupert's parents are in a small hotel nearby. Rupert's grandparents are unable to come, for some vague reason. My father will be giving me away, and Rupert's father will be walking by Alice's side.

I've not seen the cake yet, but I have every confidence in Julie Watkins' skills in turning two supermarket fruit cakes with white icing into the most _magnificent_ wedding cake anyone in the church hall has ever seen!

Flowers! What's happening about flowers? I jump so much that I nearly get more trimmed off the end of my hair than intended. It's okay, I realise. Everything that's important has been sorted. Even the flowers.

I'm now sitting slumped in the salon chair, exhausted. I glance at Alice, and she smiles at me, which makes me feel better. It's been a tough time for the four of us, but we never gave up. I think the setbacks have brought us closer together, so it hasn't been all bad.

We've booked a joint honeymoon at Lake Garda in Italy, including a trip to Venice. It's all paid for. We have our air tickets and passports, and the hotel overlooking the lake has confirmed our booking in writing. So that's something that definitely won't go wrong. How can it?

It's going to be so romantic. I've warned Alice we may not see much of her and Rupert, and she said that's all right, because we're not likely to see much of her and Rupert anyway! Then we hugged each other and laughed. And kept laughing.

This definitely _isn't_ going to be the breathtakingly glamorous wedding I'd been picturing most of my life, and that's okay. It really is. But if Danny and Rupert aren't waiting for us at the front of the church at half past eleven, there's going to be trouble!

###  Epilogue

This is Ira D Sankey's written account of a runaway servant girl who found Jesus through listening to the hymn about white garments ‒ the hymn Abi chose for the wedding service.

It's from Sankey's _Story of the Gospel Hymns_ 1906, (available from White Tree Publishing):

On New Year's night, 1886, some missionaries were holding open-air services in order to attract passersby to a nearby mission, where meetings were to be held later. _All to Christ I Owe_ was sung, and after a gentleman had given a short address he hastened away to the mission.

He soon heard footsteps close behind him and a young woman caught up with him, and said, "I heard you addressing the open-air meeting just now. Do you think, sir, that Jesus could save a sinner like me?"

The gentleman replied that there was no doubt about that, if she was anxious to be saved. She told him that she was a servant girl, and had left her place that morning after a disagreement with her mistress. As she had been wandering about the streets in the dark, wondering where she was to spend the night, the sweet melodies of this hymn had attracted her, and she drew near and listened attentively.

As the different verses were being sung, she felt that the words surely had something to do with her. Through the whole service she seemed to hear what met her oppressed soul's need at that moment. God's Spirit had showed her what a poor, sinful and wretched creature she was, and had led her to ask what she must do.

On hearing her experience, the gentleman took her back to the mission and left her with the ladies in charge. The young, wayward woman was brought to Christ that night. A situation was secured for her in a minister's family. There she became ill and had to be taken to a hospital. She rapidly failed and it became evident that she would not be long on earth.

One day the gentleman whom she met on New Year's night was visiting her in the ward. After quoting a few suitable verses of Scripture, he repeated her favorite hymn, _All to Christ I Owe._ ...

She seemed overwhelmed with the thought of coming glory, and repeated the chorus so precious to her, "Jesus paid it all. All to Him I owe."

Two hours afterward she passed away.

The words of the hymn are shown here, complete with a link to the music. If that link is broken, entering the first line in a search engine will find other links. There are several variations on the words. Here is what appears to be the most familiar version.

Elvina Mable Reynolds Hall who wrote the hymn in 1865, said the words came to her when she was in the choir during a church service. She didn't have any paper handy, so she quickly scribbled the words down on the inside cover of a hymn book!

Link: <https://www.hymnal.net/en/hymn/h/997>

I hear the Saviour say,

"Thy strength indeed is small,

Child of weakness, watch and pray,

Find in Me thine all in all."

( _Chorus_ )

Jesus paid it all,

All to Him I owe;

Sin had left a crimson stain,

He washed it white as snow.

Lord, now indeed I find

Thy pow'r, and Thine alone,

Can change the leper's spots,

And melt the heart of stone.

For nothing good have I

Whereby Thy grace to claim;

I'll wash my garments white

In the blood of Calv'ry's Lamb.

And when, before the throne,

I stand in Him complete,

"Jesus died my soul to save,"

My lips shall still repeat.

THE END

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_Tall Men and Strangers_ is the first Abi Button Cozy Mystery Romance.

Abigail (Abi) Button is thirty-one, and in spite of kissing a few frogs she has yet to find her prince. On the lookout for a tall, dark stranger (but not too strange) she realises he has been living nearby all the time. It's just that she has not really noticed Jack Thornley until she meets him in her road late one evening, standing by an emergency ambulance.

Abi's elderly neighbour is Ivy Smith, and she's ninety-one. She gives Abi a small silver key, telling her to keep it secret from her nephew Jack who is helping to care for her. What the key opens, Abi has no idea.

Ivy worries that she hears someone moving around her house at night, when she should be alone. Abi tries to reassure her by saying it's only the old house settling at night, or noisy neighbours, but Ivy Smith is unconvinced. Soon Abi is unconvinced, too.

As Abi's friendship with Jack develops, he invites her to his local church where she meets Danny. Much to her embarrassment she remembers kissing Danny at school. Old memories start to surface, threatening to put the relationship with Jack in jeopardy.

A cozy mystery romance taking place in a small English town, told by Abi Button.

_Poetry and Mayhem_ is the second Abi Button Cozy Mystery Romance.

Abi Button gets involved with the lazy nephews and nieces of their elderly uncle who lived in the creepy house at the far end of her road. Isaac Whittard Magritte Newton, to give him his full name, has set a cryptic clue in his will for the siblings to solve. The will says the first nephew or niece who can solve the clue is going to be extremely wealthy, but the puzzle seems unbreakable. The old man once set crossword puzzles for two of the national newspapers, and other puzzles for various magazines. Abi, with her modest skills in cryptic crosswords, has to admit defeat.

Also on Abi's mind, perhaps as a matter of greater importance than solving the clue that will help four squabbling siblings, is her developing friendship with junior solicitor Danny Wells. She wonders if she has at last found the right man. Melanie Upton ‒ Abi's co-owner of Button Up coffee shop ‒ assures Abi that this one is definitely a keeper. But as Abi points out, Melanie says the same thing about every man Abi gets to know.

_Cake and Calamity_ , this book, is the third Abi Button Cozy Mystery Romance

_Ghouls and Jewels_ _,_ the fourth Abi Button Cozy Mystery Romance, is on the way.

Abi returns from her honeymoon to find a threatening letter on the doormat. Her new friend Alice says her sister and brothers are claiming she's secretly in possession of a priceless Russian tiara and associated jewels. They insist on having their share ‒ and are arranging to take her to court.

This is news to Alice, so Abi and Alice, with their new husbands set out to search the creepy old house that Alice has recently purchased.

A neighbour says she has heard wailing coming from the house, and Abi's childhood fear that the house is haunted is confirmed when she sees a woman's face staring out between the bars of a basement window at night.

The search for the Russian treasure leads to an unpleasant encounter with a dominating father and aunt. More problems for Abi to solve, in between running Button Up coffee shop with her co-owner Melanie Upton, who has romantic news to share. This time it sounds as though it could be promising ‒ with just one small drawback.

**White Tree Publishing** publishes mainstream evangelical Christian literature in paperback and eBook formats, for people of all ages. We aim to make our eBooks available free for all eBook devices, but some distributors will only list our books free at their discretion, and may make a small charge for some titles ‒ but they are still great value!

We rely on our readers to tell their families, friends and churches about our books. Social media is a great way of doing this. Take a look at our range of fiction and non-fiction books and pass the word on. You can even contact your Christian TV or radio station to let them know about these books. Also, please write a positive review if you are able.

Check out our website to find over 100 fiction and non-fiction books, including a range of books for younger readers. The majority of our fiction books are Victorian romances carefully and lovingly edited and abridged for readers today.

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