From Italy With Love. Jules Wake

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      The funeral progressed at a cracking pace, just the way Miles had planned, although the eulogy done by all of the ex-wives took a little time. Each one of them found it hard to get their words out. Their obvious grief said as much about Miles as the words. Finally the last hymn was sung.

      With a reluctant, half-hearted smile at the curtains which closed on the coffin, Cam left the church and headed into the sunlit graveyard. At least someone was smiling down on him.

      Outside there were plenty of people milling about and he could have spoken to any number but was drawn to Eric and his wife Norah. Of all the congregation they looked the most sombre and, he noticed, quite frail. Eric had been with Miles for as long as he could remember. He and Norah had lived in the housekeeper’s quarters. She ran the house and Eric the garages, looking after the cars, tuning them up, doing oil changes and replacing spark plugs with the skill and dedication of a transplant surgeon.

      He needn’t worry what would happen to them – Miles would do right by them. Eric’s job had been an act of charity for the last ten years. His rheumatic fingers did their best to polish the chrome and the minute he’d retired for the night, a young lad from the village came in and finished the job off properly under Cam’s strict supervision.

      Norah’s eyes were red-rimmed but she dabbed at them with a heavily scented linen and lace handkerchief. He could smell the lavender from several feet away, reminding him that he’d just lost his one and only handkerchief.

      ‘Cameron, young man. Well that was a fine service.’ Eric pumped his hand.

      Norah sniffed but her wrinkled eyes held a little glint. ‘Mm, old devil. Always liked his own way.’

      Cam grinned. ‘And did he get it?’

      She huffed. ‘Yes, bless his generous soul. Told us a while back that he’d leave me and Eric the Old Wainwright cottage on the east side of the estate.’

      ‘Thought he might.’

      ‘For all his funny foibles,’ Norah gave a scathing glance towards one of the leather clad ushers, ‘he was a good man. Few strange ideas but there’s nowt so queer.’

      ‘Quite a few coming back to the big house,’ observed Eric tipping his head to one side watching the crowd spilling out of the chapel. ‘Just like old times.’

      Cam followed his gaze trying to duck the punch of sadness at the sight of so many gathered, a testament to how popular and well-loved Miles had been. They’d all crowd into the salon at Merryview where no doubt an unorthodox but meaty and filling buffet would have been laid on. A ribbon of excitement fluttered in his chest tinged with shame. He knew once he got to the house the lure of the old stable block would be impossible to resist. Although there was nothing official, no paperwork, no exchange of ownership, Miles wouldn’t have made the promise idly. A curl of satisfaction unfurled in his belly warming him. He could probably pick up the keys today.

      ‘Well that was the weirdest funeral I’ve ever been to,’ exhaled Robert as soon as they stepped out of the church and into the privacy of the shade of the cedars outside.

      His mouth wrinkled in a line of displeasure. ‘And I can’t believe you did that.’

      She sighed. Neither could she.

      Meatloaf’s song had not been written for the organ – that was for sure. Certainly an interesting interpretation. The guy beside them had thought so too, although if he hadn’t started laughing first, she could have held out a bit longer.

      ‘I don’t think anyone else realised,’ he eyed her sombrely, ‘and they say grief does funny things to people.’ He gave her a swift pat on the shoulder. ‘It’s over now. We won’t stay too long at the wake. I suppose we have to go, though I’m not sure it matters.’ He gave a disapproving look around at the people who were all talking a storm.

      She followed his gaze, the two of them tucked away in the shadows away from the main event. For a moment it was like staring down a tunnel at another world, one she was long divorced from. An echo of a former life. Gaudily clad women danced and flitted here, there and everywhere resembling brilliant butterflies. They all seemed to know each other and had no inhibitions greeting and kissing with grace and ease, several times on either cheek, as if sliding into a dance and knowing all the moves – two kisses, three kisses, even four kisses. Everyone seemed instinctively to know the rules. Knowing her, she’d get it wrong and end up in an awkward embrace with a misplaced kiss right on the smacker.

      She huddled closer to Robert.

      ‘We don’t have to go, if you don’t want to, although it would look a bit odd. You seem to be his only living blood relative … here.’ His mouth turned downwards in blatant disapproval. ‘You’d have thought your mother would have made the effort for her own brother.’

      Laurie hugged his arm to her, grateful for his support and ignored a twinge of irritation. Although she felt relieved her mother hadn’t turned up; Robert had never met her.

      Across the crematorium, she caught sight of her fellow conspirator. The sun glinted down on his dark glossy hair, firing up chestnut highlights but his attractiveness was enhanced by the memory of the laughter lines crinkling around those deep blue eyes as he’d tried to hold back his amusement. He scanned the crowd, but his gaze skipped right past her before he returned his attention to the older couple standing with him, bending his head and listening intently.

      ‘Wow.’ Robert voiced his astonishment as he steered through a pair of imposing gate posts and pulled up in front of the house, the circular driveway already ten deep in cars.

      As Laurie looked up at the house, Merryview, a breath caught in her throat and without warning tears welled up. A shocking pull of homesickness tugged at her. If only Miles had told her he was dying. She wouldn’t have stayed away. For a moment she gazed at the house, taking in the sun glinting in the leaded windows and the lichen-stained roof skimming the windows of the upper floor. It felt as if she’d come home. Her eyes traced the progress of the branches of wisteria, tracking across the east side of the house, framing the lower windows.

      ‘You never said your Uncle was rolling in it.’ The words were loaded with accusation as if the information had been deliberately withheld.

      She shrugged. ‘I suppose.’ She’d spent so much time here when she was younger, it hadn’t occurred to her to talk about the size of the house.

      He glanced at her, his eyes suddenly intent. ‘Do you think there’ll be a reading of the will?’

      Robert’s question surprised her.

      ‘Do they still do that sort of thing? I thought it was just in books and films.’

      ‘Would make sense, if all the family is gathered together at one time.’

      ‘Knowing Miles, he would have told them all already.’

      ‘Them? What about you? You’re a blood relative.’

      Laurie swatted a fly away from her face with an irritable wave. ‘I’ve got no expectation from Miles, I haven’t seen him for …’ Guilt stabbed her. She should have seen him. All the excuses in the world didn’t justify her absence.

      ‘What did he do? Apart from constantly sending those crappy postcards.’

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