Death Actually by Rosy Fenwicke

Author:Rosy Fenwicke [Fenwicke, Rosy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wonderful World

Chapter Twenty-six

“Don’t do it, Potter,” a husky voice whispered from the other side of the clothes rack in the middle of the shop.

Maggie jumped.

The voice whispered again. “You’ve been warned! Don’t do it.”

Standing on tiptoes she peered over the top of the clothes, but couldn’t see anyone. Walking around the end of the rack she saw Ben, chortling away, delighted with himself.

“I couldn’t resist,” he said. “I saw you walk in and felt duty bound to stop you from buying another item of black clothing to complement your already extensively dark wardrobe. You need to kick the black habit, Potter.”

“Habit? It’s a choice.”

“Are you sure? As a medical professional I diagnose a pathological deficit in imagination and I’m here to prescribe the cure – colour. This is not the nineteenth century. Undertakers do not have to wear black all the time, certainly not every second of every day. I meant funeral directors, sorry. Do it for your kids, Maggie, show them you have a life outside work. Show them you were a woman once.”

“Once? That’s a bit off, and just when I was starting to li–”

“You were starting to like me,” he interrupted.

“That’s not what I was going to say at all. And my kids are fine with how I dress.”

“Then why do they make comments about it?”

“They’re just being funny – it’s a family joke. And it’s none of your business.”

“I’ve never seen you in anything but black. I’ve told you it suits you, but you’re not wedded to the job, surely. Relax for once.”

Ben’s voice faded into silence. Maggie turned and looked at herself in one of the long mirrors. She saw him standing behind her, trying not to smile.

“OK, if you’re such an expert, what would you suggest?” she asked, hoping to put him on the spot.

Ben scanned the shop. It seemed there was nothing he liked, so he thanked the disinterested shop assistant and guided Maggie out the door with the lightest touch on the small of her back.

“This shop – come in here,” said Ben, opening the door of another boutique just a few doors down.

The contrast couldn’t have been greater. There were sisal rugs on painted floors; large mirrors and good lighting. Racks of clothes in dusky pinks and creams, along with exotically patterned silks and soft crepes, were watched over by a smiling, attractive young woman who welcomed them warmly.

Maggie instantly recoiled. None of these clothes would be suitable for work, and if she spilled so much as one drop of tea or coffee on them, they’d be ruined. Besides, she lived in Queenstown, where most people wore merino clothing, ski jackets and boots for warmth. Where would she wear any of these clothes, enticing though they were?

“Just look,” he urged, seeing the expression on her face. “It can’t hurt to look. What else were you going to do this afternoon?”

“I was going to visit another art gallery and then check on Elka. I do have plans. I can’t spend all day in

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