Undertaking Love by Kat French Read Free Book Online Page B

applications for the receptionist post, but on closer inspection only a clutch of them were even remotely suitable for interview. He’d briefly considered the interesting but wildly unsuitable Ms Scarlet Ribbons, a part time stripper who’d handily enclosed an eye-catching photograph of herself rather than a CV. He could think of many things Ms Ribbons would no doubt excel at, but handling bereaved relatives wasn’t one of them.
    In the end he’d whittled it down to the three most decent sounding applicants and arranged the interviews over the course of this afternoon. A knot of pressure formed in his gut. He needed to get this right. Hiring and firing was yet another aspect of business that was a first for him, but he knew from experience that a great receptionist could be the lynchpin of such an organisation.
    He glanced up and squinted through the driving rain outside. A whippet thin woman in a long flasher mac was on her way over, hunched beneath a black umbrella. Gabe glanced up at the clock. Five minutes early. Punctual. A good first sign.
    He opened the door for her, and then pretended not to hear the choice collection of swear words she rattled off as she battled with her umbrella in the high wind. Droplets of rain bounced off her lacquered helmet of short, peroxide-blonde hair, and when she’d finally beaten the brolly into submission she turned to him with a cigarette-stained smile. She pumped his hand with surprising strength for such a slight woman.
    ‘Valerie McDonald,’ she barked, and declined his offer of a drink unless it was a neat double vodka. Gabe smiled, and dismissed her oddness as nerves. ‘So, Valerie. Maybe you could start by telling me what it is about the job that appeals to you.’
    Valerie snorted and shot off at a pace.
    ‘I’ve spent my entire life flogging one thing or another, Mr Ryan. Houses. Photocopiers. Cars. You name it, I’ve sold it.’ She smiled, and Gabe decided it was a safe bet that she’d never sold toothpaste.
    ‘Coffins will be a damn sight easier to sell than sports cars, let me tell you. Not so many optional extras.’
    Her nasal laugh had the same effect on Gabe as fingernails down a chalkboard. He ran a nervous hand over his stubble. This wasn’t going quite as he’d hoped. Valerie leaned towards him across the desk and lowered her voice, even though there was no one else in the room to keep her secrets from.
    ‘I’ll make sure the punters buy the expensive mahogany boxes rather than the plywood, if you get my drift.’ She tapped the side of her nose twice with an arch wink. ‘Bit of a captive audience around here. Plenty of old coffin dodgers in these villages. A shrewd move, if I may say so, Mr Ryan.’
    Gabe decided he really wasn’t keen on Valerie McDonald. ‘That’s not why I …’
    She drew her hand across her throat to shut him up. ‘It wasn’t a criticism. Au contraire. I’ve already developed a sales strategy for you, actually.’
    ‘You have?’
    Valerie nodded. ‘I’ll need to move this desk closer to the window first though.’ She slapped the beech wood surface of the brand new and carefully positioned reception desk. Gabe was almost afraid to ask why, but his silence was encouragement enough for Valerie.
    ‘If I’m by the windows, I can check out the family’s wheels when they pull up, see? Then when they come in, I’ll be able to pitch my sales patter at the right level. Merc equals solid oak casket. BMW more modern, maybe something in birch with shaker handles? Dented Fiat Panda equals basement bargain pine.’ She laughed, and nodded at her own wit. ‘It’s clever, isn’t it?’
    Gabe had heard enough. Valerie McDonald might have a glittering career ahead of her in kitchen sales, but she certainly was not going to be his new receptionist.
    ‘Umm … actually, no. No, Valerie, it’s not clever. It’s rude, and it’s grossly insensitive, and it’s not going to happen to my customers.’
    He walked over to the front