Relief Valve: The Plumber's Mate, Book 2 (4 page)

I nodded, then looked at her sideways. “Well, I’m with him, but I’m not
with
him. He’s a mate. Vodka martini for him, when you’ve finished pulling that pint. Cheers, love.”

I paid her, then carried the drinks over to Gary’s table and slumped down next to him to take the weight off. Julian, Gary’s St Bernard, looked up briefly, wagged his tail once and shifted so he could start drooling on my leg instead of one belonging to his cuddly campanologist owner. He’s always been free with his favours, Julian has. Whoever it was who said pets resemble their owners had Gary and Julian bang to rights.

Gary took his drink from me with grabby hands. “
Finally
. Darling, I’ve been waiting
eons
for you. Poor Julian has aged around a decade in dog years. And what on earth are you wearing?”

I looked down at myself. “Clothes?”

Gary’s got one of those faces that are somehow way more expressive than your average. Like he’s a caricature of himself or something. Right now he was looking at me like I’d just turned up straight from a stint in a cesspit. “For want of a more descriptive term, perhaps. Where did you get that shirt? Oxfam?”

“Oi. It was quite expensive, actually. What’s wrong with it?”

Gary shuddered. “What’s right with it? Darling, it’s
shiny
, and not in a good, Jake Shears sort of way. And broad stripes went out while you were still in nappies. Which I’d have thought were probably a better look on you.”

My shoulders slumped. “I thought Phil might like it. He’s always complaining about my old shirts.” Actually, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but there had been one or two pointed suggestions that I might want to get changed before we went out for a drink.

“Trust me, my dear, if he sees you in this monstrosity he’ll never say another word about your customary pocket-lumberjack look.”

“Pocket…? You and that bloke of yours are going to give me a complex, you know. Talking of which, he said you’ve got something to tell me. So come on, out with it, what’ve you done?”

Gary beamed, a happy teddy bear. “Guess! No, don’t bother, you’ll never guess. Darren has asked me to be his husband! Isn’t it marvellous?”

“Bit sudden, innit? You’ve only known him a couple of weeks!”

“Months, actually.” Now he was a grumpy bear. “Longer than you’ve been with thingummy.”

No, Gary hadn’t forgotten Phil’s name. He was just a card-carrying member of the Tom Can Do Better Club. I nearly choked on my pint at the thought of Gary having something in common with my big sister. “That’s different. I’ve known Phil since we were at school. And neither of us have got down on one knee.”

“Sweetie, you don’t have to tell me about your sex life. Or lack of one. We’re supposed to be talking about
me
.” He leaned forward, the glint of the born party planner in his eye. “I was thinking of a June wedding, because it should be sunny but not too hot—nothing worse than shiny red faces and sweat stains in a wedding photo. But it’s such a nightmare working out what to wear. Not that I’d want your opinion, based on today’s fiasco. Anyway, you’re both invited, assuming he’s still around by then. If not, I’m sure we can find you somebody just as photogenic to pair up with. Darren knows
lots
of people.”

And most of them carnally, seeing as they all seemed to be hangovers from his old porn star days. “Phil’s still going to be around,” I said with a lot more conviction than I actually felt. If I didn’t nip this fixing-me-up thing in the bud, Gary and Darren were likely to end up discussing it in front of Phil, and that was a self-fulfilling prophecy I could do without.

“Of course he will be, dear.” Gary sucked the olive off the end of his cocktail stick with an obscene slurping sound. “If you want him to be.”

“Why wouldn’t I? The bloke saved my life, remember?” I lifted my pint and drank to that memory.

“It doesn’t count if he was the one to endanger it in the first place,
remember
? But let’s not talk of depressing subjects.”

I leaned back in my seat and crossed an ankle over my leg. “I’ll assume you mean my little moment of mortal peril, not my boyfriend. So what do you want to talk about?” Over at the bar, Marianne was getting chatted up by a bloke in paint-stained jeans and tatts who hadn’t yet noticed Harry’s watchful eye on him. I reckoned Marianne was in safe hands there.

“Well, you’ve had my big news. Surely something noteworthy must have happened to you since we last met? Apart from your fit of insanity while shopping.”

“Saw my sister.”

Gary shuddered. “I bet she didn’t ask after me.”

“Not as such, no. And there’s the possibility I’ve inherited half a house, but it might be nothing.” Gary perked up at that, and even Julian pricked up an ear as I told them all about Auntie Lol.

“It all sounds very Gothic. The wife who ran away; the mysterious legacy—even the funeral undertaken—pun not intended—in indecent haste.”

“Too bloody right about that last bit. I still can’t believe Cherry didn’t tell me about it. Just because she’d never kept in touch with Auntie Lol.”

“Maybe she was jealous, darling? After all, she’s getting all the work, and you’re the one with the juicy bequest.”

“The
possibly
juicy bequest. Dunno what it is yet, do I?”

“I know. This is all so exciting. Have you thought what you’ll do with the money? You could go travelling, move out of Fleetville, buy a whole new wardrobe—”

“Oi. Stop going on about the bloody clothes. And I like living in Fleetville. It’s handy for the shops and it’s not full of pretentious tossers like most of the villages round here.” I drained my pint glass a bit pointedly. “And it’s your round, seeing as I haven’t actually come into any money yet.”

Gary heaved a long-suffering sigh and stood up. “Same again? Look after Julian for me, then. Daddy will be back soon, yes he
will
.” The last bit was to the dog, thank God.

The following night, the landline rang again. Phil was cuddling up to Arthur on my sofa again, watching
CSI
. It seemed a strange choice of relaxation for a detective, but whatever, so I took the phone into the kitchen.

It was Cherry, obviously.

“Hi, Sis. Two calls in one week? I hope nobody else has died.” I wasn’t joking.

“Gregory wants to meet you. Seeing as he missed out on doing so at Christmas.” Her tone made it quite clear what dear old Sis thought of that. “And your…partner.”

“Phil’s not my partner,” I protested, with a half-guilty glance in the direction of the living room. “It’s not like we’ve gone and got married or anything. We’re just going out together.”

She
tsked
. “All right, your
boyfriend
. Whatever. Anyway, he’s asked me to invite you round for drinks. Both of you.”

“Right. Fine. When and where? Your place?” I was fairly sure I knew where that was. “You’re still in Plucks End, right?” It was a village out towards Berkhamsted—one of those ones with no shops in the High Street, only restaurants. Plus a Waitrose tucked discreetly out of sight near the station so all the bankers and lawyers could get a ready meal and a bottle of plonk on the way back to their tastefully decorated homes.

“I am, but you’ll be coming to Gregory’s place. My house is a bit of a state right now. I’m having some work done.”

“Extension?” I leaned back on the counter and wondered how many times bigger than my little place Cherry’s house was already.

“New bathroom, actually.”

“What, and you didn’t call me? I’m wounded.” That, and sincerely bloody relieved I wouldn’t have to work for her. Knowing my sister, she’d have been a right pain about it, and she’d have expected a hefty friends-and-family discount as well.

There was a pause. “I…I didn’t know you did bathrooms.”

“I’m a plumber, what the bloody hell do you think I do? Make jam?” Merlin padded into the kitchen at that point and gave me a significant look, as if to say,
Make jam? What a waste of valuable can-opening time.

“I don’t know! I thought you just did drains and taps and things.”

“What, like I just went out and bought a copy of
Plumbing for Dummies
and an ad in the Yellow Pages?” I was seriously miffed. “Just because I haven’t got a bloody law degree from Oxbridge and more letters after my name than are in it doesn’t mean I’m just playing at this.”

“Fine. Next time I need some work done, I’ll call you. Happy now?”

Not really. “So where is Greg’s place, then?” I paced around the kitchen. The bin needed emptying again. I swear the rubbish breeds in there.

“Gregory. He lives in St Leonards, in the Old Deanery in Cathedral Close.”

“Doesn’t the Old Dean mind? Or does he like cosying up to the canons?”

“There’s no need to be facetious.”

“You know, I looked that word up the other day. Comes from a French word for witty. I was amazed. I always thought it meant full of shit. And you need to lighten up a bit. So is there a New Deanery?”

“The Dean lives in the Old Rectory. As if you cared.”

“What about the rector?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, I’d have thought it would to him.” I reckoned a change of subject might be in order if I didn’t want Cherry hanging up on me. Which was tempting, now I came to think about it, but… No. “So how did you meet him, then? Greg, I mean, not the rector.” St Leonard’s wasn’t that far from Plucks End, but it was in the opposite direction from St Albans, where Cherry worked.

“
Gregory
. We, er, had an interest in common. Anyway, can we
please
get this sorted? Gregory suggested Saturday evening, if that’s all right? Around half past eight?”

“I’ll have to check with Phil, but yeah, should be okay.” We said our good-byes. I wondered what the common interest was, and why she was being cagey about it. I couldn’t really remember Cherry having any interests, apart from her career. I grinned. Maybe they were both heavily into the fetish scene? I couldn’t see it, somehow. What else would Cherry find too embarrassing to mention? Maybe they’d met at a pole-dancing class or a Justin Bieber concert.

Strong arms slipped around me from behind, and I leaned back into a nicely solid chest. “What are you smiling about? And what are you supposed to be checking with me?” Phil’s breath warmed my neck and tickled my ear.

It took a moment for what he’d asked to register. “Oh, that was Cherry. My sister.”

“Yeah, I’d worked that out.”

“She’s invited us over to the biblical boyfriend’s gaff. Fancy a cup of tea with the vicar?”

“I can think of things I fancy more.” His hardening dick prodded me in the back, just in case I didn’t catch his drift. “When?”

“Saturday. Unless you’re planning on staking out any more dogging sites?”

“That case is over, thank God. I’ve seen enough bare bums sticking out of car windows to last me a lifetime. No, the only plans I had involved you and that sofa.”

“What, you wanted to watch
Britain’s Got Talent
together?”

“I’ll show you Britain’s got talent.” Phil nipped at my neck, just the right side of painful, and slid his hand down to my dick, which perked up nicely at the attention.

After that, I got a bit distracted from the question of my sister’s love life.
 

Chapter Four

Saturday night, I opened the door to Phil, who was all wrapped up like a posh Christmas present in his cream cashmere sweater and tan leather jacket. Oh, and something else, which hit me like a bit of lead piping to the stomach. “You’re wearing that to meet my sister?”

“What?” he said, presumably on the off chance I’d missed his guilty glance down to his ring finger. Which was still prominently adorned with his wedding ring. Civil partnership ring, what-the-hell-ever. Point was, he was going around flaunting a token of his commitment to someone who wasn’t me.

“She’ll think you’ve got some wife stashed away somewhere you’re cheating on with me, and you can’t even be arsed to hide it.”

“Plenty of widowers wear rings.”

“Not when they’re out with the new bloke, they don’t.” It was a bit of a bone of contention between us, that ring. Phil reckoned it made him seem more trustworthy, for the benefit of potential clients and people he was trying to worm stuff out of. At least, that’s what he said. Thing was, I was beginning to wonder if that was a load of bollocks, and he just liked to remember the man who’d given it to him. Even if they had split up by the time the bloke had died. “Come on, you really want to get into all the explanations at a first meeting?”

That did the trick. Phil never liked talking about The Mysterious Mark. He slipped off the ring and put it carefully in his breast pocket. “Happy now?” he demanded, sticking his denuded finger in my face.

It had a clear mark and, even in the middle of winter, a bit of a tan line where the ring had been. Bloody fantastic. “As a sodding lark.”

Don’t know what my face was saying, but apparently it spoke volumes to Phil. His granite expression softened to half-set putty. “She won’t notice. You’d be amazed at how observant most people aren’t. Come here.”

“What, on the doorstep and scandalize the neighbours? You can come in for a minute.” I pulled on his arm, and he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Ice-cold hands rested on my waist for a moment, dropping down to my arse just as I began to shiver. Phil pulled me in tight. I kissed refrigerated lips, tasting mint, and my body melted into his. Parts of me started to get a bit more interested than was a good idea, seeing as we were supposed to be off to see my big sis around five minutes ago. God, he was gorgeous. Tall, broad, solid as a particularly finely sculpted rock. Speaking of rocks, there was a part of me doing a bloody good impersonation of one. I ground it against his hip, just to make sure he’d noticed.