Twelve Labours of Love

TWELVE LABOURS OF LOVE LAURA STEWART Copyright © 2023 Laura Stewart The right of Laura Stewart to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published in 2023 by Bloodhound Books. Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. www.bloodhoundbooks.com Print ISBN: 978-1-5040-8345-4 CONTENTS Love best-selling fiction? Also by Laura Stewart GLASGOW – VALENTINE’S DAY 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 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Acknowledgements You will also enjoy: A note from the publisher Love best-selling fiction? LOVE BEST-SELLING FICTION? Sign up today to be the first to hear about new releases and exclusive offers, including free and discounted ebooks! Why not like us or follow us on social media to stay up to date with the latest news from your favourite authors? Facebook Twitter Instagram ALSO BY LAURA STEWART The Murderous Affair at Stone Manor Mistletoe and Murder To my wonderful family. GLASGOW – VALENTINE’S DAY Mallory Caine jumped up and down, pulling her woolly cardigan tighter around her body as an icy draught whistled down the hallway of her flat. Shivering, Mallory was currently barred from entering her own lounge which had the only reliable heat source in the guise of a real fire, and slightly more importantly, the television. Mallory’s best friend and flatmate, Caz Lovatt, stood blocking her entry. ‘Just give me two more minutes, I’m planning a surprise. I promise you; it’ll be worth it.’ And before Mallory could protest, Caz darted back into the lounge and closed the door. With the loose-knit acrylic blend of Mallory’s cardigan not offering much respite, Mallory also jammed on her woolly beret and mittens. When viewing the flat a few months earlier, the cavernous rooms and high ornate ceilings were impressive enough for her to overlook the more dated design statements of the period blonde sandstone tenement. But Mallory thought she’d gladly swap her ‘original stained-glass feature windows’, which rattled in their frames whenever the number four bus trundled past on its regular, twenty-minute service, for a more modest-sized, low-ceilinged, double-glazed flat that didn’t rely on clanking temperamental radiators for warmth on what had turned out to be one of the stormiest February days on record. Stomping into the kitchen, Mallory flicked on the overhead strip light, illuminating the dated pine cupboards and beige glazed tiles with barley ears and windmill motifs. She and Caz had disguised as much of the décor as possible with a wide array of fairy lights and it was these very lights Mallory switched on and stood next to hoping they’d release some warmth. She briefly considered switching on the oven and standing in front of it, but it was so ancient there was a jolly good chance she’d end up gassing herself. Instead, she switched on the kettle and spooned some coffee into a mug and mused over what kind of surprise Caz had in mind. Since meeting Caz on their first day at art school ten years earlier, Mallory had been the recipient of many Caz surprises and they ranged from the nice to the dubious, to the downright awful. Mallory had loved the surprise party for her last birthday. The ‘lucky dip’ auctioneers box full of Europop singles and taxidermied birds was strange, but amusing. However, the ‘digital detox’ weekend Caz had booked for them had been torturous from start to finish. Not content with switching off their smartphones and leaving their laptops behind, the organisers insisted everyone also forgo electricity, running water and their own comfortable beds by pitching tents in woods miles from civilisation. Not a natural camper, Mallory had never had a more uncomfortable night’s sleep, terrified creepy crawlies would find their way into her sleeping bag. And so, Mallory felt more than a little trepidation at what was going on behind the firmly shut lounge door, especially as she could hear hammering coming from inside despite Caz’s attempts at drowning it out by playing her Tibetan monk chants playlist at full volume. As the kettle came to the boil and switched off, Mallory became aware of someone joining in the cacophony of noise by pounding on the front door. No doubt it would be their busybody neighbour with the low noise tolerance and high meddling factor, Mallory thought with a sigh, watching as her breath misted in front of her. But instead of the purse-lipped Mrs McClusky on her doorstep clutching her yappy Yorkshire terrier, she discovered her friend Oliver Walsh; doubled over and gasping for air. He thumped his chest with his fist, coughed then looked up at her through his mop of sandy blond hair and rain-splattered tortoiseshell glasses. ‘I ran… all the way.’ ‘Um… why?’ Laid back to the point of horizontal, Olly, in all the years Mallory had known him, had never run for anything