'You did a good job there, Mr Meehan,' Donner said.

Meehan nodded complacently. 'I've got to agree with you there, Frank. You know something. There was no flesh left on her left cheek when she came to me. That girl's face was mincemeat, I'm telling you.'

'You're an artist, Mr Meehan,' Donner said, genuine admiration in his voice. 'A real artist. It's the only word for it.'

'It's nice of you to say so, Frank. I really appreciate that.' Meehan switched off the light and led the way out. 'I always try to do my best, of course, but a case like that - a young girl. Well, you got to think of the parents.'

'Too true, Mr Meehan.'

They moved out of the chapel area into the front hall, the original Georgian features still beautifully preserved, blue and white Wedgwood plaques on the walls. There was a glass door leading to the reception office on the right. As they approached, they could hear voices and someone appeared to be crying.

The door opened and a very old woman appeared, sobbing heavily. She wore a headscarf and a shabby woollen overcoat bursting at the seams. She had a carrier bag over one arm and clutched a worn leather purse in her left hand. Her face was swollen with weeping.

Henry Ainsley, the reception clerk, moved out after her. He was a tall, thin man with hollow cheeks and sly, furtive eyes. He wore a neat, clerical-grey suit and sober tie and his hands were soft.

'I'm sorry, madam,' he was saying sharply, 'but that's the way it is. Anyway, you can leave everything in our hands from now on.'

'That's the way what is?' Meehan said, advancing on them. He put his hands on the old lady's shoulders. 'We can't have this, love. What's up?'

'It's all right, Mr Meehan. The old lady was just a bit upset. She's just lost her husband,' Ainsley said.

Meehan ignored him and drew the old lady into the office. He put her in a chair by the desk. 'Now then, love, you tell me all about it.'

He took her hand and she held on tight. 'Ninety, he was. I thought he'd last for ever and then I found him at the bottom of the stairs when I got back from chapel, Sunday night.' Tears streamed down her face. 'He was that strong, even at that age. I couldn't believe it.'

'I know, love, and now you've come here to bury him?'

She nodded. 'I don't have much, but I didn't want him to have a state funeral. I wanted it done right. I thought I could manage nicely what the insurance money and then this gentleman here, he told me I'd need seventy pound.'

'Now look, Mr Meehan, it was like this,' Ainsley cut in.

Meehan turned and glanced at him bleakly. Ainsley faltered into silence. Meehan said, 'You paid cash, love?'

'Oh yes,' she said. 'I called at the insurance office on the way and they paid me out on the policy. Fifty pounds, I thought it would be enough.'

'And the other twenty?'

'I had twenty-five pounds in the Post Office.'

'I see.' Meehan straightened. 'Show me the file,' he said.

Ainsley stumbled to the desk and picked up a small sheaf of papers which shook a little as he held them out. Meehan leafed through them. He smiled delightedly and put a hand on the old woman's shoulders.

'I've got good news for you, love. There's been a mistake.'

'A mistake?' she said.

He took out his wallet and extracted twenty-five pounds. 'Mr Ainsley was forgetting about the special rate we've been offering to old age pensioners this autumn.'

She looked at the money, a dazed expression on her face. 'Special rate. Here, it won't be a state funeral will it? I wouldn't want that.'

Meehan helped her to her feet. 'Not on your life. Private. The best. I guarantee it. Now let's go and see about your flowers.'

'Flowers?' she said. 'Oh, that would be nice. He loved flowers, did my Bill.'

'All included, love.' Meehan glanced over his shoulder at Donner. 'Keep him here. I'll be back.'

A door had been cut through the opposite wall giving access to the flower shop next door. When Meehan ushered the old lady in, they were immediately approached by a tall, willowy young man with shoulder-length dark hair and a beautiful mouth.

'Yes, Mr Meehan. Can I be of service?' He spoke with a slight lisp.

Meehan patted his cheek. 'You certainly can, Rupert. Help this good lady choose a bunch of flowers. Best in the shop and a wreath. On the firm, of course.'

Rupert accepted the situation without the slightest question. 'Certainly, Mr Meehan.'

'And Rupert, see one of the lads runs her home afterwards.' He turned to the old lady. 'All right, love?'

She reached up and kissed his cheek. 'You're a good man. A wonderful man. God bless you.'

'He does, my love,' Dandy Jack Meehan told her. 'Every day of my life.' And he walked out.

'Death is something you've got to have some respect for,' Meehan said. 'I mean, this old lady. According to the form she's filled in, she's eighty-three. I mean, that's a wonderful thing.'

He was sitting in the swing chair in front of the desk. Henry Ainsley stood in front of him, Donner was by the door.

Ainsley stirred uneasily and forced a smile, 'Yes, I see what you mean, Mr Meehan.'

'Do you, Henry? I wonder.'

There was a knock at the door and a small, dapper man in belted continental raincoat entered. He looked like a Southern Italian, but spoke with a South Yorkshire accent.

'You wanted me, Mr Meehan?'

'That's it, Bonati. Come in.' Meehan returned to Ainsley. 'Yes, I really wonder about you, Henry. Now the way I see it, this was an insurance job. She's strictly working class. The policy pays fifty and you price the job at seventy and the old dear coughs up because she can't stand the thought of her Bill having a state funeral.' He shook his head. 'You gave her a receipt for fifty, which she's too tired and old to notice, and you enter fifty in the cash book.'

Ainsley was shaking like a leaf. 'Please, Mr Meehan, please listen. I've had certain difficulties lately.'

Meehan stood up. 'Has he been brought in, her husband?'

Ainsley nodded. 'This morning. He's in number three. He hasn't been prepared yet.'

'Bring him along,' Meehan told Donner and walked out.

He went into cubicle number three in the Chapel of Rest and switched on the light and the others followed him in. The old man was laying in an open coffin with a sheet over him and Meehan pulled it away. He was quite naked and had obviously been a remarkably powerful man in his day with the shoulders and chest of a heavyweight wrestler.

Meehan looked at him in awe. 'He was a bull this one and no mistake. Look at the dick on him.' He turned to Ainsley. 'Think of the women he pleasured. Think of that old lady. By God, I can see why she loved him. He was a man, this old lad.'

His knee came up savagely. Henry Ainsley grabbed for his privates too late and he pitched forward with a choked cry.

'Take him up to the coffin room,' Meehan told Donner. 'I'll join you in five minutes.'

When Henry Ainsley regained his senses, he was lying flat on his back, arms outstretched, Donner standing on one hand, Bonati on the other.

The door opened and Meehan entered. He stood looking down at him for a moment, then nodded. 'All right, pick him up.'

The room was used to store coffins which weren't actually made on the premises, but there were a couple of workbenches and a selection of carpenter's tools on a rack on the wall.

'Please, Mr Meehan,' Ainsley begged him.

Meehan nodded to Donner and Bonati dragged Ainsley back across one of the workbenches, arms outstretched, palms uppermost.

Meehan stood over him. 'I'm going to teach you a lesson, Henry. Not because you tried to fiddle me out of twenty quid. That's one thing that's definitely not allowed, but it's more than that. You see, I'm thinking of that old girl. She's never had a thing in her life. All she ever got was screwed into the ground.'