Free The Colonel and His Daughter by Teresa Ashby Page A

a big fat lie.
    “I’d rather you didn’t,” she said.
    “Well, then I won’t,” he smiled. “But while you’re here, could I have a word about the flowers for Julia’s wedding . . .”
    “What about them?” she said, looking round nervously lest her cover be blown.
    “Well perhaps you’re not aware that Julia’s aunt has allergies in the plural and any flowers will have to be artificial.”
    “Artificial?” Trudy groaned. “But I’ve already ordered fresh. They’re coming from Holland. Only the best for his daughter, Martin Pollard told me and so I ordered the best and now you’re telling me they’ve got to be artificial?”
    “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” Reverend Blinking put up his hands and grinned.
    “Well I’m sorry, Vicar, but I feel like shooting someone,” Trudy said crossly. “As if I haven’t got enough on my plate, now I’ve got to find enough silk flowers for the wedding. Can’t the wretched woman just stay away from the church?”
    She’d met Julia’s Aunt Sandra on a number of occasions. The woman conversed in diseases. Most people made small talk about the weather, but Sandra communicated in ulcers and asthma and if she had ever had an allergy in her life, then Trudy was a petrified tree!
    “She just wants to be the centre of attention,” Trudy went on, her dander well and truly up. “No doubt she’ll cough all through the wedding ceremony and then put everyone off their wedding buffet with talk of her irritable bowel.”
    Reverend Blinking blushed and Trudy realised she may have overstepped the mark.
    “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll sort it out. Just like I sort out everything in this village. And how would you all manage without me, that’s what I’d like to know.”
    She set off at a stride, then remembered she wasn’t supposed to be busy Trudy Benson, but some shy, scurrying stranger and immediately slowed her pace.
    She turned the corner and almost crashed into Bill White from the Frog and Dumpling.
    “Dressed for winter, Trudy?” he boomed.
    Trudy cringed.
    “Keep your voice down, Bill,” she said. “I’m not me. I mean, I’m not who you think I am.”
    “Well who are you then, Trudy?” he asked, frowning. “And where are you off to?”
    “I’m not off anywhere,” she said irritably. “And why can’t people around here mind their own business?”
    “I’m glad I’ve seen you actually,” he said. “About Julia’s wedding . . .”
    “Oh, no, not another one,” she said. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that Julia’s aunt is allergic to just about everything I’ve got planned for the buffet?”
    “Not everything,” he beamed. “Just dairy, wheat, peanuts, seafood, chicken, mayonnaise . . . erm, I’m sure there were other things.”
    “Well not to worry,” she said. “I’ll cook her up a couple of ounces of rice.”
    “Rice,” he said. “That was one of the other things.”
    “Thought it might be,” she muttered.
    Julia’s Aunt Sandra was a great one for leaping on bandwagons and accumulating various diseases and allergies.
    “And I suppose it’s too late to make the cake wheat free,” he said and he looked so hopeful, she could have hit him.
    “I’ve got more important things to worry about than Sandra’s allergies,” she said. “Please excuse me.”
    She didn’t like being sharp with Bill. He was a nice man and everyone liked him. The only mystery was why no eligible young lady had snapped him up.
    “You wouldn’t be going up to see the Colonel would you?” Bill asked and he sounded so desperate, she stopped in her tracks and turned back to look at him.
    “I might be,” she said cagily. “Why do you want to know?”
    He gave her a smile. “Oh, nothing,” he said. “I expect the old boy gets lonely with his daughter living away.”
    “I wouldn’t know,” Trudy sniffed.
    She put her head down and hurried on, insulted that anyone would recognise her in the old coat and headscarf.