Dry Bones Read Free Page A

his stethoscope, it would be a thousand pities if Ruth backed out. Both for her sake, and for the village.
    â€˜Well, your chest’s clear, so that’s a good sign, but I’d stay in bed for at least three or four more days, if I were you, Colonel. Then take it easy indoors for a while. Give yourself plenty of time to recover properly.’
    â€˜It was good of you to call.’
    â€˜Not a problem. By the way, Ruth sent a message. She’d have come round herself, but she didn’t want to disturb you. She’s got a favour to ask.’
    â€˜A favour? If there’s anything at all I can do for her, I’d be only too happy. What is it?’
    â€˜She wants to know if you’d mind giving her away to me. At the wedding.’
    For a moment he was speechless. Quite overcome. He cleared his throat, recovered his croaky voice.
    â€˜I’d be honoured. If she’s sure she wants me.’
    â€˜She says she’d much sooner have you than anyone else she knows. Her father’s dead, as you know, and there’s only some old uncle left whom she hasn’t seen for years.’ Tom Harvey smiled down at him. ‘So, can I tell her you’re on for it?’
    â€˜Of course.’
    â€˜Looks like it’s going to be the end of June, if that’s OK with you.’
    Naomi needn’t have worried, he thought, sinking back on to the pillows when Tom had gone. And Mrs Cuthbertson would be able to sport her pink tulle dustbin lid.
    He was deeply touched by Ruth’s request. He was still virtually a stranger to the village, after all. Most of the inhabitants of Frog End had lived there for years, some of them for all their lives. This was indeed an honour.
    Unfortunately, there didn’t seem much hope that he would be called upon to give away his own daughter. If Alison ever did decide to get married – unlikely in her high-flying world – he couldn’t imagine her going for a full-blown, traditional church wedding. This would be his one and only shot at the role and he hoped to God that he was worthy of it. The very first thing he’d do when he was up and about again would be to hunt for the morning suit.

TWO
    B y the end of May, the Colonel was fully recovered from his flu.
    The new garden shed was up, Jacob had levelled and prepared the ground for the sundowner terrace and the first flagstones were in place. With his shambling gait and furtive manner, the poor chap might look a bit strange but when it came to doing a thorough job of labour, Jacob was second to none. The Colonel knew that if he had tried to do either task himself, he would almost certainly have made a hash of things.
    The front doorbell rang and when he went to answer it he found Freda Butler, from across the green, standing outside.
    She said anxiously, ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you, Colonel . . . so sorry.’
    Poor little Miss Butler, he thought. Always anxious, always apologizing. She had been dealt a poor hand in life: bullied and despised by her late father, a fearsome Admiral of the Royal Navy, while she had followed a rather unsatisfactory career of her own in the WRENs. She had once,
in extremis
, confided in the Colonel – an occasion never referred to by either of them again.
    He smiled at her reassuringly. ‘It’s quite all right, Miss Butler. Would you like to come in?’
    Her cheeks went pink. ‘Oh, no. I shouldn’t dream of it . . . I’m sure you’re very busy.’
    Very busy were not words that generally applied to his normal day.
    He said, ‘Not at all. As a matter of fact, I was just going to make myself a cup of coffee. Will you join me?’
    The pink went a shade deeper and he could see her wavering. ‘I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.’
    â€˜It’s no trouble. Shall we be informal and go into the kitchen?’
    She tiptoed after him down the hallway. ‘If you’re really sure . .