This novella is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
Mischief
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London, SE1 9GF
www.mischiefbooks.com
An eBook Original 2015
1
Copyright © Ashley Lister 2015
Ashley Lister asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
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eBook Edition © 2015 ISBN: 9780007579570
Version: 2015-08-17
ââ¦if any of you know cause or just impediment why these persons should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or for ever hold your peace.â
Father Truman paused and stared out at the wedding party.
The silence in the restaurant was so thick it was almost tangible.
It was not the first wedding that had been performed in Boui-Boui. Trudy had catered for several weddings where the bride and groom had asked to use the Michelin-starred facilities for their marriage. With its envied reputation, its associations with local celebrity and its trademark chintzy decor, Boui-Boui was a desirable location for such an important event.
Trudy recognised the priest. Father Truman was the local minister who had officiated at two or three previous marriages. He was a charming man and seemed to take genuine pleasure from being able to bring a couple together through the wedding service. But Trudy didnât think she could warm to the man on this occasion.
Father Trumanâs expectant silence continued.
Harvey Walker, the best man, stared out at those gathered. He looked resplendent in his morning suit. With black tails over a silver waistcoat, he held his top hat in one hand and wore a proud smile. Trudy thought he was looking for Charlotte, to give her a warming smile. The couple seemed to have been smiling at each other a lot recently.
His gaze fell on Trudy. His proud smile saddened a little.
Trudy warned herself that she wouldnât cry.
Imogen, the maid of honour, chewed her lower lip nervously. She looked like a woman who didnât care about the impending photographs. Her gaze flitted constantly between the bride, the groom and the priest. Her eye make-up, heavy and dark, had already been smudged by tears.
The restaurant was crowded. As the expectant silence stretched, a handful of guests shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. On table thirteen, Daryl leant close to Trudyâs ear and lowered her voice to a whisper.
âYou should say something.â
Trudy tried to push her away and silently shush her. She was loath to admit that she had been thinking the same thing.
âJust clear your throat and cough,â Daryl suggested. Her voice was incredibly soft. Her words were obscenely tempting. âIt would be enough to let the bastard know that he shouldnât have treated you so badly.â
âNot now,â Trudy insisted.
âIâll do it,â Daryl promised. âIâll shout out and say he shouldnât be marrying that hatchet-faced bitch. He should be marrying you. Just give me a nod and Iâll do it.â
Trudyâs cheeks had turned crimson. She fretted that, in the serviceâs inescapable silence, everyone would hear Darylâs outraged whisperings and might understand the embarrassment of what had happened. The idea of all Billâs friends and family knowing about her shame was unthinkable.
âDaryl,â she warned softly.
âVery well,â the priest declared, breaking the silence. He turned to the bride and said, âDo you, Aliceon Johnson, take William Hart to be your lawful wedded husband?â
Trudy didnât hear the rest of what was being said. She was too busy chastising herself for not taking Darylâs advice. She should have halted the ceremony. She should have screamed and wailed. She should have shouted, âYou canât marry her. You canât marry her because I love you and I thought you loved me.â
An hour later and the ceremony was concluded, the speeches had been mercifully drawn to a close and most of the buffet had been consumed. Guests were milling and mingling whilst an overly enthusiastic DJ encouraged everyone to take their place on the dance floor.