‘Sometimes,’ Frances admitted.
‘But you must have lots of friends at school.’
‘I suppose so,’ Frances agreed sullenly. ‘But they want to play such stupid games at times that I think I prefer being alone with my books.’
Olivia suppressed a smile as she asked, ‘Do you have lots of books to read?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Her expression cleared miraculously. ‘Daddy sometimes buys me something special when he flies to Johannesburg on business, and Aunty Viv is always bringing me books to read. ’
‘Your Aunty Vivien must be very fond of you,’ Olivia observed seriously.
‘Daddy says she spoils and fusses me too much, and that’s why I’m at boarding school and not living with Aunty Viv and Uncle Peter,’ Frances explained with complete honesty. ‘They haven’t any children of their own, you know. Daddy says Aunty Viv can’t have any.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Olivia replied, feeling strangely sympathetic towards a woman she had met only once, but Vivien O’Brien was not a woman one forgot easily.
‘Are you married?’ Frances asked suddenly as the silence lengthened between them.
‘No.’ ‘Have you got a boy-friend?’ Frances persisted with intense curiosity.
‘No,’ Olivia laughed, glancing at the electric clock against the wall. ‘Frances ...’ she hesitated, biting her lip. ‘I enjoy talking to you, but if you’re not supposed to be here ...’
‘No one will miss me,’ Frances insisted confidently.
‘Someone just might,’ Olivia insisted gently. ‘Can you imagine how worried your daddy and mommy would be if someone at the hostel telephoned them to say you were missing?’
‘There’s only my daddy,’ Frances informed her a little carelessly. ‘My mommy died when I was four.’
‘Oh.’ Olivia felt like kicking herself. After a few weeks in Louisville she still knew very little about the people in the town and surrounding district. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added a trifle inadequately.
‘May I come again?’ Frances asked eagerly, changing the subject.
Olivia nodded. ‘If you promise to get permisson from the Matron at the hostel first.’
‘All right,’ Frances agreed readily. ‘I’ll come again soon.’
Olivia stared after her until she was out of sight, wondering what exactly it was about this child that interested her so much that she was already looking forward to her next visit. Could it be Frances King’s apparent lack of shyness, or the hint of loneliness which she had been allowed to glimpse only briefly? Whatever it was, Olivia decided eventually, Frances was an arresting and amusing child, who obviously thought the world of her father, and did not care who knew it.
When Gerald Thatcher telephoned later that afternoon inviting Olivia to have dinner with him at the Haskins Motel, she accepted eagerly in the hope of finding out more about her young visitor, but Gerald, she discovered that evening as they faced each other across the candlelit table, was more interested in discussing her personally.
‘How long have you been here in Louisville?’ he asked as they sipped their wine in the Motel restaurant with its potted palms and glittering silverware.
‘Approximately three weeks,’ she replied after a swift
calculation.
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Why has it taken so long for me to meet you?’
‘Perhaps because you only came into my shop for the first time the other day,’ she reminded him with a humorous smile.
‘Hm ...” he nodded, his fair hair gleaming in the subdued light. ‘We have been rather busy lately,’ he explained thoughtfully. ‘We’re trying to get the children involved in making something for the annual Show in January. ’
‘It’s quite an event then, this Show?’ Olivia questioned seriously.
‘Absolutely,’ Gerald confirmed, his glance questioning. ‘Are you entering anything?’
‘Oh, no,’ she laughed with a touch of embarrassment. ‘I’m not at all artistic in any way.’
Gerald’s green eyes mirrored disbelief, but the waiter arrived with the menu and for a time they had to discontinue their conversation.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ Gerald urged once the waiter had retreated with their order, and his green glance lingered on the creamy curve of her shoulders.
‘There’s nothing much to tell,’ she protested, colouring slightly. ‘I’ve led a very ordinary, nondescript life which makes boring conversation.’
‘Let me be the judge of that,’ he insisted, and Olivia smiled resignedly.
‘Well, I was at university in Johannesburg for a few years and eventually qualified as a librarian, which isn’t a very unusual or exciting job, but I enjoyed it.’
‘What made you come to a small place like this?’
Olivia pulled a face, wishing she had a cent for every time that question had been put to her. ‘Oh, I ... had a little money that was just aching to be used and, when I drove through here a few months ago and noticed that there was a shop for sale with a convenient flat above it, I decided to buy it. ’
‘Just like that,’ Gerald mocked her deliberately casual reply. ‘Well, not quite like that,’ she admitted laughingly. ‘I went home and thought about it for a while before deciding finally. ’
‘Then all I can say is, Johannesburg’s loss is Louisville’s gain.’
‘You’re very kind,’ she passed off his remark, but his hand found hers across the table with a confidence which could only have resulted from experience, she was certain. ‘It’s the truth,’ he insisted.
Olivia slipped her hand from beneath his and curled her fingers about the stem of her glass. ‘It’s your turn to tell me about yourself. ’
His green eyes laughed into hers, but he obliged nevertheless. ‘After leaving the university almost seven years ago, I taught for a while in Pretoria before I accepted a transfer back to Johannesburg. Then, last year, I was offered this post here in Louisville.’
‘And where do you go from here?’
‘Nowhere, I hope,’ he replied firmly, his glance capturing hers once more. ‘Not now that I’ve met you.’
Olivia suppressed the laughter that bubbled up inside her as she shook her head reprovingly. ‘Gerald, how many girls do you have dangling on a string to whom you’ve said those exact words?’
‘None, I swear,’ he protested convincingly.
‘None?’
‘Well, maybe a few,’ he admitted finally with an embarrassed laugh, his eyes crinkling humorously at the corners.
‘ Shame on you!’ she rebuked him with a smile.
‘You know, Olivia,’ he said, regarding her thoughtfully after a moment, ‘I think that’s what I like about you. You certainly cut me down to size.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said with a measure of regret.
‘Don’t be sorry, Olivia,’ he insisted with a look of determination on his lean face. ‘You’ve merely challenged me to work much harder at convincing you that I’m serious.’ His remark disturbed her considerably, making her withdraw mentally from him. ‘Gerald, I don’t think—’
‘I know,’ he interrupted abruptly. ‘We’re practically strangers, and you’re not the kind to fall in love at first sight, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t spend some time together getting to know each other, does it?’
‘No, I suppose not,’ she agreed after a moment of thought.
‘There you are, then,’ he smiled with satisfaction.
‘Gerald, do you know Frances King?’ she asked, changing the subject after they were served with shrimp cocktails.
‘Bernard King’s daughter?’ he asked with a measure of surprise, and she nodded briefly. ‘I see her almost every day, but I wouldn’t say that I know her. Why?’
Olivia sampled her starter before replying. ‘She came to the shop this afternoon.’
Gerald’s eyebrows rose sharply. ‘You mean she left the hostel grounds?’
‘Yes.’
‘The Matron will have something to say a
bout that,'' he frowned severely.
‘Gerald, promise me you won’t say anything about it?’ she pleaded hastily. ‘Just this once, please?’
‘How can I refuse when you ask so nicely?’ he smiled warmly, his glance curious. ‘What did the child want?’
‘I think she came mainly out of curiosity because she enjoys reading, but we talked for quite some time.’
‘What about?’
Olivia shrugged carelessly, reluctant to discuss the rather personal conversation she had had with the child. ‘Nothing that would interest you, Gerald. ’
He leaned towards her in the secluded intimacy of their corner table and captured her glance with his. ‘Everything you say and do interests me, Olivia.’
‘Gerald, please,’ she whispered, lowering her lashes.
‘All right,’ he laughed softly, applying himself to the cocktail before him. ‘Why are you so interested in the child?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted thoughtfully. ‘There was just something about her that made me curious to know her better. ’ ‘If you want to know more about Frances King, then you should talk to Sanet Pretorius. She’s her class teacher.’
‘Sanet Pretorius?’ Olivia repeated slowly, a frown creasing her brow. ‘I’m sure I’ve met her, but I can’t recall what she looks like.’
‘ She’s a pretty little thing with fair hair and big brown eyes,’ he elaborated promptly, and Olivia’s glance sparkled with unaccustomed humour once more.
‘Do you know her well?’
His face creased into a smile. ‘I’ve taken her out a couple of times, but she’s far too serious for me.’
‘Serious in what way?’ she probed, enjoying his discomfiture.
‘Let’s say she took me too seriously.’
Olivia regarded him intently for a moment before she said: ‘I’m beginning to think you’re a coward about becoming seriously involved with a woman. ’
‘What do you mean?’ he demanded instantly.
‘I think—’ she hesitated abruptly, shaking her head and wishing she had not allowed her tongue to run away with her in the first place.
‘Come on,’ he insisted good-humouredly. ‘You made a statement, now clarify it. ’
‘Well ...’ she began hesitantly before plunging into the rest of her speech. ‘You’re attractive, charming and attentive; three qualities which, I’m sure, most women would find irresistible, and I think you may consciously, or unconsciously, encourage them to fall in love with you, but the moment they commit themselves, you retreat smartly. ’
He studied her for a moment in silence, and the low murmur of voices in the restaurant seemed to increase with her nervousness before he said uncomfortably, ‘You’re making me squirm.’
‘Am I right?’
‘Yes ... and no,’ he admitted with a rueful smile. ‘I don’t deliberately encourage them to fall in love with me and, if I do retreat, then it’s because I feel I’m not ready for marriage yet.’
‘Do you intend adding my name to that list?’ she asked wryly.
‘No, Olivia,’ he shook his head slowly. ‘I realise you’re far too astute to be fooled by someone like myself. ’
CHAPTER TWO
Olivia awoke to find the early morning sunlight streaming into her bedroom through the open, gauzed window. Even at this early hour of the day the heat could be felt, she thought, flinging back the bedclothes as she smothered a yawn and stretched lazily, a smile curving her lips as she recalled the evening spent in the company of Gerald Thatcher. She had found him a relaxing and amusing escort, but she had swiftly labelled him, ‘Not to be taken seriously’.
After a splendid dinner, punctuated with lighthearted conversation, he had driven her home and, realising that his usually irresistible charm had awakened nothing more than feelings of friendship, he had not endeavoured to do more than drop a light kiss on her cheek as he said goodnight. Olivia had to admit to herself that she liked him, and that she would regret losing his friendship one day, but she knew without doubt that friendship was all there would ever be between Gerald and herself.
A casual glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table halted her thoughts and sent her hurrying through to the bathroom, admonishing herself for lying in bed so late when there was still so much to do before the shop had to be opened that morning but, despite her late start, Olivia unlocked the door to the bookshop at precisely eight-thirty, and stepped inside. She seldom had customers this early in the mornings, but it would create a bad impression if someone were to arrive unexpectedly and find it closed, she realised as she sighed and went through to the back to switch on the kettle in order to make herself a cup of instant coffee.
Waking up later than usual that morning had left her no time for the usual leisurely cup of coffee, and neither had there been time to collect fresh flowers from Tante Maria’s lovely garden, she realised now as she glanced ruefully at the wilting daffodils on the counter. She would have to get rid of them before someone walked in, she decided, collecting her wandering thoughts sharply as the kettle boiled, sending up a cloud of steam.
Apart from several familiar faces, Vivien O’Brien was the first person to enter her shop later that morning whom Olivia knew by name. She purchased a few magazines and asked politely after Olivia’s health until her interested glance rested on the tapestry Olivia had pushed aside the moment she had entered.
‘How absolutely beautiful,’ she remarked excitedly as she held it up to examine the floral design which was nearing completion. ‘I’m working on a landscape scene for the Show, and you simply must enter this as well.’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t,’ Olivia protested hastily, quaking inwardly at the mere thought of displaying her meagre attempt at something she knew really very little of.
‘Why not?’ Dark brown eyes mirrored astonishment. ‘Everyone must enter something, and you’ve done some marvellous work on it, Olivia.’
‘I don’t usually go in for tapestries, but this was given to me by my aunt before—before she died,’ she explained haltingly. ‘I haven’t any paintings on my walls up in the flat, and that’s why I’m in rather a hurry to finish this so that I can have it framed. ’
‘I’ll give you the name of an excellent place in Johannesburg,’ said Vivien, taking a last look at the tapestry before returning it to its original place on the counter and, scribbling down the name and address of the firm she had mentioned, she added, ‘Everyone here sends their tapestries to this firm for framing, but you really should enter it in the Show, you know, Olivia.’
Olivia recoiled almost physically from the idea. ‘I’d never dream of entering my poor effort! It would be most embarrassing to have people laughing and whispering behind my back at my obvious audacity.’
‘Nonsense! ’ Vivien said sharply. ‘When I drop in next time I shall bring my tapestry along with me, then you can see for yourself that there’s nothing fantastic about my entry. I’m not an expert at such crafts, either, but I make them and enter them in the Show mainly for the fun of participating.’
Olivia lowered her glance uncomfortably. ‘Perhaps, but I
still don’t think—’
‘There’s still plenty of time, so think about it,’ Vivien interrupted persuasively, picking up her magazines and saying she must hurry home.
Olivia stared after her retreating figure until she was out of sight, then, lifting her tapestry to examine it more closely, she shook her head finnly. Vivien was merely being kind, she decided. Her tapestry was good enough only to adorn the empty wall in her flat above, and she was not going to let Vivien persuade her otherwise.
With the latest magazines arriving just before her lunch hour, Olivia found herself being kept fairly busy that afternoon until she found a slender, fair-haired young woman facing her across the counter. The face was familiar, and the large brown eyes made her wonder.
‘You know, I’m having an awful time trying to put names to faces,’ she said conversationally in an effort to qualify her susp
icions. ‘We’ve met before, but ...”
‘I’m Sanet Pretorius,’ the girl introduced herself with a quick, friendly smile.
‘Oh, yes,’ Olivia replied, her brow clearing as she recalled the information Gerald had given her the previous evening. Here was her opportunity to find out more about Frances King, but she would have to take care how she went about it, or people might begin to wonder, as they were bound to do in a small place such as Louisville. ‘I met one of your class pupils the other day. She told me her name was Frances King.’
‘She’s quite an interesting child. Very adult for her years, and very clever,’ Sanet smiled thoughtfully, passing on a fragment of information before Olivia had had the need to enquire.
‘Such behaviour can usually be attributed to children who’ve grown up mainly among adults,’ she remarked with care, for some reason reluctant to make it known that she knew considerably more about the circumstances involving the child.
‘I’m certain that this is the reason for Frances’ behaviour,’ Sanet admitted, needing little encouragement to continue with her observations. ‘She’s been at boarding school since the age of six, but I’m afraid she doesn’t mix very well with the other children. ’
Gerald Thatcher walked into the shop at that moment, forcing them to discontinue their discussion and, after greeting them in his usual cheery fashion, he gave Sanet Pretorius the full benefit of his irresistible green glance.
‘If I’d known you were coming to town I would have given you a lift. ’
Olivia, observing them unobtrusively, saw a quick flush stain Sanet’s cheeks while her dark eyes lit up as if someone had put a match to a candle. She saw, too, a flicker of tenderness in Gerald’s eyes; a tenderness she was almost certain he was unaware of.
‘That’s very kind of you, Gerald, but I enjoyed the walk,’ Sanet replied, a breathless quality in her voice as she edged towards the door, and a tremor in the hands that gripped the magazine so tightly. ‘Well, I must be on my way home again. Goodbye, Miss Logan—’ She hesitated, her glance returning to the fair-haired man like a moth attracted to the light before she added, ‘Cheerio, Gerald.’
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