Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

“Maybe a little snarky,” Olivia replied. “But I am glad to hear from you, finally. I’d wondered if you’d ‘crossed the pond’ for an extended stay with your parents. Is everything all right?”

“Well, if I visited my parents right now, we’d be at each other’s throats. There’s no chance I’ll ‘cross the pond’ to see them until I’ve made some changes.” Valerie voiced an audible sigh before continuing. “For the most part, things are all right. At least I’m all right.” Her tone had been meek, but when she continued, it became almost arrogant. “And about our lapse in contact? The phone works two ways!” Valerie waited for a response from Olivia, but none came. Suddenly concerned that she might antagonize her further and ruin the plan, she said, “My shop girl, Chloe, is somewhat less than all right.”

Sounding concerned, Olivia asked, “What happened to her. Is it bad?”

“I’d never known anyone who was hit by a car, but now I do.” Valerie’s voice was becoming more agitated as she got into telling the story. “Chloe had just stepped off the curb and was hit by an SUV rounding the corner too fast. It’s hard to understand how anyone could miss seeing her. And even worse, the person took off, making it a hit and run. She’s in the hospital—concussion, broken ankle, torn ligament in her knee. Of course it could have been worse. A car that size could easily have killed her.”

“Poor Chloe. She’s so young to have such a close call. Well, actually, age has nothing to do with close calls, but it sounds as if she will be okay…eventually.”

At this point Valerie paused while she prepared just the right words. She wanted to ask or, if necessary, manipulate Olivia into taking time off from her job in order to accommodate the temporary closing of Boutique Le Bijou.

Before she had a chance to broach the subject, Olivia spoke, breaking Valerie’s concentration. “I would really like to talk longer—catch up—but I have a last minute date and not much time to get ready. We should have lunch soon, or I could call you tomorrow.”

Valerie could tell that she was unlikely to get a positive response from someone in a hurry to prepare for a date, so she feigned interest and asked one more question. “Is this someone new? Last time we spoke you weren’t seeing anyone—said you were off dating for a while—fed up with their ‘modus operandi’ and general annoying nature.”

“You caught me at a low point when I said that. You remember that lay-about who tried to move in with me at Christmas time last year?”

“Phillip, or something like that?”

“Yes. When I said those things he was bringing out the worst in me. It was no small thing, getting rid of him. I was attractive to him because I had a job. I pity the next poor cow to fall for that charm. But really, I have to go. Talk soon.” Without waiting for Valerie to say goodbye, she rung off and hurried into her room.

Once freed from her conversation with Valerie, Olivia quickly tended to the ablutions involved in preparing for a date. She pulled several outfits from the closet, settling on an Indian gauze skirt, printed in a palette of blues and greens, and a white silk camisole. She slipped into ballet flats and then pulled her copper colored hair back into a small chignon before adorning herself further with long turquoise and silver chandelier earrings and the usual assortment of bangles. Olivia was very individual in her tastes, or bizarre, as her mother referred to them. She owned the obligatory leather jacket, but hers was a vivid cyan blue and cropped to the waist.

Olivia pulled the jacket from the closet, scooped her bag off the hall table, and headed out to meet Mr. Clive Warren. She was running late due to Valerie’s call and decided to hail a cab for the short ride to Ristorante Princi. In order to avoid glaring looks from the driver she doubled the fare. ‘Clive’ was waiting for her in the restaurant foyer and smiled with seeming delight as she entered. He had procured a table at the edge of the patio that would afford a pleasant view of the potted palms and flower boxes. Just as he declared that she looked ‘smashing’ the maître di’ approached, menus in hand, ready to lead them outside, where overhead electric heaters kept the coolness at bay.

Once they were seated, a waiter appeared immediately and stood at attention, looking back and forth at the two. “May I take your drink order?” he asked, readying his pad and pen.

In a tone that both questioned and suggested, Gareth asked, “A glass of champagne to launch our evening?”

“I don’t mean to be a spoil sport, and I do like champagne, but it invariably gives me a hateful headache, and I have work tomorrow.”

“That’s unfortunate,” he said, “Then is there something you would enjoy, maybe a glass of wine?”

She looked up at the waiter and said, “I’ll stick to my usual glass of chardonnay, and since I’m sure you feature more than one, I’ll depend on you to choose.” The waiter nodded and then looked toward her companion, who ordered a gin and tonic. With a short bow he turned and walked away.

The drinks arrived, and before ordering they settled into a comfortable exchange that touched on current events, the weather, and other general subjects that require no declared opinions or revelations. Eventually they attended to ordering the meal and found it outstanding. There was more talk over coffee and biscotti before Olivia suggested that it was late, considering that she had work the next day. He had been a perfect gentleman all evening and continued by pulling out her chair and helping her on with the leather jacket. As they stood outside the restaurant, breathing in the temperate night air of mid-summer, Olivia began to feel self-conscious, wondering as always how