had never been over-loving, and she had told herself that it was because they had known each other for some time and his feelings had become a trifle dulled. Perhaps it was a good thing that they hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks; he might look at her with new eyes and ask her to marry him. Something he had not as yet done, although there was a kind of unspoken understanding between them. Anyway, now was not the time to worry about that. A job was the first thing she must think about.
She had been given good references but it seemed that her skills as a filing-clerk weren’t much in demand. She went out each day, armed with the details of suitable jobs culled from the newspapers, and had no luck at all; she couldn’t use a word-processor; she had no idea how to work with a computer, and a cash register was a closed book as far as she was concerned. The week was almost up when Rodney phoned. He sounded—she thought for a word—excited, and she wondered why. Then he said, ‘I want to talk to you, Olivia, can we meet somewhere? You know how it is if I come and see you at your grandmother’s place…’
‘Where do you suggest? I’ve things to tell you too.’
‘Yes?’ He didn’t sound very interested. ‘Meet me at that French place in Essex Road this evening. Seven o’clock.’
He rang off before she could agree.
He had sounded different she reflected as she went to tell her mother that she would be out that evening. Mrs Fitzgibbon, reading the newspaper by the window, put it down. ‘And high time too,’ she observed. ‘Let us hope that he will propose.’ She picked up her paper again, ‘One less mouth to feed,’ she muttered nastily.
Perhaps you get like that when you’re old, thought Olivia, and gave her mother a cheerful wink. It was of no use getting annoyed, and she knew that her grandmother’s waspish tongue was far kinder to her mother, an only daughter who had married the wrong man—in her grandmother’s eyes at least—and it was because Olivia was more like her father than her mother that her grandmother disliked her. If she had been slender and graceful and gentle, like her mother, it might have been a different kettle of fish…
She dressed with care presently, anxious to look her best for Rodney. The jacket and skirt, even though they were four years old, were more or less dateless, as was the silk blouse which went with them. She didn’t look too bad, she conceded to herself, studying her person in her wardrobe mirror, only she wished that she were small and dainty. She pulled a face at her lovely reflection, gave her hair a final pat, and bade her mother goodbye.
‘Take a key,’ ordered her grandmother. ‘We don’t want to be wakened at all hours.’
Olivia said nothing. She couldn’t remember a single evening when Rodney hadn’t driven her back well before eleven o’clock.
Perhaps, she mused, sitting in an almost empty bus, she and Rodney had known each other for too long. Although surely when you were in love that wouldn’t matter? The thought that perhaps she wasn’t in love with him took her breath. Of course she was. She was very fond of him; she liked him, they had enjoyed cosy little dinners in out of the way restaurants and had gone to the theatre together and she had been to his flat. Only once, though. It was by the river in a new block of flats with astronomical rents, and appeared to her to be completely furnished, although Rodney had listed a whole lot of things which he still had to have. Only then, he had told her, would he contemplate settling down to married life.
It was a short walk from the bus-stop and she was punctual but he was already there, sitting at a table for two in the corner of the narrow room. He got up when he saw her and said ‘hello’ in a hearty way, not at all in his usual manner.
She sat down composedly and smiled at him. ‘Hello, Rodney. Was your trip successful?’
‘Trip? What…? Oh, yes, very. What would you like to drink?’
Why did she have the feeling that she was going to need something to bolster her up presently? ‘Gin and tonic,’ she told him. A drink she disliked but Debbie, who knew about these things, had assured her once that there was nothing like it to pull a girl together.
Rodney looked surprised. ‘That’s not like you, Olivia.’
She didn’t reply to that. ‘Tell me what you’ve been doing, and why do you want to talk, Rodney? It’s lovely to see you, but you sounded so—so urgent on the phone.’
He had no time to answer because the waiter handed them the menus and they both studied them. At least Olivia appeared to be studying hers, but actually she was wondering about Rodney. She asked for mushrooms in a garlic sauce and a Dover sole with a salad, and took a heartening sip of her drink. It was horrible but she saw what Debbie meant. She took another sip.
Their talk was trivial as they ate. Whatever it was Rodney had to tell her would doubtless be told over their coffee. He was an amusing companion, going from one topic to the next and never once mentioning his own work. Nor did he ask her about her own job or what she had been doing. She would tell him presently, she decided, and suppressed peevish surprise when he waved away the waiter with his trolley of desserts and ordered coffee. She was a girl with a healthy appetite and she had had her eye on the peach pavlova.
She poured the coffee and caught Rodney’s eye. ‘Well?’ she asked pleasantly. ‘Out with it, my dear. Have you been made redundant—I…’
‘Olivia, we’ve known each other a long time—we’ve been good friends—you may even have expected us to marry. I find this very difficult to say…’
‘Well, have a go!’ she encouraged in a matter-of-fact voice which quite concealed her shock. ‘As you say, we’ve been friends for a long time.’
‘Perhaps you’ve guessed.’ Rodney was having difficulty in coming to the point.
‘Well, no, I can’t say I have.’
‘The truth is I haven’t been away—I wanted to tell you but it was too difficult. I’m in love. We’re going to be married very shortly…’
‘Before you get your new car?’ asked Olivia. Silly, but what else to say?
‘Yes, yes, of course. She’s worth a dozen new cars. She’s wonderful.’
She looked at him across the table. Her grandmother was quite right: his eyes were too close together.
She smiled her sweetest smile. ‘Why, Rodney, how could I possibly have thought such a thing? I’m thinking of getting married myself.’
‘You could have told me…’
She gave him a limpid look. He looked awkward and added, ‘What’s he like? Has he got a good job? When are you getting married?’
‘Handsome. He has a profession and we intend to marry quite soon. Enough about me, Rodney, tell me about the girl you’re going to marry. Is she pretty? Dark? Fair?’
‘Quite pretty. I suppose you’d call her fair. Her father’s chairman of several big companies.’
‘Now that is nice—a wife with money-bags.’
He looked astounded. ‘Olivia, how can you say such a thing? We’re old friends—I can’t believe my ears.’
‘Old friends can say what they like to each other, Rodney. If I stay here much longer I might say a great deal more, so I’ll go.’
He got to his feet as she stood up. ‘You can’t,’ he spluttered. ‘I’ll drive you back; it’s the least I can do.’
‘Don’t be a pompous ass,’ said Olivia pleasantly, and walked out of the bistro and started along the street to the bus-stop.
Sitting in the bus presently, she decided that her heart wasn’t broken. Her pride had a nasty dent in it, though, and she felt a sadness which would probably turn into self-pity unless she did something about it. Of course it happened to thousands of girls, and she had to admit that she had thought of him as part of her pleasant life before her father had died, hoping that somehow or other she could turn back