Chapter 16 #2
“And carry a great number of purchases, I see,” Celia added. Though there didn’t appear to be a root beer in sight.
“Where shall I put these?”
“Oh, over here on the counter for now.”
Starling carefully placed the supplies on the counter in front of Celia. Their eyes caught. Celia’s face heated, thinking
of the papers that had lain between them the night before.
“I’m redesigning the store,” Daphne enthused, clueless about the unspoken words that hung between the other two. Just thinking
about what was on those papers, the various methods used for birth control—maybe he hadn’t understood what it was.
Unfortunately, the way he was smiling at her said that, of course he understood, and was amused by the whole situation, not
embarrassed in the least. Much worldlier that she was by half.
“Your sister has been telling me about her ideas for the shop.”
Daphne smiled smugly at Celia, and continued to explain to him her ideas for changing the layout of the shop.
She practically dragged the poor man across the floor to show him her signs, chattering delightedly.
Feeling a little guilty, Celia took the opportunity to take the supplies into the office.
If she had shown more enthusiasm this morning, maybe Daphne wouldn’t be dragging the unsuspecting Mr. Starling around now.
But really, a few signs were hardly a redesign. And if it was anything more, Olivia would put her foot down. It was hard enough
to keep some semblance of order without adding the chaos of redecorating to the mix.
She sat down at the office desk, torn between inserting herself into the conversation to make sure he didn’t blab, and staying
hidden away so he would leave soon. She picked up a copy of the Arcadia fall catalogue that would have to go out soon. But
she kept listening for the sound of his voice. Heard him laugh more than once, which sent a tingle of warmth over her, followed
by a dire warning not to be charmed by his manner. We don’t know who this man is.
When he finally left, she gave Daphne the same warning.
“Oh pooh. You’re worse than Olivia. You’d think we were living among thieves and cutthroats.”
They were—cutthroat competition and a generous number of thieves, though most of the booksellers were not among either.
“Just be careful of what you say.”
“He’s a perfectly nice man, cultured, handsome, funny. You’re just jealous because he doesn’t pay attention to you.”
“I am not. You may gladly have him all to yourself as long as you don’t tell him about any books we may or may not have.”
“Why not? He’s looking for rare books. He says he’s been disappointed so far.” She bit her lip. “For some reason Olivia has put off showing him any of father’s acquisitions. Or her own.”
“That’s because she is still checking his credentials.”
“Well, if she spiffed herself up a bit and was a little friendlier, we could sell lots more books, and we could have roast
beef every Sunday.”
The argument paused for a few seconds while they both contemplated the extravagances of that possibility.
“Nonetheless,” said Celia, “you let Olivia handle the sales.”
“Gladly. We have plenty to talk about besides books.”
A chill ran across Celia’s back. “Really?”
“Really, and I’ll thank you not to interfere. I don’t know where you get off always trying to tell me what to do. I’m older
than you. Sometimes, Celia, you can be really bossy. Just like Olivia. Like a couple of old schoolmarms. You don’t know anything
about the world, so just be quiet.”
Contrary to the images Celia had conjured of Olivia locked away working feverishly on her Sappho poems, her sister breezed
into the bookshop later that afternoon, carrying several boxes that looked suspiciously like ones that held clothing. And
a number of bags.
Celia and Daphne stopped in amazement: Daphne with a stack of bestsellers that she was holding steady between hands and chin;
Celia with her duster held above her head attempting to shoo Jane Addams from the empty shelves that would hold the new books
that Daphne had found.
“How’s the day been?” Olivia asked, just as she did every time she visited the sales floor.
“Where have you been?” Daphne demanded.
Olivia gave her a look but didn’t bother to answer.
Jane Addams had jumped off the shelf and pattered across to sniff at her parcels.
Olivia lifted them out of reach. “Jane Eyre, stay away from that bag.” She held the bags aloft.
“Let’s just say I hope you’re in the mood for veal and peas and peach torte from Franchetti’s bakery. ”
“Are we ever,” Daphne enthused.
Celia was more reticent. Veal on a weekday was all well and good, but dessert from Franchetti’s was usually reserved for big-sell
days. And her mind couldn’t help but slide toward the poem fragments secured in the safe upstairs. They might bring a fortune,
but one that could only be followed by ruin and possibly imprisonment.
Olivia proceeded past them to the elevator. “Be sure to lock up good tonight. And if you hear any strange noises out back,
do not go outside to see what they are.”
“What noises?” Daphne asked, already sounding fearful.
“Celia thought she heard someone trying to get in last night.”
Daphne turned to Celia, her eyes wide. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
This was the time to confess. Except Olivia was obviously in a hurry. Besides, she couldn’t just blurt out everything in the
middle of the shop. There were customers in the store. Tonight after dinner would be soon enough.
“What did you hear?”
“Nothing,” Celia said. “Olivia, you didn’t see Daphne’s new signs.”
“What? Oh.” Olivia turned and squinted around the store. “Very nice. Excellent idea. And I like the chairs over there, too.
Is that new?” She deflected Jane Addams, who was making a beeline for the elevator, by sticking out her foot. “And for heaven’s
sake, someone feed Jane Eyre.”
Celia grabbed the cat, and Olivia banged herself and her packages into the elevator and lifted away.
“I wonder what that was about,” Daphne said, depositing her books on the shelf to be sorted.
Celia shook her head. “I have no idea.” Actually, she had several ideas; she just hoped to heaven none of them was the right
one.
“At least she liked your signs,” said Celia. “That’s great.”
“Yeah, but . . .” said Daphne. “What noises?”
The veal was delicious. Celia had always taken Olivia’s cooking skills for granted. Tonight she wondered if her sister ever
resented being responsible for the other two. Or was it just her natural inclination to be in charge.
When Celia had swallowed the last crumb of her slice of peach torte, she dropped her napkin on the table. “Um, there’s something
I need to tell you.”
Both sisters stared at her.
“Yes?” said Olivia.
“Maybe we should sit down.”
“We are sitting down,” Daphne pointed out.
“I mean . . .”
“Of course,” interjected Olivia. “Just let me get out of this dress first. I didn’t have time to change before I started dinner,
and it’s much too hot for all these layers. But I would beg a cup of tea, if you could heat the water while I change. Then
you’ll have our complete attention.” She brushed past them and disappeared into her room.
Disappointed, yet feeling momentarily reprieved, Celia put on the kettle.
When Olivia came out a few minutes later, Celia and Daphne were waiting in the parlor, a pot of tea steeping on the coffee table.
Celia and Daphne both were taken aback; they sometimes saw Olivia with her hair in a braid down her back but rarely completely
down. She looked tired but somehow relaxed, and Celia felt bad that she was going to have to destroy her moment of calm.
She poured tea and sat back in her chair, then sat forward, tucked one foot beneath her, returned it to the floor.
Her two sisters looked at her expectantly.
Celia knew she had to warn them of the danger, about being attacked, but she couldn’t tell them how she had gotten herself
into that predicament. She was putting them all in danger—but, Olivia keeping those poetry fragments was also putting them
in danger. And God only knew if the change that had seemed to come over her was related to any nefarious dealings with the
poetess’s papyrus.
Finally, Daphne shattered the anticipation with a huff. She put down her cup.
“Well, are you going to tell us what was so important that we’re sitting here having tea when I could be reading Love’s Conquest?”
“Good heavens,” said Olivia. “I remember that book from when—”
“Someone tried to break into the shop last night,” Celia said.
Both sisters turned in surprise.
“You said you just heard something,” Olivia pointed out. “A noise, I believe you said.”
“I didn’t want to alarm you, but, well, for our own safety . . .”
“How do you know?” Daphne demanded. “Why didn’t you tell us? We could be murd—”
“Daphne, let your sister talk.” Olivia smiled at Celia, a tight smile that said she was already parsing out the ramifications of someone attempting to enter the shop. And she wasn’t happy that Celia had withheld the knowledge for an entire day.
“Are you certain?” she asked. “You heard a noise. Couldn’t it have been cats in the garbage out back?”
Oh, how Celia wished she could say that it was. “I saw him.”
A gasp from Daphne. “Where? What did he look like?”
“It was too dark to tell.”
“But there’s a streetlamp on the corner.”
Celia swallowed an uncomfortable tightness in her throat. “It was the back door.” She jerked up her hand, stopping anymore
questions. “I saw him because I was in the courtyard and took him unawares. He pushed me down and ran away before I could
tell anything about him. But he was definitely trying to break the lock.”
“You went out to see what the noise was?” Olivia asked, an edge creeping into her voice.
Celia shook her head, looked down at her cup. Oh, why had she never learned to lie better?
“I was already in the courtyard.”
“Why on earth?”