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Authors: Danielle Steel
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opened their napkins.
"At the museum actually. There was a splendid exhibit of Turners from the National Gallery in London."
"Really? " Bertie said, opening her wise old eyes wide, pretending to believe her. "I'll have to be sure and see it while we're here."
"You'll love it, " Victoria said, smiling brightly, as Olivia looked up at the ceiling of the house her parents had once lived in. She wondered what it had been like when their mother was there, what she had been like, and who truly resembled her more spiritually, herself or her sister. It was a question they often pondered, but they both knew their father preferred not to discuss it. Even after all these years, it was still too painful for him.
"It'll be nice to see your father tomorrow, won't it, girls? " Bertie asked pleasantly as the meal drew to a close, and the kitchen girl served them coffee.
"Yes, it will, " Olivia said, thinking of him, and the flowers she wanted to put in his bedroom, as Victoria wondered if Olivia would really kill her if she squeezed in just one more demonstration.
She had heard about one that afternoon, on the way to jail, and she had promised to be there. But as she thought of it, Olivia glanced over at her and shook her head, as though she knew what she was thinking. They did that to each other sometimes, they never knew how it happened, but it did. It was almost as though they could hear each other's thoughts before the other said them.
"Don't you dare, " Olivia whispered to her behind Bertie's back, as they left the table.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, " Victoria said primly.
"Next time I'll leave you there, mark my words, and let you explain it to Father."
"I doubt that, " Victoria said with a laugh as she tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder. There was almost nothing she was afraid of.
Even being in jail that afternoon had made no impression on her whatsoever.
She had found it interesting, but not daunting.
"You're incorrigible, " Olivia said, and then they kissed Bertie good night and went upstairs to their bedroom. Olivia looked at fashion magazines while Victoria read a pamphlet by Emmeline Pankhurst about hunger strikes in prison. She was, according to Victoria, the most important suffragist in England. Victoria dared to light a cigarette in their room, knowing that Bertie had already gone to bed, and she urged Olivia to try one, but she wouldn't. Instead, Olivia sat looking out the window, at the warm September night, and despite everything else she had tried to think of that night, her mind wandered back to Charles Dawson.
"Don't, " Victoria said to her, as she lay on her bed and watched her sister.
"Don't what? " Olivia asked, as she turned to look at Victoria reclining elegantly and smoking.
"Don't think about him, " Victoria said quietly, blowing a long, slow cloud of smoke toward the window.
"what do you mean? " Olivia looked startled. It was always eerie when either of them guessed what the other was thinking.
"You know exactly what I mean. Charles Dawson. You had that same look in your eyes when you talked to him. He's too boring for you.
There are going to be lots of wonderful men here. I can feel it." She looked very worldly as she said it, but Olivia still looked startled.
"How do you know what I'm thinking? " It happened to them so often.
"The same way you do. I hear you in my head sometimes, like my own voice, thinking. Sometimes I can just see it when I look at you."
"It scares me sometimes, " Olivia said honestly. "We're so close I don't know where you end, and I begin, or do we? Do we just blend into one sometimes? "
"Sometimes, " Victoria smiled at her, "but not always.
I like knowing what you think .. . and I like being able to surprise people, and change places, like we used to. Sometimes I miss it. We should do it again sometime, while we're here. Nobody would ever know the difference.
And it would be great fun, wouldn't it? "
"It seems different to me now that we're
"At the museum actually. There was a splendid exhibit of Turners from the National Gallery in London."
"Really? " Bertie said, opening her wise old eyes wide, pretending to believe her. "I'll have to be sure and see it while we're here."
"You'll love it, " Victoria said, smiling brightly, as Olivia looked up at the ceiling of the house her parents had once lived in. She wondered what it had been like when their mother was there, what she had been like, and who truly resembled her more spiritually, herself or her sister. It was a question they often pondered, but they both knew their father preferred not to discuss it. Even after all these years, it was still too painful for him.
"It'll be nice to see your father tomorrow, won't it, girls? " Bertie asked pleasantly as the meal drew to a close, and the kitchen girl served them coffee.
"Yes, it will, " Olivia said, thinking of him, and the flowers she wanted to put in his bedroom, as Victoria wondered if Olivia would really kill her if she squeezed in just one more demonstration.
She had heard about one that afternoon, on the way to jail, and she had promised to be there. But as she thought of it, Olivia glanced over at her and shook her head, as though she knew what she was thinking. They did that to each other sometimes, they never knew how it happened, but it did. It was almost as though they could hear each other's thoughts before the other said them.
"Don't you dare, " Olivia whispered to her behind Bertie's back, as they left the table.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, " Victoria said primly.
"Next time I'll leave you there, mark my words, and let you explain it to Father."
"I doubt that, " Victoria said with a laugh as she tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder. There was almost nothing she was afraid of.
Even being in jail that afternoon had made no impression on her whatsoever.
She had found it interesting, but not daunting.
"You're incorrigible, " Olivia said, and then they kissed Bertie good night and went upstairs to their bedroom. Olivia looked at fashion magazines while Victoria read a pamphlet by Emmeline Pankhurst about hunger strikes in prison. She was, according to Victoria, the most important suffragist in England. Victoria dared to light a cigarette in their room, knowing that Bertie had already gone to bed, and she urged Olivia to try one, but she wouldn't. Instead, Olivia sat looking out the window, at the warm September night, and despite everything else she had tried to think of that night, her mind wandered back to Charles Dawson.
"Don't, " Victoria said to her, as she lay on her bed and watched her sister.
"Don't what? " Olivia asked, as she turned to look at Victoria reclining elegantly and smoking.
"Don't think about him, " Victoria said quietly, blowing a long, slow cloud of smoke toward the window.
"what do you mean? " Olivia looked startled. It was always eerie when either of them guessed what the other was thinking.
"You know exactly what I mean. Charles Dawson. You had that same look in your eyes when you talked to him. He's too boring for you.
There are going to be lots of wonderful men here. I can feel it." She looked very worldly as she said it, but Olivia still looked startled.
"How do you know what I'm thinking? " It happened to them so often.
"The same way you do. I hear you in my head sometimes, like my own voice, thinking. Sometimes I can just see it when I look at you."
"It scares me sometimes, " Olivia said honestly. "We're so close I don't know where you end, and I begin, or do we? Do we just blend into one sometimes? "
"Sometimes, " Victoria smiled at her, "but not always.
I like knowing what you think .. . and I like being able to surprise people, and change places, like we used to. Sometimes I miss it. We should do it again sometime, while we're here. Nobody would ever know the difference.
And it would be great fun, wouldn't it? "
"It seems different to me now that we're
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