Read Online Olivia by V. C. Andrews - Free Book Online Page B

started to catalogue a whole new set of complaints.
"I've got to go," I interrupted. "I have too much to do to waste any more time."
"Then go. Go and have a wonderful time and then think of me locked up and chained by the rules," she concluded.
I heard the door buzzer and sucked in my breath.
"That's Clayton," Mother declared. She opened my bedroom door as if she were pulling back a stage curtain. "Have a good time, Olivia."
"Thank you, Mother," I said.
Carmelita had let Clayton in. He stood in the foyer looking up as I descended. I thought he resembled a bank teller in his suit and tie, waiting to receive a deposit. I hoped he would stop being so stiff when we were alone.
Daddy came rushing out of his office.
"Well, now, looky here. Doesn't she look beautiful, Clayton?" he urged.
"Yes, sir," he said and turned to me. "You look very nice."
"Thank you."
Carmelita stood off to the side, watching without expression. When I turned to her, however, her eyebrows rose and a look of genuine surprise formed on her face. It made me feel more confident. I guess I did look beautiful. I only wished Clayton would have been more demonstrative when he spoke and looked at me.
"Well," he said gazing at his watch, "we're on schedule. Shall we go?"
"Yes. Good night, Daddy," I said.
"Have a good time. Both of you," he called.
Clayton's car was immaculate. He opened the door for me and I got in and remarked about it as soon as he got in.
"It's five years old," he said without gratitude for the compliment. It was more like he expected it. "You really have to keep a car about seven years these days to make the most of your investment," he said, and then went on to talk about depreciation schedules.
When we sat in the restaurant and were given our menus, Clayton reviewed each entree, explaining the cost and value to me.
"We handle a dozen restaurants," he continued, "so we know what the best values are."
"Why don't you just order for me then," I said dryly and handed the waiter my menu.
"I would be very happy to do that," Clayton said and did. Finally, his conversation turned to something other than assets and liabilities. Or, at least I thought it did when he began to ask me questions about myself, the work I did for my father, and what I did to entertain myself.
Throughout the course of the meal, he glanced at his watch and commented about how we were doing. Most of the time, he concluded we were on schedule, but when the desserts he had ordered took longer than he anticipated, he became a little agitated.
"We really don't have to be there just when it all begins, Clayton," I said. He looked at me as if being late for something was a violation of the eleventh commandment.
"People are known by their sense of
responsibility, how well they keep to their schedules," he assured me. "That's why our clients feel confident about doing business with our firm."
"Oh. Well, not everything is business, Clayton."
"In the end," he insisted, "everything is business."
I didn't feel like arguing. We had our desserts and I let him rush me along. He remarked that we had arrived at the gallery two minutes later than he had anticipated, but it would be all right.
"Thank goodness," I said. "I was beginning to worry." He nodded, missing my sarcasm.
Many of the people who attended knew both Clayton and me. I saw the look of amusement in their eyes when they realized we were on a date. Many of them had nice things to say about my appearance.
Clayton did appear to know a great deal about art, but he managed to evaluate each piece in terms of its potential market value, deciding which would be a good investment and which wouldn't.
"Maybe some people want to buy it because they like it," I remarked, "and not for how much money it might bring them in twenty years."
"You should always consider what something's going to be worth down the line," he retorted. "No matter what you do from birth to death."
I was beginning to think Clayton Keiser had no emotions, no heart, just a