Page 36 of Beyond Her Manner

“Of course,” Viola replied, retracing her steps between the vehicles. “You have a sweet camper,” she added, opening the door and taking a quick nose inside at the cute interior and what could only be Laura Ashley curtains.

“Thanks,” the woman said as she laid the bags over the front bench seat. She took the key from Viola and jumped in herself, manoeuvring over the dry cleaning to the driver’s seat. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime,” Viola said, closing the passenger door and joining Gillian, who was watching them from the pavement. “Do you know who that was?”

Gillian shook her head.

“Sydney Mackenzie. Beatrice Russell’s wife.”

“Who?”

Viola gawped at that. “You haven’t heard of Beatrice Russell? World-famous actress, stunningly beautiful?”

“Should I have?” Gillian replied with disinterest.

Viola laughed. “Had you heard of me? You know, before I came here and stole your house from you.”

The twitch at the corner of Gillian’s mouth told her she took the remark as it was intended — playful.

“I listen to Classic FM and Radio Four. What do you think?”

“Hard yes. Sydney helped write Beatrice’s autobiography, back when she was her PA.”

“She married her PA! That’s a bit inappropriate, isn’t it?”

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love—”

“—which alters when it alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove,” Gillian finished.

“You know Shakespeare?”

Gillian shot a look of incredulous disbelief over the top of her sunglasses.

“Of course you do,” Viola answered herself.

“Sonnet one hundred and sixteen,” Gillian called back as she marched ahead.

“Yes, anyway,” Viola said, jogging a little to catch up to Gillian, “Beatrice’s autobiography was a bit last minute andcompletely took the shine off mine. Not that I minded. Sydney’s book was great; she writes fiction now.”

Gillian stopped outside the door to Country Attire. “You have an autobiography?”

“Yes. I’m surprised you haven’t read it since you are such a fan of my music,” Viola said with a twitch of an eyebrow.

That earned her another icy stare from Gillian as she lifted her sunglasses onto the top of her head. Though she had expected it to leave her a little cold, Viola found herself oddly aroused by its intensity.

“You seem a bit young to have an autobiography.”

“I’m forty-four.”

“Exactly,” Gillian deadpanned.

“I only did it to get the truth out. There are so many lies published by the media, and being a private person only seems to make them thirstier for blood.”

“Perhaps I’ll pick up a copy.”

“I could give you some spoilers… over lunch? Not that there is much left to tell.” Viola suggested, holding the door open for Gillian. She held her breath as she waited for an answer, realising it might be a step beyond where their relationship was at this moment.

“That would be agreeable,” Gillian answered.