Olivia stood up and paced the small study off the bedroom, lighting a clove cigarette, rubbing her forehead with a free hand. Dressed in a white cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a pair of tan riding breeches, no socks or boots came between graceful step and wooden floor, for the weather was warm and encouraged going about barefoot, as well as for riding her horse, Basque, bareback. Before Miss O was allowed more musings, the jingle of a telephone summons broke through her reverie. Not particularly in the mood to answer, but curious if the caller was her mother, Posh - the writing dynamo of romantic fiction, who often went socializing to nearby Deauville in the company of a devoted fan-turned-secretary, annoying Madame Fichon - Miss Olivia rolled her eyes, took another puff from a Djarum and curtly intoned, "Hello, Peyton Place." "Olivia...is that you?" a feminine voice of a strange timbre queried. "Last time I checked, yes. Might this be Ms. Maddie herself? If so, how are things in Belgium land? Eaten any waffles lately?" "Very funny," the librarian who worked at the Hague conceded. "You know, when I met you at that Bloodline of the Holy Grail lecture four years ago..." "You should have beat me to the podium afterwards to tell Sir Laurence Gardner about that marvelous Tons Brunés book I discovered, The Secrets of Ancient Geometry and its Use, shouldn't you have?" Olivia guffawed good-naturedly. "My, you're in a state," Madeline Lacroix observed. "So unlike you to brag, Olivia!" "Yes, I know, how un-Taurean of me! I best stop unless you think I've transformed into a Leo lady by the light of a full Moon. Is that what happened to you?" the May child teased mercilessly. "C'mon tell me the truth, Ms. Sphinx...hey, speaking of mutants, how's André?" "Don't even start...he's a cur, of course. Reminds me of a great cartoon I saw in The New Yorker once on a flight to L.A.X. to attend an information seminar. Two girl poodles are sitting together at the Oak Bar at the Plaza..." "How do you know it was the Plaza?" Olivia interjected. "How do you know it wasn't some dive in the Bronx?" "Because I've been to the Plaza," Madeline replied. "I'd know the Oak Bar anywhere. So...the girl poodle with the diamond Tiffany choker says to her friend, who has no collar at all, the poor thing...Men, they're all sons-of-bitches." The multilingual Belgian, known to her intimates as Maddie, released a torrent of laughter, to which Olivia made no reply. "Is silence tantamount to consent?" the caller asked. "So, as I was saying, what's new with you?" "Nothing other than I'm driving to France tomorrow, to visit the Château at Gisors, you know the spot, and I was wondering if you'd like to meet me there to do some research?" Clearing her throat, she answered, "Why yes, I'd love to join you, Maddie. Sounds grand. Perhaps Madame Fichon could arrange for us to stay somewhere overnight." "How is Posh?" the bibliophile gushed at the roundabout reference to the popular author. "Has she written anything of late? Her last book, Vixen of Versailles, was quite good, considering the genre." "Well, from what I read in the tabloids, the next one is going to be titled, Vampyre of Versailles," the celebrity daughter joked in an attempt to relax. "Justifies the house here in France, you know. I simply wish she had found her calling when I was younger and had harvested the wheat when the toys and a fancy education might have been forthcoming." Why did I say that? Olivia wondered, wishing she had not. Do I resent having grown up poor? Why can't I forget? "Well, I'd take your mother shopping with me, if I were you. She has the best taste...Chanel, Dior, Valentino..." "I prefer Versace," Olivia interrupted, not caring what the lovely Posh wore. "Dear Gianni, he was the greatest designer in the world, for his clothes told stories...they were based on mythology...he understood the power of what others call dreams. If only I could write half as beautifully as a Versace silk scarf looks, I'd die a happy woman." "You and your gods and goddesses. You silly thing. Now, did I tell you about that Hungarian diplomat I met at a reception the other night...I didn't? Well, we'll have to chat about him tomorrow. He's ausgezeichnet, my dear. Real class." Olivia winced. "You know I'd be content with a simple, unsophisticated farm hand if he understood how to love with all his heart and soul. Anyway, enough about romance, we'll see each other soon enough. Say tomorrow, Gisors at noon?" "Let's make it two, then we'll treat ourselves to a late lunch at this fabulous restaurant, right in Gisors...Les Trois Poissons. Ever heard of the place? The chef's from Paris and divine..." "Great, see you at the Three Fish, tata..."    Text Copyright © 1999 - 2005 CyberSybils.com. All rights reserved.