Fortune's rocks_ a novel - Anita Shreve [111]
Olympia cannot at first reply.
“A certain current in the air when you and he were in a room together,” he adds, gesturing in a descriptive manner.
Olympia longs to be able to discuss Haskell with another person. But she knows that to do so with Rufus Philbrick will be to trespass on the grounds of familiarity, to risk his perhaps already compromised opinion of her.
“Actually,” Philbrick says, reaching for another scone now that he has successfully traversed the slightly treacherous landscape of love, “I rather thought you had come here for the child.” He picks a crumb from his silk waistcoat.
And it seems to Olympia then that all the world holds its breath, that the floor itself gives way and falls a thousand feet. Later she will wonder how possibly she could have managed — apart from a momentary and perhaps too abrupt glance at Philbrick — to pretend that she had more knowledge of what he spoke than she did.
“Remarkably good institution,” Philbrick adds.
Olympia runs her tongue against the roof of her mouth, which is suddenly paper-dry. Yet she dares not raise the glass of lemonade to drink, for she is certain that Philbrick will see the tremor in her hand.
“Some of these orphanages are appalling,” Philbrick says, “but Mother Marguerite runs a tight ship, I will say that for her. The good fathers of Saint Andre are always pestering me for donations, and I suppose they finally felt it necessary to make me a member of the board.” He shrugs. “Of course, I do not mind. It is a sound organization continually in need of aid.”
Olympia nods politely. She realizes she has been holding her breath. She lets air out slowly so as not to betray herself.
She opens her mouth, but cannot speak.
Philbrick leans forward. “My dear,” he says. “You have gone pale. I should not have spoken. I should know better than to bring up painful matters. Well, I have never been one for tact. . . .” He regards her carefully. “Please forgive an old man for having no manners.”
Olympia shakes her head. “I have always admired your boldness,” she says truthfully.
Philbrick wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I shall not keep you any longer, dear Olympia. I should go before I blunder further. Please feel free to call upon me if ever you should have the need. It would give me the utmost pleasure to be of assistance to you in any way.”
He stands and Olympia stands with him.
“I fear I have greatly upset you,” Philbrick says.
“Your visit has been a delightful respite from my daily tasks,” she says quickly to deflect his suspicions. “I hope you shall come again.”
Philbrick takes a card from a leather pocket case and hands it to Olympia. “You may write to this address at any time. Please give my regards to your father and mother.”
She turns and walks to the door, knowing he is examining her as he follows.
“Thank you for the lemonade,” he says at the door, offering his hand, “and please give my compliments to the cook.”
“There is no cook,” she answers.
“My God, Olympia, you really are alone,” he says.
“Yes, and I prefer it that way.”
He steps down onto the lawn and examines her anew.
“I always thought you would have an extraordinary future,” he says.
• • •
She shuts the door behind Philbrick and waits until she hears the motor of his automobile start up. Her vision is blurry in her right eye, and a severe pain is starting in her left temple. She puts her fingers to her head, but the pain concentrates itself into a small nugget just beyond her reach. I fancy I saw it between you, Philbrick said. She feels nauseated and presses her forehead to the cool glass of the door. She has to clear her head and find her way to her bedroom. A current in the air . . . She turns to walk back into the house and has to put her hand out to the wall to steady herself. At the corner, she bends suddenly, fearing that she will be sick. That you had come here