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Olivia lay her head on Bertie's shoulder for an instant, like a child,
and then, after kissing her cheek affectionately again, she hurried off
to the kitchen to see to the tray for her father and his lawyer.

She ordered a pitcher of lemonade, a large plate of cookies for both of
them, and small watercress and cucumber sandwiches, with paper-thin
slices of tomatoes from their garden. There was sherry for them as
well, and stronger spirits if they preferred them. Having grown up in
her father's company, Olivia was not a girl who shrank from the thought
of men drinking whiskey, or smoking cigars, in fact she liked the smell
of them, as did her sister.

When she'd approved the linens and the silver tray Bertie had set out,
she left the kitchen, and found her father in the library. The curtains
were drawn to keep the room cool, they were deep red brocade with heavy
fringe, and Olivia adjusted them instinctively as she glanced at her
father over her shoulder.

"How are you feeling today, Father? It's terribly hot, isn't it? "

"I
rather like it." He smiled proudly at her, well aware of her
outstanding domestic talents. He often said that if it weren't for
Olivia, he couldn't have run his home, or certainly not as smoothly.

He had even jokingly said that he was afraid one of the Rockefellers
might try and marry her, just so she could run Kykuit. He had been over
to see it recently, and it was a spectacular home that John D.
Rockefeller had built. It had every possible modern amenity, including
telephones, central heating, and a generator in the carriage barn, and
Olivia's father had teased that it made their home look like a bumpkin's
cottage, which was hardly the case, but Kykuit was certainly their
grandest neighbor.

"This heat is good for my old bones, " he said comfortably, lighting a
cigar, as he waited for his lawyer. Where's your sister? " he asked
casually. It was always easy to find Olivia somewhere in the house,
making lists, writing notes to the staff, checking on something that
needed to be fixed, or arranging flowers for her father's table.

Victoria was a great deal more difficult to keep track of.

"I think she went to play tennis at the Astors', " Olivia said vaguely,
with no clear idea of where she was, but only a vague suspicion.

"Typical of her, " he said with a rueful grin at his older daughter.

"I believe the Astors are in Maine for the summer, " as were most of
their neighbors. The Hendersons had gone to Maine in previous summers
too, and Newport, Rhode Island, but Edward Henderson no longer liked
leaving Croton, even in the hottest of summers.

"I'm sorry, Father." Olivia blushed in embarrassment at the lie she'd
told on behalf of her sister. "I thought perhaps they were back from
Bal Harbor."

"I'm sure you did." He looked amused. "And God only knows where your
sister is, or what mischief she's been up to." But they both knew that
her vagaries were fairly harmless. She was an individual, a person on
her own, and full of spirit and determination.

She was as independent as their late mother had been, and in some ways,
Edward Henderson had always suspected that his younger daughter was
faintly eccentric.

But as long as she didn't indulge it too excessively, it was something
he could tolerate, and she could come to no great harm here. The worst
she could do was fall out of a tree, get heat prostration walking miles
to her nearest friend's, or swim a little too far down the river. The
pleasures were all quite genteel here. Victoria had no romances in the
neighborhood, no young men in hot pursuit, although several of the young
Rockefellers and Van Cortlandts had certainly shown considerable
interest in her. But everyone was well behaved, and even her father
knew that Victoria was actually far more intellectual than romantic.

"I'll look for her after I leave you, " Olivia said quietly, but neither
of them were particularly concerned, as the tray from the kitchen was
brought in, and she told the kitchen boy where to put it.

"You'll need another glass, my dear, " her father instructed her he
relit his cigar and thanked the boy whose name he never remembered.

Olivia knew all of the people who worked for them, she knew their names,
their histories, their parents, their sisters, their children.

She knew their foibles and their strengths, and whatever mischief they
occasionally got into. She was indeed the Mistress of Henderson Manor,
perhaps even more than her own mother would have been, had she lived.

In some ways, Olivia suspected that their mother had been far more like
her sister.

"Is John bringing someone with him? " Olivia looked surprised.

Her father's attorney usually came alone, except when there was some
problem at the mill, and she had heard nothing about it this time if
there was.

Usually, their father shared that kind of information with them.

All of that would be theirs one day, although more than likely, the
girls would sell the mills, unless they married men who were capable of
running them, but Edward considered that less than likely.

Her father sighed over his cigar in answer to her question.

"Unfortunately, my dear, John is bringing someone today. I'm afraid
I've come too far in this world. I've outlived two wives, a son, my
doctor last year, most of my friends in the last decade, and now John
Watson tells me he's thinking of retiring. He's bringing along a man
who's recently joined his firm, and whom he seems to think quite a lot
of."

"But John's not that old, " Olivia looked surprised, and almost as
disturbed as her father, "and neither are you, so stop talking like
that." She knew he had begun to feel ancient since he'd been unwell,
and even more so since he'd retired.

"I am ancient. You have no idea what it's like when everyone IMMORTALS around you starts disappearing, " he said, scowling and thinking of
the new attorney he didn't want to meet that afternoon.

"No one is going anywhere, and neither is John for the moment, I'm sure,
" she said reassuringly, as she poured him a small glass of sherry and
handed it to him, with the plate of fresh ginger cookies.

He took one, and looked extremely pleased as he looked at her.

"Perhaps he won't go after all, after he tastes these cookies.

I must say, Olivia, you get them to make miracles in that kitchen."

"Thank you." She leaned over and kissed him, and he looked up at her
with all the pleasure he felt each time he saw her. She looked
remarkably comfortable and cool on such a hot day, and she took one of
the gingersnaps herself and sat down next to him as they waited for John
Watson. "So who's the new man? " she asked curiously after a few
minutes.

She knew that Watson was a year or two younger than her father, but it
still seemed young to retire, to her, and he had always seemed very
youthful. But perhaps he was wise, bringing someone new into their
affairs sooner rather than later. "Have you met him before? "

"Not
yet. This will be the first time. John says he's extremely good at
what he does, mostly business affairs, and he's done some estate matters
for some of the Astors. He came to John's office from an excellent
firm, with a very good recommendation."

"Why did he change?

" she asked, intrigued. She liked hearing about her father's business.

Victoria did too, but she was far more hotheaded in her opinions.

Sometimes the three of them had rare go-arounds about some issues of
politics or point of business, but all three of them thoroughly enjoyed
it. Perhaps because he had no son, Edward Henderson loved discussing
intelligent matters with his daughters.

"According to John, the new man, Dawson, had a hard blow last year.

Actually, it made me feel sorry for him, and I think that's why I let
John bring him .. . it's the sort of thing I'm afraid I understand
rather too well." He smiled sadly at her. "He lost his wife last year
on the Titanic. She was a daughter of Lord Arnsborough's, and I think
she'd gone home to visit her sister. Damn shame she came back on the
Titanic.

Nearly lost his boy too. Apparently, they got him off in one of the
last lifeboats. It was already too full, and she put another child in
her place, and said she'd come on the next one. There was no next one,
and she didn't get in the last of the lifeboats. I gather he left the
firm he was with, took the boy, and spent the year in Europe. It only
happened sixteen months ago, and I think he's only been with Watson
since May or June. Poor devil.

John says he's very good, but a bit gloomy. He'll come out of it, we
all do.

He'll have to, for the boy's sake." It reminded him all too much of
when he'd lost Elizabeth, although his loss had been due to
complications of childbirth and not a disaster of the magnitude of the
Titanic. But still, it had been disastrous to him, and he knew only too
well how the man felt. Edward Henderson sat lost in thought for a
moment, as did Olivia, digesting what her father had said, and both of
them looked startled when they looked up and suddenly saw John Watson
standing in the doorway.

"Well, how did you get in unannounced? Have you taken to climbing in
the windows? " Edward Henderson laughed at his old friend, as he stood
to greet him, and crossed the room looking extremely healthy. He was in
good form these days, thanks to Olivia's constant care, and in spite of
his complaints about how badly he was aging.

"No one pays any attention to me at all, " John Watson laughed.

He was tall, and had a shock of white hair, much like Olivia's father,
who was also tall and aristocratic, and had once had the same shining
black hair as his daughters. The blue eyes were the same too, and they
came alive now as he chatted animatedly with John Watson. The two men
had known each other since school. Edward had actually been the closest
friend of John's slightly older brother. He had been dead for years,
and Edward and John had long since become fast friends, and associates
in all of the Henderson legal matters.

Seeing them engaged in earnest conversation almost at once, Olivia
glanced at the tray again, to see that all was in order, and prepared to
leave the room, and then she turned and was startled to almost walk into
the arms of Charles Dawson. It was odd seeing him there, after they had
just talked about him, and embarrassing to know so much of his loss, and
his grief, without ever having met him. As she looked at him, he seemed
very handsome and somewhat austere, and she thought she had never seen
sadder eyes on anyone. They were like dark pools of green, almost the
color of seawater. But he managed a small smile when her father
introduced them. And as they spoke, she saw something more than just
tragedy about him. There was great kindness in his eyes, and
gentleness, it almost made her want to reach out and console him.

"How do you do, " he said politely, shaking her hand, and seeming to
take every inch of her in with interest. He didn't look her over
improperly, although he was certainly aware of how beautiful she was,
but he seemed mostly curious about her.

"May I offer you some lemonade? " she asked, feeling suddenly shy, and
hiding behind her comfortable duties. "Or would you prefer sherry?

I'm afraid Father prefers sherry, even on days as hot as this one."

"Lemonade would be fine." He smiled at her again, and the two older men
went back to their conversation.

She gave John Watson a glass of lemonade as well, and all three men
gladly accepted the gingersnap cookies. And then, having fulfilled her
responsibilities to them, Olivia quietly withdrew and closed the doors
behind her. But as she left the room, something about the look in
Charles Dawson's eyes haunted her, or maybe it was just because she knew
his story from her father. She wondered how old his little boy was, and
how Charles managed without a wife, or perhaps he had someone in his
life by now. She tried to shake off her thoughts of him, it was
ridiculous to be worrying about one of her father's attorneys, and quite
inappropriate in fact, she scolded herself, as she turned quickly to go
back to the kitchen, and nearly collided with her father's
under-chauffeur. He was a boy of sixteen who had worked in the stables
for years, but knew a great deal more about cars than he did about
horses. And since her father had a great love for the modern machines,
and had bought one of the earliest cars while they still lived in New
York, Petrie, the stable boy, had made a rapid and pleasing transition.