hand several green olives from the tiny refrigerator
below the counter. She loved olives, could sit and eat a small jar at
one sitting, puckering in sour ecstasy the whole while. Her mother
and father never had to worry about her nipping at the alcohol when
she was a curious child. But they'd had a running battle to keep any
olives stocked in the house.
Ricky slouched gracefully into the room, and threw himself on to the
nearby couch while she sat leaning forward in an armchair, rubbing
tiredly at the back of her aching neck. 'Nasty temper,' he remarked,
his manner supremely disinterested. 'Unlike you.'
'Did you follow me just to tell me that?' she marvelled sarcastically,
and drank at her martini.
'Oh, no. I was finished eating,' he assured her. 'You know she's going
to make you apologise.'
'She can take a hike,' Caprice retorted, direct on the heels of his
statement.
His head came up, and he stared at her for a few moments before
saying slowly, 'That attitude is not exactly conducive to a serene
home life. Are you sure you want to push principles that far?'
'Look, she's the one who pushed at me first. I didn't want to talk
about it, and I made that perfectly clear.' She set her glass down on
the table beside her, a sharp punctuating chink. 'If she wants to ignore
my wishes, then she's going to have to expect that I'll get angry about
it.'
He held up his hands. 'Hey, no argument. But you know how she
hates it when we talk back to her. She's going to be in a royal brood
for the rest of the week.'
She bowed her head, so tired, so tired, longing to go back to bed,
knowing she shouldn't. As she closed her eyes, tears stung at the back
of them, and she ran her hands through her dishevelled, fine hair. The
fingers met on either side of her neck, at the nape. Pierce had kissed
her there. 'If you can't speak your mind in your own home, then what
kind of a home is it?' she said, bitterly. She sighed heavily, her mouth
turning down, an unhappy bow. 'I'll—apologise tomorrow. I can't
tonight.'
Ricky took in her huddled posture. 'You do what you think best.'
She raised her head, and grimaced at him. 'It's not fair that you and
dad should put up with her brooding, just because of me.'
'Tell her that. No, on second thought, don't mention it.'
She grinned weakly. She watched as her brother sat, still regarding
her with his bright eyes.
'Just one thing, though,' he said softly. She raised an enquiring
eyebrow. 'What did happen, over the weekend?'
CHAPTER SIX
CAPRICE did apologise to her mother that very next morning, hiding
her still present resentment, putting on ashowof sunny spirits. She
was good at putting on ashow. Irene said a few sharp words to her
bland daughter, realised how silly her pique had been, and no more
was said over the subject.
As the week melted away under the scorching sun of high summer,
Caprice's low spirits began to disappear. It had been a stupid mistake,
that weekend. She was heartily thankful it was all over with.
The weekend promised to be dismal, and wet, with leaden grey skies
looming sullenly overhead, and the weatherman forecasting dire
news. Roxanne was in a gloom because it was the end of the month
and, no matter how much pleading she did, her father obstinately
refused to advance her the next month's allowance.
The brunette simply couldn't understand the arrangement Caprice had
with her father. She had to smile whenever she thought of Roxanne's
frank envy, for no amount of explanations could convince the other
girl that their system would not work for the Cauleighs. She and
Richard would periodically sit down together to discuss the state of
her finances. Aside from a set amount already determined for the
upkeep of the Porsche, which was her responsibility, she could ask
for as much money as she wished and, as long as she could present a
logical reason for having it, she got it. The arrangement was based on
confidentiality, for it never
below the counter. She loved olives, could sit and eat a small jar at
one sitting, puckering in sour ecstasy the whole while. Her mother
and father never had to worry about her nipping at the alcohol when
she was a curious child. But they'd had a running battle to keep any
olives stocked in the house.
Ricky slouched gracefully into the room, and threw himself on to the
nearby couch while she sat leaning forward in an armchair, rubbing
tiredly at the back of her aching neck. 'Nasty temper,' he remarked,
his manner supremely disinterested. 'Unlike you.'
'Did you follow me just to tell me that?' she marvelled sarcastically,
and drank at her martini.
'Oh, no. I was finished eating,' he assured her. 'You know she's going
to make you apologise.'
'She can take a hike,' Caprice retorted, direct on the heels of his
statement.
His head came up, and he stared at her for a few moments before
saying slowly, 'That attitude is not exactly conducive to a serene
home life. Are you sure you want to push principles that far?'
'Look, she's the one who pushed at me first. I didn't want to talk
about it, and I made that perfectly clear.' She set her glass down on
the table beside her, a sharp punctuating chink. 'If she wants to ignore
my wishes, then she's going to have to expect that I'll get angry about
it.'
He held up his hands. 'Hey, no argument. But you know how she
hates it when we talk back to her. She's going to be in a royal brood
for the rest of the week.'
She bowed her head, so tired, so tired, longing to go back to bed,
knowing she shouldn't. As she closed her eyes, tears stung at the back
of them, and she ran her hands through her dishevelled, fine hair. The
fingers met on either side of her neck, at the nape. Pierce had kissed
her there. 'If you can't speak your mind in your own home, then what
kind of a home is it?' she said, bitterly. She sighed heavily, her mouth
turning down, an unhappy bow. 'I'll—apologise tomorrow. I can't
tonight.'
Ricky took in her huddled posture. 'You do what you think best.'
She raised her head, and grimaced at him. 'It's not fair that you and
dad should put up with her brooding, just because of me.'
'Tell her that. No, on second thought, don't mention it.'
She grinned weakly. She watched as her brother sat, still regarding
her with his bright eyes.
'Just one thing, though,' he said softly. She raised an enquiring
eyebrow. 'What did happen, over the weekend?'
CHAPTER SIX
CAPRICE did apologise to her mother that very next morning, hiding
her still present resentment, putting on ashowof sunny spirits. She
was good at putting on ashow. Irene said a few sharp words to her
bland daughter, realised how silly her pique had been, and no more
was said over the subject.
As the week melted away under the scorching sun of high summer,
Caprice's low spirits began to disappear. It had been a stupid mistake,
that weekend. She was heartily thankful it was all over with.
The weekend promised to be dismal, and wet, with leaden grey skies
looming sullenly overhead, and the weatherman forecasting dire
news. Roxanne was in a gloom because it was the end of the month
and, no matter how much pleading she did, her father obstinately
refused to advance her the next month's allowance.
The brunette simply couldn't understand the arrangement Caprice had
with her father. She had to smile whenever she thought of Roxanne's
frank envy, for no amount of explanations could convince the other
girl that their system would not work for the Cauleighs. She and
Richard would periodically sit down together to discuss the state of
her finances. Aside from a set amount already determined for the
upkeep of the Porsche, which was her responsibility, she could ask
for as much money as she wished and, as long as she could present a
logical reason for having it, she got it. The arrangement was based on
confidentiality, for it never
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