Page 37 of Beyond Her Manner
Viola noticed Gillian was trying hard to hold in a smile as she brushed past her and into the shop, her dress accentuating every curve of her body. It left Viola with a sense of something pleasant sweeping through her stomach.
“Are you coming?” a voice demanded.
Viola couldn’t ignore the subtle edge of authority in Gillian’s tone or how it made her pulse quicken. There was a confidence about her that both challenged and intrigued Viola, drawing her to the woman. “Yes,” she replied, rolling her eyes with a smile as she followed behind.
It was like stepping back in time to an old haberdashery shop; the air even held that scent of the past you get when you sniff an old postcard or photograph. Large wooden display cabinets covered the walls, each one brimming with ties, cufflinks, caps, and scarves. Alongside them stood rails of tweed jackets and check shirts, exuding a timeless elegance.
Gillian appeared to know the staff quite well and rattled off some instructions, which sounded more like orders, to meet her requirements. Viola was surprised when she requested everything in her exact size — a lucky guess, she assumed.
She was ushered into a changing room, where Gillian’s arm appeared at random intervals through the curtain with another piece of clothing for her to try. She matched the garments as best as she could and presented herself to Gillian, who then instructed her on which shirt to match with which pair of trousers or jacket.
The result was a stunning ensemble: a dark-green herringbone tweed jacket and trousers paired with a matching waistcoat and crisp, white shirt. The earthy tones complemented her auburn hair, creating a look that exuded class and sophistication.She noticed Gillian’s gaze was fixed on her, perusing what felt like every inch of her body and causing Viola to inhale a deep breath.
Gillian suddenly looked away, reaching out to the shop dummy beside her, where her fingers fumbled to take a tweed cap from its head. “Here, try this.”
Viola took it and placed it on her head, grateful that it contained her hair.
“Perfection,” Gillian whispered so softly Viola wasn’t sure if she was meant to hear.
She flashed a smile anyway, which only seemed to make Gillian stumble and reach for a rail of jackets to steady herself. She must have needed lunch.
“I have a confession to make,” Gillian said, taking a sip of Sauvignon Blanc, as they ate lunch in a sunny, quiet spot in a pub garden. “Iwaslistening to your music this morning. It seems I lost track of time when you arrived.”
“Oh, you are a fan then?” Viola’s tone was teasing again.
Gillian wasn’t going to rise to it; she wanted to answer honestly. She needed Viola to know how she felt about her music. How it made the hairs all over her body stand on end, sent shivers through every part of her, and lit something in her core that burned. She deserved to hear it; she was extremely talented.
“Your voice is… beautiful,” was all that came out when she opened her mouth, and she cursed herself for it.
Viola’s eyes twinkled as she sipped her orange juice. Her smile was stretched so wide Gillian was sure she wouldn’t be able to drink, but somehow, she managed. It left her wondering how much bigger her smile would have become had she found more words thanbeautiful.
“Thank you for saying that. Am I right in thinking giving compliments isn’t something that comes naturally to you?”
Gillian groaned internally, placing her knife and fork on an almost empty plate. The woman had a knack for pinpointing people’s vulnerabilities and exposing them, much as Gillian herself tended to do. She didn’t appreciate it when the tables turned on her, though.
“As much as I wasn’t encouraged to show emotion, I wasn’t taught to compliment either.”
“And yet sometimes you can’t help yourself, like just now,” Viola teased, stealing a chip from Gillian’s plate.
“Apparently,” Gillian replied dryly, realising it was something about Viola that made her say these things.
She watched her companion with a smile as she reached for another chip. Her carefree nature and disregard for etiquette were refreshing in a way. She recalled Viola referring to her as refreshing the previous week. Perhaps the two of them were a breath of fresh air for each other.
After they agreed it was time to head back, they made their way into the pub, where they argued over who would pay the bill. Viola won by being quicker to pass her card to the barman, insisting she owed Gillian for accompanying her and pointing out it was she who had invited her to lunch.
“You never gave me a proper answer as to why you do so much for the village,” Viola said as they reached the car two minutes later.
There she was again, looking for honest answers, pushing for truths.
“I believe I answered: It’s my duty.” Feeling Viola’s eyes on her across the roof of the car and sensing she wouldn’t accept that, Gillian countered with, “Why do you sing?”
“It’s who I am,” Viola replied as they entered the car.
“Kingsford is who I am. Well, it was.”
Viola nudged an elbow at Gillian. “Hey, I told you not to let it define you.”
“Some things are easier said than done.”
