There had been a moment - fleeting, as it happened - that had sat between the now of a fractured, fractious week and the then of a week oncoming, darkly blurred with possibilities. It had been tranquil. It had slid itself down between her shoulder blades and un-slit tension like a knife. It was possible, in this moment, to see the cut ends bind themselves together, to reknit and make anew. Olivia went taut, like piano wire pulled silvery-tight. She spun on her heel and she looked at whomever it was with a look unfolded from business and pulled on where own pleasure wouldn't do.
"Yes?" Olivia said. It was polite and it was cool and it did not invite inquiry or indeed, chit-chat. Olivia had never been the kind of woman who talked, who was comfortable with words without purpose - at least not anymore and she gave the impression it had always been so. The lines of her face had composed themselves into the opaque look given strangers who could be former clients or clients or friends of friends or nobody at all.