“How is Tina, Olivia?” she asked with beady-eyed concern. “I keep meaning to visit her in Witney but they’ve stopped the bus service there and I don’t drive...”

“I’ll take you,” Olivia offered. “I visit her every Sunday.”

“Oh, that would be lovely, dear. I do miss her.”

“I’m sure she’d love to see you.” Perhaps visiting with an old friend would cheer her mum up. Even though Olivia had decided she was overreacting about her mum’s state, she was still worried. Tina definitely hadn’t seemed like herself that afternoon.

“And how are you getting on?” Edith asked, giving Olivia’s elbow a sympathetic squeeze. “Managing that shop all on your own?”

“It’s fine,” Olivia answered, as she always did. “I like it.”

“But you really ought to get some help,” Edith insisted. “You must be there all hours...”

“Yes, but I really do enjoy it.” Olivia had toyed with the idea of part-time help, but she couldn’t really afford it, and what else would she do with her time?

“Still, you could get out more. Join a club in the village...” Edith looked at her hopefully. “We’re always looking for bridge players on a Wednesday afternoon.”

Olivia laughed and shook her head. “I’m not a patch on my mum, I’m afraid.”

Yet as Edith bustled away to chat to someone else she’d seen, leaving Olivia alone, she wondered at her own reluctance to hire help. She could afford it if she really wanted to...and an afternoon off would surely be welcome?

She’d been living in Wychwood-on-Lea for coming on two years and she hadn’t joined any village clubs or societies, hadn’t made any friends besides those at Willoughby Close, and she didn’t, Olivia realised with a pang, really feel as if she belonged in the village, outside of her shop and the people she chatted to on occasion. It was a rather depressing thought, and one that hadn’t actually occurred to her before. She had friends and she was busy; it had felt like enough, until suddenly it didn’t, and she didn’t even know why.

“Olivia.”

Simon’s voice, full of warmth, had her turning, a smile blooming shyly across her face. Never mind that she still didn’t know that many people in the village, here was a man she wanted to know. And judging by the happy look on Simon’s face, he wanted to get to know her, as well.

“Hello—”

“I’m so glad you decided to come. Can I fetch you a drink?” He glanced at her plastic cup. “Another?”

“Oh, well, all right, then,” Olivia practically stammered. She felt like a schoolgirl under Simon’s warm, appreciative gaze. “You were wonderful, by the way. I love the sound of the cello.”

“Thank you.” He looked so pleased she couldn’t keep from smiling, her heart buoyed by happiness through this little exchange. “I’ll be back in a tick,” he added, taking her empty cup. “Don’t move.”

“I won’t,” Olivia promised, and she didn’t, smiling foolishly as Simon made his way to the drinks table and the vat of mulled wine. He’d just filled two glasses when a woman in a swing coat, her wild dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, strode purposefully through the crowd and then right to Simon.