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TO SET THE SCENE: Olive Freebury was knitting something or another as she sat on the whittled family rocking chair, with silvery spectacles perched on the tip of her nose. Robin Winifred was sat on the floor with a music box in hand, lamenting about something one of the Americans had said or done. Cyril Hamilton bumbled around, requesting to go to the town's next toy-exchange and urging his nanny to wind up the music box again and again, often stretching out on the floor and thoroughly enjoying the tinkering sound.
Olive's knitting needles clicked together. She said in a hearty Scottish brogue, "I wouldn't say they do anything for me, personally, but a couple of given the little'uns some bits and bobs like chewing gum and American candy — which is nice for Cyril, since his mother only lets him have cough sweets. But other than that, I'm sure the young lassies down at the dance hall also find them quite a treat."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Robin huffed. They were nattering about the Yanks — or, well, Robin was doing the bulk of the ptalking, and Olive was nodding along mutely, only half listening — and how Aldbourne was teaming with them and their suave accents and American tans. She continued, "I truly wish they'd keep to themselves and not come roaming onto our grounds. One of them picked me up yesterday, you know — tossed me over his shoulder like a sack'a potatoes. As good natured as it was ... I would have appreciated it more if he'd given me some warning and a fair amount of time to prepare myself."
"Charmed you, then?"
"Not in the slightest. I'd like to say I have much better things to do, but those US Airborne boys wouldn't take a fancy to a plain Jane like me, not when Millicent is still on the market — I'm nothing compared to her, truly."
"And thank God for that!" Olive burst with a chortle, taking her ball of yarn and placing it into her lap. Embellished onto her face was a jocular smile. "That blonde bimbo wouldn't know common sense if it slapped her in the face — take it from me, Winnie, she's all lipstick and no substance. Any man would be more than lucky to have you as his future wife; whether they're in the US Airborne or not."
"How come you never got married, Olive? You have a pretty penny behind you, and you're quite a dish, if I do say so myself. Any man would be lucky to get his feet under your table."
Olive wore a locket around her neck, and where Robin expected to see a forbidden lover in military getup, she saw a picture of two women and a child, but neither really looked like Olive, with her grey hair and high cheekbones. For some reason or another, she'd then decided that it was probably the Scottish Royal Family.
