THE HEIR OF HAVILAH

SEVENS

They drive down the street with towering palm trees lined by his side. Palm type Cuban Royal. Twelve trees on each side of the road, like guards. Since setting foot on the airport asphalt, Olivia knew she had come home. This is the tropics. North of Capricon is the southernmost tropical region. Smell flowers. Salt scent. Ocean aroma. Although the taxi was equipped with Ac, Olivia lowered the window glass slightly to feel the heat in her blood. As far as the eye could see Olivia saw lush green trees, competing with a variety of bright colors. The broad horizon arch above his head was cobalt blue.

The view of the Wet edge area consisting of dry land and water is really beautiful. Golden cascara trees began to flower, as did the flamboyant trees that adorned the ground. The view moves to a beautiful magolia tree with large, candle-covered flowers; tulip orange petals, an ever-present assortment of extravagant bougainvillea; a wide spectrum of purple, golden, white, yellowish orange, and other colors, silver, dark red, fuchsia, violet, and pink. The bougainvillea is a typical tropical flower. The trees look amazing. Looming, striking, attracted butterflies are just as good as lantana flowers.

"This place is beautiful" the taxi driver commented, looking to the right and to the left in awe. "This is the first time I've brought someone here. That's grand. Are you a guest, Miss?"

"this is my house."

"Correct?" The taxi driver was so shocked that he almost stopped his car. "I think this area belongs to Mr. Linfield?"

"I'm his nephew, nephew's grandson." Olivia couldn't say that Harry was dead. After all, soon the news will definitely spread widely.

"It seems right." The driver glanced back at Olivia with sparkling eyes and a smile. "You and the house are very compatible." Classy, thought the driver. High class descent. Very graceful.

The taxi arrived at the base of a wide, white marble staircase leading to the terrace. The driver took down Olivia's bags, placed them on the porch, while Olivia stood in the sun, staring at the house. The house is spacious. Colonial-style mansion with classic white paint, with dark blue windows and doors that are as it once remembered green. He thinks it's shiny dark blue. A good change. The middle of the two-story, circular building stood upright, flanked by large, one-story buildings on the sides. The beautiful white pillar in the middle of the building is covered with trumpet flowers that propagate densely, blue-purple with green foliage. The leaves themselves are as pretty as the flowers.

Like I never left, Olivia thought. The imaginary story that he had forgotten his past seemed to be exposed. Havilah has been charming for a long time. The pleasant sense of peace remains the same. Harry's spirit still enveloped the plantation. Harry is really good.

Olivia paid the taxi driver and added a sizable tip. The journey is far away, but the driver is quite pleasant and polite, not to disturb Olivia by talking too much. Olivia waited until the taxi was gone, suddenly overwhelmed with grief.

Harry could not welcome her anymore. Vaguely Olivia felt the heat of the sun on her head. He has taken precautionary measures, wearing sunglasses to protect his eyes from the scorching sun. The air around the house amplifies the strong scent of Gardenia and Cambodian flowers. The spacious courtyard looked even more beautiful than the last time he was here, the grass in the courtyard was perfectly trimmed. It was as if there was a team of gardeners tidying it up eight hours a day. Harry must be very happy to see this sight. Olivia never asked about business or workers, but it looks like Harry found a great foreman.

Come up, Olivia commands herself, moving one leg at a time. My home. Mine. In the next few days, Harry's funeral is likely to meet Jason Corey. Olivia's silk blouse was slightly pressed against her back due to sweat. Olivia recalled, as she often remembered, the hot scent of tropical air was truly sensual. Uninvited, memories of a night with Jason on the beach appear. Sea sound. How the white sands always find their way back to the mats, their movement. Jason's lips on his. Jason's hands are in his air, his body is at Jason's every touch.

Passion between them! Is it really just the turmoil of youth? Since then, Olivia has never felt that much passion again. The sweet murmur that was held in their lips, then vanished when the passion peaked so high that they could no longer speak. Deep inside the cell, his blood still drained those memories. Olivia will never be free from those memories. Passion. Whether it ends or not, those memories fill him.

With a sick heart, Olivia climbed the stairs to the high shade of the terrace. There's nobody around him. Olivia doesn't understand why. There's movement down there, though Olivia can't see past the dense trees below and the secret garden she loves. Olivia knew Grace must be almost helpless in the face of Harry's death. Grace adored Harry. Almost thirty years the woman worked for Harry and Harry was the best employer in the world.

Olivia stepped into the hallway there was silence, where the white marble floor continued. Everything reminds Olivia of the sense of loss, especially the strong aroma of a beautiful red rose hanging from a crystal bowl over a short cupboard. Harry's favorite rose. Although it is difficult to keep pests away from roses grown in the lush Havilah tropical flower garden.

"Grace?" call Olivia, remember that Grace is old enough and maybe the landmark is a little reduced.

Olivia poked up and looked at the balcony on the upper floor, diverting the beautiful main staircase. Olivia really thought Grace would show up and start to get anxious when that didn't happen. The entrance hall looks as beautiful as ever, the perfect place for artworks adorning the walls above the double doorway leading to the right side of the formal living room, while the left leads to the library. Light flows into both rooms through French-style doors. Olivia doesn't call anymore. He decided to find Grace. Most likely the woman was in the kitchen, in the back of the house.

Olivia started down the hallway when she suddenly heard the faint sound of footsteps from behind her Olivia turned around, shocked to see the messy little girl with curls, wearing a white T-shirt and flower-patterned shorts rushed towards one of the doors, seemingly wanting to go to the front door.

"Where are you going, little girl?"

The girl did not try to run any further. He turned around, standing upright like a mini adult. "You who?" she asked, looking back at Olivia with her bright blue eyes.

"I'm Olivia."

"I'm Thalia. I'm keeping Grace."

"Really?" Olivia almost burst into laughter, realizing the proud tone of the little girl's voice. "And where's Grace?"

"He's in the kitchen. You want me to call him?"

"We should both go there" Olivia said, extending a hand.

Thalia approaches. "You're Beautiful" she said in a tomboyish voice, staring and receiving Olivia's hand.

"Thank you. You're beautiful too."

"I like your earrings. And your watch."

"You're good. Thalia's name stands for what?

I don't know."

"Natalie," the little girl snorted."no one called me that."

"Where's your mom?" olivia asked, thinking thalia was one of the housekeeper's staff children.

Thalia's bright blue eyes turned away. "I don't know."

"Don't worry, we'll find it."

Suddenly Thalia laughed out loud. "I should pray every day, but I don't do it."