Page 54 of Corpse in the Canal

Adelaide hesitated, but Clarence had already pulled free, settled on the edge of David’s coat, and placed the basket in the middle.

“For a moment,” she said, kneeling beside her son in one graceful motion.

God, he wanted to paint her…

“Help yourself,” she said, indicating the basket. “They’re the last of the season, I think, and a little tart, but refreshing.”

David sat on the grass, exactly where he had been before, and took a blackberry from politeness. It was indeed sharp, but welcome. He took another and exchanged grins with Clarence, who had three in his palm. Adelaide reached for the basket with one slim, elegant hand. David retained enough sense not to watch her eat it.

“Will you show us your sketch?” she asked.

David glanced at the book he still held in one hand, almost surprised. Suddenly afraid, he wanted to hide it, like a child caught out doing inadequate work. He was dissatisfied with what he had done, and he blinked at the half-drawn shapes on the page, of the woman and boy emerging from the trees.

He shrugged and put the book down beside the blackberries, only because it would have made more fuss to hide it. “It needs color.”

She picked it up, and anxiety twisted in his stomach. She gazed at it and turned her head to catch his precise view, then returned to the sketch.

“Is that us?” Clarence asked delightedly, peering over her arm.

“If your mother gives me permission. I’m afraid I didn’t ask. I needed life and there you were.”

A stupid thing to say. She would think him a half-wit.

She didn’t speak for a long moment. Then she said, “Would we be recognizable?”

“Not if you don’t want to be.”

She gave a sardonic half smile. “I suppose it depends who sees it. Where will you show it?”

“Nowhere, probably. I am entirely unknown, although Solomon has some hopeful plan to interest a man of influence in the world of art. It needs a lot of work.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Really? What will you do? Apart from fill us in a little.”

“It needs color. It’s funny, I used to draw like this all the time, sketches on scraps of paper and canvas with tiny bits of charcoal. And now it’s never enough.”

“Because it doesn’t portray what you’re seeing and feeling?”

“Something like that.”

“Why was it enough before?”

The question surprised him. He had to think about it. “It was all I had.”

He risked a glance at her and found her gaze on his face, curious, almost fascinated.

“Where were you when you disappeared?” she asked.

The blood froze in his veins.

Chapter Twelve

Shame flooded David so that for a moment he couldn’t speak, let alone meet her gaze. “Sailing.”

“Just…sailing?”

Eventually.

She said, “You don’t want to talk about it. I’m sorry.”