Chapter FiveAdam was painting Roberta, but not by the sea, as she had expected. Instead he had made her sit beyond the house under one of the trees, which was in blossom.
Because the soil in California was so rich, the wild grass was filled with flowers and in her white muslin gown she looked like a flower herself as the sunshine percolated through the branches above her and turned her hair to solid gold.
He set up the easel and sat on a stool concentrating fiercely on his canvas.
Roberta had not dared to look at him when she went into the kitchen to cook the breakfast and, although they talked in front of Danny of ordinary things, it seemed as though every word they spoke had a different meaning from what they actually said.
“I am going to paint you this morning,” Adam insisted, “and
