Then something occurred to him.
He didn’t know where it came from; one moment, his brain was barren and the next, the image of the painting was ricocheting around inside his head. He smiled.
“Constantine,” he told her. “He left me this painting. I was going to tell you about it, I – I don’t know why I didn’t.”
So he told her about Alive; about the first time he’d seen it, hanging in the hallway of the old man’s home, and the day it had been delivered to Orchard House, weeks after Constantine’s passing. He told her about the note their friend had left, describing in earnest detail the image of the couple running across Westminster Bridge as the colours of the rain fell around them.
Alive“Remind you… of anyone?” Victoria murmured.
Adam allowed his eyebrow to rise just a little. “Maybe.”
