As the diners watched, Bianca drew a lacy handkerchief from her shoulder bag, wiped her eyes, drew a series of deep shuddering breaths, and tucked the handkerchief back into her bag. She squared her shoulders and looked around the room, commanding everyone’s attention, painters and tourists alike.
“I am late,” Bianca announced to the group at large.
She wore an emerald-green sundress with a wide flaring skirt and had wound her braided black hair into a crown, Kahlo-style. “But in our hotel, I have heard such terrible news just now. Terrible.”
Viktor pulled out the chair next to him and half-rose, expecting Bianca to come and sit down. But she swept past him to Jill’s table. “I am simply desolate,” she said, looking around the room. “I can hardly believe it. My friend that I meet just da
