Chapter 27
Isla January 2005 'Isla,' Amaya says, obviously shocked to see me. From inside floats the tempting smell of something exquisite and tasty. My mouth really waters. 'Are you good?' She grimaces. 'Obviously you're not. Come in, come in – we should get you out of the virus.' The dim dividers and golden lights are a case. It is so warm inside it nearly makes me cry. We go through to where the wood-consuming oven is aglow. Delicate tosses in burgundies, warm earthy colours and profound greens spread across the couch and the easy chair, which she takes. I sit on the finish of the couch closest to her, so she can hear me if I talk discreetly. Regardless of whether there's just both of us here, what I need to ask, what she needs to advise me, should be quieted. 'How could it go?
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