CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE INNER NEED
The day was bright and warm, the maples dotted about around Sassafras putting on a fine show of reds. The equinox had passed and despite the turning of the season towards winter’s cool and damp, the mood in the village on that Easter weekend was one of optimism and vigour. Even the gallery, a dull space where sunlight strained to reach, felt cheery: a gallery poised for its exhibition opening. A gratifying prospect and Phoebe put a zing in her stride as she went about making fine adjustments to the setting: three rows of chairs in an arc facing the far corner of the room where a small amplifier, a piano stool and a standard lamp marked the stage.
Harriet’s nine paintings hung in a row along the two walls that formed the stage corner, the five on the long
