Bold colour and brush strokesHenare anticipated a welcome I didn’t intend to give, threading his way through the house to the lounge. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared through the bay window at the Waikato River beyond the bush. The squeal of distant tyres betrayed a vehicle taking the first of many bends too fast.
I leaned against the door frame and set my focus on the craggy branch of a bare oak tree in the distance. Autumn had stripped the branches, and I sympathised. One conversation with the skinny kid had flayed my privacy to the bone.
“Your wife is here?” Henare jerked his head towards Julia’s high-heeled boots peeking from beneath the sofa. I ground my teeth and gave a cursory nod. “May I speak to her?” He raised a dirty blond eyebrow, and it disappeared beneath his
