3.19
An easterly wind fanned hot desert air across the city. Early afternoon and the sea breeze that usually arrived by lunchtime couldn’t battle its way across the coast. Yvette knocked on Gordon’s front door and immediately heard the shuffle of footsteps. The door opened. ‘Come on through.’ Gordon hurried her inside before closing the door on the wind.
Inside was cooler, the living room dim with the Venetian blinds closed, but sunshine baked the kitchen window, the curtain that would have shielded the room drawn back to allow in the natural light. Already, sweat prickled on her brow.
She sat before her sketch that Gordon had placed on the table in front of a small easel. On the easel was a canvas. The three still-life objects were gone. Gordon’s sketch, lying beside hers, engaged her
