CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“I HAVE A CONFESSION TO MAKE.”
Alicia didn’t look at me.
I went on, watching her carefully, “I happened to pass your old gallery the other day when I was in Soho. So I went inside. The manager was kind enough to show me some of your work. He’s an old friend of yours? Jean-Felix Martin?”
I waited for a response. None came.
“I hope you don’t think it was an invasion of your privacy. Perhaps I should have consulted you first. I hope you don’t mind.”
No response.
“I saw a couple of paintings I’d not seen before. The one of your mother … And the one of your aunt, Lydia Rose.”
Alicia slowly raised her head and looked at me. An expression was in her eyes I’d not seen before. I couldn’t quite place it. Was it … amusement?
“Quite apart from the obvious interest for me—a
