While they were waiting for the next ferry, Lillian flicked through the compendium and smiled. ‘I’d be so proud if my mum did something like this.’
Esme nodded, shifting awkwardly on her seat.
She had always assumed that her mother’s long absences from home were necessary, in order for her to keep doing what she loved. She had always thought that her mother had to spend time away, so that she could make money from her art. Surely, given the choice, Ariane would have preferred to stay at home with her family. The compendium in Lillian’s hands told her otherwise.
Her real grievance, she realised, was that she hadn’t always been the centre of her mother’s world.
Her long-cherished image of her mother was fading like an old photograph, memories painfully rearranging themselves. But as the
