Lucy did not move, but instead stared straight forward, her eyes focused on the desk where the presiding teacher on duty was supposed to be. But Gerald wouldn’t hear of it. “I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. Much more temperate; the discreet and joyless love of a virtuous, reluctant, condescending wife. She heard their feet and muffled voices. When she arrived at the Palazzo, not a single sentry was aware of her presence. ‘Why did you kiss me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Gerald admitted. Somehow logic could not explain her. A slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around.
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