Gilla. What happened to it?’
She nodded towards the corner. ‘It’s over there. Do you want to see?’ Before he
could stop her she had gone to pick up the painting and brought it to him,
leaning it against the wall.
He stared at it, reading it as he had read Gilla’s face a moment ago, and
knowing that he would never be able to forget the journey from which he had just
returned. It would take some getting used to.
‘A self-portrait,’ said Gilla meditatively. ‘Of course. I didn’t really want to
look at it before.’
After a moment he cleared his throat, knowing that in this knowledge, at least,
they were equals now. ‘Well?’
‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘you must know that this is the way you always look to
me.’
Her hand moved to enfold his, and feeling suddenly light-headed. Lalo lay back
against the pillows again. His ears were buzzing – no – it was only a fly
circling in the middle of the room. He thought a moment, then, feeling a little
foolish, glanced down at the piece of paper that still lay on the coverlet.
It was blank. Lalo looked up quickly and saw the fly spiral across to the
mirror, for a moment hover there, then buzz purposefully through the window and
away.