excerpt from Winter Blues

‘I want my painting back, the one that Richard made of me,’ she said defiantly. Richard was a ‘friend’ of ours, who painted Samantha, yet he seemed to be too eager to make her pose au natural and he required an awful amount of time with my wife in his private studio. She had rarely shown interest in the paintings themselves, even calling them somewhat ‘bereft’ of style, yet the time spent with Richard was cherished enough. Anyway, I had stored them in the garage and was planning to throw them out but hadn’t got around to it. God knows what she wanted with them – perhaps she thought they would be valuable one day or she wished to drape her new dwellings, the house I did not even get to live in myself, with pictures of herself in the buff.

I realised it was more likely she was terrified by the thought I might post them on the internet or Facebook or something, but I was beyond the stage of petty revenge. Then again…


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