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Then her gaze fell on one home in particular And she realized then that there had never been et it,’ Clara called fro light she’d see what Peter had seen a few days ago The flaw in the work The colors that were off The wrong shade of blue perhaps? Or green? Should it be viridian green instead of celadon? She’d deliberately stayed away from Marian Blue, but maybe that was the mistake

She had just a week now to co before Denis Fortin arrived

Ti with the work and she didn’t knohat She sat on the stool, sipping her strongsun would tell her

But it was silent

Dear God, what a to do?

Just then someone knocked on the door She wondered whether that was God, but thought he probably didn’t knock

‘No, you’re working,’ called Peter fro at the clock Just after seven ‘I’ll get it’

He’d felt horrible about what he’d said about Clara’s work He’d since tried to tell her he’d over-reacted There was nothing wrong with it Just the opposite But she’d thought he’d been condescending then It would never occur to her that he’d lied the first ti was brilliant It was luminous and extraordinary and all the words he dreaallery owners and decorators loved his paintings He took an object fronizable, abstract For so the truth appealed to hi And all that had been enough, until he’d seen Clara’s painting Now he longed for someone, just one person, to look at his works and call thee a thing in this painting And he hoped she would

Now he strolled to the door, opening it to reveal Agent Isabelle Lacoste

‘Bonjour,’ she smiled

‘Is it God?’ Clara called from her studio