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She ss And her voice breaks ‘I’m sorry I … I can’t be this woman I just – can’t It’s who myher head to avoid the curious glances of people passing

David stares at the painting He doesn’t speak for several et it’ He runs a hand through his hair ‘And you’re right About all of it I’ve – I’ve been unbelievably stupid And selfish I’m sorry’

They fall silent as a Ger a feords before ’

She looks up at hi relationship’ He estures ‘Look at how he’s painted her, Liv He doesn’t want her to be angry He’s still looking at her Look at the tenderness of his brushstrokes, the way he’s coloured her skin there He adores her He can’t bear that she’s angry He can’t stop looking at her even when she’s furious with hi away, no ed her’

Her eyes have filled with tears ‘What are you saying?’

‘I don’t believe this painting should e’ He reaches out, takes her hand and holds it until her fingers relax around his ‘Because I look at it and I see the opposite froht then, in that moment But when I look at her, at them, at this, Liv, I just see a picture full of love’

Chapter Six

1912

A thin rain had started as I began walking the streets around the Latin Quarter shortly after ht Now, hours later, it had soaked my felt hat so that the drops seeped down the back of my collar, but I barely felt them, so steeped was I in my misery

Some part of me had wanted to wait for Édouard to return, but I could not sit in our home, not with those women, with the prospect ofover e in his voice Who is this pinch-faced accuser? He no longer saw me as the best of myself, and who could blame him? He had seen me as I truly knew irl He had been trapped intoconviction that he needed to securehis haste And I had made him conscious of it

I wondered briefly if I should siht flickered through my feverish ht of life without him was unbearable How could I return to St Peronne and live the life of a spinster, knohat I knew of how love could feel? How could I bear the thought that he lived, somewhere, miles away from me? Even when he left the roo limb My physical need for him still overwhelmed me And I could hardly return ho

But there was the problem: I would always be provincial I could not sharea blind eye to their indiscretions How could I live with Édouard and face the possibility of hi of another woman’s scent? Even if I could not be sure of his faithlessness, how could I walk into our home and see Mimi Einsbacher, or any of these women, naked on our bed as she posed for him? What was I supposed to do? Simply disappear into a back room? Go for a walk? Sit and watch over theaoler that Mimi Einsbacher already considered ht at all about what e would mean for us I could not see further than his voice, his hands, his kisses I could not see further than my own vanity – dazzled as I was by the reflection of s, and in his eyes