She searched his eyes for a motive - he'd known her history this whole time, commissioned her in spite of (or possibly because of?) it, and then decided to reveal as much in this exact moment. She found only the heaviness of knowing in his gaze.
She wanted to say 'I was'. To affirm that basic truth and speak in defiance of all who chose to ignore it. Instead she tore her eyes from his and stood. In a measured tone she said "Thank you. I don't expect we'll need a separate interview."
Moving back to her canvas she glanced at him again, the picture of practiced professionalism. "Would you like to see it? The colors aren't set but that takes time and varnish."
She wanted to say 'I was'. To affirm that basic truth and speak in defiance of all who chose to ignore it. Instead she tore her eyes from his and stood. In a measured tone she said "Thank you. I don't expect we'll need a separate interview."
Moving back to her canvas she glanced at him again, the picture of practiced professionalism. "Would you like to see it? The colors aren't set but that takes time and varnish."
"Have you heard? She's the one that killed her husband!
They couldn't prove it... but everyone says it was her"
They couldn't prove it... but everyone says it was her"