Page 55 of Corpse in the Canal

And for some reason, that made it easier to smile. “I don’t want to think about it—which is not quite the same thing. I taught myself to draw accurately and with the odd flourish of imagination—ships’ decks, sails and rigging, sailors’ faces lined with character and hardship and too much rum, coastlines and harbors, even the stars at night and the moon reflected in the sea. After I found Solomon—or he found me—it was like…freedom. As if the world burst back into color, and I saw so much more. I needed to paint so much more. Learn so much more.” He drew in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I’m babbling.”

“No, you’re not,” she said softly.

And for no reason, he was soothed and justified and found himself smiling.

“Mama says there are no fish in the canal because it’s dirty,” Clarence said. “Did you fish when you were a sailor?”

“Sometimes, yes. Shall I draw you a fish?”

“A big fish!”

David sketched a couple of big fish, then a whale and a dolphin and an octopus that made the boy laugh because he drew huge eyes and a comical expression on its face. David tore out a couple of pages from the book and passed them to Clarence with his pencils.

“You draw some,” he suggested.

“Like yours?”

“If you like. Or one you’ve seen. Or a completely imaginary one.”

“A sea monster?” Clarence asked eagerly.

“Why not?”

Clarence flumped onto his stomach, the book and paper in front of him, and set happily to work.

David glanced at Adelaide to find her smiling at him. It was a smile to drown in, a woman to drown in, and yet there were no real possibilities here, certainly no salvation. She had been in love with Solomon. If she liked David at all, it was because of that.

“Why did you not marry Solomon?” The words spilled out without permission, appalling him, whatever they did to her. Now she would take the remaining blackberries, and her son, and go.

Instead, she turned her face up to the weak autumnal sun and sighed. He thought she would just ignore his insolence, but after a long moment’s consideration, she replied.

“Cowardice.”

That, he had not expected. “Cowardice? You?”

“We are all afraid of something.”

“And you were afraid of Solomon?”

She met his gaze. “Aren’t you?”

He opened his mouth to scorn the suggestion, but memory got in the way. The adult Solomon was not the Solomon of childhood. Of course he was not physically afraid of his brother, but there was something about him, a relentlessness, and something indefinable that made David afraid to disappoint him. Afraid to lose his trust, his company. Or was it more than that? A wildness that had once been in them both as children, and only existed now in Sol…

The confused thoughts pushed each other aside and became one certainty. “Solomon would never have hurt you.”

“There are many ways to hurt and many of them are unintentional. Solomon helped me when no one else would, and yet he was unknown. I chose the safe option and married Luke Jenkins.”

“Do you regret it?”

She shook her head. “No. Though I’ll not deny it gave me something of a turn to see him again. Only it was you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“And then you did see him again.”

She gazed across the canal into the distance. “He is where he is supposed to be.”