He could feel his body respond to her presence, and he tried hard not to let it get him aroused. She noticed that he was watching her and she blushed,...but kept eating. ‘What are you staring at,’she asked softly. ‘You,’ he said plainly, he could see that her face became rosy, and he smiled. ‘I never noticed how beautiful you are.’ ‘I am not,’ she said giggling a little, and shoving some fruit in her mouth, trying to distract herself from his eyes. ‘Don’t be coy with me,’ his hand stretched. She was still painting the lush foliage of the Malayan jungle, but her painting was now being done in monochrome—in white and shades of gray and black. Just like a photograph, just like those other photographs, the one on J. Harvey Kincaid’s nightstand and the ones she was receiving of Hugh’s family. And, like the photographs, her paintings were study of subtle but clearly understood concern and fear for the future as much as the present. In all of this, Stanfield was her intellectual touch. More

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