It was Robert’s painting! The one I thought had been destroyed!
I knew every brushstroke. I’d watched him paint it.
My hands started shaking.
It was Robert’s painting!
***
Arthur put the mugs down.
“Abigail, sit down.”
“No.”
My voice sounded sharper than intended.
“I need you to tell me where you got that.”
He looked at the painting.
“From Robert.”
I stared at him.
“Abigail, sit down.”
“What did you say?”
“Robert sent it to me.”
My first thought was that it was impossible. My second was worse.
“You knew my husband?”
Arthur nodded.
I felt the room
shift.
“How?”
He sat slowly.
“You knew my husband?”
“I was 24. Robert would’ve been 22 or 23. He came to Australia for almost a year.”
I knew my husband had traveled before we met. I knew he’d gone to Australia. But he’d rarely talked about it.
Arthur continued.
“We initially worked together for a few months at a hotel outside Melbourne. Terrible place. Terrible pay.”
