Her desk was cleared of all paperwork, and had been laid with a pretty Indian silk scarf of deep blues, greens and creams. On it were two plain white plates, a pair of crystal glasses, a vase of Sweet Wilma and a bottle of wine in an ice bucket. She’d ‘ordered in’ from a local restaurant and nesting under silver warming dishes was a warm crab salad with a rich and creamy raspberry mousse packed in ice for dessert. Deep green napkins waited at the side of each plate. She nodded, satisfied at the pretty picture she’d created. A scene set for seduction. A scene set for ambush. Perfect. She looked around the rest of the room, lingering on the covered canvas, an expression of pain and satisfaction warring on her face. Sometimes she hated it. As if it was easier to blame it for the mess she was in, rather than him. The painting itself was almost finished now. Forbes-Wright had been famous for the feverish quickness with which he painted, and she’d had to work at the same break-neck speed in order to produce the same effect.
