True, the studio contained haphazardly arranged furniture, chosen for practicality rather than looks, but it held a warm, welcome for her now.It was the home of the man she was fast falling in love with.When she entered the room, her artist was elbow deep in clay. He’d already fashioned a rough armature from wire, and was rolling the clay on to the form. When she looked from him to the clay, she burst out laughing. He gave her an affronted frown, which only made her laugh more. “You have clay on your nose,” she told him.“By the end of today it’ll be everywhere else.” “How will you eat your sandwich?”He shrugged. “I can eat it later.”“No.” She put the tray down on a small table, and picked up a sandwich. He watched her as she crossed the room to stand in front of him. “Here.” She held it out.Watching her all the time, he took a bite, clean white teeth slicing through the wholemeal bread and crisp salad. He chewed, swallowed. “More.” All the time he worked the clay, massaged and smoothed it along the armature.
