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« The Strange Turns of Luck | Main | Forget About Bombs »


Marco and Rosemary returned to join the others; Rosemary looking a little flushed but wearing a satisfied smile.  Walter and Clovis were the first to notice the couple's return and, for a moment, a look of black, jealous hatred crossed Walter's face. But his expression changed immediately and if Clovis hadn't been looking in his direction,  this emotion might never have been detected.  Walter stepped away from Clovis then and joined the couple,  loudly congratulating them on the birth of their son.

"Under different circumstances,  I do believe our old drunken friend would have assaulted Marco for stealing what he sees as rightfully his," Roger said quietly from behind. "Walter had murder in his eyes there for a moment."

Clovis nodded. "You saw it too. Do you think there will trouble?"

"No, not today," Roger replied. "If Walter was sober perhaps, but when was the last time you saw him in such a state?

"At Rosemary's funeral," Clovis said with a frown. "He's still in love with her."

"And probably always will be. But he'll get over it, especially if that little filly with him has any say in the matter." Roger was gazing at Lilly, whose eyes followed Walter with pure adoration.

"I hope you're right. I'd hate to see today of all days ruined by emotional discord."

"Still plan on making that announcement?"

Clovis turned with a start. "I mentioned it to no one. How do you know this?"

Roger laughed. "I'm a writer. I can sense when a chapter is closing." His attention turned towards the picnic baskets, sitting unattended.  "I'm hungry.  Let's rejoin the others and eat the fine lunch old Helga has prepared for us."

Today's artwork was created by the French artist, Odilon Redon (1840-1916).


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