Photographic Read Free Page B

that’s going to stay.”
    “It’s fine.”
    “I know." She ducked into the front hall. As she hunted for a wrapping for Marta’s foot, she felt a light-heartedness bubble up inside, a pleasure at doing something different, helping someone. She stood for a moment in the shadows of the hallway, her hand on the silken fabric she was looking for. She pulled the scarf out from a stack of other scarves, gloves and hats, and wound it around her hand. Was even a tabloid photographer company? Returning to the kitchen, more subdued, she knelt by Marta. 
    “Here.” Jane tied the pale yellow scarf around the ice pack and ankle so it would stay in place.
    “That’s very pretty.”
    “Thanks.” She smoothed it and got up, leaning on the chair. “I’ll take you to the urgent care. You’ll need that looked at. You can’t drive.”
    Marta shook her head. “You know what? I’m so tired right now. If you don’t mind, I’d really rather stay for a little while and rest with my foot up. I’ve got the ice. I’m okay. If you don’t mind.”
    Jane stood looking at her in consternation. “It’s got to be killing you.”
    “I’m tough. I just want to sit. Okay?”
    Jane looked from Marta’s camera, which hung from the chair on the opposite side of the round table, to Marta. She shrugged. “If you say so. As long as you’re not taking pictures. Would you like coffee?”
    “Please.” Touching the embroidered scarf, Marta winced. “Was this a gift?” 
    Jane glanced over. “Yes, when he went to India, Ian brought that back for me.”
    She poured two cups of coffee from the pot, still half full from that morning, before sitting down. Marta took large gulps of coffee as if it could go right to her ankle and take away some of the pain. She finished one cup and sipped more slowly on the second, as if she could afford to, and was able to give some of her attention to watching Jane. 
    “I’m surprised.”
    “By what?” 
    “By you. Asking me in.” She set her coffee down for a moment and unzipped her jacket, shrugging it off. 
    Jane leaned her head on her hand for a moment. She rubbed her forehead. “I feel something for you that you don’t feel for me and my daughter.”
    “What’s that?” Marta leaned back in her chair. Her hat looked out of place inside. 
    “Empathy.” This woman had crossed all the bounds of propriety and surely some law of trespass. But since she had crossed the threshold from outside gate to kitchen table, she felt like a guest. Jane found herself wondering about the details. “It must have been cold in that tree. How long were you up there? You must have come while it was still dark.”
    “Maybe an hour. It was damn cold,” Marta said. She held out her mug, ready for a third cup. Jane poured.
    “That’s why you twisted your ankle. Your legs got stiff.”
    “Probably.” Marta sipped.
    “You should take something.” Jane observed the line of pain between Marta’s brows and got up to get her some tablets from the cupboard.
    Marta took four, slugging them down with more coffee.“My mother didn’t look after me this well.” 
    Jane smiled. 
    “You think I’m kidding.”
    In the confused mix of emotions she was experiencing, Jane felt the important question rise to the surface, the problem that had been bothering her most since she discovered Marta in the tree that morning. “Can I ask you something?”
    “Shoot.” 
    “Will you make a deal with me?”
    “What kind of deal?” Marta set down her coffee and squared her elbows on the table. She pulled off her hat and threw it on the table, revealing blond, spiky hair. With her olive complexion and dark eyebrows, it was a striking contrast. 
    “You have something I don’t want you to have.” Jane locked eyes with her. “I could give you something else, if you agree not to use it.”
    Marta nodded, eyes dark, half-closed. “Do you have any idea how much what I have is worth?”
    “I’m afraid not.” Jane got up from