Her history would be accessible to anyone who put in the effort to unravel it: as far as the law was concerned, she had paid her penance and was in the clear. Well almost. But for the art world that would be a new revelation, perhaps. She still thought it would be impossible to trace. And even if the trace was achieved, she had no responsibility for either acquisition.

Did she?

*

The light comes in, and it brings a joy to help others.

That is what she wanted to do with Ever; it made her feel good to be able to do that. Enlightened, you could say.

But in doing so, it had, in this case, thrown the light onto herself.

She had craved anonymity and had succeeded in hiding her past for nearly forty years, but had now exposed herself to a person who was interested in re-evaluating her position in the world.

*

She woke feeling as though the restorative process of sleep had not taken place.

She also realised she had failed to take her medication the night before.

If you miss a dose do not double up: imprinted on her memory for years. But the evening had drained her, she felt unable to move and was equally unenthusiastic about discussing the previous night with Ever. How could she possibly begin? With a lie, of course.

She called through to Manita and asked for her coffee. A large espresso to start her up. For years she had ground her own beans, made the coffee as a ritual, now it took twenty-four seconds with a Nespresso machine; Arpeggio, in purple, was her favourite flavour. She felt embarrassed to be such a coffee purist traitor. But it did the trick. One minute later, allowing for the walk across the big brown room, Manita presented her with her coffee and plumped up her pillows, understanding these days of exhaustion that periodically arrived.

No breakfast was required; Lomita asked if Ever had made an appearance. She hadn’t seen him and was now wondering what to suggest.

The blinds were drawn back, the Los Angeles desert morning started its gradual simmer to full spring temperature. Manita returned from the medicine cabinet with the pharmaceutical cocktail, and a lavender bed jacket, in colour not scent; the smell of lavender reminded Lomita of old ladies. She hated it. She would just have to hope she stayed strong; that her immune system would hold up. When she first started on these drugs the side effects caused intense nausea that was as incapacitating as the illness. But her body adjusted during the time it took to interpret the pharmaceutical invasion; those effects faded.

Maybe Ever could join her for coffee, she thought, and he could be relieved of the suspense of finding out what happened. Not that he would be finding out the truth: just get it over with.

Was she transferring her tension to Ever?

He might be fine.