There is not enough money to pay the excess postage. The postman waits patiently at the door, holding a parcel that I see straightaway is from Julian. I rummage in my purse, counting out the coins. Three shillings and eleven pence. I run down the hall into the kitchen and turn out the pot where Grace keeps the spare change from the shopping. Only another shilling and sixpence, still nowhere near enough. I go back to the door and press all I have into the postman’s hand. He promises to return in the afternoon. I watch him take Julian’s parcel away.

When the doorbell rings later that day I have the money ready. I thank the postman and take the package into my studio. Carefully, I cut open the string and brown paper. I gasp when I see what is inside. Neatly stacked one on top of the other are layers of brilliantly colored Chinese silks. I let my fingers run across them, relishing their smoothness. Splashes of red, green, blue, yellow, orange, pink, mauve spill from the paper. I imagine Julian choosing the colors, watching as the lengths are cut from the rolls and folded into squares. I pick up one of the silks and shake it free. It is a blue so deep it is almost black where its folds lie in shadow. I drape it over the back of my chair. I shake out a second length of cloth. This one is orange and its burst is so intense I can feel it burning my eyes. I unravel length after length until the room shimmers with color. It is as if I have let a rainbow out of the parcel. I tie one of the silks round my waist, loop another over my arms. I knot one in my hair and thread yet another round my shoulders. I look at myself in the mirror and laugh out loud at the picture I make. I want to dance for pure joy. I spend the entire afternoon absorbed with my package, trying the silks in fresh combinations. I delight in the way the colors harmonize and clash with each other, setting off different resonances, creating new blends. When it is time to go downstairs I fold each length of silk back into a square. Then I pull open a drawer and tip out all the sketches I have stowed there. I lay the silks in the drawer, placing a fresh sheet of paper between each one. When the last is safely packed away I close the drawer. I do not open it again in Julian’s lifetime.

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