‘SANDRA! SANDRA! Where’s my inhaler?’ The breathless cry came from another room.
They’d moved to the South of France for his health, on doctor’s orders. He’d subsequently begun painting and taken to it rather well. It certainly kept him busy whilst she worked.
Sandra looked at the portrait leaning on the counter, it was rather good, as were all the other canvases dotted about the house, even the nudes.‘If only they were of me.’ thought Sandra to herself.
Sandra smiled a little, took another sip of her drink then dropped the inhaler in the bin.