The High Shelf

Blythe found Keir asleep with one foot outside the blanket and a look of faint displeasure on his face.

The folding chair had not been designed for a man of his height. Tamsen’s foresight, though considerable, had limits.

She stood on the bottom stair and watched him for a moment. He was not especially graceful asleep. His hair had risen on one side. A crease from the pillow crossed his cheek. She liked him with an intensity that made no sensible distinction between these things and his smile.

Then she went into the garden before she could use looking at him to avoid looking at it.

The amber flower was clear.

Of course it was. She had been there when the colour went. It was foolish to feel surprised. Nevertheless she crouched beside it with a sudden, ridiculous hope that morning might have discovered a loophole.

Morning had discovered nothing…