"It was. I had a struggle getting it out past Lynn's dresses. Once out I shook the layers to try to restore its shape after years of being squashed in...the wardrobe. I wasn't wholly successful. I held its waistband open as Lynn climbed into it. It still didn't spread her skirt properly. Lynn looked down at her skirt in dismay."It should stand out much more than that. Can you check that the net layers are properly spread?"I knelt down. Lynn lifted her skirt and the cotton outer layer of the. In his hands he gently cradles a guitar, the sheen of its wood glistens in the reflected candlelight. He is young, with rich dark hair carelessly brushed. His frame is tall and slender. His clothing is old but still serviceable. The eyes, a deep turquoise, scan the crowd taking measure of what he should play. They move quickly past her. He smiles wanly. His fingers deftly find their place and open with a chord. A camarero walks to where she sits and places a ‘tapa’ platter of jamon and olives. More

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