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have been the case. In the intervening five weeks, the two women had become fast friends.
    â€œI suppose I shouldn’t let myself get carried away like that.” Laura looked a little sheepish as she stepped back into the cabin. “But this place is important to me.”
    â€œYou did the right thing,” Erika assured her as they rinsed the cups and put them away. She glanced at her watch. “If we’re going to be on time for dinner, we better go.”
    It was another of the survival tricks she had learned from Laura — be at the Banquet Hall when it opened at five-thirty while the food was still hot,and hadn’t been ruined by sitting too long on a steam table.
    As they scrunched along the path, Laura inhaled the thin, clean air that tasted cool somewhere deep in her lungs. Pointing at a clump of trees, she asked, “Do you see the deer?” Now that she knew where to look, Erika spotted the motionless grey shapes, which blended perfectly with the grey bark of the tree trunks. She had long since become accustomed to Laura’s astonishing powers of observation; she was constantly pointing out things that had escaped everyone else’s notice. She had once told Erika that it was because she was a visual artist, adding that visual artists are trained to see the normal, so that anything that fell outside the norm immediately attracted their attention. Unbidden, the thought of how much Geoff would enjoy going on nature walks with the observant Laura flickered through Erika’s mind before she hastily banished it.
    As usual, they would both return to work in their studios immediately after dinner.
    Refreshed and relaxed after a late night swim and a session in the whirlpool that eased the strain of painting for hours with a tiny brush, Laura walked across the darkened parking lot and through the third floor side entrance of Lloyd Hall. The crime tape had been taken down from the stairwell, but she decided to use the elevator anyway.
    She had just hung up her jacket when there was a knock on her door. “Who is it?” she called out.
    â€œMarek Dabrowski. I know it’s late, but could I talk to you for a few minutes?”
    As expected, Dabrowski was distraught over the visit of Isabelle’s husband. “He arrives in the morning. What should I do? I can’t bear to see them together.”
    â€œGo away for the weekend. Rent a car and drive up to Jasper, or take a real break and drive out to Vancouver,” she said, adding, “You should see some of the west while you’re here anyway.”
    The composer shook his head. “I can’t drive,” he said in his accented English that added the final touch to his continental good looks.
    â€œThen work. Lock yourself in your studio, take your meals there and sleep there. Create a masterpiece out of your emotion. I’ve found work to be the best panacea for a broken heart.”
    Marek looked at her with sudden interest. “You? What does the unattainable Ms. Janeway know of a broken heart? I have always thought of you as the one who breaks hearts. Ah, I remember now. Someone said you had once been married.”
    â€œIt wasn’t him.” Laura waved a dismissive hand. “Have you and Isabelle given any thought to making your relationship permanent?”
    â€œWe’ve talked about it. But it won’t work. It’s her daughter. Isabelle is determined that Jessica will not be the victim of a broken home. Isabelle grew up in a loving home and she wants the same for her daughter. I try to tell her that children are tougher than she thinks, but she remains ...,” Marek took a moment, as he sometimes did, to search for the precisely correct English word, then said with a faint air of triumph, “adamant.”
    He turned to go. “I will take your advice and remain in my studio, working on my concerto.”

chapter three
    A message flashed on the computer screen when the