Summer on the Cape by J.M. Bronston

of them, she was surprised by their effect. Here, in this very sophisticated setting, her paintings were vividly alive with the clear light and the salt smell of the ocean. The light breeze that lifted the sea gulls in the pictures seems to blow gently through this elegant room. Only a minute before, she’d been wondering what was happening to her universe. Spread out in front of her, she saw the beginnings of an answer. Her few weeks on Cape Cod had brought something—and someone—into her life, and she sensed she’d been changed. What the nature of that change was, and how long lasting it would prove to be, it was still too early to tell.
    “Allie,” Adam was saying, gesturing toward her paintings, “they’re very good. I told you I liked the photos you sent. Now that I’ve seen the pictures themselves, I must tell you, I’m impressed. You know I don’t say that lightly.” He leaned against the back of a burgundy leather armchair, his arms folded across his chest, his hand still holding his scotch and soda. His head was tipped a bit, and he studied Allie’s face closely. “Something has happened to you up there on the Cape. I see it in these pictures. Do you want to tell me about it?”
    She was startled by Adam’s uncanny sensitivity. He might have been reading her mind, and she felt exposed and vulnerable. She didn’t like the sensation at all.
    “I don’t know what you mean, Adam.” She felt completely defensive. “I don’t know what you see.”
    “First of all,” he said, looking at the pictures in the very focused way he had when he examined anything of importance—a painting, a piece of statuary, a client’s contract—“first of all I see an increased technical assurance. That’s good, of course, but that’s bound to come anyway. I expect that.” He finished his drink and reached around behind him to put his glass onto the table that stood next to the leather chair. “But there’s something more,” he continued. “There’s a new depth of feeling in these paintings. It’s even possible to follow the course of that development. Look, for example, here at this one.” He pointed to the painting of Sea Smoke , and Allie felt a shiver of remembered excitement run through her. “Now, that’s a lovely painting, of course, bright and lively. I may even have a buyer for it already.” A tiny movement at the corner of his mouth made Allie think of a cat licking at a drop of cream. Then his hand swept along the row of later paintings. “But it’s not nearly in the same class as these. For example, look at the light and the composition in this one.” He pointed at one of the last pictures Allie had done, a seascape, the ocean surface tremulous, with a rain squall building on the horizon.
    Allie knew, of course, what had happened between that first carefree painting of Sea Smoke and the later picture of an approaching squall, full of ominous portents, threatening upheaval, perhaps even danger. Zach had happened. Zach and his remarkable power to confuse and excite her. Zach Eliot had come into her life.
    She made her response as casual as possible. “I think I see what you mean, Adam, and I’m glad if you’re pleased. But I don’t think there’s anything very mysterious about it.” She shrugged her shoulders, hoping she was successfully diverting his attention away from her private life. “I’m working in a new medium, a new setting, a new subject matter. I suppose it’s natural that aspects of myself would show up that you haven’t seen before.”
    “Hmm. Well, that may be.” Adam was looking thoughtfully at her. “We’ll see. Anyway, I’m eager to see the finished paintings.” He pointed at his watch, indicating that it was time to leave for the restaurant. “I just came from a meeting with that dreadful Smucker woman,” he continued as they left the library, chuckling as he added, “It must be hard to live with a name like that.” In front of the foyer mirror, he