For twenty minutes he stood there gazing at the painting. Then stepping closer and though the model's face was in profile, he knew it was her.
'Do you want to buy?'A bony woman stepped in front him, her tone sharp almost metallic.
'How much? he asked.
'Ten thousand euros,' came the reply.
Shaking his head he stepped out of the art gallery into the heat of a Spanish evening.
Behind him, a young woman emerged from the shadows, lightly brushing past, leaving a familiar musky scent trailing after her and,as she made her way across the square, her long, pale blue dress clung to a slender body like a seductive reminder.
Sudden joy swamped him. 'Caro...' But excitement closed his throat, blocking off the rest of her name.
She kept walking, waving to waiters, dodging tables and their occupants and, making a right turn headed down a cobbled alley where on either side bougainvillea trailed up walls and over small verandas.
In pursuit, not wanting to lose her again, his feet skittered downwards while canaries sang from their cages above. She was so close, so close, he must catch up with her.
Reaching the main road, she crossed its wide expanse and he running after her, ignoring the blare of car horns, caught up with her on the other side.
Taking hold of her arm, he said in a breathless voice, 'Caroline.'
But a frown etched on a stranger's face turned his joy into a groan of despair.