Pictures of You Read Online Free PDF

the furniture consisted of a high chest of drawers, somewhat stark but decidedly masculine, a lower table with a basin and pitcherful of water atop it and a mirror mounted on the wall behind it, and a straight-backed chair, similar to those Eva had seen below, to one side. The room was dominated, however, by the huge bed set against its longest wall and covered by a woven earth-toned spread which was now being deftly drawn back by Eva’s self-appointed guardian angel. With several enthusiastic hand motions indicating that Eva was to make herself comfortable, she was suddenly gone, closing the door quietly behind her.
    Reluctant to look a gift horse in the mouth after such a long day, Eva moved slowly toward the table, gingerly removing her pocketbook and her camera from her aching shoulder, and placing them down on the opposite side from the water pitcher. Looking around
her, she acknowledged that she could find no hotel room more inviting than this room, though it most definitely belonged to someone else.
    Bidden by curiosity, and the lack of any other personal items in the room, to examine the contents of the dresser, Eva approached it, then hesitated, before the appeal to her better nature triumphed. Intruding into someone’s home, taking advantage of bed and bath was bad enough, Eva reasoned, without unnecessarily snooping.
    She had never been one to hide things, had never been one to resort to stealth, although she still smarted from the afternoon, soon after her husband’s death, when her father-in-law had found her cleaning out Stu’s desk and had accused her of snooping in his personal affairs.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing here?” he had shot at her, after letting himself in with the key Stu had given him and thus not alerting her to his presence in the town house.
    â€œI live here!” she had responded in a controlled tone of voice, reluctant as always to assume the worst, as it had been suggested in his own tone.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing rummaging through my son’s desk?” he had rephrased the question, though not the implication.
    â€œI have to keep myself busy and this seems like as good a place as any to do it. These papers are a mess. Perhaps if I can organize—” Eva had honestly explained her actions when Mr. Jordenson rudely interrupted her, his voice grating.
    â€œI’ve heard better stories, my dear. Let’s not play games with each other, shall we? You and I both know that you married Stuart for one reason. There was no love between you. That was obvious. No, you wanted his money, didn’t you? I know your type. What, no
rebuttal this time, innocent Eva?” he had drawled, as she stood before him with increasing disbelief, both in what he was saying and in the fact of his saying it to her now.
    Eva had been too shocked at this outright accusation to respond. Instead, tears welling behind her green eyes, she had merely shaken her head, turned, and left the room. Much later, after hearing her father-in-law leave, she had crept back to neaten up those things left askew by her premature exit. The desk had been swept clean of papers, as had several of the drawers. Only one section, which had held Stu’s personal correspondence, had not been touched. It was here that Eva had found the airline ticket to Rio and Roberto de Carvalho’s letter.
    The mention of his name in her thoughts served to pop the bubble of depression which had briefly enveloped her, and she turned to the basin on the table, filling it with the water her nameless guardian had so kindly provided. But had it in fact been provided for her? Had the woman really expected her to return? If so, how could she have known? If not, for whom had this room been prepared? Despite the absence of personal details, the room boasted a distinct sense of occupation. Who had so recently used it? Who had been about to use it again? These questions volleyed in her mind as