Thank you all for your patience while I gallivanted off all over the place - it's been a disrupted month with regards to me writing but I should be consistent once again (posting Wednesdays and Sundays Pacific time). To those who posted reviews asking if I had stopped writing - I promise you that I will finish this fic and I shouldn't be this absent again before that happens! And to all those who reviewed in general, thank you so much!

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

It was a suitably bohemian building with large windows and tired pink walls now turning grey with dirt. At the entrance were double doors peeling white paint which lead to a somber landing of brown octagonal tiles laid out like flowers that had no doubt been part of the original build. Some had cracked, others mysteriously disappeared. A creaking wooden staircase wound up through the centre of the seven story building, illuminated by a dirty skylight during the day. On the fifth floor, through the door to the right of the landing, Marina was kneeling amongst a pile of boxes that held her personal effects. she was in a studio that she was sharing with a photographer who, due to a travel schedule that saw her frequently absent, had decided to split the costs of rent and utilities. Marina had been introduced to her through an acquaintance of Giselle's and the situation seemed ideal because without someone to guarantee her rent, she'd she'd been at a loss on how to find a space, especially as landlords were asking for up to 6 months as a deposit. That was more than what she had in the bank. Giselle had suggested asking Branca but Marina had recoiled at the thought of owing anything to the woman who still took pleasure in making under handed jibes at her homelessness or her sexuality, dependent on her mood. No, she would stand on her own two feet, she would make this work. If Clara believed in her, she believed she could do it.

It was a large space and daylight poured in through three windows that overlooked the steep street below. It was a busy road in Santa Teresa, one where cars and people walked past at all hours of the day and night, encouraged by the budding culinary scene and the quaint bistros that dotted its length. The studio came equipped with everything she needed – a soft box, some red and white heads, and a white back drop that dominated the wall. Black out curtains hung by the window. There was space enough to work, couches in one corner and a kitchenette in another. There was a smaller room next to the bathroom that could be used as a changing room and another room for storage. The walls were predominantly white although the wall facing into the stairwell was made of old red brick giving the space a warmer aspect. It was shabby chic. A few months ago she would have scoffed at working in such a space but what choice did she have? Maybe she would have to reinvent herself, to bring in and explore these elements in her work. Perhaps this could be a good thing. At least she hoped so. Although truth be told she wondered how she would feel greeting her models in this place, many of whom she had used with previous campaigns in her old house.

And it felt strange to be back in her old neighbourhood and yet not in her house. She'd had that house since she was twenty, a gift from her father and it had been her base ever since. Perhaps that is why she felt like she'd been flung out of her orbit. She'd driven past the house a few times in the last couple of months and had seen it was coming up for auction along with so much of what was inside and it made her feel so sad and angry. She knew she just had to take a deep breath and deal with it otherwise she'd end up paralysed by the life she'd had and the life she had to live now. Clara was right that she couldn't change what was done and was it not better to face these challenges with a smile on her face?

She'd done her budget and she had enough money to cover the next three months of rent . Three months to figure out how to make this work, how to manage the business and bring in money so she could start rebuilding. She hated thinking of her profession in these terms, as a means to earn money but she was so grateful that she had a profession to fall back on. Her mum may have provided her with the passion but it was her father who had pushed her to make something of it. So many of her private school friends had not done that. Most had already married some successful man with deep pockets and their life revolved around being a wife, a mother, a home maker. Not that she had anything against that but for obvious reasons that was not to be her path. And something about being financially dependent on a spouse had always irked her feminist tendencies, she didn't want to be like that. It was only now, though, as she looked back on her adult life thus far that she realised that she may have forged a career as a photographer but that she had never actually been independent. She'd relied on others to prop her up the whole time. She'd relied on her father and Vanessa. She'd spurned shouldering responsibility with the ease that entitlement gave her. Money came, money went, it wasn't a concern she needed to bother herself with and she had spent accordingly. No expenses spared. Only now those people on whom she'd relied were gone and Marina was learning the true cost of her irresponsibility, because that is what it was. Irresponsibility. A deafness to the practicalities that, if she were honest, she had felt immune to because of a father who had never said no to any of her whims and whose cheque book had always been open. She both envied and was equally embarrassed at this old life, at how spoilt she had been. She'd lain awake at night, Clara slept wrapped up in her arms, and called out to that omnipotent consciousness, promising that if she ever gained back what she'd lost, she would not take it for granted. Never again.

Her thoughts thus preoccupied, she failed to hear the door open, the footsteps approach until she felt a pair of hands covering her eyes. She smiled, pulling at them, her nose brushing against the delicate skin of a wrist, breathing in the scent. She pulled at the arms until a pair of breasts pressed against her back and she turned her head, seeking out lips that pressed softly against hers.

"I wasn't expecting you, my love."

"Well, as it would happen Claudio wanted me to pick up a very important package from an artist in the area so I brought us some lunch. I can't stay long but I wanted to see how you were getting on."

"Well as you can see, it's a bit of a mess." Marina gestured to the boxes of files, photographs and pieces of material spilling across the floor. "I didn't get to keep much but I didn't realise that not much was actually quite a lot!"

Clara moved to the coffee table, opening up a paper bag and withdrew two baguettes thick with lettuce, tomato, cucumber, cheese and a Dijon mustard – reminiscent of a sandwich they'd shared in Paris. She also produced two iced-coffees in cans and a punnet of strawberries.

Pulling down brightly coloured cushions onto the floor they settled side by side.

"So I'm going to check out a flat tonight." Clara said as she cracked open her can with a snap and took a sip. "Two bedrooms, perfect location and rent I can afford!"

"Sounds like exactly what you want. Where is it?"

"Get this – two stories above my old place!"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes! Old Mrs. Rodriguez is moving to San Paolo to be with her son and she heard I needed a place. She asked me to drop by."

"Oh Clarinha, that sounds perfect."

"I'm having a coffee with her after work!"

Clara had spent the last few weeks viewing apartments every night after work. Marina had accompanied her a few times but everything close to Ivan that was within her price range had been rather dire.

"I'm so pleased." Marina said, squeezing Clara's hand briefly and turning to her sandwich.

Clara paused beside her.

"What is it?" she asked.

Marina chewed and swallowed "What? Nothing. I'm really happy for you."

"Honey – what I love about us is that we are honest with each other – always."

"It's nothing, it's stupid."

"Marina, almost every time that I've talked about finding a place you've gotten all... quiet about it. Tell me." Clara said seeking her out with her eyes.

Marina picked up a shredded piece of lettuce that had fallen on the waxed paper the sandwich had come in and placed it back into the baguette.

"I guess I feel left out."

"What do you mean, left out?"

"As in... I wish we were doing it together."

"Looking for an apartment?"

"Yeah. I just... I hate where I live, I want to leave but I can't right now not unless I share the rent with someone and to be honest the only person I would want to live with would be you … and you haven't asked me."

"Oh."

"So I feel left out."

Clara leaned over the edge of the table, placing her hand on Marina's.

"I'm sorry you feel like that. You know that it's never my intention to make you feel left out, ever. Marina, you and Ivan are the two most precious people in my life. But you understand why this is not possible right now, don't you?"

"Cadu." Marina said flatly.

"Yes."

Marina looked out the window at the white building across the street and the blue sky above it.

"It's always about Cadu." she said.

"He's my ex-husband. And he's still someone very important in my life and that of my son's."

"It just seems we're always having to put him before us, you know? Every step of the way he's there, between us."

"I can't help that, Marina. That's the situation, unfortunately. It's hard, I know it's hard."

A pause.

"Sometimes I feel like you like it like that." Marina said, almost to herself.

"Marina, are you suggesting that I enjoy this situation? That I want to have to be cautious about us, that I want to have to censor what I say around him in case he flips out?"

"Of course I'm not! But sometimes I just wish... I don't know..."

She wanted to explain better but she couldn't find the words and so she ended up flapping her hands around aimlessly.

"Then what are you saying, Marina? Are you saying you're not...that you're not happy with me?"

"No! No, I'm not saying that at all, Clara, I'm just tired! I'm tired of all these obstacles all the time, it just never seems to end. And I just want something to be simple and straight forward in my life for once!"

"You don't think that I don't want that too? That I wouldn't love it if I didn't have to worry about what Cadu or Ivan or my mother or what anyone else thinks?"

"I know you do."

"Then why are you suggesting that I like this? That's unfair!"

"So you're saying that if you were totally free to, you'd want to move in with me?"

Clara bit her lip.

"That's what I thought! You're hiding behind Cadu as an excuse!"

"I'm not hiding, Marina ! I – where the hell is this all coming from?!"

An unwelcome rap at the door pierced the sudden silence between them. Marina rose to open it. Her shoulders felt tense and her throat constricted.

"Dad!?" she cried when she saw who was there. There he stood after two months of total silence, dressed in his Armani shirt and slacks, looking relaxed and unconcerned with a bunch of flowers in his hands.

"Daughter!" he cried and drew her in for a hug, crushing her to his chest. He greeted Clara with a kiss on the cheek.

"I don't want to be rude, Mr. Mereille, but I have to get back to work." Clara said when the required pleasantries had been exchanged. She collected her partly eaten lunch and turned to Marina. "I'll see you later." she said and left.

There wasn't anything necessarily cold in Clara's goodbye but Marina sensed it – Clara was upset at her – and she felt like she was about three inches tall. She felt terrible.