Chapter 7

“So,” I said. “Why’d you come north in the first place? Everyone has a reason. I like the cold, myself, and the wide vistas. There’s so much space up here.” He nodded vaguely.

“Ever see the paintings of Doris McCarthy?” I added. He shook his head. “You should. She paints vistas of the north, used to come every year just to paint. And then there’s Harris. You know, one of the Group of Seven? Lawren Harris. His Arctic paintings are just amazing.”

“I’ve heard of them,” he said vaguely, but that was all. I gave up.

Then, the next time we were eating, he surprised me by looking at me with a very odd expression. It seemed that something particular was troubling him.

I nodded and gave him a slight smile to encourage him to speak his mind. But he said nothing, and at last I had to speak.

“What’s up?”

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Finally, he shook his head.

I chuckled and made a face. “Sorry! But I don’t quite understand. What are you trying to say exactly?”