AzoteaChapter 2 Hunt
IT HAD STARTED one day three weeks earlier without warning, as if someone turned out the lights and began to raise the curtain. I failed to notice the date, but it was the first of April when Sara, my housekeeper and cook, switched on. “Switched on.” That’s an odd phrase but I don’t know how else to describe the sudden appearance of her smiles, enigmatic and suggestive at the same time, somewhere between the Mona Lisa and the Cheshire Cat. It felt like a performance. Sara had been with me...