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He lifted a massive portfolio onto the high counter and opened it to about the centre and turned it to face me. I flipped the pages a few times, skimming the drawings. I was about the turn the page again when a delicate blue swallow caught my attention. As a child I had seen a drawing of a swallow at my grandfather’s island cottage. A willowy woman had been picking seashells on the shore and I was fascinated how everyone who looked at the painting seemed to fall under her spell and ignore the swallows above her head and the handsome man watching her in the distance. As I grew older, the attractive man had starred in my very first sexual fantasies and I had been too shy to tell my grandfather it was the man and not the young woman whom I had found attractive.