I left the beach parking lot and walked up the long flight of steps to the cliff path, clouds racing above me, salty wind in my hair. I really wished I had shoes on, though. I paused for a moment to consider. It wasn't far, but the grass here was coastal and spiky and my feet weren't Cornish hard yet. I decided to persevere. But I kept to the sandy path which was gritty but manageable, and obviously kept an eagle eye out for dog poo.

Some time later, as I rounded the bend around the headland into the estuary, I saw a familiar figure ahead, on the intersection with the bridle path. Iris was silhouetted against the bright blue sky on the large gray mare I recognized from the other day. Her reins were loose, one hand was resting on her knee and she was gazing out across the mouth of the estuary. It struck me that if I ever painted Iris, which I'd dearly like to, this was how I'd want her. In the saddle but with the sea behind her, at one with horse and nature. She saw me and turned. Waited for me to come up the hill.

“That makes a fabulous tableau!" I called, puffing a bit as I approached. “Very Demelza Poldark!"

She laughed. "Yes, except for the Pre-Raphaelite hair, the low-cut dress and the youth. The absolute spit!"

“Still, I'd love to paint you there."

“This one would never stand still for long enough," she said, patting the gray's neck as she danced a bit. "How does anyone ever paint animals?"

“They cheat and photograph them. But that's OK, because sometimes you need props to capture someone's personality, or at least their great loves. I always think the Queen should either be covered in Corgis or on a horse. And I'd certainly need a horse, the sea and the sky, with you."

"In that case you should probably paint my brother out here, rather than inside." She grinned and inclined her head out to where she'd just been gazing. I followed her eyes.

Out in the relatively calm waters of the estuary, a little blue boat with a green sail was slowly gliding through the water, but even at this distance we could hear the shouts of laughter, the banter. I could see the boat rock occasionally as if with mirth, and practically hear the gin bottles clinking as a gingham dress and a stripy blue polo shirt toasted one another.

I smiled. "It had occurred to me, actually. But the logistics are pretty impossible. Would you say that's everything he loves most? The sea, a boat, and Babs?"

“These days, yes. In the old days, no."

"Ah. Belinda would have featured?"

"No, a horse would have featured."

I giggled. “That's awful, Iris. Did he really never love her? Belinda?"