Roger's study, where I would be painting him, was darker than one would have wished for. Really rather gloomy, in fact. It was part of the original fabric of the house, which, together with the sitting room, was possibly the only remaining section of the sixteenth-century core, despite Belinda rhapsodizing about the whole place being Jacobean. It was just as well it wasn't, actually, because the rest of the house and the majority of the rooms benefited from later additions, like huge Georgian sash windows. There was only one window in the study, however, and it was small with leaded lights and faced east, which was not ideal. Roger had arranged himself facing it in his red leather chair behind his red leather-topped desk, dressed in his best bib and tucker, which consisted of a dark flannel suit no doubt hauled out of mothballs for the occasion, a white shirt and a scarlet tie. He was beaming broadly over the top of the desk, face florid, arms folded in front of him. What with the desk, the chair, the tie and the face there was an awful lot of red going on.

"Comme sa?" He beamed at me, like a benign bank manager.

I hovered doubtfully in front of him. "Right . . . um . . .weren't we going to go for a more casual look? Sweater and slacks?"

"Ah, no. Belinda vetoed that. Wants me in a suit, in here."

"OK . .” I backed away towards the window, trying different angles. But the room was too small.

"Um . . . this isn't really working, Roger. Maybe not behind the desk?"

"Oh — gotcha. Further back." He pushed his chair right back to the wall on its casters. "Legs crossed, perhaps?" He flipped one over the other. “They're not bad, actually yes, the desk rather cuts me in half, doesn't it?"

"It does rather." I moved around the room, pretending to consider from the doorway, but it was hopeless.

"It really is so dark. I'm wondering, what about the gunroom? Isn't that where you normally sit and read the paper? And it's got those great tall windows."

He looked alarmed. "Lord. Not sure Belinda would like that, she says I spend far too much time in there as it is."

"Well, because you love it, and you could even clean your guns and stuff, while you sit for me.”

His face lit up like a firework.

"Naughty girl! What an absolutely terrific idea. Come on, let's do it while the old girl's at her parish meeting. I say, won't the dark suit look a bit odd? Got my tweed one — won't take a mo. Nip up and change?"

"Yes, I agree, not the suit. But what would you normally wear in there of an average morning? Not a tweed one either, surely?"

Conspiracy shone in his eyes. "Well, if I did happen to pop in there and polish the Purdey while I was supposed to be gardening, I'd be wearing my usual kit. Old cords and a sweater."