She waved her brush yonder and we gazed out across the estuary. Blue and shimmering in the sun, it was dotted with small bobbing boats, strips of golden sand bordering it on either side. Just a few children were building sandcastles, watched by their parents, the more popular beach being further on. The cliff on the opposite side rose palely to sloping green fields where cows, looking strangely large and out of proportion as they always did from this perspective, grazed quietly. The distant hills beyond were hazy in the heat and just the odd wisp of cloud scudded through the bluest of skies above. I glanced at her canvas. She'd dived straight-in as usual, no sketching for our Celia. Currently she was deep in the clear blue waters, her brush darting from blue to white to gray to silver on her palette — really getting to grips with the tricky way the sun shimmered on the surface of the water.

“That's good," I said, meaning it, as she added a dab.

"Oh, it's not hard here," she said, eyes shining. “This is fabulous, Flora. I feel totally alive and driven for the first time in ages. I can imagine how Cezanne felt when he got to the south of France — the light! The amazing vivid tones! The translucent effect, the vivacity. And it's all here on a day like this — in bloomin’ England! I can't tell you how energized I feel."

She looked it, too. Her dark eyes were shining, black curls blowing under her beret, and her slightly sallow complexion was almost pink today.

"How did you get on?" she asked, still painting away, eyes narrowed at the view.

"Oh, terrific, painting-wise. But I changed the location and the clothing, and Belinda started sharpening Sabatiers in the kitchen."

Celia shrugged. "A few innocent vegetables for lunch? Skinning a mackerel, perhaps?"

"Perhaps. All the same, if I go missing, you'll probably find me in small pieces in the cellar. Or no, actually, she's got a few Gloucestershire Old Spots. If you can't find the body, check their sty for bones. Although apparently some pigs eat the bones, too."

‘Will do," she said, not really listening, but I was genuinely a little perturbed.

"I saw Babs, by the way," Celia went on. “So sweet. She popped down to see how I was getting on and brought me a flask of coffee. And I met Christina, with her children. She was very cheery." She glanced at me to see how this had gone down.

I made a face. "I never really trust someone who smiles all the time and laughs too quickly, do you?"

She ignored me and painted on. "Oh, and Iris was here, riding along the top. She gave me a wave. I've never had so many friends!"