She put Van Morrison on loudly and was well into the rhythm of both the music and her work when she straightened up to ease her back and noticed a section of ceiling which hadn’t been painted.

She swore for a few seconds before deciding it would be better to paint it now than to depend on remembering to do it later. She didn’t want to discover it unpainted when it came to hanging the pictures and if the floor wasn’t absolutely hard, the ladder could scrape the surface horribly. With Rory’s work being so enormous, she couldn’t rely on people not looking up that high. Someone had advised Molly to buy a ladder which Thea didn’t like very much, but according to Molly’s adviser it was the most versatile system, which could be long or short, with or without a platform, in fact, could do everything except apply the paint.

Now, she set it up very carefully, working out which bit hooked over which other bit. It seemed to take for ever to assemble and she yearned for a straightforward pair of steps. Eventually it appeared to hold together and, gingerly, she climbed up it, her pot of paint over her arm, her paintbrush stuck down her cleavage. She couldn’t run an art gallery if she was going to be pathetic about ladders. She had to be grown-up about it.

When she reached the top she realised that the wretched ladder wasn’t quite near enough. She didn’t like the fact that there was nothing to support her above her knees, and if she got down, moved the ladder and climbed up again, the whole grisly process would just go on longer. She knew it was silly, but she decided to get some paint on her brush, hang on for dear life and lean. With her painting arm outstretched, it might just reach.

She dug her brush into the almost solid paint. The pot was heavy and when she’d loaded her brush, she hung it on the ladder. Then, very carefully, holding on tight with one hand she leaned over the front, aiming at the bit of ceiling with her brush, praying her arm would extend far enough.

It did, just about. It wasn’t the most perfectly painted bit of cornice, but no one would notice a few brush marks up there. She needed a dab more paint to finish the job. Her brush was just making a pleasing sucking sound as she dug it into the paint, when she heard a noise behind her. Startled, she jerked round and at the same moment that she saw Ben, she felt her ladder slip and begin to topple.