Most of the time Thea managed to avoid the reality, which was that she didn’t know much about art; she’d had no formal training apart from what she’d learnt as a photographer and her exposure to modern art had been minimal. Now, her ankle was hurting, she was tired, Ben didn’t want her and she might never get the bloody floor varnished. This whole art gallery thing was a crazy idea. ‘Would I know promising young talent if it got up and bit me?’ Her question sounded horribly plaintive, but she couldn’t unask it.

‘You recognised how good Rory’s work was. I’ll come with you. You pick who you like and I’ll tell you if they’ve got talent or not.’

‘You’d never have time to do all that.’

‘I would if I get this job in Bristol. I’ll be working from home quite a lot of the time, so I can be with Toby more, and I’ll have far more autonomy.’

Thea allowed herself a sigh. It was still stinking hot.

‘What’s the matter?’

Thea bit her lip. ‘Probably nothing. I’ve just got a funny feeling about this trip of Rory’s to London. I’m worried he might back out. I didn’t let him have the slides or anything, so he’s got nothing to show – only his charm to work with.’ She sighed again. ‘But that’s not inconsiderable.’

There was the subtle change of expression again; something she’d said was wrong. ‘I think you’re wise not to trust him completely. Which is why it’s important to have a plan B.’

‘Oh, fuck it!’ she said. ‘I can’t think about all that now. Let’s get to work. Put the music on and if you don’t like my choice you can go home.’

At least the paint, being non-drip, hadn’t spread too far, but the freshly sanded wood was thirsty and sucked it up. Thea had to scrub with sandpaper for ages to get the worst off and even then she suspected the shadow of her accident would remain on the floor for ever.

She was very aware, as she sanded, that Ben could well be looking at her bottom. Her shirt was long and she’d pulled it down as far as it would go, but she was aware that her by now filthy Sloggis, and certainly her thighs, would be on view for those who wished to see.

She had debated putting her jeans back on, but they were a bit tight and the weather was so hot that bare legs gave her much more flexibility of movement. Besides, if she put on her jeans now, it would make some kind of statement, implying she wasn’t decently dressed before. She hadn’t been, of course, but it was too late to worry about that now.