The days flashed past and gradually the gallery began to look like a gallery. The ladders and dust sheets were moved out; the fine dust which had covered everything when the floors were sanded was no longer discovered in unlikely places. Thea even got to the stage of redecorating the little room beyond the kitchen, in case they had to expand into it. Sadly, painting over the walls did nothing to erase the poignant memories she had about the room.

Molly began to do some serious PR, telephoning everyone she could think of to tell them about Rory and the exhibition. But the response was disappointing. The moment people heard that the show was out of London they lost interest. Molly started to despair. ‘If we’re not careful it’ll end up just being a social event for our friends.’

‘Well, that’s all right, isn’t it? Isn’t it nicer to entertain your friends than a lot of London media types who’ll just turn their noses up at the whole thing?’ Thea was beginning to think that obscurity was better than success. If she was going to fail, she wanted to do it quietly, with no one looking.

‘You don’t think it’s anything to do with Veronica, do you?’ demanded Molly.

‘That’s paranoid. Why should she bother to sabotage us?’

Molly regarded Thea but, for once, didn’t say anything.

Then, four days before the private view, when Thea was about to resort to ringing round her friends to make sure they at least came, things changed.

The first time the phone rang and it was a London paper, Thea was thrilled. She called Molly immediately and told her about it. Molly, who’d planned a trip to the beauty therapist in preparation for the big day, cancelled her appointment. ‘Just so that I can be there if it happens again.’

‘Showing your usual confidence in my PR skills I see?’ said Thea light-heartedly.

‘Of course not, Thea – oh honestly! I’ll be over in an hour.’

Thea had dealt with three more calls when she heard the gallery door open while she was scribbling down some details. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. The phone hasn’t stopped all morning and I’m desperate to go to the loo. What kept you?’ She looked up and saw not Molly, but Ben, who stood in the doorway, hesitating. ‘Oh. You’re not Molly.’

‘No. Sorry.’

Thea’s mouth was suddenly dry and she stopped feeling like a gallery owner creating interest in London, and felt gauche and foolish, uncertain what to say. ‘Well, come in, then,’ she managed.

He came into the space and looked around. ‘I wasn’t sure how welcome I’d be.’

Thea smiled a little stiffly. ‘Perfectly welcome.’