Annie shook her head. ‘That was a private commission. We get those too. Lots of wealthy people living around here. Some banker guy gave me the brief.’ She smiled at Dee. ‘He hasn’t seen it yet. If he doesn’t like it, I’ll give you a ring and let you know it’s back on the market.’

‘That would be great,’ Dee said.

She was pretty sure Annie was lying, but couldn’t see the point in challenging her on it. As far as she was concerned, if Annie didn’t want to sell her the painting, all she had to do was tell her that.

‘Why don’t you carry on looking through these?’ Annie said. ‘I’ll go and make us both a coffee. We’ve got a kitchen down the hall.’

While Annie was gone, Dee immersed herself in the rest of the paintings. Alongside the landscapes, there were several more paintings that Dee quickly categorised as the ‘lonely paintings’. Images of a woman standing by herself in a room or a wide open landscape, looking lost and alone. They were beautiful but not entirely to Dee’s taste. Instead, she selected a happier painting to buy – a stunning image of two young girls running across a sandy beach flying a red kite. There was something joyous about this painting and Dee hoped it might cheer her up when Ella, Tom and Jake had gone.

When she heard the studio door opening, she expected to see Annie coming back with the drinks. Instead, an older woman came into the studio, clearly surprised when she saw Dee.

‘Hello,’ the woman said. ‘I was expecting to find Annie. Do you know where she might be?’

‘She’s gone to make coffee,’ Dee said. ‘I’m here to look at her art. I saw her work in an exhibition and she kindly invited me to her studio to see some more of her paintings. Are you another one of the artists?’

The woman laughed.

‘I wish. The only thing I’ve ever painted is my front door, and I did a terrible job. I’m Fiona, Annie’s mother.’

Something flickered at the back of Dee’s mind. A memory. She had seen this woman somewhere before, she was sure of it. But when she tried to focus on the memory, it kept slipping away from her.

Annie’s mother was an attractive woman; tall and slender with silver hair cut into a chic bob that reminded Dee of Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. Dressed in navy trousers and a silk white blouse, she oozed money and class.

‘You’re lucky,’ she told Dee. ‘Annie’s very particular about who she lets into this space.’

‘Well I’m glad she’s made an exception,’ Dee said. ‘It’s been a privilege to come here today and see the rest of her work. She’s incredibly talented, isn’t she?’