Sophie was an artist who produced exquisitely detailed watercolours, typically of hedgerows full of wild flowers. She could make a muddy ditch filled with dead leaves look enchanting. Despite her talent, she was not doing well. ‘Quiet today,’ she sighed. She was an elfin little waif with serious dark eyes behind enormous specs, her face framed by an urchin cut of dark hair. Today she was fluffed up against the cold in a fuzzy sweater several sizes too big for her. She looked like a baby owl. It might be summer outside, but it’s always freezing in the stone-flagged market building.

A gaggle of day trippers had gathered around her unit, their chattering voices echoing loudly as they examined her work. ‘There might be some customers amongst that lot,’ I said.

‘They look like p-p-p’s to me,’ she muttered glumly. She grinned when she saw my puzzled face. ‘Pick-up, put-down and piss-off,’ she explained. ‘I suppose they might buy a few greetings cards.’

I nodded towards the cafe in the corner, the only business in the market that made any steady money. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ She looked like she needed warming up.

‘No thanks, I’ve had two cups already this morning. Actually, could you do me a favour and watch my stall while I go to the loo?’

‘Lovely, aren’t they?’ I said of the paintings as I squeezed myself behind Sophie’s display table so I could face the assembled horde of trippers. We chatted about how beautiful they were, but unfortunately how expensive, and my pointing out that each one was unique and hand painted didn’t make them any more affordable. There was a lot of shaking of heads. ‘Some of them are reproduced as greetings cards,’ I indicated the spinning card rack. ‘They’re very reasonable.’

Sadly, all of the ladies turned out to be p-p-p’s except one, who bought a card for her sister’s upcoming birthday. Sophie reappeared as her customer drifted away and I told her that her takings had increased by two pounds fifty.

‘Which card did she buy?’

‘The one with the hare,’ I told her.

She nodded. ‘It’s popular, that one. I need to get some more printed but …’ she tailed off lamely. She didn’t need to finish. She needed to get more printed but she couldn’t afford the printing costs.

I invited her around to supper, just to cheer her up. But Sophie declined. ‘That would have been lovely, Juno, but they’ve offered me a shift waitressing at The Dartmoor Lodge tonight and I can’t afford to turn it down.’

‘Well, perhaps next week.’ I was just about to go when a thought occurred to me.

‘Isn’t Verbena Clarke a customer of yours?’

‘Don’t!’ Sophie shuddered. ‘The thought of her makes me want to reach for my inhaler.’

‘I thought she bought some paintings from you.’