‘How I loved your book!’ she said to Ali. ‘So moving, and so real. I cried when it ended, because I couldn’t bear to lose my new friends, all those wonderful people you invented. Clearly, you’re blessed with creativity, like my Sheila. Now, how long can you stay, dear? Can you stay until Saturday? Sheila has a private view at one of the galleries in town, we’d love it if you could be there.’

‘A private view?’ Ali said. ‘Sheila, are you painting?’

‘Oh, she’s a hit,’ Dora said. ‘She’s a sensation.’

‘Alison, it’s so good to see you, it’s been too long,’ Sheila said. She had hold of Ali again, one arm tight across her shoulder now, keeping her close.

‘It has,’ Ali said. ‘Way too long. You smell lovely, Sheila.’

‘Thank you, darling. We’re not long back from Marrakesh, and we found a woman at a stall in the medina with her own fragrances. You can keep your Dior and your Chanel, can’t you, Dora?’

‘You bet,’ Dora said.

Ali smiled at them, two beaming old ladies with a glow and sparkle about them, an air of youthful energy. ‘You look marvellous, both of you.’

‘We’re trying to forget we’re the wrong side of seventy-five,’ Sheila said.

‘Well, you look marvellous,’ Ali said again. ‘I’m really sorry it’s been so long. We should come and see you more often.’

‘That you should,’ Sheila said. ‘But catching us at home is the challenge.’

‘What do you paint?’ Stella asked. She’d taken a seat on an expansive green leather sofa which was cracked with age and spilled stuffing from its arms. Stella plucked at it unconsciously as she took in her surroundings, so eccentrically furnished with unmatching pieces, as if this was a small sale room and they were all here for the auction. As well as the sofa, there was a chintz-covered armchair and a footstool upholstered with palomino hide. Also, there was an oversized, rough-hewn red-gum carver, and a coffee table – knotty burl top on a white mallee base – which stood like a rare fungus in the centre of the room.

‘What do I paint …?’ Sheila said in reply, pondering the question. ‘Well, it’s hard to say, darling. My work’s very …’

‘Organic,’ said Dora. ‘Their content and meaning is in constant flux.’

‘Wow,’ said Stella.

‘And they’re large canvasses,’ Dora said. ‘Aren’t they, dear?’

‘Too big for this little doll’s house,’ Sheila said. ‘I paint them outdoors, so that I can have full freedom of movement.’

‘Sounds fascinating,’ Ali said. ‘Do you sell them?’

‘Certainly,’ said Sheila. She paused, then added, ‘In principle.’ Then she tipped back her head in a full-throttle laugh that was impossible to resist, so the others joined in, laughing at Sheila laughing at herself.