James’s friend, Armando, was charming and welcoming, and his good humour and Spanish accent put me at ease immediately. I love Spanish people. Every Spaniard I have ever met – and that is quite a few – dresses well, enjoys the good things in life, and knows how to have a good time. Armando was true to the stereotype. I got the sense he and James had known each other for a lot of years. They had a kind of shorthand between them, and there was genuine affection when Armando teased James about me.

The artist was less charming, but that may have been because his English was limited and he didn’t really have anything to say to me. He stuck to Greek most of the time, which Armando translated for James and me. Well, for James. It was his meeting. I tried to be unobtrusive.

The work was incredible, though. As James had said, it was both unique and familiar at the same time. I’m not saying it was something I would want on my walls, but I could see why others might.

Watching James work was the most intriguing part. If I hadn’t known why we were there, I don’t know how obvious it would have been that some sort of deal was being struck. James directed the conversation so that the artist, Ari, could express how he wanted his work viewed, who his audience was, and what he envisioned for his first major exhibit. Mostly, James listened, only offering a few interjections to confirm a key piece of Ari’s vision.

And before I knew it, the whole thing was over, and Ari was packing up his portfolio – he’d brought a handful of smaller pieces and some photos of the rest of the work. Then he left. And I was stuck with two crazy Europeans who seemed to share a constant private joke. I loved it.

‘Sarah,’ said Armando, smiling wickedly at me, ‘what are you doing with Jimmy, here? He is a cad, don’t you know?’

‘Hey now,’ said James. I detected a slight edge to his voice, and he looked sideways at his friend. I wasn’t sure what to address first – that Armando had called James ‘Jimmy’ – he so wasn’t a ‘Jimmy’ – that he’d asked what I was doing with James as though we were a couple – which we most certainly were not – or that the silver fox was supposedly a cad.

I went with the nickname; it was the easiest to deal with. ‘Jimmy?’ I raised my eyebrows at James.