‘Ironically that was the root of the problem. He saw himself as a classical painter, whereas at heart he was more of a Cézanne, who was the true father of modern art. That post-impressionist movement which laid the foundations for the move away from the nineteenth-century endeavours, to the new and exciting twentieth century. Art isn’t just about painting something that could be a snapshot, a photograph if you like, of reality. It’s about what each artist sees in here.’ He stabs at his temple with his forefinger, angrily. ‘The reality is that, time and time again, he came back to the classical style; but many of his paintings were a lot less formal. If a major investigation was launched, my reputation could be ruined overnight. Investors would panic at even a hint of the validity of a painting they purchased coming under question.’

I’m sickened at the way Nico’s body language is reflecting his sense of humiliation and desperation. Without thinking, I throw my arms around him and he sinks into me. His pain is tangible and it’s heartbreaking.

With some reluctance, we eventually draw apart, a moment of awkwardness rearing up – unbidden – between us.

Nico breaks the silence. ‘I won’t give up, Fern, I simply have to be patient. Painting is my life and it’s the only thing I know how to do. If I fail to right this wrong, then my career, too, is in jeopardy. I wouldn’t simply lose all credibility, I’d end up losing everything I have. He won’t only have destroyed himself, but also his son.’

‘You can’t think like that, Nico. You were the one who said to me that you can’t worry about a problem until it arises. The important thing is that you are doing everything you can. You must think positively.’

‘I know. I believe that too, and I am trying my best to do so. We’re waiting on a reply to the last email communication and that’s about all we can do right now. But I’m so close, Fern, so close, and yet it feels as if this horror will never end.’

‘Everything ends in the fullness of time,’ I reply, emphatically.

We hold each other’s gaze for the briefest of moments before turning to begin work. The unspoken bond between us is now impossible to ignore and it’s growing with each day that passes.

I find myself staring at the blank canvas, knowing I’m finally ready to unleash the explosion of emotions that are tumbling around inside of me right now. Nico’s passion is heart-stoppingly real. Anger, on his behalf, mixed with exhilaration at knowing my family is so close by is a painful juxtaposition. They are safe and sound and happy. But Nico is in a permanent state of torment.