‘I wondered if it was actually rather frustrating, watching someone and wanting to constantly correct them. Even now, I look back just a couple of months and I can’t believe how much I’ve learnt in that time.’

‘You’re a good student. And you watch and learn, too. But what’s important is that you take away with you what works best for your personal style. No two artists are the same. That’s what makes each painting unique. Are you packing up, already?’ he asks, as I swish another brush in the water.

‘I think so. I want this swathe to dry before I add a little shimmer of white. Just to give it the illusion of a curve.’

Nico raises an eyebrow then edges back a couple of feet. ‘Stand here. The perspective opens up the further back I go. It’s almost like that soul is inside the sun; as if it’s being swallowed, encapsulated.’

I join him, and he’s right.

He raises both eyebrows this time. ‘And it is very yellow. Time for a glass of wine?’

I nod.

As Nico disappears into the workroom to do the honours, I dim the lights and walk down towards the glass doors. The wind tugs at the leafless skeleton bushes and shrubs. The evergreens are swaying gently, their denseness allowing them to fight back.

‘I bet that’s a bitingly cold wind,’ Nico says, sidling up to hand me a glass.

‘Yes. Sometimes winter just seems to go on and on.’

I watch as he sinks down to the floor, leaning his back against the wall. Following suit, I sit facing him as we both gaze out over the garden. The low-level lighting creates a backdrop of shadows, which move as the plants and bushes sway in the breeze.

‘It’s funny how as a child you look out and you see something quite different. Simple shapes become looming monsters that turn darkness into a frightening place,’ I reflect.

‘Hmm. I was thinking the same thing. Even as an adult, the mind can play tricks. My father and I went out with a group of locals truffling on a night like this, once. Black diamonds, they call them. We ventured deep into the woods with only lanterns to light our way.’

‘I didn’t realise you could harvest truffles in winter.’

‘June to August, and November through to March, are when you often hear the baying of the hounds late at night.’

I swirl the red liquid around gently in my glass, releasing the flavours before sniffing and then taking a sip. ‘At night, in the dark? Wouldn’t it be easier in daylight?’

‘Yes, but there are secret locations, you see. The tubers grow just a few inches below the surface, which protects them from frost and snow. It’s slow-going if the ground is a little hard, though.’