Her hand is outstretched and we shake as her eyes sweep over me. My hair is probably sticking out here and there after pulling my T-shirt over it. I stare at her in dismay at what she must think. She’s beautiful, slim and elegant. In chic, skinny black leggings with a pale blue, soft leather jacket cropped at the waist. It offsets those piercing hazel-brown eyes to perfection. Chin-length, glossy, chocolate-brown hair, cut in that windswept, choppy look that only a very expensive, top hair stylist can achieve; she also smells heavenly. As I withdraw my hand, I find myself checking it quickly, hoping I don’t have any paint smears on it.

‘Don’t worry.’ She laughs and even that’s a soft, musical tone to the ear. ‘Paint is not a problem. And you are about to start a new canvas. Hopefully, soon I will have news as I have someone already interested in one of your pieces. So, this could be another one for my gallery, yes?’

I’m hoping to create something that will be a permanent reminder for me, every time I glance up at it on my wall at home. But I don’t feel comfortable admitting that yet, so I simply shrug my shoulders.

Her eyes are so full of life, they sparkle. Everything about her is a little bit larger than life. I notice that she wears a wedding ring, and I’m not surprised. A woman like this could have any man she chooses, and her husband must be a very special man, indeed.

‘Nico said you would show me some of your other canvases? Is that possible? Or should I not disturb you? I know that Nico would have already thrown me out at this point. He hates being disturbed when he’s working.’

She reminds me of the actress Penelope Cruz; that sultry, slightly breathy way she speaks is beyond charming. I’m totally thrown and realise I need to pull myself together or risk looking like a complete fool.

‘I’m sorry, Isabel. This is such a surprise and I’m a little speechless. I’d be delighted to show you some of my other work. It would be my pleasure and thank you. Um, having… I mean, just knowing my paintings are displayed on a wall in a real gallery is such an honour, it really is!’

My rambling makes me wish I hadn’t opened my mouth at all, so I decide to shut up and Isabel follows me across to the storage cupboard. As I slide the first door across, I ease out the trolley storing over a dozen of my canvases. I tilt the first one forward, so Isabel can view the second standing behind it.

‘Oh, wonderful. And all of these you have done since coming here?’

I nod. ‘Yes. Please, take your time. I’ll just give my hands a quick wash.’