‘This, I want,’ she says, standing back to admire another of Nico’s beloved paintings of the garden in bloom. She spins around, directing her attention back to me. ‘What if when you go home you cannot paint? What if your inspiration is here?’

Is she challenging me and my commitment? Or is this about Nico?

It catches me off guard. Does she think Nico is my inspiration? A voice looms up behind me and I see the reaction on her face. It softens, instantly.

‘Fern doesn’t need a château, or France, to inspire her. But she will be needing a studio.’ Nico stands there, his eyes sweeping over my face for an instant before settling on Isabel.

A studio of my own. I haven’t had time to think about what happens next with regard to my painting. More worrying to me at this moment is what if Isabel is right?

I dress with care for dinner, wanting to create the right impression for some reason I can’t really explain, as you can’t undo a first impression. It’s vanity, I suppose. Isabel is in a different league to me and we both know it. But she’s a businesswoman and, of course, I want the heady feeling of knowing that someone in the business thinks my paintings will sell, because it’s validation.

What if when I leave here and return home everyone around me thinks I’ve lost my mind and I’m chasing an impossible dream? I don’t know anyone else who paints and most people I know buy their art from a chain store, or IKEA. It’s a sobering thought.

As I approach the dinner table to take my seat, Nico is talking to Isabel in Spanish. There is a lot of hand gesturing going on, but their eyes are firmly on each other and the interaction between them indicates she’s on his case. He ends the dialogue by throwing his hands up in the air in a defeated gesture and they both laugh.

‘She wants the painting of the roses, Fern. The one I do not want to sell because it belongs in the château. Letting it go is like ripping off my arm.’

His face is dramatic, but she’s laughing at him. It’s good to see the rapport between them. I thought he had no one, but now I’m not so sure of that.

‘It’s beautiful, Nico, that’s why Isabel wants to display it in her gallery.’

‘If you refuse me, then you will be in my debt again. You must come in the summer. You have not been to visit for a long time and I will throw a party in your honour. Come anyway, it will be good for business.’

If Isabel was simply reading out a shopping list, she’d still make every syllable sound sexy with that musical, halting quality to her voice.