‘Well, I’m jolly glad you were able to at least pop in for a few hours on your trip. Nico will be delighted to see you. He had a real dip after you left, but Pierce had a plan. Pierce always has a plan,’ she laughs, good-naturedly. It’s good to hear her sound so content and optimistic.

‘So, he’s doing okay, then?’

‘Yes, I think you’ll see a difference. He enjoys running the courses. The set-up is much more focused and the people coming through are artists who already have some experience. It’s more structured and runs as a separate part of the business. He joins in a lot more with the group things in the evenings, too, and that was the reason for Isabel’s trip, I think, to try to put pressure on him. I thought she was being a little unfair; it’s nice to see him more relaxed, and happy. If that means less paintings to sell, then so be it. Money is no longer the issue it was and teaching seems to invigorate him.’

Relaxed and happy, well, that’s something.

‘Great. I’ll walk over and see what he’s up to,’ I reply, rather awkwardly. Why did I ever think this was a good idea?

She leans in to give me another hug. ‘I’m sad for what you’ve been through. That must have been tough.’

‘It was, but I’m over the worst. See you in a bit.’

‘Take the umbrella,’ Ceana calls out as I grab my coat and slip it on.

The umbrella is huge and as I step into the car park a sudden gust of wind turns it inside out.

‘Damn it!’ As I fight to stop it being ripped out of my hands, my hood blows backwards and the rain begins to fall in rivulets down my face. Suddenly a voice looms up, carried on the wind. Still struggling to turn the umbrella the right way out, two arms reach around me to grab it and I loosen my grip.

Nico stares at me, frowning, and I stand looking back at him as the clouds above continue to empty themselves with fervour. My hair is already plastered to my head and no doubt my mascara is leaving black tracks as it slides down my face. Clearly the umbrella is beyond repair and he shrugs, throwing it out of the way and pointing in the direction of the château.

‘I saw your car. I couldn’t believe it,’ he shouts over the noise of the heavy rain, as we walk as quickly as we can. It’s too slippery to run.

‘I’m on holiday,’ I yell back at him, and he looks up at the heavens and then shrugs.