‘I want to be truthful, Fern. When I brought Isabel up here last summer, I needed to know if I had done you justice. She stood here gazing at the painting and do you know what she said? She accused me of being in love with you. I wasn’t expecting that; I simply wanted her to cast her expert eye over it; to confirm that the muse lives on, not simply because my heart melts every time I look at it. And I was shocked to the core by her reaction. Was it that obvious? Well, it was to her. I admitted that I had never spoken to you about love; how could I, given the circumstances? Isabel called me a fool.’

I move closer to the painting, in awe of the subtlety of the brushstrokes.

‘That was harsh, but it must have been tough for her, given how she feels about you.’

He nods. ‘She’ll find someone when the time is right, of that I’m sure. She doesn’t trust many people and I’m her comfort zone in many ways, as few know the truth about her first husband. There’s a thin line between an unhealthy obsession and cruelty. He straddled that line. So, Isabel and I are well used to talking openly and I wasn’t offended. I told her that before I met you, I hadn’t realised how much loving someone could hurt. Then I came to appreciate that it was a form of divine ecstasy. The real pain would be in never knowing that truth.’

Nico is a man who feels things deeply and this is what makes him an inspiring artist, but that sort of sensitivity doesn’t come without its drawbacks.

‘She made you write the letter?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice on an even keel.

‘Yes. Reluctantly. What right had I to unsettle you? But the more I laboured over what to say, the more I came to understand that it isn’t wrong to tell someone you love them, even if they can’t love you back. After all, that’s true for Isabel and me. We’re not speaking at the moment as I’m spending more time teaching than painting. That annoys her, but she will forgive me as our friendship has endured much worse.’

I was expecting to stand here, demanding the painting be destroyed. Instead, what I’m feeling is an overwhelming sense of longing. And belonging.

‘And you are happy?’ I ask, tentatively.