‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

Nico’s eyes connect with mine and I’m worried I’ve interrupted his flow. I had no idea he was still in the studio.

He glances at his watch. ‘I’m going to be late for lunch and I have some prep to do for my workshop. I didn’t realise it was that time already.’

I move closer, studying the small area on the canvas that he’s been labouring over all morning.

‘How long will it take to finish it? The sense of depth really draws you in and I can imagine walking along that dusty pavement, past the flower shop and the park. Lucky person who gets to gaze at that every day.’

He raises an eyebrow, his face quite serious. ‘A wealthy patron and a Marquesa, too. She’s a wonderful benefactress I feel blessed to know. This commission will help fund the new venture here. But it won’t cover all the costs and I need to sell a few smaller paintings this summer, too.’

That’s quite a pressure Nico is under.

‘Can’t you simply sell one of your father’s paintings?’

There are so many canvases here and I remember Ceana saying his father’s work increased in value after his death.

Nico picks up a small piece of cotton cloth and begins to wipe his brush.

‘The ones he didn’t mutilate are unfinished. I have to rely upon my own resources now.’ He glances at me, rather cagily.

‘But the one in my room is truly amazing. That would surely fetch a lot of money, wouldn’t it?’

Nico tips his head back, rotating it in a circle, and I hear his neck click from the tension of several hours of pure concentration.

‘I keep that to remind me of many things, but mostly the pitfalls in life when someone loses their way.’

I can see his discomfort as he speaks. He’s clearly on edge and I wonder if he regrets taking me into his confidence. Naturally, I’m touched by his trust, as it must be so hard to talk about it, still. Obviously, it’s devastating when a father commits suicide, but it was hardly Nico’s fault. Sadly, mental illness and addiction often go hand in hand and it’s a battle many people lose. I return his gaze and it occurs to me that maybe he needed to hear himself say those words out loud.

‘I’d be more focused if I could finish the portrait by the lake first. I need to capture the form that is woven into my dreams and yet continues to elude me. I can’t help wondering if fate has sent me a new muse, Fern. You have that simple grace which I need so badly to create. Would you sit for me?’