As soon as Joe had departed for the police station, I found a notebook and wrote: ‘Inventory of Works’ at the top of a clean page. I underlined the heading and divided it into two columns, one marked: ‘Description’, and the other marked: ‘Cost’. Fitz and I had watched enough property programmes on TV for me to know roughly what was required.

I made a list and beside each item, I wrote an approximate cost, then I added up the numbers. Realistically, we were heading towards six figures’ worth of euros, and that was before we even thought about decorating or buying new furniture. For it to be remotely possible, we’d have to cut every corner and do as much work as we could ourselves.

I decided to make a start straight away. I scanned the list of works. Something that I could easily do now, without requiring any extra tools or materials, would be to make a start on demolishing the derelict swimming pool.

I changed into an old T-shirt, shorts and trainers, took the broom and a pail and climbed down the tiled steps in the shallow end in the smaller of the two interlocking circles that formed the pool. At the bottom, I tugged at the crumpled tarpaulin that covered the old drain. It was dreadfully heavy and had almost fossilised, folded and creased, stiff as rock. With persistence, I eventually managed to heave it up the steps, onto the lawn.

After that, I swept up the broken tiles, leaves, and other rubbish at the bottom of the pool and heaped the detritus on the tarpaulin. It was hot, dirty work, but it felt good to be doing something positive. The sun burned down on my back and shoulders. There was plenty of space for a new pool; a more natural pool. We could have a pebble beach leading into a shallow, paddling area for children and, beyond, a deeper pool for swimming. In the centre could be an island where we could grow water plants and encourage wildlife. Perhaps there was some way we could link the pool to the villa, so rain and flood water from the hills could be collected and recycled. Nothing need be wasted.

The more I planned, the more I liked the idea and the more I enjoyed the work. I was still in the pit of the old pool when Joe returned. He came to find me, a bottle of water in his hand.

‘Wow,’ he said, looking down.

I wiped my face. ‘I’m making a start.’

‘I can see.’

He tossed the bottle to me. I caught it and drank.

He crouched at the edge of the pool.

I shielded my eyes with my hand and squinted at him. ‘What did the police say?’

‘They’re going to send someone over. They need a picture of the painting. They want to see where it used to hang, get some more details, that kind of thing.’