‘I’m really of the John Berger school myself,’ she went on. ‘I look behind the sitter and see the possessions. Those portraits are all about power and ownership.’

Cyril growled very softly.

‘But not all portraits are like that,’ Irene conceded. ‘I’m sure that yours aren’t. I’m sure that you have abundant psychological insight.’

‘I would hope to get a bit of that,’ mumbled Angus. Really, this woman! What they said about her was absolutely correct. She’s insufferable – quite insufferable.

Irene now emerged fully from the doorway. ‘You wouldn’t care to paint Bertie, would you?’ she said. ‘I’ve read about this big portrait competition. The BP Award, I believe it’s called. In fact, I went to see some of the portraits when they came on tour. Some of them were very good.’

‘I’m glad you approved,’ said Angus. ‘Portraiture is rather unfairly neglected, I think …’

Irene interrupted him. ‘Bertie would make a very interesting subject,’ she said. ‘He’s a remarkable little boy.’

‘I’m sure he is,’ said Angus. He saw Bertie from time to time in Drummond Place – a rather lonely little boy, he thought, who had once told him that he would like to have a dog. That’s right. And then he had said something about his mother not allowing him to have animals for some reason or another.

‘Yes,’ said Irene. ‘Bertie perhaps against a suitable background …’

‘I usually do studio portraits,’ said Angus.

‘There’s that wonderful portrait of Seamus Heaney,’ Irene enthused. ‘Do you know the one? It has Heaney against a background of a laurel bush, with birds on the branches of the bush. We could have Bertie—’

‘I know the portrait you’re talking about,’ said Angus. ‘It’s in Belfast, I think. The Ulster Museum. Of course birds are used as a symbol for poets, aren’t they? Sometimes unconsciously, of course. The Westwater portrait of Hugh MacDiarmid has seabirds flying around in the background.’ He looked at his watch. ‘You must forgive me. I’m expected at Domenica Macdonald’s upstairs.’

Irene cast a dismissive look upwards. ‘I’m sure you’ll find her in. I fear she doesn’t get out a great deal.’ She laughed. ‘But do remember about painting Bertie. Should you wish to, we’d be delighted.’

Angus nodded. ‘Thank you.’

He completed the climb up the stairs and rang Domenica’s doorbell.

‘I met your downstairs neighbour,’ he said. Domenica sighed. ‘She suggested that I paint Bertie’s portrait,’ Angus went on.

‘There’s no end to her ambition for that poor child,’ said Domenica. ‘But let’s not dwell upon such matters. We have so much to plan for the Italian trip.’

‘Good,’ said Angus. ‘I’ve just been to buy a few clothes. I can’t wait.’