Bram shakes his head, glancing over at his mentor who is working with ferocious determination on an area of stone that would, beneath his talented hand, evolve into Charlotte’s chin. “I’m waiting for the right moment,” he says.

Perry laughs and pats him on the back. “Courage, my friend! You know you won’t be happy unless he is,” he points out before hurrying off to answer his master’s cry for the floor to be swept and the stone dampened.

To his surprise, Bram sees Lilith get up from her chair and come to stand in front of his easel.

“Can I see?” she asks, almost shyly. “Or would you rather I didn’t? I don’t want to trample on any delicate artistic sensibilities.” There is no mockery in her tone, he thinks, rather a genuine wish not to offend.

“Your feet are far too elegant to do any trampling.”

“Don’t you believe it,” she says. “When I was a child my elderly dancing instructor would hobble from the room after each session, claiming I had deliberately sought out his bunions.”

“And had you?”

“On the whole I think I’d rather keep my distance from a bunion, wouldn’t you?”

Bram smiles at her, and is so engrossed in studying her face he forgets she has asked something of him. After a long moment she raises her eyebrows.

“You have only to say if you don’t want me to look at it until it’s finished.”

“What? Oh, the painting … I don’t mind. You can look if you wish. In fact, I’d like you to.”

“Really?”

“You are close to Charlotte. You will be able to see if I have captured her in the portrait. Success lies beyond a mere likeness, of course.”

“Of course,” she agrees, stepping round to stand beside him. She considers the picture intently, first leaning in as if to examine the minutest brush strokes, then moving back to view the overall effect.

After a while Bram can stand her silence no longer.

“Please say something. With every passing second I am imagining a more damning critique.”

“I’m really not qualified to offer a critique.”

“You are a person looking at a portrait of someone dear to them. Your response will be valid, however unfavorable.”

She turns to look at him now, subjecting him to the same rigorous scrutiny as she has the painting. “It really matters to you, doesn’t it? What I think.”

“Naturally, as I said, you are Charlotte’s friend. And, no doubt, as a young lady of good … education, moving in society … well, you surely encounter many paintings. Many portraits. I expect you have, in fact, a perfectly well-developed sense of what is good art and what is not. As it were.” Bram is horribly aware that he is rambling but is powerless to stop himself.