‘But it looks so in-your-face honest. They all do.’ Esther gestured at the paintings ranged round the big airy room, their heavy gold frames gleaming under the natural light pouring in through the raised roof of the museum. ‘And this one is like he’s staring straight at the camera. A selfie. It’s so unflinching, so warts and all. Literally. I mean, look at his ugly bobbly nose, and the rheumy old-man eyes, all glinting with despair, don’t you think? Or maybe with that sadness that comes with being very old and very wise, when you’ve seen it all, good and bad.’

‘But Rembrandt’s in control of the image,’ Marcus countered. ‘He can make us feel what he wants us to feel.’ He reached out and pushed a strand of Esther’s hair back over her shoulder.

‘Manipulating us, you mean, like, say, good actors?’ Esther quipped, standing very still, until the tingling in her neck had stopped. ‘Oh, but look at this one.’ She skipped on to the next portrait, aware a moment later of Marcus arriving behind her. It was so nice to have some viewing space. In the Van Gogh Museum the previous afternoon, extra busy no doubt because of it being a Saturday, they had had to fight for every peek. ‘I’d put this one in my sitting room. Above the piano.’

‘Along with the two you picked out yesterday? We’ll have to organise a lorry in that case.’

‘Good idea. That Van Gogh will go in the kitchen, and I’ll have his wheatfield in my bedroom, right opposite the bed, so I wake up to it every day. And as for this one…’ Esther checked her free leaflet. ‘It’s called The Jewish Bride, but no one knows who the couple really are.’

Marcus peered more closely at the portrait. ‘I like how gently protective he is. Do you see, with one arm round her back and the other touching her heart?’

‘And she looks sort of thrilled but shy, don’t you think? Like she can’t quite believe her luck.’

‘To me, it’s love,’ he declared stoutly. ‘In action. Physical. Spiritual. The whole shebang. Does it say that in your little book?’

‘No.’ Esther laughed, putting the leaflet away and checking her watch.

‘We’re all right for time. I’ve got it all under control. One more room here. Then we pick up your bag from the downstairs lockers and head off for coffee and torte in the little café I told you about. Unless you’ve lost the locker key, of course?’ He sounded almost hopeful.

‘Key safe.’ Esther patted her coat pocket.

‘Right. Good. In that case, I shall be able to keep my promise of posting you back onto the Eurostar in time for your late afternoon tea with Sheena.’

‘Shona.’