“It was a shaky start,” I nod, flashing him a dirty look. “Ben’s teaching technique needed some refining. But things are definitely improving.”

“Wonderful,” says Filomena serenely. “I look forward to seeing the results. Perhaps Bea can contribute to the exhibition.”

“Exhibition?” I ask weakly, looking between her and Ben.

“That’s rather a grand description, I suppose,” Filomena says. “Really it will be a big party, where we display some of the work created here over the summer.”

“Oh yes,” I say. “I think Leo mentioned it when I first arrived.” It feels like a long time ago.

“I’d half forgotten about it,” Ben says, almost to himself.

“I thought perhaps you had,” Filomena says gently. “But this could be a good opportunity for you, Ben. Influential people come.”

“Yes.” Ben rubs his chin distractedly. “I know.”

“And,” Filomena says, “if Bea contributed as well, then I think Leo would be pleased.” He nods. “I will leave you to it then.”

She turns and walks away, her hips swaying and her long, dark hair swishing gently around her waist.

Ben stares after her.

“Are you all right?” I ask. He doesn’t reply and I touch his arm.

“What?” he says, turning. “Oh, yes.” He gives his usual carefree grin.

“Looks like you’re going to have to produce a work of dazzling talent, so that I can earn my crust around here,” he says.

“Hope you’re prepared to go hungry,” I grumble.

An hour later we are both standing before canvases in our – now thankfully flying-ant free – picnic spot. Once again, I am half-heartedly attempting to paint the view in front of me, while Ben gently corrects some of the many mistakes I make.

I sigh heavily, regarding the mass of marks and splodges on the canvas. “Is this any better?”

“Let’s try another approach,” Ben says, quite diplomatically for him. “Are there any particular artists that you’re drawn to?”

I think about this for a moment. “Father used to have a nice Stubbs before we had to sell it,” I say finally. “One of his horse paintings. It was above the mantelpiece in the drawing room. I liked that. It looked like – well, it looked like a real horse.”

I expect Ben to be dismissive, even I can tell this is not exactly top-notch art critique, but he nods. “That makes sense,” he says. “Stubbs studied anatomy and his paintings are incredibly accurate – scientifically speaking.” He gives me a lop-sided smile. “He actually dissected horse carcasses and hung them from the ceiling of a barn, peeling back the different layers and making sketches of them.”

“I didn’t know that!” I exclaim. “That is interesting.”

“You would find the dissected horse flesh interesting.” Ben pauses. “He wrote a book about it, The Anatomy of the Horse,” he continues thoughtfully. “It was quite groundbreaking apparently – the way it brought together art and science.”

“Rather like us?” I say.