He took a couple of paces closer, hands in pockets. ‘It’s one of my sources of income. I’m largely self-taught. I don’t have an art degree.’ He looked almost embarrassed. ‘I tell people I’m an artist but it seems ridiculous to claim the same title for airbrushing flames on car bonnets as applies to your success in fine art.’

‘Sorry. When you said spraying cars I thought you meant for repair. I suppose you realised that and let me carry on sounding up myself. This is gorgeous.’ Flushing, she turned back to the lunar landscape. ‘I love the delicacy of the moon’s halo. I suppose air brushing lends itself to that?’

‘Very much.’ His hair had fallen forward but he didn’t shove it back, as if happy to be half-hidden.

She noticed a sketch book on top of a red metal tool chest on the other side of the car and stretched out for it. Then she paused. ‘Do you mind if I look?’

He shook his head, though he didn’t look enthusiastic.

She picked it up, enjoying the familiar flexible feel of a sketch pad, and flipped the pages, pausing to study dragons, skulls, eagles and breaking waves. Sometimes he’d taken more than one approach to a subject, working out ideas. Measurements and notes were jotted alongside loose, quick sketches that showed passion and suggested movement while observing lines of perspective.

After a couple of minutes, he stepped around her to the tool chest and opened the wide, shallow top drawer. He pulled out a black A3 presentation folder saying economically, ‘I have photos of the finished work here.’

‘Great.’ She returned the sketch book to the chest and laid the folder on top so she could slowly turn the plastic photo pockets and appreciate his use of colour. The feathers of an eagle’s wing were not brown. They were every shade from tawny to gold, the highlights yellow, red and white and the shadows blue and purple. She lingered for a long time over a sea serpent writhing through a boiling sea. It was impossible to categorise the glassy, glossy colours into ‘blue’ and ‘green’.

‘It must take layers upon layers,’ she observed, dissecting the technique with an informed eye.

‘That’s pretty much how air brushing works. You create highlights by interleaving white between layers of colour.’ He’d moved closer to view the images with her and his breath trickled across her cheek.

Suddenly disturbed by the proximity of grown-up Grady Cassidy, she closed the folder. ‘Impressive work.’ She side-stepped, making space before turning to face him. ‘By the way, you were right about Daisy asking me to be involved in Art December and the art wall at Middledip Christmas Fair. I envisaged just offering a canvas to exhibit but she’s assumed I’ll come to meetings. I thought it would be wrong to disappoint her. I hope it’s OK for me to be around.’