“Midnight!” I hear the familiar undertone of thwarted pleasure in Clive’s protest. “What a bore! I suppose no one packed any food?” He takes out his pipe and a pouch of tobacco. “Whatever induced you to come so far?”

Roger ignores him. I know by the stubborn set of his shoulders that he will not give in to the delay. He begins to wind the ropes back in.

“Confound it, man! Drop the anchor. It’s too risky.”

The boat veers round and we gain a few feet. Immediately, before we can lose any ground to the outgoing tide, Roger prepares to tack again. His expression announces how it will be. He will battle the elements, wear himself out to the point of exhaustion, rather than admit defeat. Clive sucks on his pipe, sulky as a child at his spoiled day. I know better than to intervene. I have learned the hard way the consequences of trying to chide either man.

I knew it was right the moment I saw it. Symmetrical and comely, with its sloping roof and large windows, it was a child’s drawing of a house. I was overjoyed when you asked me to rent it with you. As the agent showed us through the rooms, a sudden memory of our childhood holidays in St. Ives flashed through my mind.

In the country, I reasoned, I would be free. With Clive safely ensconced in London, and Roger visiting only on weekends, I could live once again at my own rhythm. The children would have a garden to play in, and I could return to my work. The fact that we would have a house independently of our husbands seemed to herald a new era.

In Asheham, my days gradually settled into the pattern that suited me. In the mornings I painted, then we gathered for lunch, and in the afternoons I gardened while the boys played hide-and-seek amongst the apple trees or rooted in the flower beds for treasure. There were frequent visitors. I loved the sense of purposeful absorption that emanated through the house as its occupants settled to some pursuit.

It was at Asheham that I first experimented with art outside a frame. It was here that I began to see that painting might be part of life. I discovered the pleasures of transforming the objects I lived with. I copied the frescoes of Fra Angelico onto the peeling plasterwork in my bedroom, created a jungle of color for the boys. I decorated walls and doors, furniture and ornaments, with figures, flowers, abstract patterns. My work broadened as a consequence.