There are two figures. On the right, the artist stands before his easel. I work hard at his pose. It must convey brilliance as well as industry, sensitivity as well as single-minded purpose. I make the artist’s clothes dark and dramatic. I do not paint the features of his face. It is his hands that are important, and I make several attempts to get the angle of them right. I find it hard to capture their fluidity and freedom. In the end, I leave them vague, preferring to hint at their skill rather than risk reducing this to a shape. I set the woman kneeling at the artist’s feet. She must not detract from his predominant position. I dress her simply, in a dark skirt and white blouse. Her face, too, I leave a blank. It is the arch of her head, the bow of her shoulders as she crouches over her picture that suggests her connection to the master. The space between the figures is crucial. It needs to appear both limitless and close. We must feel that, while his proximity is vital, it is his detachment, the fact that he stands a little apart, that makes it possible for her to work. I opt for bars of color—green, orange, white, mauve, blue—to fill in the space. I paint each of the bands painstakingly. I mute or brighten, add texture and depth. The colors must imply the potency of their relationship, the power of the paintings we do not see.

As I stand back from my canvas to inspect my work I notice something extraordinary. Despite my intention to foreground the artist, it is the rayed background and the luminosity of the kneeling woman that draw the eye. I study my picture more carefully. Where the artist is somber, leaden, the woman radiates life. She is in her element as she paints. The tones of her blouse, the splash of orange on her boot, are in harmony with the vibrant backdrop. I realize I have done a rare thing. I have painted a woman who is happy.

“You’re shutting yourself off from reality! You can’t just hide your head in the sand and pretend that the war isn’t happening!”

I glower. I had hoped you would support my plan of moving out of London and settling permanently in the country. I look at the tiers of Leonard’s books on the shelves behind you. From where I am sitting I can make out some of the titles: Democracy, International Government. I feel half defiant and half ashamed. I know the seriousness of what is happening.