The only pieces of furniture were several low white stone tables, essential for the balancing of ashtrays and glasses. The expanse of semi-circular whitewashed wall was hung with around fifteen vividly coloured, apparently abstract paintings. Once you got closer, you could see that they were more impressionist than abstract, all depicting the same view at different times of day, night and year. Individually, each painting would have been nice to have on your wall, thought Sam, but all bunched together like this they were incredible.

‘Bella really got lucky when she met old Nat.’ Mark laughed, drawing on a badly rolled spliff.

‘Don’t be nasty, Marky!’ said Sam, then snuggled up to him again, not wanting to put him off her. ‘Bella’s a brilliant artist.’

‘Oh, I know she is, babe. Who’s the one who keeps giving her freelance illustration work?’ Mark puffed up his huge chest and pointed at it, making Sam giggle.

‘I asked you a question, babe! Who?’ He started tickling her and, even though she thought she might die from lust, she eventually managed,

‘You are, Marky!’

He kissed her, using his tongue.

‘That’s better. Remember who’s boss around here, gorgeous.’ He took another draw on the spliff. ‘But you gotta admit Bella’s fucking lucky – finding someone as cunting loaded as Natalia, who’s fucking obsessed with mad colours, to buy them all at her first exhibition? That’s what I call bollock-busting luck.’

‘Are you talking about my daughter?’ asked an amused and very posh voice.

Mark looked over lazily in the direction of a beautiful older woman whose kaftan suited the surroundings so much he thought she’d be just perfect for a Stadium shoot, if they ever had a granny-fanciers’ edition.

‘Oh, hi, Olivia. Yeah, just saying how great for Belles that old Nat bought all her paintings.’

‘Yes, that was certainly a lucky break. Well, I just came in to see how they looked in here, and I must say I think Natalia’s done her proud.’

‘Hi,’ said Sam. ‘I’m Sam.’

‘Oh, how lovely, Bella’s told me all about you. I’m Olivia,’ said Olivia, extending an elegant hand. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

Sam got up and fussed around with some cushions, trying to make it comfortable for her, but Olivia brushed her off.

‘Thank you, darling, but don’t be silly. It’s absolutely fine as it is.’ And she sat down, cross-legged in her kaftan, opposite them. Catching sight of the spliff burning itself out in the ashtray, she added, ‘You young things nowadays seem to have no idea how to roll joints. Give that to me, please – I can hardly bear to look at it.’

Momentarily terrified with dope fear, Mark passed Olivia the ashtray.

‘D’you have any more skins?’ she asked, and he reached into his pocket for a packet of Rizlas. Deftly, she tapped off the burning end and tore the silly thing open.

‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ She beamed around at them, having re-rolled a perfect, tight little spliff with her right hand. Her left was holding a large glass of white wine. ‘I do hate waste.’