Lise could see everything from her lookout, concealed under her natural sunshade. Franck came into view just below the balcony. He was in the sun, wearing shorts and walking purposefully towards the old shed. The dog was following, easily keeping pace. She almost called out but stopped herself, deciding to leave him in peace and watch as she diluted the blue and the white with water. Franck tried to open the decrepit old wooden door of the shed. The latch was stuck and wouldn’t give, no matter how hard he tried to force it. Lise wondered what he wanted to do in there, and why he wanted to investigate it in this heat. After fiddling with the handle, the door finally opened with a long creak. Franck paused. He had a look inside, but the blinding sunshine prevented him from seeing anything in the shadows. He eventually went in. The dog stayed behind, looking at Franck without much conviction. He sat down and watched from a distance, visibly confused and aware that he was not needed. Lise kept an eye on them as she washed the freshly mixed blue colour over the canvas – the dog sitting outside the shed and Franck bustling around inside, apparently moving things around. It was a picture of country life and a painting in itself. She thought about what their lives would have been like if they had been farmers there fifty or so years ago, when people lived in the area, imagining that they were the first occupants of the house and spent their days working in the sun, or in the cold. They would have had to look after their crops, animals and land: a life of constant labour, the opposite of the present afternoon. She put down her paintbrush. She was going to sketch it with a fine pencil first. She wanted to include every detail of the trees, the hut, and the hills in the background. The light was coming from the right, and she looked at the canvas, thinking about how the scene would look in two or three hours when the sun was lower. It was hot and the paint dried quickly. But she didn’t mind.