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ability and early skills in the kitchen. My Somerset Apple Cake still remains a favourite with her family.
    So, despite the miles which separated our homes, we became ‘Sisters Under the Sun’.
    *
    As Christophe walked up the hill with his dogs, he used the time to think about the newcomer in their household. ‘What do you think, boys?’ he asked them. ‘Did I do the right thing, huh? Do you like having company around the house?’ Hercules looked back at him, tongue flopping out of his mouth in a lazy, doggy smile. ‘I did it for you, you know.’ Although, he could see there were some benefits for him too.
    He thought how vehemently Vicki had argued with him over the purchase of food. He smiled to himself as he remembered how her cheeks had flushed pink and her round eyes seemed to grow larger as she made her point. The girl certainly had spirit. Perhaps it was her artistic temperament coming out. The truth was, she probably didn’t eat more than a mouse. She was tiny – that sweatshirt swamped her. Beautiful eyes though – were they blue or violet?
    As the sun broke through a gap in the trees and warmed his face, for the first time in a long time, he felt his spirits lift.

CHAPTER 5
    It didn’t take long to unpack all my art materials and set up the studio. My greatest indecision was over where to place the easel in a room which lacked the preferred north light of a true artist’s studio. All the same, I wasn’t going to complain. I finally settled on the centre of the room, so I had light from either side, and it also gave me the ability to look out of all the windows.
    Next to one of them, I hung a small, double-sided frame; on one side was a picture of my parents and, when I turned it over, there was a list of affirmations I’d written, which had been my mantras for the last few weeks. I stood with my arms stretched out and recited them:
    ‘I am an artist.
    ‘I am painting because I want to – I am a contented artist.
    ‘I am painting for a living – I am a successful artist.
    ‘I am painting for an exhibition.
    ‘There is an audience for my work and the Universe is bringing us together.
    ‘I am an artist.’
    I bowed reverentially to the affirmations. ‘And screw anybody who gets in my way.’
    Yes. This was my time.
    Throughout my college career, I’d imagined I would, some day, have an exhibition. Not, you understand, because I was a flashy cow (although some friends may beg to differ) but because I liked to capture the mood of a time, a place and the people within it – just as Impressionists like Lautrec, Manet and Renoir had done. I realise a camera does exactly that, but something about the colours and energy in their work added a mood – a feeling to the image. When I see something which seizes my heart and imagination, I want to capture everything about it; not just the scenery but how I feel about it at the time. So, I guess, I just wanted to share that excitement with everyone else.
    I’d already googled a rt shops in Limoges but I had hoped there might be a small art supplier more locally. I’d only been able to carry sketch-pads so I decided to head out on a reccy of the town. But not before dropping into the surgery to invite The Lovely Louise over for her lunch break. And she was lovely; barely into her twenties, fresh-faced and with a smile for everyone. She had brown hair tied back in a pony-tail, barely-there make-up with a nude tone lip-gloss and wearing a non-too-flattering beige and cream nurse’s overall. She was like a sepia toned Anne of Green Gables.
    She welcomed me like she’d been looking forward to this day all her life. I doubted this could be due to Izzy’s PR so I could only suppose it was Louise’s default setting. She accepted my invitation like a shot and I trotted off cheerfully to discover the delights of the little town.
    The morning sun was hitting the pavement at an angle, casting oblique shadows across the road. ‘Quelle beau jour,’ I said out