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I send him a sideways glance.

‘Simon Forster chewed my ear off the other night about the indignity of having to look at it covered in sheets.’

I relax. His knowledge is innocent, even if I’m not.

This kind man in front of me would not understand who and what I am.

No amount of confessing and forgiveness would change it.

I know this in my bones. My mother was different to me, and looking at this handsome man opposite me, I do not feel the attraction or the fascination I feel with Katherine and have felt towards other women.

This has huge ramifications for my life and for Katherine’s as we go forward.

I believe that for us both to be comfortable, we will have to pass as normal, simply two friends living companionably.

‘I’ve lost you.’

I blink. ‘Sorry. A lot on my mind.’

‘I can see you are worried about something. I thought it might be about where to go now that the commission is finished.’

‘That is a concern.’ I take a sip of the cool, sharp wine. ‘But the opportunity to work with Roberto is wonderful.’

‘Hmm.’ He looks like he is about to say more when steaming bowls of pasta arrive. ‘Spaghetti vongole. My favourite.’

‘I’ve not tried this yet.’ I’m used to seafood, but these do not look like razor clams. ‘Before my arrival here, I’d never had pasta.’

He expertly rolls the spaghetti around his fork. ‘Ah, thanks to many Italian immigrants to the United States, pasta is well known there, although it is considered foreign food by the Irish side of my family.’

‘I’m sure you can find pasta in London, but it hasn’t made its way to Cornwall just yet.’ I copy his twirling and taste the pasta. ‘This is heaven.’

‘Possibly close,’ he says. ‘But you were about to tell me your concerns.’

‘Was I?’ I focus on the pasta. It would be too easy to talk to him. I miss the ease of the friendship I had with Nellie before things changed between us.

Now my life has altered beyond what I could have imagined months ago, before I set off to find a cure.

But like my mother, I have found love. My time in Venice is nearing its natural conclusion much faster than planned.

Unlike her, I am not going to return married and pregnant.

But I will return full of joy and hope. Away from Simon, Katherine will flourish, and so will I in her love.

‘You were. I’m wondering if by being focused on this commission you are stifling the learning you should be enjoying.’

I laugh. ‘The commission has been a learning process.’

‘I’m sure it has, but it will not have created anything as original as your nuns.’

I stop twirling my pasta and look at him fully. ‘How do you know? You have not seen the painting.’

‘True, I haven’t, but if you have managed to incorporate that burst of insight into it, I will be delighted.’

‘This afternoon I will move it from their bedroom. At least that way it won’t trouble Forster, except when he chooses to eat at home, which these days is rare.’

‘Excellent.’ He pauses and studies me. If I could run and hide I would. ‘You have changed since the first time I met you. You have the look of a woman in love.’

My throat tightens. This is the last thing I want, but I can’t stop the love showing.

‘I wonder who has captured your heart.’ He takes a sip of wine. ‘I could make some guesses.’

How do I stop this? I begin to reply when a woman comes from the kitchen and speaks with her hands flying.

‘I must leave immediately.’ Father Keeney stands. ‘I’m sorry.’ He is gone before I can even comment.

The waiter brings me a glass of red wine and what looks like veal. I don’t want to eat on my own, but it would be rude to waste it. At least with only my own company I can work through the next step of the plan to be with Katherine now that I have a place to move into.

* * *

With the help of Signora Bocca, I move the canvas then the easel into the dining room. Only once it is placed securely do I take another look.

The housekeeper gasps. ‘ Bellissimo. ’

‘ Grazie. ’ I smile. Signora Bocca takes a longer look, then leaves.

Katherine gazes out from the painting with such hunger and love it is powerful.

I have no idea what Forster will make of it, but that really doesn’t matter any more.

It is far better than the one of the boy.

The surface, although still tacky, is drying fast in the heat.

I can only hope that it won’t crack. I prepared the paints correctly, but I have never experienced such sustained heat before.

But people have been creating great works of art here for ever, and those paints have stood the test of time.

Katherine enters as I’m covering it again.

‘Do you have to hide it?’ Her voice catches.

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea if he sees it.’

‘Yes, but it reminds me of who I can be.’ She sighs and looks around to make sure we are alone. ‘This is harder than I thought.’

It is easier for me because I don’t have to pretend, but she does.

‘Simon is so different right now. He’s changed in ways I can’t say.’

I watch the play of emotions across her face. She is tired, and the strain is taking its toll. Guilt grips me.

‘Have you changed your mind?’ We haven’t had any time together since Forster returned.

She has had to be with him for various social events.

I’ve spent my time painting, creating an array of portraits that could be used to entice clients.

I can lie with my brush and flatter the most unlikely sitter.

None of these works are like this painting, and if Katherine needs to see this to give her strength, then I can risk leaving it uncovered.

Simon is going away again soon, before the poetry exhibition begins in a few weeks’ time.

I put the sheet down. ‘He doesn’t come in here too often.’ She shakes her head. ‘Breakfast is now outside or with his new friends, and we are out every night.’ She yawns.

‘The air flow will be good for the drying process.’

‘Is it really me?’ she asks.

‘It is truly you.’ I glance from her to the painting. She is more radiant on the canvas than the tired woman before me. But the true her is reflected in the painting. Her soul shines in person and in paint.

‘No, it’s the me that you see, and you see me differently from anyone else.’

‘Maybe I do.’ I hesitate. ‘But to see what I truly see, you need to follow me.’

We walk to my room. The other painting of her rests against the wall.

She stares at it. ‘That’s me?’

‘Yes, that’s you.’ I bend down and lift it onto the easel.

She slips her hands into her pockets. For the longest time she doesn’t say anything.

‘Do you like it?’ Fear gnaws my insides. This type of exposure is hard. This painting is as much a reflection of me as it is of her.

‘I love it.’ She turns to me. ‘I like that I’m there in shape and colour and movement.’ She pauses. ‘It’s so different, and yet . . .’ she walks closer, ‘it’s the same.’

I laugh. She pulls her hand out of her pocket and hands me a folded sheet of paper. ‘I’ve finished your poem.’

‘I thought it was finished before.’

‘There were two phrases that didn’t work.’ She opens my sketchbook. There are pages and pages of her. ‘It’s a bit like you doing all these preliminary sketches and then you do a painting.’ She glances at the canvas again.

‘I understand.’ It makes sense looking at it like that.

The sound of Signora Bocca greeting Forster below alerts us.

Katherine quickly leans in and kisses me before racing downstairs.

I remind myself that this is all necessary, but it may drive me mad in the process.

Creeping past the salon to the dining room, I debate covering the painting after all.

As I gaze at it, pride and desire fill me. I lift the sheet from the floor.

‘I insist,’ I hear Forster say, then the door swings open.

With his chest puffed out, he stops and stares. ‘It is not a disappointment like that silly work you did the other day.’ With that pronouncement, he leaves.

Katherine mouths sorry and follows him. I study the painting again, grateful that he doesn’t see what is there.