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painting: a sense of flow that pushed all other concerns to the back of her mind if only for a little while.
    The portrait of the dogs turned out very well. Though she was usually her own harshest critic, Serena allowed herself to be pleased with the result of her hard work. She had been right with her initial thoughts for the piece. The stormy sky was a perfect backdrop for the regal silky gray of the dogs’ glossy coats. Serena thought perhaps that even the dogs’ faces had turned out better than she’d hoped. There was individuality to them. Louisa could tell at once which was which.
    “I love it,” she said. “You are an absolute marvel.”
    She enveloped Serena in an extravagantly perfumed hug. “I will hang it above the fireplace right here in the drawing room.”
    “Really?” Serena was stunned. That would mean moving a painting of Louisa’s two sons as small children. “But that’s such a wonderful picture. Are you sure?”
    “Absolutely. I’m bored to death of that old thing. And my beautiful babies need a truly regal setting.”
    “Well, okay,” said Serena.
    “Help me hang it now?” Louisa asked.
    The following weekend, Louisa’s elder son, Mark, dropped by.
    “What happened to the painting of me and Julian?” he asked the moment he stepped into the drawing room. “Where did you get that bloody awful dog picture? How much did it cost you? Tell me it isn’t—”
    “It’s Berkeley and Blackwater Bess,” Louisa told him proudly. “Since my real children only visit when they want something, I decided to have my new babies on the wall instead.”
    “Mother. For heaven’s sake.”
    “It’s rather wonderful, don’t you think? The girl who moved into the cottage painted it. She trained in London and Florence.”
    “I don’t care where she trained. I can’t believe you would take down a portrait of your own children and put a picture of your bloody rescue greyhounds in its place!”
    “Well, you will be able to put yourself and your brother back up there when I’m gone,” said Louisa. “And don’t worry,” she added. “The dogs may have replaced you above the fireplace, but they haven’t replaced you in my last will and testament. Yet. You’ll have to keep visiting for a few more months, at least.”
    “Years, more like,” said Mark, barely disguising his annoyance. “I have no doubt that you will outlive us all.”

CHAPTER 4

    I t turned out that Mark Trebarwen was wrong. Just over a month after that exchange, Louisa passed away in her sleep. It was Serena who found the body. She and Louisa had been planning to drive down to St. Ives together, to see a new exhibition at the Cornish outpost of the Tate. Thank goodness Katie was safely in a holiday rental in Newquay with her father, who had actually bothered to turn up to do his share of the half-term “babysitting.”
    Serena was devastated. Like Louisa’s sons, she had assumed that she would have years yet in which to get to know her lovely neighbor. It was just too sad to lose her so soon.
    The doctor called Louisa’s sons and told them the bad news. They arrived the following day and arranged the funeral with great alacrity. It was well attended. Louisa had been well loved. She would be much missed.
    Serena met Julian Trebarwen, Louisa’s younger son, for the first time at his mother’s wake. She had noticed him as soon as he’d walked into the church, but it had seemed the wrong moment to make his acquaintance. Though Louisa had often said that Julian took after his father, there was plenty of his mother in his face. His eyes were the same, gray-blue and intelligent. Despite what she had heard of his fecklessness, Serena couldn’t help but feel instantly warm toward this man whose smile reminded her so much of her friend. When she happened upon himalone in the kitchen, she introduced herself and offered her condolences.
    “Drink?” he asked, topping up her glass without waiting for her answer.
    “I don’t know