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‘Is what?’ he encouraged.

‘You couldn’t possibly feel happy looking at this. And yet…’

‘Yes?’

‘All I want to do is look at it. I can’t tear my attention away,’ she said, gesturing towards her eyes.

‘Caravaggio is a master. He is deliberately leading your gaze around the canvas using his skill with light and shadow. Even the darkness has a range of light within it, can you see?’ He pointed and she nodded. ‘My, but this is a silent painting.’

She knew he saw her smile. ‘I understand.’

‘Do you?’ He sounded impressed, but waited for her to explain.

‘We’re whispering. I know we’re in a church, but there’s no one around to hear us. It’s the painting making me whisper. And if you weren’t here, I would look at this in silence, hardly breathing.’

‘Brava to you, Valentina. I hope with all my heart that you continue your studies in art and history.’

A silence stretched gently between them as they regarded the dramatic story in front of them.

It was Valentina who interrupted it. ‘I have made a decision, Peter.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’m going to become an art historian as well as being involved in restoration.’ She knew this was likely impossible, but she wanted to see what it sounded like to say it aloud. Perhaps by doing so, she might somehow forge a path to reach it.

‘Truly? I love this ambition.’

Was he toying with her, encouraging her even though he knew it might prove impossible? She shook the thought away.

‘I want to study him,’ she said, gesturing in front of them. ‘I want to fully understand Caravaggio.’

He smiled. ‘It would be a lifetime’s work.’

‘Then I will give him my life… or whatever I can spare of it.’

He turned to face her. ‘Promise me you won’t give up this passion.’

‘I promise,’ she said, looking into his earnest expression. Then she returned her attention to the canvas. ‘Imagine, just a few moments ago, John was living, breathing, understanding what was about to happen. Look how they’ve tied him.’

Peter nodded. ‘Yes, Caravaggio has made us step into this precise moment in time, just a few moments before this man was alive. And now he bleeds out. There’s so much pathos loaded into this scene. Do you know this word?’

She shook her head.

‘I mean that it has a quality that makes the audience feel pity or sadness.’

‘I feel that,’ she said eagerly.

‘Then you are already a student of Caravaggio,’ he said.

‘And you say there are others here?’

‘One other that he painted in Rome before he arrived under exile in Valletta. This cathedral has preserved it. It’s called St Jerome Writing. You can view it another day – I have to get back now – but it’s equally wondrous, though perhaps not as dramatic.’

She couldn’t wait to see it. ‘Will you come here again with me?’

‘No, Valentina, but you don’t need me to help you become familiar with Caravaggio.’

‘But I want to learn from you.’