As she got used to his accent, it became easier for Nesah to understand the man. Or at least what he was saying. Not that she tried very hard. She did not care much what he was going to do with his paintings, and she cared even less for the London people who might be inspired to come here. As if there were not enough tourist having their mediocre seaside holidays here.

She looked over at the Abbey ruin as he spoke of it. Nor did she care much about the rubble of what was once a cathedral. There were plenty of cathedrals and churches in their original state in Bohemia, and the only redeeming quality of this structure was that it lay in ruins.

He was right: she was not interested in commissioning him, although now the thought did cross her mind to ask him to paint her brother, Zech. Zech would hate it, but that was the point. She could tell mother that the painting was coming her way and then tell Zech. He couldn't refuse anymore if mother already expected it. How he would hate sitting still for hours. Perhaps then he would finally understand the smallest tiniest bit of the boredom she faced every. single. day.

Nesh frowned offended when he winked at her. Such liberties he took. Just who did he think he was? But it gave her some temporary entertainment to be annoyed with this man, and so she stuck around. "Promenading on the parade or terraces becomes boring after several months, believe me, sir. And I am not a 'lass'." Lass was what fishermen called the fisher women and girls, was it not? She had heard them use it. And she was not some ordinary smelly fishwife.