Today, in a quiet Thames-side village, I stepped into a small antique shop and saw an Edwardian portrait of a lady in a French gilded doré frame.
She gazes out with calm elegance—white blouse, delicate jewellery, and a kind, composed face. Clearly wealthy, but not ostentatious. Just quietly assured.
No name, no inscription.
Was she a Florence? A Doris?
Whoever she was, she is still watching, gently, from behind the glass.
