She lay there for a long time, willing herself to get out of bed, but it wasn’t until she heard a loud crash from the direction of Hugo’s study that she jolted into action. She grabbed her silk robe and wrapped it around her as she ran down the stairs, two at a time.

She opened the room to Hugo’s study to find him sitting in front of his laptop, head in his hands. As she entered, he shoved his notebook off the table, causing another loud thud.

Evie grabbed his hand. ‘Okay, okay. Let’s not go breaking any more things,’ she said. She looked at the shattered, vulnerable man in front of her. How could such a successful and beguiling writer feel so helpless? Then again, Evie could empathise with this feeling all too well. In her experience, the writing process consumed her with a never-ending sensation of guilt, self-doubt and mental fatigue.

‘Hugo,’ she said, shaking off the negativity. ‘Listen to me. You’re a brilliant writer. And you can do this. I know you can.’

‘How do you know that?’ he snapped.

Because I’ve seen what you can create with my own eyes and it’s nothing short of magic.

‘Let’s work through this logically. What’s the first thing you’re stuck with?’

Hugo threw his hands in the air. ‘Everything!’

Evie took a seat next to him and looked up at the huge monitor attached to his laptop. The final version of the manuscript of Henrietta’s Gift was open on one side of the screen, and the screenplay document was on the other.

‘Why don’t you head out for a walk while I have a read,’ suggested Evie. ‘I can text you when I’ve finished and we can chat it through when you get back.’

Hugo nodded forlornly, thanking her, and looking all too relieved to head off.

After making herself a cup of tea, Evie returned to the study and began to read. It took her about an hour to finish and then she sat mulling over it for a while longer. She could understand why Hugo was feeling despondent. Though some of it was really good, he was trying to include too much of the novel. She guessed that was probably a common problem for authors adapting their books. There was also something missing in the portrayal of Henrietta that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Maybe her dialogue wasn’t working? Which was weird given that Hugo’s portrayal of her in the novel had been so spot on.

She jotted down some thoughts and then texted Hugo, saying she had some ideas and asking him to grab her a coffee on the way home.

About fifteen minutes later the front door banged and she heard Hugo trudging up the stairs.