Jo’s ears were buzzing. She couldn’t pick up on the ‘but’ because she had already focused on it needing a polish, and an edit, and tightening up, and all those things Ewan had said which had made her feel sick to her stomach. When she looked at him, his expression was warm and reassuring, but she wanted to scream: ‘You’ve just stepped on my dreams,’ or maybe an altogether more relaxed: ‘I’ll never been good enough.’

Suddenly, her expensive trouser suit felt too tight and it was as if she could feel every layer of make-up weighing down on her skin. She wanted to curl up in a ball and roll her way out of the shop and home again without making eye contact with anyone.

‘Jo? Are you okay? You’ve gone very pale?’ Ewan's lilting Scottish voice cut through her feelings of self-loathing. ‘You seem to have zoned out.’ He looked confused and, if she wasn’t mistake, genuinely concerned.

‘I… I’m just embarrassed to have wasted your time,’ she mumbled.

Again, his face was clouded with confusion. ‘You’ve not wasted my time. Why would you think that?’

‘Because it’s repetitive, and needs an edit and…’ She paused as she tried to remember what else he had said.

‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘But every writer needs an editor. And there will always be work to be done on any manuscript. For a first run out of the starting blocks, it shows considerable talent. It’s original and dark and, I have to say, very beautifully written.’

Jo’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Had he said all this before and she just hadn’t been listening? Her mouth remained dry and her stomach remained clenched. ‘You… you actually like it?’ she asked.

‘Of course I do,’ Ewan said. ‘You’ve captured the setting so very perfectly. The isolation and darkness is all there. And your use of weather as a metaphor of mood and drama is exquisitely done. I don’t think I’ve ever read a description of a summer rain shower so evocative. It actually gave me goosebumps. I think you have an incredible amount of potential and I can see, now that I’ve met you in person, that you have that fire in your eyes – that special something that will propel you forward.’

Jo could hardly believe that he was talking about her. Ewan McLachlan, writer and creator of the McCreadie series, saw potential in her. That he thought her writing was evocative and exquisite. The urge to climb across the table and kiss him hard on the lips grew even larger than it had been – and that was a remarkable feat in itself.

‘Thank you,’ she stuttered, overcome with emotion.