‘You’re all heart, Laura Horsley. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.’

‘It is a good thing. A few editorial notes could make the whole difference, and they’ve got this far, they deserve some reward. Have you had a look at Gareth Ainsley’s one?’ This was probably more up his street, she thought. It was science fiction, very edgy, but surprisingly readable, even to one to whom sci-fi was a bit of a turn-off.

‘Yes, yes, I did. It’s good, very good. But do you think he’d be a complete pain on the course?’

‘I don’t think you can ban him on those grounds,’ said Laura.

‘Mm. I don’t know. I think he’ll make it anyway. He doesn’t need my help.’

Laura considered for a moment. ‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous of the Young Turks snapping at your heels, Mr Bestselling Novelist?’ She felt safe teasing him over the telephone. How she’d feel if they were face to face, she didn’t know.

‘Young Turks: is that a quaint English expression?’

‘Hm, one I picked up from my old boss, Henry—’

Dermot cut her off. ‘So which are your favourites out of those you’ve sent me?’ Dermot didn’t seem to want to enlarge on the subject of Young Turks and his attitude to them.

‘They all have merit,’ she said carefully, ‘which is why I selected them. But we have to decide who’d benefit most from the course. And you can’t rule out the Young Turks.’

‘You’ll just flirt with them,’ he said.

‘You’re doing the course, not me,’ said Laura.

‘You’re assisting. You’re going to be there. I thought you knew that.’

This came as a bit of a shock. ‘I thought I was only helping with this bit. I didn’t know anything about you needing me actually on the course!’ She sounded quite indignant but her heart was singing at the prospect of spending so much time with Dermot. ‘I don’t know anything about writing itself.’

‘Oh yes you do.’

A shaft of doubt pierced her pleasure. ‘But I’ve never written more than a To Do list in my life!’

Dermot dismissed this. ‘It doesn’t mean you can’t edit. You’ve been doing it, and you’ve read loads more than I have.’

As by this time she knew he read very little modern fiction she had to agree. ‘Oh. Well, I suppose I can do it. Will the university mind?’

‘Of course not. If they want me, they have to have you, too. We’re a team.’

Laura flushed, glad he couldn’t see her. ‘Oh. OK. Now, what about the Samantha Pitville? I know it’s not your thing. It’s chick lit, bubbly, funny, irreverent, but it’s written by a very pretty woman. I sent a photo. It’s attached to the back of the manuscript.’