She waited until he’d found the photo and examined it. ‘Mm. Not my usual type, but if she can write, I’ll give her a go. Why did you send the photo?’

‘Eleanora said that being good-looking helped. It’s such a cut-throat industry that if two writers are of the same standard, it makes sense to take on the one who’ll be good at publicity.’

‘Well, I think that’s extremely sexist—’

‘No you don’t, you don’t care about sexism. Tell me, is she in or out?’

‘I’ll give her a go at the course. Nothing else,’ he added firmly.

Laura was silent. She had sort of assumed that Dermot would be up for dallying with his students if they were attractive and willing. There was a fine old tradition of artists sleeping with their models – there were parallels.

‘Are you surprised at my moral attitude?’

‘A bit. You don’t give the impression of someone who’s led a life of purity and hard work.’

‘No, well, you’re right. But because I misspent my youth, it doesn’t mean I’m keen for others to do it. What’s next?’

‘The one in the blue folder.’

‘Oh yes, found it.’

‘Dermot, don’t you read any of them until we’re on the telephone talking about them?’

‘Of course I do.’ He was obviously lying. ‘Tell me about it.’

She sighed. ‘It’s worthy.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, it’s a shortlist pick. It’s literary, utterly gloomy and will be the book everyone buys and nobody reads.’

Possibly gauging her feelings about books like this, he frowned. ‘Well, let’s not have it then.’

‘Oh no, we have to have it – her, I mean. It’s good. I may hate it, but I have to admire it.’ She ruffled through her file and produced another photograph. ‘I should have sent you her photo, too. In fact I meant to, but forgot. She’s beautiful.’

‘You seem determined to fill the course with lovely young women.’

‘Well, I know you’re doing it against your will. I thought I should make sure you had some compensations.’

There was a silence. ‘I hate to admit this, but I don’t know if you’re joking or not.’

Laura laughed.

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Fenella was firm. ‘Laura dear, if you came and lived here, in this dear little holiday cottage that has no one in it, not only would be you be here when I needed you, you could give up your flat and save shedloads on rent.’ She straightened a throw covering the sofa and twitched a curtain into place. ‘I’d have offered it to you before if it’d been finished. All our other accommodation has been full. I won’t throw you out afterwards until you’ve found somewhere else to live,’ she added, anticipating Laura’s objection.