‘Probably not, frankly. He hates literary bods. He thinks they’re out to get him. And they probably are,’ said Laura. ‘Or at least, they will all pounce on whatever he writes next and want to tear it apart.’

‘He hasn’t produced anything for years, though, has he?’ said Rupert.

‘I think he’s got something on the stocks,’ said Laura, wondering if telling lies really made your nose grow longer. ‘But I can’t see him agreeing to it.’

‘Maybe it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t turn up?’ suggested Fenella. ‘After all, we’d give them all a fabulous meal, a night in our “stately home”. They’d have each other to talk to, after all. And we can’t keep writing off ideas just because Dermot might refuse,’ she went on. ‘We’ll have to work round him.’

‘They’ll probably hate each other,’ said Laura, suddenly gloomy. ‘They’ll get drunk and pick fights.’

‘Fabulous publicity!’ said Fenella. ‘It’ll put my festival on the literary map!’

‘Our festival, if you don’t mind, darling,’ said Rupert. ‘More coffee, Laura?’

‘No thanks, I’m jumpy enough already. I’ll go and email Dermot with the next lot of stuff he’s going to refuse to do.’

Dermot didn’t refuse to attend a literary dinner at Somerby held in his honour, he just didn’t mention it. After three emails asking him, Laura stopped bothering. She even said he could contact her by mobile if he preferred but to no avail.

Two weeks later, Laura parked in the university car park. It was late afternoon. In spite of their long chats on the telephone, she was nervous about actually seeing Dermot in person, especially since she hadn’t heard from him for a while. However many times she reminded herself how well they’d got on before, she was sure that this time she would bore him and he would find some other young woman to go for walks with, to talk about and teach about writing, books, films and music. He’d have several to choose from, and four days to take his pick.

But despite her imagination throwing him into the arms of every woman on the course, she was determined to be more proactive herself about Dermot. She thought about Monica, going after Seamus all those months ago in Ireland. She knew she hugely admired Dermot, she liked him, and she fancied him desperately: she would make a move on him. She just hoped it wouldn’t take a personality transplant to do it.